Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1

by Daniel J. Rothery

  “We don’t have to do this, son,” he said quietly over the point of his sword.

  “You just killed Captain Elsano,” Arad countered, as quickly as he might have parried a thrust. “What am I, to ignore that, and let you walk away?”

  Gallord-Smit shook his head, continuing to circle right, away from Arad’s longer sika. “I offered him quarter—he was injured. He gave me no option,” he replied sadly.

  “You think I blame you?” Arad asked suddenly, stopping and straightening slightly. “I don’t, Front-Captain.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s not your fault. It’s war.”

  Gallord-Smit halted as well, taking one step away and lowering his blade. “Then end this, son. As honourable men, let us cease this pointless conflict, on agreement to negotiate. No claims to the island—the large island—until the Lords and the Overlord resolve this.”

  For a long moment they stood there, facing each other. Battles were being fought around them, but men on both sides gave the two leaders latitude. Like the eye of a tropical storm, their place was an island of calm surrounded by chaos.

  Arad shook his head. “You must surrender, Front-Captain. I promise you, I will do my best to speak the Overlord on your behalf.”

  “I cannot surrender, after all of my men who have died for this cause,” Gallord-Smit said. “We both know that Yalcin Rex isn’t behind this.”

  “You’re right,” Arad agreed. “And my father will never accept a truce. I must capture this island, Front-Captain. You must surrender.”

  “The young man I sailed to Somria with was not so eager to please his father,” Gallord-Smit stated pointedly. “And what about Sayri? These are her people you’re killing in the name of your father’s ambitions.”

  Arad’s eyes darkened. “My father’s ambitions?” He stood there silent for a moment, the battle raging behind him. Briefly, Gallord-Smit imagined that his words had perhaps found a home within Arad, for the emotions that crossed his face certainly included grief and compassion. But then the younger man’s composure solidified, and he shook his head. “Front-Captain. Save your men. Surrender, and I will do my best to make the Overlord see the wrongs committed by the father here.”

  Gallord-Smit sighed. “I will not surrender today.”

  Arad nodded, hefting his blade and bringing up his shield.

  ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・

  The Front-Captain was good. Arad had expected that, and probed carefully keeping his shield ready, using the extra length of his sika to maintain a gap. Gallord-Smit, in turn, refused to circle to his left, where Arad’s greater reach would play to his advantage, but closed when Arad tried to do so, forcing him back. They exchanged a few flurried blows, mostly sword on shield. He learned little; the Front-Captain held his hand close.

  Gallord-Smit tapped the tip of Arad’s sword then charged in, pressing with his shield and stabbing at his leg; Arad cross-stepped into Entwined Roots, and slashed upward at Gallord-Smit’s arm. The Lordslander commander lowered his shield, deflecting the blow down. They disengaged.

  Arad offered his shield to be struck, the sika deep for a thrust. Gallord-Smit didn’t take the bait; he lunged past it and attacked Arad’s sword hand with a flicking slash. Arad pulled his hand back and straightened into The Gazer’s Crest, then lunged in with an overhand thrust. The Front-Captain took the blow on the shield firmly, then parried, attacking the flat of the other’s blade; Arad allowed the blow to play his sika offline with his wrist loose, but used the opportunity to punch Gallord-Smit’s shield out of position. The Front-Captain stepped away, readjusted.

  They studied each other; neither having found a vulnerability.

  The Front-Captain came in hard, hacking with short, quick chops under his shield; his smaller sword was faster. Arad parried as he waited for a backhand, then punched the edge of his shield forward between swings. When Gallord-Smit’s lakat glanced off it, Arad lunged. The Front-Captain twisted to deflect the blow inward and for a moment, his shield passed between their eyes—and Arad had an opening. He dropped into a sudden crouch, holding his shield high to protect against a counter, and pulled his longer, curved blade down and twisted it; it passed under Gallord-Smit’s shield and across his hip. Arad pushed with his shield while simultaneously pulling the blade out and spreading his arms into Raven’s Rest; the sika bit into the Front-Captain’s upper thigh. It came out bloody, and Gallord-Smit stumbled slightly as he realigned, gritting his teeth. It was a minor wound, but a painful one.

  “Well cut,” Gallord-Smit said once he regained his composure.

  “Thank you,” Arad replied, inclining his head in a Lords’ Lands fashion, but keeping his eyes on his opponent.

  The Front-Captain grinned, and advanced.

  ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・

  The mountain rumbled behind him. Arad was circling again; when Gallord-Smit refused him doing so to the right, the boy adapted marvellously, circling left instead. It meant they were mostly equal in reach, but twice Arad had almost managed to sneak his longer, curved sika through between them, and that last cut—brilliantly executed right through his guard—had hurt. Gallord-Smit needed to press, or the young Somrian would have him.

  Around them, the battle was a dull cacophony in his ears. No one would interfere in a battle between the two leaders, except Josel; Gallord-Smit kept an eye out for his approach, but there was no sign. He also watched for Charese, who he had lost earlier in a charge. He would not ask for her help unless he was about to die, but he wondered for her wellbeing.

  Arad came at him again with his shield high and his sword sitting atop it, inviting a strike low. He constantly tried to bait the Front-Captain, but Gallord-Smit was no fool—when would Arad learn that? He ignored the offer, bringing his lakat across the top of his own shield to mirror Arad’s position perfectly, then pressed forward straight into him. As the boy backpedalled, Gallord-Smit knew that his leaf-bladed short sword would allow a cut on the break, where Arad’s single-edged sika would not. But Arad realized it, and spun back to his right when they separated, depriving him of the chance. Rot, the boy was good!

  As Gallord-Smit turned to face, Arad threw a casual slash at the face; he took it on the shield and hacked at the proffered weapon arm. The young Somrian was ready, lowering his shield to deflect, and whirled fully around to his right, slashing low—exposing his head! The Front-Captain lowered his shield to take the blow and stepped in to strike.

  Arad tumbled. His sword came high, not low; it struck Gallord-Smit under the edge of his helmet in the face, biting deeply across his cheek, just barely missing the killing blood under the jaw. The tip of Gallord-Smit’s lakat slammed into the dirt where Arad had just been.

  The boy circled, just out of reach. He showed no joy in having struck another blow—in fact, Gallord-Smit was sure he saw his jaw clench and his eyes narrow in a pained expression. He didn’t want to hurt the Front-Captain. Could Gallord-Smit use that?

  Hot blood was running down his neck and across his chest. He was, Gallord-Smit knew, very lucky to have taken the blow on the cheek—it would make a horrible scar, but he wouldn’t bleed much. Would Rena still find him attractive?

  The boy had recovered his countenance, and came in again. Gallord-Smit needed to find his weakness, or he wouldn’t survive this meeting.

  ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・

  He was faster. The Front-Captain was highly skilled; probably better than he was, certainly much more experienced. The man had a response to any technique Arad used, but he couldn’t keep up when Arad went from combination to combination. Perhaps it was his age or poor nutrition since arriving on the island, but he fell behind in long exchanges.

  Gaining confidence, Arad resolved to stay in close longer. Gallord-Smit must have recognized his disadvantage since the last cut—that nasty gash on the left side of his face had made Arad wince—because he came at him slashing viciously, then backed off. Again he came in, then retreated. His shorter blade made it unlikely that he would land a blow tha
t way unless Arad made a mistake. He was biding time, looking for an opening.

  When he came in next, Arad parried. He slipped past Gallord-Smit’s shield, slapping at it with his blade’s edge and forcing the Front-Captain to raise it, then brought his left foot back into Sprinter’s Stretch and hacked at the lower leg. Gallord-Smit sidestepped and parried. Arad lunged back in, punching with his shield, then slashed at the leg again. The Lordslander commander was too slow to parry this time, and Arad’s blade bit into his calf.

  Gallord-Smit let out a grunt and, rather than fall on the injured leg, tackled Arad.

  They rolled over each other, swords clattering and shields banging against each other. Gallord-Smit had the size advantage, but Arad knew how to wrestle; he quickly ended up on top. But the Front-Captain used his shorter sword to hurl several quick pommel punches at the young Somrian; the third hit him on the forehead, dazzling him right through his helm. That was enough for Arad; his sword was too ineffective in close. He dove off and rolled to his feet, his head ringing. The Front-Captain painfully struggled to rise as well—he couldn’t afford to let Arad advance on him while on his knees.

  Unfortunately, Arad needed a moment to clear his head. He retreated and allowed Gallord-Smit to stand. The man was limping.

  Arad took the moment to survey the scene around them. Too many of the Somrian soldiers had fled when they saw the mountain beginning to burst; the Lordslanders had them at a disadvantage. Several groups of his men were still fighting bravely, but the enemy was winning the battle. If he defeated Gallord-Smit, it might turn the tide. Perhaps.

  Above, the sky was darkening under a black cloud of smoke that was rapidly forming above the island. The morning sun still streamed in from its place low above the eastern sea, but eventually it would be blotted out. At the mountain’s summit, great streams of brilliant orange were glowing on the slopes of black stone. One was flowing down toward them; could they survive it? He couldn’t know.

  Gallord-Smit was watching him, waiting. He had blood streaming down both legs, and his face was half covered in red. He was a gruesome, frightening sight. He beckoned.

  Nodding, Arad advanced cautiously.

  Gallord-Smit wasn’t mobile. He held his shield straight, tracking Arad’s sword with it. His lakat hid behind it, waiting.

  Arad came in low, forcing the Front-Captain down on his injured leg. He stabbed at his knees, and then, when Gallord-Smit parried low, he popped up and slashed high. Gallord-Smit was ready, taking the blow across his shield and moving in to hack at Arad’s knee, but he couldn’t take a long enough step with his weak calf; the attack would barely reach Arad’s leg, and was not fast enough.

  Time slowed, finally, and Arad saw. He parried low, slipped outside the attack, and stabbed at the eyes, forcing Gallord-Smit’s balance back. Then he kicked the Front-Captain’s leading leg—the injured one.

  Gallord-Smit stumbled. Arad punched his shield forward and brought his sword back, passing through Bird of Prey. His shield struck Gallord-Smit on the weapon arm, pushing it across his body, and the Front-Captain’s shield fell askew, exposing his chest.

  Arad’s sword was already coming low, ready for a killing thrust.

  This man will save Sayri’s life, the Voice said.

  Arad gasped, straightening, and lowered his sword.

  ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・ ・

  The boy’s moves were like lightning, and Gallord-Smit was slowing. The thigh wound was taking its toll; the face injury painful, distracting. When Arad cut his calf, Gallord-Smit knew he was beaten.

  Over Arad’s shoulder, fire glowed angrily on the mountain. It was coming for them, but would be too late for him, he knew now.

  His one chance was to take the boy with him. He did not think if it would help his people’s cause—he simply, instinctively, had to fight for all he had.

  They exchanged a painful, harsh flurry. Gallord-Smit hammered at Arad’s shield, but he was only seeking an opening to drive his blade home, taking Arad’s sword into himself if need be.

  Then the boy kicked his leg, and he nearly fell in the agony, and was thrown further off balance by an unexpected thrust. Arad punched at his upper arm with the edge of his shield, and Gallord-Smit’s hand went numb; he barely maintained the grip on his weapon. His shield fell astray, and he was beaten; Arad readied a thrust. He didn’t have time to counter.

  Then inexplicably, the boy frowned, his mouth opening in shock, and he paused. He didn’t run Gallord-Smit through.

  His arm numb, face burning, and both legs in agony, Gallord-Smit regained his balance, and rammed his sword forward. It struck Arad between the plates of his torso, just below the sternum, and plunged through. The wide blade of the lakat spread the plates of Arad’s armour, and Gallord-Smit felt it scrape against the spine before it emerged from the boy’s back.

  Hot blood splashed over his hand and spilled down his leg. His hand was against Arad’s belly; the young Somrian dropped his curved sword and placed both hands on the Front-Captain’s chest. His expression was one of surprise, and puzzlement. For a moment, their faces close together, Gallord-Smit smelled spices on Arad’s breath and wondered what Somrian delicacy the boy had eaten for breakfast before this, his final battle.

  Arad crumpled. Gallord-Smit, his leg too weak and his arm still sore, couldn’t hold him. The lakat, painted red, slid back out of his body as he fell, and Arad let out a cry.

  The boy’s face was pale, and his lower lip trembled as if he might burst into tears. He reached out to Gallord-Smit with a shaking hand.

  The Front-Captain dropped his blade and fell to one knee. Arad’s hands came to Gallord-Smit’s chest and gripped the fabric of his jerkin.

  “Promise me, Front-Captain,” Arad breathed, his voice strangely calm.

  Gallord-Smit gritted his teeth, despair gripping his throat. How had it come to this? He respected, even liked, this young man. Why did it have to end this way?

  “Promise me, please,” Arad pleaded. His eyes were desperate, now. His mouth was open, and his air came in gasps.

  “Tell me.” For some reason, Gallord-Smit was thinking of Mellie. Her innocent voice, barely audible above the fire . . .

  “Sayri,” Arad implored, carefully forming each word. “You have to save her.” His eyes were red, and tears ran from them, but Gallord-Smit thought they were not for himself. “Please, Front-Captain. I was only here for her,” Arad moaned.

  Gallord-Smit shook his head, not understanding. Arad was here for Sayri?

  “Please, Front-Captain!” Arad pulled on his jerkin, drawing him closer. “Please,” he begged.

  “I promise,” Gallord-Smit said. “I will protect her, Arad, even if it means my life.”

  The volcano roared approval, and fire exploded into the sky.

  49 SAYRI

  There was a blazing inferno in the sky, but it wasn’t the sun. It was at the top of the mountain, and it was coming down.

  They had all heard the stories, but would any have imagined they might be true? Sayri couldn’t help but wonder if they had miraculously avoided mythical sea beasts on their way here. Were all fables grounded in truth?

  Wissa had shown no reaction to the terror that hung over the rest of them. When she stopped to discuss the situation ahead, there was no hint of fear or superstition in her; she was all business, cold and deliberate. Of the girl who had clung tearfully to Sayri’s legs, there was no sign.

  They had detoured to the beach until Wissa could declare the way ahead safe again—or at least her own judgement of safe, which seemed to include a scattering of wandering warders or scouts with whom she was fully capable of dealing.

  The Proselyte had improved; he moved more quietly and without falling—still a stumbling, shambling, wreck from Sayri’s perspective, but not quite so bad. He had managed to surprise the swine, though Sayri was still kicking herself for not having recognized that it would be a problem; she had slipped past it, wishing it peaceful rest, and wondered how long it woul
d be permitted to sleep before a battle would envelop it. It had not occurred to her that the Proselyte might wake the beast. How foolish. If she had only thought to cover its ears with the Link . . .

  A low rumble sounded from high above. They were coming almost continuously now, after one deafening roar that had sounded a while ago. She couldn’t see anything but the bush around her, however, as Wissa had warned them that a battle was not far off and scouts were about, and had taken them through the thickest foliage she could find. If any scouts came with fifty paces they would surely hear the Proselyte stumbling through and shredding the plants all around him, but at least they would not be seen from afar.

  Behind the spiritualist, the enigmatic beast-man followed, moving deftly but making no attempt at stealth. The creature seemed nervous of Sayri and kept a safe distance; she was glad for that, not knowing what to make of it. Of Wissa, it was outright terrified. Sayri wondered why, though it was a wise enough instinct. The robe-clad woman would slice out the beast-man’s throat in an instant—or the Proselyte’s for that matter—if he appeared ready to threaten her charge. Sayri had never felt so safe; between Wissa and the Link, it seemed as if nothing could touch her.

  Now it was Arad’s safety she feared for.

  The sky was pale blue overhead, softened by early dawn light; the sun peered through tendrils of smoke that threatened to engulf it completely, and likely soon would if the mountaintop was any indication. It had disappeared almost entirely in a torrent of black that continuously plumed upward, adding more and more smoke to its growing swell as it was fed by the retching summit. When it extended over the coastline of the island, they would be once again shrouded in gloom as if it were night. Sayri hoped that she would find Arad before then, and together they would be away on one of the ships to safety.