“That’s the point. I don’t know. But, this is an heirloom.” He stroked the blade with a fingertip. The sword hummed to him despite it being laid flat against the boards.
“It reacts to magic. I don’t know why. It is a one of a pair. People will kill for this sword – they have already, as have I – even though they do not know what it does. People will kill for anything they want. It is us at our most basic.”
Jermin moved his feet in for warm and said, “Forgive me, I don’t understand.”
“The sword sings when magic is near.”
“Has it no name?”
“It is a strange tale. But one for another night. It seems I have enough destiny to contend with, without my sword getting in the way – remember, destiny is a strange thing and sometimes names carry their own. Anyway, what of your axe? Have you named it yet?”
“Well, I still want to name it. It has been a friend. If I live I’m sure it will be again. I was thinking Blood Leaf…because, you know…well, it seemed appropriate – it’s vaguely leaf-shaped, and…”
Shorn spat viciously. “Pick another name. That name has too dark a history.”
“What do you mean? It’s not your blade’s name?”
“No. Pick another name – that one is taken.”
Drun came out of the tent and passed Shorn and Renir on their way to do some exercises – and eat. When he arrived at Captain Jermin’s feet he was out of breath.
“Captain Jermin, I am sorry, I have helped all I can but I lost seventeen men, women and a child. I came to tell you, three are not yet dead, but they will be by the morning.”
Jermin nodded. “It is sad, Drun, but then you have worked miracles, too. Men who would have died live because of you.”
“But still, I wish I could have done more.”
“You saved Renir today, didn’t you?”
“Renir? No. I never saw him.”
“He was bleeding to death, so he went to see you. He said you must have stopped the bleeding and that he felt fine.”
Drun looked honestly troubled. “Now that is strange, Captain.”
But then, perhaps not, he thought – Shorn, it seems, is not the only one to wage internal war upon himself. The captain obviously thought as much, too.
“He seems strangely troubled…I have heard him talking to himself.”
“I have heard him, too, Captain. I know not what it is. I will not help until he asks…I can delve, meddle, help – but I can’t fight people’s battles for them – I am a guardian, an observer. It is not my place to fight battles…”
“Then I hope this is one he can win himself. I owe him – all of you.”
Drun favoured him with a kind smile as he pulled at his greasy beard – washing was something it seemed his excessive hair was missing.
“Believe me, Captain, there may be a debt owed, but it is not yours to pay.”
*
Chapter Seventy-Two
Under the Guryon’s ethereal feet Tirielle paced up and down. The conversation was going nowhere and she itched to leave as soon as possible. Time enough had been spent under the hospitality of the rahkens, and she was sure the night had been uncommonly long. Perhaps it was just that she had not slept, but it seemed to go on forever. Now, with morning here (she only had the rahkens word for that – the rocks glowed with a strange inner light but no sunlight reached these depths) she knew it was time to move.
She spoke to Quintal, and whispered in his ear so as not to disturb the Ludec, currently holding forth on magical matters for Garner’s benefit. The other dissidents had removed to the great hall, but Ludec had found time for Garner alone.
Ludec seemed to teach with every word he uttered. Tirielle wished he would shut up and allow them to leave, although she knew the thought was uncharitable.
Garner’s education was proving a massive task. All the gifted here had noted his potential but he consistently failed to achieve even the most basic of skills.
“Quintal, this is all fascinating, but it really is time for us to leave.” Tirielle shifted impatiently.
“In a moment, Tirielle. Time is high, but he has a point. It would do you well to hear this, too.”
“Fine,” Tirielle said huffily. “Don’t blame me if the Protectorate have surrounded us while you dither…”
“Unlikely as it is, my Lady, I promise no blame will attach to you. The seer sees the future, not the present. There will be time.”
“Hmmpf,” was all Tirielle could muster. She flicked her hair at Quintal and returned her attention to the lecture.
Ludec continued his explanation about the seer’s ailment, unmindful of Tirielle and Quintal’s whispered conversation. “They tried to torture her into submission, to release her potential but the Protectorate only broke her boundaries. She sometimes sees into people’s heads – she gets lost in time and thoughts.” He scratched at the thick skin covering most of his long face. “Imagine if magic were colour.”
Garner nodded. “You said that before.”
“Yes, now imagine thoughts were colours. Imagine you could see those colours – but not just the thoughts of the living, of all living things. Imagine the chaos that colour would bring. Now imagine being able to see all that.”
Garner sat quietly while he digested this. “So she sees everything at once?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Is that why she is so difficult to reach?”
“Yes.” The whole class was looking at Ludec. Tirielle sat curling her hair through her fingers, drifting in thought. “Have you ever seen the sun reflected on the surface of a pond?”
Garner shrugged. “Yes…”
“Well, you see a line of light, the reflection of the sun – but you only see the light that comes toward you. Do you understand?”
“Well, I understand what your words mean but not your meaning, no.”
“Well, you see that light that comes toward you, yes?”
The student nodded.
“Well, where do you think the rest of that light goes. Is it not there?”
Garner looked stumped. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
Ludec laughed kindly “I know you don’t know. The Sard know. Look at their armour. They understand the nature of light – of colour. Reflection. All life is just a facet of light. Without it there would be no life. Without it there would be no colour. Without it,” here he paused for effect, “there would be no magic. If you don’t understand the nature of light, you’ll never understand magic, Garner. That’s all magic is – perspective. We see the light in different ways – the colour of our eyes just dictates what you can see. The better your sight, the better your magic. The light that does not reach your eyes is still there. We just understand what we see, where the light goes, better than others. When you improve, Garner Tur – I have no doubt that you will – you will be able to see the light that does not reach your eyes. As you become better, you will be able to find someplace in between seeing all and seeing nothing…” Ludec stopped sharply mid-sentence.
Can you hear me?
Garner was staring at him.
NO?
“That is all for today. Before you all go, we will…goodbye to…”
The Myridium. The crossroad of all knowledge. Some passes through, too powerful even for the Myridium, but some stays. Another knows you are here. You must leave now. Leave now!
Tirielle and Quintal were staring at Ludec, too. He coughed and apologized. “Our friends are leaving. With luck we will see them again. Tirielle?”
“Thank you. I have learned much in my time here. When – if – the time comes, I hope you will all stand with me against our common foe…”
Leave now!
“Ahhch!” The cry came from Tirielle.
“You heard her too?” asked Ludec.
“You heard her?” replied Tirielle. She turned to Quintal and said with urgency, “I thought you said she sees the future! Every second that passes is the future! We must leave! Now!�
�
*
Chapter Seventy-Three
They seemed to be waiting. The ranks of the Draymar in ragged armour were still swelling as the defenders watched from the wall. Armour didn’t matter though, thought Renir, testing his leg (a little drunk, too, which might have explained the swaying). If you have enough bodies around you, that was all the armour you would need. As the light from Dow faded, Renir joined Shorn and they both stretched and moved, loosing themselves in grim silence. Neither man thought of death.
The whole camp was eating, each man and woman, perhaps even the children – although Drun said children had a better method of coping with fear than adults – he said their minds refused to think about it after a while. Renir wasn’t so sure though. He thought perhaps the child’s mind didn’t shut down so much as save it for later.
“I wish they’d come,” said Shorn. “This is the only part about being a fighter I never got used to…the waiting.”
“All of life is waiting, my friend. It has its bonuses. While we wait we get to live.”
Shorn looked at Renir thoughtfully. “This was not all my doing, Renir. I don’t care what you think about it, either. I did not bring this.”
“I know. I think you were a pawn in something bigger.” Expectation hung in the air and made all words heavy. The army was growing wider.
Renir caught a bright movement from the corner of his eye. He glanced up at reddish glint moving across the plain to the south. He looked down at his meal and then up again. Some stew dribbled into his beard as his mouth hung open. Clumsily he nudged Shorn’s elbow, “Look, look!”
There, moving across the plain was a great swathe of soldiers. Dow’s last light hit their armour and helms so it looked like a great shield was moving across the plain toward them.
Shorn stood and called out, “Captain!”
The captain, sitting with his men in the centre of the camp, looked up from his food and came over to stand with the men. Before he could get there the look out atop the tower cried out.
“Reinforcements!”
A great cheer went up. The two men walked over to the captain. Wordlessly, looking out past the ruined gates, Jermin took Shorn’s hand, then Renir’s. “We are saved!”
Shorn climbed carefully to the top of the look-out tower and looked to the west where the Draymar warriors were camped. Their fires were not burning, and he could see a wave pass through their ranks as the enemy saw the marching in from the east. There looked to be roughly a thousand, he estimated. He didn’t know and didn’t care how many Draymar were amassed in the hills and woods leading up to the mountains. A force of around a thousand would be enough, surely.
Unheard, Drun came up behind him. “It will have to be enough. It is time for us to leave.”
Shorn nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes it is.”
Drun put his hand on Shorn’s shoulder. From up here they could see everything. “You did a fine thing here. You and Renir. Unlike your other names, perhaps you will make one that you are proud to keep this time around.”
Shorn turned to say something then saw no malice in Drun’s eyes. He was beginning to make some sense to Shorn.
“Perhaps, wizard,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps.”
The day was near its end. Hearts were lightened at the sight of their saviours approaching. The defenders, ragged, had made their peace and now they were facing a reprieve. It was a chance few got.
Drun, Shorn and Renir took their mounts from the centre of the fort and led them to the gate. They would not stay the night. It was time to leave.
Jermin was waiting at the gate for them, watching the army of Sturmen, the largest seen for a generation, approach.
“Captain Jermin, it has been an honour. I’m sure you’ll go far,” said Shorn.
“I hope not, Shorn. I’ve had more than enough of fighting. I’d much rather go back to counting.”
Drun took the captain’s proferred hand. “Then perhaps you will be the best Captain of the Guard Sturma has ever seen.”
“Although, I think your title may need changing,” said Renir. “Perhaps to Captain at War, or something. You’re not going to be counting much when we leave.”
“Ah, but the cost of the mercenaries in your place.” He referred to the vast majority of reinforcements. “Sent to try me.”
“Come, Captain, are we such a bad lot?” Shorn inquired.
Jermin took Renir’s proffered hand. “Well, for mercenaries…”
“I’m not a mercenary!” Renir protested.
Jermin smiled. “Perhaps not like the men outside the walls, but you fought for armour.”
“No,” Renir replied thoughtfully, “I fought for friends.”
They said farewell and led their mounts out through the battered gates, passing the mercenaries on their way north again. The reinforcements were all an unsavoury bunch, scarred and dirty. Then Renir caught himself. He thought the same thing of Shorn. Shorn was scarred and dirty on the inside but still he had fought. He put his life in danger for little more than guilt. There was much Renir did not understand. I should not write him off as a mere mercenary. He fought for money, but more than that. The money was just a cover.
He looked at the mercenaries come to risk their lives for pay. It could not be all there was. There had to be a deeper meaning. All seemed eager for the battle. The reinforcements came from Naeth – it took so long for reinforcements to arrive because the garrison was weak there and they had to call mercenaries in from Burnon Munth to bolster the army, vicious buggers by all accounts.
Renir was gratified to hear a few whispers about them as they passed, the sort of whispers a man did not mind hearing, even if the source of admiration was a multiple murderer.
“Was the redemption worth the price, old man?” asked Shorn.
“You can never truly balance scales, if that were the case the world would end.” Shorn just looked at him. “No Shorn, the price is not yet paid.”
A shout came from behind them.
“Wait!”
They turned as one to see an old man running toward them, hunched over. As he neared Shorn realised the old man was not so old. He was still quite spry and he was Bourninund.
“Bourninund!” called back Shorn. “It’s no surprise to see you here!”
“Well met! I hear you’ve been writing ballads about yourselves in blood!” He looked at Renir. “And well met, Renir. It is good to see you again.”
Renir was looking at Bourninund with open disappointment. The wiry man (of indiscernable age) looked at Renir. “I see you’ve been bloodied this time…”
“Come to gloat over your handiwork?”
Bourninund chuckled and winked at Drun, despite the fact they had never met. It must be some old man code, thought Renir. “Don’t look at me like that, boy. I told you before, and it may seem trite to you now, but you’ll get it soon enough.”
“But how can you fight this! You made this war!”
“Partly, but it would have come sooner or later. Would you have me fight with them?”
Renir shrugged. “I care not.”
Bourninund laughed at him, showing surprisingly white teeth. When he saw Renir looking annoyed at him he said, “Renir, you are even picking up his speech…that is why I laugh at you. Do not be so sore.”
“Well, shall we stay here and have a drink?”
Drun introduced himself to the old mercenary. “Regretfully, Bourninund, we cannot. We have spent too much time here already and must head on.”
“Well, there’s only three of you, and if I know Shorn there’s a fight somewhere ahead. I don’t want to die old…and, well, I have no great stake in this battle. If you could use another sword…”
Shorn looked at Drun. The meaning didn’t escape Bourninund, who looked at Drun carefully this time. Anyone leading Shorn was someone to be wary of.
“Why would you leave now after coming all this way for a fight?” asked Drun politely.
Bourninund thumped Renir. �
��I think it was this man here, he woke me up. I realised what would happen – I called on the Thane. It took a while but somehow he managed to get this rabble together. Better than nothing, I suppose.”
“Well, I think in the days to come – ” Drun began, “We’ll need all the swords we can get. We head for Pulhuth.”
“Ah, Pulhuth. I know a lady there that…”
Drun put his head down as if deep in contemplation while Shorn and Bourninund prattled. Renir looked at Drun and mounted Thud. Back on the road. Renir ached but Bourninund’s tales would do him no harm.
They passed from the encampment to clear plains, a starlit night ahead of them and the first battle of Sturma behind.
*
Chapter Seventy-Four
Jek sat with his back to the door. It made no difference – no one would be able to get through anyway. He leaned back in his chair and waited. They would be here soon he knew – he could feel the spaces between things and they were shaking. For a moment, before they came through, Jek looked up at the ceiling and sniffed noisily. A smell, something like avarice...
And it came, heralded by the pungent odour of abyssal greed. The Guryon shifted uncomfortably through sight as Jek, forewarned, turned to face them. A fierce jarring of this unreal-reality and, “Payment?” inquired all of the plane’s assassins without introduction.
“Location?” Jek asked.
The Guryon told him and then repeated itself. “Payment.”
With a beleaguered sigh Jek threw the second shining bolt through the hole.
“Weapon?”
Jek shook his head slowly. “Lore, Guryon. Only when we have her. If that fails, I may have you kill her for me – that would be acceptable, yes?”
“Yes. Important?” The Guryon asked in their gargled languages, as the point was unarguable.
“Hmm?” Jek gathered his power. The Guryon waited. They looked to Jek like they were mulling something over. He hoped they would come to the right conclusion. He did not want to test himself against them. Not yet. They could not afford to know how important the lady was.
Rythe Awakes (The Rythe Trilogy) Page 32