Fields of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  She thrust her hands to her hips. “That’s crazy!”

  Tae shook his head abruptly. “I’ve been in their heads, Matrinka. To a man, they see us as animals, no more significant than cattle and, in some ways, inferior. That belief is central to their philosophy, essential to allow them to slaughter us wholesale, which—believe me—is their intention.”

  “Maybe if they saw us as . . .”

  Tae’s vigorous head shake silenced Matrinka again. “Maybe, but they don’t. And, until we can convince them otherwise, we can’t afford to see them as human or human equivalents.” He added, for Captain’s benefit. “The laws of Béarn and the Eastlands already include elves in their definition of human, although I think the elves themselves mostly prefer ‘equivalent by law.’ But we aren’t at war with the elves.” He did not bother to add “anymore.” It would only complicate a simple point. “And, hopefully, we never will be.” Again. “Once our warriors see the Kjempemagiska as humanlike, they will hesitate to kill.”

  Matrinka could not remain silent. “I consider that a good thing, Tae. I don’t want anyone to become so callous he can kill a human being . . .” Apparently realizing the flaw in her own description, Matrinka added, “. . . or other similar being without compunction.”

  Subikahn finally stepped in, quoting an old Renshai proverb, “The uncertain warrior is dead, and he who hesitates might just as well kill himself.”

  Matrinka looked over her shoulder at the younger man before turning back to Tae. “But isn’t it better . . . I mean don’t you think it’s . . .”

  Tae gave her time to gather her thoughts. It seemed only fair when she had to argue against two.

  “Don’t you believe peace is preferable to war?”

  “Of course I do,” Tae said. “Who wants a life lived in terror, where any breath could be his last? Who could enjoy a long or happy life knowing his friends, companions, and loved ones might disappear the moment he closed an eye or turned his back? That they could be tortured, stolen, raped? Surely, you’ve seen enough to know wishing war did not exist will not make it go away.”

  Matrinka rolled her eyes. “I’m not totally naïve, Tae. You know that. I just think, if we could get both sides to see one another as useful and intelligent beings in their own right, it might make the war unnecessary or at least . . . more civil.”

  “A civil war.” Tae laughed at the oxymoron. He imagined every soldier as neatly primped and pressed as a Knight of Erythane, bowing to his enemy and relating: If you’ll pardon my rudeness, kind sir. I’m going to have to attempt to kill you now. Realizing the incivility of his own behavior, Tae sobered almost immediately. “A marvelous idea in theory and impossible in practice, at least not with lives and property at stake. Most men would stoop to any level to protect themselves, their families, and their land.”

  Subikahn added softly, “And that’s the way it should be.”

  Tae ignored his son, taking Matrinka’s hand. “Matrinka, I’ve heard their conversations, mental and spoken. I’ve been inside their heads.” He hesitated a moment, expecting Imorelda’s interruption, a reminder that he could not have done it without her expertise. Then, he remembered they had left the cat sound asleep belowdecks. “They have a single language, always have, and they can’t conceive of the idea that the noises we make might represent sophisticated communication. Apparently, their constructions and technology far exceed our own, and they think we have only cheap imitations, brought to us by the tides and occasional visits by their people. To them, we are barely intelligent animals, and they see no reason to allow any of us to live. If they ran low on provisions, they would think nothing of butchering and roasting us.”

  Matrinka made a gesture that indicated Tae had made her point for her. “And that was their downfall, wasn’t it? They undercounted and underestimated us. Perhaps if they had recognized us as humans equal to them—”

  Subikahn interrupted, “They would have attacked harder and in greater numbers, assuring our slaughter to the man, woman, and child.”

  Matrinka whirled to face the young Renshai. “No. That’s not what I was going to say.”

  Subikahn backstepped, which amused Tae. No Renshai would withdraw from a physical battle; but, in a war of words, Matrinka intimidated him.

  Matrinka also moved, clearly seeking a position where she could face both men simultaneously. Captain appeared to have withdrawn from the conversation, calmly leaning on the taffrail and looking out over the ocean.

  Tae had the answers Subikahn did not. “Matrinka, I’m sorry, but the lad is right.”

  Matrinka did not back down at all. “He’s not right, Tae. Their inability to see us as human is what lost them that war. We believed them to be as human as us. And we triumphed.”

  Tae sighed. He had a choice to either withdraw from the argument without compromise or enter the realm of complication and detail. He decided it was worth a try. “We saw them as human, Matrinka, but only barely. To us, they were murderous, savage humanlike . . .” He sought a better word, realizing it might also define elves and not wanting to offend Captain. He avoided his previous term for elves, “human equivalents.” “Humanish beings . . . humanides . . . without compassion or control, unworthy of anything but death. Not equals. Never equals. Aside from general shape and size, nothing like us.”

  Matrinka hesitated. She clearly saw the point but did not want to concede what had seemed, moments before, her stunning victory. “But if we did see them as fully human . . . if they could see us that way . . .”

  “If we could eat ‘ifs,’ we’d have no need for food.” Tae would not back down. “They see us only as unworthy obstacles to their goal. They intend to slaughter each and every one of us and would rather kill themselves than let us take them prisoner. It’s hard . . .” Not wanting to leave her an enormous hole, he amended, “. . . nay, impossible to reason with people . . .” He caught himself, “. . . ish . . . beings of that mentality.”

  Matrinka had one last argument. “That was the alsona, the servants. These Keyempay . . .” She shook her head. “These giant masters may better know us for what we are. They may consider their own lives more valuable.”

  With that, Tae could only agree. “Which is, of course, the purpose for this mission of ours. To find out what’s in the minds and hearts of our true enemies. To discover all their strengths and figure out ways to counter them. To find any weaknesses and exploit them.” He tossed her a crumb. “Including the possibility that they see us as human, despite what they told their servants, and might be willing to parley.”

  When Matrinka was not watching, Subikahn rolled his eyes and shook his head. He clearly did not believe such a thing possible, though he did, apparently, understand Tae’s reason for expressing it.

  Tae reached for the Box of Farseeing again, and Captain handed it over without a word. Tae pressed it against his face, seeking details his previous, quick inspection had missed. That time, he had become caught up in the magic and construction of the box itself, its ability to bring the distant things to his vision, the strangeness of the island. Now, he scanned the area more carefully. The huge ships bobbed between the landed arms of a harbor. He counted forty, each of which could have held a hundred normal-sized men but no more than half that number of giants. Tae could not see all the way into the harbor; more ships might nestle there. He guessed from the curvature of the island he might be seeing a quarter of it. More ships could also be waiting on the other sides.

  Tae could not help doing the math. At least two thousand Kjempemagiska could make it to the continent, more than enough to destroy their entire world. He lowered the box to his side. Grossly understating the problem, he murmured, “This is not good.” He turned to Captain, speaking necessary words he would rather have kept to himself. His mind told him they had best turn around, disappear as quickly as possible, and return to Béarn. Instead, he said what he had to say, “We need to g
et closer.”

  A man who can’t keep himself alive is not worthy of that life.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  A LITHE SHADOW under the cover of darkness, Tae Kahn slid back into the Sea Skimmer with barely a rock and without a sound. His companions met him on the deck, except for Imorelda who he wore, like a high-back collar, around his neck. His shoulders ached from her weight, essentially dead as she had napped most of the time. His need to have her always scanning the natives’ mental wavelength did not allow conversation to pass between them, which left her bored and restless.

  While Captain glided the craft away from the massed warships and beyond sight of the island nation the alsona and Kjempemagiska called Heimstadr, Tae’s companions gathered around him to learn what he had discovered.

  Originally, Tae had planned to put everything back on the ships exactly as he had found it, but he had discovered something too interesting to leave behind. He lowered half of his booty to the deck, a thin coil of white rope that did not seem sturdy enough to serve as ship lines yet, somehow, miraculously did. He looked around for Captain, though he knew he would find the elf at the helm. “What do you think of this?”

  Dutifully, Matrinka and Subikahn inspected the prize, running it through their fingers and opening the coil until most of it rested on the deck like a dead snake. Laid end to end, it would wrap around the ship several times, at least the length of ten tall men, possibly twenty. Tae knew it did not contain a single splice. Even the great city of Pudar did not contain a ropeworks big enough to craft such an object.

  Imorelda made the first comment, hopping from his shoulders to the gunwale, threading across the narrow prominence, then dropping to the deck with no more noise than her master. *It’s a rope. Amazing.*

  Matrinka and Subikahn glanced at Tae curiously, apparently little more impressed than the impassive feline. As Tae clearly seemed to expect something from her, Matrinka said carefully, “It’s certainly well-crafted.” She pulled a hank between her hands. “And it has a coldness to it, almost as if it had woven metal inside.”

  “Try cutting it,” Tae suggested. Now that the excitement of exploring a Kjempemagiska ship had passed, he felt chilled to the bone. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him.

  Dutifully, Matrinka found her utility knife and set the edge against the rope. She sliced at it, first gently, then with more force, then by wrapping it around the blade and sawing. The motion did not dislodge so much as a dust mote.

  Subikahn watched her for a few moments. Then, apparently needing to test it himself, he drew his own utility blade and hacked at the high tensile fibers. Tae knew neither of them would have any success.

  Matrinka returned her utility knife and examined the rope. “Not a mark on it,” she said, this time with clear awe. “I couldn’t even scratch it.”

  Subikahn frowned, but sheathed his blade as well.

  Tae drew the rest of his booty from his pocket, half a dozen knives, large as short swords, confiscated from several different Kjempemagiska ships. “Try using this. Stick to an end, please. I’d like to preserve as much of this rope as possible. It could be useful.”

  Subikahn took one of the knives, hefted it, and frowned. “Judging only from its balance, it’s nothing special.” He examined the blade critically, shrugged, and ran it along the rope. It did not split the strands like butter, as he clearly expected, but it did cause a neat scar along it as the other knives had failed to do. Immediately, Subikahn dropped the rope to study the knife more closely. Matrinka took the rope end, giving it a similar scrutiny.

  A wave of amusement passed through Tae’s mind. Imorelda explained, *Have you ever seen two people more defined by their actions?*

  The sophistication of the comment surprised Tae, even after so many years of interacting with the cat. She never ceased to amaze him. He, too, had noticed that the Renshai found fascination with the blade while the healer turned her attention to the injury. He had not expected Imorelda to notice or, even if she did, to sum up the situation so succinctly. *Very observant,* he sent back. “I think it’s related to another phenomenon I’ve observed. Kevral’s sword could cleave a demon, while mine and Ra-khir’s chopped right through it without leaving a scratch.”

  Matrinka nodded thoughtfully. She and Captain had been present at that battle as well.

  “And Magnus couldn’t draw blood from the Kjempemagiska until Colbey Calistinsson supplied him with a different weapon. Calistin could, already possessing a sword from the same source.” Tae considered his own words carefully. “It seems to have something to do with—”

  “Magic.” Captain supplied the important word.

  They all swung toward the elf. Even Tae had not heard him approach. Though the sudden appearance of Captain surprised Tae, the explanation did not. “Clearly magic, but I’m not exactly sure I get it. Is the magic from the being? Or the weapon?”

  “Technically both.” Captain’s eyes lighted on the rope, and he seized a loop to study it with the same fanatical attention Subikahn had given the utility knife. Apparently distracted, he spoke maddeningly slowly. “A being . . . imbued with enough . . . magic . . .” Captain trailed off completely, and the humans all hung on words that did not follow.

  Tae tried to take over. “. . . is innately protected from normal bumps, scrapes, and bruises? Has immunity to the normal mortal tools and weapons we craft?”

  Captain dragged his gaze from the rope reluctantly to turn it on Tae. He took a moment to consider words he had, apparently, heard but not immediately processed. “Something like that.”

  “So we need magical weapons to fight the Kjempemagiska.” Tae looked down at the rope. “Or even to cut their lines.” The magnitude of that realization seemed overwhelming, yet another one shouldered through. “And these . . .” He pointed to the utility knives he had purloined from the ships. “. . . are magical weapons?”

  Captain finally picked up one of the knives, studied it, then shook his head. “Not magical. Not the way you’re thinking.”

  Tae allowed his brows to inch upward. “You know what I’m thinking?”

  *Please,* Imorelda sent. *Even I know what you’re thinking.*

  Captain returned his attention to the rope, running its length through his hand a bit at a time as he spoke. “Don’t be getting paranoid now. I’ve lived on Midgard long enough to know how humans think about magic, at least in a general sense. To you, it’s all or nothing, but magic doesn’t work like that.”

  Tae bobbed his head back and forth, encouraging Captain to continue. The elf did not need to look at the rope, using only his sense of touch to evaluate it fully.

  “I’ve already explained the rarity of permanent magic, but perhaps I haven’t made that entirely clear. To my knowledge, only four swords actively imbued with magic have ever existed. The three Swords of Power were crafted by the Cardinal Wizards and, because of their danger, had to be stored on the plain of chaos. Each Wizard line, one representing good, one evil, and two neutrality, had the option of calling forth its Sword in a time of desperation to place it in the hands of a champion. Their power was so great, it was prophesied all the worlds would end if the three Swords were called out of chaos at the same time.”

  Tae put together all the information he had gathered in his life, from written and spoken sources. “That happened, didn’t it? Centuries ago.”

  “It heralded the Ragnarok,” Captain admitted, the rope still twisting through his hands to rise from one side and land in a heap on the planking beside him. “The three Swords eventually became fused into one, still in Colbey’s hands, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Matrinka piped up, “And the fourth?”

  For a moment uncertain to what she referred, Tae glanced at her. Dark circles had formed under her large, beautiful eyes, and a few creases marred the areas around her lips and eyes. She was starting to show her age, especially when she had
not gotten enough sleep. He had always thought of her as a younger sister, and the urge to protect her stirred in him now. Only after Matrinka’s question did it occur to Tae that Captain had originally said four swords imbued with magic had existed, then referred to the three Swords of Power.

  Captain did not miss a beat. “The fourth wasn’t actually magic, but it contained a jewel in its hilt that was.”

  Subikahn blurted out, “The Sword of Mitrian.” It was a Renshai artifact that still maintained a place of honor in their society and minds.

  Captain gestured at Subikahn to indicate he had guessed correctly. “The gem was broken in the same battle that brought the Swords of Power together. It’s no longer a sword imbued with magic, though it shares one thing with the knives you recovered from the Kjempemagiska warships.”

  Tae looked at the piled weapons. “It could cut the rope. And magical creatures.”

  “It can, assuming it hasn’t been rendered unusable over the centuries for some other reason: broken, dulled, softened.”

  Subikahn scoffed, apparently taking the comment as a personal affront to the Renshai. “Certainly not.”

  Imorelda reached her paws up along the left leg of Tae’s trousers, as if to sharpen her claws on it. Instead, she merely stood as tall as possible against him. *Ask him what makes the knives work. You’re going to need a lot of them to fight a war against those giants.*

  The thought had already occurred to Tae, but he did not want to discourage Imorelda from sharing strategic thoughts. She had a unique viewpoint and might see things they missed. *Excellent idea.* He gave her words a spoken voice, “Captain, what’s special about these blades . . .” He indicated the utility knives. “. . . Calistin’s sword and the weapon Valr Magnus got from Colbey? What gives them the ability to cut demons and other creatures of magic that standard steel does not?”

  Captain continued running the rope through his hands, but Tae thought he detected a slight trembling in the elfin fingers. Otherwise, Captain seemed unperturbed by the question. He sighed and rolled his gaze upward, though it seemed more to do with finding the right words to provide a coherent description. “We call it skyggefrodleikr.” The elfin word flowed musically off his tongue. “It literally means ‘shadow of magic.’ It’s essentially an impression, an echo, that comes from an object’s long and close proximity to powerful beings or raw chaos.”