They spent another two days traveling without incident. As the nights passed, Seri grew a little more used to outdoor life. Dravid struggled with sleeping. Though he felt extremely tired each evening from their travel, the phantom feelings of his missing leg made him toss and turn for hours.
Each day, he and Seri confirmed to each other that they traveled in the right direction, yet they could not be wholly certain they moved any nearer to their destination.
“Maybe we’re following him as he’s traveling,” Seri suggested as they paused for a moment on the road.
“I think it’s stronger,” Dravid said, stifling a yawn. “I really do think we’re getting closer.”
“If I had my star-sight, I could probably tell.” Seri looked so despondent that Dravid almost reached out to put an arm around her.
“Hail!” called a voice behind them.
All three of them turned, Ixchel with her hand on sword hilt, to see a young couple approaching. Dravid guessed they were near to his own age, if not younger.
“Well met, travelers!” said the young man. “There are few of us on this road to meet! Especially ones who have traveled so far!”
How did he know… oh. Right. Dravid had gotten so used to the constant diversity on Zes Sivas, he forgot other places didn’t share so many skin tones as the three of them exhibited. This couple possessed the typical fair skin of Varioch’s inhabitants. The woman had curly blonde hair and green eyes that looked ready to burst out of her head. The man, slightly taller, had short brown hair and a narrow beard.
“Are you on your way to see the Forerunner?” the young woman piped up, before they could respond to her companion.
“Who is the Forerunner?” Seri asked.
The couple exchanged a bemused look. “You’ve traveled this far, and you don’t know? What other purpose could you have in this part of Varioch?” the man asked.
“We are on a… pilgrimage,” Dravid said. He gestured at his companions. “This is Seri, mage of Arazu, and Ixchel of Ch’olan. My name is Dravid, of Kuktarma.”
“What fascinating names,” the woman said. “I’m Junia, this is Cato.”
“Tell us about this Forerunner,” Seri said.
“He came out of nowhere, only a week or two ago,” Junia said. “He’s amazing!”
“They say he works miracles,” Cato said. He gestured toward Seri. “Seeing your robes is what made us wonder if you were also going to see him, since he’s such a powerful magic user.”
Dravid and Seri exchanged a quick glance. Magic user. The one they were looking for?
“What kind of miracles?” Dravid asked.
“All kinds!” Junia’s eyes widened even more. “But mostly, he heals people!”
“Healing?” Seri exclaimed.
Dravid furrowed his brow. How could one heal with magic? He had never heard of such a thing. Nor could he imagine how it could be possible, based on all he had learned so far from Master Hain.
“Yes,” Cato said. “We’ve heard several stories of people getting healed—diseases, sickness, even blindness and… lameness.” He glanced briefly at Dravid.
“Is he… is he lifting curses?” Seri said.
Cato frowned. “I don’t think so. I don’t think these people were cursed.”
“It’s impossible to get rid of a curse,” Junia said. She glanced at her Cato. “Isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.”
“But if anyone could do it, I’m sure it would be the Forerunner,” she went on. “His power sounds amazing!”
“Who is he? Where did he come from?” Dravid said.
“No one knows. We’ll ask him when we meet him.” She cocked her head and looked him over. “Tell me about Kuktarma. Is everyone there as handsome as you?”
Her forwardness took him aback. “I…” He looked to Seri, who smirked. “I’d like to hear that answer too,” she said.
Right. She asked for it. “Well, I haven’t been home in around a year now,” he said. “But when I left, many young female hearts were broken and left to wander without hope of finding another so”—he smiled and bowed—“handsome.”
Seri rolled her eyes. Junia giggled. Cato laughed. “I like this man!”
Ixchel had moved on ahead a dozen or so paces. She returned and frowned. “Are we going to keep moving today?”
The conversation continued as they moved along the road. The two newcomers kept pace, much to Ixchel’s displeasure. But their goal might be what—or who—Seri sought. It only made sense to stick together. Dravid and Seri both tried to draw more information out of them about this mysterious Forerunner, but neither seemed to know much.
He had come out of nowhere, started working these miracles, and now people traveled to see him. Junia and her companion explained that they lived near the capital city of Reman, but not within it. From their lifestyle descriptions, Dravid gathered that both of them were quite rich, by most standards. Children of the nobility, with nothing better to do than to chase after strange rumors. And yet…
The magic called to him from somewhere ahead. If not this Forerunner, who could it be?
Junia and Cato appeared at least as ill-trained for this journey as Seri. As Dravid had surmised, they came from well-to-do backgrounds. While both carried some suitable supplies in their packs, neither seemed to know what to do with themselves. That night, when Dravid lit their fire, Cato quietly admitted they had slept by the side of the road the last two nights without a fire. Junia expressed such delight in the fire that Dravid felt embarrassed. He glanced repeatedly at Seri and Ixchel, hoping one of them would say something soon.
But Ixchel disdained their new company, pointedly ignoring them. And Seri… Seri sat by herself, staring off toward the west. Dravid couldn’t get a good look at her expression. Was she thinking about this Forerunner, or her lost star-sight? Maybe both.
Dravid sighed and smiled back at Junia. Why be melancholy? He was young and on the road with three attractive women (though he had yet to figure out the exact relationship between Junia and Cato). Why not enjoy it while he could?
Around the fire that evening, Dravid entertained the party with elaborate descriptions of the great walled cities of Kuktarma. He told exaggerated tales of the antics of Lord Meluhha’s seven sons, embarrassing to the Lord, of course, but highly amusing to his people.
After a somewhat dramatized recount of the second son’s failure to seduce the princess of Mandiata, Dravid could truly smile in satisfaction. Seri had been as enthralled with the account as their guests (though he did notice her blush multiple times over the subject matter). And even Ixchel appeared interested.
“Are all families in Kuktarma that large?” Cato asked.
“Not all, but many,” Dravid said. “I have two brothers and two sisters, myself. You?”
“I have one younger sister.”
“Ladies? What about you? Brothers or sisters?”
“I have none,” Seri said. She seemed a little saddened to admit it.
“I have no siblings,” Ixchel said.
Dravid turned to the girl beside him. “Junia?”
She looked down. “I have a brother.”
“Older or younger?”
“He’s older. I… I don’t know where he is right now.”
“Is he lost?” Seri asked.
Junia bit her lip and shook her head. “No. He…” She sniffed and looked away.
“He ran off and joined Lord Volraag’s army,” Cato said.
“Why?” Ixchel asked.
Cato jumped at being addressed by her. “Ah, lots of young men are doing so. We’re going to war with Rasna any day now. That’s what everyone says.”
“Why would they go to war?” Seri asked. “I mean, I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t understand it.”
Cato shrugged. “There’s some land around the border that belongs to us, but the Rasnians claim it belongs to them.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s stupid!” Junia burst out.
“The whole thing is stupid! Why would they go to war over some land? Who cares? It can’t be that important. Not important enough for people to— to die!”
Dravid didn’t know what to say. What little he knew of war did not make him want to see one, either. Men killing other men, without fear of curses. It sounded horrible. It had only been a few weeks since he had seen Volraag and his assassin kill two other Lords. Between that and Lord Varion’s attempt to assault Seri, he had seen enough of men harming others. How could they do that?
He glanced across the fire at Ixchel. She carried weapons, had been trained to fight. She fought on Zes Sivas, against the assassin. Did that explain her rough manner? If it came to war, would all of the people involved become like her? War between Varioch and Rasna had been rumored for some time, as Seri mentioned, but now… not only did it seem probable after Lord Tyrr’s machinations with the false king, but Volraag had also murdered the Lord of Mandiata and stolen his power. Might war come from that too?
Dravid had no answers. He wondered if anyone did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VICTOR DREW HIS sword and took a deep breath. He flipped his left wrist a few times, feeling the chain of his flail clang against itself, the heavy iron ball on the end twisting in the air. Here in the real army, the flail seemed so old and rusty, not to mention a rarity among the soldiers. The last real flail he had seen on a soldier was on that day in Drusa’s Crossing so long ago, when Volraag arrived and changed their lives.
But the flail felt like an extension of his own body. Had been for years now. He loved the feel of it as he whipped it through the air. And after weeks of training with the Eldanim warden, Talinir, he knew how to use it in combination with a sword.
Victor dropped into a defensive stance, bringing his sword up in a horizontal blocking move. At the same time, he began to spin the flail. He needed this. The last few days with Marshal had been in hiding as they considered their course of action. Their hidden camp hadn’t allowed for much practice time, especially not the way he liked to practice.
The open ground here remained wet from yesterday’s rain. His feet squelched through a thin layer of mud with every step. Topleb and Gnaeus wandered out from the tents and watched him.
Victor moved. He shifted from stance to stance, alternating between defensive parries and attacks, both with sword and flail. He performed his own combination of moves, something he had been working on for the last few weeks. Each day he practiced, he added another series of moves to it, and ran through it several times.
It felt good. His arms moved smoothly, but without hesitation, remembering the sequence flawlessly. No one watching would know if he made a mistake, of course, unless he managed to smack himself with the flail. Hadn’t done that in around a year now.
He moved faster. He finished the sequence as far as he had devised it and immediately started over. Several moves into the new sequence, he realized he could feel the vibration in his hands again. But instead of loosening his grip, it seemed to help. The sword and flail felt more like extensions of his arms, molded directly into his hands.
He moved faster. The strange feeling spread into his legs, as well. His stances shifted and rotated without a hitch, far better than he had done the last time he tried this.
Halfway through the third time through his sequence, he experienced a thrill run through his entire body, rejuvenating but also frightening him. It felt as if his body had taken control of his mind and wanted to keep going, on and on.
He reasserted control, slamming the flail’s head into the ground on one side of him, and slashing violently upward with his sword on the other. He came to an abrupt stop.
Marshal faced him from a few feet away, arms crossed, head tilted to the side in curiosity. Victor sheathed his sword and wiped sweat from his forehead as he approached his friend.
“When did you get so fast?” Marshal asked.
Victor shrugged. “I’ve always been fast.”
Marshal shook his head. “Not like that. Those last few moves were… I almost couldn’t see you. So fast.”
“Thanks, but you’re exaggerating.”
“Tell that to them.” Marshal gestured with his chin.
Victor looked back toward the tents. Topleb and Gnaeus had been joined by every other member of the curse squad, along with four or five other conscripts who had gathered to watch him. Even from here, he could see looks of awe on their faces.
What did it mean? That strange feeling, the vibrating? It did seem to have given him more speed and precision somehow. Was it magic, like Marshal?
Marshal looked toward the watchers and rubbed the scruff on his face that grew between the scars. “You… should train them,” he said.
“That’s what I was going to tell you. But you should do it. You’re a better swordsman than I am.”
“Maybe. But they don’t all have swords. They need more… general training.”
“You’re the leader of this group now, Marshal. It should be you.”
“I can’t. My face and… voice.”
“Your voice is getting better every day. And your face?” Victor shrugged. “Have you seen these men? They don’t care.”
“It should be you.”
“Fine. How about we do it together?”
Marshal frowned, then nodded.
Victor laughed. “A few weeks ago, we were being trained. Now we’re going to train others? What would Talinir say?”
“He’d be proud, I think.”
“Yeah. Yeah, he would be.”
Victor looked over at the curse squad. “No time like right now. Shall we get started?”
Marshal snorted. “Lead the way.”
“You lead the way. I follow.”
Marshal gathered the curse squad in the open space. The other conscripts who had watched Victor in awe now mocked the group from the sides.
“What are they doing?”
“I guess they want to learn to fight.”
“Why? They’re either going to scare the Rasnians off, or run for their lives at the first sign of enemy arrows!”
Victor looked to see what effect the mocking had on the squad. They stood in two disheveled rows, shoulders slumped, eyes following Marshal as he moved in front of them. Topleb, the exception, stood straight with a mocking grin of his own. He toyed with an odd wooden device, which Victor assumed had something to do with the collection of light spears that hung at his side.
Albus, having come straight from the regular army, still carried his own short sword and shield. Merish also held a similar sword, though his looked cleaner. The other four all held spears like most conscripts.
“Do you hear the mocking?” Marshal asked. He waited, as if he expected them to answer. “I have heard it all my life! It has not stopped me… and will not stop us now!”
Victor winced. Marshal tried to say the right things, but his voice created a problem. Even though he no longer bore a curse, those who heard him would assume he did. He said the correct words, and for the most part even pronounced them right. But they sounded awkward, as if they didn’t belong together the way he used them. The odd pauses did not help. Even when he tried to project, he had no notion of his own volume. He was still learning, understandably, but maybe he had been right about his leadership ability for now.
Marshal drew his sword and pointed it at Victor. “Victor and I have… trained with a warden of the Eldanim. What we have learned, we will try to teach you. They”—he waved his sword toward the mockers—“expect you to die. I want to show them that… you can fight!”
“The Eldanim?” One of the twins snorted. “They don’t exist!”
Victor walked over to him and held his own sword up. “See this? Eldanim forged. Seen any others like it in this army?”
“It’s a sword.” He shook his head. Clearly not an expert.
Beside him, Merish stirred. The big man had been watching Marshal and Victor with a child-like dreaminess. Topleb suggested his curse had something to do wi
th his mind. But when he saw Victor’s sword, Merish’s eyes sharpened. His entire demeanor changed. He stepped out of the line and peered at the sword with an intense stare.
“You got his attention,” Topleb said. “He likes swords.”
Merish put out his hand and looked at Victor with a questioning expression. Victor turned his sword and handed Merish the hilt end. Merish stepped away from everyone else, dropped into a fighting stance, and began swinging the sword. His movements at first appeared random, but Victor slowly recognized a type of exercise, like he himself had done earlier.
Except Merish was better. One elegant and precise maneuver followed another for several minutes while everyone watched. Marshal approached. “He might be as good as Talinir,” he whispered to Victor.
“Maybe.”
“What’s going on?” Albus asked in a loud voice.
Gnaeus explained it to him, but like everyone else, kept his eyes on the movements of the sword.
Merish came to an abrupt halt. He rested his free hand against the flat of the blade and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he offered the sword back to Victor.
As soon as Victor took the sword, the child-like disconnect returned to Merish’s face. Victor gently guided him back into his position in the line. Each one of these men had strange abilities, secrets, oddities. A curse had robbed Merish of his intellect aside from this one thing. What had he been like before it? And a chill swept over Victor as he wondered what a master of swords had done to deserve such a curse.
“Well…” Marshal said. “One of you knows how to use a weapon. How about the rest of you?”
“Why am I here?” Albus said, again with the loud voice.
Marshal stepped in front of him. “Because you killed my friend.”
“And I’m blind because of it. I can’t fight.” He hefted his shield. “What am I going to block with this? I can’t see anything coming. I’ll be dead in seconds.”
“Maybe that’s what you deserve.”
Silence followed Marshal’s words. Victor couldn’t help agreeing with him, but he shouldn’t have said it out loud. He joined them and took the shield from Albus’s hand.
Until All Bonds Are Broken Page 6