by Jason Howard
“What do you mean? He talked to you in your dream, did he not?”
Oh crap. I should keep my damn mouth shut, now she knows . . .
Zac searched for a way to play it off. “Yes . . . does that mean I can talk back to him? I have always been so scared . . .”
‘Althos, if she gets a closer look at my eyes she’ll know I’m lying.’
‘Artem says he can fix that. Look to your left, you’ll see Artem between the trees. Look at his palms.’
Her voice softened again. “Yes, talk to him. Tell him you love him, and you look forward to your birthing. And say, J’regas Undun. He will be impressed that you know that. He’ll know you speak the truth. You will be blessed with a wonderful birth. Look at me dreamling.”
“I am not worthy,” Zac said, shaking his head.
When he looked left he saw Artem crouched between to tree trunks, both palms facing Zac. His palms flashed purple for a split second, and then one of Zac’s eyes began to tingle. Zac continued to shake his head so that no one would follow his gaze to Artem’s hiding spot.
‘He missed one of your eyes with the spell,’ Althos said. ‘Look left one more time.’
She grabbed his chin and jerked his face toward hers. “Show me your eyes!” she said.
She looked down at him with squinted eyes, scrutinizing him. “Only one of your eyes is glazed. Strange.”
Zac said reverently, “What does J’regas Undun mean?”
She heard his calm tone and took in his earnest facial expression. She apparently decided he was telling the truth, and gently let go of his face.
“You will know soon enough, dreamling. You will know it with every tendon and fiber in your body, every rushing droplet of blood, every thought that mars your pure, mindless soul. You will hunger with it. You will bask in the truth of it.”
“Thank you . . . what is your name?”
“The name given to me by the one true father, the god who will walk among us, the void bringer, the purifier of all elements and beings of flesh, is Nesbeh. Find me. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“My name is—”
“Don’t,” she growled. “You don’t have a name yet. He will give you one during your last birthing dream. When we meet again tell me that name.”
“Of course—I’m sorry.”
She stopped and looked at him with a hungry, lustful expression. She stroked a hand down his chest. “When you return . . .” and her hand eased down his stomach, the fingers trailing.
“My friends can’t suspect . . .” Zac said quickly. “Push me toward the treeline and scream at me like you hate me. I’ll call them off. I’ll tell them I begged you to let us escape and you showed mercy.”
“Mercy?” she spat.
“We never show mercy, but the less they know about us the better. They see the faces of their loved ones when they fight us, their hesitation will cost them when the real battle begins. Already their hesitation costs them. They hope to find a cure, and turn us back, that’s why they aren’t hunting us. They are letting our hordes growing larger and stronger every day.
“These ones that came to rescue me, they don’t want to fight, they are soft-hearted cowards. They would win here today, slaughtering all of us, but they know they would lose many in the process. I’ll go to them and get them to retreat. Then we can fight another day, when Bareloth commands us to and the odds favor us. We will kill many more than we could today.”
“Yes,” she said. “We will serve Bareloth much better that way. I like how you think.”
She shoved him hard. There was a wild and horrible chorus of screeches from the banes. Mostly guttural, formless animal sounds, but Zac could pick out a few words, chulgar among them.
Zac jogged back into the forest and away. Artem and Althos caught up to him.
“What did you learn?” Artem asked.
“Let’s keep jogging,” Zac said. “I’ll tell you when we get to the city walls.”
“You okay?” Artem asked.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” Zac said with a quick nod. “Let’s keep moving.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Uzzo
A popular Ascadellian card game. Usually the players each put an equal share of money into the pot to start. There are cards numbered zero through seven, and there are four cards of each number. Each player is dealt four cards, placed face down. Two cards are placed in the center face up. Each player, on their turn, can decide whether to swap one of their own cards for one in the center, take a card from the deck, or do nothing. They can only swap another player three times in a game. Before someone takes a turn they pick an opponent who must tell them their cards and is allowed to lie about one of them. When someone says “Uzzo” everyone else gets one turn, and then the cards of each player are totaled and the round ends. If someone is allowed to join a game that is already started, they are given the average score.
They had been brought to the barracks hall of Castle Sal-Zerone, a huge wing with bunk beds on either side of it.
‘Hey buddy,’ Zac said to Althos. ‘I’d bet all the coin I stole from Apollo that you’re the only sheelak that ever spent a night here at Castle Sal Zerone.’
‘It’s scary here,’ Althos replied. ‘I’d rather be in the woods.’
Zac noticed a drinking pool that refilled itself constantly via an aqueduct in the ceiling. Drainage vents at the top of the pool kept it from overflowing. The fountain amazed Zac, who remembered the chore of well-digging and carrying buckets of water back to the slavemasters in Lockridge.
“How does it work? That pipe?”
One of the Nightblades turned to him, surprised at having been addressed. When Zac looked him in the eyes, he was surprised to notice that although the man had brown eyes, one of his eyes had splotches of green in it—he had never seen someone with different colored eyes like that. Zac also realized he was one of the soldiers. Zac had noticed that the soldiers and the First Blood warriors seemed to avoid each other, as if by some unspoken agreement.
“It’s a branch from Sal Zerone’s aqueduct,” he said. “Aqueducts work using gravity. The aqueduct system in Sal Zerone originates from springs in the hills north of here. Even across areas that seem flat, there is often a slight slope going from north to south, so the water flows down through the aqueducts and supplies us all with drinkable water.”
“That’s incredible,” Zac said. There was an awkward lull in conversation. “What’s your name?”
“Kell. My real name is too long and no one can pronounce it. I’m from the city of Gleam originally, we all have long names.”
“I’m Zac.”
“Good to meet you,” he said, then turned and strode away.
Everyone was laying claim to one of the beds.
Zac wondered what it would have been like if his people had won the war. Would the Ascadellian Army have made their last stand here, withdrawn behind the walls of Castle Sal Zerone, awaiting their death? Would his people have reduced the city to smoking rubble and piled corpses, as the Ascadellians had done to most of the cities and towns of his homeland? Would his people have taken the citizens here as slaves? Perhaps Zac would have been a slave master then, merciless as Lord Temnick.
Zac sat down at the foot of a bed. He had a small pack with a change of clothes in it, and he put that on the bedsheet to mark his territory. He observed how people had spaced themselves out. Though there were thousands of bunk beds here, the Nightblades were all cramped at the beginning of the hall, near the drinking pool. Zac thought it interesting how they had all subconsciously gathered together, intimidated by the emptiness of the hall.
Zac heard a cluster of voices that had more energy than the regular din of small talk. Someone had started a game of Uzzo between the rows of beds. They sat on folded articles of clothing and stared down at the cards on the stone floor.
Zac turned to Artem said, “You want to get in on that?”
Artem shrugged his acquiescence and they headed over.
&
nbsp; They sat in a little circle with Reyna, a dark-haired woman who was regarded as the best archer in the Nightblades. Mauler, the one named for his skill with blunt weapons and the warhammer tattoos on his neck. Zac recognized Brock from the tournament, he liked screaming and whooping as he rained blows down on his opponents with a huge claymore. He was oddly soft spoken when he wasn’t fighting.
“What’s the lizard?” Mauler asked.
“It’s a sheelak,” Brock replied. “But his eyes are wrong. Come here, boy.” He looked up at Zac suddenly and said, “Is it okay?”
“Sure,” Zac replied.
“Yer gonna touch that thing?” Mauler said to Brock with disgust.
Brock ignored him and stroked a hand across Althos’s scales. Zac was surprised. Most people were repulsed by Althos.
Althos closed his eyes and leaned into Brock’s hand as the man stroked him again, scratching behind his ears.
Zac and Artem had never played Uzzo before, and the rules of the game were a little confusing. Mauler explained the rules quickly as he dealt the cards. Zac’s head was spinning by the end, but he didn’t want to look stupid so he didn’t ask any questions.
After a few rounds, Zac was catching on. He was even starting to understand the strategies. Sometimes, in the early rounds, when people could still swap his cards out, he would purposely take bad cards from the deck so that people took his bad cards. Artem, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to lie convincingly. People loved swapping with him.
“Hey, Artem,” Mauler said, giving him a sidelong glance. “I want to swap with you—what are your cards?”
“Nine, an eight, and uh . . . another nine—”
“Liar! I’ll take the second one you said was a nine.”
Artem glowered and handed the card over to him.
Mauler smiled at his prize.
After the first game was done, and Reyna was shuffling the cards, Zac noticed Cera walking by.
Mauler shouted at Cera, “Witch woman, why don’t you join us?”
Reyna said, “A witch is automatically a woman, so saying witch woman is redundant.”
Mauler slitted his eyes and fixed Reyna with a glare. But Mauler could never hold a glare, so he started smirking and said, “Thanks fer that little slice of education, Reyna. If yer trying ta make a scholar out of me, I’d save the energy, you’ve got a long way to go.”
“I’d settle for making it so you don’t sound like an idiot half the time.”
Mauler ignored this and turned to Cera.
Cera approached, but didn’t seem to notice that Zac was sitting in the group until she got closer. He could tell because her eyes widened slightly when she saw him, and she quickly looked away. It looked like she was trying to think of an excuse to head back for her bed. Everyone was looking up at her.
“I’ll join the game,” Cera finally said, sitting down.
“Well I’ll be damned—the witch woman deigns to sit on the dusty floor and play cards wit’ some reglar’ folk who can’t use a lick of magic. I’m swelling with how much I’m honored by it.” Mauler bridged and shuffled deftly. “Might even let you win a hand.”
When he was done, he started slinging the cards, one at a time, to each player. He moved over so Cera had to sit next to Zac. Zac wondered if he’d sensed the tension between the two of them and was deliberately trying to instigate more by making them sit together.
Cera sat down. Mauler shifted as if to stretch and pushed her a little toward Zac.
“Watch it,” she said, pushing back.
“I think I’m getting a little tired,” Zac said.
“Shut yer mouth and take yer cards. You’ve had a good run of beginner’s luck, but I won’t have you bow out and say you beat me. We’re playing to the tenth round.”
“Fine,” Zac said. “But I’ll make you regret it.”
“The small dog barks,” Mauler said with a chuckle.
Brock said, “I’d bet on him so far, he’s actually pretty good. Unlike his dark-skinned friend over there. He’s the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”
“Proudly,” Artem said. “Lying is a skill of sin.”
“Says the chulgar losing,” Mauler interjected.
Artem dropped three silvers into a mug on the deck.
“Who’s first?” Reyna said. “Or must I listen to this drivel the rest of the night?”
“Witch woman, can you put a silence spell on her? Her voice makes me feel like someone’s jabbing my eardrum with an icepick.”
“Cera, should go first,” Brock said.
Cera flipped two cards, one from each of the two stacks of cards in the center. She got a seven and a two.
Zac would have taken the two, but Cera didn’t. Zac guessed that she didn’t want them to know a good card was in her hand this early because she would be swapped. Taking good cards from the flip pile was a better move when people didn’t have many swaps left. Instead, Cera took a card from the deck and put it in her hand. She took a card out of her hand and started a discard pile.
“So,” Mauler said to Cera. “How did you become a witch woman?”
Reyna punched him in the arm.
Cera shrugged. “That’s not important.”
Mauler took a card from the deck.
Artem was next and said, “I’ll swap with you Mauler. What are your cards?”
“Four, three, two, eight,” he said casually. He turned to Cera again and said, “Come on, witch, what’s your story?”
Artem’s brow furrowed as he tried to tell which cards Mauler had been lying about. Finally, he took the card that Mauler had swapped from the deck.
Artem groaned.
Mauler gave Artem a toothy grin. “Knew you’d go for that one if I told you the truth about it.”
“Why would you ever take an eight?” Artem asked.
“So you’d swap me for it. You gonna answer me, witch?”
“Call me witch again and you’ll regret it.”
“Okay, okay. Seriously though, what’s your story, Cera?”
“I came here to play cards, not get interrogated.”
“Fine, I’ll let it go.”
“Good.”
Mauler picked something out of his beard as he examined his new cards. “Let’s raise the stakes,” he said, looking at Cera. “If I win the next hand you tell me your story. Where you come from, how you got here, everything. And if I lose, I’ll polish your boots, unpack and put away your bedroll, fetch your meals and water, all that stuff, for the rest of the journey. I’ll be your little handservant. And, even better, I won’t bother you about this again. But you can bet yer fine ass that I’ll badger you about it every chance I can, from this moment forth, if you turn this wager down.”
Cera considered that.
“Can I join in the next hand?” said a voice that accompanied approaching footsteps.
It was Kell, the swordsmen with the gold tooth.
“We’re full up.”
Kell shoved Mauler aside to make room, roughly pushing him by the head and shouldering him. He then sat down, despite Mauler’s protests. He turned to Zac and Artem and said, “Yours was the most entertaining fight of First Blood! I’m honored that you’re with us, how are you both doing?”
“Doing well,” Artem said, bowing slightly. “I am the one who is honored.”
“We never officially met,” Kell said, offering his hand to Zac.
Zac shook it.
Reyna threw her cards down and said, “Uzzo!”
She had a brilliant hand, and beat everyone else easily.
“Deal me in,” Kell demanded.
“We’re full up! Dig the wax out of your ears, I already said that—”
Kell, with a sudden, smooth movement, grabbed Mauler. Mauler tried to break free, but Kell spun him before he could get his bearings and wrapped his legs around him to keep him in place. Kell was now sitting behind Mauler, in a perfect position to apply a chokehold. Mauler struggled as Kell held him in place with his legs and tried to pr
y Mauler’s arm off his neck. The defense was futile.
“You will deal me in!” Kell yelled as he choked Mauler.
Zac and Artem looked at each other in amused disbelief.
“Chul . . . gar . . .” Mauler wheezed.
Althos was jumping up and down next to them, and started making little squeaks of dismay. “It’s okay,” Zac said. “I think they’re just playing.”
Mauler tried to say something else, but Kell tightened the choke even more. Finally Mauler tapped out.
“I’ll get you back later, you fatherless halfwit,” Mauler rasped, rubbing his throat.
“And I’ll get you back for getting me back. Now deal me in.”
Mauler tried to shoot him a dark look, but his eyes were smiling. He started dealing him in. Kell sat down next to Mauler. Zac and Artem exchanged a shrug and took up their cards.
It wasn’t long before Zac said, “Uzzo!”
Zac won the round, even though Cera swapped him a six. His other cards had been a one, a zero, and a zero, so he’d edged out Reyna, whose total was eight. Getting two zeros in the same hand was tremendous luck, so Reyna grumbled and glowered when she saw his cards. Everyone else had gotten bad hands.
Zac would have traded both his zeros to ensure Cera’s loss in the next hand, but the game didn’t work that way. He could only hope that Mauler would win the next hand so he could hear her story.
After they dealt the cards for the next round, Zac looked over at Cera. She was expressionless. He also looked at Mauler. Mauler looked down at his cards, then groaned dramatically. He stopped groaning and tried to create a neutral face. He’d given himself away, letting everyone know that he had bad cards. Or he was bluffing and had good cards, but was trying to ensure that Cera didn’t swap him. But if Cera had good cards and simply ignored him, she would win, so his playacting only mattered if Cera had been dealt a bad or mediocre hand.
Zac couldn’t read Cera’s expression. Her face could have been carved from stone. Artem’s face was the opposite. The ever-honest warrior’s countenance was easier to read than a picture book. Looking at it now, Zac guessed that he’d gotten a good hand.