Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  He smiled at her. ‘Now that you mention it, there was one answer Marlo gave.’ He enjoyed the tension that dropped over the room. ‘He told them that the man at the palace behind our endeavours was Prince Kadmos.’

  Xamira spluttered in laughter, and Brann saw the amusement sweep away the disquiet. ‘That murderous bully? That is genius! He could be credibly jealous of his brother’s rule and be plotting for his own ends. And if any ill falls his way from this, it will not fall undeserved.’

  ‘That boy,’ said Gerens, ‘increases in my estimation with every passing hour.’

  Grakk nodded solemnly. ‘We all think we know people we are close to, but we seldom – if ever – understand everything that has formed them in their earlier life. That lad was born strong and has a past that has made him stronger. He is a man, and was so before our eyes were opened to it.’ He looked at Brann, his eyes dark. ‘But, as you were saying…? About Loku and my people…?’

  Brann collected his thoughts once more. ‘Yes. He knows we were with them, but has no idea why or what we learnt, or he would not be asking. But he does know something of them or, again, he would not be asking.’

  ‘So,’ Konall said, quietly, ‘when you heard him say that he would seek greater knowledge elsewhere, we can have a strong wager where that might be.’

  Grakk’s voice was taut. ‘Your haste was justified, young Brann.’ He sat heavily on a chest, his brow furrowed. His words were almost a whisper. ‘He simply cannot find Khardorul.’

  The others started speaking at once, adding their thoughts. Brann steadied himself, knowing the worry that he was about to place on Grakk’s shoulders. After a long moment, he forced out the words. ‘That might not be all.’ They fell quiet in an instant, strained faces turned to him. ‘When he left the cellar, Loku said that he was going to join those prepared. At the time, I understood this to mean that whatever he intends had been planned for some time, but we know that already. So now I’m wondering: who has been prepared? Matala-Kitu mentioned about the devout followers of their gods being called to arms or conscripted in both Tucumala and Chula Pexl. Gathered for what, and where?’ He stood, animated as other memories came to him. ‘And the Duke, in Belleville, mentioned that some from the camp had already been sent on to the next stage of their duty…’

  Gerens’s voice was a low growl. ‘And that wee prick, Ove, told Philippe when he was pretending to be Daric that they had sent men away for some purpose, with more due to follow. It sounded like a process of movement was ongoing.’

  Grakk stood slowly as well. ‘And when Loku spoke with Daric at the hunting lodge, he told him that they had dispatched men to serve the cause.’ His voice was almost a whisper of worry. ‘He has been assembling a force.’

  ‘An army,’ Brann agreed. ‘Whatever level of fighting ability they may or may not have, they will have numbers and the herb-fuelled frenzy we have seen. Add into that the organisation and dedication of those he may have from Tucumala, Chula Pexl and whichever other cities, and there will be a big problem if they move on Khardorul.’

  ‘More than a problem,’ Grakk said. What Loku thought he sought was less important than what he may find in the repository of centuries of amassed knowledge. The threat, whether it would be destroyed or fall into the wrong hands, was unthinkable. What could be lost to the world or, worse, how it could be used by a lunatic like Loku…

  ‘We need to warn the Emperor,’ Brann said. ‘His millens should cut that force to carrion, but only if they know to go to them.’

  ‘I will speak to Rodrigo,’ Grakk said. ‘Every scrap of canvas that can be raised on the mast will be helpful.’

  As the tribesman turned to leave, however, the door was flung open and a young sailor burst in – just a heartbeat before he found himself on his back with Xamira’s knife resting sharp against his throat.

  ‘Might be an idea to knock,’ she suggested to his terrified face.

  He nodded and spoke in a squeak. ‘Healer sent me. The patient has been treated and has awakened.’

  They all made for the door, but the sailor piped again: ‘He said just one of you at this point. The lad is still very weak.’

  Grakk nodded at Brann, and the rest stood aside without a word.

  The surgeon was adjusting the bright lamps that had lit his work to bathe his cabin in a softer glow when Brann was let in. A man around Grakk’s age, he straightened when he saw Brann, running his hand through thinning grey hair, his movement drawing Brann’s eyes from the figure lying curled on the bed.

  ‘Good news and bad news,’ he said. ‘The bad is that I have seldom seen evidence of suffering such as this young man has endured. But the good is that whoever tended him did a masterful job. His wounds are clean and free from impurity – they in themselves should not sicken. All I had to do was tidy it up, really. Ensuring it is clean still, a bit of stitching and then binding each wound in clean bandages meant for that purpose and not originally intended as clothing… although, as with the treatment, that was also expertly done. Whoever helped the boy, he was a handy person to have around.’

  Brann smiled. ‘He still is. Frequently, and in many ways.’

  ‘Then you are lucky also, although how fortunate the lad is can only truly be judged when we see the effect his ordeal has had on his mind.’ The man’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he washed his hands in a bowl to the side of the room. ‘I must say, if I could be left with the recipe for whatever lotion was applied, it would serve as payment in full for my services, for the effect it has had has been incredible.’

  Brann felt his face betray his surprise. ‘He offers that to every healer we encounter, but usually it is treated with scorn as it is found in his people’s lore and not in modern teachings. I am sure he would be delighted if you would take it.’

  The surgeon beamed. ‘I am of a mind that my place in life is to heal and cure people. If something works, it works, and who am I to deny that to a patient in need?’ A nod of his head sent Brann’s attention back in the direction of Marlo. ‘He is tired, very tired, but he is all yours, for a short time, as long as you think of his interest and leave him when he starts to drift off again. I have left the wounds on his back to breathe for just now, and will return later to bandage those and check him.’ He made for the door, drying his hand with a small cloth tucked through his belt. ‘I must confess, there was no charge for my services, so I have cheated you out of the secret of the salve.’

  With a wink, he slipped from the room, and Brann stepped to Marlo, whose eyes opened at his approach. He crouched at the side of the bunk, gently gripping the boy’s arm, his two eyes and Marlo’s one at a level as his friend lay curled on his side.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Marlo whispered.

  ‘You are sorry?’ Brann was thrown.

  ‘I tried not to talk.’ A hint of a smile. ‘But at least when I did, I let them believe a falsehood.’

  Brann laughed. ‘That you did. At worst it will cause misdirection amongst Loku’s people and protect the identity of our friend, and at best it will cause some considerable discomfort for Kadmos. Your thinking certainly impressed Xamira.’

  ‘Xamira?’

  Brann’s head readjusted to the point where Marlo’s memories would have ended. ‘A new friend, though I have the impression she will go her own way before long.’ He felt a sudden pang of loss at the thought, but pushed it away. ‘As long as you are going nowhere, that’s all that matters.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I am a tiny bit too tired to go for a walk at the moment.’

  ‘You wouldn’t get far – we are on a ship out on the Sea of Life.’

  ‘I thought I could feel the movement. And that man: the ship’s healer?’

  Brann nodded.

  ‘He has done a good job?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  Marlo’s eye socket had been covered with a pad held in place by a bandage and another was bound around his thigh where he had been stabbed, but Brann stood, his legs stiff from crouching and peered ov
er Marlo at the boy’s back. The two great wounds had been stitched with precision and, as the surgeon had indicated, the skin looked as healthy as it could have done. ‘I know so. You will have an impressive couple of scars, but apart from that, all looks well.’

  Marlo gave a soft laugh, surprisingly humorous. ‘I only look half as well as I did.’ A finger flicked up to indicate his one eye.

  Brann found himself laughing with him. ‘Only you would think to say that.’

  Marlo’s face fell as memories struck him. ‘I wish I could have acquitted myself better. I squealed like a piglet even before the pain.’ Anguish started to fill his face along with something else – shame?

  Brann shook his head. ‘You have no idea, do you?’

  ‘No idea? Of what?’ The words were starting to come slower, and his eyelid was blinking lower.

  Brann knelt again and rested his hand on Marlo’s shoulder. ‘I had thought Philippe’s performance as Daric was the bravest thing I had ever seen, but this surpassed it and anything I believe I will ever witness.’ He paused, emotion filling his throat. ‘You are an inspiration to me.’

  ‘I? To you?’ Marlo smiled, and his eye closed.

  Brann stood, wiping moisture from his own eyes. Deep in his sleep, Marlo shuddered.

  When he returned to the cabin, the redness of his eyes must have been instantly apparent. Grakk and Konall sprang to their feet in alarm and Gerens hovered, the concern in his eyes the most emotion Brann could remember seeing in him. He waved his hand in dismissal of any dire assumptions. ‘He’s fine, he’s fine. Don’t worry, it’s just me being stupid.’

  Konall frowned. ‘When you came in like that, I thought…’

  Brann smiled weakly. ‘I know what you thought. I’m sorry, he is just so… so humbling.’

  Gerens shrugged and picked an apple from a bowl in the corner of the room, the matter clearly closed in his mind. ‘I know he is a cheery wee arse, but I wouldn’t go that far.’

  Brann sat on a bunk, staring at the wall. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not that. It’s just…’ He felt emotion welling up again. ‘He said…’ He coughed roughly. ‘After all he’d been through…’ His voice broke and he shook his head, embarrassment filling him.

  Grakk sat in a chair across from him. ‘I suspect I know your quandary. If you would indulge me in just a few questions, I believe I can determine its precise nature.’

  An apple flew across the room and only Grakk’s honed reactions managed to deflect it up and away from his head.

  ‘He will indulge you not a word,’ Xamira growled. ‘A pox on your questions. Out!’ She wheeled on Konall and Gerens, a glare in her eyes and hands on her hips. ‘You also. Out. Out!’ She turned to regard Brann, not even watching as they raced each other to the door. ‘Men,’ she spat. ‘Sensitivity of a camel.’

  Brann stared at the floor, feeling the heat burn on his face. ‘They must think me a fool.’

  She bumped down on the bunk beside him. ‘I need to ask no questions,’ she said, ignoring his comment. Her tone was straightforward. ‘Here is what it is. You watched your friend suffer horribly while you were helpless to stop it, or help in any way. Now you remember every minute of it, every cut into his body, every scream from his lips. You wish that it had been you, and when you look at his body now, you feel nothing but guilt that he is lying there and you are walking around.’

  Brann nodded. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I have been about. I have seen many people in many situations.’

  He frowned. ‘You are much the same age as me. How could you have seen so much?’

  She shrugged, her fringe dancing above her eyes. ‘It is what I do for my employer. What I have done, for some time. You have been in this world for a few years now, but a few short years – I have a start on you. Now enough of that. We are talking about you – don’t get diverted.’

  He frowned. ‘But you just told me what I feel, and you were right. What more is there?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Men,’ she lamented again. ‘Why are you so shit at this?’ She sighed, standing and running her fingers through her hair to gather her thoughts. ‘Do you feel any better?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So that is what more there is.’

  He stood also, exasperated, feeling he was in a riddle contest and knew none of the answers. ‘So what do I need?’

  She turned to face him in a blur and, even faster, her hand grabbed the front of his tunic and jerked him forward. Instinct pulled him backwards, away from the pull and, as he felt her foot strike his legs, he realised his mistake. With the sweep of her leg and a twist of his arm, she neatly flipped him back onto the bunk. Before he could react, she was kneeling astride him, pinning his hips to the bed. He could feel both her against him and his body’s reaction, and tried to squirm away. She squeezed with her legs, trapping him, and leant forward, her hair brushing his face. ‘If I didn’t want that,’ she breathed, ‘I would not be sitting like this.’ He felt his stomach churn more than it had ever done before a fight. ‘What do you need?’ Her voice was husky, her eyes inches from his. Her hand slipped up under his tunic and he felt her nails scratch up his stomach, then down. She drew closer, and he could feel her breath hot on his lips as she spoke. ‘You need to forget.’

  ‘I should not have done that,’ he said as they lay together.

  She raised herself on an elbow and looked down on him, lean muscles in her arm flexing and wisps of hair the colour of sun-bleached corn dropping across her eyes. ‘And yet you wait until now to say that,’ she said, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth.

  He looked away, shame burning within him. She was right. ‘But my heart is with another.’

  ‘I am sure it is. In fact, I know it is.’ She saw his look. ‘I was sent to watch over you, remember?’ She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Tell me, do you feel better than you did when I sent the others from the cabin?’

  He hated to admit it, but looked into her eyes and could not lie. He nodded. ‘In a way.’

  Her voice was firm. ‘In an important way.’ She sighed. ‘Look, true love and true fear are the most powerful forces within us, as my teacher drummed into me, and I have seen nothing to refute that in my travels and much to support it. We need them to drive us, to help us to stay alive, to live. But a life of the love the bards sing about is for most people, in their villages and towns, in their festivals and their markets, when they leave for their work and when they return, on their walks on summer nights and their winter evenings together by the fire. If they can find it, they are lucky, and they should cherish it. But we are not them. People like you, and me, and your friends outside the door, and your friends in Sagia, we are in a world – whether we have chosen it or not – where some of us try to let those other people live the life they live, and some try to destroy it – or at least don’t care if they do. We see things, we endure things, we hear things, we must do things, and all of them change us, make us different, scar us.’

  ‘So we just make up our own rules?’

  ‘We fight the ones who seek to make their own rules. But in doing so, Nature makes rules for us according to what we live under. All of the scars we are given in here,’ she tapped his head, ‘we must conquer if we are to carry on. And sometimes we cannot conquer them on our own. Things build, and they need release or they take you under the surface that we all swim to stay above. What you felt today had been seeded long ago, had grown in many places and been fed by many experiences and, when you spoke with your friend, what you saw behind his words became the one last barrel that threatened to sink the ship. You see in your head what he endured, but what is in your head that you don’t see is what you have endured. And believe me, what your mind must bear after your ordeals since you left your home will last as long and as strongly as the scars that will be visible on your friend.’ He tensed and she put a finger on his lips to stay his words. ‘No matter what you might say just now.’

  ‘So this was…?’

>   ‘When the body and mind bear too much, they need release. And this is the most powerful release there is.’

  ‘You were just doing me a service?’

  She shrugged. ‘In one way, actually, yes. It was one that was needed. One that we all need now and again, when it all gets too much. We can all dream of the life with our love, by the hearth or hand-in-hand in the sun, and those few of us who are lucky enough will reach that, but until we do we must accept the life we have and do what we must to try to reach the love and the hearth. For you, this was part of that. Sometimes we have to let out some of the dark to make room for the light to come in.’

  ‘You speak like a philosopher, not the warrior you appear.’

  She grunted. ‘That’s what happens when you are raised by monks. They taught me to fight but, before, during and after those lessons, they forced me to think. A lot. And then to talk about my thoughts. And then to think again. It becomes a habit.’

  He looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘You would get on well with Grakk.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ She kissed his cheek softly and rose with a wink. ‘But he is not my sort.’

  He couldn’t drag his eyes from her as she pulled on her breeches and drew her tunic over her head. Men’s clothes could not take from her femininity, but her femininity could likewise not take from her bearing as a warrior. The result was intoxicating, and he gasped at a thought to divert his mind. ‘When you threw me onto the bunk – was that a move learnt from the monks?’ It sounded lame, but he was desperate, and he was actually curious about her training.

  She grinned. ‘It was a move learnt from having only brothers who decided from an early age that I would learn to fight like a boy. And that served me well when I was taken to the monastery after I survived when they didn’t.’

  He grew still. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago and I was very young. It was a first step to this life which, harsh as it may be, is not the town of rough shelters and rougher people where I started.’