by Jesse Teller
They were on a stage in a stall marked with a large wooden sword. Aaron was set between Peter and Jordai, with Gralton further down the line.
Aaron could still feel the powder’s weakening effects, and he fought to wipe it off his body. But the more he smeared, the weaker he felt. He was only rubbing it into his skin. He growled and curled his fists.
“They will sell us to Darkfess, and we will go into his arena. They know we are warriors,” Peter said. “We have only to wait, and we will be delivered to the very spot we desire.”
“Gladiators,” Jordai scowled. “We have fought every other war, why not for sport?” he said.
Aaron laughed, then he saw a bull raksa staring with cold eyes directly at him. Fear, real and sudden, jumped around him, and he fought to snarl, fought to sneer. He tried to summon every ounce of rage he could to battle back the fear, but with the bull-headed man staring at him and pointing his direction, Aaron’s terror grew.
Gralton was bought by what had to be a games master for the arena. The crate of clay he was sunk into was hoisted into a cart, and Aaron grinned.
Jordai was next, and the same man bought him. He went for a much higher price, as Jordai was a massive man, and Aaron saw him lifted and placed on the same cart. When the seller’s crop switched against Aaron’s back, the games master bid on him as well, and the bull countered.
Aaron froze. He glanced at Peter, shock on his king’s face. Aaron looked at his two friends, Jordai and Gralton, fear staining their eyes.
The seller’s eyes lit up, and he smiled.
“Well, then, here he is. He is obviously a warrior, look at these scars.” The man ran a fingernail along the scar on Aaron’s cheek, and Aaron snapped his teeth shut just shy of biting the finger off. The crowd gasped. “This is a black scar. We all know that came from a hell-forged blade. This right here,” the man ran a finger along the claw scars on his neck that trailed down his shoulder and chest. “This mark was left by some beast this man killed. It is plain to see this one is a mighty warrior indeed.”
Jordai shook his head as the games master bid again and the bull quickly countered. “No,” Jordai said. He looked panicked.
Aaron looked at Peter and shook his head. “What do we do?” Aaron asked.
“We are supposed to be sold together. We will serve as one in the gladiator arena,” Peter said, but no one but Aaron was listening. “No, we can’t.... It can’t go this way.”
A breath after the games master upped his bid, the bull countered again, tears welling in Aaron’s eyes. The auctioneer called for the next bid, but no one answered. Aaron looked at the bull raksa, and the beast smiled.
“Once, twice, gone! Scarred man to the Bull.”
Aaron screamed. Peter fought for words, and Aaron held out hope. If Peter could just explain, they would listen to his king. Everyone listened to his king. But Peter had no words. He watched as Aaron’s crate was hoisted into the air, and Peter could only say. “I’m sorry.”
As a cart bearing Aaron the Marked slowly rumbled out of the marketplace, Aaron yelled, “I will find you!” His eyes locked on Peter’s crying face. “Stay alive! I will find you!”
The bull grinned at Aaron. “Not likely.”
Aaron balled up all his hate and seared one thought into his mind.
Peter Redfist.
The Union of Two Souls
Rayph watched the rising sun from his perch on top of the magistrate’s building in Ironfall, the home of the Manhunters, and the time weighed heavy on him. From the roof, he could see the decorations: paper lamps from the islands of Cin-ci-dal, silver trees potted and lined up to form an aisle, a modest place for the witnesses to stand on either side of the aisle, and the jade-colored bark from the Passing trees of Lorinth sprinkled down the lane. At the focal point of the ceremony would stand the eagle statues of Cor-lyn-ber.
Dissonance’s priest had arrived years ago. He was a mighty man, humble and pious. Rayph had liked him instantly. He spoke of wars he had fought and a desire for peace that led him to the clergy. He immediately set up in the small living chambers of the church and began his service to the chapel and his warrior, Dissonance. Now, he stood at the center of the ceremony waiting.
The wind took on a slight brisk feel. Rayph cursed at the coming of winter, and Dreark appeared behind him. Rayph moved his journal so the large man could sit.
“Before you start, let it be known that I am aware of what you will say,” Rayph said. “I understand, though it leaves me in a pinch, and I hate to see it.”
“I joined this crew of yours so I could help you hunt down Julius Kriss. We did that five years ago, and I have stayed on. Mostly because I believe in what you are doing here, but also out of respect for the friendship we have had in the past. My post is beside Garrison until the coming of my king. I cannot let it stand empty any longer. After the wedding, I am leaving. I will leave my men behind, but I must go,” the big man said.
“Vampires, Dreark, I have found evidence of vampires, and now you choose to leave? Do you know the plague they present? Last time I faced Tristan, he had nearly won a foothold in the continent of Teretal. Nearly an entire nation had fallen to his disease. This time, it is not Teretal. This time, it is Perilisc. This time, it is Lorinth. This time, it is our people.”
“Your people.”
“Dammit, Dre, how many Ganamaians live on this continent? Your nation rests on this land to the north.”
“I know where my nation is, Rayph.”
Rayph could hear the anger in the voice, but cared not. He let his own anger rise and turned to face his one-time friend. “Ask Garrison if he wants you to leave. Tell him what we face, and see if he commands you to stay.”
“You say vampires.”
Rayph’s rage boiled over and he gritted his teeth. He clenched his fist and snarled at Dreark. “There was a time when my word was enough with your people. Now it is doubted? And why?”
“You know why,” Dreark stood, and Rayph did as well. Dreark shook his neck loose, and Rayph knew he was ready to attack. Rayph wanted it at that moment, needed to hit this man and make him hurt, as his words had hurt his own heart.
“You gave me that axe for safekeeping.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dreark snapped and turned away.
Rayph grabbed the man and spun him around. Dreark snarled, clenching his fists tight. “We damn sure are going to talk about it, and you’re finally going to listen. You gave me your nation’s axe in friendship and brotherhood. Your people had been handing it around for three decades, trying to get it from guardian to king, so you could finally march on your homeland and take it back.” Rayph pointed his finger in Dreark’s face, and the huge man slapped it away. “You told me that when I found a hero of worth, I was to give it to him or her. Pass it on, you said, and fate and the gods will seat it in the hands of your king. How was I supposed to know he would show up? How was I supposed to know Mycenae would come to your home? I handed it to a worthy man when I met him.”
Dreark looked at his feet. Rayph poked his finger into Dreark’s chest hard. “I did as you told me to do. I did as I was led to do by the axe. And your people have to wait now. And you blame me! To Hell with you, Dreark! I will not apologize for it! I will not take the mar on my honor that you want to give me!”
Dreark shook his head. “You claim to be friend and ally to my people and—”
Rayph’s fist acted on its own, landing on Dreark with crippling force. The Ganamaian took the blow and grunted. Dreark snarled and backhanded Rayph, knocking him in the air and tossing him from the roof of the building. Rayph tumbled, catching himself with a spell the instant before he hit the ground.
He wiped blood from his nose and spat. “Go then, and talk to Garrison about the vampires. Ask him if my word still carries weight with the Ganamaians. If not, then leave, and take all your men with you. I will replace them and move on without you!” Rayph turned and stormed away, holding his nose with a bloody hand and cursi
ng.
There were two tents at the end of the aisle. The crowd was small but powerful. Dreark stood with his men on one side. The black eye he wore looked angry as a storming sky, and Rayph felt guilty for laying it upon him. Dreark had not made eye contact since the argument, and Rayph felt a budding of regret at the loss of his friend’s love. Drelis stood beside Dreark, talking in light tones. She glanced over at Rayph often, and he wondered what words she poured into Dreark’s ear. Drelis Demontser had always been a woman Rayph could count on, but she wore a dark sheen that made him often wonder at her motives. Dreark seemed unmoved by her words, his face stone, his body rigid.
Beside Rayph stood Thomas Nardoc, the Prince of Lorinth, and Shalimarie Song, his intended. Sitting next to Shalimarie was the biggest dog Rayph had ever seen. It looked fierce and wild, and Rayph knew its devotion to the young girl was absolute. The string of lies and deceit it took to manage the young couple’s presence was long and dark, but Rayph knew it important they stood here to witness this. If things went as he planned them to, the attachment that grew stronger today would nurture a relationship that would never break.
The priest stood at the end of the aisle, flanked on both sides by the iron eagles of Cor-lyn-ber. Dissonance stood between the two tents at the front of the aisle, waiting with a spear in hand to escort the two to her priest.
Sisalyyon stood behind Dissonance, half in her tree form, her cherries ripe and ready for picking. Her face nestled into the bend of two thick limbs. With a nod from the priest, Sisalyyon whistled to the birds sitting her branches, and they began a melodious song that started the wedding.
Smear emerged from his tent. His naked, muscled body seemed to quiver with nerves as he bowed to Dissonance. She rapped her spear shaft on the ground, and he followed when she led him down the aisle. They reached the priest, and Smear nodded, his cheeks taking on a slight blush when he turned and saw the children beside Rayph. Neither Thomas nor Shalimarie made any signs of discomfort at the man’s nakedness, and Rayph marveled at their maturity.
Dissonance stepped back to the tent, and the birds’ song changed with the rustling of Sisalyyon’s branches. Trysliana stepped, bold and naked, from the tent, and Dreark’s fifty warriors gasped at her perfection. Their culture did not marry in this fashion. Rayph knew her toned body was a shock and a delight to them. No normal woman could boast a body of this type. Her form was tight as a clenched fist, her breasts firm. Her power stood unfettered before them. Rayph lifted his eyes to her face to see her crying, her eyes locked on Smear, her smile beaming as she walked toward her future.
She reached her groom and turned stately to the priest before her. Smear took her hand and kissed it.
“You have come naked before your peers, bearing no shame and hiding no flaws. As you examine your soon-to-be mate, find the faults, as well as the perfections, and mark them well. Though they will shift and change with time, flaws are the way of man and womankind, and they will always be bare before you.
“In the face of these flaws, do you wish to continue your binding?” the priest said. His deep, strong voice trembled with emotion, as in unison both bride and groom said yes.
The growing winter wind gusted, tossing Trysliana’s hair in a whirlwind of curls of blonde, and they both trembled at the chill. Cold wind at a wedding was an ill omen, and a pall fell over the whole crowd. Trysliana diffused the mood by laughing and stepping closer to Smear. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer.
“Have you memorized your vows as set before you?” the priest said. Both nodded. “Then recite them to one another before your witnesses.”
Smear spoke first. “I will defend your life and love. I will make a home in my heart for only you. I promise to embrace everything you give me in love. I will be a balm when you are sick, a bandage when you are broken, and arms for you to collapse in. My family will be yours, my house will be ours, and my wealth will be your boon. And I will love and cherish these vows, for my soul depends on them.” Smear’s voice cracked as he spoke, and by the end, his tears ran boldly down his face.
Trysliana seemed unable to speak as she stared in wonder at the man and what he had said. The priest coughed, and she laughed. “Yes, well, sorry. I, Trysliana, will defend your life and love. I will make a home within me for your heart and body. I promise to embrace every gift you give me. I will be a balm when you are sick, a bandage when you are broken, and arms for you to collapse in. Your family will be mine, your house, ours, your wealth my boon. And I will cherish these vows and keep them, for my very soul depends on them.”
“We will now have the giving of the fruit,” the priest said.
Trysliana turned, reluctantly it seemed, leaving Smear’s side to walk back down the aisle and stop at Sisalyyon. She gently kissed the half dryad’s wooden face before plucking one plump cherry from its stem. She whispered something Rayph would never hear, and bowed to the tree before returning to Smear. Smear’s face grew solemn as he stared at his bride. She cupped her hand under the dangling fruit and held it to his mouth.
Smear’s tongue pulled the fruit closer, and he took the cherry in his mouth and bit into it. His eyes took on a devilish quality, and Thomas looked up at Rayph and whispered.
“I do not understand this ritual,” he said.
“One day you will. Let’s not try to grow up too fast, your majesty,” Rayph said. Thomas seemed satisfied with this response and said nothing more on it. Rayph looked at the boy’s face, anticipation in his eyes as he stared at the wedding proceedings. When the priest looked at Thomas, the boy took Shalimarie’s hand and led her out into the aisle. Rayph made to grab them and pull them back, but he missed, and they stepped boldly out into the proceedings. The priest faced the two children approaching and lowered his head. The bride and groom watched, brief fear splashing across their faces.
Thomas led his intended before them and turned to Trysliana, as Shalimarie turned to Smear. They took the hands of each and Thomas spoke: “The crown recognizes this union and blesses it with joy.” He kissed Trysliana’s hand as the little girl kissed Smear’s. Rayph’s love for the boy and girl blossomed in his heart, and he fought back tears. They took the hands of the bride and groom and interlocked them. They kissed the clasped hands as the couple dropped to their knees. The witnesses clapped and whistled, while Thomas turned with grace and led Shalimarie away.
Rayph patted the boy on the shoulder and nodded to him. Thomas smiled with a child’s face.
Smear carried Trysliana away toward the home they had picked out in the abandoned city, and the assembled witnesses watched them go. He turned the corner, and the crowd cheered. They all headed to Dreark’s Stalwart, and the party that awaited.
Rayph took a chair in the corner of the room, with two lanterns casting a flickering light on his maps and notes. The party roared around him as Drelis, Dissonance, and Sisalyyon danced countless dances with Dreark’s warriors. As the only women around, the three received no rest until the men were deep into their cups. Dreark accepted challenges from his men in the boxing ring and, one by one, laid them on their backs.
Hours after the wedding, Smear and Trysliana entered the Stalwart, and a rousing cheer erupted from the crowd. Trysliana blushed, and Smear laughed. Both eventually joined Rayph at the back of the bar.
“What do you think, Rayph?” Smear said.
“Yes, good, fine,” he said without looking up. Smear and Trysliana laughed as Rayph shook his head. “What?” He frowned up at them. “I’m sorry.” He shoved the maps from his mind and shook his head.
“What do you think of your study, boss? Have you figured out where they are yet?” Smear asked.
“Without more information, I cannot know,” he said. “A clan of vampires would have certain needs. I cannot know much more without additional information.”
“What are we going to do?” Trysliana asked.
“You should go enjoy your wedding party. Leave me to this, and I will make some sense of it.”
&nb
sp; “We will enjoy the revelry for a bit, but tonight I want to talk about this with you,” Smear said.
Rayph waved them off, and they walked away.
“Why this village?” he said to himself. He looked up. Thomas was dancing with Drelis, Shalimarie dancing with a random Ganamaian warrior.
Rayph locked eyes with Sisalyyon, and she walked over, denying a man a dance and breaking his heart in the process. She gracefully sat across from Rayph. He reached into his pocket and dropped a fetish of the Manhunters in front of her.
“It’s time,” he said.
She leaned back, unable to lift her eyes from the item. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, I am. I need you.”
“What of my people? What of my post in the royal garden?” She shook her head and stared in defiance. “I cannot. I must protect that garden.”
“You don’t think that is what I’m trying to do? I need your powers. I need a dryad to help me do this.”
“I will talk to my sisters and ask them to talk to you themselves.”
“Not good enough. I need a warrior of nature to do this. I need you. The nation and the world are at stake. Do you know how fast this poison spreads? We may be too late to save the nation as it is.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“How many animals died in that forest?”
She crossed her arms and shook her head. “That’s not fair.”
“The hell it’s not. How many?”
“Hundreds.”
“There are many more to add to that, have no doubt. The vampires are out there already, undiscovered as of yet. Midvor was only the first to be found. More villages will fall. More innocents will be lost. Help me, Sisalyyon. I can’t do this without you.”
“I looked into it after you left.” She glanced once more at the fetish before picking it up and pinning it on.
“Thank you, Sisa,” Rayph said. “What did you look into?”
“I followed their tracks as far as they would take me.”