Samual

by Greg Curtis

  “Fine.” He walked awkwardly toward the Captain and took the bottle from his hands. Then he unstoppered and upended it, swallowing the contents in front of them.

  Nothing happened after that and Mayvelle was disappointed. It would have been nice to have seen him start clutching at his throat and fall to the ground, breathing his last. Or better yet if he had burst into flames. But the elders would not do that she knew. Nor would the priests.

  “And so you are now bound to the Goddess' law,” the Captain told Heri, as if he had passed sentence upon him. And maybe he had. “You may go.”

  “Be quick soldiers! I want to be gone from this place before I grow old.” The Captain turned to the rest of them and gave the order and most of the rest of the patrol mounted up. The rest hurried whatever they were doing.

  Mayvelle was happy to go. More than happy. She didn't want to be here any longer. Not even when she saw the small, broken figure of her half-brother trudging dispiritedly away with only the clothes on his back.

  This had not been a good day. And there were worse ones ahead. The day when she would have to approach her parents with this truth. And the day when she would have to apologise to her brother.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Heri was bone tired. He'd never walked so far or for so long in his life. The accursed elves had stolen his horses along with his wagon and left him on foot. He hated them for that. As he did for making him drink whatever foul concoction they'd prepared. It had tasted like water but he knew better. The damned thing was a brew of magic. He didn't yet know what sort of magic, but he was sure it would be bad.

  And it had all happened because of that miserable Elder! Elder Bela. Heri would have cursed his name to all the heavens but every time he tried the words just wouldn't come out of his mouth. That was more accursed elven magic he guessed. The Elder had decided he didn't want to be cursed and had made sure he wouldn't be.

  Now he had nothing. All his treasures had been taken. Stolen! The things that he'd hoped could have brought him back his throne. But that hope was gone now. All he had left was gold, and that wasn't enough. Assuming he was even able to keep it. And he had a horrible feeling that the compulsion placed on him would have something to say about that. The Elder had told him as much.

  He could do nothing now except live a normal life. A miserable peasant life with maybe enough gold to make it bearable. But he would never rule again. He would never have the nobles of the land bow before him. He would never have balls held in his honour. Not that he liked the balls – he hated them – but still they were held for him and he valued that. People would no longer tremble before him when they saw him on his throne. Nor would they come before him begging.

  Everything was gone. Taken from him by the elves and that miserable half-brother of his! They had left him with nothing. In fact now he was nothing. That was one lesson his mother had taught him very clearly. Power was everything. To be without it was to be nothing. A nobody. And that was now who he was. Another miserable nobody trudging his way across the endless fields and rolling hills back to Fall Keep. The only difference between him and so many others was the direction he was travelling in and the fact that he knew there was a crypt there stashed with gold.

  Things couldn't get any worse.

  But typically just as he was thinking that they did. A party of riders crested the hill in front of him and came charging in his direction. Heri knew a moment of fear when he saw them. And that fear only grew when he saw that they were flying the flag of the House of Cameral, one of his most annoying rivals and one of the few houses still standing. Because they were so weak he hadn't gotten around to sending the drakes after Tyne Keep before everything had gone wrong. Now the house looked like becoming one of the new powers in the realm. Maybe Lord Cameral himself would even become king in time. After everyone else had been killed off. His riders were out. Even now they were scouring the lands looking for survivors of the other noble houses and killing them. There was no room in Fair Fields for rivals who couldn't defend themselves. They were probably killing off any peasants who got in the way as well.

  Meanwhile all he had on him was a knife against a score of heavily armed riders. And a ruined hand. He wasn't going to fight his way out of this Heri knew. And even if he'd had some poison, that wouldn't have been a possibility either. All he could do was bow and grovel and hope they ignored him as worthless.

  As the party rode towards him though, he feared that they might not. They looked like they were riding to war. They were certainly dressed for it, with all of them decked out in their best armour and carrying their finest blades. Had war been declared somewhere?

  “You! Who are you and where are you going?” The leader of the band called out to Heri even before they'd pulled up.

  “Just a homeless wanderer heading for Stonebridge.”

  He shouldn't have said it. Heri knew that even before he felt the touch of a boot on his face. He shouldn't have dared to look directly at the leader. Nor should he have forgotten to address him as “Sir”. The touch of his heavy boot sent Heri flying to the ground while all around the soldiers laughed. He needed to remember to be more respectful. And as he sat up holding his face and wondering how many teeth he was going to lose, he knew it was probably a valuable lesson for his new life.

  “That's Sir to you! Or didn't your mother teach you any manners?!” The leader told him off while his troops kept laughing.

  “Sorry Sir.” Heri didn't try to get up. He knew that that would be a mistake. And he kept his gaze averted. Staring at the man would be a mistake. He was no longer King. He was a nobody. He kept forgetting that.

  But why had he said he was going to Stonebridge? That wasn't where he was going. Why would anyone go there? It was just a bunch of ruins. Not even a village any longer. But the name had simply slipped out when he had meant to say Fall Keep.

  “Better.” The leader managed a cruel smile. “Seen any riders?”

  “Just elves Sir. Heading into Dead Creek Pass. This morning.” Heri wanted to rip out his tongue when the words came out of his mouth. Why had he said it? He should have said no. That he'd seen no one. It was the quickest and easiest path to safety. But again his mouth seemed to be betraying him. What was happening?

  “Elves?”

  “Fifty or sixty of them Sir. Riding west. And with a wagon.” The words just kept coming out of his mouth! Someone else had control of his tongue! It was the only thing he could think of. It had to be more accursed elven magic!

  “How long ago?”

  “Five or six hours Sir.” Heri wasn't even surprised when the words came out of his mouth by then. He couldn't seem to stop them.

  “More damned elves!” The leader spat on the ground and for once Heri could only agree with him. They were a plague race. But he lay on the ground in silence and waited to be spoken to. He was smart enough to realise that that was the only way he was going to avoid a beating.

  “Captain?” One of the other soldiers spoke up.

  “The elves are no concern of ours. Lord Cameral made that clear. We head south.” With that the Captain waved his hand and the party wheeled around. He had given his decision and that was it. Heri of course was completely forgotten as they thundered off south leaving him sitting there nursing his jaw.

  He hated them. He hated the Captain most of all for kicking him in the face. One day when he had some sort of power back, he would hunt down and kill that man. But he also understood them. They had power. They could do what they wanted. He had none and he could do nothing. He simply had to do as he was told. It was humiliating and humbling. But it was how the world worked and he had to remember it if he didn't want to get beaten again.

  There was a bigger problem though he realised as he got to his feet. His feet. They weren't taking him due east to Fall Keep he suddenly realised. They were taking him very slightly north east. In the direction of Stonebridge. He had not only lost control of his tongue but also his feet!

  “Al –!”
He tried to curse the elves in the name of the god of mischief, but the name died on his lips before he could even get it out. Apparently even speaking the name of a rival god was unacceptable to whoever controlled his tongue. Which left him having to curse silently as his feet started carrying him in the wrong direction.

  What in all the hells had the poxy elves done to him?!

  By the All Father, why had he ever got involved with the damned elves?! The whole miserable race was more trouble than they were worth. And now he would never be able to kill them.

  Why did the gods hate him so?

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  It was late and everyone who had any sense had retired for the night. The only ones left awake were those who had to be. Mostly they were guards. Allivre had the honour of being one of those guards. And the honour of being awake at such an unwelcome hour. A plague on all the damned honours he thought! It was too damned cold!

  Still, someone had to watch over these ancient treasures. According to the elders they included some of the most powerful weapons ever created. One in particular which could destroy entire cities. They could not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Though there were no hands here save for those of his people, and they were never the sort to do stupid things.

  Meanwhile a young sage was sitting in front of the Window of Parsus, watching the Dragon as he created his armies. Of course it was late where the Dragon was too, and he wasn't doing anything at that particular time either. The troll blood had collapsed into a chair and fallen asleep. There was nothing for the sage to report on save that he snored like a wild animal.

  The Dragon didn't look like much of a threat to Allivre. Certainly he didn't look like a creature who could destroy the world. He was troll blood not pure troll. Though that might be what gave him his magic, it also stole from him the size of his trollish ancestors. His tusks were smaller than those of true trolls, though they looked just as sharp. And he did not have the breadth of shoulder or length of arm that his cousins did. Even the axes he carried strapped to his belt were under sized. Allivre fancied that he could stand against him with spear and shield if he had to. Of course it was the armies of machina that made him dangerous.

  And yet this was the miserable creature that had attacked Shavarra and driven them from their home. Who had murdered so many of his friends. He might look somewhat unimpressive, but he had to die!

  “Ginseng and wild herb tea?” A voice came from out of the darkness startling Allivre, and he looked around hastily, worried that an enemy had crept up on him unawares. But it was only a young priest carrying a pot of hot tea.

  “Thank you priest. And praise to the Goddess.” Allivre accept the cup with good grace. He was actually grateful for it. It had been a long night already. And even though he knew it was a minor breach of the rules for the priest to be there, he decided not to say anything. The priest might not return another night.

  He was a strange one for a priest Allivre thought. Mainly it was the beard that seemed odd. Most elves didn't grow beards. They didn't have the full facial hair that the humans did and so what grew was often wispy and patchy. But the priest had a full beard of tightly curled ringlets. In all likelihood he wasn't a full elf. He might even be human though it was hard to be certain when he had his hood up.

  That was not an issue though. The temple had no rules about who could serve and who couldn't. The belief in the Goddess and the desire to serve was their only concern. And if the priest was bringing tea to the weary on watch in the middle of the night, that was surely a sign that he served.

  “It is a cool night,” the priest commented. “Surely you should have more braziers than that.”

  “It would be nice,” Allivre agreed. But really he knew they had two braziers, one each for the two of them. They were actually doing well. And they weren't getting any more so there was no point in complaining about it. Still, he decided as he looked at the little copper basket full of burning coals beside him and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him, a man could dream.

  “A little chill is good.” The sage spoke up. “It keeps us alert when we have important work to do.”

  “Always true, praise the Goddess. Especially when you keep watch on her enemies.”

  The priest gestured toward the window floating in the air just in front of them. “You know he is such a small creature for one who has caused such terrible pain. So much pain. He looks so weak.”

  “Be glad he can't hear you Priest. His armies seem to grow and grow without end.” Allivre was glad the Dragon couldn't hear them. That he didn't know they were watching him. Because his greatest fear was that the Dragon would send another army for them. He was not alone in that.

  “Have faith child. The Goddess has provided her most powerful warrior to us and he has defeated the Dragon's armies three times. Destroyed them completely. In Shavarra he beat them back. The steel drakes at the edge of the wastes were destroyed. And in the Bronze Mountains he devastated an entire army. He grows ever stronger. The Dragon ever more doomed. It is only a matter of time until the Fire Angel completes his work and the world is returned to its rightful order.”

  That was the day they all prayed for. Allivre as much as anyone. So he wasn't disturbed by the way the priest subtly chided him for his fear. Fear was doubt, and those who followed the Goddess should never doubt. He nodded his thanks for the reminder.

  “I pray that that day comes soon.”

  “It cannot be far away child. After all, we now know where the Dragon may be found. It is only the distance to his island that holds us back. And the Fire Angel grows in strength all the time as he prepares. Soon he will ride for him and the Dragon will be no more. When he is done I doubt that any of that island will remain above the southern ocean.”

  “He, his twisted machina and the island all will be a spectacle for the fish to enjoy.” The priest managed a reassuring smile. “But in any case I have tarried too long. There are others I must attend to on this cold night.”

  With that the priest nodded politely to them both and then continued on his way with his kettle of tea. As he disappeared into the darkness Allivre could only hope he returned again. Not only was the tea welcome, but so was having someone to speak to during the long night hours. The sages weren't as a rule so cheery. And the one who was keeping watch over the window was even less so.

  A few hours later as dawn finally found the sky once more and their replacements arrived to take over their places, he discovered something else about the sages. They weren't that capable at their work. Somehow the sage had managed to activate the window so that it worked both ways. The Dragon could see and hear them as they could see and hear him.

  The sage swore to the elders that he had done nothing. That he hadn't activated the window. But he was young and uncertain.

  Whether the Dragon knew they were watching him no one could say. After all the Dragon had been asleep in his chair the whole time. Allivre could attest to that. But still, it had been dark. He could not see if the Dragon's eyes had been open or closed. And Allivre worried that he might have been awake. That he might have been feigning sleep. And that could be bad.

  What would the Dragon do if he realised he was being watched?

  It didn't occur to him to wonder what he would do if he had heard what the priest had said about the Fire Angel coming to destroy his island and kill him. Not until much later that was. And then when it did, the questions were finished and the elders had left them.

  But what could it matter? It was only the comforting words of a priest after all.

  Chapter Forty

  “A copper for your dreams my love.”

  Sam looked up to see Ry's smiling face and he gave thanks once more for her survival. Without her life had almost not been worth living. With her little else mattered. Especially when she sang as she had been doing for most of the day.

  “They're not worth that much beloved.”

  And in truth they weren't, and hadn't been for far too l
ong. Though it wasn't fair to her or anyone else, ever since he had heard that Heri had survived he had been walking along a precipice on the edge of despair that threatened to swallow him whole. How did Heri keep surviving? Why did the gods allow it? And now he had learned his brother had even been consorting with the Dragon! It was like some sort of celestial joke that mortals couldn't understand. Only the gods could. Maybe only Alder himself. It was some sort of mischief after all.

  As if that wasn't enough his sister had gone to meet with Heri. And though the party had returned weeks before with all the magical sundries Heri had gathered over the years, he had not seen her since. So he didn't know what Heri had told her. He didn't know what she believed. And he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. His last few meetings with her – in fact all his meetings with Mayvelle – had gone badly. Each one worse than the last. The next one could be disastrous.

  To be honest though ever since returning from that great and terrible battle of the Bronze Mountains, even though they had been victorious Sam's thoughts had been sour. That was three long months ago. He wasn't alone in that either, and many of the elders had hidden themselves away simply to stop themselves upsetting their families as they ruminated upon the future.