by David Debord
“Truly? Does she live here in the city?” The girl dropped to one knee in front of Oskar.
“No, she’s in Lothan.” A pang of regret struck him and he realized, not for the first time, that he missed his friends terribly.
“One of the wild women, then. How did you come to be friends with a Lothan?”
“We traveled there. She stayed and I came here for training. And the women there aren’t wild. I mean, they’re tougher than women here.” He hesitated when the girl cocked her head to the side and eyed him dangerously. “I mean, they learn to fight, but they don’t usually do it unless they’re forced to. They take care of their families, bully their husbands, and do pretty much the same things women here do.
The girl stared for a moment and then giggled. “That’s funny. For a moment, I almost believed you.”
“It’s true!” Oskar didn’t know why he cared if this girl thought he was telling the truth or not, but suddenly it seemed of great importance that she did. He quickly told the story of how he, Shanis, Hierm, and Khalyndryn had left their village and traveled to Lothan, and how his meeting with Aspin had brought him here. He left out a few details, such as the fact that he was now friends with Prince Larris. If she already doubted his story, adding that in was sure to convince her of his prevarication. “I don’t care if you believe it or not.” That was a lie, but it seemed the thing to say.
She gave him another long look. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve been to Lothan.” Oskar did just that. She leaned in so close their noses almost touched. He felt her breath on his lips and shivered. Finally, she sat back.
“All right, I believe you. We’re going to have to spend some time together. I have a feeling you’ve got lots of stories to tell, and I like stories.” She stood and stretched, and Oskar was once again all too aware of her many curves. “I’m Lizzie, by the way.”
“Oskar.”
“You never did tell me what you were doing up here.” She looked around as if the reason lay hidden somewhere in the darkness nearby.
“I was trying to find a way inside the archives.”
“You mean you can’t just walk in?” She took him by the hand and hauled him to his feet. “That makes no sense.”
“No, I’m still a novit.” He took one step and his feet shot out from under him. He fell hard on his back, his breath escaping in a rush.
“Gods! Don’t you fall again.” Lizzie grabbed a handful of robe and kept him from sliding down the roof. “Haven’t you walked on a roof before?”
“No, but that’s not the reason. My foot just slipped out from under me.” He held out his hand, conjured the blue light, and examined the sole of his boot. A thin sheen covered the bottom.
“What is that?” Lizzie touched a finger to the shiny patch. “It’s greasy.” She turned toward the door through which Oskar had come. “Can you shine your light over there?”
Oskar hadn’t yet learned how to direct the beam, but he raised his hand, spilling the light all around.
“There’s a patch of whatever this is just below the door, and you can see a streak of it running down the roof where you slid.” She turned and frowned at him. “Did anyone know you were coming up here?”
“Maybe.” Despite his noncommittal answer, he knew exactly who the culprit was. Agen had baited him into coming up here, and despite his friends’ warnings, he’d charged up here like a bull in mating season. Idiot!
“Take off your boots and I’ll help you back to the door.”
His stocking feet weren’t ideal for climbing a steep roof, but with Lizzie’s aid, he made it back to the door without further embarrassing himself.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye.”
“Hardly. You owe me a life debt, and until I decide it’s repaid, you haven’t seen the last of me.” She winked, sending a shiver through him.
“How can I repay you?”
“Meet me here at moonrise two nights from now. And try not to fall.”
Chuckling ruefully, he agreed. He turned toward the door and froze. There was no handle.
“Um. Do you know another way in?” He had wanted to at least make his exit with a shred of dignity intact, but it was apparently not to be.
“I wondered how soon you’d notice. Move it, big man.” She drew her dagger, slid it into the crack between the door and the wall, and worked it back and forth. Moments later, it swung open. “And that’s one more thing you owe me. For that, I think you should bring me a surprise when next we meet.” She reached up, kissed him on the cheek, and slipped away into darkness.
Oskar gazed at the spot where she’d vanished, his hand pressed to his cheek and wondered what had just happened.
Chapter 16
“Hand it over, boy. And don’t make no sudden moves if you don’t want to end up skewered.” The mounted man prodded Kelvin’s chest with the tip of his spear and grinned, displaying rotting teeth turned brown from chewing laccor root. The group of men surrounding him laughed as if this were the funniest they’d ever heard.
Kelvin couldn’t believe he’d let himself be caught unaware. When marauders killed his family and burned their farm, he’d managed to escape. But when he finally stopped to rest, they caught up with him.
He wore his bow and quiver across his back, but even if the bow was strung, he likely couldn’t nock and loose a single arrow, much less four of them, before the man ran him through.
“Come on, now. It’s all needed for the war effort.”
“You expect me to support the Kyrinian side?” The words were bitter on his lips. Word was, Kyrin’s armies had invaded deep into northern Galdora, and the two sides now stood at a stalemate. The villages of the northwest lay seemingly forgotten by the king, who focused his efforts on protecting the cities of the northeast. Here, roving bands of soldiers, most likely deserters, terrorized the countryside.
“I’d watch my tongue if I were you. These parts will soon be part of Kyrin, so you ought not to make any enemies for yourself.” He prodded Kelvin again, harder this time. “Belt pouch and backpack, now!”
The soft thrum of hoof beats drew the man’s attention. He turned to look for the approaching rider, and Kelvin, seeing his chance, ran for it. He dove directly beneath the man’s horse, causing the beast to shy and almost step on Kelvin’s head. He rolled, sprang to his feet, and ran for the forest.
He made it ten paces before a sharp pain brought him to his knees. He fell face-down on the ground, ears ringing and hot pain burning his scalp. He rolled over and tried to regain his feet, but a boot to the face sent him back down to the ground. He looked up to see a burly man with a shaved scalp climbing down from his horse.
“You were warned. Now we’ve got to make it hurt, so as to teach you a lesson.” The man reversed his spear and raised it high overhead, ready to club Kelvin again, when a rider burst from the tree line.
He was a tall man, broad of shoulder, with curly brown hair and sun-bronzed skin. He rode leaning forward in the saddle with his sword bared.
Kelvin’s assailant had only an instant to look up in surprise before the rider was upon him. A blur of steel flashed in the morning light, and the Kyrinian slumped to his knees, hands pressed to the gaping wound in his throat. The warhorse leaped over Kelvin, wheeled, and charged the three remaining Kyrinians. One hurled a spear at the rider, who moved his head an inch to his left, letting the projectile slide past him. His calm demeanor and economy of movement seemed to unsettle the Kyrinians, all of whom began to bark confused orders at once.
The newcomer bore down on the spear-thrower, changed directions at the last moment, and shot past him, slicing him across the shoulder.
The Kyrinian roared in pain, the short sword he had drawn falling from limp fingers. Cursing, he put his heels to his horse’s flanks and galloped away.
The two remaining marauders seemed to have recovered some of their wits. They drew their swords and spread out. Whichever of them the man attacked first, the other would try to take him from behind. If the newc
omer realized this, he didn’t seem to care. He charged.
This time, he didn’t veer away but plowed into the Kyrinian. Kreege, his highly-trained warhorse, sent the man’s smaller mount to the ground. He then wheeled his horse around in time to parry the other Kyrinian’s blow.
Kelvin stood and took in the scene in an instant. His rescuer was driving the mounted Kyrinian backward, but the man he had unhorsed was climbing slowly to his feet. Without thinking, Kelvin grabbed his bow, strung it, and nocked an arrow.
The last mounted Kyrinian went down, clutching his eyes where the newcomer’s sword had slashed him. Meanwhile, the unhorsed marauder drew a throwing knife and took aim.
Kelvin’s arrow took the Kyrinian through the cheek, slicing through flesh and knocking out a few teeth on its way out. It wasn’t the finest shot he’d ever made, but it did the trick. The Kyrinian roared, dropped his knife, and stumbled away. In a moment, it was over. The rider rode him down, dismounted, and finished off both Kyrinians with cold efficiency, plunging his dagger into each man’s heart in turn.
When he was finished, he cleaned and sheathed his blades, then turned to look at Kelvin, his brown eyes keen with interest.
“Thank you for the help. That was a well-placed shot.”
“You’re welcome.” Kelvin was keenly aware of his youth and his ragged clothes. How must he look to this confident stranger? “I know you could have dealt with them all without me, but I wanted to get my licks in. They killed my family and burned our home.” At that admission, his throat clenched and his knees wobbled. He’d forced those thoughts from his mind when he fled, focusing only on survival, but now they returned in full force.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Sit down and I’ll have a look at your wound.”
Kelvin put his hand to his stinging head and it came away covered in blood. It took all the resolve he could muster to remain on his feet. Something made him want to impress this stranger. He barely flinched as the man bathed and bandaged his head.
“My name is Kelvin,” he offered.
“I didn’t ask.” The man stood. “It’s a minor wound. Avoid any more blows to the head, and it should be fine in a few days.” He replaced the items in his saddlebag and wandered around the clearing, inspecting the bodies. “Kyrinians. Deserters from their main force, I imagine.”
“It’s a problem throughout these parts. There’s no one to stop them.” Kelvin unstrung his bow and began rifling through the dead Kyrinian’s pockets and belt pouches. He felt no compunction in doing so; they had already taken everything from him.
“Why don’t the people who live here stand up to them?” The man turned his back to Kelvin, inspecting the gelding his warhorse had knocked down.
“We’re farmers. We can’t stand up to trained fighting men.” Kelvin rolled the Kyrinian he was searching over onto his stomach and relieved him of his cloak. It wasn’t fancy, but it was of good wool and dyed a dark green that would blend in well in the forest.
“You stood up to them.” The man was looking at him now. “Find a dozen more like you who can handle a bow and won’t flee in terror at the first sign of danger and you can deal with a few bandits.”
A surge of pride at the man’s praise dueled with an urge to defend his brethren. “Maybe it there were only a few bandits. But still, it’s not that simple when you’re in farm country. It isn’t like a city where people live at close quarters and you can easily band together. We see one another at market, and that’s about it.”
The man shrugged. “So you have to do a spot of riding in order to spread the word. Speaking of riding, take this horse. It’s in good condition and seems to have an even temperament.”
He handed the reins to Kelvin, who stroked the creature’s flanks. He’d never had a horse of his own.
“You still don’t understand. Suppose I decided to go from farm to farm, trying to pull everyone together to fight the bandits. First off, no one’s going to follow someone as young as me. Even if that were not a concern, every man wants to protect his own farm. He’s not going to leave everything he has unprotected to go off on a fool’s errand that’ll likely get him killed. Everybody wants to protect his own.”
“Like cherries for the picking.” The man shook his head.
“What’s a cherry?”
“Never mind.” Close by, another of the Kyrinian’s horses cropped a patch of wild oats, and the man began to search its saddlebags. “Where were you headed before they caught up with you?”
“Nowhere. I was just running. How about you? What is a city man, and probably a soldier considering the way you fight, doing in farm country?”
The man froze. After a long pause, his shoulders sagged. “Atoning for my sins.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You have no reason to.” The man walked the horse over to where his own mount waited, shifted his saddlebags to the new horse, and mounted up. “I suppose I’m purging the land of vermin.”
“I want to help.” Kelvin surprised himself with the sudden exclamation.
“No.”
“Please. I have nothing left: no family, no home. If I die, no one will miss me. I might as well do something useful until then.” He fought to keep the pleading tone out of his voice.
“Make no mistake, if you were to follow me, it would be to your death. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”
“You’ll have to kill me then because I’m going to follow you. At a distance if I must, but I’m coming along.” He was amazed at how calm he kept his voice. The renegades who had destroyed his life were dead, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted revenge on the Kyrinians. All of them. “Besides, you said we could make a difference if enough of us banded together. With you as a leader, we can do just that.”
“No.” The man’s eyes flashed hot but cooled just as quickly and he let out a sigh of resignation. “Follow along if you must, and try to keep up.” Without another word, he wheeled his mount and trotted away.
Chapter 17
“The walls of Halholm stood for seven centuries, never breached by an enemy force. Strengthened by magic, they required no repair. Not ever. It was said that the stones were imbued with bits of moonlight that made them sparkle, but inspection of the ruins revealed that it was actually quartz and mica.” The corner of Master Sibson’s mouth twitched. “Despite its location near the disputed border between Halvala and Riza, the city maintained its independence. That is until its walls were demolished in a single day.” He paused. “The first day of the Second Godwar.”
Silence reigned in the classroom. Oskar held his breath, eager for the story to continue.
“In the spring of the year 3413, Henar, King of Riza, decreed that Halholm and the surrounding lands were part of his kingdom and sent emissaries to the city with a copy of the declaration and a demand for taxes,” Sibson smirked and several students, mostly those from cities, chuckled. “Halholm sent its reply in the form of the heads of the members of the Rizan party, each with a fist-sized stone stuffed in his mouth.
“Rizans, of course, worship Kordlak, the god of stone, and found this reply to be more than a political rebuff, but heresy of the highest order, and declared war on Halholm. Kordlak apparently agreed because he led the Rizan forces into battle.”
Oskar’s hand shot up, almost before he realized what he was doing. “You’re saying the god himself actually fought against humans?”
Agen turned around and made a confused face. “Considering he fought in the First Godwar, I don’t know why that should come as a surprise.” A few of the novits laughed, but most shook their heads at Oskar or simply ignored him.
“Ah, yes. You were not here when we discussed that particular war. The gods did, in fact, take a direct hand in human conflicts on occasion. When they did, it was a terrible sight to behold.” He cleared his throat and resumed his lecture. “Being the god of stone, Kordlak had an unmatched affinity with stone. He marched up to the city, arrows bouncing off his granite-hard skin, and
literally tore the walls apart.”
“How?” Naseeb asked.
“If the stories are to be believed, he pressed his hands into the walls and yanked out great chunks of stone. When a section of wall collapsed, he moved on to another.”
“There was nothing they could do about it?” Phill, a stout Halvalan youth with rust-colored hair and a florid face, asked. “I mean, can a human fight a god?”
“Anyone can fight a god. Whether or not he can do that god any damage is another question entirely.” Sibson waited for laughter that did not come. “Let me answer this way. Could an ant fight you?”
Phill grinned. “Up until the moment I stepped on it.”
“How about one hundred ants?” Sibson’s tone made it clear he was working up to something.
“I’d take a few bites before I managed to crush them all, but I’d recover.”
“How about ten thousand?”
“I’d run.”
Everyone laughed at that, and Sibson nodded.
“Fighting a god is much like that. Given enough tiny hurts, even the mightiest god will fall. The difference is, even ten thousand would not be enough.” Sibson gave that a moment to sink in. “Being the source of all magic, gods have at their disposal power beyond imagining. They are stronger and more resilient than humans. They are fearsome enemies, to be sure. But the greatest challenge in combating a god or goddess is overcoming his or her will. Men who approach a god’s physical manifestation find themselves unable to think clearly and must run lest they be overwhelmed.” He paused. “Unless, of course, some external force gives them the strength to fight. Such as, another god fighting for the opposing side.”
Sibson waited for more questions, but none came. Returning to his lecture, he told of the destruction wrought by Kordlak, and how, one by one, the other gods joined in the battle—some intent on stopping Kordlak, others entering on his side. When the Second Godwar finally ended, all of Gameryah was devastated.
Oskar was so caught up in the lecture that he was startled when Sibson announced that class was over for the day. He sat, contemplating what he had learned while the others filed out.