Until All Bonds Are Broken

by Tim Frankovich

“He moves like spinning top, the children’s toy,” Topleb said.

  Rufus limped up. “I found your flail,” he said, offering it. “And one of theirs. Maybe you would like a new one?”

  Victor took both flails and compared them. The Guard’s flail was newer, obviously, not coated in rust like his own. The chain might be a link or two shorter. The ball might be the same size, but it had multiple spikes protruding from its surface. It certainly looked like a deadlier weapon, crafted for elite warriors. Yet he couldn’t decide. The old one had been with him for so long.

  “Keep both,” Marshal said, watching him. “Practice with the new one. See if you like it or not. It’s good to have a backup, right?”

  Victor nodded. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. Feeling a little more like himself, he opened his eyes and looked around.

  “What did you mean by ‘demonstrations of power’?”

  “There may be fewer trees around than were here earlier,” Marshal said.

  “You uprooted trees?”

  “A few.”

  “No wonder they gave up. That ripple you created came all the way over here, by the way.”

  “What ripple?”

  “In the ground. Came through toward the end of the fight.”

  “I didn’t do that.” Marshal furrowed his brow.

  “It wasn’t the after effects of something else you did?”

  Marshal shook his head. “No. It wasn’t me.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  During the last big battle with Rasna, he felt a similar pulse, Victor remembered. “I think it’s someone in our squad,” he said. “It happened in the battle too.”

  “You’re right. I remember.”

  They both looked around. Topleb. Gnaeus. Merish. Wolf. Rufus. Did one of them possess power? Did he even know it?

  “Unless…” Marshal said, “someone else has been near us all along. Following us, maybe. A spy for Volraag.”

  “Then why intervene in the fight?”

  Marshal shrugged. “To protect himself? I don’t know. If it was one of these guys, wouldn’t he have told us?”

  Victor had no answers. He set the two flails down and lowered his head. The exhaustion came right back. Maybe he had imagined it letting up.

  “The Hero of Varioch needs a nap,” Rufus said with a grin.

  Topleb came up behind Victor and draped something over his shoulders. “If hero, he should at least look respectable doing it.” Victor touched the soft material. One of the Remavian Guard’s cloaks. Red with gold trim. He had never owned anything this fine.

  “That one at least has no blood on it,” Topleb said. “Try to keep it that way.” He stepped around Victor and saluted. The other five, including Marshal, followed his example.

  Victor swallowed. All his life, he had wanted to be a soldier. The Remavian Guard were the best, so naturally he had dreamed of joining them. But this… this was better. He was a soldier, a real soldier with soldier companions who fought by his side. More than that, they were his friends.

  He straightened his head and saluted back.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  KISHIN KNEW MORE about most people in Woqan than anyone else. One of the side effects of spying out targets as an assassin. As it applied to this morning, he knew which priests of Theon genuinely believed what they taught, and which ones served for other reasons.

  The temple of Woqan was not so different from the one destroyed in Reman. They possessed the same basic layout, but the builders of Ch’olan made this temple their own, with touches of their own architectural style, the most obvious being a vaulted rather than flat roof. While he waited for the priest he sought, Kishin idly wondered if a god cared about the shape of a roof. He chuckled without sound. He had once considered himself a god, and he had cared. What did that say?

  The priest he wanted emerged from the temple at last and unlocked the main gates to allow petitioners to enter. Kishin had never been able to determine Chimon’s exact age. He had been here as long as he could remember. He moved so slow as to defy patience, step by painful step, bent over with age… yet he appeared the same way when Kishin was a child.

  Kishin waited until Chimon continued his morning habits and made his way around behind the temple. He began to clean up the remains of the food he left out the night before for stray animals.

  “You’ve always watched out for the strays, haven’t you, Chimon?”

  The priest looked up without surprise and smiled, the early morning sun playing across his wizened skin. “Always, my son. Your voice… it’s familiar, but I don’t recognize the face.”

  Kishin stepped close and let himself be seen fully. “Perhaps it’s because the last time you saw this face, it was ravaged by a curse of leprosy.”

  Chimon lifted a trembling hand toward Kishin’s face. “You… you claim to be healed of leprosy? The Law does contain instructions for that. I must examine you and—”

  “I am Kishin, Chimon. Kishin the Untouchable. Pariah. Leper. Outcast.”

  Chimon tilted his head, then turned Kishin so the sun shone in his face. “Can it be?”

  “My curse is gone, Chimon. I have come to you to find out what that means.”

  Kishin caught the old priest as he fainted. Well, what did he expect?

  A short time later, Kishin waited inside Chimon’s humble dwelling, a chamber built into the outer wall of the temple courtyard. Chimon drank a sip of his tea and gazed at Kishin with a peaceful smile. His stare became uncomfortable.

  “I need to understand this,” he said. “Tell me what you think.”

  Chimon set down his cup on a crude wooden table. “First tell me how this took place.”

  Kishin hesitated. “You know who I am, old man. You know what I have done all these years.”

  “Somehow I doubt you were healed by killing someone else.”

  “No, I… failed to kill someone.”

  “Ah.”

  “I tried to kill him. A young man in Varioch. Cursed. But his mother…” Kishin shook his head at the memory of Aelia. “She insisted there was a way to lift a curse. I thought it blasphemy.”

  “An amusing thought, coming from one such as you.”

  Kishin snorted. “I have had… my own theology, priest. My own beliefs.”

  “And have those beliefs done you any good?”

  “They made me stronger!” Yet even as he said the words, Kishin felt the lie.

  “So. This mother took your curse away?”

  “She… died to take away her son’s curse. At least, that is what she said she was doing. I’m not entirely sure. I don’t even know what happened to him. But when it was over, my skin was as you see me now.” Kishin displayed his bare arms as further evidence.

  Chimon nodded. “And what will you do now?”

  “I do not know. I am… undone.”

  “Undone. By a miracle. How ironic.”

  Kishin slammed his fist against the stone wall. “I have not served Theon in over twenty years. I’ve wanted nothing to do with him or his followers. Yet if this is from him, I must know. Why? What does it mean?”

  Chimon sat silent for a moment. Kishin considered leaving. Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea.

  “Tell me, why did you come to me?”

  “I just told you. I’m looking for answers.”

  “But why me?” Chimon pointed a crooked finger at himself. “Why Chimon in particular?”

  “Because…”

  “Yes?”

  “Because unlike many of your fellow priests, you seem to really believe all of this.” Kishin gestured toward the temple.

  Chimon nodded. “Because you’ve watched us. Despite not wanting anything to do with us, you’ve watched us.”

  “I watched you because I had a job. I killed one of your fellows six years ago.”

  Chimon sat silent again. “Payr,” he said at last. “I thought he had come to an untimely end.”

&nbs
p; “He did not truly believe,” Kishin said. “He told me so after the first three fingers I removed from his hand.” Chimon’s slow reactions angered him, making him give out more details than he had intended.

  Chimon did not display shock or horror. Instead, he picked up his tea and took another sip. He put the cup down and took a long breath. “Tell me,” he said. “Will you kill again?”

  “I… do not plan to.”

  “Ah.”

  When the priest did not say anything else, Kishin could not stand it. “What do you want from me?”

  At last, he looked surprised. “I? I do not want anything from you, my boy. You came to me. So the question should be directed at you, I suppose. What do you want from me?”

  “Tell me…”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell me what I should do.”

  “You know the Law. Perhaps now, you should give some heed to following it, lest you be cursed again.”

  “The Law.” Kishin scoffed. “The Law does nothing except force people to find creative ways to do what they want to do without breaking it.”

  Chimon leaned forward. “Precisely.”

  Kishin blinked.

  “The Law does one thing, and one thing only. It shows our wrongdoing. Theon cares less for the Law than he does for this.” That crooked finger tapped at the old man’s chest.

  Kishin did not know what to say.

  Chimon leaned back again. “You have lived long under a horrible curse. You have committed many grave sins. These cannot be denied. Yet we all live under curses. We all commit grave sins.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You have lived long—”

  “No. You said all men are cursed.”

  “Yes. All men are cursed.”

  Kishin found himself shaking. He had said the words himself for years. To hear a priest repeat them shook everything. “If we are all cursed, then what is our hope?”

  “Our only hope is in Theon. But that is the answer you expect from me, no doubt. Tell me true: will you kill again?”

  “I do not want to.”

  “Yet you come to me still wearing a sword.”

  The warpsteel blade seemed much heavier all of a sudden.

  Chimon sighed. “You are prepared to kill, but you say you don’t want to. Is it merely fear that holds you back now? Fear of another curse?”

  “Of course I’m afraid, old man! Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “As long as that is the only reason that holds you back, then you will never escape cursings. To be truly free, your heart must change. Not just your skin.”

  “This is ridiculous.” Kishin moved to the door.

  “How is your daughter, Kishin?”

  He froze. “What do you know of her?”

  “I know her well. Such a beautiful child she was. Now grown. And like her father, she knows how to kill. Yet she is different.”

  “How so?”

  That ugly, old finger tapped at the heart again. “She will not do it, unless she must. She serves a higher cause.”

  Kishin looked away. He could not answer.

  “Perhaps you should seek out such a cause yourself.”

  Kishin laughed at that. “You think I should go the Lord Rajwir? Offer my sword in his service?”

  “No.” Chimon shook his head. “I’m saying you need a cause. If you must fight, if you must carry a sword, then you need a reason to do so. If you have no cause, no reason… then all I can see for your future is a return to what you were. And while Theon’s mercy is great, I would not dare to test it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  WHAT JUST HAPPENED? Dravid stared after Seri’s swiftly-departing back. What had he said wrong? What had he done?

  Dravid was no stranger to romantic relationships. He told jokes about leaving girls behind in Kuktarma. When pressed, he passed it off as an exaggeration. But not by much. Girls truly were drawn to him. His looks. His smile. And he encouraged it, of course. Now, if he really wanted it, he could entice any one of the women here at the sanctuary, especially if he stayed behind when Forerunner left.

  But Seri.

  No other girl affected him the way she did. Everything about her amazed him. Even her naiveté, her innocence, was tantalizing. And cute.

  “Best friend.” Well, it was better than “just friends.” Best friends could mean something more. At least he had hope.

  What made her break off, though? Was she scared he wanted more than a hug?

  He did want more. But he could wait. She was worth it.

  He sighed and adjusted his crutch. A couple of hours remained until lunch. May as well return to his room and begin packing.

  At that moment, Dravid heard a hiss. He spun on his crutch. A curse-stalker watched him from only a few feet away, its tail moving side to side.

  Lord Meluhha of Kuktarma kept a pair of curse-stalkers in one of his palace gardens, visible for guests to observe these strange creatures. Dravid had seen them several times. But this one seemed much larger.

  “I’m not cursed,” Dravid said, as if the creature could understand him. But he knew curse-stalkers didn’t actually stalk only the cursed. They were drawn to magic. And his body now held a new and powerful magic.

  He opened himself to the pulse and felt the heat rush up inside him. It grew easier every time. His hand began to glow.

  The curse-stalker moved toward him. It seemed cautious, perhaps thinking his crutch a weapon. Dravid drew in the air and created one of the now-familiar discs.

  That seemed to antagonize it. The creature opened its mouth and twin tongues shot out at Dravid. He managed to block them with the disc and crutch, but one brushed against his left hand, burning him with some kind of acidic substance.

  Dravid yelled, hoping to attract the attention of anyone else in the vicinity. Maybe Seri hadn’t gone far. Maybe Ixchel could see him.

  Off-balance from blocking the tongues, Dravid almost fell as the curse-stalker lumbered closer. He managed to move another step back, but that didn’t do much good. The creature was upon him.

  Dravid whacked at it with his crutch and cursed himself for the disc. Why hadn’t he shaped a more useful device, like a sword? Then an enormous mouth rushed right at his chest. He slammed the disc into the monster’s mouth, shattering at least two teeth, but the impact knocked him down.

  Three hundred pounds of reptilian muscle landed on top of him. He screamed as a claw tore into his right bicep, and his arm fell useless. The disc in its mouth kept the curse-stalker from biting at him without hurting itself, but it had other weapons. Another claw scraped skin from Dravid’s shin.

  Dravid had never formed two items of the magic at the same time. He didn’t know if the disc would stay intact while he created something else, but he had to risk it. Already, the heat inside him was building up.

  He couldn’t see. He tried to shape with his left hand. He only needed something sharp. He grabbed on to whatever he had formed and slammed it into the creature’s side.

  It worked. The monster squealed and bit down. Dravid couldn’t maintain the disc any more, and it dissolved. He hoped it took out some more teeth in those last seconds.

  He stabbed again and again. With the strength of the magic, it felt like stabbing into butter.

  Despite its wounds, the creature did not give up. It reared up, opening its mouth. Dravid looked up into the enormous maw, lined with serrated teeth. In another moment, those teeth would close around his head and he could do nothing to stop it.

  As the jaws descended, a round shield appeared in front of Dravid’s face. The curse-stalker’s mouth slammed into it, smashing it into Dravid’s nose, cheek, and forehead.

  Something else hit the creature and its weight rolled off of him. He gasped and tried to lift himself up on his elbow, shoving the shield away.

  Ixchel rolled with the curse-stalker down a slight hill. Somehow, she came out on top. She lifted her sword and plunged it down into the creature’s head. If her sword had been longer, s
he would have pinned it to the ground. As it was, the monster threw her off and thrashed about, still moving even though a sword protruded from its brain.

  What did it take to kill this thing? Dravid tried to throw his makeshift dagger, only to find it had also dissolved.

  Ixchel got to her feet, disheveled and dirty, bleeding from a gash in her side. From somewhere on her back, she pulled out a dagger. She approached the creature and stabbed it in the eye. At the same time, she grabbed her sword hilt and yanked it back out. With both weapons, she stabbed again and again until it finally lay still.

  She pulled her weapons free and looked all around, even taking a few steps away. Satisfied at last, she approached Dravid.

  “What were you looking for?” he couldn’t help asking.

  “These creatures often hunt in pairs, with their mate,” Ixchel said. She knelt beside him and looked over his wounds. “Your leg is bleeding, but it looks superficial. That arm wound is serious.”

  “And my head hurts.” Dravid tried to get up, but his right arm couldn’t help much. Great. Crippled in multiple ways now.

  Ixchel assisted him in sitting up. “Your nose might be broken. But I don’t think so. I’m sorry that my shield injured you.”

  “Are you serious? You saved my life! Thank you!”

  Ixchel nodded. “My job is to protect the Lady Seri. It doesn’t prevent me from protecting those she cares for, when necessary.”

  “Those she… how about just because we’re friends?”

  Ixchel inclined her head. “I suppose that is true also.”

  “You suppose.” Dravid snorted. “Ow!” That hurt.

  “We should take care of your injuries,” Ixchel said. She took hold of his left arm and lifted him upright.

  “What about you?” Dravid asked. “Didn’t it get you too?”

  Ixchel touched her side, and her hand came back bloody. “It’s not bad.”

  With her help, Dravid began to hobble back toward the pavilion. “I suppose I’m Bonded to you now.”

  “No doubt, though you won’t be able to feel it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My Lady didn’t tell you? Forerunner’s power here is blocking our Bindings.”