by D. A. Stone
“The Pestilent War was a terrible time.”
“But banishment from the entire realm?” she asked. “It is unthinkable today, forcing an entire population out to sea.”
Natalia felt him sigh, knowing full well he’d rather be discussing anything else. She changed the subject.
“Did they truly kill one of our dragons? The Volrathi?”
“Desik saw it with his own eyes.”
“And does that not frighten you?”
“A dead dragon does not frighten me,” he told her, running a hand through her dark hair. “There are others in the fleet. Draxakis will be with us when we march. He owns the sky we live beneath. You mustn’t worry yourself.”
She sat up and turned, looking him in the eye. “Mustn’t worry? Of course I worry! I worry about you!”
Kreiden smiled at her and pulled her in for a kiss. “I know you do, but you worry too much.”
“A wife can never worry too much.” She settled back down against his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat. She remembered wanting to freeze that moment and keep him there forever.
“You knew many of the men who were sent out into the desert, didn’t you?” Talia felt him pause before answering.
“Yes,” he told her. “Some I knew very well, since I was just a boy.”
“I’m sorry, Kreiden,” she said softly. “I never had the chance to tell you. Everything has been so hectic the last few days.”
“I know,” he told her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry, too.”
For a long time they had laid together, hands entwined, saying nothing. Talia loved him so much; just to share the silence with him was enough to fill her heart with happiness.
“How long will you be gone?” she had finally asked, worried about the response.
“I’m not sure,” he answered. “There was a time when I would be away for months, but campaigns haven’t been that lengthy for years. Healianos is risking nothing and we are taking the entire army. I can’t remember when last a force of such size was assembled against an enemy. If we march against them at Goridai, the ensuing battle would be decisive. It could all be over in a matter of days.”
“Over for them or over for us?”
“Point taken,” he said, stretching his arms in a yawn. “But again, you should try not to worry. We’ll be taking more than one dragon and a thousand men, that’s for certain. I’ll be back in your arms as soon as I can.”
“You better be,” she squeezed him tighter. Talia had rolled over then, looking into her husband’s eyes. “Promise me you will return.” He began to protest, but she pressed a finger against his lips. “Just say the words and I’ll feel better. No man can defeat you in battle. I know this. You were meant to carry a sword. But you were also meant to be with me, to give us sons. So you must return to me. It is our destiny.” Her husband had looked into her eyes.
“I promise. No man will stop me from returning to you.”
They had kissed then and relaxed in the soft grass until the sun set.
And that was the last night they’d had together. Her husband had left with the army the next morning.
Talia felt herself begin to cry. She slid beneath the bath water again, holding her breath.
Something was wrong, she could feel it. He had ridden off to battle before, but this was different somehow. She couldn’t explain it, but there was a darkness that was settling, like a cold you couldn’t feel. A shadow in the night.
Exhaling all the air from her lungs, she held herself underwater, feeling her chest burn before rising up into the cool air. When she emerged, Karin was standing before her.
There was a sullen look on her handmaiden’s face and Talia immediately sat up with a splash.
“What is it?” she asked. “Is it Orrie? Is she okay?”
“No, Talia, Orrie is just fine,” Karin spoke, seemingly unsure of how to continue. “There is word from the army. The news is…not good. The populace isn’t taking it well. There is talk that Draxakis and the fleet have been killed, and our soldiers routed on the first day of battle. Kreiden sent a message to you.” She held a leather tube out before her.
Talia surged naked out of the water and rushed towards her handmaiden.
“Impossible,” she said, taking the note.
Karin wrapped a large towel around her mistress as she popped the top off the leather tube and tapped the small note into her palm. Her hands shook as she unrolled the thin paper, eyes hard.
The bathroom was so quiet that drops of water could be heard falling from her body to the floor.
After a moment, she let go of the message, letting it flutter to the marble near her feet.
“Release the servants and give them a year’s salary,” she heard her voice speak vacantly. “We are leaving Corda.”
Wrapping the towel around herself more securely, she strode away.
Karin stood alone in the bathing room for a several heartbeats. Finally, she bent down and carefully peeled the message off the wet marble. The words were difficult to discern, but she was able to decipher them. Her heart nearly broke:
Goridai is lost. Must break my promise and stay to the end. Leave Corda at once. Love you always. –K
***
Talia stalked into the master bedroom and slammed the large double doors shut, sending a thundering crack through the spacious manor. She picked up an ivory comb and violently brushed her hair in front of a long mirror as tears streamed down her face. The dragons were gone and the army nearly destroyed? All in a matter of days?
And now her husband was gone too, left to fight and die for a country that may not even exist in a week or month. How could so much go wrong in such a short amount of time?
“Damn it, Kreiden,” she sobbed. “This was never supposed to happen. This can’t be happening.”
She stormed around the room, pulling the comb through her hair harder, yanking it through the knots.
“This can’t be happening!” she shrieked.
The towel fell from her body as she hurled the ivory comb at the mirror, shattering it to pieces. She screamed once more, a high-pitched wail of frustration and agony. The doors swung open and Karin rushed into the room, wrapping her once more in the towel.
“I’m sorry, Natalia,” she said, bringing the slender princess into her arms, stroking her hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Talia’s anger melted to sobs, and after long minutes even those drifted off to quiet tears. The two moved to the large bed set against the wall, easing onto the soft mattress.
Karin pulled a blanket over them both, but Talia raised a hand.
“Leave me,” she said, the words feeling harsh, much harsher then she intended. “Please?”
“Are you certain? I can stay, Natalia. It is no trouble.”
“I know, Karin.” She wiped the sadness from her face, trying her best to smile. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. I just need to be alone now.” Then, “I’m sorry I broke the mirror.”
“Oh, sweet girl!” Karin’s eyes misted over, bringing her into another embrace. “You have nothing to be sorry for! I’d bring all the mirrors in the house up for you to break if I thought it’d make you feel better. I’ll pick up the pieces and leave you to rest.” Talia settled into bed, bringing the blanket up to her shoulders.
“Leave it. I’ll clean up when I wake.”
“Of course,” Karin said. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.” Giving Talia’s shoulder a gentle pat, Karin left her to rest.
As soon as the doors clicked shut, Talia swung the blankets away and sat up at the edge of the bed. Her mind was spinning. She felt dizzy and sick, the air in the room feeling too thin, too stagnant. She gripped her hair, pulling so tight that some came away in her hands.
What was she to do now? What was she without her husband?
Kreiden was everything to her. He was the light in her life that showed her the way and the crutch she leaned against to get there. They belonged to each other, and no
w nothing made sense. Nothing fit.
“This is wrong,” she whispered. The words came up through the tears in a gurgled mess. “This is wrong.”
Lying back on the bed, she closed her eyes. His face grew in her mind, warm and happy at first. The twisted tendrils of his golden hair were alive with light and his smile spread wide, burning a hole right through to her heart.
But slowly, to her horror, the image began to change. His expression deteriorated until there was no life remaining in his vacant gaze and no color to his skin. His pallor was that of a corpse, gray and gaunt, an empty shell of flesh, like once-magnificent armor left out to rust and corrode with no warrior left to wear it.
“I promise. No man will stop me from returning to you.”
Talia opened her eyes and sat up. She knew sleep would not come. And even if it did, the dreams would be nightmares.
She tiptoed naked past the broken shards of mirror to a polished armoire. Opening a narrow drawer near the bottom, she removed a vial containing the Garik extract used to help her sleep. Holding the tinted glass against a window open to the afternoon air, she saw that it was more than half gone.
She needed to rest.
Opening the vial, she held it up to the window again, hands trembling, watching the liquid within roll and sway like a turbulent sea.
Removing a thin brush from the drawer, she dipped it into the extract and dabbed it on her tongue. The taste was sharp and bitter and the opiate spread a tingling sensation through her mouth, all the way down her throat.
“This is…a nightmare,” she whispered hoarsely.
Twice more she dipped the brush and brought it to her mouth.
Then a fourth time.
Followed by a fifth.
She was taking too much, but her mind didn’t notice and her heart didn’t care.
Putting the glass to her lips, she tilted her head back, consuming two weeks of sleepless nights in one swallow.
“This is a nightmare,” she repeated, dropping the vial to her feet.
Talia returned to the bed and slid under the covers. The Garik extract was already taking effect. Closing her eyes, she saw him then, her husband. Beautiful, strong, gentle Kreiden. The man who was to be the father of her children.
“I’ll be back in your arms as soon as I can.”
“You better be,” she said sleepily.
Kreiden smiled at her, and Talia smiled back.
Chapter 9
With their packs in the shade, the students from Orantak lined up in three columns. They waited in a large clearing of tall grass. The afternoon sun warmed them from its cloudy, blue perch above, and beneath brown cloaks they now wore thick leather breastplates and battered iron helms, with dulled sparring blades at the hip. Their Kessland opponents were similarly garbed for the tourney, assembled in five columns on the distant side of the field with their shields in the grass, waiting for the call that would release them from their lines.
The rules were simple: strike your opponent with the blade in the helm, and they’re out. Strike them in the chest piece or back, force them to the ground or disarm them, and they’re out. Knock out a tooth, break two of their fingers, and make them drop their weapon after eight minutes of exchange, and they’re out.
Draz gritted his teeth as the nervousness began to twist and spark within his belly.
Orantak would go out in lines of three, Kessland five. If one of your line is knocked out, they sit in the grass, and next round you go in with only two. If you win, you pick your rock back up and wait for your next revolution. This would be repeated until one side had no one left to fight.
He looked around at his brothers, wishing more were there. They were outnumbered roughly three to one, though this was just a fraction of their usual count. At full muster Draz’s class held over two hundred, but many of the students were missing, permitted a ten-day leave to head home due to the coming battle.
King Healianos had called nearly all of his soldiers into action, even instructors, and the academies spread throughout Amoria were mostly barren by now. This Kessland class hadn’t made the cut to attend the battle, much like Orantak.
The lucky few that remained from Draz’s class were either too far from family to take advantage of the time off or had opted out of it entirely. Now those who remained behind stood in an open clearing west of Corda, utterly exhausted, gripping large stones in blistered and bleeding hands.
The Kessland students across the grass didn’t have the added weight to contend with and looked quite fresh compared to Draz and his brothers. They were going to be a handful. Two of the opposing academy’s green-clad instructors could be seen speaking with their students, words too distant to hear, while another two were spaced out in the center of the grass as judges.
For the first time all afternoon, he spied Cal Stradlin, one of Orantak’s surgeons. The older man stood alone in the tall grass near the tree line, hands clasped before him and face unreadable behind circular, wire-rimmed glasses. Men of his skill set would be common to have during these tournaments. While the points were rounded and the edges dulled, their sparring blades could still inflict a tremendous amount of damage to each other. Boys had been maimed during these exercises, some even unintentionally killed.
Draz scanned the Kessland lines, trying to pick out Kole. A low breeze blew across the field, carrying with it a pinch of the coming winter’s chill to throw their brown cloaks about them. They would be running headlong into it, wind in their faces.
“Stones up,” Trobe said bitterly, as if he’d been coddling them long enough.
Over fifty stones were lifted into the air.
Trobe walked down the columns.
“Protect yourself,” he told them. “And, if you’re not alone out there, then protect each other. Working together will get you anywhere you need to go. When things start to go bad, stay close.” He continued down the lines. “I ran you hard the last few days. You’re pissed. I can see it in your faces. I like that.” Draz was three rows from the front and kept his eyes straight as the old instructor passed. “Your legs tremble with fatigue and your hands are worn raw. You would find it hard to wipe your own ass right now, much less hold a sword.” He wove his way through the ranks, among trembling arms with stones held high.
“You want a break, a reprieve?” he asked. “No such paradise exists in battle. I look forward to watching these Kessland boys toss you to the ground like dry stalks of corn.” The wind blew through them once more, and Draz stood a little straighter. He tightened his shoulders and locked his arms above, noticing other students around him doing likewise.
“Or maybe,” Trobe went on. “Maybe this will be yet another moment to help you understand that you will be required to go beyond the abilities of the average, to overcome any obstacle, and to achieve where others fail. Impossible…” He said the word as if it were poison upon his tongue. “Impossible does not exist for you. It cannot exist.”
Instructor Trobe’s stare washed over them, his gaze finally landing on Draz. For a long while nothing could be heard except the wind rustling the leaves of the surrounding tree line.
“Now show me.” He turned and whistled sharply.
Orantak’s first row of three dropped their stones and ran out into the clearing. In a moment their dulled short swords were drawn on the move.
Vextis the tracker was amongst them, as was the boy’s close friend, short and squat Persus. The third was a bony youth named Herkle. Full of good spirit and great intentions, Herkle was often bringing up the rear, but everyone liked the lad. For all his shortcomings, he always gave everything he had. For some, not much more could be asked.
Draz saw the Kessland instructors release five boys, and they raced out into the clearing at a full sprint, well rested and eager to get the tournament underway. Herkle almost immediately fell behind the rest of his line, but after a thirty-yard dash the eight of them met in the middle and the crashing of swords rang out across the clearing. The bout was over quickly.
Vextis had his blade in the weak hand and blocked a slash from the first opponent to reach him, following it with a right uppercut that slammed into the boy’s chin. As he stumbled back, Vextis cracked his blade against his helm, taking him out of the match.
Herkle was set upon by two opponents. He managed to block a thrust and slam his blade against one of their breastplates before he was thrown to the ground by the other, whose blade hammered him in the stomach. Vextis and Persus quickly linked up and fought as a team, with Persus swiftly taking two out of the match and Vextis closing out the last, hooking him behind the knee with a boot and tripping him up.
Even before they could make it back, Trobe whistled again, and the next line of Orantak students dropped their stones to rush out. Jornan was amongst them, alongside the twins Yuri and Rendell.
Again, five Kessland youths from the circle raced to meet them. This time the bout was even shorter. The twins were strong swordsmen, but with Jornan on their team it was over in a few moments.
Vextis and Persus jogged back to the column. They both tilted their helms back.
“I spied Kole out there, Draz,” Vextis said quietly, bending to retrieve his stone. “Second column from the left, sixth row.”
“Thanks, Vex.”
Trobe’s high-pitched whistle split the wind and for the first time all day, Draz released his grip on the stone and it thudded into the grass next to him. He ran off into the open space of the circle, watching five Kessland students break from their line to meet him.
***
Everything he had was tired, every part of him sore. Draz’s legs felt ungainly as he raced out into the open. The hand clutching the hilt of his sparring sword was cramping up, feeling more like a gnarled claw than a supple grip. It was that damned stone! Even after leaving it in the grass, still it was causing him trouble!
His blood was pumping hard now, making him almost dizzy. Blinking away blurring vision, he tried to level out his breathing, pulling in deep and even breaths as his boots hammered across the grassy clearing. He eyed the five approaching Kessland youths through the narrow slits of his iron helm, still twenty yards out.