by David Dickie
Grim looked started. “Your sword tells you who to trust… that’s why you’re always touching the hilt when you are talking to people, to find out if they are being honest.”
“Trust is a hard thing for me, Grim. Very hard. If I did not have Facinalethvree to help me, I do not think I could bring myself to depend on anyone.”
Grim could tell there was some deep, raw pain there, some serious emotional wound she was carrying. Experience told him that asking about such things was more likely to lead to rejection than information, and he decided to change the topic. “You said you could move through shadow?”
“The shadowlands, a plane close to this one, but… different, strange. You move rapidly there, much farther in the same amount of time than you do here, and it’s a cold, dead place. You can not breathe, and the cold will kill you in minutes even if you could. But you can travel there, travel quickly.”
Grim nodded. “Is this somehow related to the World Gates?”
“Marginally,” replied Ziwa. “World Gates can reach the shadowland, but that’s a separate plane, not a separate universe. World Gates can go much further out.” She paused for a moment, reflecting. “Truthfully, it is hard to know what is safe to say and what is not. World Gates are powerful enough that many would kill to find out information on the rumor of an active, unguarded gate being found.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” said Grim.
Ziwa snorted. “That I can not promise. I intend to keep it to myself for at least a short time. But it is a valuable piece of information, and it is not safe to leave it unattended. World Gates can cause destruction on a level you’ve never seen before. Beyond the imagination of those who have not seen it first hand.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I am not talking about something as simple as leveling a city.” Ziwa finished her food and sat her bowl down with a sigh. “That was good.”
Grim looked at his, barely touched, and said, “But where’d the chicken…”
“Do not,” said Ziwa before he could finish.
“Don’t what?” replied Grim.
“Do not ask. I’ve travelled with trolls before. They are excellent cooks, but they take offense over innocent questions about the food, and ingredients, rather quickly. I would never say anything critical about dinner. It is just asking for trouble.”
Grim ran through a number of possible responses but finally settled on, “I’ll remember that. So the World Gate at this location, the ability to drain people’s lives, that seems to be something new to you?”
Ziwa frowned. “Yes. This is not completely surprising. World Gates are capable of an impressive array of services. The process for creating soul artifacts uses a World Gate. You can bind a lot of different things together with them if you know how.”
Grim said carefully, “And the elf who taught him how to do it, the elf with his terrible sword?”
Ziwa turned pale and trembled for a few seconds. Her eyes were wide, and her voice was full of fear when she said, “I… I do not know. Something in my dreams, something…” Then she got herself back under control and shook her head. “I do not know,” she repeated.
“I can see it means something to you, but this happened centuries ago. What kind of lifespan do your people have, anyway?”
Ziwa said, “Not that long. Even elves do not live that long. Two hundred is old. Two hundred and fifty is unheard of. And I am a bit of an anomaly.” She looked at him. “How old do you think I am?”
Grim looked at her blue eyes, her unblemished skin, her flowing blond hair. “If you were human, I’d say…” and paused. He couldn’t tell. “Maybe early twenties?”
“Just short of thirty,” said Ziwa. “A normal elf child looks to be about ten human years at that point.” She looked down at her hands. “I believe that I am aging at two thirds the rate of a human.” She shook her head. “There is just a lot of strangeness in me, more than I can explain.” Ziwa stood and stretched. “But I believe I have told you what you wanted to know and, perhaps, more. We can talk more on the road if you find yourself with other questions. Fair evenings to you, Grim.”
“And to you, Lady,” said Grim, and he bowed. Then Ziwa went into her wagon and closed the door.
Chapter Sixteen
They were on guard duty, with the wagons stopped for the day in a long line down the side of the road. Grim had chatted with Ziwa the prior few evenings, but she avoided any serious topics, and he did his best to keep the conversation light. He glanced over at her wagon, but she wasn’t anywhere in sight. He turned and looked away from the caravan. Knee-high grass gave way to scrub brush, which in turn gave way to dark forest. Along the line of wagons, campfires were springing up even though they were an hour away from sunset.
Grim saw two of the other guards nearby, Aurora and Tyrgo. They were, from what little Grim had picked up, twins, brother and sister, and both Kydaos clergy, worshipers of the war god. Grim couldn’t bring himself to use the typical moniker for a Kydaos worshiper, Uncle Wolf, when speaking with Aurora. Tyrgo seemed too young to be anyone’s uncle. So he just used their names.
Aurora was petite and sultry looking, with long dark hair, full lips and an hourglass figure. She had a reputation for after-hours activities with the other guards, but her tastes seem to run to large and brawny. She’d never glanced twice at Grim’s compact frame. She also had an unnerving habit of having knives pop in and out of her hands like it was magic, which possibly it was, some kind of Kydaos ju-ju Grim didn’t know about. Grim was fast at drawing weapons, but not so fast you couldn’t see him move. With Aurora, there was nothing in her hand, then a knife, then nothing again. Tyrgo was taller, with pale blue eyes and a serious expression that seemed out of place on someone who didn’t look like they had made twenty yet. Tyrgo didn’t carry any obvious weapon, odd for Uncle Wolf. But Grim had been around long enough to know that every worshiper of Kydaos trained in martial arts and had a long list of methods to pick from if they wanted to kill someone. That wasn’t even taking Kydaos spells into account, which tended to be more deadly than plain old weapons.
Aurora was talking quietly with Tyrgo. The two of them walked over to Grim. “Trouble,” said Tyrgo.
“Bandits,” added Aurora pointing up.
Grim looked where she was pointing in the sky. A falcon was circling a bit back from the road, over a thick patch of scrub brush. He looked back at Aurora. “Where?”
“Other side of the brush,” said Aurora. Grim looked but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back with a raised eyebrow.
“The falcon,” said Tyrgo. “She’s using a spell to see through its eyes.”
Grim grunted. “Neat trick. How many?”
“Twelve,” answered Aurora.
Grim frowned. “That’s not enough. There are twenty guards alone, even if none of Pedron’s drivers or haulers join in. Only seven on watch right now, but the rest will have weapons in hand at the first sign of trouble.”
Aurora shrugged. “Scouted up and down the line. No sign of any others.”
Grim thought for a moment. Even if these bandits had a battle mage, even if they had a couple of artificer’s weapons, it seemed far from a sure thing for them, and bandits who didn’t figure the odds properly were generally retired, in the six-feet-under sense of retirement. Grim looked at the wagons along the line, near where Aurora’s falcon was circling. Most of the wagons, even the covered wagons, were painted in gaudy, brilliant colors. The one closest to the bandits stood out even so, painted in neon green and dark purple, with bright red trim and a yellow stripe around the outside to make sure there was no possibility that the colors wouldn’t clash. Pedron’s wagon. Grim nodded to himself. “They’re planning on capturing Pedron and taking him hostage.”
Aurora grinned and stretched. “About time we earned our pay. I’m looking forward to this.”
Tyrgo sighed. “Please, sister mine, do try to keep the bloodletting to a minimum.”
Aurora smirk
ed. “No promises.”
Grim looked at the two of them. “There are a dozen of them,” he said mildly. “Perhaps we should rouse a few more guards and form a line.”
Tyrgo shook his head. “Speed, surprise, and luck are all we need.”
Grim snorted. “You had me until you got to the luck part.”
Aurora was still stretching, which was a little distracting. She finally put her arms to her sides and turned and looked at Grim. “He’s kidding. Kydaos worshipers, remember? They’re still organizing themselves for the attack.” She waved to Fayyaad and Lug, who were nearby, and started moving toward the brush. Alan was having a conversation with one of the wagon drivers, who wore the expression of a trapped animal. Grim could sympathize, having suffered through Alan’s endless stream of questions more than once.
Grim said, “I’ll grab Alan,” and turned to jog over to the man, but Aurora stopped him.
“Leave your enchanter out of it,” she said. “I doubt he can get spells off in combat, doesn’t seem the battle mage type.” Alan was wearing a sword as well, and Grim wondered if Aurora knew he wasn’t particularly good with it, and if she did how she knew. But then, she was a worshiper of a war god after all. Maybe they just could tell if someone could handle weapons.
As Fayyaad and Lug joined them, Grim said, “Bandits, under where the bird is circling. A dozen men.”
Fayyaad frowned. “Unless I’ve lost the ability to count, there are only five of us.”
Grim nodded toward Tyrgo and Aurora. “Kydaos. They’re going to magick us up.”
Fayyaad scratched his head. “Still don’t like the odds.” Lug just pulled his sword. He hadn’t had the time or money to purchase a short-sword in Struford. He didn’t seem to mind.
Aurora said, “They are forming up.”
Grim sighed. “Time to earn our keep. Let’s go.”
They headed toward the spot marked by the bird. They were getting close to the thick brush separating the bandits from the line of wagons when Aurora said in a hushed voice, “They’re going to come through that gap,” and she pointed to a break in the brush to their right. She motioned for everyone to step just inside the screen of brush. Aurora looked at each of them in turn. “Come at them from the back. No noise. We want half of them down before they even know there’s anything to worry about. Stand still.” She closed her eyes.
There was a moment when nothing happened, and then Grim felt the spell go off. Spells, more likely, as Tyrgo was standing with his eyes closed as well. A smile came unbidden to Grim’s lips. He felt good. Really good. Things looked crisper, clearer. He looked up. Aurora’s falcon was still cutting a circle in the sky, but now it was flying in slow motion. He felt, then heard, the thud of boots hitting the ground. He was wearing the amulet, which should have prevented Aurora’s spell from working on him. He realized with a deep sense of wonder that it must differentiate between hostile and friendly spells. He’d never heard of enchantments that could do that. They were usually all or nothing.
He took a deep breath, which felt like it took a minute, readied his rapier and dagger. The thudding rose to a crescendo, and the bandits ran past. They looked like they were running but moved at a pace slower than a normal walk. When the last man went by, Aurora gestured with her hand, which had a knife in it, and she and Tyrgo sprinted after the bandits. Tyrgo had a long pole with metal caps he hadn’t been carrying when they arrived, a quarterstaff. He carried it like it was an extension of his arms, like he’d been born holding it. Kydaos magic for sure.
Grim and the rest followed in Aurora and Tyrgo’s wake. Aurora took a giant leap and seemed to be floating through the air with her leg bent. Then the leg snapped forward into the back of one of the bandit’s heads, and he was falling in slow motion while Aurora launched herself off him, did a somersault, and came down on the back of another bandit with daggers flashing. Tyrgo’s staff had suddenly turned into a whirling blur, spinning so fast it was still impossible to see it even with time slowed to a crawl. It bounced off the side of one man’s head and then into another man’s leg in the space of a heartbeat, and both were falling in slow motion. Grim had caught up with one bandit wearing leather armor, but it just had straps in the back, and he had a long time to line up with the rapier and jab it through the back of the man’s knee, which buckled instantly. Grim was already moving to another target. The man he picked was trying to skid to a stop and look behind him, all in slow motion. The back was always a chancy target for a dagger, and Grim stuck it in the man’s leg instead, turning the man’s attempt to twist backward into a long, uncoordinated crash into the ground. When Grim went looking for target number three, he realized it was already over. Lug and Aurora had each taken down three, he, Fayyaad, and Tyrgo two each.
Grim’s feeling of contentment and the sense that everything was moving in slow motion dissipated. The only sound was the groaning of the men on the ground. “Nice job,” called out Aurora, casually leaning over and cleaning her knives on the shirt of one of the bandits on the ground. Then she stood up and looked squarely at Grim. She said, “I think he’s the short one,” to Tyrgo. Tyrgo nodded.
“Short one what?” asked Grim, puzzled.
There was a moment of hesitation, then Tyrgo said, “You have a reputation with the other guards as a mean fighter.” But he said it quickly, like something that had just come to him, and no one other than Ziwa had seen his fighting skills.
Grim was about to ask more questions when the man who he’d stabbed in the leg with his dagger stood up, still holding his sword but not making any threatening moves. Grim’s dagger hadn’t gone in that deep, but there was a fair amount of blood running out of the wound.
Grim turned to more immediate priorities. “Who’s the leader?”
The bandit pointed at a large man with bushy orange hair who was clutching his side, blood leaking out between his fingers. “Hobin’s da leader,” he said. One of the other guys stood as well, one of Fayyaad’s. If he had a wound, Grim couldn’t see it.
Grim nodded at them. “We’ll accept your surrender, or we can just pick up where we left off.”
The two men glanced at each other, their compatriots on the ground, and then back at Grim. “Surrender,” said one of them. He didn’t drop his sword, but he held it down by his side.
Aurora held up a dagger, lightly ran her thumb over the blade, and said, "I think there still needs to be a lesson in manners. This thing’s good enough to pig-stick doofus boy here," pointing at Hobin, who was busy bleeding to death.
Tyrgo looked at the two relatively unharmed swordsmen standing next to their moaning leader. "Hand over the weapons, please" he asked firmly but politely. The two stepped back, hands on hilts, eyeing Aurora uncertainty. "You surrendered, remember?" Tyrgo added.
The first swordsman said, "More of a time out."
"Ya," piped in the second one, "kind of a cool-down period more than a surrender."
In the meantime, Pedron had approached the sight of their short melee. “Wats this about, pigstikin?” he asked. “You tant thinkin’ about cutting Hobin here, are ye? I mean, morein’ you already have?”
Aurora looked at Pedron with a furrowed brow. “You know him?” she asked.
“Course. Hobin and I, weez go wayback.”
“Wheeze?” asked Aurora, puzzled.
“Hims and me.”
“Errrrr… sure” answered Aurora, “and I’m sure those fond memories will live on well after poor Hobin here.”
Pedron eyed her. “Tan’t you a Kydaos cleric? Doesn’t they believe in the sanctity of life? When’s your taint killin each other in battle, I mean?”
Aurora was momentarily put off. Where did someone with the diction of a five-year-old learn the word ‘sanctity’? But then she replied, “More like the great circle of life.”
Pedron answered, “Meanin’ its ok to slit someone’s throat?”
“If it’s someone’s time, the great circle asks us to respect that.”
“Meanin’
its ok to slit someone’s throat?” Pedron said again.
Aurora said slowly, “Sort of, by definition.”
Pedron shook his head. “No. Youser workin’ fer me, youse have to live by my rules, and the rules are no pigstikin Hobin and his friends.”
Grim broke in. “Pedron, these guys did try, after all, to rob you.”
Pedron nodded. “Sures. And, if they’d succeeded in takin’ youse out, I would have been forced to pay the road toll.”
Grim just raised his eyebrows inquisitively.
Pedron continued, “The road toll, but theyze wouldn’t be cuttin’ throats or burnin’ wagons, and Ida haveta heal youse up after Hobin was off. Course, I batterem hard enough they wave the white flag, we pay nothing. Well, nothin’ to them. Obviously I’m payin’ youse so I doesn’t have to pay them. “