Fields of Wrath

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Tae’s brows shot up. “My, you have been busy!”

  Griff shrugged off the impossible. “Despite assurances to the contrary, the feud will likely surface again. Hatred for Renshai is too ingrained in certain societies to let something as trivial as peace get in their way.”

  Gaze still on his charge, Subikahn nodded vigorously. “So my brother is . . . well?”

  Tae and Griff turned their attention to the young Renshai. It seemed like a trifling question amid so many weighty issues. Nevertheless, Griff responded to it. “He seemed so. Weile, too. As far as I know, they’re helping the Renshai put the Fields of Wrath back together. I’m afraid I haven’t had time to notice. I’m dealing with the elves and the mages now, trying to get them to work with us, and together, to assist against the giants’ magic. Given what your father just told me, it would seem my current project has become urgent.”

  As was often the case, Tae fixated on the oddities rather than the meat of the conversation. He could not help wondering why Subikahn had expected to find Saviar with Weile. Most remarkably, Subikahn had been correct, which suggested he knew something significant he had not discussed with this own father. Now was not the time to wheedle that information out of Subikahn, however.

  “Would you like my help?” Tae offered, uncertain what he might add. He knew some Elvish, but not enough to become conversational yet. And many of the elves spoke the human common trading tongue. When it came to sword skill, Béarn had more than its share of Renshai, while Griff and Weile and, probably, Saviar bested him in diplomacy. Tae knew the time constraints better, but as he had been spouting these to little avail since the first war ended, everyone would hear it better from the king of Béarn’s mouth than his.

  If Griff weighed those same considerations, he did so swiftly. “Thank you, Tae. For now, it’s more important for you to muster the armies of the Eastlands and keep her happy.” He tipped his head toward Mistri who squirmed in her chair, waiting impatiently for the conversation to finish.

  Darris stepped up to the king’s side. “Your Majesty, it’s time you got back to those negotiations. Even elfin patience is finite.”

  After his time spent with Captain, the least elflike of the elves, Tae was not so certain Darris was correct; but the need for King Griff’s presence in this discussion seemed to have run its course. The massive Béarnide caught Arturo into an embrace, whispered something into his ear, thumped his back with a meaty hand, then lumbered from the room. The others continued their reunion, and Tae did his best to comfort the giant’s child in preparation for imminent war.

  A Knight of Erythane always chooses the right way, not the easy way.

  —Sir Ra-khir Kedrin’s son

  THE COMMON ROOM of the Knight’s Rest Inn seemed particularly quiet, as it had for the past week. Erythane’s upscale drinking establishment, frequented by her knights, was never a rowdy, boisterous place, but now it seemed more like a tomb. People conversed quietly at the tables while barmaids slipped around them like ghosts. Kedrin worked his men even harder than usual, and those knights still at the tables looked world-weary and exhausted. Most had already retired for the night, and nearly all the current patrons were merchants.

  Ra-khir sat across the table from Tiega, drinking in her beauty with far more enthusiasm than his ale. The Knight’s Rest had the best and most expensive food in town, but it all tasted like ash in his mouth. Tiega, however, remained the highlight of his evenings. The long and dirty ride home had done nothing to dull his ardor. Whether windswept, casually tousled or combed to a sheen, her honey-brown hair fell in luxuriant waves around her delicate features. Smudges on her nose and cheeks only made her loveliness realer. The brilliant blue of her eyes drew his gaze away from any imperfections, if they existed. Kevral had also had blue eyes, but they had always appeared steely and strong. Tiega’s showed a strange vulnerability that brought out every protective instinct in Ra-khir. They were two very different women. And, yet, the attraction he felt for both was remarkably similar. Once again, and too soon for his liking, he was falling in love.

  The timing could not have been worse. Scouts of every variety had fled into the darkness the same day Tae and Matrinka had returned to Béarn, their job to alert the varied peoples of the continent that the next war was essentially upon them. Once again, they needed to mass on Béarn’s shores, to set up their supply lines through the high kingdom, to conscript every arm, to hone and bring every weapon. They had less than a month, Tae estimated. And now, only nine days later, Tae announced a single week till doomsday based on objects viewed through a magical box belonging to Captain the elf.

  Ra-khir did not realize his head was sagging until Tiega’s hand fell onto it, smoothing his hair. “You need sleep, my darling. Why don’t you take our room? Keva and I can find a place by the fire.”

  Though noble, the suggestion was ridiculous. “No, Tiega, there’s no need for me to put you and Keva out. If I’m too tired to go home to the Fields of Wrath, I can bunk with one of the other knights. Several of the bachelors live here fulltime.” Ra-khir did not mention his father. Though close, Kedrin did not seem in the kind of mood that invited anyone, especially his son. Ra-khir could imagine his father drilling him in his sleep.

  Not that Ra-khir’s own home seemed any more welcoming. The Renshai took battle as seriously as any human could, practicing at all times of the day and night, in every terrain. The chime of steel was constant there, and his sons seemed to relish battles inside the confines of their home, dashing around and over the furniture, in and out the windows. To them, he was just another obstacle to overcome; if he chided them, he found himself drawn into their battle.

  The boys conversed gaily of death in combat, which made Ra-khir uncomfortable in a way it never had before. The memory of Kevral’s slaying was still fresh and raw, an agony he did not need continuously rekindled. He did not want to lose his sons but knew he probably would or, more likely, they would lose him. Though their enthusiasm and audacity far exceeded his own, so did their skill and training. Though not nearly as brash, the knights followed a code of honor that often resulted in lethal sacrifices. To save others, Ra-khir would not hesitate to die.

  Ra-khir lowered his head fully to the tabletop and reveled in Tiega’s gentle touch. “I’m sorry I brought you here. To this.”

  Tiega’s hand stilled in his red-blond hair. “Don’t talk like that, Ra-khir. It was my choice, mine and Keva’s, and I’m happy we made it. If these are my last days, I’m glad to have spent them in your company and with my son. I’ve always wanted to see the great cities of Béarn and Erythane. If they fall, what chance does a hamlet like Keatoville have?”

  Had he more energy, Ra-khir might have argued. It would take the Kjempemagiska time to get to all the small Westland villages. Some people might escape and hide, even beyond whatever magic these giants might possess to find them. He kept Tae’s stories of their cruelty to their servants to himself. He did not wish to consider the fate that might prove worse for the survivors than those who succumbed to the war. One thing seemed absolutely certain; they could not afford to fail.

  “Béarn and Erythane will not fall.” Ra-khir attempted to reassure Tiega, though he found it difficult to convince himself. Even if Béarn could call back every army that had assisted with the first war in time to face the Kjempemagiska, so many people had already died. Their forces were smaller, even less organized, weary of war, and facing a much greater threat. He only hoped the addition, even reluctantly, of Myrcidians and elves would make the difference. Ra-khir sat up straight and reached a hand across the table. “Béarn and Erythane will always stand strong. We will repel these invaders.”

  Tiega took his hand, clasping it in both of hers. “Of course, we will. And I’ll be nearby, beseeching the gods, lending whatever emotional or physical support you and the others need.”

  Ra-khir managed a smile. “I know you will, and thoughts of you will g
uide my lance, speed my sword, and serve as an anchor of comfort in the best and worst of times.”

  “I love you, Ra-khir,” Tiega whispered so softly, he was not entirely sure he heard her. But the words that followed were clear, “Come back to me, my love. Alive and well.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Ra-khir stopped short of a promise and avoided the one topic he knew might destroy her. This time, they would need every man. Darby would be joining the war.

  Queen Matrinka wound through a dining hall packed with elves and humans, flashing back nearly two decades to the time when many of these same elves had gathered to whisk her friends from world to world, seeking the pieces of the once-shattered Pica Stone. Now, the enormous sapphire glowed a fiery blue on the center table while the oldest of the elves ran his hands over its sleek surface.

  Servants scurried through the masses, bringing food and drink for the busy elves, who mostly ignored it, gathering and sorting weapons across the many tables. These ran the gamut from finely worked broadswords to Béarnian spears to arrowheads of myriad shapes and sizes. The Renshai swords occupied a table to themselves, toward the center of the room and nearest the Pica Stone, surrounded by anxious warriors of both genders who would sooner leave their eyes than their weapons. No one dared to touch these, not even the elves who stood with heads lowered and hands raised, chanting in dull monotones that seemed more vibration than sound.

  A few of the elves, including Captain, uttered harsh strings of syllables in a language even Tae Kahn could not master, filled with diphthongs, ululations, guttural stops, and other sounds that seemed impossible for human mouths and throats to form. Many of the words incorporated letters that did not exist, blends that should not, and a tone that simulated waves crashing onto rocks, wind through summer leaves, or the wavering cries of insects and animals in the night. She knew the name for the background noises that strengthened the spells: jovinay arythanik, a combining of elfin magical strength to enhance the magic of one.

  A dozen Myrcidians sat in one corner of the room, watching with an intensity that seemed almost painful. They were like statues, so focused on the ritual unfolding in front of them, and Matrinka could not even catch them blinking. The oldest looked as if he might collapse into dust.

  The idea of exposing their weapons to waves of elfin magic had seemed logical and necessary. In the first war, they had faced a single Kjempemagiska, and most of their weapons had bounced harmlessly from its clothing and its flesh. Since the day Matrinka and her friends had faced their first demon, a being formed of raw chaos, she had learned that plain steel could not harm magical beings. When imbued with magic, however, weapons affected such targets as they normally did. Unfortunately, few items imbued with magic existed.

  Spotting Tae at a small table in a dark corner, Matrinka headed toward him. He appeared to be sitting alone, which surprised her. She could not remember the last time Imorelda had allowed him out of her sight. Winding between the rows of tables and chanting elves, careful not to nudge them and risk ruining the magic, Matrinka approached Tae. “Mind if I join you?”

  Rising, Tae gestured toward a chair across from him, and Matrinka perched on it. She leaned across the table. “I never expected to find you here.” Not wanting to suggest he did not belong, she added hastily, “Though I’m glad to find a friendly face, especially yours. Nothing seems right or normal anymore.”

  Tae grinned. “Well, if it’s right and normal you’re looking for, you’ve come to the wrong person.”

  Matrinka chuckled. It felt good to laugh.

  “Mistri’s napping, and I arranged a meal fit for a visiting princess for Imorelda.”

  Matrinka nodded, appreciating the information. “She deserves it, Tae. She’s worked very hard.”

  “For a cat.” Tae glanced around furtively, clearly not fully comfortable talking about the situation in a room full of others, even if no one could overhear them.

  Matrinka changed the subject to one that had worried her since she had learned of the project. “Do you think this is the right way to handle this?” She made a broad gesture to indicate the elfin magic. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to try to place spells on each weapon to make sure it takes? Even if they couldn’t get to quite as many, in the hands of the best warriors, they should prove far more devastating.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Tae took the time to explain what Griff had not. “Remember our conversation with Captain? The elves aren’t actually imbuing the magic into the weapons because they don’t have the power or capacity to do that. To my knowledge, the Pica Stone is the only surviving true magical item.”

  A male voice floated from the close darkness. “That is . . . incorrect.”

  Startled, Matrinka leaped to her feet. It was all she could do not to skitter away from the table. Only then, she noticed Weile Kahn and his two ever-attendant bodyguards in the farthest part of the corner. “H-how long have you been there?”

  Weile rose and bowed. “Since before you arrived, Your Majesty.” The bodyguards did not speak. Nor did they stand.

  Matrinka hated formality. It slowed down the conversation and made people far too careful. “Just call me Matrinka, please. Tae and I are like sister and brother.”

  Weile tipped his head. “Which would make me . . . your father? I’d be honored.”

  Matrinka sat down again, and Weile followed suit. “If you don’t mind three more grandchildren, I’ll take you up on the offer. My father died years ago.”

  “Yes,” Weile said. Matrinka doubted there was much history Tae’s father did not already know. “Midgard has the Pica Stone, the Sword of Mitrian, the ship of the elfin Captain, and the ruins of the dwellings of the four Cardinal Mages.”

  Matrinka blinked. It took her a moment to realize he had returned to the previous conversation.

  Tae caught on more quickly. “According to Captain, the Sea Skimmer contains only trace, not true, magic like the Pica. The Sword of Mitrian is stripped. Even if we could find where the Cardinal Wizards used to have their homes, those places now have cities built on them or have languished into dust and forest.”

  Weile shook his head. “At least one of the Cardinal Wizard’s homes is still in use.”

  Suddenly, Weile had their full attention. Matrinka worried the secretive man might end the discussion there; people who spouted everything they knew at every opportunity could not maintain the air of superiority and mystery that Weile did.

  However, Weile continued without hesitation, “The Myrcidians built their communal living place on top of the ancient ruins of the Western Wizard’s abode, and it still contains some powerful magic.”

  Matrinka wanted more, but Tae seemed unconvinced. “How could you possibly know that?”

  Weile shrugged, as if he had spoken common knowledge. “I’d tell you to ask your son, but he’s sworn to secrecy.”

  “And yet,” Tae pointed out, “he told you. And you’ve not been discreet at all.”

  Weile chuckled. “Subikahn is sworn to secrecy, not me. He gave me just enough information to figure things out on my own. He knows I can’t resist a puzzle.”

  Matrinka was appalled, “Are you saying Subikahn broke a vow of honor?”

  Tae studied her as if she had gone mad. “Are you mistaking Subikahn for Ra-khir?”

  Weile’s point was gentler, “His brother’s sanity and life were in danger. In those circumstances, I believe most decent people would make the same choice.” He pinned her with his dark stare. “Most especially you, Matrinka.”

  Though a bit taken aback, Matrinka considered and realized the truth. If the life of one of her children hung in the balance, she would break a vow to strangers in an instant. “You’re right, of course.”

  Weile grinned evilly. “I never tire of hearing that.”

  Matrinka had not received an answer to her original question. “I still don’t understand what the
purpose of all this is.” She made a broad gesture to encompass the entire room. “Don’t we have better ways to prepare for battle?”

  Tae pointed out the obvious. “It’s not as if this is the only thing we’re doing. We have armies massing near the docks and on the beaches, and battleships readying for the arrival of the Kjempemagiska. Scouts have scattered everywhere, recalling warriors and armies, sending out the word, and watching for spies and trickery, crafting the best lines for supplies. The Eastlands, for example, has much to contribute once our fighting men reach Béarn. Again.”

  Matrinka waved him off. She had attended enough meetings with Griff to understand all of that. “But surely we can do something more significant with our only magical beings. Something more . . . preparatory.”

  Tae sighed deeply, and Matrinka suddenly thought that he considered her foolish. “The problem, as I understand it, is that elfin magic is . . . mostly peaceful. Almost, well, frivolous.”

  Matrinka appreciated that he seemed to understand her frustration. “We’re not asking for explosions, are we? I mean, couldn’t they . . .” She searched her imagination. “. . . make the beaches slippery?”

  “To what end?” Tae easily found the flaw. “That would impede us as much or more than the giants who probably have magic that would allow them to counteract it. Imagine them hovering over the battlefield while our troops are desperately trying to wield swords while they’re slipping and sliding.”

  “Not if we stay off the beach.”

  Tae shook his head. “A battle of distance would not be in our best interests. Magic travels farther than sword strokes. If we rely solely on bowmen, we’re at a distinct disadvantage. Not only are their arrows superior to ours, they’re sure to have spells that outrange us, and we will, eventually, run out of ammunition. Also, magic can affect large swaths compared to our one-at-a-time bolts and arrows.”

  Matrinka had another idea. “What if we were the ones flying?”