“I paid him a visit last night to make sure that he’s fine. I didn’t hurt him.”
“As I recall, his lip was smashed open, his jaw was purple, and wasn’t he bleeding from several places?”
Jovan snorted. “Like your touch is any more delicate. Since when are you squeamish about using force to get answers?”
She crossed her arms. “I am not squeamish. I was concerned for Arrago’s well-being. With Torius terrified that we’re all going to be stabbed to death in our beds, I didn’t want the poor boy to be blamed for something that wasn’t his fault.”
Bethany avoided Jovan’s gaze so he would not see the uncertainty in her eyes. She questioned if it was the truth. Had the vision influenced her decision?
She attempted to walk past Jovan, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. “Are you certain he didn’t cause your vision?”
“I’m certain.” She let out a long breath. This could be answered in complete truth. “I let my guard down. Thankfully, no one was hurt.”
“Visions used to terrify you.”
She looked away for an instant before turning back to him. “They still do,” she said softly. “More than you can ever imagine.”
* * * * *
“Weapons training? Today?” Arrago asked as he filled his plate with the usual breakfast fare of oats and nuts, oats and fruits, and garlic bread. He frowned. “Do elves know they can make bread without adding an entire head of garlic to it?”
“I guess not. All I know is that I’d give up whoring for a plate of cured ham and broiled chicken.” Edmund shook his head as he piled baked apples, blueberries, and cooked oats in his large bowl. “Look at this! My horses eat this. I’m telling you, shitting every day is bad. They’re trying to kill us. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so worried about practice today. You know how to hold a sword, don’t you?”
Shaking his head, Arrago muttered, “I don’t.”
Edmund put a hand on Arrago’s arm to stop him. “Not even a bit?”
Arrago stretched out his hand, the one not holding a bowl of food. “I’ve spend half of my life in a monastery. A shovel is about the closest I’ve come to holding a weapon. I thought they’d teach me here, but it appears everyone already knows how.”
After filling up their bowls, the young men planted themselves on a far-side table. “Did you lie on your application letter?”
Arrago poked his oats with his fork before deciding his appetite was greater than his nervous-induced nausea. “Father Arragous wrote my recommendation. I never read it. I just wrote the basic ‘I want to sign up’ letter. He never told me that I had to be an expert sword wielder.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad. I heard this morning that Lady Bethany is going to be there. Maybe she can give you private lessons. She could show you some moves and you could, you know, show her some moves.” Edmund shook his hips to illustrate his point.
Arrago laughed, though it quickly faded. He had been fretting about weapons training since the previous night when one of their instructors explained the process. Arrago didn’t understand anything she had talked about.
“Come on, Arrago. Lighten up. You’re too young to be this serious,” Edmund said, mouth full of food. “A good bottle of rum and a couple of fine whores on your arm, and you’ll be right as rain.”
“I swear all you think about is drinking, whoring, and eating.”
Edmund’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, that’s all I think about.” He leaned forward, as if about to tell a secret. “I’m a seventeen year old nobleman.”
“Three minutes!” Lord Kiner’s deep voice boomed over the breakfast room.
Arrago shovelled as much food down his throat as possible. He failed at pushing aside his worries. More than anything, he did not want to fail. He did not want to disappoint Father Arragous. And he did not want to disappoint himself.
Gentle Goddess, please give me your strength today.
* * * * *
Even though she loved training days, Bethany hated early mornings. She cursed the priests who decided to allow people into the recruits’ main courtyard. Decades ago, they had agreed to reserve the north side of the temple’s main level for military training. Unfortunately, this allowed visitors an opportunity to watch fresh recruits do battle drills. The presence of onlookers irked Kiner, so he had training start at dawn. He was the only Elorian she ever met who willingly rose before ten o’clock in the morning.
Bethany stood beside Jovan as she watched Kiner organize the soldiers into formation. “Left turn!”
Kiner’s deep voice boomed in the morning air, yet was not loud enough to keep Bethany’s eyes from drooping. She called on her own recruit training to keep from falling asleep while waiting for the clumsiest recruits to control their feet. Nearly half an hour passed before the column was suitable for inspection.
“Lord Allric! Initiates ready for inspection!”
That caught Bethany’s attention and she scanned the field. A silver and steel clad man approached them: Allric. She had not seen him when she entered the courtyard and wondered if he had been guarding the entranceway. It would be like him to do something like that—he’d never assign a job he wouldn’t do himself. Bethany wasn’t nearly that noble or self-righteous.
Keeping her eyes forward and moving her lips as little as possible, she asked, “Were we supposed to wear full uniform?” The only time any knight’s uniform left its stand was either for cleaning, guarding the temple, or for official functions. Apexia’s grace, they didn’t even bother with the fancy ceremonial armor in war. Since Allric’s armor was clearly not being cleaned, she wondered who he wanted to impress.
“He’s just showing off for Kiner’s kids,” Jovan whispered back. “He’s getting senile in his middle centuries.”
Bethany held back a smile as Allric launched into his usual, impassioned speech about the glorious, bloody history of the Knights. And while unaffected by his words—after all, she was the heroic soldier in some of the stories—the impact it had on the recruits showed plainly on their faces.
Allric praised the recruits and passed control back to Kiner. After setting them at ease, he divided trainees into a dozen groups. While the recruits received their training swords and organized themselves, the leaders converged.
Bethany shook Allric’s hand. “What are you doing here? Other than showing off?”
“King Richard’s son is here. I thought full uniform would be useful.”
“Daniel?”
He nodded. King Richard’s agreement to send his son to train with elves was a good sign that peace talks continued well.
Allric’s gaze scanned Bethany. “You look nice today. You should wear white more often.”
Discussing her wardrobe choices was the last thing she wanted to do. She waved Kiner to join them. “Good morning, Lord Kiner.”
“Good morning, Lady Bethany. Fine day for training.”
Kiner turned to Jovan and said, “You look normal for a change. Did the maids lose your laundry?”
Bethany chuckled, her eyes flicking to the benign beige that Jovan sported instead of his usual gaudy colors.
“Beth’s contagious,” Jovan said. “So, shall we get this over with?”
Under Kiner’s direction, she joined her group mostly of elves. They respectfully bowed to her and she returned the gesture. She lifted her eyes and found that Arrago stood with his back to her in his adjacent group. She’d successfully avoided him since the day in the underground.
Focused back on her team, she watched them mock fight with poorly made, but real swords. “Don’t cower from him, Kassia. You are smaller than him but you’re faster. Don’t focus on his size. Focus on your speed. That is your strength.” Bethany stood next to the petite human woman in her group and, without harming the male recruit Kassia fought, demonstrated how to knock the large elf down.
“Arrago! Defend yourself,” Erem shouted, catching Bethany’s attention.
Arrago pulled his sword from
the scabbard like a child holding his father’s sword for the first time. Bethany noticed his hands shake and she took a long, deep breath. She did not like how awkwardly he held his weapon.
“Use the sword to attack Prince Daniel,” Erem commanded.
Arrago’s opponent danced around him. “Come on, servant boy. Attack me!”
Bethany struggled to focus on her own recruits. Erem’s shouts at Arrago continued to distract her. Jovan wandered to her side and motioned at Arrago with his head.
“Keep going,” she said to her group. She stepped nearer to Erem’s circle of recruits with Jovan.
“What’s the matter? Priests never taught you how to fight?”
She did not like the tone that the young man used. She turned to Jovan, who had followed her. “Prince Daniel?”
He frowned.
“Bit of an ass, huh?”
Jovan nodded. “Kiner’s been making allowances, Daniel being who he is and all. I’m not convinced it’s helping.”
Daniel pushed Arrago, who lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Daniel howled with laughter, as did several of the men in their group. Arrago looked dazed.
“Don’t just stand there, Arrago. Move! Attack!” Erem shouted. “Do something!”
Small drops of blood dripped on the rust stones as Arrago picked up the weapon. Bethany noticed a cut on his right forearm. From the slow bleed, she decided it wasn’t serious. Arrago winced as he held his sword, but at least he held on to it.
Daniel swung once more and Arrago dropped his sword, blood pouring from his hand. He picked it back up again, even as his blood trickled down the hilt.
“Only Apexia’s lips suck more than Arrago,” Prince Daniel said, garnering laughter from some of the other humans.
“Shut your mouth, you inbreed royal,” Arrago snapped back, pressing the hem of his tunic on the open wound.
“That’s enough!” Bethany shouted at the top of her voice, silencing the laughter.
The Prince turned to face her and snorted in disgust. He went back to pointing at Arrago, mocking his bleeding hand. “I bet you wish your dead mama was here to kiss it better.”
Bethany took three strides and grabbed Daniel’s arm. Her clenched fist flew through the air towards his face. There was a wet snap and he fell to the ground on his rear.
He touched his bloody and already swelling nose. “You fucking Elvish bitch. You hit me!”
A collective gasp of horror surrounded her. She grabbed the front of Daniel’s tunic and dragged him to his feet. Blood spurted out of his nose as he tried to breathe and it splattered on her white tunic. “What did you call me, filth?”
“I am Prince Daniel of Taftlin. I demand to be treated with respect.”
“You demand?” She kept her voice calm and low when she spoke. Allric had once said that she was most terrifying when barely audible. “You don’t talk to me, ever, like that. I have killed men for less.”
She tossed him back to the ground. He moaned and held his face. She turned her attention to the circle of recruits that had gathered around her. “So this is how you think knights behave? Laughing at someone else’s expense. Mocking one of your own because they are not as fast as you are. Is that what honor means these days?”
All she could hear were murmurs and the awkward shuffling of feet. She waited until certain that each one of them felt the guilt of laughing at Arrago.
She stepped close to Arrago. He kept eye contact with her, which she liked. “Do you need a healer?”
He shook his head. “No. A bandage should stop the bleeding.”
Bethany flicked her stare to a junior knight. “Get Arrago a cloth bandage.”
“Yes, Lady Bethany.”
Bethany pointed at Daniel, who cupped his hand around his nose to hold back the blood. “I don’t have room for spoiled princes.”
“Elvish whore!” Prince Daniel shouted at her after she turned her back.
She faced him again and stared. Having been raised by elves, she had taken the elven chastity vow. Rather ironical that whore was the best insult he could find in his limited vocabulary. “Maybe I am. But this Elvish whore passed training and became a Silver Knight. You, Prince Daniel, will not. As of this moment, you are expelled from the Temple of Tranquil Mercies to return to your sty of a kingdom in shame.”
The spoiled boy would return to his father. Consequences be damned.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Viper will creep in the dark corners of the mind. There will be no comfort. There will be no escape.
—Aleu’s Agony of the Diamond
Sarissa ran her fingers along the wooden cages of her prisoners, her fingernails clicking against the posts as she walked. The snow had stopped two days ago and the warm, fresh taste of spring hung in the morning air. The warming weather meant she wouldn’t lose them to the cold. Filthy Rygents-perfect for sacrifice.
After making it to the end of the seven cages, she turned and wandered back to the front of them. Robert had insisted that detaining the prisoners further up the slopes, away from the village, was the safest plan. It had been a good choice after all. More traders arrived that morning and insisted upon wandering around the village. She did not have the resources to imprison more people and King Richard would have frowned on her killing traders. At least these were somewhat intelligent and brought food and supplies with them.
She stopped at the third cage and stepped off the wooden planks, her boots sinking ankle-deep in feces-mucked snow. Pointing at the scrawny boy inside, she demanded, “Your name.”
“David,” he whimpered, pulling his limbs tight against his black body.
“Humph.” She pulled out her leather-bound journal. Using one of the pencils that arrived with the supplies, she scratched down the boy’s name. “Robert?”
Behind her, Robert’s enormous feet dragged along the wooden planks to catch up to her. His inability to walk quietly irritated her but otherwise he remained useful. So remain her husband—and alive—he would.
“David, what kind of Rygent are you?”
“Don’t know, ma’am,” he stuttered. He held out his arm. The birth mark, a swirl of white on his forearm, did not resemble a pattern. Either his bloodline was tainted or his Power would never be much to mention.
Still, he could prove useful. She waited until Robert was standing next to her. “Train this one.” They lost four children over the winter. This David was young enough to be taught Magic without any of the annoying hang-ups of morality. And, if the Magic killed the Power inside him, all the better. If the Power wouldn’t allow Magic, he could still be useful as a swordsman. Robert was too stupid to learn Magic, and he still remained useful.
She leaned towards the cage, smiling, enjoying how the boy scurried to the back of his cage. The taste of fear blanketed the air around her prisoners. Sarissa inhaled the air deep into her lungs, soaking up the energy for her own. It was glorious!
“Might need to cut those off,” she pointed at his toes, some blackened from frostbite. “See he gets another blanket. I’d hate for him to lose more toes. He’s ugly enough as it is, all scabby.” She leaned forward. “Frozen in winter, cut off in summer. We’ll fix up those toes as soon as the thaw settles in.”
Sarissa stepped back to the wooden planks that were laid as a walkway over the melting snow. She smiled approvingly, looking at her prisoners. Interpreting the Magic texts went slower than she preferred. Robert wanted her to start on the seven to bring a revelation to her but she did not work that way. There was no telling when more prisoners would be captured and she could not waste these until she was certain she had everything ready.
Patience must be exercised, she scratched out in her journal. Her eye started itching again.
The wind picked up and the stench of unwashed bodies clouded the freshness of spring. She coughed and snarled, “You smell worse than shit pits. You’re ruining my perfect day.”
And it really was a good day. The dog sled caravan had delivered more than just
supplies. It also brought precious news.
A letter had arrived extending King Richard’s tolerance of their village for another year. Sarissa had not been surprised, though she was pleased nonetheless. Hiding in the unnamed peaks of Taftlin’s northern boundary, Sarissa’s small village of seventy Magi had been left alone to pursue the dark arts in peace. True, she had to trade their help for King Richard’s blind eye. They paid their taxes in furs and potions, plus ensured that unrest was always fuelled by kidnapping small numbers of Rygents. In exchange, they weren’t harassed. It was a fair deal and served Sarissa well.
Sarissa’s eye watered. If it would get better, she was certain that she would make a breakthrough. She could not afford the distraction.
“Anyone a healer?” she asked. The snow had been so heavy that she had not bothered to inventory the prisoners until now.
A meek voice from the far end answered, “Yes.”
Sarissa walked to where the voice came from and found a dirty female, her dark skin caked in mud. This pathetic creature looked as though she had barely reached adulthood. She hated Rygents more than she hated humans. Humans, at least, were powerless. Like she was. But these inbreed animals had the Power of a dead god sloshing around in their veins.
Bile rose in her throat. She clenched her journal, visions of ripping the girl’s throat open with her bare hands coursed through her.
She nodded to Robert. “Bring her.”
Sarissa turned to leave, still running her fingertips along the posts. She stopped to look back at Robert. “Have someone rape the women. Isn’t that what prisoners expect?”
Robert grunted.
Sarissa took four steps and stopped. “On second thought, rape the men, too. I’m all for equality.”
* * * * *
Amber stood half-naked in the mud hut, shaking from fear and thawing limbs. She was not permitted to bring her blankets with her as a cloak. The scraps of fabric that were given to her as clothing did not cover her properly and she hunched over in hopes of covering her most private parts.
The giant Robert sat in a nearby chair and watched her. Occasionally, he would lick his lips or make an obscene gesture with his hips. She focused on the roaring fire that warmed her freezing body and not the grotesque behaviour of the male Elorian.
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 145