The Saints of the Sword

by John Marco

  For Redburn, this was a holy place. Each spring, when the herds migrated down from the mountains, the roars of their combat could be heard throughout the Highlands, even reaching the grounds of Elkhorn Castle. Redburn loved to watch the wars. It was in his blood to witness their combat and he was drawn to it every spring, as much a ritual for him as for the sacred elk he preserved. Because it was late in the season, most of the herds had already sired, but there were some that still awaited nature’s call. These were the white latapi, the ones from the highest ranges whose coats were the color of ash and brightened as summer came. While other latapi had already endured the violent rituals of the rut, the white latapi were only now trampling down their yards. They were beautiful to behold. The white latapi were taller than most, seven feet at the shoulder, and their antlers spanned six feet at maturity making them the fiercest breed for battle.

  For generations Redburn’s people had ridden the latapi against their enemies, saddling the wild elk and armoring their hulking bodies. And though many had come before Redburn, claiming the command of the elk, only the prince had magic in his hands. He alone could calm the beasts with a touch, or reach into the womb of a cow to rescue a breaching calf. He could ride bareback and call the latapi to him from across a mountain range, and because of this he was revered by his people. But for him, it was simply his destiny.

  A powerful buck crossed the plain before him, not noticing him as it sought out a mate. A hundred paces away, a cow was ready, slowly prowling the green grass. The buck smelled her musk. A low roar rumbled from his throat. He lifted his great head, swishing his antlers, but no other males came to challenge him. Redburn leaned forward, spellbound. He watched as the buck circled closer to the cow, not too quickly as to frighten her. He was just about to close the distance when a cry shattered the mood.

  “Redburn!”

  The prince fell back, shaking his head.

  “What the …?”

  It was Breena. His sister’s call echoed through the valley, sending the latapi scattering. His cover exposed, Redburn stepped out of the bushes and glanced around. Breena was hurrying toward him, riding one of the smaller brown elk. She emerged from the hills with her red hair blowing out behind her, her face drawn with worry. Redburn waved.

  “Here,” he called. He walked toward her, quickly snatching up the reins of her mount. The elk snorted, breathing hard. Redburn calmed it with a touch. “Breena, what’s wrong with you?” He gestured to the valley full of fleeing elk. “You scared them off.”

  “Redburn, you have to come,” said his sister. She held out her hand to lift him onto the beast. “Two males are locked. I just saw them.”

  “Locked? Where?”

  Breena pointed back toward the hills. “Over the ridge, near the tide stream. They’re bleeding. Looks like they’ve been locked for days. You have to get them apart.”

  Redburn took his sister’s hand and let her yank him onto the elk. Though it was one of the smaller beasts, the elk handled the extra burden easily. They had ridden it together to the valley so that they could watch the breeding. Redburn sat behind Breena, letting her lead the animal. She was an accomplished rider, like all of their clan. Breena spun the beast around and began galloping toward the hills. Her long hair whipped her brother’s face in the wind.

  “How big?” he asked.

  “Full grown, both of them. Four-year-olds, at least. One looks bad.”

  Redburn cursed. This time of year, males often locked antlers during combat. If they weren’t separated they would die of starvation. But separating them wasn’t easy. Usually, it took the prince’s special touch. If they were frightened or angry, getting them apart could be dangerous. Redburn still had the scars from last year’s mating season. If they fought hard enough, there would be no choice but to put them down—from a distance, with a bow. But Redburn hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Breena crested the ridge and took them down to a clearing by the stream. There she halted, looking around. Redburn cocked his head to listen. He heard running water and the heavy breathing of their mount. Birds were chirping. Then he heard something else, like grunting. The shuffle of hooves through grass sounded to their right. Breena was about to direct the elk toward the noise when Redburn stopped her.

  “No,” he cautioned. “Don’t.”

  Quietly he dropped down from the elk’s back. Up ahead the sound was distinct. He glimpsed movement through the tall grass, then heard the depleted cries again.

  “That’s them,” whispered Breena. She slipped down next to her brother. “There.”

  Redburn inched closer; Breena followed after him. She was not afraid of the elks, who could easily turn violent, and she shared her brother’s gift for stalking. The males ahead of them roared and thrashed, easily visible now over the grass. Redburn stopped, holding up a hand to Breena. Both were white elk. One’s nose and forehead was torn by the tines of the other’s antlers. Blood soaked their fur and velvet, and exhausted grunts rumbled from their throats as they vainly fought to untangle themselves.

  “Damn,” whispered Redburn. “The smaller one looks bad.”

  “Can you get them apart?”

  Redburn shrugged. He didn’t know.

  “Stay back,” he warned his sister. “If they bolt they might crash right into you.”

  Breena backed up a few paces and led their mount away. When Redburn was sure she was out of harm’s way, he took a careful step toward the males. They hadn’t seen him yet, and in their exhausted grunting, hadn’t heard him either. Redburn held up his hands, then began to make music.

  A soothing song came to his lips, a calm, primitive trilling not unlike the language of the latapi. It was soft at first, like the breeze. The males stopped their thrashing at once. Redburn let the song grow in volume, barely stopping for breath. Together the two males tried to turn their locked heads toward him, raising and lowering their antlers as if they were nodding. The prince took a step closer, then another, all the while continuing the ancient song of his clan, his open palms held out before him. Both males fixed him with a single brown eye. Redburn looked at them without blinking. This was the toughest, most dangerous moment. It was like casting a spell, and if the mood was broken they would bolt. Quickly he studied the sharp tines of their antlers trying to decipher the knot entangling them. White elk had racks as wide as a man was tall, and as complicated as a road map. These two were fully grown, which meant their racks had tines aplenty. Redburn continued trilling as he made his final approach. With his hands outstretched he reached for the beasts, touching the bloodied one first. The animal was bone-weary and Redburn’s touch calmed him instantly. The other was more frightened. Redburn stopped his song and brushed the stag’s nose.

  “Easy, my friend,” he whispered. “Look at me. You know me, yes? I won’t hurt you.”

  His voice calmed the beast. Slowly it dropped to its knees, dragging its partner down with it.

  “Good,” cooed the prince. “That’s right. I’m going to help you.”

  Both stags understood and gave a pitiful cry. Redburn caressed them, running his fingers through their prickly fur and massaging their necks. As he did he studied the tangle of antlers. It was a maze, but he saw through it quickly. The smaller, bloodied beast had charged first, bringing his rack up and under. Then they had tried to pull away from each other, when all they really had to do was get closer.

  “All right now, we’re going to get you two apart. But you’re going to have to help me.” The prince looked at the bloodied one. “You started this, didn’t you?”

  Very gently he slid his hand under the neck of the smaller stag. The beast bucked a bit at the sensation, but Redburn held firm. Then he did the same to the larger elk, lifting its head a little higher than the other one. He began to sing again as he worked, calming the beasts while he cajoled them apart, working their racks with smooth motions. They were like water in his hands, fluid and flexible, almost put to sleep by his lulling warble. Soon he had the smaller
elk’s antlers lowered, and with one last push they popped apart. Both beasts quickly raised their heads, astonished to be free again. Redburn laughed.

  “Yes! Very good!”

  “You did it!” Breena cried. She dashed out from behind the tree and hurried up to her brother, sharing his laughter. The two stags looked about in bewilderment.

  “Well?” Redburn chided them. “What are you waiting for? There are cows to be rutted, fellows. Get to it!”

  Seeming to understand, the stags trotted off.

  “What about their wounds?” asked Breena. “Shouldn’t we have done something?”

  “I got a look when I was close-up,” said Redburn. “It seemed a lot worse than it was. They’ll wash themselves in the stream, then be on their way.” He smiled at his sister. “I did well, eh?”

  “My hero,” said Breena dryly. Then she kissed him on the cheek. “You did very well.”

  Redburn blushed. His sister was his best friend, yet still her affection embarrassed him.

  “Should we head back to the castle now?” he asked.

  “Are you done watching the latapi?”

  “Well, there’s not much to see anymore. You scared them off, remember?”

  “Don’t hold a grudge. It doesn’t become you.” She glanced into the sky, studying the sun. “It’s noon. I’m getting hungry. Are you?”

  Redburn hadn’t thought about it, but now he realized he was famished. They had been out riding all morning, checking the borders and herds. Since the recent spate of skirmishes with Talistan, it seemed wise to patrol often.

  “Now that you mention it, I could eat. But I want to ride back along the Silverknife.”

  Breena agreed. Riding along the river would take them out of their way, but the Silverknife marked their border with Talistan. Redburn already had patrols out, but the border was long and winding, and it took a lot of eyes to patrol it. He knew Breena wouldn’t mind the extra riding.

  “Come then,” he said. “We’ll take the Silverknife and be back at Elkhorn in two hours. In the meantime …” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a length of dried sausage. “… we have this.” He broke the meat apart and handed half to his sister. Breena sniffed it and grimaced.

  “Smells more like your pocket than it does like meat.”

  Redburn shrugged. “That’s all we’ve got. If you don’t want it …”

  “I never said that,” said Breena. She put the food in her mouth and started chewing.

  Redburn stuck his own piece between his teeth like a pipe. “Let’s go, then.”

  The Silverknife River ran west to east along the border of the Eastern Highlands, about ten miles from Elkhorn Castle. Along its banks were villages and farms where Highland people lived and raised sheep, toiling in the shadows of green mountains. But there were also great, unspoiled stretches, and the Silverknife fed these, too, nourishing silent stands of pine trees and wandering herds of elk. For generations, Redburn’s family had been custodians of this land, guarding it against invasion from Talistan or greedy lords of the Black City. The forests belonged to several clans, but Redburn’s was the largest and most influential. He was prince now because of his father’s death, and as clan leader he had the responsibility of keeping the Eastern Highlands safe.

  Usually, the young prince didn’t mind his charge. He had been bred for it, after all, and Highlanders did not shirk responsibility. His prowess with the latapi had been granted by heaven, because his lineage was chosen to protect the land. But it had been easier in his father’s day. Arkus had been alive then, and though he had been a tyrant, he had been satisfied with the taxes the Highlands paid, and never meddled too much in their affairs. Arkus had kept the peace in the Empire, and Redburn’s father had kept the peace among the clans, and that was the natural order of things.

  Times had certainly changed.

  As they rode along the Silverknife with Redburn still seated behind his sister, the prince’s mind wandered. He thought about his father who was dead and his mother who was still alive, and about all the children the two had sired. Redburn and Breena were oldest, so their siblings looked to them constantly for support. When Redburn was a boy, he and Breena would wander along the banks of the Silverknife pretending they were fighting back the Talistanians on the other side. Now that game had become a reality, and Redburn didn’t want to play anymore.

  It was well past noon, and the twins had made their way closer to home riding east along the river. They were emerging from a quiet forest into an equally quiet plain of grass, in an area between hills that was untouched by settlers. Deer grazed here, the small kind unsuitable for riding. Along the river does and fawns came to drink. Redburn spotted them and smiled.

  “We waste our time,” he said. “There’s no trouble today.”

  “Peace is good enough for me,” replied Breena. She had been driving the elk slowly so not to tire it. “We’ll go on a bit more, then head back to the castle. I’m hungry.”

  “Still? After that big lunch?”

  “You’re a beast, brother. Besides, the others will be worrying about us. I didn’t tell them we’d be gone so long.”

  “Just a little farther, then,” agreed Redburn. “I’m anxious for home myself.”

  So they rode just a little farther, and when they reached the edge of the grassy plain Breena moved to turn south when something caught her eye. She stopped the elk, getting Redburn’s attention. “Look there,” she said. “Those are horses!”

  Redburn squinted. He did indeed see horses. And men. A great many of them. Worse, they were on the south side of the river. Redburn sat up straight, peering across the plain. He knew from the uniforms of green and gold that these were Talistanians. Instantly his good mood dissipated.

  “Those whoresons,” he rumbled.

  “What are they doing? They’re on our side!”

  “How dare they cross the river? How dare they!”

  “We should get help,” said Breena. “We’re not so far from the castle. If we hurry—”

  “No. Ride on.”

  “Redburn …”

  “Ride on!”

  Breena did as her brother ordered, jabbing her heels into the elk’s side to speed him. Both of them wore swords they hoped they wouldn’t have to use, but Redburn already had his drawn. There were at least twenty horsemen. More than a match for them and their small elk. But it didn’t matter. This was his land.

  “What are they doing?” asked Breena.

  “I intend to find out. Trespassers! They call us barbarians, yet they show our borders no respect.”

  “Your temper, brother,” chided Breena. “Be calm. They are many.”

  “They are Talistanians. They deserve my temper, sister.”

  “They will say that you deserve it when they run you through. Please, Redburn. They are baiting you. At least try to control yourself.”

  Redburn said nothing. The Talistanians had been “baiting” him a lot recently, but their purpose remained a mystery. The prince kept his fist around his sword, and when at last they were in clear view of the horsemen, he waved his weapon.

  “You there! What is your business?”

  Every helmeted head turned toward the riders. They wore strange-looking helmets, forged into the faces of demons. A standard bearer rode among the brigade, holding aloft the charging stallion banner of Talistan. Beside him was a man of obvious rank, his shoulders decorated with stripes and ribbons. The man held up a hand to calm his company while Redburn and his sister approached.

  “I asked a question,” Redburn bellowed. “Or are you all deaf behind those ugly masks?”

  The one with the ribbons trotted forward, followed close by his standard bearer. His demon-helm tilted as he regarded the siblings and their mount. Then a horrible laugh broke from behind the metal.

  “As often as I see it, it still amuses me,” he chortled. “The way you ride those animals is ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Redburn smoldered. “Maybe you should think of c
hanging your own mounts. I think it would be more appropriate for Talistanians to ride rats.” The prince slid down from the elk and strode toward the horseman. “Who are you? What are you doing on my land?”

  Behind his metal faceplate, the soldier’s eyes shifted to Breena. “Who is that young lady? Your wife?”

  “That is the Lady Breena, dog! My sister.”

  “Sister? Then you must be Prince Redburn. I admit I didn’t expect to see you so quickly.” He studied the prince. “You are not what I expected … boy.”

  “Expected or not, I am he.” Redburn pointed his sword at the man. “State your name. And your business here.”

  “I am Major Mardek of the green brigade. These men are under my command.”

  “You’re trespassing,” said Redburn. “You’ve forded the river and entered my territory.”

  “Orders from King Tassis Gayle. I am to survey this area. There have been spies and saboteurs sent to Talistan from your country. I’m to put a stop to it.”

  “That’s a lie!” hissed Breena. She dropped down from the elk and stood beside her brother. “We’ve sent no one into Talistan and you know it. You’re the ones who have been invading. Without cause!”

  Mardek waved her off. “Woman, you and your savages have been plaguing our territory. Several witnesses have reported Highlanders crossing the river into Talistan. No doubt you are spying on us trying to gauge our strength. Or maybe just trying to steal some proper mounts for yourselves.”

  Mardek’s men started laughing. Redburn bristled.

  “There are no spies, no saboteurs, nothing of any sort coming out of my country, Talistanian. If there were, I would know about them. We’ve merely been patrolling to keep a watch on you.”

  “And we’ve been patrolling on our side of the river,” added Breena.