The Sword of Einiko

by A. R. Wilson

Tascana gripped the hair above her forehead. My power is only a trick?

  Nauseated, she wrapped an arm over her stomach. The faintest hint of a presence swelled from somewhere deep within. She looked down at her middle. Beneath her arm rested something foreign. Pulling back her hand, she stared. The foreign presence wasn’t beneath her arm, it wormed under her skin. Inside her.

  I’m.... pregnant? But how?

  “Tascana.” The Master’s voice darkened. “Stand.”

  She flicked her eyes at his offered hand. Her toes hurt from scraping along the ground. A bruise swelled on her cheek from hitting into his chest. And with the magic having run its course, her shoulder and arm now began to throb. Hesitantly, she took his hand. He eased her to her feet. Taking her other hand, he pulled her arms wide to take in the full view of her in that ridiculous, white dress. She felt his eyes roving along her skin. When he put a hand to her cheek, to brush aside a lock of hair, she cringed at the sensation of decay slithering across her scalp.

  “How?” She clamped her eyes shut.

  “Explain your question and I might give you an answer.”

  “How am I pregnant?” That foul word took three attempts to come out audible.

  He pushed her hair to lay behind her ears. “You were still unconscious when you arrived, so I doubt you would remember that night.”

  The room spun in her head, and she locked her knees to keep from falling. Images from the dream raged like a hurricane in her mind. All those moments of gloating over him and forcing him to come nearer to her. The memory felt like the wriggling of maggots against her brain.

  “Is your intuition still so dull?” The Master tipped his head, revealing small points on the tips of his ears.

  “You’re an elf?”

  Tascana thought she heard Jerricoh gasp an instant before a shockwave of pain filled the side of her face. An instant later, more pain spiked along her back, then she slapped facedown on the floor. She tried to take a breath and couldn’t. A great weigh filled her chest. The hollow tap of boots against stone came towards her. She pulled at her limbs to sit up, to roll over, to breathe. Anything! Her body’s only response was defeat.

  Wind blew forcefully into her face, moving through the pressure against her lungs. Gasping, she rolled away. A cold, metal wall blocked her movement.

  “You may have magnificent potential, apprentice. But you need much training.” The Master snapped his fingers and walked several paces away.

  Jerricoh stooped beside Tascana, helping her to sit up. Shards throbbed along her face, dimming her vision. She put a hand to her cheek and instantly regretted it. The bark of tenderness warned of a broken bone. Possibly the whole eye socket.

  The Master stood with his back to them. “Heal her.”

  Giving her a reassuring nod, Jerricoh hovered a palm inches from her cheek. Though the pain lessened as Jerricoh performed his task, a new sting filled Tascana’s eyes. She squeezed them shut.

  “You are new to my kingdom, so I will grant you this single desecration of my laws.” The padding of boots clicked to her right. “I know Jerricoh has explained you are to do what you are told, when you are told. What part of that law permits you to believe you are allowed to ask questions or make observations?” His voice now sounded in front of her. “Answer me.”

  Jerricoh removed his hands as he stepped away. Tascana opened her eyes. Crouched with elbows resting on his knees, The Master waited. His eyes narrowed as he stared her down.

  “I— I am only trying to understand.” Tascana averted her eyes, pulling up her shoulders.

  “What do you want to understand?”

  She pursed her lips, fearful it might be a trick question. And yet, if she didn’t answer, something worse might come. “Why me?”

  A grin spread across his face. An arrogant, mocking smirk. “Because we are two halves of the same whole. Your bloodline is the missing piece to my life’s pursuit. Our two halves have combined to create that which will become indestructible.”

  Staring at him, she wondered if he was mad. Had all his years of studying magic and hurting people broken his soul beyond the brink?

  “Jerricoh has healed you. In time you will see in your reflection what I see when I gaze upon you. I almost regret Dellia had to die. This would be a most fitting time to thank her for her loyal service.”

  Tascana’s cheeks burned.

  “Tell me,” he stroked his smooth chin, “how did she talk you into your return?”

  Setting her jaw, Tascana fought for control. For strength not to do anything stupid. Was he mocking her by suggesting he didn’t know? Hadn’t he seen and heard everything that happened in that place?

  She dug her nails into her palms until nothing but anger raged in her heart. It helped to steady the fear. “She told me she knew a way through the catacombs.”

  “And you trusted her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though Jerricoh warned the tunnels only ever lead where I desire them to lead you?”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps I should I have told you, Jerricoh is incapable of lying.” The Master’s eyes brightened as he used his elbow to indicate the other man. “Do you see that scar running along his hairline?”

  Jerricoh’s face remained blank as he pulled back his dark hair to reveal a thick scar running from his temple to the base of his neck.

  “That is what happened the first and last time he ever lied to me. I have not had to correct him on what comes out of his mouth since.”

  Is that from a burn or a knife? Tascana’s stomach sank.

  “Jerricoh is a fast learner, and an excellent teacher. I suggest you strive to mimic his every trait, if you desire to avoid future punishments.”

  The Master rose to a stand, the tip of his sword scraping on the ground as he moved. With that same cold stare, he offered to help her to a stand. He guided her back several steps away from the wall, then released her hands to walk a circle around her. Tascana closed her eyes a moment, trying to ward off the feeling of his eyes across her shoulders. And stomach.

  “How much did Arnya teach you?” He had his back to her again.

  “To meditate. And to project an image.”

  “What did she teach you about me?”

  “That you are the reason she and the other dallests are mutated into that muskrat-like appearance.”

  “Dallest.” He shook his head as he gave a small laugh. “She picked such a ridiculous name. The only thing more pathetic is all those people believing in her story of a realm within a realm.” The Master’s broad shoulders turned to face her. “Did you believe them? That a place existed beyond my sight?”

  “Not really.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “I saw your castle, a few nights before I left. I could see through Arnya’s illusion.”

  “So you presumed if someone of your weak ability could see through her spell, then obviously I would have no difficulty?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to control her tone. “Yes.”

  “Then why try to escape, if you knew I could find you?”

  “I knew you held influence over Arnya. She believed I wanted to stay in Tretchin valley. I figured you wouldn’t see it coming.”

  “And it never occurred to you that Dellia also remained under my influence?”

  “No.” How she loathed to admit being so naïve.

  “Arnya and her people are deceivers by nature. It is the reason I brought them into my service. She in particular had a flair for talking people into suicide. Like with Dellia. Even though the girl knew she could never survive a return trip, Arnya convinced her of a map leading to freedom.”

  Wait, this is Arnya’s fault?

  “Her most shining moment is still the day she influenced the Fates to tell me of you.” The Master tilted his head. “And now that you’re here, her purpose is spent.”

  “She told me you forced her to help you with those spells. That you were the one seeking from th
e Fates.”

  “And you believed her?”

  Tremors rose in her clenched fists. “What reason did she have to lie?”

  “To cover the price she paid to elicit the information. Did she ever tell you about her twin sons?”

  “They died in a goblin attack.”

  His smirk grated on her nerves. “Ask Jerricoh what happened that day.”

  Tascana glanced at the other man. Her mouth barely opened, unable to speak. Did she want to know? The blank expression secured over Jerricoh’s face disconcerted her all the more.

  “How did Arnya’s sons die?” Tascana folded her arms against the building nausea.

  “She desired to seek The Master’s favor above all else. When she realized the Fates had been toying with him for decades, she made Them an offer. In exchange for The Master obtaining what he wished, she would allow the Fates to do with her sons as They pleased.”

  “What did the Fates do to them?”

  “They were burned alive. Life for a life.”

  Tascana gasped, putting a hand to her chest. How could a mother surrender her child to such a death? And for what? The Master’s favor couldn’t possibly be worth such a price.

  That deep voice resonated through the room. “Arnya’s sacrifice gave me the final key. And now that you are here, my world will finally be complete.”

  A dozen questions burned in her mind, but she held them all at bay. She didn’t want to know a single answer.

  “But to correct your previous statement, I am not an elf.” His lip snarled when he said the word. “I am a halfling, like yourself.”

  He’s mad. She tightened her arms around her torso. No wonder Dellia betrayed me. Better me than her, right?

  “Did your father ever tell you his origins?” The Master took a step closer.

  Tascana instinctively took a step back. “He never speaks of his life before Hess-Bren.”

  He cocked his hand back to strike. “Do not lie to me.”

  Dropping to the ground, she shielded her face. “I swear! I swear. On my life, I swear.”

  A cool hand gripped her chin, pulling her face towards his. Those emerald eyes bore into her, threading ice along her veins.

  “You are telling the truth. Interesting.” The Master pinched her chin before releasing his grip. “This makes things a little easier.”

  Tascana tried to back away but an unseen force held her fast. The pounding in her ears increased. Lowering his eyes, he put a hand to her belly. The feeling of being spread with manure crawled over her skin. She watched his hungry eyes gaze at her middle.

  “The child is everything the Fates promised.” His face softened into something resembling affection.

  Stinging tears welled up, and she dug her nails into her palms to fight them back.

  “This child.” He gave her abdomen a single pat. “You and I have become one with the conception of this perfect child. My son.”

  She closed her eyes. So many nights she remembered taking The Master’s hands and melding herself into him in her dreams. Now, with his hand resting on her to feel the growth of his violation against her, everything came into sharper focus. The spells of her studies prepared her to be a proper host to this thing growing inside her.

  The Master pulled back on one knee, looking down at her. “Should you prove yourself a suitable student, I will reward you with the revenge you seek.”

  She furrowed her brow at him.

  “I will allow you to dismantle Tretchin Valley. Unless you decide to use the land as a place of rest. The choice will be yours, when you have earned it.”

  Why would she want to go back there? And if he wanted to be rid of those traitors he could do the dirty work himself.

  “In the meantime, return to your studies. Jerricoh will see to anything you need to make your stay more comfortable. I want you rested, well-fed, and thoroughly content.”

  Was he serious? Thoroughly content? “You’re mad.”

  The words slipped out almost as carelessly as the force which threw her against the wall. Her skull crushed into the metal relief. She screamed.

  Somehow, a moment later, she lay on the floor with Jerricoh stooped over her again. He held a hand to the front and back of her head. Though the pain caused her ears to ring, she could no longer cry out. Breathing had become difficult. The world grew dim. Blackness swallowed her in a pit of hazy misery.

  Then a voice whispered to her. “Please, just do as he says. It’s almost over.”

  She blinked several times. Jerricoh’s dark hair shrouded her face, blocking her view of the rest of the room. His deep blue eyes gathered in concern. Since when do you care? Her vision blurred and she welcomed the coming heaviness.

  “If she’s conscious, get her to her feet.” The Master’s deep vibrato rang along those metallic walls.

  Jerricoh whispered a few words, causing the pain to ease, then helped her to stand. The Master turned to face her, his blond hair hadn’t even ruffled from the assault.

  “You may be exceptionally beautiful, but that is not enough to speak your mind in my kingdom. Should your tongue fall loose again, I will find a more permanent method to secure it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Hanging on Jerricoh’s arm, she chanced a single nod, afraid to even part her lips to give a vocal affirmation. “Just do what you’re told, when you’re told.”

  “Excellent. You may return to your studies, my bride.”

  Jerricoh put a hand to the small of her back. Thick heat swirled in her head. The room spun around her. That single word bore into her ears like worms seeking into the depths: bride.

  CHAPTER 7

  Jurren stood at the top of a rise. Below him, the murky waters of the swamp gathered against a stone wall. After four days of wandering, they had finally reached the border to Einiko’s kingdom. Above the great wall, crisscross lines stretched into the horizon as far as Jurren could see, hinting at the immensity of the labyrinth enslaving the nation. A pocket of trees sprouted above the walls a great distance in.

  “What is that place?” Jurren pointed to the single bubble of green among the sea of gray.

  Azredan looked up from taking a drink of water. “That is the city of Ransom. Their king will both loath and celebrate our arrival, as did the dwarves. Though, I expect they will be more difficult to win over.”

  “They have a king?” Kidelar pulled out his book and a wrapped piece of charcoal. “Fascinating. What is the protocol for greeting a king? Since this will be my first encounter with one I—”

  Jurren cut him off. “Is meeting their king necessary? I think it would save time to focus on reaching the castle.”

  Azredan slung on his pack. “Einiko has minotaurs, hawk men, goblins, and all manner of other creatures roaming his labyrinth. Most of which have not been named, since many who encounter them do not live to tell the tale. Each city is an oasis from these beasts. It will be our only reprieve and time of rest as we journey to the castle.”

  “We have two months of battling monsters ahead of us?” Arkose rubbed a hand on the back of his head, which was in dire need of a fresh shave.

  “With the occasional break to visit some of Einiko’s enslaved.” Azredan gave him an impish grin. “It will be your most thrilling summer to date.”

  “I think I prefer being bored.”

  Jurren nodded.

  Azredan took the lead, walking to the swamp’s edge. A stone path spanning ten feet separated the rank vegetation from the wall towering over twenty feet above them.

  “We’ll stop here to wash and get rested.” Azredan propped his pack against the wall.

  “Shouldn’t we be looking for a way in?” Jurren dug his thumbs under the straps on his shoulders.

  “There is a breach five miles west of here.”

  “Then let’s head west.”

  “Do you want Einiko’s minions smelling you from a hundred miles away or a hundred yards?”

  Jurren crinkled his nose. Sure his clothes were soaked in rotting m
udwater, but he had abandoned all thought of a bath three days ago. In order to endure the swamp, he kept his focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Had a good wash finally become a necessity?

  “An astute observation. I agree with Azredan.” Kidelar poised his fists on his hips. “How do you propose we soak off this filth?”

  The elf winked. “That would be Jurren’s expertise.”

  Arkose gave a single clap of the hands. “Me first. And put a little vinegar in it this time.”

  Kidelar glanced back and forth between the two. “What are you talking about?”

  “This thing can produce more than just simple meals.” Jurren held out the ring from Lord Marvae.

  Pushing his will into the silver band, Jurren brought forth a barrel of water.

  The scholar stumbled backward. “How is this possible?”

  “He did it back in Chlopahn.” Arkose unclasped his cloak and sat down to tug off his boots. “I wonder what Amador did with the empty barrel we left behind.”

  “Probably burned it in effigy?” Jurren gave a chuckle, then conjured another barrel of water. He motioned to Kidelar. “You’re next.”

  “Will water really be enough?” Kidelar took off his pack.

  “Nope, which is why Arkose suggested the vinegar. It takes the smell out of anything.”

  Kidelar turned to Azredan. “Will we be safe here? If something is going to make an attempt at my life, I prefer to be fully clothed for the event.”

  “We’ve already killed the only deadly thing in the swamp. You’re perfectly safe to freshen up.” Azredan pulled all their travel packs together.

  With a nod, Kidelar stepped closer to the barrel. “I’m going to need some help.”

  Jurren lifted him up and it. Water slopped over the side. Kidelar spit out a mouthful of water, twitching his lips against the bitter taste.

  An hour later, they were each laying in their bedrolls while their clothes hung up on the edge of the barrels to dry. Jurren used the ring to give each of the men a bowl of stew.

  After the meal, Azredan turned sharply towards his pack. He pulled out the croix stones. “Montanya, perfect timing.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her voice agitated Jurren’s inner knowing. Something about her begged to be recognized.