by B. K. Boes
“I’m going to need you to be more confident than that, my friend. I’m going to tell my father this powder will work. And if it doesn’t, I’m going to look like a damn fool. And you don’t get any money.”
Rew’s eyes were wide. He licked his lips. “It’s blown huge craters into solid rock, my lord. It’s powerful. I’d bet on it blowing a hole in anything. And if it failed to work on the bridges for some reason, we could possibly blow away the mountain rock that connects to the bridge.”
“That’s more like it.” Moloch smiled. “Now, do you think we could transport it from Okleria to the bridges?”
“Yes, but I’d need to do it myself. I’d need to bring my own assistants, as well. No one but us could touch the stuff. It’s not entirely stable.”
“Right. I’ve heard. I can provide plenty of protection to get you to the border, and you’d be doing a great favor to Eikon. If everything goes right, you could be a part of history.”
Rew blinked several times. “I… I’m honored, my lord.”
“Good. And if it all works out, I’ll fund whatever research you want to do on the side.”
“Don’t you want to know what I’d be working on?”
“Not really.” Moloch shrugged. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that I get bridges blown to a thousand pieces, and you get more money than you’ve ever seen in your lifetime.”
“Right.” Rew gulped and leaned back in his chair.
“All right, then. I’ve got a presentation to prepare,” Moloch said. “You can stay here. Eat. Drink. Be merry. I’ll come and get you when I need you.”
“Oh, um, I need to change. And bathe. Where are my rooms, my lord?”
“You’ll have rooms tomorrow. Tonight, you can use my bath and sleep on that sofa. It’s important you don’t leave this room or talk to anyone, especially not Lord Waen Sarrem. I’ll have my man Bram guard the door. Understand? If a word of this gets to my brother, I’ll cut your tongue out myself.” Moloch put some meaning behind the words with the tone of his voice. There were no idle threats, not with something so big, and he needed the man to understand that. He had to win back his father’s favor.
“Of course, my lord.” Rew had trouble swallowing and his hand trembled as he gestured. “I would never jeopardize your generosity.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, Rew.” Moloch left the chemist on his sofa and closed himself in his bedroom to put together a presentation based on theories he could never prove. But, if he presented them as fact, and he was lucky, he would finally have what he needed.
“I like it,” Nibal said, nodding. “Those bridges haven’t done the Ergonians any favors lately. That much is true.”
“You can’t be serious,” Waen said, his voice raised a notch too high. “There’s no way you’d be able to convince them to go through with that.”
“Moloch, you’re sure this powder could destroy the bridges?”
Moloch swallowed any doubt. “Absolutely. There’s no reason to think otherwise.”
“Unless they’re protected by the dark arts.” Waen threw his hands up in the air.
“Come on, Waen. We’re not talking about fairytales.” Moloch shrugged off his brother’s remark, but his father seemed to take the statement more seriously.
“No, Waen is right. Whether the bridges were built by the Sustainer or some dark-arts-wielding wench, they could be protected by a force beyond our knowledge.” Nibal stood from his desk and looked directly at Moloch. “But, if it did work… the North would be free of Adikeans once and for all. Their raiding parties wouldn’t be a threat.” His eyes brightened. “And then, the Adikeans would turn to Sozo for their raids and women. That would convince the Sozians to allow us to take them under our wing. Especially if we purge Ergon of those devils first. We’d have proven our protection means something.”
“Father—” Waen began, but their father put up a hand.
“No. Moloch, this is in your hands now. We’ll speak to King Shamylle together to get official approval. It’s the best idea we’ve got.”
Waen sputtered. “I think my plan is much more practical.”
“Traditional methods have been tried before, son, and they didn’t last. The Adikeans would be back before the year was out.” Nibal walked to Moloch and put a hand on his shoulder. “We must go to Patriphos soon, and then on to Ergon. The Adikean infestation gets worse by the minute. They want Ergon for themselves, and we just can’t have those dogs barking at our own borders.”
Moloch nodded once. “Yes, Father. I’ll prepare a more thorough presentation and be ready to leave within a span.”
“Good.” Nibal took a deep breath. “My reputation is riding on you, now. Remember who you represent. You must be smart, bold, and confident.” He looked Moloch in the eye. “You better not make a fool of me, son. I meant it when I said if you fail, my decision will be made for me.”
“I won’t fail,” Moloch said, though he had to mask the sliver of insecurity wiggling through his veins. He squared his shoulders. “And once this is done, you’ll name me the next Duke of Eunoya? No more games?”
Nibal Sarrem met Moloch’s eyes with his own. “No more games.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Anakai
Kelda Canyons, Adikea
6th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Anakai focused on the arrow pointed at his chest.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus.
Jerg, standing about twenty paces away, let the arrow fly. It split the air with a soft whistle. Anakai stepped aside, perpendicular to the path of the arrow, and as it whizzed past him, he snatched it out of the air. The blunted arrow felt like gold in his hand. It was the first time he’d been able to catch it.
“You did it!” Jerg shouted.
Anakai smiled, a rush of adrenaline making him feel as though he could do anything. “Your turn!” he shouted back. He picked up his own bow and nocked an arrow in place. He pulled back the bowstring and steadied his body. His focus narrowed to Jerg, blocking out the canyons, the sky, the sound of the wind singing through the corridors.
He let the arrow loose and held his breath. Jerg stepped out of the way in time, but his hand missed the shaft of the arrow and it plunked against the canyon wall behind him. Jerg kicked a small rock and threw his hands up in the air.
Anakai jogged up to his friend. “It’s all right. You’ll get the hang of it.”
“And if I don’t?” Jerg swallowed hard. “The true-sons don’t have to deal with this, not really. They get blunted arrows all the way through. We move to real ones in just a span!” Jerg spit on the ground. “They’ll sit back and watch and laugh as slave-sons get arrows through our arms. And the worst part is that they’ll act like they could do it themselves. Coddled cowards. All of ‘em.”
Anakai shushed Jerg. “Keep your voice down.”
“That’s another thing.” Jerg narrowed his eyes and whispered. “They get to say whatever they want.”
“Jerg, c’mon. They’re not all like that.”
“Enough of ‘em are.”
Anakai sighed. “They don’t have to deal with real arrows because it’s unlikely they’ll ever need the skill. We will. If we lose our dagger or weapon, catching an arrow can provide us with a weapon mid-battle.”
“It’s still not fair.” Jerg went to pick up the arrow he’d missed. He held it in his hand for a moment, staring at it.
“Maybe not,” Anakai said. “But, the fact is, if you don’t learn this, you will get hurt in a span when we’re tested with real arrows.”
Jerg looked up at the clear blue sky. He let his chin fall close to his chest and shook his head. “You’re right,” he said. He handed the arrow to Anakai. “Let’s do this until I get it right. Do you mind? You’ve already caught an arrow once. Can you shoot at me until I do the same?”
“That’s what brothers are for.” Anakai punched Jerg’s shoulder. “You can do this. Remember to narrow your focus. Rem
ember to breathe.”
Jerg nodded, and Anakai jogged back to where he was before. He picked up his bow, nocked his arrow, took aim, and let the arrow fly.
Three times now Jerg had caught an arrow mid-flight. Anakai walked beside his friend as they neared the canyon clearing where the slave-sons were to be tested by the general. They didn’t know what punishment would befall them if either were unable to catch an arrow. They’d been working with blunted arrows for a long time now, and the general expected significant progress.
Over and over, Anakai had done his best to encourage Jerg. To let him know Anakai believed in him and his abilities. But now they walked in silence. Anakai wanted to say something, but he was nervous for his friend.
What will they do to him if he fails? A span without shelter? A good lashing?
They stepped into the clearing. Bare, reddish-brown walls towered on all sides. Several corridors, like the one through which they’d entered, split the walls all around the perimeter of the clearing. To the left, slave-sons were gathering. There was already a small audience of true-sons come to watch. To the right, older slave-sons were shooting arrows at targets no larger than a fist. Some of the targets were swinging back and forth and had to be hit while moving.
Anakai turned his attention to the left. “You ready?”
Jerg took a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They joined their peers, some more outwardly confident than others. General Vordon walked into the clearing then with a warrior at his side, and immediately the slave-sons formed five rows. The general had his own bow and a quiver of arrows.
“One by one your dedication to training will be tested today. If you fail to catch at least one of four arrows, you will be given some motivation in the form of three lashings to take your training more seriously. I will be shooting today. A reminder that these arrows are not blunted. An arrow to the body will take the place of the lashings. I’d suggest you simply catch them.” General Vordon spoke to the warrior by his side, and then walked to the far right of the group.
The warrior came up to Elav — the first boy in the first row — and tapped his shoulder. Ru gave Elav a reassuring nod, and the once-timid boy walked up to his test with confidence.
Looks like Ru is rubbing off on him.
Anakai watched as boy after boy stood where the warrior directed them, about thirty paces from the general, but close enough to the group that Anakai could see their expressions. Fear, arrogance, insecurity — every boy was different. Some caught the arrow on the first try. Ru was the only one who caught as many as two. Wes and Lys didn’t catch even one. Arrows grazed the arms or hands of many. When Anakai’s turn came, a slave-son had yet to be injured beyond a grazing of the arrow’s tip.
It must be a lucky day, he thought as he took position. He felt ready. He glanced at Jerg, who was shifting his weight back and forth, balling his fists and then rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers. Jerg is too nervous.
It took a concentrated effort for Anakai to turn his attention from Jerg to the general. He blocked out his worries and focused on breathing. The general loosed his arrow. Anakai felt every heartbeat as time seemed to slow. The black arrow shaft was headed straight for him. He took one big step to the side and snatched it out of the air. And then, he did it again. The third time, the slave-sons all cheered. The fourth time, even the true-sons joined in. General Vordon shook his head and smiled, a look of pride visible even from a distance. Anakai had caught all four arrows. He couldn’t help but smile. Until he looked at Jerg.
His best friend walked slowly toward him. It was his turn now. Anakai passed him on the way back to the slave-sons. They paused to face each other for a moment. Anakai clapped Jerg’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Breathe. Concentrate.”
Jerg smiled nervously. “I won’t be catching all four.”
“You don’t have to,” Anakai said. “You only have to catch one.”
Jerg nodded. Anakai joined the other slave-sons and watched Jerg take his place. The general pulled back his bowstring. The first arrow whizzed past the group. Jerg tried to catch it, but instead the tip of the arrow grazed the top of his forearm.
That’s too far off. C’mon, Jerg. Concentrate!
The second arrow came and went without Jerg even touching it. A lump formed in Anakai’s throat. He bit the inside of his cheek.
Just one. Catch just one.
The general loosed the third arrow. Jerg was again grazed by the arrow on the back of his hand. This time the cut was deeper. Jerg grimaced and shook his hand. Anakai saw him take in a deep breath.
He’s holding his breath again.
“Breathe!” Anakai shouted.
Jerg glanced his direction and took long, steady breaths. The fourth and final arrow was loosed. Anakai bit his cheek so hard he tasted blood. Anticipation surged inside his body. He felt like he might explode. He willed Jerg to move at the right moment, the moment he could have stepped aside to snatch the arrow. But Jerg stayed still too long. The moment he began to step aside, the arrow pierced Jerg’s upper arm, spinning him in a circle as his body flung to the ground.
“Jerg!” Anakai sprang to his feet.
“Anakai.” General Vordon held up a hand, and Anakai paused, forcing his feet to stay planted.
The general walked the distance between where he stood and where Jerg lay on the ground. He wasn’t screaming or crying, just trembling. His hand went to the arrow in his arm.
“Stop!” General Vordon said. “Don’t touch the shaft.”
Jerg’s trembling hand moved away.
“When you are hit in the upper arm, you must be cautious.” General Vordon was addressing everyone as he walked around Jerg and knelt beside him. “Sit up.”
“I can’t,” Jerg said.
The general’s eyes narrowed. “Sit up,” he said again. “Now.”
Jerg rolled and came to a sitting position, though he wobbled as if he was about to pass out.
“Good.” General Vordon pointed to where the arrow protruded from Jerg’s flesh. “There is a chance that removing this arrow would cause enough bleeding to kill. It must be removed, of course. If you are hit in the middle of battle, break off the pointed end or saw it off.” General Vordon unsheathed his dagger and sawed off the pointed end of the arrow behind Jerg’s arm. “This will keep you from stabbing yourself in battle. If you can live through the fight and kill our enemies, you will die with honor. This sort of injury left untreated will most likely kill you. Fortunately for Jerg, we are not in battle. Come closer, all of you.”
Anakai’s mouth felt too dry, and his hands were beginning to sweat. If Jerg dies, I’ll be alone.
The other slave-sons stood, and Anakai went with them to stand before Jerg, who was pale, a constant grimace pasted across his features. His hands were balled tightly, knuckles white.
“Now,” General Vordon said. “You may find you are able to save a fellow slave-son after an injury such as this. The goal is to keep as many of our warriors alive as possible during war so that they might fight again.” General Vordon pulled out his kindling kit, not unlike the ones the boys had received on the first night of their stay in the canyons. “You must make a small fire and heat the blade of your dagger before removing the shaft.” He proceeded to lay a small pile of kindling from his kit on the ground and then tore a strip of cloth from his tunic. He used the flint and steel to start a fire, and then fed it with the strip of cloth. He held his dagger over the flame with one hand and then reached for the shaft in Jerg’s arm with the other. “You must pull it out and then immediately close the back end of the wound with your heated blade.”
He took hold of the fletched end of the arrow shaft. Then he yanked it out of Jerg’s arm. Blood spurted from the wound, pouring down his arm. Jerg screamed and tried to pull his arm away, but the general twisted his shoulder so the back of the wound was visible to the group. He spoke over Jerg’s cries. “Lay the flat of the heated blade against the wound and hold it there
for some time.”
The general clenched Jerg’s shoulder and wrapped one leg around his waist so he couldn’t move. He seared Jerg’s skin with the flat of his blade, and Jerg passed out, going limp. “Good,” General Vordon said. “It’s easier when they’re not thrashing about.” He removed the knife, leaving behind a blackened red mark. Blood still poured in thick spurts from the front of the wound, but he had stopped the bleeding from the back.
The general laid Jerg flat on his back. He ripped Jerg’s tunic off his body, leaving him naked on the rock floor of the canyon. The general pressed the cloth against Jerg’s wound. “Now, to see if this wound is salvageable, we must see if the blood vessel was completely torn apart or simply nicked. We must wipe away as much of the blood as possible.” He nodded at Anakai. “Take my canteen. Pour a bit of water on my blade to clean it and then heat it once more.” Anakai did what he was told, though he kept looking at Jerg’s ever paling face. It looked as though the life was draining out of him.
The general pointed at another boy. “Take the canteen. When I lift the cloth, pour a bit of water on the wound and move away again.” He lifted the cloth, and when the boy poured the water on the wound, the general stuck his finger into the flesh, which garnered a groan from Jerg and a twitch of his arm. “Feel for where the blood is coming from. Is it spurting rhythmically out of a severed vessel? If so, and there is a physician at your camp, pinch the vessel closed until a physician can come to sew it back together. If it is punctured, put pressure on it until the physician can come. If there is no physician, don’t waste your resources and time. Close the wound with your heated dagger and wrap it, but do not hope for survival.”
Anakai sucked in a breath. “Is Jerg’s vessel severed?”
“No,” The general said. “I do not feel a puncture, either. The arrow must have missed the larger vessel. He should live. Hand me my dagger.”
Anakai handed the heated blade over.