“Everything we see is consistent with what Verkleet tells us is in the box,” said Rhemus, “but there is never any certainty, only probability.”
“All right then,” said Lyra. “Tell me what you can.”
“You, my dear,” said Verkleet, “are to be the Vetra Ta’raa.”
Lyra stopped walking, and put her hand to her mouth.
“Of course,” she said in a near whisper. “But me?” Then her voice started to rise, “Why me? How could it be me? I’m only a swain sister. I sing. I travel, I ...” Then the tears came. She found herself leaning on Verkleet’s shoulder again, trying to make sense of her fate. She was to be the Vetra Ta’raa, the mother of the Hundred Years’ King.
“Ah, my dear,” said Verkleet softly, kissing her forehead. “You go on and cry tonight. The gods know you deserve it. Tomorrow and forever more there will be precious little time for tears, Vetra Ta’raa.”
~Æ~
Gastious twisted his sword arm in place as he took to the arena. Finally he would be able to fight in this war himself. The Bok stood behind him, well-armed and anxious. Gastious allowed himself a slight grin as he imagined what Foster and his people must be thinking now that they had seen the Bok, nearly two hundred strong, waiting for them in the arena. Then the gates opened, and Liam Foster emerged with his usual crew, including the Ganta named Filos. He hoped to battle him personally. Then another Ganta came through the gates, and another, and they kept coming; huge lightly-armoured men bearing clubs and knives, jogging into the arena like nimble athletes, not the lumbering giants he had always imagined them to be. Gastious cursed. He knew the Gantas to be quite skilled with their sweeping giant clubs and darting hand knives, big enough to serve as a short sword for an ordinary man.
“Avoid the Gantas,” Gastious ordered the Bok. “Kill as many of the others as you can before engaging with them. We need to win this day.”
~Æ~
“Let’s get us a few Bok, today,” Darryck said to Blade, squeezing his arm in a supportive gesture. Blade tried not to wince. Although the wasp’s poison had prevented an infection, the muscle had been badly damaged, and the wound refused to heal properly.
“Let’s do that,” replied Blade.
“Are you all right? What is this?” he asked, rubbing his fingers together, indicating the wet substance he had felt on Blade’s arm.
“It’s nothing,” Blade replied. “It’s just a little salve Maurious gave me. I’ve got a bit of a rash.”
Darryck looked at him doubtingly, and then the horn blew. The Ganta had taken position in the front of the formation, and broke into what seemed like a lazy trot. Blade and Darryck were running at a good clip towards the battle, but the Ganta far outpaced them. The Bok were disbursed throughout Arconus’s army. Blade was astonished at the efficiency with which the Ganta crashed through the ranks, tossing aside anyone in the way in order to seek out the Bok.
~Æ~
Liam fought his way through to another Bok, trying to prevent him from attacking two of Riley’s soldiers from behind. He was too late. The Bok swung his mace into the back of one and almost simultaneously took a bite into the other’s shoulder and throat. Liam thrust his sword into the Bok’s neck while its teeth were still deeply embedded in the dying man. They fell down together in a gruesome pose. The Bok weakly trying to pull its teeth free, and the man feebly pushing him away. Liam wanted to pry them apart, but there was no time. These enemies would die together in their unnatural embrace. He saw Gastious thrashing through men, a mace in one arm, his other arm a sword itself. He longed to challenge Gastious, and hopefully spare the butchering of any more of his people, but the half-Bok was too far away, and Liam had Rhoie to worry about.
Filos stayed near Liam, as he had all of the other days of fighting, and now Rhoie fought alongside them. The young man fought bravely, but with little skill. In the past two hours Liam had saved his life no less than four times, and Filos had likely done at least as much. Liam was not certain if they could keep him safe much longer. Another Bok approached. He predictably hoisted his mace over his head, preparing for a killing blow. As the mace came down Liam rolled to one side and cut open its leg. It did not seem to faze the great beast, but Liam knew the loss of blood would weaken it shortly. Liam saw Rhoie fighting against a King’s soldier, barely keeping himself alive in the effort. Filos was next to him, and managed to cut the soldier deep into his armpit. The soldier staggered away from the battle, his arm useless. The Bok took another swing at Liam. He dodged easily and swung out for another cut, but missed. The Bok expected his counter attack this time. Another of the King’s soldiers charged Rhoie from behind. Liam stepped away from the Bok and barely managed to intercept the charging soldier in time, slicing into his calf muscle and sending him hurling to the ground. Rhoie stepped in and stabbed him in the chest.
The Bok pulled his mace to one side. Liam knew from the angle that the Bok would be swinging for his legs. Liam took a step backwards, his back nearly touching Rhoie’s. The Bok swung and Liam easily dodged the blow, but it took Rhoie full on his leg, sweeping him off his feet. Liam charged in and drove his sword into the Bok’s belly.
Rhoie lay on the floor in a bloody heap, his leg broken and deeply cut. Filos stood over him, keeping attackers at bay. A certain battle honour had developed in the arena between the two armies. No one accosted the wounded, or those aiding them. Liam picked Rhoie up in his arms and carried him towards the exit where Maurious and the others tended to the wounded. Filos followed behind to protect them, but it proved unnecessary, as friend and foe alike parted to allow them to pass.
“You did very well, out there, Rhoie,” said Liam. “I’m very proud of you.”
Travis ran up to them, dragging a stretcher behind him. “Hello Rhoie,” he said, surveying his injury. “I’ll take it from here, sir.”
“Thank you,” Liam said, and laid him down in the stretcher.
“The leg,” Rhoie said, the pain halting his words. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it.”
“It’s not good,” answered Liam.
“Will I be able to fight again?”
“Not in this war,” Liam said, feeling guilty, but satisfied. He was fairly certain no one knew he had intended for Rhoie to take that blow, and take him out of the fighting.
~Æ~
Blade and Darryck were struggling. Whenever they engaged with any of the King’s soldiers, they were harassed by Bok attacking from behind. On several occasions, a Ganta stepped in to challenge the Bok, but more often than not the Bok would flee to find easier prey.
They now leaned against the wall at the edge of the arena. Not too far from them, several King’s soldiers also leaned against the wall, gathering their strength. The arena walls had become a sort of safe haven where soldiers could find a moment of respite before re-entering the fray. It was an unspoken agreement between the two armies, likely born of necessity and practicality, as enemies trudging along for the safety of the wall, too weary to fight simply agreed not to.
“Maclamar’s men are good,” said Darryck.
“Yes, they are impressive,” Blade agreed. “Most of them were trained soldiers, who learned a different kind of fighting on the streets.”
Then Blade saw Gastious charging in. “Darryck!” he screamed, but too late. His friend was run through with Gastious’s sword-arm. He slumped to the ground, and Gastious yanked his arm free. Blade swung his sword in anger, but Gastious easily blocked it with his mace.
“Come on, Gastious, you coward,” he snarled, his sword still crossed with Gastious’s mace. “Enough running around stabbing people in the back. How about a fair fight for a change?”
“Ah, Blade,” Gastious answered. “It was you and that warlock who turned my pets against me. I would love to dance with you.”
~Æ~
“So what do you think?” asked Verkleet.
“Oh, delicious,” answered Lyra as she ate another of Verkleet’s fried mushrooms. “I could eat like this every meal.”
“It is very good,” agreed Kaila.
“Mmm,” was all Rhemus could muster with his mouth full.
“What are you making for dinner?” asked Lyra.
Verkleet reached in his pocket and pulled out his spice shaker. He handed it to Lyra.
“I’m afraid you will be on your own for dinner,” he said. “I have to meet my son; and Rhemus and Kaila have to face their people. I think you should stay with them.”
“You’re leaving us?” asked Lyra.
“It has to be this way,” answered Verkleet.
Rhemus nodded solemnly. He swallowed what was in his mouth and said, “Yes. It’s time for us to separate. Lyra, you don’t have to be here. It will be very dangerous for you. Maybe you should go back to Liam.”
“No,” Lyra said thoughtfully. “I feel my place is with you right now. If your prophecy is true, I will have plenty of time with Liam later.”
Verkleet nodded slowly, then stood. “Well. I’ll be off then. It’s been a pleasure travelling with you all.”
Lyra embraced the old man. “When will we see you again?”
“Only the fates can answer that, my dear.”
~Æ~
Travis dragged another stretcher into the arena. Four men were carrying an injured warrior towards him at a brisk pace. Four others jogged alongside the stretcher. The men were all dressed in regular clothes.
“Maclamar,” he whispered, and ran to his friend.
~Æ~
The fight had been going on for twenty minutes, and no one around them interfered. Indeed, quite a few had paused to watch. Gastious was glad for the challenge. He obeyed the orders from his King, “Win the day. I do not care how you do it. Use any and all tactics necessary to win this day!”
It only made sense to utilise the Bok in the way he had, and to join them in picking the easiest targets, but it made him feel cowardly, and he knew the Bok disapproved of their orders. During his entire life, he had obeyed his King, doing things that shamed him. But beyond the shame had always been loyalty, and the honour of his loyalty had always been enough.
Now he was in a duel with a true warrior and a hated enemy. It was a good, honourable fight and he had spotted a weakness.
“I see my pets made a meal of your arm,” said Gastious.
“I see they made a meal of your face. How did you survive? Surely it must be your stink that saved you.”
Gastious knew that neither was as interested in insulting one another as they were in gathering their energy and plotting the next strike.
“Ha,” Gastious chuckled loudly, and dropped his sword arm to his side slightly, leaving an opening. Blade attacked as predicted, but as Gastious countered, Blade was already aside him, slicing a significant cut into his thigh. The young man was slippery quick and an intelligent fighter. Gastious had found a worthy opponent.
“Keep on your feet, boy,” Gastious told him. “One of them is going to land.”
“The only way you are going to beat me is by knocking me out with your rancid breath.”
Blade took a long arcing swing with his sword, which Gastious dodged easily and countered. Blade’s middle was now exposed, and Gastious struck at it with his sword arm. Blade parried, took a step back, and threw his sword at Gastious’s legs. Gastious barely avoided the swirling blade. By that time, Blade was right next to him. Gastious realised Blade had given up his sword for the sake of speed. Blade was totally exposed, and the battle would be over in the next few seconds, one way or another. He turned fast to face Blade for his next attack, but he was unprepared for the strange flurry of movement his opponent made. Blade took two steps against the arena wall and pushed off. Gastious swung his sword, and Blade blocked it with his naked arm. It cut deeply, and Gastious knew the battle was his if he could just step away from the attack. This he realised as he felt the dagger sink into his neck.
All thoughts of victory vanished. All thoughts of loyalty to his King were gone, as the warm blood soaked through his clothing. In that last moment of his life, he could only think what a strange thing it was to die, right here. He had never considered it a possibility, even in the midst of the battle, that the end could be so near. Now he understood he would be dead in a matter of seconds, and this thought comforted him.
~Æ~
Travis sat at the back of the arena, standing over his oldest friend. Aunty Jules spread a damp cloth over his head, fighting back tears. She had dressed his wounds, but Travis had enough experience in the arena now to know there was nothing left to do but make Maclamar as comfortable as possible. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. Maurious’s herbs took most of the pain away, but they had a heavy sedative effect. Maclamar woke up again.
“How are you doing, Mac?” Travis asked quietly.
“Dying, Trav, thanks. How about you?”
“You don’t know that,” said Aunty Jules. “Maurious is a miracle worker, he ...”
“No need for that, Aunty. You can’t get a lie past a liar,” he said quietly, then turned to Travis.
“Listen, Travis.”
“Yeah, Biff.”
“There’s something you can do for me.”
“Anything.”
“Talk to Connor. You know him?”
“Yeah, I think so. He was the guy with the scar in his scalp. He helped carry you in.”
“That’s him. He helps me with the newspaper.”
“Lazaro’s Flame?”
Maclamar nodded. “Just go to him. See if you can keep the paper going.”
“By the gods, Biff. Of course I will. And all this time I thought you were the one who went bad, and look at all you’ve done for your country. You ...”
Travis felt a hand on his arm. It was Aunty Jules. The gesture alone was enough to tell him that his friend was dead.
Travis put his head in his hands. He did not have time to mourn right now. He needed to attend to the living, but he allowed himself a few tears. Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He folded it into what looked like two interlocking circles. It was the symbol for brothers. He laid it on Biff Stanton’s chest, stood up and went back to work.
~Æ~
The fighting was slowing down now, exhaustion overtaking both armies. Liam considered raising the flag. The damage was more or less even between the two groups, but Liam knew that even was not good enough. He had lost many good men. At least Rhoie was out of danger.
Dilano and another Talon, each dragging a stretcher behind him, were walking through the crowd not far away. He worked his way over to them. Filos, as always, by his side. As they approached they could see that Darryck was in one stretcher, Blade in the other.
“Oh, no. Another great loss,” said Liam, as he saw Darryck’s body.
“Blade, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to get to the infirmary.”
“It doesn’t look like you’ll be fine,” said Filos.
“No, I’ll lose the arm for sure,” he said. “It’s all right though. I’ve got myself a replacement.”
Only then did he notice that on top of his blanket was a long leather case, beside it was a sword with no hilt, attached to an assortment of straps.
“Is that?”
“Yup,” answered Dilano, a proud but joyless smile on his face. “Gastious killed Darryck. Blade killed Gastious.”
“Well done, lad,” Liam said, patting him on the shoulder. “Well done. You had better get that seen to.”
The Talons carried on towards the rear of the arena, and Liam was about to signal to concede the battle for the day. Then Liam heard a rhythmic stomping on the arena floor. It grew louder and louder, each stomp followed by the rattling of metal weapons. It was the Bok. The fighting gradually stopped but the stomping continued, as the Bok gathered to form a wall across half the arena. One Bok stepped forward in front of the rest.
“Liam Foster,” he called. “You killed my brother. I demand the right for vengeance. I challenge you.”
“Any advice?” Liam asked Filos.
“He’s quite big, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I noticed that already. It isn’t much help. If I accept his challenge, will the others stay back?”
“Sorry. Yes, I believe they will. I do not think their behaviour today was in their nature. Now Gastious is dead, and they are free to fight the way they choose. The Bok are brutes, but they value honour very highly. This is an official challenge. In their culture, it is man on man. The rest will stay back.”
“All, right then,” said Liam.
He walked through the crowd to meet his challenger. All fighting had now ceased, and the soldiers on both sides had become spectators.
Liam stopped about twenty feet in front of the Bok and said, “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother. I honour your right to seek vengeance.”
The Bok’s anger abated for a moment, and he bowed to Liam. Liam returned the gesture.
Then the Bok screamed a battle cry and charged. As Liam predicted, the Bok clumsily projected his blow, pulling his mace over his right shoulder as he charged. At the last moment, Liam took two steps forward, ruining the Bok’s timing. He stepped under the mace and sliced the Bok along the side. It seemed only to anger him. The Bok put his hand to his side, and found it was bleeding. Then he charged again, this time holding his mace low. Liam knew an uppercut was coming. This time he took two steps back, again upsetting the Bok’s timing, and managed a small cut on its hip. The Bok charged over and over for ten minutes or more, with Liam scoring small cuts and slices in his reposts. The Bok was clumsy, but not stupid. His attacks were getting nearer, and as the fight progressed, he was able to avoid most of Liam’s counter-attacks. But he had learned too late. He had been expending far more energy than Liam, and he was losing strength from loss of blood.
The Bok was breathing hard. He circled Liam over and over, trying to recover some energy. Then the Bok charged in a furious run. Liam felt instinctively that the Bok was making his final effort, mustering all of his remaining energy for one last chance at victory. Again he projected his swing, bringing the mace high over his head. Liam prepared to step forward and under the blow. Then the Bok did something unexpected. Just as Liam was about to move, the Bok dropped his mace from over his head and lunged at him, his huge mouth open and bearing down on Liam’s face. Liam felt the Bok’s incredibly strong hands grip his arms, pinning them to his sides. Liam leapt back, but stumbled onto the arena floor. His head hit the stone hard, nearly rendering him unconscious.
With Footfalls of Shadow Page 44