Fields of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Saviar doubted it. Thus far, the Myrcidians had not even deigned to talk with him while he remained safely imprisoned without one. “They have to talk to me sooner or later.” He added for his own benefit, “Don’t they?”

  Subikahn raised his face just high enough to give Saviar a withering look. “They’re clearly patient, Savi. Four days, and they’re still just discussing what to do with you.”

  “They could have killed me.”

  “I would have stopped them.”

  Saviar massaged his arms, remembering the spells they had cast on him that left him helpless and twitching. He doubted Subikahn would have fared any better. “Obviously, then, they didn’t try. They haven’t starved or poisoned me, either.” The mere thought of food sent Saviar’s stomach growling in discontent. A large dish of roots did not satisfy a man his size for long. He suspected he had already dropped some weight.

  “Don’t think they’re not discussing it.” Subikahn had a way of finding the darker side of everything. “I heard it come up.”

  “And?”

  Subikahn hesitated.

  “Don’t lie to me,” Saviar warned. “I won’t forgive you.”

  Subikahn sighed. “For the moment, they discarded the option. But it can come back into discussion at any time. Saviar, I think talking to them is worse than foolish.”

  Saviar gritted his teeth. He understood Subikahn’s point, yet he could think of no better plan. The world had more persuasive speakers; but no one else could find the Mages of Myrcidë. Only he and Subikahn knew where they lived, and both of them had taken a vow of secrecy. No one had accidentally stumbled upon the mages in hundreds of years, and Saviar doubted such a thing could happen by chance. The magic of their city prevented it. “Perhaps. But without them, we can’t win the war. And I’m the only one who might talk them into coming.”

  “And you’ve done so well so far.”

  Saviar did not bother to address Subikahn’s sarcasm.

  “Why don’t I just cut through this wall and get you out?”

  “No.” Saviar could not allow it. “Not until I’ve exhausted my appeals. I’m not that desperate yet.”

  Subikahn disappeared again. “Let me make sure I have this right. You’re forbidding me from rescuing you.”

  That summarized the situation well enough. “For now, yes. After I’ve had a chance to talk to them a few times, I might change my mind.”

  “And I’m just supposed to float around here until I’m either captured or you get more desperate.”

  Saviar would never inconvenience anyone to help himself. “You can leave whenever you wish. In fact, you should go home and let everyone know I’m all right.”

  “Why would I lie to our loved ones?”

  The words seemed nonsensical to Saviar. “What?”

  “Since when does ‘all right’ cover being trapped in a solid stone prison by enemies—”

  “—they’re not enemies,” Saviar inserted quickly, but Subikahn finished his thought without responding to the interruption.

  “—who despise Renshai?”

  Saviar did not wish to argue. “Fine. Don’t tell them anything. Let them worry and go searching for me in vain.”

  Subikahn ignored Saviar’s point. “I’m not giving you your sword, Savi. Not until you’re free.”

  Fighting words. Saviar grappled with anger. No Renshai would disrespect another by withholding something as important as his sword. He would sooner forgive a man for slicing off his ears. Saviar waited until he had full control over the volume of his voice, as well as his words, before speaking, “Why not?”

  “Because, without it, I can’t see magic and auras. I need it to find this city that, otherwise, blends perfectly into the mountains. I need it to outline the windows of your prison. Without the sword, they’re just more stone to my sight. I can’t talk to you without it, and I doubt I could steal it from the mages a second time, especially once they realize it must contain magic in order to penetrate the walls of your cell.”

  More insect noises.

  Saviar wanted to know how Subikahn had gotten inside the magical dwelling, found, and recovered the sword; but that was a long story he could hear later. The longer they talked, the more likely the mages would capture Subikahn as well. “So . . . you’re going to keep . . . my sword?” Even he knew it was the right thing to do, but the idea pained him deeply. Trained from birth to rely on his sword, he found it impossible not to argue, even when it had become pointless.

  “Can you even hide a sword in there?”

  Saviar knew of only one place that might hold Motfrabelonning out of sight, but he would never dishonor any sword by placing it where urine and excrement might foul it. Even then, the hilt would never fit. He could wrap it in his blankets, but it would leave a telltale shape. “No.”

  “Are you willing to use it to escape right now?”

  Saviar wanted to leave, but no good would come of it. With him disarmed and contained, the mages might talk to him. They would not dare confront him armed, especially without knowing how it had happened. Once they discovered the magic in the sword, they would surely destroy it or, at least, guard it vigorously. “You’re right. You need to keep it.” The words came with difficulty. Subikahn better have heard because he did not think he could repeat them.

  “Of course, I’m right.” Subikahn did not give Saviar any wiggle room. “I had no intention of giving it to you. And now that you’re admitting my superiority, why not let me cut you out of there and bring you home?”

  “No!” Saviar managed to add vehemence to his whisper. “I’m not leaving until I’ve at least tried to make them understand.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  “Someone has to be.”

  “You’re going to die. Without glory and without reason.”

  “Maybe. But if someone doesn’t convince the mages to join us, those magical giants will trample us; and we’ll all die without glory or reason.”

  Subikahn did not show his face again. “If the magical giants attack, and if they don’t just try to battle through their puppets again. And if we have no luck convincing the elves to help us, do you really think you’re the best one to talk to these mages? Given that they hate all Renshai, and especially you, don’t you think someone else could better serve that purpose?”

  At least, this time, Saviar had already considered the questions his brother asked. “Unless you’re volunteering, I’m the only one who can do it. No one else knows about the mages, and we’re oath-bound not to reveal them.”

  “So?”

  Expecting any other answer, Saviar fell silent. “What do you mean by ‘so’?”

  “I mean that the vow was broken when the mages attacked and imprisoned you. We’re no longer under any obligation to keep our part of it.”

  The words horrified Saviar. He wished he could look his brother in the eyes, to let him know how important his word and his name were to him. He suspected Subikahn’s desire to remain out of sight stemmed from more than just an avoidance of Saviar. He knew from prior experience that the mage’s windows worked in only one direction. Just as the mages probably watched Saviar through windows on the opposite side of the room that looked like solid wall to him, Subikahn probably could not see inside Saviar’s cell. That would explain why he needed the sword to find the outline of the windows from the backside. “Subi, I promised we would leave in peace, to release Chymmerlee unharmed, and to say nothing to anyone of the mages. I agreed to keep their whereabouts a secret and assure you did the same.”

  Subikahn did not quibble. “But, in return, they promised not to imprison, attack, or harass us. You, yourself, stated that your agreement to those terms hinged upon them allowing us to come and go freely from that time forth.”

  It amazed Saviar how Subikahn remembered every word verbatim. He wondered if Subikahn’s father a
lso possessed that skill. It might explain how he had learned so many languages. “You’re right, and I’m going to mention that when I talk to them. But they only broke their vow because they thought we had.”

  Irritation tinged Subikahn’s voice. “What are you talking about? We did everything we promised.”

  “Not exactly. When we promised to free Chymmerlee, we implied as soon as possible. Instead, we took her all the way to Béarn and risked her life in a war.”

  “That’s not true!” Now Subikahn clearly struggled not to shout. “We did let her go right away, and she was never really a hostage, anyway. She chose to come with us and to help us.”

  “I know that, but the mages don’t. At least, they didn’t before Chymmerlee returned, and who knows what she might have told them since. She might be too angry to say anything nice about me.”

  “Nice things? Nice things?” Saviar heard a slap, as though Subikahn had just thrown his hands against the stone in frustration. “Saviar, you’re acting totally idiotic. Chymmerlee tried to kill me. The mages tortured and forceably imprisoned you. And you’re worried about what she says about you?” He hit the wall again. “You’re insane, and you deserve to die. Now, one last chance: will you let me cut you out of there?”

  “No.” Saviar did not allow himself time to think. If he did, he might realize the wisdom of his brother’s words and give up on something more important than either of them might realize. He could handle losing Chymmerlee, but the continent could not afford to suffer defeat in the coming war. “I can make them understand. You will not cut me out, and you will not give up the secrets of the mages. It’s my honor at stake and not your right to sully it.”

  The tip of the sword jerked free of the window, and the glass sealed back in place as if the sword had never been there.

  Saviar stared after it, wondering if he had just made a fatal mistake.

  Calistin’s swords wove deadly chaos through the air: swift, committed, unstoppable. After he had accidentally destroyed his fourth splint, the healers had relented, placing his left arm in a more pliable model that had allowed him the use of both. This was the first day he could use the arm the Kjempemagiska had broken without a support or any pain, and he intended to make the most of every lost moment.

  Calistin made the most difficult svergelse look easy, creating new ones where his passion took him. As always, a crowd of Renshai gathered around him, watching and learning. Their gazes seemed to devour him, but Calistin paid them no heed. For now, he channeled excitement and rage into dexterous motions designed to slaughter imagined foes, every one of them Paradisian.

  The Renshai had returned to their homes as the agreement specified, but nothing seemed the same. Everywhere he went, Paradisians intervened, performing no action that enhanced life on the Fields of Wrath. They stole food from the Renshai’s purchased stores. They took over the homes of those Renshai who had not survived the Northmen’s pursuit or the war. They gathered to loudly preach hatred of Renshai, creating fairytales of bullying Renshai who had stolen Paradise from them and teaching it to their children with the fervor of a religion.

  Calistin swept the air to his right, felling two imaginary Paradisians with one blow, then spun abruptly leftward to skewer another. He dodged the rest deftly, parrying a high and incompetent stroke, before surging toward another horde.

  Renshai barreled out of his way, and Calistin took some small satisfaction from their discomfort. The Paradisians had gone much farther, harrying Renshai whenever possible. A rash of “accidents” had claimed too many Renshai lives, and at least three infants had gone missing. Whenever the Renshai dared to retaliate, the Paradisians clogged the Erythanian court with their cases. Good Renshai rotted in cells for daring to avenge murder and mayhem, and the entire tribe had wearied of lectures. King Humfreet besieged them to act as good neighbors. They were warriors, he reminded, with well-honed weapons and skill. The Paradisians were weak civilians, fighting the only way they could hope to win.

  By murdering babies and innocents. Anger fueled Calistin’s svergelse, rendering it all the more violent, every sweep a deadly promise. His swords flickered through the air so swiftly, they became invisible, and his feet complemented their movements perfectly. No mortal could stand before such an assault, and Calistin wished, not for the first time, he could drive his blades through every Paradisian and the Erythanians who claimed to support their cause yet refused to take them into their own homes to live beside their own families.

  A scream tore through the air, followed by several more in quick succession. In the same fluid motion as his svergelse, seamlessly, Calistin sheathed his swords and ran toward the noise. His audience trailed him.

  As Calistin ran, he located the sound to the bathing pool. For an instant, his mind went to sharks, though the landlocked plains held only a small, freshwater lake. He glanced at the sky as he ran. It was still morning, which meant the pool belonged to the women and the men were banned. Calistin started to slow, then another screech rent the air. He heard the muted sounds of swords slamming wood, and unintelligible shouts among the screams. He quickened his pace, leaving most of his followers in the dust.

  Nestled at the foot of the mountains, fed by a high stream, the pool remained mostly sheltered from view. Calistin had heard rumors that some of his adolescent companions occasionally sneaked to the edges to spy on the girls, but he had never done so. Now, he tore around the cliffs without worrying about rules.

  A group of young Renshai women in the buff attacked two trees near the pool. Calistin could see Paradisians clinging to the branches, hurling rocks and sticks. More Renshai women, wet and wearing nothing but swords, clambered up the cliffs while Paradisians threw more stones or rolled boulders at them. Blood stained the pool water, and a blonde corpse floated near the bank. Another Renshai lay still on the beach.

  “Bastards!” Calistin did not wait to see what his companions did. As he neared the trees, he could see that someone had sawed through all the lower branches. Apparently, the Paradisians had planned the attack well in advance and had tried to foil pursuit. The youths in the tree must have clambered up, leaving others to cut the branches and hand them up as weapons.

  Carried by rage, Calistin did not need branches. He hurled himself at the trunk, caught it, and used his momentum to scurry up the bark to the lowest remaining branch. Three teen youths on the same limb watched incredulously as he came at them. Grabbing a leg, he unseated the first. Without bothering to watch him fall, Calistin shoved the next to the ground. The third lurched toward him, lost his own balance, and plummeted.

  Calistin left the three to the women below. They deserved the right to finish their tormentors with swords. Calistin reached up, seized a leg, and jerked another Paradisian to his doom. Then, the attacks turned on him. By now, the Paradisians in the tree seemed to have run low on ammunition. Whatever stones they had gathered were gone, and they had only sticks to pummel him. These rained down on Calistin, scant blows compared to some of the sword strokes he had taken. They only made him laugh, and that clearly unnerved the Paradisians. One jumped on his own, preferring a controlled landing into frenzied warrior women to grappling with Calistin.

  A feistier Paradisian clutching an enormous branch swung it at Calistin’s head. Compared to a sword, it moved slowly, awkwardly. As it came toward him, Calistin judged speed and weight, catching it. He tried to toss it away, far enough that it would not harm any Renshai. Its wielder went with it, sailing toward the ground.

  Calistin grabbed a limb, swinging himself up and over to face the last of the treed Paradisians. There were two, a long-haired, slender female who appeared close to his own age and a male in his twenties. She hid behind him, and her eyes looked dark and dead. The man rose to a cautious crouch, testing his balance as he freed his hands.

  Calistin knew elevated combat well, having used rooftops, tree limbs, and even a crude rope strung between dwellings for sv
ergelse. Many of the most competent Renshai preferred a makeshift log bridge suspended over a stream near the Road of Kings. Calistin had only had to slip once to know he never wanted to struggle through icy water again. He had spent the next month perfecting his footing before accepting challengers.

  Now, Calistin balanced easily on the limb, watching the Paradisian male attempt to do the same. In ordinary circumstances, he would have waited for his opponent to prepare. Now, he worried more for time and the safety of the other Renshai. The Paradisians had attacked unarmed Renshai from the high security of crags and branches. They deserved to die for their cowardice and deceit. Without a word, Calistin drew his sword and slammed the flat against the man. The blow, and the Paradisian’s own recoil, knocked him loose. This Paradisian, too, plummeted toward the ground.

  The woman cowered behind an arm. “Please, spare me. I’ll do anything. Anything.”

  Calistin knew no mercy. “Spare you like you spared them?” He gestured at the Renshai below.

  The woman said nothing but continued holding her arms pitifully in front of her, hiding her face. “Please. I don’t know how to fight. I have a brother and a mother and a father who love me.”

  Calistin did not understand her point. “So do I.” He could not fathom why he had allowed her to say this much. Before he had incorporated Treysind’s soul, he would never have hesitated. Damn you, boy. You’ve softened me. And it’s bound to be my downfall. “If you can justify what you’ve done, I’ll spare you.”

  “We . . .” she started, finally peering around her fingers to look at Calistin. She perched on the sturdy fork of two branches, her legs tucked under her. Her hair hung in a straight, dark cascade, except the fringe of bangs across her forehead. A spark had crept into her otherwise haunted eyes. “We’re at war. We attacked only your warriors . . .”

  “Which is every one of us.”

  “. . . while you slaughter only our civilians.”

  “Civilians.” The word had become meaningless. “Like you?”