by James Abbott
‘What are we waiting for?’ Xavir asked, noting her gaze scanning the ground.
Lupara knelt down and began brushing back the damp leaves, inching forwards in one direction until she was satisfied she had found what she was looking for.
Eventually she began to uncover an old shield, rectangular in shape, but with no blazon. Lupara gripped the edges and pulled it back like a trap door, revealing a wide hole in the ground. Down inside was a thin wooden chest, a good four feet long.
‘Take the other end,’ Lupara said, reaching underneath to grip one side of the chest.
Xavir reached down for an iron clasp and together they heaved the chest up onto the forest floor.
Like the shield, the chest had no markings. It had been varnished, once, but the patina had worn over the years.
‘Go on,’ Lupara urged. ‘Open it.’
Xavir felt for the join where the lid met the rest of the trunk, flipped back the clasp and heaved it open.
Inside was a bundle wrapped in black cloth. Xavir pulled it out and laid it on the ground, then carefully began to peel away the material. Within the bundle were two swords in their ornate scabbards. There was a jet-like shimmer to the casing, and an elaborate emblem of his clan sigils in a faint silver leaf, which framed small golden dragon motifs. Upon each of the weapons, set up near the hilt, was a small red gemstone.
It had been years since he had looked upon these marvels. Years since he had drawn blood with them.
Lupara picked one of the swords up and attempted to pull it free from its scabbard, but she could not – both of them knew she would be unable to do so – and she handed it over to Xavir with a smile. The warrior placed his hand upon the hilt, which immediately began to glow – the way it always had. The sword eased free, the hilt returned to normal, and Xavir pulled the blade back. The weapon easily slid from its casing. He held it upright in front of his face, examining the unblemished surface.
‘The Keening Blades,’ Lupara reminded him. ‘Originally cast by the great weapon-smith Allimentrus. Magically imprinted for only your family’s use. Your old uniform is in there, as well. Look.’
As the wind rustled through the trees, she pulled back the layer of cloth on which the swords had rested all these years, and revealed the black uniform of the Solar Cohort. Black boots, black leather jerkin with the silver detailing of a shining, crenellated tower with a flaming sun rising above it. Cedius’s symbol. A black tunic and breeches lay underneath.
Xavir swallowed. The mere sight of the items brought back raw memories.
‘It is one of the few tragedies of Cedius’s reign,’ Lupara continued, ‘that the men who wore such proud uniforms were tricked into shame and dishonour.’
‘Did you take anything else?’
‘For a man of wealth you had very few things.’
‘Every time I left the palace could have been the last,’ Xavir replied. ‘There seemed no need to be surrounded by trinkets.’
‘Ever the soldier,’ she replied.
‘Priests share a similar outlook; you were barely different, even in that fine castle of yours.’
‘Bahnnash,’ she said. A curse word in her native tongue. ‘It was hardly a castle. All my predecessors were warriors too. Luxury does not sway the likes of us, but honour, glory, the feel of a sword in our hand and the heat of battle – that’s what truly stirs our blood.’
Xavir smiled grimly. ‘What need is there for men of war in peacetime? We are cut from the same cloth, you and I. Trained to kill people. We fought for what was right – what made a better world for our people. Or we believed we did.’
‘Does that mean you’ll help us?’ Lupara asked.
Xavir was still staring at the Keening Blades.
‘What good would it do? I’m sure everyone knows of the Solar Cohort’s disgrace. If I wore this uniform, people would lynch me as soon as follow me.’
‘You don’t strike me as someone who would be afraid of what people thought.’
‘True, but say I was to lead your cause – I am Xavir, the butcher of Baradium Falls. This is hardly a figure who should be at the front of your army.’
‘Perhaps.’ The optimism began to fade in her eyes.
‘Valderon might, though.’
Lupara looked up at Xavir, confused.
‘Valderon was a high-ranking officer in the First Legion. Sergeant. A good fighter. He did not go into prison for any barbaric reason as I did.’
‘Were you not enemies in gaol?’
Xavir shrugged. ‘It matters little now. No, Valderon will not be as infamous as I, and may lead with honour.’
One of the wolves made a grunting noise.
‘Even he approves,’ Xavir said with a small smile.
The wolf queen grinned savagely. Though it had been many years since Xavir had seen her, she remained both beguiling and fearsome, as she had always been. Age had only given her expressive face more definition.
‘I do not know this man well,’ she said, ‘but I will take your word for it, if you can vouch for him.’
Xavir wasn’t yet sure. ‘I can,’ he lied. Though I’ll need more proof that he’s an honest man.
‘And you – will you fight alongside us at least?’
‘You speak of us, lady, but who exactly do you have?’
‘I can summon my own tribe, but we number in the hundreds of good warriors, not the thousands. Besides, it has been many years since I have fought alongside them. We are out of practice.’
‘So,’ Xavir said, ‘we need to build an army. We need training. We will need money to do all of these things.’
‘We need to do it quickly, Xavir, as people are dying.’
‘People die,’ Xavir replied. ‘Unfortunately, it is the way of the world. If Mardonius was not doing it then some other tyrant would. There is always someone happy to reave the life from another should it further their own cause. That’s humanity for you.’
Lupara nodded. ‘Wolves have it better,’ she said. ‘They think of the good of the pack – not the needs of the one.’
Xavir sheathed his blades and looked longingly at his uniform.
‘You might as well put them on,’ Lupara said. ‘The colours of the king’s men do not suit you.’
With reverence, Xavir placed his weapons upon the edge of the wooden chest and leaned in to retrieve his belongings. He paused. ‘I should wash, first.’
‘The river is just over there. I’ll wait here.’
Under Lupara’s gaze, and that of the wolves, Xavir removed his belongings and followed her directions down to the river.
The slope was damp, but not too slippery, and he navigated the old boughs and slabs of rock until he reached the bank. He stripped himself naked and waded into the ice-cold water until he was waist high. Shuddering, he waited for his body to acclimatize, then he stared at his shimmering reflection. It was the first time in many years he had really seen himself.
‘The time inside has not been kind, old friend,’ he muttered to himself.
Slowly he washed away the past.
Xavir submerged himself in the clear waters, feeling its icy pressure around his body, his tightening skin, basking in the chill. Then he rose and stood there, watching the river drift around him. Too long had he been standing still while time and events moved around him. The world had changed so much – and, from the sound of it, not for the better. But no more would he stand by idly. Xavir vowed to himself that he would make up for the deeds of his past – somehow make right what had gone before. This was a second chance. Then could he die happily, for there was very little else in this world left for him.
He waded from the water and, wiping himself down with his old rags, began to don the uniform from his past. Once he was in it, time seemed to fall away. Piece by piece he reconstructed who he had once been. He pulled the buckle on the jerkin and found that it was a little loose, but he would fill it again with proper food and training. Finally he slipped his boots on, and stood tall. Taller.
He felt truly himself again, one of the Solar Cohort. The finest of Cedius’s warriors.
Yet without his comrades, without Felyos and Gatrok, and his old friends Brendyos, Jovelian and the great Dimarius, the Solar Cohort, the Legion of Six was just one man. It should never have been this way.
‘I will clear your name, brothers,’ he vowed aloud. ‘I will kill those who caused our dishonour and your deaths. You should have died in glory on the battlefield, swords in hand – not by the hands of some executioner for a crime that was not our fault.’
Xavir marched back up the slope towards Lupara, who was still waiting by the chest. As he returned she handed him the Keening Blades.
‘Much better,’ she said. ‘This is the Xavir I remember.’
Xavir lifted the sheathed swords over his head and down across his back, and Lupara fixed the buckles and straps in place to the rear of his jerkin.
‘Better,’ he muttered.
‘You’re welcome,’ Lupara said.
‘Thank you,’ Xavir replied, thinking how he had forgotten simple manners in gaol. ‘For keeping these items. For looking after them. For giving me a reason to live again.’
Forest Food
‘Well, you should have listened to me,’ Landril said, arms folded.
‘They all looked the bloody same,’ Davlor groaned.
The scrawny man was holding his hand in a huge copper pot, soaking it in a warm herbal infusion. They were standing a few yards from Lupara’s cabin with the others, who were busily eating the hearty stew that Grend had made for them. Next to them, Jedral shovelled food down his mouth the fastest, having spent the afternoon chopping wood for the fire. The labour seemed to have done his mood some good, and he even cracked a smile from time to time.
Landril had to admit that Grend knew his way around a cooking pot. Which was more than could be said for Davlor, who currently had his hand within one. Eventually the moaning settled down.
‘The only noises I can hear now are Jedral’s grunts of admiration for the quality of the food,’ Landril observed. ‘He was grunting with his axe for most of the afternoon as well. He only seems to communicate in grunts.’
‘Aye,’ Davlor whispered weakly. ‘He has claims to w-wealth, but I reckon he was a f-farmhand like me. Nothing wrong with that . . . Good l-l-living.’
‘Oh, by the Goddess,’ Landril sighed. ‘You sound ridiculous. It isn’t that bad.’
Valderon approached the two men with a smile upon his face. ‘What happened?’
‘Picked a dodgy mushroom,’ Davlor whimpered.
‘Despite my advice,’ Landril said smugly. ‘I said the yellow mushrooms on one half of the path were delicacies, and that the almost identical ones on the other half were poisonous and likely to kill you if ingested. Did he listen?’
‘But they all looked the same!’ Davlor had been muttering the same thing since walking back from the forest, his hand throbbing as it became engorged with blood.
‘We could always cut his hand off,’ Valderon suggested. ‘Jedral looked quite efficient with that axe.’ He winked at Landril.
‘You wouldn’t?’ Davlor asked, wide-eyed.
‘This tisane should calm it down,’ Landril assured him. ‘Leave it in there for a few hours and you’ll recover. Then we may revisit the question of removing it.’
‘What?’ Davlor moaned. ‘I’ve got to stand here with my hand in this pan for hours?’
‘You could not, and let the poisons slowly seep around your body,’ Landril told him with a grin. He knew that these particular poisons would do no such thing unless taken internally, but he wasn’t going to tell the idiot that.
‘So how am I going to eat?’ Davlor asked.
‘You still have one good hand,’ Valderon laughed, and slapped Davlor on the shoulder before walking away.
Landril began to turn away as well when Davlor said, ‘What, you’re not going too are you?’
‘My dear Davlor, a conversation with you is no way to sharpen my wits, and I’m guessing the level of entertainment it offers will be sparse also. So I’ll leave you be. With any luck, this experience will be a lesson to you.’
‘A lesson in what?’
‘Listening to what I say,’ Landril replied, and followed Valderon towards the rest of the men.
The escaped prisoners had by now moved around a campfire. Venison was still simmering, the smell drifting through the forest and making Landril’s stomach grumble. This was good, hearty food and Landril was grateful to dine well again. Goddess knows what it’s like for the others to eat a proper meal after so long.
‘Fine plates,’ Tylos said, looking appraisingly at the tableware Lupara had lent them. ‘Real silver.’
‘You going to steal them, black man?’ someone teased, and the others laughed.
‘I might have been a thief once,’ Tylos began, ‘but no. I was merely appreciating the quality. I grew up dining off plates like these.’
‘Once a thief, always a thief?’ Valderon said, placing a warm hand on the man’s shoulder.
‘Perhaps.’
A wave of silence washed over the group as Xavir and Lupara entered the clearing. Landril smiled inwardly. This was the Xavir he remembered from the halls of Cedius’s palace, and right now he looked as splendid as a warrior king in his old uniform.
It was notable how the others viewed him with an entirely new kind of reverence. These had been his gang members, some had been his rivals, yet in this black attire Xavir commanded an instant respect from them.
Valderon, who was already standing, strolled slowly towards Xavir. ‘Are those the Keening Blades?’
‘They are,’ Xavir answered.
‘I’d heard of them, but never set eyes upon them,’ he said reverently.
Jedral scratched his chin and said, ’What are they?’
‘Blessed weapons,’ Valderon replied, ‘created by the hands of the great metallurgist and forger, Allimentrus, who died almost seven centuries ago. These blades are what soldiers dream of using. But, it is said, only one bloodline can use them.’
Xavir slid the weapons off his shoulders and unclipped the scabbards. He handed one to Valderon. ‘Here, try.’
Valderon placed his hands around the hilt of a sword and tried to pull it free, but he could not. He smiled wryly.
‘Would anyone else like to try?’ Xavir asked.
One by one, each of the men, save Landril who knew better, and of course Davlor, who still held his hand within a cooking pot, eagerly attempted to pull the sword free from its hilt.
Eventually the sword was returned to Xavir. He placed his hand on the hilt, which began to glow white, and the sword eased free with a whisper.
‘Witchcraft,’ one of the men muttered.
‘Something like that,’ Valderon replied. ‘I bet not even the witch who worked with Allimentrus could open them up.’
‘Nothing so crude as a witch,’ Xavir replied, placing the swords back over his shoulders once again. ‘Allimentrus worked alone, it was said. Only my bloodline can wield these weapons.’
‘Why are they called the Keening Blades?’ Tylos asked.
Xavir pulled them free and stood aside. He moved quickly through a series of postures and, with every stroke of the blades through the air, they emitted a quiet scream.
‘They keen like a banshee,’ Landril observed. ‘That will be the magic in them.’
‘Indeed they do,’ Xavir replied. ‘When in war the noise is more intense, but then their work is more intense also.’
Xavir placed the scabbards back over his shoulder, and then attempted to sheath the weapons, but with the blade in his left hand he missed the first time.
‘Look at the graceful warrior!’ Tylos gave a hearty laugh that echoed across the dark grassland.
‘Well, if you’re no longer any good with them,’ Valderon said, chuckling, ‘I’d happily learn.’
‘I’m out of practice, sergeant,’ Xavir replied with a genuine laugh, the first Landril ha
d heard from him. ‘My muscle memory is not what it was.’
‘We’re all out of practice,’ Valderon said, steering Xavir towards the fire. ‘But I’m guessing we’ll have plenty of time to learn again.’
*
It was a pleasant night. The men shared stories and laughed, and there was an ease among them that there hadn’t been when they’d been confined in Hell’s Keep. Only one of them seemed unsettled: Harrand spoke of going to a particular city to settle some scores but none of the others even discussed breaking free from each other just yet.
Landril wondered if following Xavir gave them a momentary sense of purpose. Kept them in a somewhat familiar routine despite their new surroundings. After all, where exactly was there to go in such a remote place?
Things became a little uncomfortable when Lupara retired to her cabin with Xavir. One or two of the others made crude remarks about what they might be doing.
‘Boys, the things I’d do to her,’ Jedral muttered lustfully. ‘I’d make her howl like a wolf all right.’
A couple of the other men laughed awkwardly.
‘I know it has been years since you have seen a woman,’ Valderon snapped, ‘but have you regressed to being savages this much?’
‘Valderon is right,’ Tylos added. ‘Besides, I suspect that the warrior queen would be the one making you howl, and it would not be in pleasure.’
The other men guffawed as Jedral glared at him for a moment.
Landril winced at the tensions that flared and hoped it would not descend into bloodshed.
‘This woman has allowed us to share her home with her,’ Valderon continued smoothly, ‘and has given us food and shelter, the likes of which we haven’t seen for years. The very least you could do is speak about her with respect.’
Jedral looked abashed and grunted something apologetic.
‘Besides, Tylos is correct,’ Valderon added. ‘I’d wager that if any of you got close to her she’d cut your cock off before you wondered what to do with it. I have heard of what the wolf queen has done to hardened warriors in battle. I fought alongside her tribe at one point. Fearsome breed, the Dacianarans. There are few who are as skilled as her with a blade. And you think you could better a woman like that?’