Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2)

by Joshua Buller

  Hawke was panting, his eyes searching for foes that no longer existed. He looked past the remnants of the family, the gypsies, Othenidus' soldiers, even Othenidus. He saw me, and his breathing slowed. His eyes were already wide, but somehow, they widened even further.

  He strode towards me, sheathing Symphony in a graceful motion. He navigated the bloody sludge and corpse-laden battleground without faltering, sliding past the survivors like they weren't there. He only stopped when he reached me.

  I was afraid, at that moment. I had abandoned him and Char in a fit of stupid pride, and gotten myself captured for it. If I hadn't, he might not have called on the gypsies and family to keep watch for me. He wouldn't have had to hurry back to Damkarei. He would have been here. Maybe so many wouldn't have had to die. Maybe all of this was my fault. Suddenly, I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes.

  “Hawke,” I muttered, “I—”

  He put an arm around me and pulled me against his chest. His chin rested on top of my head, and I realized he was shaking.

  “Thank you, Almighty,” he breathed. “Thank you, for keeping Micasa safe.”

  I wanted to stay there for a while, just to be there with Hawke again. It was like the world had been thrown into chaos, and just his presence made everything the way it should be. But there was no time for that.

  “No,” I said, pushing him away. “This is my fault. I can't let you be happy about that.”

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “If I hadn't run off on my own—” I started. He put a finger to my lips, shaking his head.

  “That's ridiculous. This didn't happen because you got a little headstrong. We can talk about that later, but for now…” He scowled, and his gaze turned to Othenidus, “…it's time we deal with who really did all this.”

  While we were talking, Othenidus' army had taken the liberty of regrouping behind their lord. Far, far behind their lord. Likewise, the family and gypsies and Riders had snuck back towards where Hawke and Uraj were. Less than half of those I had come with still remained; guilt still twisted in my gut like a knife.

  “Scholar,” said Vance, approaching from among his brothers and sisters. He had taken a nasty cut across his face, but that didn't stop him from giving that insufferable smile of his. “I'm glad to see you got our message. Where is the Damkarein army?”

  “We left them behind,” replied Uraj, stepping alongside Hawke. “We were attacked by grinel coming from the west. While we fought them, we felt a huge surge of essence coming from here. We knew the fight had started, so we left them to take care of that threat and came by ourselves. They're still at least a day away, maybe two.”

  Vance squinted. “You managed to cover two days' travel in the time since we started fighting, on foot?”

  “We can be quick when needed.” Uraj looked around. “Where's Liore? Did he run off already?”

  “Ah, he lost an arm to a Val'Halan blade. A brother stole him away to recover when you arrived. The family is in my care in his absence.” Vance's eyes crinkled with some strange amusement.

  “I see,” Uraj said slowly.

  Hawke said nothing. His eyes didn't stray from Othenidus, watching, waiting for him to make a move. The Lord of Val'Hala glared back, but for the time he seemed content to let his army rest. Lheona, who had been absent during all the fighting, had reappeared to look over the troops. The men and women tensed under her gaze, as if afraid to show any of the exhaustion they must have felt.

  “Hawke,” called Mirth, limping over from where the gypsies had gathered. His face sagged with sadness, but he was thankfully unharmed. I had no idea how someone of his age had managed to get out of that bloodbath without a scratch.

  “Mirth. How are yours doing?” asked Hawke.

  “Worse than I hoped, but better than I expected.” He frowned. “Our people aren't well-suited for this sort of situation.”

  “I know. I'm sorry.” Hawke turned away from Othenidus long enough to clasp Mirth by the arm, staring into the old man's pale green eyes. “You've done more than I could have asked. No one would think less if you wanted to leave now. Both of you,” he added to Vance. “Uraj and I can finish this ourselves.”

  “You lie terribly, young man,” Mirth said gravely. “You two are without peer among men, but even you can't take on an entire army. They would wear you down and capture you, eventually.”

  “Even if I incinerated them all first?” said Uraj.

  Mirth appraised him. “If I thought you the kind of ruler who would do that, I would have never agreed to help. You lie even worse than this fool.” Uraj quirked an eyebrow but had no reply.

  “Mirth's right about one thing,” I spoke up. “With Othenidus around, they might be able to stop you. He can stop people's powers.”

  “I can feel what you mean,” said Hawke. He looked at Othenidus again, his pupils dilating as his quicksilver irises dilated to fill the whites of his eyes. His essence surged through him, lending to his power while he observed.

  “Can you copy it?” asked Uraj.

  “No. It's like trying to look through a wall. I knew he could use essence, but this is the first time I've seen anything like this. He must have been hiding his power all this time, just for us.”

  “If he can stop our powers, there's a good chance he can kill us within his influence,” mused Uraj. Hawke nodded.

  “This is your last chance to leave, Mirth, Vance,” he warned. “This won't end until Othenidus is defeated, or everyone standing in front of him is dead. You won't have another chance once it starts.”

  “My people have been wronged by this so-called lord,” said Mirth. “The gypsies do not let those who hurt us go unpunished.”

  “I've already talked it over with my brothers and sisters,” said Vance glibly. “The family has no future in an Astra ruled by Othenidus. I think Mother would approve of our decision to stay to the bitter end.”

  “So be it. Thank you.” Hawke looked to me. “Micasa, do me a favor and give me your sword.”

  I was a bit perplexed by the request but handed over my short-sword without argument. Then, to my shock, Hawke pulled his own sheathed blade from the sash at his waist and placed it in my hands.

  “Wh-why are you giving me Symphony?” I asked.

  “Without my essence, Symphony is just a very old rusted sword. If I tried to use it against him, it would probably break. Can you keep it safe for me?” His eyes pleaded with me. I understood the gravity of what he was asking. That rusted sword was his most precious possession. I had never been allowed to touch it growing up with him. This wasn't a small thing he was asking.

  “I'll protect it with my life,” I told him. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  “Not that far. Never that far. But I know you understand. Thanks.” He gave me a small smile that vanished as quickly as it came. He tucked my little short-sword into his sash and motioned to Uraj. “Let's go have a chat with our good lord there.”

  “With displeasure,” said Uraj. He shouldered his maul, and the two of them strode forward.

  Othenidus seemed to have been waiting for this and started forward at the same time. Both Othenidus' men and our own were only about a hundred feet from each other. After just ten paces apiece, all three of them stopped. Hawke and Uraj were standing right outside of the strange aura Othenidus gave off. One more step from any of them and their powers would be unusable.

  Uraj raised a hand. A massive fence of flames erupted around Val'Hala's army, climbing until just their heads were visible. The blaze drew perilously close to them, burning tendrils that threatened to scorch the unwary. Even from where I was, I could see the whites of their fearful eyes. Othenidus didn't even look back.

  “Is this how the Old Kings come to make terms? Threatening another lord's subjects?” said Othenidus.

  “From where I stand, you are the one who started this fight, Gottfried. I'm simply making sure you aren't tempted to start it again so soon,” explained Uraj.

  Ot
henidus' face contorted in anger. He mumbled something I couldn't quite make out. Uraj laughed at him, his deep baritone making the sound carry easily to both armies.

  “You talk to me about respect while daring to call me 'King Kuznetsov,' as if we're equals?” He shook his head, his platinum hair tossing about his shoulders. “Let's make it clear once and for all, Gottfried. We aren't equals, we never were equals, we never will be equals. Your kingdom is a sham.”

  From the look on Othenidus' face, I expected him to attack at that moment. My body clenched as I prepared to rush to their aid, but the Lord of Val'Hala didn't take that step, even if he was teetering like he wanted to.

  “My kingdom has more support than yours! Twenty other fiefdoms pledge their loyalty to me and will come to my summons! If you think my army is formidable now, it will be all but invincible in its full glory! All you lord over is a band of two-bit con men from the boonies and a load of vagrants!”

  “You probably should have summoned your invincible army before you made this idiotic attack, then,” said Hawke. “Or do you think we'll stand around and give you time to gather them? Moving your whole army outside your walls was the dumbest decision you ever made, Othello.”

  Othenidus froze. “Don't. Ever. Call me that.” He barked each word like a dog straining at its leash. His patience was all but spent.

  “My apologies, Lord Othenidus. Slip of the tongue,” Hawke apologized, not sounding like he meant any of it.

  “And what about you, Morau?” Othenidus changed tact, throwing out his own dose of disrespect. “A disgraced king, not fit to even rule the bitch you wander around with.”

  Hawke stiffened. With his back to me, I could only imagine the face he was making. Whatever it was, it gave Othenidus cause to smirk.

  “I know why you're here. It's for the rock, right?” Othenidus pulled the cord around his neck out, flashing the nullstone at the two. “I shouldn't be surprised. Your peasants sided with the demons, too. I only fought back to protect Astra from those that would tear it down from the inside. Here, I'll gladly give it to you. Run off to the demon lands and cavort with your hellspawn.”

  He tugged the necklace off, holding it out in offering. I had almost forgotten that this whole mess had started because of the Conclave. There was no way he was being sincere, though. The grin on his face was more frightening than his scowls.

  “By all accounts, you should be begging me to take it,” said Hawke. His hand rested on the hilt of the short-sword at his waist. “I saved your worthless life when you were just a fledgling man-at-arms. I protected you when you were accused of marrying a cursed gypsy. A true accusation, don't forget.”

  The grin dropped from Othenidus' face. Above the mass of soldiers, Lheona shifted uncomfortably in her saddle.

  “You've both thrown my kindness in my face time and again,” Hawke kept going, “but I'm not worried about that anymore. We can take that nullstone from you when you submit to us. Assuming, of course, you remember how to kneel, Othello.”

  The air stilled. Trembling, the Lord of Val'Hala only took the time to shove the nullstone back into the collar of his armor before taking a giant step forward.

  The flames around his army flickered and died. Othenidus raised his blade, pointing straight at us.

  “THE SCHOLAR AND FORGE ARE MINE! KILL THE REST!” he boomed. His soldiers recovered quickly from the shock of being free so suddenly and raised their weapons with a war cry. They charged, surging around their lord and his two targets.

  “This is bad. We're still outnumbered,” I said. Mirth laid a hand on my shoulder.

  “We must stand tall, child. I may have a way to blunt their attacks. I was hoping it could be avoided, but there is no other choice.” He turned, and called back to the crowd in a startlingly loud voice. “GYPSIES! WE FIGHT FOR OUR PEOPLE!” A roar of approval went up amongst them.

  “MY FAMILY!” Vance called out, “WE FIGHT FOR OUR MOTHER!” The black-clad men and women cheered, and their essence flared to life as one.

  “RIDERS!” screamed Blake, “WE FIGHT FOR OUR HOME!” The riders raised their weapons as their humped mounts reared and snorted.

  I remembered the cry that Hawke told me about, the one they used often during the days when they struggled against the grinel. It rose to my lips, and in the thrill of the moment I let it fly.

  “FOR THE KINGDOM!”

  “FOR THE KINGDOM!” the others all chanted back in unison. Together, we rushed to meet our enemies one last time.

  Chapter 28: One Difference

  I had no idea what I was going to do.

  The battle was rushing up to meet me, and in my burst of adrenaline I had forgotten I was as good as unarmed. Symphony was still clutched tightly in my hands, but I feared trying to draw it. The sword was much longer than I was used to, the balance all different; a single stumble could be enough to get me killed. On top of that, it was all but useless without essence, and I was unsure if I could control enough to properly use it. I considered grabbing one of countless weapons littering the ground, but I had nowhere to put Symphony to free my hands. I had promised Hawke that I would keep it safe.

  In my hesitation, I failed to realize the enemy was upon us until crash of steel and iron and the screams of the wounded exploded around me. I snapped out of my thoughts in time to see a soldier rushing straight towards me. I started to panic, clutching Symphony tightly to my chest on reflex.

  The sword began to vibrate. For a second, I thought it was just the pounding of my heart, but then I realized Symphony was pulsing in time with the beat. Vaguely, a part of my mind told me this was bizarre, but I only felt a strange calm steal over me. My hand reached for the hilt on its own, wrapping around the cracked cording. It was warm under my fingers, molding to fit my grasp perfectly. It felt right.

  I grabbed the sheath with my other hand and ripped Symphony free. It hummed in the open air, and with barely a thought from me, my essence flowed into it. The sword drank it up, filling itself with my energy, sharpening to a deadly edge without need for guidance.

  The soldier approached more cautiously, but a smirk snuck onto his face when he saw the rust and cracks covering the blade. He brought his own empowered sword around in an arc, aiming to gut me. The fool couldn't feel the raw power I had in my grip. He had no idea that I could shear through his weapon like paper, and him even more easily than that.

  As thrilling as that strength felt, I still couldn't bring myself to bring it to bear against him. Instead, I raised Symphony in guard, hoping to simply deflect his attack.

  Hawke's sword moved as easily as if it were a part of my arm, snapping up faster than I expected and stopping the soldier's attack cold. I didn't even feel the jolt of the impact. The soldier, to his credit, quickly regained his balance and brought his raw iron blade around, aiming for my other side. Again, Symphony flew up with my merest movement and caught the blow. I had never felt so at ease in a fight.

  A memory of training with Hawke flashed into my head, a lesson of how to disarm a foe with my sword. I had never gotten the hang of it; my reflexes were always a touch too slow, the reach of my usual short-sword inadequate to get it to work. Hawke had declared me hopeless and skipped over the lesson entirely.

  Before I knew I was doing it, I pressed Symphony against the soldier's blade and forced him off-balance. With a circling motion, I brought Hawke's sword around and slammed the flat of the blade against my opponent's wrist. He yelped in pain and dropped his weapon, his fingers still twitching against his will.

  I put Symphony's tip to his throat, letting the edge just nick his skin and taste blood. He stood rooted where he was.

  “Arms behind your back. Now,” I demanded. He complied as quickly as he could without moving any other part of his body. I slipped beside him and locked his wrists together with a quick tap. Certain he wouldn't be a threat anymore, I searched for anyone I could help.

  The fighting had scattered to clusters of small skirmishes, all of them skewing towards th
e army of Val'Hala. The gypsies and others were standing their ground as well as they could, but the numbers advantage was just too great to ignore.

  In the midst of all the fighting, one figure hobbled on his own. He had straggled behind the rest of the group, but he was almost in the thick of things.

  “Mirth! Stop!” I cried out, hurrying to protect him. He was unarmed, and he was far too slow to outpace any of the warriors Othenidus had trained.

  One such warrior noticed the aged gypsy all by himself and broke away from the family members he was fighting. An iron-tipped spear was clutched in his hands, and he charged with the point aimed straight at Mirth. I forced myself to run faster, struggling to save my defenseless friend, but it was no use. I wouldn't reach them in time.

  With frightful ease, Mirth grabbed the tip of the spear. It stopped where he held it, inches from his heart. The soldier, still running full speed, slammed into the butt of the spear and bounced off, landing on the ground with a grunt.

  Mirth looked at the spear with a strange look on his face. Even at a distance, I saw the glimmer of a tear as it trickled down his cheek. Then, he gave the weapon a firm shake. There was a cracking sound, like someone dropping a vase, but the spear looked unharmed.

  Somewhere in the thick of the combat, someone unleashed a shriek unlike anything I'd ever heard. It sounded like Lheona. Her screams cut through everything else, a wail of something worse than death.

  All at once, the cries of the wounded changed. A cacophony of dull thuds replaced them, and I saw the cause all around me: the soldiers' weapons were bouncing harmlessly against Mirth and Vance's people. Some of their blades cracked and splintered against bare flesh and fabric. Their attack quickly petered out, and they looked at their suddenly useless tools with unease.

  It took little time for the family, the gypsies, and the Mad Riders to realize the tables had turned. Without Lheona's power in their weapons, the numbers of Othenidus' army meant nothing. The small army of outcasts swept over the trained warriors, capturing them at will. Apparently, they had had enough of the killing as much as I had. Some of the soldiers threw down their weapons and ran, some gave up with heads hung in shame, and some fought back to no avail.