“Someone is alive! Help me,” she shouted.
No help was offered by Grudge as she pulled bodies off the pile. He watched her and helped himself to another apple. She hoped the green apples made him sick. The groans grew fainter, and by the time she’d dragged eight bodies off the man in gold armor, she heard nothing. Nor did she find the Fregian duke’s head. One arm lay across Hrothgar’s body, but the hand still gripped the hilt of a gold longsword with a thick, broad blade engraved with human skulls. The crossguard was gold, the hilt was bone, definitely human, and the pommel was circular, made of gold, and engraved with a human skull.
Had to be Doomsayer; it just had to be, thought Taliesin. She sank beside the duke, too exhausted to move another inch, and placed her hand on his chest. He’d tried to retreat from the field, but had been caught, and died not far from his army.
“Sorry,” Taliesin said, pulling aside stiff fingers to remove the sword from the dead duke’s grasp. A dark shadow swept across her path and she shivered. ‘Never step on another’s man’s shadow or death may follow you home,’ Osprey often would say. She clutched the sword to her chest and walked to where Grudge waited beside the tree.
“Did you find Doomsayer?” Grudge tossed aside his apple core. “Hrothgar owned twenty gold swords. He loved gold more than anything else.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “The sword is mine.”
“Taliesin,” he said with a rumble, “I’m one of the few people in the clan you can actually trust. I’m your friend. Don’t be so quick to judge. I just want to have a closer look, nothing more.” She placed the sword across her arm and offered the hilt. He grabbed the hilt and she pulled her arm away. The sword point fell straight to the ground. “Damn, it’s heavier than it looks,” he said. “Interesting engravings. I’d say you found a magic sword, Taliesin.”
“You are a little girl,” Taliesin said. “It’s not that heavy, so stop clowning around and give it back to me.” She took the longsword from him with one hand and twirled the blade around her body, switched hands, showing off until Grudge started to clap. Smiling wide, she lifted the sword into the air. “I am Taliesin! Doomsayer, show me your power!” She lowered the sword. “See. Not magical. Just fancy, and that’s all. I think its Rivalen since it’s clearly a few hundred years old. Do you want to try and swing it around?”
“I’m too tired to swing it around,” Grudge said, annoyed. “Maybe you’re stronger than you look. I won’t dispute its Rivalen’s work. You know your swordsmiths better than anyone else. You’ve found Doomsayer. Your father will be impressed.”
Taliesin lowered the sword and looked around to make certain no one was watching. They were alone in the glade, with only chirping birds for company. “Probably just as well you didn’t try to hack a tree stump. The sword has a tiny crack beneath the hilt. I don’t think a magical sword would have a crack.”
“It doesn’t have a crack,” Grudge said. “And it’s too heavy for a normal sword.”
“Honestly, Grudge. The sword weighs no more than a feather.”
“Magical swords can be tricky. Since you found it, it apparently thinks you now own it. How else do you explain why you’re able to toss it about like a stick? If it were a regular gold sword, Taliesin, it would be heavy, but not this heavy.”
Taliesin gave the sword a hardy shake. “Come on, old thing. If you have any magic left, show me. I don’t have all day.” As she lifted the sword upwards, she felt a strange tingle in her hand, and the green apple turned in her stomach. She glanced at Grudge, alarmed as the prickling sensation spread up her arm. Her stomach gurgled, and she swallowed bile that rose in her throat.
“I feel sick,” Taliesin said. “It’s like a thousand needles are stabbing into my arm and stomach. I think I may vomit.”
“Your face has turned pale,” Grudge said. He sounded concerned.
The sword quivered in her hand and felt cold in her grasp. Her temples throbbed as a chill spreading through her body caused her to shiver. Then, a heat wave swept over her that made her feel strong and invincible, yet also terribly melancholy and homesick. She pictured snow-capped mountains, tasted salted fish and mead, thick and sweet, and licked her lips. Her mouth opened and words tumbled out.
“I am Jasper Silverhand, brother of Duke Hrothgar of the House of Volgan,” Taliesin said, in a voice not her own. “I died for the glory of Caladonia and the royal throne. We are Loyalists and serve King and country. But we were led astray by Prince Sertorius, who promised safe passage for my lord and brother, Hrothgar, to be taken before the king to swear his allegiance. Peergynt and Sertorius were waiting for us. They intended to take Doomsayer and give it to Prince Almaric. Almaric returned to Caladonia a month ago with a large mercenary army. Peergynt is aiding Almaric, but Sertorius had another reason for being here, only I do not know what it was. The king must be warned. Almaric, Sertorius, and Peergynt intend to wage war against the king...he must...be warned.”
Taliesin dropped to her knees, still holding the sword. The memories of Lord Jasper Silverhand entered her mind, and she saw herself on the ground, a spear sticking out from her chest, though she felt no pain. She knew where Jasper lay among the throng of bodies. Pushing herself off the ground, she staggered toward the corpses, dragging the sword behind her. Her heart pounded so hard she felt it slam against her ribs as she spotted a young man in silver armor. He was fair of face and lay next to the headless duke. She took a knee beside him.
“Jasper,” Taliesin said, placing a hand on his chest. “I can hear you. Talk to me.”
‘Please...please tell my mother I am sorry I died,’ said the dead man. The voice was only in her mind, yet she could hear his pain. ‘Tell her I fought bravely, and I love her.’
“I will,” she said. “Don’t worry. Is there anything else?”
Multiple voices filled her head and asked for all manner of requests. Hundreds of dead men clamored at once, but most wanted the same thing. ‘Water, water, water.’ She gazed at Jasper’s ghastly face; she was certain she’d heard him moaning as she reached for her water flask. She heard Grudge say something. His voice was one of many and, for a moment, she was tempted to throw Doomsayer into the bushes. The sword was magical, there was no doubt of that, but it was dark magic and it frightened her. As she stood, she imaged Jasper lifting a ghostly hand and beckoning her to come closer.
‘Sertorius will find you and track you down,’ said Jasper, though his lips never moved. ‘Beware the marshes. Beware the serpent. You can trust no one, Taliesin, not even your friends. Tell no one you found Doomsayer, but instead go west and seek the Raven Sword...only you can stop this war. But never rely on Sertorius, for he will...’
A loud gasp came from the dead and in unison they said, ‘Find you and betray you.’
“Taliesin?” Grudge grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “It’s the sword, isn’t it? It’s Doomsayer. For Heggen’s sake, put the sword away, I beg of you. It has a hold of you, and I fear for your sanity, woman. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” she said. “I hear you, and many others, including Jasper.”
“Then release the sword and stand away. You must let go of the sword.”
With great resolve, Taliesin stabbed Doomsayer into the ground and released the hilt. The voices in her head started to fade, leaving her with an overwhelming sorrow. There was so much suffering and so many regrets…
“Navenna, protect me from evil,” she said, touching her forehead, heart, and groin, making the sign of the goddess of enlightenment, love, and fertility. The Raven Clan prayed to Heggen, god of the Underworld, whose pet raven, Vendel, was said to eat the hearts of the slain and carry their souls to the Underworld. But Mandrake had prayed to Navenna, the eldest daughter of Stroud, the leader of the ancient gods. “I’m afraid, Grudge,” she said, in a weak voice. “I saw and heard things that frighten me. Please, hold me.”
Grudge pulled her into his arms and held her tight. It wasn’t like her to need comfort, not
her style to depend on a man, but she needed to be held. Taliesin pressed her face against his chest, her eyes shut, and she felt the rhythm of his steady heart beneath her ear as his large hands splayed across her back. His body was hot. She felt his chin rest on top of her head, and he squeezed her a bit harder. The feel and smell of him grounded her, made her feel normal again, and, most of all, safe from harm.
“It’s really Doomsayer,” she said, with a shudder. “I heard Jasper’s voice and saw his memories as if they were my own. But why Jasper’s and not Hrothgar’s? It was Hrothgar’s sword and yet he said not a word to me...because he was missing his head!”
“That sword is cursed,” Grudge said. “Hrothgar knew better than to use it in battle. I warned him—”
“—but I heard their voices, Grudge, crying out for help, for water, just to get word home to their loved ones. All this time I never thought about the dead, not like that, and they were so sad, so terribly sad I fear my heart may break. War is an evil thing. No one should ever have to kill another. I don’t care what the reason is...it’s wrong. I hope to Navenna I never see another battlefield as long as I live.”
Grudge let out a growl as a sob escaped from her lips. His hug became crushing as he kissed her. The contact and force made her knees buckle. An emotion close to desire settled into every inch of her body as his tongue slid between her lips, the taste reminding her of apples mixed with sweat, and she responded. Her fingers clasped the sides of his vest as the kiss deepened, but all too soon it ended.
“Better?” Grudge asked, his hands on her elbows. She nodded, blinking several times, trying to clear her thoughts. “I warned you about magical weapons. Men like Hrothgar Volgan covet magic swords and rely on them, not only for killing, but also for other reasons. Hrothgar used Doomsayer too often to learn the secrets of the dead. Best you know now, woman, owning a magical sword comes with a heavy price.”
“You say that like I mean to find more magical swords, and I don’t,” Taliesin said, vehemently. “Doomsayer is yours, Grudge, on the condition you swear not to tell anyone what it really is. When we get home, I want you to melt it down and sell it. Jasper said no one is to know about it, so you must promise you won’t tell Osprey or anyone else. No one can know I found it. Nor can you tell them what happened today.”
“I swear in Heggen’s name I will not tell anyone about the sword or about what happened here today,” Grudge said. He patted her on the shoulder as he would a child. “Now go sit and calm yourself. One more thing must be done. I won’t be long.”
Grudge placed Doomsayer with the Maltese and Mandrake swords, inside the bag she’d left on the ground and took out his knife. Going to Jasper’s body, he removed the silver hand with one swipe, but she said not a word, even though it made her sick. Spotting Jasper’s jeweled dagger at his side, Grudge picked it up and replaced it with his old dagger.
“I don’t think Jasper the Bastard would mind. This is a Falstaff and quite valuable.” Grudge slid the dagger into the sheath at his side, where it was a perfect fit, and returned to place the silver hand inside the bag with the swords. Sliding the straps over his broad shoulder, he grunted as he stood up straight. “Jasper lost his real hand in a tournament a few years ago. Did he tell you about that?”
“No, but I think his mother should have it, Grudge,” Taliesin said. “And you shouldn’t call Jasper a bastard, even if he was. Hrothgar didn’t blame their mother or think ill of his brother. Their father hated their mother until the day he died for betraying him. Jasper did tell me there was a fifteen-year difference in him and his brother’s ages. Hrothgar had no sons, and he named Jasper his heir. Both men loved their mother. She’ll be heartbroken when she hears of their deaths.” She fell silent. Grudge had a sympathetic look on his face.
“Jasper was a kind man,” he said. “Hrothgar was his opposite in every way.”
“When I held the sword, I felt things, saw things, through Jasper’s eyes. Doomsayer isn’t evil, Grudge. It showed me how much Jasper loved Hrothgar and how much his brother loved him. It showed me how everyone at Ragenvald Castle loved Jasper. You are right. He was kind and good-natured.” Taliesin turned away. “They’re not my memories, but they feel like they are, and I want their mother to know what happened here. I don’t blame you for taking Jasper’s hand. It’s your job. But his mother should have it.”
“That’s the worst thing about the sword, Taliesin, it can show you tender moments, but it’s a trick,” Grudge said. “Doomsayer makes you want to know everything you shouldn’t know, to feel every emotion, to be involved, and that’s why it’s cursed. You made me swear never to talk about it. The same applies to you. Swear to me you won’t talk of this again or ever call upon its power. Swear it, Taliesin.”
“Deny it to the grave,” she said. “That’s what we Ravens always say.”
“Swear it or I’ll kiss you again.”
“I swear to never talk about it again,” she said. “Ever. But I didn’t mind the kiss.”
“No?”
Taliesin bristled. He read too much into the compliment. She didn’t answer him and they walked along in silence, coming out of the trees and passing the charred remains of the Maldavians. Out of habit, she let her gaze drop to the ground. It was easier to look upon cremated bodies than the bodies lying exposed on the field. Among the ashes, she spotted a silver spear engraved from tip to shaft with sea creatures, and untouched by the flames. The spear tip was broad, shaped like a palm leaf, and edged with jagged teeth. Beautiful and deadly, it was clearly a weapon from Erindor, a dukedom to the south. She’d never been there. Without pausing in her stride, she bent, agile and fast, and picked up the spear, saying,
“And the little black cat slipped through the door,
Slipped inside and slipped right out.
The little black cat went a wiggling about,
Stopped at the bedroom door and wiggled no more.
‘May I come in,’ said the little black cat?
And with a meow, she slipped under the bed.”
“Not one of Glabber’s best,” Grudge said with a chuckle. “I didn’t only kiss you to get your mind off the dead, Taliesin. I do care about you. Very much, in fact.”
Taliesin caught his gaze and watched the sunlight reflect in his honey-brown eyes. Grudge had wormed his way into her life and, as the waning sunlight shone directly on his rugged face, she pictured him in other surroundings, far from the battlefield, seated beside a fireside wearing a gentleman’s doublet with his hair grown long, war dogs lying at his feet. He’d certainly found a way to end any romantic thoughts about Rook or Hawk. They’d arrived with a girl named Wren, a few weeks before Grudge had shown up Raven’s Nest. That had been eight months ago. Grudge was older, a man, not a boy, and now that he’d kissed her, she no longer thought of him as a criminal on the run. Maybe it was sunstroke; her head did ache, but maybe it was more, and she impulsively reached out to take his arm.
“It’s not been a pleasant day,” he said. “You’re tired. Why don’t you head up the hill and join your father? I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes. I want to go look for that flag.”
A loud whinny drew their attention across the field to where a beautiful white horse trotted through the dead, its reins dragging on the ground. Several people tried in vain to catch the warhorse, but the animal was frightened, confused, and with a toss of its head, it galloped off in the direction Taliesin and Grudge had come from. Only a few seconds passed before a familiar lanky figure came walking out of the shadow of the trees, holding the reins of the horse. Hawk, his hair blowing as wild as the horse’s mane, took a scarf from around his head and blindfolded the nervous horse before he continued to lead it across the border of field and trees. He’d been close enough to where Taliesin had her strange experience that she wondered if he’d been spying. In his dirty ruffled shirt, a dangling pearl earring, and a pair of cutlasses across his back, weapons used by men of the sea, Hawk reminded her of a pirate. He lifted his hand to w
ave, heading in their direction, handling the horse with patience and kindness.
“Ah, here comes the hero,” Grudge said. “Hawk is a pretty fellow, but appearances shouldn’t be your top priority.” A petite, blonde girl and young man with ebony skin, carrying bags filled with loot, came out of the trees and hurried to catch up with Hawk. “Where Hawk goes, Wren follows, and then comes Rook. I suspect both are sleeping with Wren.”
“Even if they are,” Taliesin said, “I don’t care. I’m not interested in boys.”
Taliesin glanced at the girl. Wren’s hair was so blonde it looked bone white under the hot sun, and her eyes were the color of amethysts. Her skirt was torn, boots covered with dried mud, and a few twigs poked out of her hair. She and Rook held a heavy bag between them, filled with gold plate armor. Hadn’t taken them long to find the Fregian duke’s armor, thought Taliesin, convinced now they’d seen her speaking with the dead. When Rook smiled at her, she made up her mind to give him the Erindorian spear. Everyone at Raven’s Nest fancied Rook, with his pale blue eyes, black hair worn in matted braids hung like tentacles, and skin covered in tattoos. Rook came from a place where people hunted for sharks, prowlers, blue fins, and yellow tails in small wooden boats. His leather jerkin had short sleeves, revealing tattoos of dolphins, shadow sharks, an orange spotted octopus, and a large green sea turtle on his arms.
“Do you remember the day I took the Service Oath?” Grudge said. It had been on the last Sunday of the month; it was always on the last Sunday.
“Yes, I remember,” she said. “You, Hawk, Rook, and Wren stood together in your black cloaks beneath the shade of the giant oak tree, right at dawn, when the birds were singing brightly.” She had smiled as they said at the same time, “We come from nothing, say nothing. We swear to protect the Raven Clan, brothers and sisters, eggs, nest, and tree. Family first and then comes the grave.”
Seeker of Magic Page 3