Aspell was one of the three kingdoms located on the coast that had almost waited too long to send help. The politics of the situation had been complicated even though the facts were not. The Greys would have to be stopped, either at Olvion or on the coast. The delays had cost countless Olvion lives, and the politicians who fought for the delay in rendering assistance had all since been thrown from office. Luckily, King Tyner had not been one of them. He had tried for months to persuade the members of Aspell’s parliament to respond to the desperate requests from the great walled city. In the end he and the other two kings of the Coastal Kingdoms, supported by their military commanders, simply informed the parliaments that they were joining the effort to stop the invading beasts at Olvion with or without their approval. The threat was in violation of their constitutions, but Kings and warriors had limits beyond which they would not be pushed.
Kal had first been called into the royal chambers over two years previously and asked by Vice-Monarch Joern to design a seagoing ship capable of surviving many days at sea. The design would have to be strong enough to withstand heavy seas and storms and large enough to carry enough men, food and equipment to last while searching for other lands. For Kal it was a commission about which he had always dreamed. It was also a challenge to which he was more than equal. The war at Olvion had held up the construction plans, but work on the ship had begun anew last season.
And now here he was, days away from any sight of land.
Kal looked around. The crew were nervous but not yet alarmed. Most were honored to be in the position of pioneer for their kingdom. That was helping to keep them calm regarding the fact that they were currently farther away from land than any other person in recorded memory.
***
Mattus stood over the cot that was usually slept on by his daughter. Toria had come running out to the south field yelling about her discovery of a dead body. Mattus and his brother, Seeja, had raced out to the plowed section of the east field of his newly-gifted farm. The two had run all the way out there and found the giant. He was not dead, but he wasn’t conscious. Mattus had sent Seeja back to get his two sons to help move the man due to his size and weight. In the end, they had harnessed up a charon and brought out a slide to pull the man back to the house.
Mattus chased Toria away, not wanting her to spend too much time watching because the man was not clothed. He sent her to fetch her mother, Summ, who was at the river with Seeja’s wife, Lonn. Mattus made certain to cover the man with a blanket once they got him in bed. He was not eager for his wife to see the young giant naked either. Of course that point became moot when Summ and Lonn arrived and quickly removed the blanket and examined the man for wounds. They even had their husbands pull him over onto his side so they could check his back. Mattus did not miss the look that passed between the two women. Once the examination was done, they pronounced him free of injury and set about cleaning the field dirt from his body.
When the two women began the washing process Mattus tapped Seeja and nodded toward the door. They left the house and stepped over to the stables. Mattus spat in a corner and looked at his brother.
“Have you ever seen anyone that large in your life?”
Seeja crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the stable wall.
“I’ve barely ever seen a charon that large,” he answered. “And did you see all of those scars?”
Mattus looked back at the house. “I did. He is a warrior, they are the marks of combat.”
Seeja nodded. He did not doubt the conclusion his big brother had drawn. Mattus had served for years as a warrior in service to the kingdom of Archer’s gate. His time of service had expired, and he was offered the option of serving another eight years, with the resulting increase in pension, or homesteading the farm in Olvion’s valley. It was a risk either way. The farm was in a very isolated area with fertile ground and the bonus of a crop-nourishing river. Farms had been known to fail, however, and the Grey Ones, though seriously reduced in number, were still around and still dangerous. Staying in military service always carried the threat of dying alone in a dusty battlefield and ending up on the menu of the grey brutes.
The “Great War” had probably broken the back of the threat from the Greys for the remainder of Mattus’ lifetime. That would mean an early retirement for him no matter what choice he made. The farm had been available to him now and might not be later.
There was another reason that Mattus and Summ decided to start a new life as farmers. The Great War was a humiliation to every citizen of the three Coastal Kingdoms; Archer’s Gate, Aspell and Northland. While the heroic citizens of Olvion fought the Greys to a standstill, losing an estimated thirty five thousand warriors, the Coastal Kingdoms had dithered, allowing the politicians and fundraisers to delay providing the assistance needed by the besieged kingdom. That delay had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of brave warriors who died, not just defending Olvion, but also protecting the Lion’s Road. At the end of that route lay the sea and the three remaining kingdoms.
As a warrior, Mattus could not abide others dying in his place. Neither could the other military wings of the three kingdoms. When they finally took matters into their own hands they were amazed and disgusted at what they found. The huge battleground to the east of the walled city of Olvion ran red with blood. Mattus had been a cavalryman and as he rode his mount past the insect covered dead bodies of magnificent warriors his stomach turned. He saw lads as young as his own lying prone in the dust, half-opened eyes staring sightlessly up at a sky they would never again see.
As he spurred his mount further onward he saw another sight that shamed him. The surviving remains of the Olvion army that had battled the sub-human invaders non-stop for hours was exhausted and badly-outnumbered. Yet instead of fleeing before the savage grey horde they limped, staggered and slogged their way toward the enemy, prepared to defend their kingdom and those on the coast to the last man or woman. Never had Mattus witnessed such courage.
Even as he screamed his rage and skewered the retreating grey bastards with his lance, as he smashed and caved in sub-human skulls with his cavalry mace, Mattus cried. His tears were for the shame of his kingdom and his admiration for the people of Olvion.
So all things having been weighed, when it was announced that Olvion needed people to work the farms whose owners had been killed by the invasion, Mattus and Summ knew what they had to do. The population of Olvion had suffered horribly from the war, and they needed people to work the fields, grow the food and get the economy of the kingdom working again. The other three kingdoms were extending help in other ways, but it was people that were needed most.
So Mattus and his family had become farmers and Olvioni farmers at that. The still-present threat posed by the Grey Ones was accepted by the clan. Mattus, pushing his fortieth summer was still a strong and vigorous man and Seeja, though only twenty-five, was a veteran of several battles with the Greys. Under Mattus’ tutelage his two sons had developed skills with weapons that few, more seasoned warriors possessed.
Even Toria was capable with “tooth and claw”, a particularly deadly combination of weapons consisting of a small knife, the claw, held in one hand and used in concert with a longer, more deadly blade, the tooth. In combat a skilled practitioner of the art would flick the claw rapidly out and back inflicting numerous wounds until the victim started paying too much attention to the weapon. Then a feint with the claw was replaced by a killing thrust with the tooth. Someone with natural speed, such as Toria, was especially lethal with the skill.
So Mattus’ family was better prepared than most to withstand an attack from Grey Ones should one occur.
Mattus swatted at an insect that buzzed around his head. “There’s something else,” he said.
Seeja cut his eyes over at his brother from where he still leaned.
“You mean the hair?”
“You noticed.” Mattus kicked the stable wall. “I’ve been in all of the four kingdoms. Never have I
seen anyone with yellow hair and beard.”
Seeja nodded. “And of course you know what that might indicate, Brother?”
Before Mattus could answer they heard Toria calling them. They walked back over to the house. Toria stood in the shade of the building, leaning half outside.
“Mother wants you,” she said as they walked up.
All three went inside and back into Toria’s room where the stranger had been taken. Entering, Mattus saw that the man had been cleaned and was now covered to the chest with a light blanket. Summ sat on a wooden chair at bedside while Lonn was busy cleaning up the mess. She had a pan of water on her lap, and she wrung out a cloth and patted the man’s forehead with it. He looked like he was simply sleeping.
Summ spoke: “He hasn’t moved or made a sound. I can’t find any injuries, and he couldn’t have been out there long or he’d be burned by the sun.” She paused to pat the man’s head with a freshly rinsed cloth. “I assume you’ve noticed the color of his hair?”
Mattus sighed and nodded. “It would be difficult to ignore. I’ve seen others, especially the female members of parliament and other people of means who have used chemicals to change the color of their hair to blue or red.” Mattus stepped closer. “But, Stars help me, this doesn’t look to be dyed.”
Seeja leaned against the far wall and crossed his arms. “Why don’t we say what we are thinking? Is he The Legend?”
Toria who had been lingering in the doorway suddenly stopped her fidgeting, and her eyes went wide.
“Oh, Father, is he?” she asked. “Could he be?”
Mattus knelt closer to the stranger. He examined the hair on his head and his beard. He stood again and took in the size of the man. The cot sagged under his weight, and his feet and lower legs stuck out beyond the end of the blankets. Mattus looked as if a thought had struck him. He looked around the room then went to the barred window and peered outside. The others waited patiently, but Toria could stand it no longer.
“What do you search for, Father?”
Mattus turned back to his family.
“Have any of you seen a small animal, probably white? Or perhaps a glimpse of white fur in the brush or out by the tree line?”
The adults all frowned in confusion, but Toria bounced up and down while clapping her hands in unrestrained glee.
“You seek the white Mountain Child! The Legend always had her by his side.” She ran to look out of the same window that Mattus had vacated.
Mattus and Summ smiled at their daughter’s enthusiasm.
Then a moan came from the cot.
CHAPTER THREE
Dwan
The young warrior grimaced as the novice healer wrapped the stump of his amputated leg with boiled linen bandages. Dwan watched the patient’s face as she supervised the ministrations of her apprentice. The pain must have been horrible yet he made no sound and even seemed embarrassed at the small expression that he had not been able to control.
The warrior of barely nineteen summers had been wounded in the Great War, and the healers had been trying to save his leg for two seasons. It had nearly been severed by a sword slash from a Grey. Dwan and her people had fought valiantly to save the limb and were successful at getting the broken bone to knit. Alas, the nerves and blood vessels had been too damaged and the lower leg finally began to die. It started to rot from the mid-shin area down, and the decision was made to amputate.
They had brought the young man all the way from Olvion to Aspell because it was the warrior’s home. He had insisted on being treated there, and that insistence had probably been the reason he would be forever maimed. The trip had been difficult, and the dust, insects and grime of the trek had not been helpful. The fact that Dwan and her colleagues had kept it from going into gangrene until now was a testament to their skills.
The novice finished and stood up, looking back at Dwan with raised brows. Dwan smiled and nodded. The warrior thanked the future healer then winked at her. The younger woman blushed, gathered her instruments and left, avoiding further eye contact with him.
Dwan took a quick second look at the bandage and then left. The young warrior was her last patient of the day and she was tired. She left the clinic and walked alone through the streets of Aspell avoiding the stares. The story of her relationship with the Legend had followed her here even though that attention was exactly what she had hoped to escape.
Thankfully, Dwan’s prowess as a healer had also become known, and many families owed her the lives of their loved ones. More than once she’d been in an inn being pestered by the questions of the curious. When the intrusions into her privacy reached a certain point there seemed to always be a helpful warrior or family member of a warrior around to protect her privacy.
Having now acquired a small living space in a building dedicated to serving healers and others who worked at the clinic, Dwan had a bit more solitude. Tonight she really needed the seclusion that the apartment offered. She put her medical smock on the single chair in the front room and went straight to her bath to take a shower. The glow globe in the bathroom was dimming, so she took it from the sconce on the wall and shook it. The glowing leaves responded to the action by increasing their brightness. It would do for now, but she would need to replace them with fresher leaves soon.
Standing in her miniscule shower, leaning against the slick wall, Dwan fought her emotions for a moment or two before dissolving into sobs. She was angry at herself for crying because she was determined to get beyond this part of her life. It seemed she was still only capable of containing her tears until she was alone. With nothing to distract her, the emotional pain would return, and she would lose control no matter how many times she told herself that she was now capable of fighting it off.
When her emotional reservoir was once again empty she toweled off, lay on her bed and pulled the covers under her chin. She would stay there until awakening the next morning.
***
Dr. Marilyn Patel, wearing her “Hello Kitty” scrubs, walked quickly through the corridors of Clovis Municipal Hospital. She was a second generation American and a third generation doctor. A graduate of Harvard Medical School, Patel was one of the best in the field of emergency medicine. She loved the practice of medicine and loved the excitement of not knowing what she might encounter every day on the job. She and her husband, a Trauma Surgeon, had moved from Houston to the Fresno/Clovis area over four years ago and were enjoying the less hectic medical demands of a smaller city.
Patel was very popular at work and this required her to return many waves and smiles as she made her way from the cafeteria to the emergency room. Her long pony tail bounced with each step she took. Her hospital-provided cell phone had delivered to her a text from the intake manager in emergency. A young man had just been brought in by emergency med techs with a serious wound to his head. Though it appeared to be a life-threatening injury Patel did not run. She had long ago learned that it did no good to race through the halls, scaring patients and visitors only to arrive at the trauma room too tired to do anything but gulp air for five minutes. A brisk walking pace got her to her destination almost as fast, and she was able to start her examination immediately.
She slapped the round stainless steel pad on the wall to trigger the automatic opening system to the double doors leading to the room set aside for major trauma treatment. Entering, she accepted a clipboard from Juan, the Medical Assistant.
“Trauma Room,” he said unnecessarily.
Patel never slowed, just nodded on her way to the indicated room. She quickly read the notes and thought that the patient was in a major hurt locker. She opened the door and saw…nothing.
The bed was disheveled like someone had been in it, there were traces of blood on the small pillow, and liquid dripped onto the floor from the exposed needle of a hanging fluid tube.
“Juan, stat!” she yelled into the hallway.
The M.A. came trotting over to her, eyebrows raised.
“The trauma patient…where did the
y take him?” she asked.
Juan appeared perplexed and looked around her at the empty bed.
“I’ll find out.”
Juan ran to the emergency nurse’s station and started asking questions, sending nurses to their telephones and clipboards. Patel followed him over. He saw her approaching and held up a finger as he spoke to someone on his own cell phone. Patel looked around. A general panic was beginning to descend upon the place. Nurses shouted into phone receivers, uniformed security officers came rushing in and started peeking into every emergency treatment room.
Juan uttered a small curse and jammed his phone back into his pocket. Patel gave him an inquiring look. Juan shrugged.
“He’s gone.”
***
Toria beat Summ to the side of the cot. The yellow-haired man groaned again and tossed his arms. The frail cot creaked under his weight. Toria leaned over the man and was looking directly into his face when he opened his eyes.
“Blue,” she announced before being pulled away by her mother. “His eyes are blue.”
Mattus and Seeja looked at each other knowingly.
Summ made a hushing gesture and dipped the cloth back into the pail of water at the bedside, then cautiously dabbed at the man’s forehead. His eyes darted around the room several times as if trying to determine where he was. Mattus furtively felt for the hilt of the knife that was always stuck into the back of his waistband.
The man put both hands on the straw mattress and heaved himself into a sitting position. Summ backed away from him, the rag still dripping. The stranger looked around again, seeming to gather his wits. Then, he did a most unexpected thing: He smiled. Broadly.
Mattus stepped forward with Seeja directly behind him and a little to the left. They didn’t know it then, but Taggart recognized the maneuver as being military. The man in front would be the more formidable of the two, so he would be the primary defender should such action be required. The man behind him was off to the left so he would not interfere with the other defender who was undoubtedly right handed.
The Coastal Kingdoms of Olvion: Book Two of The Chronicles of Olvion Page 3