“You’d better not be,” Hilt said. “Chances are he wants to fight you today. Probably as soon as you’re finished with introductions.”
Justan had been expecting that. It was the way warriors often greeted each other among the Roo-Tan. A warrior could learn a lot about someone during a battle and a good sparring match was a way to get to know the capabilities of someone new.
“Hilt is right about his assessment of you, Justan,” Deathclaw said. The raptoid had been silent up to this point. Just observing the conversation. “This is not the right battle for you. You cannot allow yourself to die. Perhaps the best strategy would be to escape while you can.”
“I know what you’re saying. If he kills me, he kills you too,” Justan said and the weight of the battle got even heavier. “But you also know I can’t run away from this. I would lose Jhonate and she is part of our pack.”
“You know what, though,” Hilt said. “That is an angle I hadn’t thought about. You’re a bonding wizard. The Roo-Tan respect that. Even if he is angry enough to kill you, can he justify killing you and all of your bonded?” He rubbed his chin. “I’m going to see if I can’t talk to him myself before all this starts. You stay with the others. I’ll hurry ahead and see if I can’t slip in there.”
Hilt ran ahead and Gwyrtha sidled up to Justan, nudging him. You can win, Justan. Hilt is wrong. You are better than anyone.
“Thanks, girl,” Justan said, rubbing her behind her ears.
Deathclaw walked with his arms folded, deep in thought. As a general rule, he kept his feelings out of the bond, but Justan sensed some anxiety. He wondered if Deathclaw was concerned for his own welfare or if the raptoid actually cared if Justan got hurt.
“I will watch your fight with my eyes of battle,” Deathclaw said. “If I see anything that may help I will tell you.”
“Thank you, Deathclaw,” Justan replied.
I’ll help! Gwyrtha added.
“Then Hilt’s wrong,” he said. “How can I lose?”
The camp of the Roo-Tan soon came into view. It was set in a wide clearing and was every bit as orderly as any academy camp Justan had seen. Even rows of tents were lined across the field and at the center was one huge tent that had to belong to Xedrion. It was made of green canvas and was pentagonal in shape. Justan imagined that, if Xedrion wanted to, he could bring all of his men inside.
There was a bit of a commotion as Justan approached the protector’s tent.
“Enough of this foolishness. You let me in, Fleen!” Hilt was saying.
Jhonate’s older brother stood in Hilt’s way, his feet firmly set, his smile unfazed. “I am sorry, Sir Hilt. Father has made his wishes known. He wants to see Sir Edge and Sir Edge alone.”
Justan walked to the tent entrance and Hilt turned to him with an apologetic shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Edge.”
“I understand.” He addressed Fleen. “I am to enter alone, sixth son?”
“Yes,” Fleen said.
“I am a bonding wizard,” Justan said, keeping his voice formal and proper as Jhonate had coached him. “My bonded are a part of me. As such, I request that they be allowed to enter with me.”
Fleen hesitated. “I will have to take this up with the protector. Wait outside.”
The warrior turned and entered the tent just as Qurl and Jhexin exited. The two warriors stopped in front of Justan, both of them looking pale.
“Uh, Sir Edge,” Qurl said. “I wanted to tell you that Jhexin and I were fair in our report.”
“We tried to say good things,” Jhexin added.
“We were fair,” Qurl repeated, giving his brother a stern look. “I should warn you, however, to be careful and- uh.” He bit his lip, something very un-Qurl-like to do. “I want to formally tell you that I feel you have earned the right to call me by my given name.”
Justan smiled. How unexpected. “Why thank you, Qurl.”
“I wish to offer you that same respect, Sir Edge,” Jhexin added, giving him a respectful nod. “You may use my given name.”
That was even more of a surprise. Justan gave them both a respectful nod of his own. “Thank you, Jhexin. That means a lot to me.”
“Good,” Qurl said, looking relieved.
“Can you tell me anything about what to expect in there?” Justan asked.
“No,” Jhexin said. “Father let us know that we were to tell you nothing. Just-just . . . Stick to formality. Do not anger him.”
“You say too much, Jhexin,” Qurl said and with another nod, he strode away, dragging his brother with him.
Fleen soon reappeared, looking completely at ease, that same comfortable smile on his face that he had shown Justan when he had first met him. Considering everyone else’s behavior, Justan came to understand something about Fleen. This brother was really good at hiding his emotions.
“Xedrion bin Leeths will allow you to bring one bonded only,” he said.
Justan wanted to argue, but this was perhaps a better response than he should have expected. He turned to Gwyrtha. “I’m sorry, girl. I need you to stay and keep Sir Hilt company.”
Her response was an irritated snort. You think I’m not going to help you in there.
I need Deathclaw’s particular expertise, Justan said, trying to sugar coat his reasoning.
She let out a low growl. Hilt reached and patted her head. “I’ll tell you what, Gwyrtha. You monitor what’s going on in there and if it looks like Edge is going to die, I’ll cut us a way in.”
Gwyrtha liked that idea, Yes. If you need me I will come in anyway.
“Thank you. Deathclaw will you come?” Justan said. The raptoid nodded and Justan sent, Be careful and say nothing unless he speaks to you. Xedrion expects formality so just follow my lead. When the battle starts, do not interfere.
Understood, Deathclaw replied and they pushed through the tent flap.
It was more than a tent flap actually. After the outer layer of canvas was another thick leather flap, followed by a layer of cloth drapery after that. The added layers cut down on the sound, keeping the happenings inside the tent private.
Justan pushed through the last layer. The interior of the tent was well lit by brightly glowing braziers at each of the tent’s five corners. Long grass mats lined each wall and at the center of the tent was a crackling fire surrounded by a stone ring. The wide area around the fire had been cleared of grass down to the bare earth and looked well packed. At the rear of the tent stood a chair made of dead Jharro wood covered with elaborate runes and carvings. It was currently unoccupied except for two flat pieces of Jharro wood that were lying on the seat.
Justan was immediately hit by the somber atmosphere. The large tent had only a dozen occupants and all but one of them were gathered in the rear of the tent, standing around Yntri Yni’s body. The elf lay on a pile of green cushions on the floor, a gauzy lace shroud draped over his small form. A helmet made of Jharro Wood had been placed on his chest.
The one person not standing by the elf was a woman reclining on a similar pile of plush green cushions. Justan saw that she had to be Jhonate’s mother. Jhandra bin Tayl was quite obviously pregnant and wore a white dress similar to the one Jhonate had worn during the funeral procession at the end of the war. She looked to be in her forties and was quite beautiful, with light brown eyes and dark brown hair. Green ribbons were woven into the braids at each side of her face. Her cheeks were tear streaked and a Jharro circlet sat upon her brow. As she turned to her side to watch him enter, Justan saw trepidation in her gaze.
Justan’s eyes moved back to the people standing around Yntri. Jhonate was there, clutching hard to her staff. Xedrion stood with his back to Justan, one arm settled around Jhonate’s shoulders. A thick armor of Jharro wood covered his torso and shoulders, plain but for a slight decorative scrolling around the edges. His braids were shoulder length and unkempt as if he hadn’t rewoven them in a few days
Jhonate was looking at Justan and her eyes were wide and concerned. She whispered some
thing into her father’s ear and pulled free from his grasp, moving to stand behind her mother. Through the ring she said, Remember the things I told you to say.
Yes, ma’am, he replied.
She managed a weak smile. Remember formality.
Xedrion kept his back to Justan for a moment longer, looking down at Yntri. Finally he turned and met Justan’s gaze. Xedrion’s appearance was formidable. His face would have perhaps been youthful if not for the gray in his stubble or the multiple battle scars, including a thick one across his upper lip. He had the same striking green eyes as Jhonate, matching the color of the single green ribbon that hung to the left side of his face.
He was holding a long Jharro staff in his hand. One end was shaped like a curving blade and the other was pointed like a spear. His arms were corded with thick muscle and Justan could see that he was gripping his staff quite tightly. The look he gave Justan was an assessing one, but Justan sensed rage behind his eyes.
Jhonate’s instructions buzzed through Justan’s mind. Xedrion was not a king. If Justan bowed it would show weakness. Xedrion was a warrior and would respect being met with a level gaze. Justan kept his back straight, his feet slightly apart, his arms loosely at his sides.
He kept his voice level and respectful, “Protector of the Grove, I am Sir Edge, so named at the Bowl of Souls. I am a bonding wizard and a Jharro wielder. I come before you as one who has vowed to defend the grove and as a friend to the Roo-Tan people.”
He waited for Xedrion to reply, but the man said nothing, his eyes still fixed on Justan. A few agonizing moments passed and Justan added, “Standing behind me is the raptoid, Deathclaw. He is a skilled warrior, my bonded, and also a friend to the Roo-Tan people.”
A friend? Deathclaw sent.
Yes you are, Justan replied.
Xedrion stepped towards him, walking slowly around the fire, still saying nothing. Instead of standing in front of Justan, he paced around him, looking him up and down, basically ignoring Deathclaw.
Justan swallowed, but kept his face impassive. Xedrion was supposed to reply asking him for the reason he was here. Jhonate had played the role with him, talking back and forth about what to say for days.
He looked at Jhonate, but she just shook her head slowly. Justan noticed that the rest of the people that had been standing around Yntri had moved away to sit cross-legged on the mats at the edge of the tent. Two of the women had gone to stand next to the Jharro chair.
One of these women had a head of hair that was mostly gray. She looked proud and graceful and wore a hide breastplate similar to Jhonate’s. A Jharro sword hung at her waist and there were black ribbons in the braids by her face. This would be Herlda bin Shun, Xedrion’s first wife. The second woman was perhaps the same age as Jhonate’s mother, though she had a plain face and had auburn hair only lightly dotted with gray. Her breastplate looked to be woven of some kind of reeds and she wore orange ribbons in her braids. This was Alexis bin Hoon, Xedrion’s fourth wife.
Finally, Xedrion stopped.
“You call yourself a friend?” His voice was deep and full of emotion. “Yntri Yni was my friend. When I was an infant, he carried me through the grove. He taught me the language of the trees. He taught me to lead. He taught me to fight!” He pounded his chest with his fist, his lip curling.
“Weaponmaster Yntri was my friend, too,” Justan said and immediately felt Jhonate’s wince through the ring.
Xedrion’s curled lip tightened with anger. “You dare? I have known him all my life. For seventy years, Yntri Yni molded me. You have known him for weeks!”
Do not drop your gaze, Jhonate instructed. Justan obeyed, though it was not easy to do with the guilt he felt at Xedrion’s words.
“You come to me, having stolen my daughter away for years. You come to me a stranger and you come bearing the body of one of the most important beings in the history of our world. Why? Why is he dead and not you?”
“I came for my betrothed,” he replied. “I came because I love Jhonate. As for-.”
Xedrion brought his staff up, the spear-like tip pointed at Justan’s throat. “That betrothal is false!” he declared. “Hilt did not have my permission to allow it. I revoke it!”
“Father, you cannot! It was done by the rules!” Jhonate said.
“Silence!” he said, pointing back at her with his free hand, though his eyes never left Justan’s. “I deny the betrothal. I dissolve it! The man who stands before me is no longer a man seeking to join my family. He is a man who has put his filthy lips on my daughter’s! He is the man with Yntri Yni’s blood on his hands.”
Justan’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t been sure before, but now he was. “Then you were the one who did it? The Protector of the Grove sent the nightbeast?”
Xedrion’s eyes flashed. He snarled and turned away, twirling his staff. “Draw your weapons.”
“I will not,” Justan said, throwing aside the instructions that Jhonate and Hilt had given him.
“Insolence!” cried Alexis from her place next to the chair.
“Stay out of this!” Xedrion said to her. He looked back at Justan. “You would have me cut you down while you stand there like a sheep waiting for slaughter? I thought you were a warrior.”
“Before I draw my swords, I want to know who I am facing. Am I raising my swords against the Protector of the Grove? The father of my betrothed? The worthy leader of a great nation?” He pulled his lips back into a snarl of his own. “Or am I facing a pitiful excuse for a man? The kind of man who destroys something because he fears to face it? The kind of sniveling coward who would hire an evil beast to kill the man his daughter loves? Who are you?”
With a shout, Xedrion came at Justan, his staff a blur. Justan senses focused as he slowed the world around him, seeing the protector’s approach, watching as the spear-like end of the Jharro staff morphed to match the curved blade on the other end. Justan dove, rolling to the side just in time to dodge a wicked slice.
Shall I help? Deathclaw asked.
Just sit to the side and watch, Justan sent. He came to his feet and said, “So you show yourself. You are the coward.”
“How dare you hurl insults when you were the one standing back, watching while Yntri Yni died in your place!” Xedrion charged again and this time he was not going to let Justan dodge.
Justan was forced to draw his swords, tightening his senses to their limit so that the rest of the world slowed to a complete crawl. As it was, he was barely able to bring his swords down in time to parry the first couple of strikes. He kicked out, causing Xedrion to jump back.
Justan’s emotions were gone, sucked away by Peace, allowing him to analyze the situation. “I would admit freely that my life was not worth Yntri’s. I did not ask him to die for me. He protected me of his own free will just as he protected you when someone sent a nightbeast after y-!”
Justan had to stop speaking in order to meet Xedrion’s next flurry of strikes. The man was fully enveloped in his rage, each of his attacks looking to kill or disable. He knew that Justan didn’t dare to strike back.
Justan could think of nothing else but the strategic interplay required to parry and block Xedrion’s increasingly creative attacks. The protector’s staff was in a constant state of change, moving between blade to spear to blunt and back again. Justan could tell that the world had slowed down for Xedrion too and that the protector had fought against a lot of men with dual weapon styles over the years.
The battle went on with Justan in a constant state of retreat, circling around the fire. Perhaps a minute or two had passed since the beginning of the battle but in Justan’s slowed state it felt like hours. Xedrion was quickly learning Justan’s style and figuring out his capabilities, so Justan switched gears.
He jumped back and flipped his blades around so that their dull sides rested against the backs of his forearms. The dagger-length tips of the blades at the bottom of his swords now faced his enemy. In this state, he could defend against faster and close strikes be
tter, but his offensive range was limited. He leaned forward into Xedrion’s next series of attacks having bought himself some time while the protector tried to figure him out again.
Justan, I see something strange, Deathclaw said. He sent Justan a glimpse of what he had seen.
The raptoid had been watching their exchange intently from the side of the tent and had switched to spirit sight. As Xedrion had leapt forward, Deathclaw had seen a flash of gray at the protector’s foot. He had seen it again during a complex move Xedrion had made, this time distinctly making out a rope of gray spirit magic connecting the protector’s right foot to the ground.
Justan thought he understood.
“Stop!” Justan said, but Xedrion just growled and kept on, making his moves faster and more intricate as he began to understand Justan’s limitations. “Stop for a second!” Justan said, jumping back, but the protector lunged forward, keeping pace with him.
Deathclaw see if you can find the source of that magic, he sent. Jhonate, someone is using spirit magic on your father!
Jhonate had been watching the battle with more and more anxiety. She had been very close to jumping in and joining Justan’s fight when she got the message. Quickly, she lifted her staff, commanding a hole to open up in the center. She peered through the hole, looking through the thin bubble of spirit that appeared, letting her see into the spirit realm. She looked for the magic. I don’t see it.
Whoever it is, they’re clever. Justan sent. They have sent the magic into the ground out of view. It’s attached to the bottom of his right foot.
Jhonate blinked. How was that possible? Her father had been among spirit magic users all his life. He had trained his mind until it had become an iron trap. The most powerful witches and sorcerers in the Roo-Dan had tried to use their spells on him and had failed.
She looked around. She knew everyone in the tent. They were family, most of them her siblings. The only one that was a spirit magic user was her mother. Jhonate gazed down at Jhandra. The pregnant woman had pushed herself up into a sitting position, her eyes wide on the fight and filled with anxiety.
Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) Page 34