by Sam Ford
"Why would your people burn books? They are your histories, are they not?"
"I don't know." Cale set the sheets of parchment down and picked up another book, this one complete. "I guess there was some stuff in here someone didn't want found."
"Like this Daegon character?"
"The head of the Demons, yeah. Sword won't say it, but I think he's scared of him." Cale looked back at Sword. "Yes you are, you big scaredy cat."
"Hey Cale?" Jazreal popped another piece of ginger in her mouth. Soon she was lying on the floor as well, resting her head on Cale's butt. "You need to find the Swords, right? But Vyk said they were all destroyed, didn't he? And Sword can't sense any others. What are you going to do if they're all gone?"
"You've got yours."
"Oh, yeah, you and me against the world. Imperial Knights back-to-back, facing down this Shadow Dweller threat."
"It could happen," smiled Cale shyly.
"But in seriousness. Where are you going to find Swords if they don't exist anymore?"
"I don't know," Cale sighed. "I've been worried about that too, but Sword keeps telling me to have faith. I know he said there are a few places which were garrisons or storage caches last time he checked, but that was such a long time ago. King's Crown was our main hope, but Vyk said it is completely destroyed. Sword knows other kingdoms had them, too. But who even knows if they're still around? It could take years to find them, if at all. I'm not sure what to do now."
"Then we go find them." Jazreal rolled to face him.
"Together?"
"What? Are you like Vyk and you hate my people? Why are you only telling me this now?"
"No, that's not it at all. When I met you, I was lost and hurt and missed my family so much. But you took my mind off that. You helped me. I like traveling with you. I want to do it forever. But you need to save your people, don't you?"
Ancestors of old, but he was adorable with such a look on his face! Jazreal just wanted to bundle him up and hug him forever, her own personal little white farm boy. Jazreal jumped him, hugging him fast.
He squirmed and tried to get away, repulsed by her beguiling charms and feminine wiles, but Jazreal just held on tighter. Years of hunting game meant he didn't stand a chance. He slapped the floor and tugged her hair and screamed in vain for Sword to help him, but it was no use.
"You are so cute!" Jazreal laughed.
"I am not cute!" Cale's voice cracked. Jazreal giggled, which made him blush.
"Oh course, I need to save my people. But this is important too, isn't it?" Jazreal sat on his chest, pinning him to the ground. She moved a lock of hair behind her ear and Cale turned even redder.
"Jazreal, I--"
The front door opened and Vyk returned with food, three parcels wrapped in waxed paper under one arm and a jug of mead under the other.
"You're late," she quipped.
"Yeah, well. The horse took a while to get checked in. I had to pay extra to ensure the stablemaster wouldn't eat him. Are you kids fighting?"
"Hmm? Oh, no, just playing." Jazreal daintily hopped up to assist with supper, leaving a stunned and dizzy Cale lying on the floor. Jazreal wrinkled her nose at the smell. "What is all this? What happened to all the delicious food like we ate this morning?"
"Yeah! I thought you said the city was hoarding food?"
"What can I say? I'm cheap," Vyk shrugged. "If you buy late, the shop owners will practically give you the food just to be rid of it."
Supper consisted of two loafs of stale barley bread, salted sardines that were hours from turning bad, a handful of old, dried figs and a sack of locusts caught fresh that morning. Vyk supplemented it all with a jar of potted beef from his larder. Spread thick on the stale bread, it was quite filling.
Jazreal crunched on a locust while Cale scrunched his nose in disgust. He refused to eat them, but she and Vyk were no strangers to the staple and happily finished off the sack. They tasted best with the mead.
"So what's the plan?" Vyk reclined, stretching his arms across the back of the seat. "Thought any more about what I said?"
"I have, but..." Cale trailed off.
"We just thought answers would be more forthcoming once we arrived."
"Well, that's the problem with promises and prophecy and magic swords. They often are vague," shrugged Vyk.
"Sword says there's no such thing as magic," Cale informed them.
"What about you?" Vyk turned to Jazreal.
He was far too old and set in his ways to be a suitable mate, and the beard was downright repulsive. No men in her tribe grew beards. He’d made his feelings on Indians well known, and Jazreal was wary of him because of it. But Lydia had taught her to always look for the good in people. Vyk had opened his home to them when no one else would. That alone was worth consideration, even if there were ulterior intentions in his actions. And his one eye shone brightly, the same color brown as hers. That was one thing they had in common.
"I'm with Cale until we find a way to free my people."
"Well, if you're going to stay here, we have to do something about the smell."
"Smell? What smell?"
"You're both starting to come off a little ripe. I may only see half as good as I used to, but my nose works just fine."
"I will have you know my people bathe every new moon." Jazreal crossed her arms.
"Yeah! And I had a bath last spring," added Cale.
"Oh, Goddess preserve me." Vyk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your tribe is nomadic--yes, girl? When they have been traveling a long distance and they reach a new river, what is the first thing they do?"
"We water the horses and wash the dust off ourselves," answered Jazreal.
"It's the same for Rangers, Knights and traveling merchants. When you hit a new town, you rent a room and take a bath. Besides, the baths at Uruk are nearly world-famous. You owe it to yourselves to check them out."
"That sounds kind of fishy to me." Cale sat on the floor, scoffing under his breath.
"Cale. You stink," Vyk said bluntly. "You need a bath. We all do. So we're going."
"Alright." Jazreal stood. "When do we leave?"
"Well you can't go out looking like that. Wait here." Vyk walked into the bedchamber.
Jazreal took a long look at herself. Her buckskin dress was ripped in several places and stained with a fair amount of Lydia's blood. It would be impossible to wash out. Cale was in equally bad shape, with his clothes muddied and stained with sweat. A typical boy, he didn't even notice the grass stains on his knees or the dirt beneath his nails. But really, Jazreal didn't think they looked that bad, all things considered.
Vyk returned from the room, offering them each a selection of clothing. "Here, try these on. They should fit. They may be a little large on you, lad."
Jazreal saw nothing that looked remotely like a buckskin tunic. She folded her arms in protest. But Cale was already sorting through the clothing and she didn't want to leave him all the good stuff. There were some excellent pieces in there.
"These are great!" Cale shed his shirt and held up a tunic too large for him. It was clearly made from expensive cloth. Jazreal picked up a similar piece, a woman's jerkin with white lace sleeves. The supple leather trousers were also of high quality. And most shockingly of all, it all fit her perfectly.
"What's this?" She held up a small, circular piece of soft, sewn leather with woolen straps.
"What does it look like? It is undergarments. You wear it under your clothes." Vyk tended the glowing brazier.
Jazreal held it to her waist, looking at herself. She couldn't figure out how she would get it on over her hips. They were much too wide.
"Psst!" Cale whispered. "It's called an apodesme. It's for your top half."
Jazreal pulled it to her front. That made more sense. "Where's yours?" She looked at his clothes, confused.
"I don't have one. Guys don't have... you know," Cale gestured, turning red again.
Jazreal felt herself blushing as well. "I'
ve survived this long." She tossed it over her shoulder.
"You're going to need it while in the city. Unless you'd rather look like a savage?" Vyk scoffed.
Jazreal puffed up her cheeks and pulled her dress over her head. Cale squeaked and covered his eyes tightly, refusing to peek. She smiled deliciously before Cale and then stood behind Vyk, enjoying how the shadows danced on her body.
"Hey, Ranger." She tried to be seductive, the way she'd seen Lydia do. She wanted to make this barbarian of a man want her and then deny him that. The problem was, she was terrible at it.
"You don't have anything I haven't seen before, girl. Stop fooling around and get dressed." Vyk did not look back. He just kept stirring the coals.
Jazreal stuck her tongue out at his back, dancing for just a moment before getting dressed. She wasn't a girl anymore, and if he hadn't been a coward and turned around, he would have seen that for himself. The clothes fit her fine--a little snug in some places, but overall a good fit. It was almost as if Vyk knew how a woman’s body worked.
Huh, she realized. If he just has these garments lying around, then he must have had a woman here before. Strange, because Jazreal couldn't smell anything other than mildew from the books and Vyk. Oh--and Cale. Now that she noticed, enclosed in this tiny room, Cale did smell rather ripe.
"Where else are we going?" Cale asked excitedly. The tunic was a bit large but he appeared rather charming with his sleeves rolled up. "The library? More books?"
"No, just the baths."
"Really? Why?" Cale groaned.
"With all the people in the city, the baths are full until well after dark. I made us an early morning appointment. Why don't you two get some sleep? I am sure you can use it after the big day you've had."
Cale protested that he wasn't tired, that he wanted to go out, that he wanted to read some more. Vyk just ignored him, cleaning up the remains of supper. It was a quiet evening with muted sounds of the city flowing in on the evening breeze. Vyk let the brazier slowly die, choosing to read instead. Cale also read for a bit, trying to finish his book. Jazreal occupied her hands by sharpening their daggers with a whet stone.
It was some time before she noticed the sound. Cale wheezed lightly, already fast asleep. His face scrunched up while a light smile lit his lips, the book lay unfinished before him. Jazreal smiled, put the knives away, closed the book and snuffed out the candle. Then she lay down next to him, as had become their routine.
Jazreal glanced over at Vyk, who sat on the settee, reading by light of a tallow candle. He would occasionally glance up at them. Jazreal curled herself around Cale, draping herself over him like a fox fur. She made sure to smirk nastily at the Ranger. Cale belonged to her, not him.
What am I doing? I am not acting like myself at all. The hate and spite she'd had for Cale upon their first meeting was completely absent. They had already been through so much together. And now here Vyk comes along, trying to steal her Cale.
Her Cale?
Certainly Cale was sweet, and she enjoyed being around him, for sure. But he was more like a little brother at best, and an annoyance at worst. Wasn't he? What was going on with her? Was she really jealous, or was she trying to make Vyk envious?
She leaned in closer, staring at Cale's beautiful lips. I wonder what it would feel like if...
Jazreal sighed in frustration. This was all too new to her. She was a stranger in a strange land, surrounded by people that she did not truly know. They were not her kind. Lydia would know what to do. It just made Jazreal miss her all the more.
Jazreal tossed and turned, sleep not coming. They'd slept on harder ground than this on the road and she was used to a nomadic life with her family. But that was outside. Here in this cramped apartment, surrounded by buildings and stone and people, it made her feel crushed.
She slept fitfully, dreaming of Swords and Shadow Dwellers. She imagined herself trapped, bound by an unbreakable iron chain. Her Knight was there, but not the one she thought it would be. He would break her chains and they would escape. But the monster rose before them, born of smoke and ash and stone and steel.
Jazreal opened her eyes, the nightmare vanishing. It was still very late and she lay next to Cale, still asleep on the floor. But Vyk was gone, the candle blown out.
No--that wasn't right. Something was different. The shutters were open, letting the moonlight in. A figure hunched at the far end of the apartment, huddled in darkness.
Vyk? She wondered. A chest was open and he rifled through it, pulling objects to lay out on the floor. A child's blanket. The cindered remains of a doll. A golden ring. A Sword.
Jazreal's eyes widened. Used to hunting in the moonlight, she had a clear view of everything. It was a Spirit Sword all right, burnished and red. But when Vyk hefted it, only the hilt and cross guard remained. The blade was broken off, and what remained crumbled to dust in Vyk's hands. It really was made from nothing but rust. Jazreal understood now. He’d spent so many years trying to find a Sword to kill Shadow Dwellers, only to turn up empty time and again. So many relics, so much lost history, all turned to dust every time he reached for it. No wonder he thought Cale was a gift from the heavens.
Cale coughed and Vyk turned his head. Jazreal shut her eyes tight, and when she opened them again, he was putting things away. So many memories stored in a box and locked down tight. Jazreal wondered what else was in there. She had almost drifted back to sleep when Vyk picked up something black and fuzzy. An animal pelt of some kind? But the fur was too long. As it passed through the moonlight and into the box, Jazreal's eyes widened once more.
It was a scalp. An Indian scalp.
Chapter XXIII
Same Old Story
The tattoo on his left hand still burned. Galway was no stranger to the pain of tattoos; all Rangers had them. But this one had the ink mixed with just a drop of Phantom's blood, causing it to throb and ache. He suspected it always would.
Camped north of city near the lake beneath the dam, he watched the distant lights of Uruk come on one-by-one. He stirred the fire for little more reason than to keep his hands busy, avoiding the drip from the ancient aquifers far above which he knew intimately. He watched with a dispassionate interest the refugees being forced out of the city once more at dusk. The boy was in there--somewhere. And Galway had questions.
He had not been hard to track, showing no marks of a professional soldier. Signs of him were everywhere along the road, every time he stopped to rest, every detour he took off the path--Galway followed it all. At first, Galway thought he was merely inexperienced. But the more he followed, the more he began to suspect one of the Indian girls may have survived. There were signs of two people, and if they’d indeed teamed up, it would explain why they were so easy to trail. Not that Galway needed to watch for tracks. Once on the main road, all headed for Uruk.
If they were both in there, Galway would find them. His questions about the second Spirit Sword would be answered. Not that he would tell his companions about it.
The Phantoms were damnable things, always twisting this way and that, tormented by life. They could shapeshift, turn incorporeal or vanish altogether. Galway hated it when they did that last one. The two smaller ones were especially vicious, like rabid dogs without a master. Malicent could keep them in line, but Galway suspected he was simply a larger dog as opposed to an actual master.
The smaller ones had no names. Apparently they could only be granted names by their foes. Lithe and streamlined, at times they had an almost human-like appearance. But they changed at will, first becoming mammalian, then avian, then reptilian. One moment they would appear benign, then instantly shift to the cancerous incarnation of long-dead beasts of old. Smoke and mist swirled around them, hiding their true form behind a shroud of darkness. Whenever the wind blew, Galway could see transparent skin, or perhaps no flesh at all, with an obsidian skeleton underneath. Their mouths, which could appear more like a wolf's muzzle, were filled with hundreds of tiny, needlelike teeth. Their smiles were
far too wide, and the lack of any nose gave them a creepy, otherworldly appearance. They constantly cackled like jackals, always moving or twitching or vanishing. The acrid smoke wafting from their bodies smelled strongly of sulphur, and unfortunately, Galway had grown used to it.
Malicent was the same in appearance, if not stature. He shapeshifted less often, preferring to stand on two legs as a man, with bent-back knees like a bird's. Instead of vestigial wings, he’d chosen a tail which could be used with deadly force. Possessing five fingers instead of four, he carried himself with an arrogance and superiority Galway had never seen before. This went beyond simple hubris; it was the utter distain of a superior being for that of an animal. With eyes like burning pits, embers set far back into his skull, the only true color in his form, Malicent struck fear with only a glance. Truly, he was an apex predator.
As much as Galway resented this mission, he was grateful for King Ares' gift of a slave brand. If not for that binding, he was certain the Phantoms would devour him in the night. Still, he slept with one eye open.
In the daylight, they were another matter entirely. Made from smoke and shadows, the Phantoms could not stand strong light. It burned their flesh and sent them scurrying for the shadows. They also avoided iron and hated fire--outright detested it. As much as Galway could gather, it still hurt them, but fire was not deadly as the sun was. This was something different, a personal loathing of fire which all Phantoms shared.
"What is your plan, Ranger Galway?" Malicent appeared from a shadow like a maiden rising from a lake. It sent a chill down Galway's spine, but for the opposite effect.
"We know the sword is in there, and the boy as well. We wait for dark and enter the city. I will check in with the local Ranger guild and the city guards. Someone will have seen him."
"Why do we not just raze the city to the ground?" the Phantom asked.
"Yes, yes! Raze, raze!" The two smaller ones echoed, cackling.
"Because we're doing this my way. We don't need to kill anyone. We just need the sword." Galway needed to do what he could to protect his people.