Willing to Endure: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 3)

by Burke Fitzpatrick

  “A pretty girl may command a decent price among the warriors, but we have more women than men. How many have you seen with gray hair?”

  “There are hundreds of grandmothers.”

  “Yes, but where are all the grandfathers?”

  Tyrus considered that. Few of the men were fully gray. Only a handful had a couple of streaks, like Olroth.

  Olroth said, “Most men live long enough to watch their kids walk and talk. A few live long enough to watch them marry. Men like me, who have watched their grandkids walk and talk, that is very rare. I’m forty-four. If I live to be fifty, I’ll be one of the oldest men among any clan.”

  “A hard life.”

  “And a man who can feed grandkids commands a higher price to the women’s council. The key keeper can be choosy about which sister-wives she takes into her household. The sister-wives will vie for the spot and use their war chests to buy the best provider. You need to do the impossible. You need to bring two key keepers together.”

  “But this isn’t about kids. She wants a crown.”

  “If this has any chance at working, the marriage needs to be about all of our children.”

  “Work out the details—chests and weapons and whatever. I have one price.”

  “I ask you to reconsider.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You would wage war against your own people?”

  “My people, the Kellai, are slaves. The Kassiri own them.”

  Tyrus wanted to forget his past, but Marah wouldn’t let him. He had a strange hope that if he ripped apart enough men—if he bathed in enough blood—maybe the nightmares would stop. Each battle seemed to create worse memories, but he hoped killing his enemies might help bury the past.

  Inside Breonna’s hut, Olroth and Breonna stood nearby while Tyrus forced down a couple pounds of cold meat. Olroth and Breonna negotiated warriors and clans and hostages. Tyrus caught most of it, but understanding was another matter. It seemed the sister-wives were used to guarantee a more permanent joining of the clans. They were exchanged like hostages. As they worked out the details and the conversation became sparse, Breonna watched him eat.

  Breonna said, “Which leaves us with the sell sword.”

  Tyrus said, “You know my price.”

  “I’m starting to see how little I know about you.”

  Tyrus wiped his mouth. “A long time ago, on Sornum, my chieftain used sorcery to become immortal. Some of the people were afraid and ran. Others were angry and revolted. Was a nasty war—brother against brother, father against son. Many of the nobles knelt before him to share in his power.” Tyrus paused, and the silence continued for a heartbeat. “Tonight, a few of the clans will run away. Tomorrow, the rest will either want to kill me or worship me.”

  Breonna said, “They won’t worship an outlander.”

  Olroth said, “The young warriors say he is more powerful than Nisroch. None of the chieftains think so, but they remember how Kordel’s sons ripped apart the Norsil. No one wants to watch the clans kill each other. If we can unite what remains, we might avert a drawn-out war.”

  “He wants more war.” Breonna jabbed a finger at Tyrus. “He brings nothing but war.”

  “The war began decades ago,” Tyrus said. “The Kassiri want to conquer Argoria, no different than the purims. They serve the same master.”

  “This is madness,” Breonna said. “Half the clans died fighting the purims or were burned by demons. Enough people have died. We can’t even find our dead.”

  The three of them studied the tabletop more than each other. They were all lost in thought. Outside, the shadows grew longer, and the evening began. They had spent most of the day talking and accomplishing nothing.

  “I don’t need all of the thanes,” Tyrus said. “A fraction would be enough. You can help me avenge my empress. Or, tomorrow, we see who pledges themselves to me.”

  Breonna said, “We should kill you.”

  “Good luck with that.” Tyrus stood. “I can show you the rest of the world. We don’t have to live with the purims.”

  Neither Olroth nor Breonna said anything. Tyrus wondered whether they wanted to see Jethlah’s Walls, the volcanic rock sculptures of Blueswell, or the Great Library of Dimurr. They were probably happier on the rolling hills of Argoria. He doubted the ancient crimes of the Kassiri were enough to drag the nomads away from their huts.

  Tyrus spoke to Breonna, “Help me burn Shinar. I’ll give you a crown and new lands.”

  Disgust twisted her mouth. “All for a dead woman?”

  “To stop the man who killed her. After he kills the elves and Hill Folk, he will come for you. You don’t see them yet, but still they come. It’s been coming for decades. Help me stop him. Let the smaller clans run. Yours are all I need.”

  The silence between them became awkward. Breonna seemed wary, and Tyrus appreciated that. Rulers who did not consider the danger of a weapon usually misused it.

  “We can’t even defeat Ironwall,” Breonna said. “We can’t crash their gates. And you want to sack Shinar? It’s impossible.”

  “I want Azmon’s head on a silver platter. He can’t stay in Shinar forever.”

  “The clans won’t like this.”

  “I’ve led worse men across two continents.”

  “I will speak to my sons. You’d better speak to your wives.”

  Tyrus struggled with the need for ceremony. They had agreed to the marriage without proposals or courtship. He knelt before her and improvised a gesture. He regretted it as soon as his knee hit the floor because he had no solemn vows to make.

  “I pledge myself to your life. I shall die before you or seek vengeance against any who do you harm.” Without wedding vows, he mangled the oaths of a guardian. “Let Olroth be my witness. My life is yours.”

  Breonna gestured for him to rise. “I will take you into my household as long as you defend my children and provide meat for my table, but I am the master of that household. Explain it to your women. I expect them to gift me their keys when I welcome them into my home.”

  “Their keys?”

  “I am the first among the sister-wives. I will not bow before lesser women.”

  Tyrus checked Olroth, who avoided eye contact. Tyrus agreed to the terms.

  “Also,” Breonna said, “you will bring me Brynn and Beide as hostages.”

  Olroth said, “Children are not hostages.”

  “And the Norsil have no queens. We are making all kinds of new rules today.” She gave Tyrus an iron glare. “You act as if I’ve never had a man betray me before. Replace me, and the girl dies. Let her pay the price for your ambition.”

  “I don’t want to be king.”

  “Only warlord. The lovesick warrior avenging his woman—spare me. That might entertain the young men, but I know a wolf when I see one.”

  Tyrus said, “You will not hurt my family.”

  “My sons won’t touch them unless you betray me.”

  Tyrus looked to Olroth for help, but the man offered a small shrug. Olroth didn’t appear pleased with the deal. Tyrus couldn’t shake the image of Brynn. He would have to send her away, and it would make her cry.

  “I want to visit them,” Tyrus said. “Whenever I say.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Mistreat them, and I’ll tear your sons apart.”

  “That is how hostages work.” She smiled. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

  Tyrus said, “If we don’t stop the shedim in Shinar, we—”

  “I don’t care about saving the world,” Breonna said. “I rule as queen. These are my people, not yours.”

  Tyrus nodded.

  “Say it. Say you will serve your queen.”

  Tyrus knelt again and lowered his head. “I will serve you in all things, my queen.”

  “So be it, husband. I will burn Kassir for you.”

&n
bsp; VI

  Tyrus and Olroth headed downhill toward the camp of the Vor’Quin clan. Many of the Norsil lined the path to gawk at Tyrus, and before they reached the camp, Olroth pulled Tyrus to a stop. He stepped in close and glanced at the audience.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Olroth said. “We can stay here. We can exterminate the purims once and for all.”

  “You won’t find them all.”

  “We will.”

  Tyrus glanced at the crowd. Their conversation would be better inside a hut. Some of the champions had runes for their ears. They would gossip about infighting until the march started, which might cost them more warriors defecting in the night.

  “The other clans will attack us if we stay,” Tyrus said. “It’s better to let them fight among themselves while we regroup in the east.”

  “But we can turn the Proving Grounds into a paradise.”

  “And what will the next generation do without the Proving Grounds? They will become soft and corrupt like the Kassiri.”

  “The pack mothers are in their dens, undefended. We can win after generations of war. We can finally win. But if they bear litters, we will never overcome their new warriors.”

  “Do you want to reclaim the lands the Kassiri stole, or do you want to fight pack mothers?”

  “We can do both, damn you.”

  “We strike the Kassiri now. I’ve waited too long for this.”

  “We have waited over a thousand years.”

  “Then you can wait a few more.”

  They went back to walking and entered the gates of their camp, which appeared untouched by violence. The people had gathered in groups, and Tyrus noticed the way mothers were holding their children close and warriors stood between him and their families. He had done it again, become a thing instead of a man. The Damned, the Butcher of Rosh, and the Dark Walker were all inhuman killing machines more feared than respected.

  Watching his plan work gave him regrets. He wished he knew how smaller, more attractive men could win people over with smiles. He had never mastered the soft touch of beloved leaders, but he played to his own strengths.

  A little blond girl, Brynn, came running toward him. Hers was the only smile in the camp, and he scooped her up into a giant hug. She said nothing, but the smell of her hair and the little arms wrapped around his neck made his eyes water. He needed the hug. He needed to feel human again.

  Tyrus asked, “How are the other children?”

  “Fine,” Brynn said.

  “Good. Go tell your mothers that we need to pack. We leave soon.”

  He placed her on the ground, and she ran back to his hut. She’d broken the spell among the rest of the Norsil—guards dropped, and families went back to being families.

  Olroth asked, “When will you tell her she’s been traded to Breonna?”

  “That’s not permanent, right?”

  “You think Breonna will ever trust you? As long she doesn’t, she will hold Brynn close.”

  “I’ll tell her mother first.”

  “Tyrus, this… plan—Kordel couldn’t defeat the Red Towers. They burned his armies. We cannot break their walls or survive their spells. This is foolish.”

  Tyrus agreed.

  Olroth waited but became impatient. “Well?”

  “Much has changed since Kordel. There are factions that might protect us. The Red Tower wants to fight the Kassiri as much as we do.”

  “They are all Kassiri.”

  Tyrus struggled to explain all the little kingdoms that the once-great Empire of Kassir had broken into. When the Second War ended, and Kassir began to tear itself apart, ushering in an Age of Chaos, the empire splintered into dozens of kingdoms spanning two continents. The Old Sassan Empire in the east became the Five Nations, Rosh, and Narbor, but the west stayed united under the Shinari, who claimed an ancient lineage to Kassir. Tyrus didn’t know enough history to explain it all to Olroth and dreaded raising more questions than he could answer. He mulled over the lists of names while Olroth waited.

  “The Kassiri are like the Norsil. They have their own clans, and some are larger than others. Ironwall is like your clan. And the Roshan are like Breonna’s clan. We can turn some of them against the others.”

  “They will betray us. That’s what they do.”

  “They will try.”

  Olroth made a disgusted noise and turned his frustrations on the camp. He barked orders to pack and proclaimed his expectations to march before the midday heat. In Rosh, such commands would create a little flurry of movement, and then the nobles would petition for special considerations. Long before, Tyrus had learned to add a couple of weeks to each of his deadlines so he could deal with the egos of the ruling houses. Among the Norsil, Olroth’s commands sparked movement.

  Tyrus put off the unpleasantness of his own household. With heavy feet, he entered his hut. A quiet, startled moment passed, and his family busied itself with preparing a space for him and helping him into a better set of clothes. Surprised and relaxed at the same time, he enjoyed the routine. They acted as though he’d returned from a patrol. At some point, and he wasn’t sure when, they had become a real family to him. Their culture and language kept them at a distance, but he searched out each child’s face with a strange panic as he dreaded finding even one of them missing. His adopted family was whole, and that filled him with a sense of accomplishment. He defended them well.

  Olroth’s frustrations made more sense. Tyrus hated the idea of marching his kids into yet another war.

  The keeper of his household threw back the furs on the door and stomped over to him. “You put me out?”

  Tyrus stood and struggled with how to respond. He assumed Olroth had sped things along. “I do not.”

  “I have run this household for twenty years. My ankles are not that thick.”

  Tyrus shrugged off the expression. He had never heard it before, and it made no sense. “These are her terms.”

  “It is my family.”

  “I won’t let her put you out. But she gets the key.”

  “She won’t be satisfied with that. She has her own sister-wives.”

  Tyrus dreaded that too. His household would swell to fourteen wives. The thought of feeding them all and being a husband to them all made him regret coming to the Lost Lands. He would be lucky to sleep, let alone fight. Olroth had done this to him, miring him down with women and children. The crafty bastard was using a household to control the Dark Walker, and Tyrus had fallen for it because everyone else wanted to kill him.

  “I know this is hard,” Tyrus said. “But the clans must unite, and this is the price.”

  “You cannot put us all out. It is forbidden. The women’s council will not allow it. We are your wives. You don’t cast us out and take a new household. This, this…” She became more animated with each word and sputtered as she shouted. “Dishonorable. Kassiri. Dog.”

  “You will all be my wives. Breonna’s sisters and yours. You are all my wives. No one is cast out. That is the agreement.”

  “No one has so many. This is wrong.”

  “I will shield you from her.”

  “I don’t need a shield.” She harrumphed as though he were a child. “What do you know about politics? You fight with steel, not words. You will die. What happens then? I’ll tell you. I lose everything. She makes herself richer, and when you are gone, she will let these children starve.”

  “I am hard to kill.”

  “Everyone dies.”

  “Then you’ll find a way to survive without me. That isn’t a problem I can solve.”

  “Honesty is a poor trait in a fool.” She sniffed. “Fourteen wives. You are insane.”

  Tyrus agreed with a befuddled shrug.

  Aydler asked, “You want me to tell them?”

  “Tell them what?”

  “She must want hostages. Who are they? Not me, I know. One of the y
oung ones with good hips. Another bartering chip when you die.” Her attention shifted slightly to Beide. “If it were me, I know who I’d take.”

  “She wants them both. Mother and daughter.”

  “That is not our way.” A terrible scowl wrinkled Aydler’s features. “Children are not hostages.”

  She’d spoken too loudly, and all the other wives became quiet. Beide swept up Brynn and turned to him to ask what Aydler was talking about. Many of the other wives had their own questions, and Tyrus drowned in a sea of chatter. Then the children picked it up. A dozen little voices wanted to know what was happening to their sister. He had misunderstood the stigma of the hostage and wondered if he sent his daughter into slavery.

  Tyrus held Beide’s shoulder. “Breonna asked for you and Brynn. I will check on you each day, and if anyone hurts either of you, I will kill them. They know this, but they want leverage against me.”

  “Who are we being given to?”

  “One of her sons, not as a wife. As a… guest.”

  Beide asked, “But what did I do?”

  “Nothing. This is my fault, and I’ll make it right. I promise. I’ll bring you home as soon as I can.”

  Tyrus hated himself for the empty promise. He had abandoned Gadara to get away from oaths and service but in the span of a few days found himself promising to serve and save and avenge a handful of girls and women. Maybe he was exhausted from all the fighting, or maybe he had gone insane. He repeated old mistakes, though, like the ones that had killed Ishma. He lacked focus and allowed himself to become mired in too many vows.

  The marriage ceremony was uneventful and brief. After everyone packed for the journey east, the men’s and women’s councils, each comprised of chieftains, thanes, and key keepers, stood in the stone circle and recognized the union of Olroth’s clan to Breonna’s. Everyone else clustered to watch. The faces were as cold as the stone, but no one challenged the marriage. Both clans’ colors were woven together into a wrist wrap that was tied around Breonna’s and Tyrus’s wrists. When the crowd accepted the union with a single chant, the group parted ways.

  Tyrus asked Breonna, “That is all?”