by M. D. Grimm
“Now, the other kingdoms, they have other names for her. Demmi they call her in Grekenus and Sif in Swenen. But we shall always know her as Net. And it was from those names that we get our great empire’s name. She is our identity and we must emulate her in all ways. Though she is dead now, descended to the underworld to sit at Osys’s right hand, we shall always know her as our living god. Our savior.
“To Net!”
“To Net!” Everyone shouted before gulping down ale. Cheers and applause followed the ending of the story. The matron bowed, grinning and flushed with triumph.
Lance was the only one not to participate in the toasting, his expression pensive.
“Good story, right?” Gust asked.
Lance jerked as if coming awake. “Yes.” Then he yawned.
Gust smirked and squeezed his shoulder. “Not just yet my friend. We have more to do.”
They left the tavern. Lanterns offered light from either poles stuck in the ground or hanging from ropes tied between buildings. Gust led them to the market square and played a few of the games while Lance watched. He didn’t seem intent on participating. Gust hoped he’d loosen up in the days to come. The festival would last four days, plenty of time for Lance to get comfortable. Gust tossed horseshoes, threw pebbles at paper targets, and won fun little prizes. Lance certainly smiled and appeared to enjoy himself, at least.
Then came the next story of Cairon. Gust took Lance’s hand and led him over to a large crowd in a shadowing corner of the square. A small fire burned, throwing flickering shadows on the wall behind the minstrel. It was purposeful, to add some atmosphere.
They stood this time and once again, Gust interpreted Coptin into Taris. Lance leaned his head down to better hear him.
“Ausar was the eldest child of Net, and her heir. He was mighty and proud and followed in his mother’s footsteps. He fought as she had fought, against the chaos of Snet. With the kingdoms now joined in a mighty empire, he had great work and challenges ahead. He must keep the peace and continue to forge greatness. This was made all the more difficult by Snet’s interference. He continued to tempt and seduce and persuade those in Ausar’s court to betray and connive and deceive. They let greed into their hearts and some even dared to fight against Ausar’s right to rule. They claimed that Net did not name him as heir.”
The minstrel shook his head. His voice was deep and hypnotic, and it was all Gust could do to continue speaking when he simply wanted to listen. Despite hearing the story since childhood, it never lost its power. Thankfully, they were in the back and didn’t disturb the other listeners. Lance still had a hold of Gust’s hand and squeezed it gently as the story continued.
“Then rumors reached Ausar about a beast inhabiting The Vein. The beast had disrupted fishing and diving, and too many people had lost their lives to its deadly appetite. Knowing it was his responsibility to safeguard his empire, he left his younger brother in charge and journeyed to The Vein. There he waited and watched. At first he wondered if they were mere rumors.”
The minstrel paused. Then he took something from a pouch hanging from his belt and flung it into the fire. The flames erupted violently, causing everyone to jolt.
“Then a massive beast rose from the churning water below!” the minstrel cried, raising his voice. The shadows behind him morphed and shifted into a giant multi-headed snake with a small man standing before it. It was a subtle bit of illusionary magic that Gust had seen before. He still smiled in excitement, however. Lance was squeezing his hand a bit harder than necessary, unable to anticipate the change in intensity.
As the minstrel continued his story, the shadows changed with his words, illustrating a fantastical replay of the event.
“A multi-headed monstrosity of Snet and Mawn rose before mighty Ausar. The snake beast hissed a hundred hisses and flashed hundreds of eyes with anger and hunger. Black as the bowels of the underworld did this beast appear, with spines of venom trailing down its back. Sent to destroy what Net had united, the ferocious Appep attacked Ausar. If Net’s heir was defeated and the snake live, all hope for unity would crumple into dust, and so would Ysys’s hope for humanity.
“Ausar drew his sword and attacked. Fearless and brave, Net’s son sliced the creature of Snet, unwilling to accept defeat. Unwilling to give into fear.”
The shadows fought behind the minstrel, giving power to his words. He spoke of the battle, the ferocity of it, emphasizing that life itself hung in the balance as the combatants danced around the cliffside.
“Then Ausar saw an opportunity and took it. He gave a mighty leap and plunged his sword into Appep’s heart. The serpent hissed a hundred hisses of agony before slipping off the land and falling into The Vein below. Ausar watched his foe fall, heaving with breath and dying from wounds burning with venom. He’d known the moment he saw Appep that he would be sacrificing his life for his people. Aye, he was Net’s heir, and yet his reign would be short and no less powerful for it. He called out to his mother and to Ysys before he collapsed, dead. Net came herself to retrieve his spirit while Ysys visited Ausar’s brother, the one he left in charge. In a dream, she showed him the sacrifice of his brother and named him emperor.
“Snet was never able to create such a creature again. And though he continues to influence and pervert the good and just among us, his power is a trifling compared to the majesty of Ysys, Osys, and Hoksys. And that of Net, our mother.”
Applause followed and the minstrel bowed grandly. Coins rattled as everyone offered tokens of appreciation, tossing them into his flamboyant, floppy, and frilly hat.
“Did you like it?” Gust asked as they moved away from the crowd.
“Aye. Is Appep why the festival is named after snakes?”
Gust nodded. “It’s our way of celebrating and honoring Ausar, Net, and all the rest of our ancestors who secured our kingdom and the empire as a whole. It’s also a way to praise the gods. The temple receives the most offerings during these few days than it does all year. Which reminds me, Kissa wanted me to deliver a bushel of fruit to them.” Gust sighed. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Don’t let me forget.”
“I won’t.” Lance appeared pensive about something.
“What’s on your mind?”
“The bard that taught me how to read and write mentioned something about stories symbolizing greater things. I mean, the snake isn’t just a snake, is it?”
Gust smiled. “No. I’m sure some believe Appep and Ausar actually fought to the death centuries ago, but I rather suspect that Appep represented the continued chaos that the fledgling empire had to face. Think about it. Multi-headed animals often represent the multiple branches of conspiracy or treachery.”
Lance nodded.
“And the fact that Ausar also died, well, I suppose symbolizes great sacrifice on the part of a just ruler. I don’t know for sure, I’m not a minstrel or bard.”
As they reached the dancefloor, another song was about to be taken up. Gust turned to Lance and almost asked if he wanted to learn the dance. Unfortunately, Kissa beckoned to Gust to join her for the dance. Ally also came up at the same time to talk to Lance.
“Let’s test your knife throwing skills,” she said.
“I—”
“Go on.” Gust patted his shoulder. “Have some fun.” He took Kissa’s hand and they joined the line of dancers. Gust knew the steps well and managed to catch a glimpse of Lance as he progressed down the line and the musicians continued the lively jig.
It didn’t surprise him at all to find that Lance was handy with throwing knives. He hit the center of the target with all five daggers. Ally grinned from ear to ear while a few onlookers appeared shocked and distressed.
Gust was slightly out of breath as the dance ended. He bowed and Kissa curtsied. She talked him into another one. Only by complaining of his sore legs did he avoid a third. Kissa gently teased him before dragging Seth into the next dance. Chuckling, Gust stepped off the dancefloor. Right into Lukman. Gust took a step back and inclined his head
respectfully. Lukman’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Gustum,” he said stiffly. “I can’t say that I’m pleased to see you. Especially with such ill-suited company.”
Gust swallowed indignation and kept his tone calm. “With due respect, Elder Lukman, the company I keep is no concern of yours.”
Lukman’s lips pursed. “What you say is true. After you used my son so wretchedly and then rejected him, I have no longer any concern what you do with your time.”
“I never used your son, as you are well aware, and I only rejected him after I decided his company was no longer a pleasure to me. Dakar has much to learn about being a man.”
“Do not dare to insult my son in my presence. Not after your patient nearly beat him to death.”
While they spoke in undertones, Gust knew those around them were straining to hear. Gossip and drama were as entertaining as the stories, games, and dancing of the festival.
“I meant no insult. I merely wanted to state a fact. And while I would never condone Lance’s behavior, your son had proven unwilling to listen to my words of disinterest. I do not wish him ill will and hope he grows in understanding and strength. Excuse me.”
With a pounding heart, he ducked away even as Lukman opened his mouth. Gust wove through the crowd, determined to get away. He walked around the edges of the dancefloor and spotted Lance not far from him. Lance eyed the dancefloor with a pensive expression, sweeping his gaze around.
“Lance.”
Lance twitched before turning. Relief softened his features. Gust felt similar relief. He stepped to Lance’s side and gestured to the dancers.
“Interested?”
Lance shrugged slightly.
“Are you in pain?” He should have thought of that before.
Lance shook his head. It was then that Gust realized Lance held something in his hand.
“Did you win a prize?”
Lance lifted his hand and opened his fist. Sitting on his palm was a small, neatly carved bear.
Gust grinned. “Fitting.”
Lance stared at the bear for a moment before holding it out to Gust. “You take it.”
Gust raised his hands and shook his head. “No. You earned it.”
“Please take it.”
“Lance, it belongs to you.”
“Please, Gust. I want you to have it.”
The plea in his eyes and his voice crumbled Gust’s resolve. “If you insist….”
Lance beamed and Gust was taken aback by the sudden smile. He held out his hand and Lance placed the small bear on his palm. Gust slipped the bear into his pocket as Lance yawned again.
“We can retire for the night. Anticipate more stories and games tomorrow.”
Gust let his aunt know that he and Lance were heading back to the healing hut. Gust had seen Dakar among the crowd, and he appeared to have enough sense to stay away. He’d glared at Gust and Lance while keeping his distance. Gust wished Lukman would.
“See you tomorrow,” Gust said before he separated from Lance.
“Sleep well, Gust.”
Gust woke with a cry on his lips. He struggled to sit up in bed, sweating and darting his gaze around his empty, dark room. Gods help him, what a messed-up dream. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He hadn’t experienced anything that visceral in over a year. Apparently, that bear attack had affected him even deeper than he first suspected. The bear was now rampaging through the village where he’d found his parents’ bodies. The sight and scent of the massacre tightened his gut. He would never shake loose from them.
He took a deep breath and picked up the small wooden bear sitting on his bedside table. It was a cute little trinket, and it still touched him that Lance wanted him to have it. After two full days of the festival, between them they had won a number of small prizes. Lance had kept the rest of his, including a well-crafted dagger and a pair of leather vambraces made by Ally. He had no problem winning games and contests that dealt with implements of battle. Gust was good at the tossing games. He’d yet to get Lance to dance, and yet he hoped to accomplish it before the festival was over. At least one of the slow dances to protect Lance’s wound. He’d removed the stitches before they retired the night before, and yet the skin was still tender and raw.
Gust smiled in memory of Lance’s delight as he finally started to relax and enjoy himself. Despite the exhaustion of late nights and early mornings, Gust had never had so much fun at the festival before, and he knew the reason. Which was why the dream had caught him off guard.
It was still dark outside and he was wide awake. He set the bear down and changed his sleeping tunic, the original damp from his sweat. Without questioning his impulse, he padded out of his room. He checked on two patients residing with them, victims of overindulgence and bad choices, before peeking into Lance’s room. He almost laughed.
Lance had said the bed was too soft. Now he lay on the floor, fully dressed except for his sandals, and the blanket was bunched around his waist and tangled around his legs. The windows were wide open but no Brutus could be seen or heard.
Foolish, silly man. At least it was a warm night.
With a quiet sigh, Gust knelt and attempted to untangle the blanket so he could cover Lane completely. Before he could do more than tug at a corner, Lance’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip that bruised. Gust winced and shot his gaze to Lance’s face. Lance’s expression was nothing he’d ever seen before. Cold and deadly, Lance glared at him for a split second before relaxing and letting him go. He collapsed back on the floor and grunted.
“Gust? What are you doing?”
Gust rubbed his wrist, confused and a little worried. Sure, he’d watched Lance take on Dakar without breaking a sweat, and yet the rest of the time he was so docile and gentle. Despite hearing about Lance’s childhood, and seeing how well he handled weapons at the festival, Gust hadn’t fully understood the implications of Lance being a warrior until now. Maybe he was the foolish and silly man.
“I just came to check on you and saw your blanket all tangled.”
Lance blinked down and grunted again. By working together, they untangled the blanket, and though Gust urged Lance to get on the bed, Lance stubbornly refused.
“Fine, if you won’t use it. I will.” With that, he rolled onto the bed and stared at the roof.
“You’re staying?”
“You don’t want me to?”
“No! I mean yes! I do. I’m happy you are here.”
Gust smiled at Lance’s flustering. His stomach had long-ago unknotted, and he thought he could get a bit more sleep now. Despite being worried about Lance’s reaction to being awakened, he wasn’t afraid. He was more aware of Lance’s other side but fear just wouldn’t come. Lance had never done anything to make him fear him.
“Sleep sweet, Lance.”
A faint, rusty chuckle sounded in the darkness. “Sleep sweet, Gust.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lance was startled awake by the tolling of a bell. He snorted and stirred, stiff and alert. Gust jerked and nearly fell out of the bed in his surprise.
“What is that?” Lance asked.
“Trouble. That’s the warning bell from the sentinel tower.”
Doors crashed open and with the thudding footsteps, it sounded like an invasion inside the healing hut. Lance pushed to his feet and tried to block Gust’s move to the door.
“Easy there. It’s not what you think.”
“Gust!” That was the sheriff.
Gust pushed past Lance and shoved out of the room. “Sheriff!”
Kafele spun around from where he’d been banging on Gust’s bedroom door and spotted them. He narrowed his eyes and came forward. Lance didn’t understand his expression.
“Get your bow,” he said.
“What is it?” Gust asked.
Lance pressed close to his side.
Kafele’s expression was grim. “A warlord and his band are approaching over the hill.”
Lanc
e’s heart knocked against his ribs and pounded in his head. Curse the gods! And curse himself! He’d lingered too long. This was all his fault. He wasn’t ready. But that didn’t matter.
“Is it Ulfr?” he asked.
Gust spun toward him, eyes shooting wide. “Ulfr?”
Lance winced at the slip. Damn it!
Kafele glared at him and shook his head sharply. “No. His name is Ragel, and he’s been demanding tribute of every village and town in this kingdom. Some have surrendered, others not. He’s not kind to those who refuse. Our queens and earls have yet to put a stop to him.”
“I know him,” Lance said. While Ulfr regularly raided Grekenus and occasionally Swenen, he and Ragel had teamed up a handful of times to attack the northern towns and villages in Cairon, even the territory of an earl once. The last time was a couple of years ago. Always a tense alliance, it nevertheless heightened both of their reputations and won them more treasure than either could have alone. Lance had worn his armor by that time and was only called Scourge by Ulfr’s band. Ragel wouldn’t recognize him.
“How do you know him?” Kafele asked suspiciously.
Gust still gaped.
“Warriors know warlords,” he said simply. He glanced at the common room to see several deputies, and he suspected more were outside. They held their weapons competently with grim expressions. He recognized the training and angry glint in their eyes. But it wasn’t enough. Ragel’s men, about twenty in all, would slaughter them all without breaking a sweat.
He looked back at Gust and only then noticed he was scantily clad. He blamed the darkness for not seeing it last night. Gust wore a thin tunic that barely came to his knees. Lance’s mind momentarily went blank as he stared at Gust’s shapely legs.
“So how do you propose we handle him?”
Lance jerked back to himself with the sheriff’s words, confused again by the tingling in his groin.