by CW Thomas
Lia began pacing at the foot of the bed, trying to remain level despite the burning ire she felt deep in her stomach.
Khile continued, “Like you are right now. Like the way you attacked Komor Raven. He would have split you in half, you know.”
“But he didn’t,” she said, biting back her venom. “And he wouldn’t have. I’m too quick for him.”
“Right. You’re going to kill him. Sorry, I forgot.” His sarcasm was evident.
“Yes!” she yelled, her fury spiking.
Khile snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “That’s it right there. You can’t be reasoned with right now because there’s steam pouring from your ears.”
Her mouth fell open and she considered kicking him in the splint once again. He seemed to be attacking her from out of nowhere, unprovoked even.
“You need to learn not to let your emotions get the best of you.”
In a huff, Lia went down behind the foot of the bed where Khile couldn’t see her and stretched herself out on her bedroll. She folded her arms and glared at the ceiling. Deep down, she knew he was right.
Then she peeled herself up off the floor and shoved a finger toward Khile’s face, but when she realized she didn’t actually have something to say she lay back down again in a hot mess. She couldn’t believe he had the audacity to talk to her like that—her, a spoiled child. Who did he think he was?
Khile’s voice drifted down over the foot of the bed. “You know I’m only trying to provoke you, right?”
A bit of her temper evaporated. “Huh?”
“I provoked you to see where your head is at. You want to learn how to fight? I’m not sure you’re ready.”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m ready. Believe me, I’m ready.”
Khile lifted a quelling hand. “Maybe.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s discuss it in the morning.” He relaxed into the bed and shut his eyes.
Though she was still disappointed, she began to feel the bruising from his previous insults subsiding. With her heart a mite calmer, she lay back down on the floor and rolled over onto her side.
She wondered about what Khile had said, if she was too naïve to know what she was getting into, too hotheaded to be teachable. She didn’t think so. If anything she was determined, and that made her even more teachable than anyone else.
Sleep came over her early in the morning, a light and uncomfortable sleep. She awoke to the sound of clops against stone, a horse’s gentle amble. She heard the front door to the cottage scrape open and slam closed, followed by the sound of the old man as he addressed visitors outside.
Lia stood, groggy, and approached the window when Khile’s hushed voice startled her. “Black vipers.”
She didn’t ask him how he knew this, but his fearful expression convinced her that he believed it.
The door to the bedroom opened and the old woman shuffled inside. She said nothing, but motioned for Lia and Khile to follow her.
Lia helped Khile off the bed. He pressed his teeth together from the pain in his leg.
“Wait,” he said, “your bedding. Hide it.”
Without hesitating Lia grabbed her blankets up off the floor.
“Drape them over the foot of the bed,” he said. She obeyed.
Lia returned to his side and helped him out of the room. They followed the old woman into a small, but cozy home decorated with animal skins, antlers, and scented with woodsmoke. On the floor lay a small timeworn rug that, when flipped aside, exposed a hidden door. The woman frowned and jabbed her finger at it.
Lia made sure Khile had a stable grip on the rough-hewn kitchen table before hurrying forward to flip open the door.
“No. Wait!” Khile whispered.
When Lia looked back at him, she noticed his eyes were turned upward toward the exposed rafters of the cottage.
“What are you doing?” she asked in an irritated whisper.
“If you want to live, we hide up there,” he said, pointing.
“Are you stupid? Do you want to—”
Khile shushed her and pulled a rickety wooden chair out from the table. On his good leg he hopped up onto the seat, wincing at the pain throbbing in his broken shinbone. He took hold of the rafter, sending down tiny spindrifts of gray dust. With some effort he pulled himself up. When he got into place among the deep shadows of the ceiling he extended a hand down to Lia.
“Come up,” he whispered.
Lia looked at the trap door, then to the old woman who was shaking her head.
“Trust me,” Khile said.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that he had saved her life twice since she had known him, Lia might not have climbed up onto the chair and grabbed his hand. As he pulled her up and she hunkered down atop the rafter across from him, her limbs were trembling.
The old woman flipped the rug over the hiding place just before the cottage door scraped open sending a widening band of daylight across the hardwood floor. The sound of heavy boots stomped into the house.
“Ale,” demanded a soldier out of Lia’s field of view.
From her position in the shadowy loft of the building’s bones, Lia could only make out the soldier’s dusty black boots. She watched them stomp into the bedroom where she and Khile had been just moments ago. Lia was thankful that Khile had thought to have her move her bedding off the floor. If the soldier had seen it laid out like a bedroll he would’ve known that someone else was in the house.
The old man entered the cottage and went and stood next to his wife. He kissed the woman on the forehead and whispered to her in Efferousian. Whatever he’d said, it seemed to calm the old woman. She went to a creaky wooden rocking chair by the fireplace and sat down.
The soldier stomped back out into the main room.
“I said ale!” he repeated louder.
“Oh, she does not speak your language,” the old man said. “I will get it for you, my lord.”
The old man moved into the kitchen and began preparing a drink.
The soldier walked further into the house with slow and deliberate steps. At first Lia could only see his boots, but now she saw his black armored legs and the hem of his long cloak trailing at his heels. He had a black belt with a silver buckle that encircled a leather chest piece fitted with black metal plates; everything clean and meticulously cared for.
He stepped up toward the old woman, bringing his pale face and dark-haired head into Lia’s view. His cloak was edged with a thick blue stripe, signifying his position of captain.
“You do not speak my language?” he asked the woman, glowering at her with dark brown eyes set deep under bushy brows.
The old woman looked to her husband. He repeated the question in Efferousian.
Looking back to the captain, the old woman shook her head.
“What’s under there?” the captain asked, pointing toward the small rug.
Lia’s jaw fell open in shock. Her eyes darted toward Khile who pressed a finger to his lips. She wanted to ask him right then how he had known the black viper would find the hidden door so easily.
The viper flipped back the rug and stomped on the square hatch.
“That is nothing,” the old man said from the kitchen. “An old cellar for meat and wine.”
The captain lifted the door and inspected the small compartment below. From what Lia could see of it the room beneath was barely big enough for three adults.
With the toe of his boot the captain knocked the door closed.
He stood for a moment directly under Lia. She tensed. If he so much as lifted his gaze to the ceiling he would likely notice the sleeve of her tunic or the hem of her pant leg peeking out from behind the rafter.
The captain finished searching the house, drank his ale, and stomped toward the door, the blue edge of his cloak swirling behind him.
“Criminals from Edhen have fled to this country,” he said. “Anyone caught helping them will be considered an enemy of High King Orkrash Mahl.”
“Seems lots of criminal
s come from Edhen these days,” the old man said.
“Do you know of any in this area?”
“No, my lord.”
“We have men stationed in Galori. See to it that you report to them if you do.”
“I will, sir. Good day.”
Lia listened to the sound of the door close, followed by the shouting of the soldiers outside. Their horses snorted and neighed and tore up the ground as they rode away.
Lia affixed her eyes on Khile and asked, “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
Lia shook her head. “No. You’re one of them, aren’t you? A black viper.”
“Let’s get down from here first.”
He lowered himself onto the chair. The old man helped him to the floor.
“A clever hiding place,” the old man remarked. “Thank the gods you weren’t down below.”
The old woman rocked in her chair, her head in her hands, mumbling something incoherent.
Lia and the old man helped Khile back into the bedroom where he lay down on the bed. She elevated his broken leg with a pillow.
The old man left the room, closing the door behind him.
“So?” she asked, waiting.
“You can stop looking at me like that. I’m not a black viper, but I almost was.”
She smiled. “I knew it. I knew you were one of them.”
“I’m not one of them,” he said again. “They recruited me, but after just three days in their training camp I decided Orkrash was not a high king I could serve. What he does to them–the training…” Khile paused. “Those soldiers, they aren’t men. Their minds have been damaged to serve the will of the high king. These people on Efferous talk about Edhen being a place of evil? Well, they’re right. Orkrash Mahl is a man unlike any I have ever seen.” His voice grew soft toward the end, and his eyes distant, almost scared. “I left the camp before they could rearrange my mind into blindly serving him.”
“Is that why they arrested you?”
“No,” he said.
“Then why were you—”
“I’m not going to talk about why.”
“But that’s where you learned to fight, isn’t it? In their camp?”
He shook his head. “I learned to fight in many different places.”
Lia started pacing next to the bed with growing excitement. “Very well. Then here is what I propose.”
Khile huffed. “Oh, this should be good.”
“You owe me.”
He clapped. “Yep. That was good. That was very good. Better than I was expecting actually.”
“I saved your life. You’d be drowned or rotting on a beach with a broken leg if it weren’t for me. So here’s what I want. I want you to—”
“Hold on. You saved my life? Let’s not forget about the time I rescued you from Komor Raven, or the time I saved you on the pier. You’d be a prisoner of the Black King’s army if it weren’t for me.”
Lia crossed her arms and set her jaw, refusing to allow him to believe that he had done more for her than she had for him. “I paddled you to shore. You’re a grown man. I’m ten. I found herbs to feed us, set your broken leg, went and got help. I’ve saved your life about twenty times already.”
“Yes, and had we hid in the floor, like you wanted to, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
Inwardly she winced. He had her there. She huffed in aggravation and put her hands on her hips.
Khile waved his hand dismissively. “All right. It doesn’t matter. Just–what do you propose?”
“You’re going to teach me how to kill The Raven.”
Khile chortled.
“He took everything from me,” Lia fumed. “He took everything from everyone I know. He needs to pay for what he’s done. Even if it takes me the rest of my life I’m going to kill him, and you’re going to show me how.”
Khile rubbed his eyes with his hands and sighed. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said. “And you don’t know who Komor Raven is. He is a man who likes violence like most people like food. You know why he always insists on attacking with the flanking army during a siege? He gets more opportunity to kill innocent citizens, which guarantees him more bloodshed. Komor will cut you in a thousand different places just to watch you bleed and scream.”
“I don’t care,” Lia blurted.
“I do!” Khile shot back. “I’m not teaching Lia Falls, a lady of Aberdour, how to kill the most dangerous man on Edhen.”
“So I’m a princess again?”
“You’re a spoiled little kid who doesn’t like to be told no.”
Infuriated, Lia smacked him in the splint, then pivoted on her heels and stomped out of the room, cutting off the sound of his agonized groans with a slam of the bedroom door.
She knew it was against the old man’s wishes to go outside, but she didn’t care. The house had suddenly become too stifling to contain her.
She ripped open the cottage door and stormed across the yard where she kicked a red and brown chicken and started pacing. With her head in her hands she seethed with anger, hating Khile for his insults and yet knowing deep down that he was right.
But inside of her clawed a beast aching for vengeance. The animal had awoken the day Aberdour was attacked, the moment she saw Komor Raven butcher Thomas and Abigail Blackwater. The beast was hungry for the Raven’s blood. Lia knew that killing him was all that would satisfy it.
From somewhere deep in the forest, a creature roared.
Lia’s furious pacing came to an abrupt halt and her blood went cold. She’d never heard such a sound before, like a bear, except scratchy and hollow, and much bigger.
“Yup, that be Kette,” the old man said from behind Lia.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A mountain troll. Don’t worry your knickers. She won’t leave the woods. Kette rather likes the shades.”
“You’ve named it?”
“Mm-hmm. That’s what they call it around here.” He put an arm around Lia and steered her back toward the cottage. “You must stay inside, little lady.”
In her mind Lia recalled the strange footprints she’d seen on the hills near the coast, massive prints, some like stubby hands and others like cloven hooves. She wondered if those were the markings of old Kette.
Lia returned to the bedroom where Khile was rubbing the knee of his broken leg.
“What was that sound?” he asked.
“Never mind,” she said, strolling up to the bed. “If you won’t teach me then I’ll do it myself.” She crossed her arms. “I’ll find my own way back to Edhen, and I’ll hunt Komor any way I can find, and if anything happens to me my blood will be on your hands because I asked for your help and you said no.”
Khile shook his head in disapproval. “What about your family? What about your brothers and your sisters. Don’t you want to find them?”
And just like that she felt the rock she’d been standing on crumble out from underneath her. The fire that had been burning in her chest went dim and a new want began to ache in her heart. Of course she wanted to see her siblings again. She missed her family. When she considered this, all of her feelings became a jumbled mess heaped in a pile of revenge and loneliness, hate and longing, fear and anger.
But the beast was still hungry.
“Very much,” she said. Then she locked here eyes on Khile, “but I want Komor dead even more.”
Khile sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Very well. Come here.”
Stifling her conflicted emotions, Lia walked up to Khile’s bedside.
“Hold out your hands. Palms down,” he instructed.
She obeyed.
Quicker than a cat’s reflexes Khile slapped both of her hands on the back of the wrists.
“Ouch!” she cried.
“Your hands are soft,” he said. “Girl hands, refined by your gentle castle life. You want me to train you? You’ll need tougher hands. Starting today you will help the old man and
the old woman bring in water. You will chop wood. You will shovel their stables. No gloves. This is the only way I can help you right now. When my leg heals, I’ll teach you more, but until then this is your job.” He pointed to her hands. “Got it?”
Lia nodded, and she was delighted.
BRODERICK
He lifted his bow, trailing the tip of his arrow just ahead of the partridge. He listened to its wings pounding against its chest in a maddening attempt to escape its doom.
In his mind’s eye, Broderick Falls pictured, not a beautiful brown and cream speckled stone partridge like the one drifting skyward before his gaze, but a soldier of the Black King. When he let go the string, the arrow found its mark. The bird spiraled to the ground, an arrow lodged in its chest below the fold of its right wing.
Broderick didn’t know why, but visualizing his prey as his enemy improved his accuracy.
“Good aim!” Brayden said, as he stood up from his hiding spot. “I thought you hated bow hunting.”
Broderick shrugged. He feared admitting that it was growing on him would mean confessing why. He preferred to keep his darker fantasies to himself for now.
He retrieved his trophy from a soft ground of old pine needles and moss. The dead bird looked different from the partridges they had back in Aberdour, smaller, browner, and with a short crest on the top of its chicken-like head.
“Well, you’ve certainly helped give us a feast tonight, little brother.”
Broderick hated the way Brayden had become so optimistic. Ever since their arrival on Efferous he had become more assertive, more task oriented than he had ever been before. Broderick knew it wouldn’t last. He knew that after a few weeks his quiet, introverted older brother would draw back into himself and remain the coward he had always been.
“Do you think it will taste much different?” Brayden asked.
“I don’t know why it would,” Broderick answered.
“Probably not nearly as good as mother’s stew.”
This drew a small smile from Broderick. “I liked it when she made it real thick, with some honey.”