The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  Sane crowded closer as she spoke, her dreadful smile growing wider with each word. “You will accept no surrender from Hocsaros. You will take no prisoners in the hopes of using them as slaves or hostages. You will take the city and kill every man, woman, and child. Accomplish this, and I will add my strength to yours, setting you on the path toward true dominion.”

  Though taken aback by her bloodlust, her demands weren’t far afield from his own desires. The loss of slaves would hinder his reconstruction efforts, and he would miss the political capital hostages would give him in future battles against the tribes, but none of those losses would cripple his army.

  No, Eldinn sensed the goddess was building toward something more significant than wiping out a lone city’s population. He believed her when she said she wanted annihilation of her enemies. That was a concept he could understand.

  He stood to his feet, doing his best to not back away from her manic gaze. “And after I’ve done this for you?”

  “My servants will swell the ranks of your army, and I will endow you with my power. Together, we’ll sweep across Ulquiy, obliterating village after village, offering no quarter, no succor, no reprieve. The land will be free of Devoted filth. We’ll march on Parthiy and bring down that bulwark of hope, turning it into rubble and pushing it into the sea. Then our work will begin in earnest.”

  “What is there to do after we’ve destroyed Ulquiy?” Eldinn asked.

  “Then, little king,” Sane began to shiver with delight, “we turn our attention toward the Celadine.”

  Eldinn balked and took a step back. “The Celadine?”

  Sane closed the gap he’d opened between them, forcing his back against his table. “Because, little king, they too are Devoted and hated by my master. Their ilk must be rooted out and slaughtered.”

  “I have no argument with the elves and dwarves,” he told her. “They’re allies. We have trade agreements. We’ve never bothered them, nor they us.”

  Sane’s hand drifted to her sword again. She drew the blade a few inches and the lamplight dimmed again. Eldinn shivered in the sudden cold.

  “I give you no choice, little king. I will have your army, with or without you at its head.” Sane’s voice was low and tight. A putrid stench, the smell of death, filled his nostrils and he tried to back away.

  Trapped, Eldinn saw no alternative but to humor the woman. She was clearly powerful, a giant with some sort of magic sword at her disposal. Eldinn doubted she was the mythical Sane, but rather some crazed witch of some sort. Still, she could be a powerful ally. He would strike a bargain and trust his own shrewdness to manipulate her into serving his own wishes. Surely his wizards could negate her sword’s powers and render her little more than a freak easily dispatched with a well-aimed crossbow bolt.

  “Fine,” Eldinn feigned acceptance with slumped shoulders, “we have an agreement. I’ll do as you ask and leave no tribesman alive, not a single man, woman, or child. You will witness the power and resolve of the Emperor of Maehdras.”

  “I will be watching,” Sane smiled wickedly. “Succeed, and I will give you more power than a human has ever known. Fail, and I will mount your head on a pike for all to see.”

  Eldinn’s blood ran hot, but he forced himself to play the role of cowed minion. He bowed to the woman perfunctorily, a move which seemed to mollify her for the moment. She turned to leave, but Eldinn stopped her with a question.

  “What do I tell my guards when they see you leave?”

  “As you say, you’re the emperor,” her voice nipped at him with sarcasm. “What does it matter as long as they obey?” She paused and let a cruel smile etch her face. “I wouldn’t be concerned in any case.”

  “Why?” Eldinn was flustered.

  “Because,” the little dwarf growled, “I ate them.”

  51

  The Shrine

  Tenna awoke feeling more refreshed than she had in ages, even compared to the easy days before the dragon forced them from their home. Soft light filtered through the jungle canopy onto the floor of her room as the sound of the nearby river caressed her from slumber. It was well after dawn but not late enough for the heat of the day to start sapping the coolness from the air.

  “I hope this is the end of the road,” she said aloud to no one. “I’d gladly become an acolyte if it meant sleeping so comfortably every night.”

  She shook the thought from her head, knowing their journey was far from over. They’d only found two of the seven Swords so far. She knew her father would track them to the ends of the earth.

  Not one to mope over circumstances, Tenna rose and performed her morning necessaries. She bit her lip at the thought of taking another dip in the bath but decided she’d already spent too much of the morning abed. She chose the beautiful blue silk robe Pixie had laid out and found a matching belt and set of hair combs. Though she loved her long hair, is was nearly unmanageable in the heat and humidity of the jungle. She was happy to sweep her hair up and away from her neck with the combs.

  There were no boots or shoes to be found, and she recalled seeing none of the acolytes wearing any. Everyone went unshod whether inside or out so she shrugged her shoulders and followed suit. She padded across the room and pulled the door curtain open to reveal Y’neth waiting outside.

  “I thought I heard you moving around in there,” the blue-skinned woman said with a smile. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Oh, good morning,” Tenna said with some surprise. “I slept well, thank you. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

  “Not long at all. I came down once the men started complaining about breakfast. Karah refused to begin until you arrived.”

  Tenna flushed with embarrassment. “Oh no, you should’ve come for me earlier.”

  “Well, she also refused to disturb you,” Y’neth grinned. “I told you last night she said to sleep as long as you needed, and she’d not lightly break her word, even for something so trivial as a few minutes of sleep.”

  Y’neth motioned for Tenna to follow before sauntering down the hall. Tenna tried—without success—to keep from staring at the striking woman. The tann caught her looking and smiled, making Tenna blush again.

  “Don’t fret,” Y’neth said. “I’m used to being ogled. Such has been my lot since coming to live on the surface. My own people would stare at you if you could go down and live among them.”

  “Still,” Tenna held her hands up like a plea, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to offend.”

  Y’neth threw her head back and let loose a crystal clear laugh. “Oh, my dear girl, you’d have to go to great lengths to offend me. It’s far more likely I’d be the cause of offense than you.”

  Tenna smiled at the woman’s carefree demeanor and decided she liked her. The company of another woman was a welcome change from the dour company she’d been forced to keep since fleeing Madhebah. As wondrous as the Celadine stronghold had been, the atmosphere had been tense because of the yrch invasion. All these days later she recalled little more than the heightened state of alert they’d been forced to live under.

  Y’neth led her down the long corridors, passing scores of acolytes going about their business. Though she knew the Shrine was a temple dedicated to Onúl, it was unclear what was done here. She’d come to understand it served as a sanctuary for those in need like Pixie, but there were so many people who were always in motion What did they spend their days doing? Feeding the fish?

  They swept through an archway into an enormous indoor garden. The ceiling rose high overhead, leaving ample room for trees and climbing vines. Y’neth led her down a winding path between lush bushes and fragrant flowers. Colorful butterflies flitted back and forth among the blossoms. They passed a fish-filled pond where Y’neth leaned over to run a hand across the water as they passed. The fish played under her fingers as if greeting an old friend.

  “Finally!” Tenna heard Duras burst out as they emerged from the foliage. “Do you know how dangerous it is to keep a dwarf from his food? N
ow we’ll see if they serve a real meal in this place.”

  Tenna couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the brawny dwarf dressed in a red silken robe, his big hairy feet jutting out from under the hem. His battle axe still hung across his back as if he were worried it might be taken from him were he to set it aside for even a moment. She wondered if he bathed with the thing.

  Katalas tugged at the dwarf’s sleeve. “Sit down, Duras. Your bellowing won’t make the food arrive any faster.”

  “No,” a melodious voice rang through the garden, “but now that all our guests have arrived we can begin.”

  An elf woman dressed in resplendent white robes entered the garden from a nearby arch. Tenna doubted she’d ever seen anyone so regal. The woman carried herself with the grace common to her kind but with an added air of both joy and humility. Somehow Tenna knew this woman was ancient though not aged.

  A jungle tiger strode at her side, a giant beast larger than Mosu. She walked with a hand on the big cat’s neck, petting the majestic creature as one might an old companion.

  Taking her place at the head of the table, the woman spoke. “Welcome, Tenna, daughter of Zalas, to the Shrine. I am Karah, the High Keeper, and I bid you join us at the table.”

  Struck by the sudden formality, Tenna managed an awkward curtsy before taking a chair next to her father. He shook his head and pointed toward a pair of empty seats at the head of the table on either side of the High Keeper’s.

  “Come,” Y’neth called to her. “We ladies will keep company together as we dine.”

  Tenna was surprised to learn Y’neth was joining them. She thought the tann was only one of Karah’s retainers, but it seemed she was a guest as well.

  Once everyone was seated comfortably, Karah nodded and acolytes appeared with trays of food. They laid down mounds of fruit and bread, all of which drew grumbles from Duras. But then a boy brought out a steaming platter of peppered bacon piled as high as the fruit trays and the dwarf let out a whoop as it was set down at the men’s end of the table. It was soon empty and Tenna’s mouth started to water as the smell of it wafted down her way and she hoped more was soon to appear.

  “Y’neth, I invited your captain to join us but he declined,” Karah said. “He said his first duty was to ship and crew.”

  Y’neth’s smile was wide. “He’s a trustworthy man. A trait to be prized.”

  Karah caught and held the tann’s white-less eyes. Something unspoken passed between them but what it was Tenna had no idea. “Indeed,” the High Keeper nodded before turning her eyes back to her food.

  “Are one of these chair for him, lady?” Zalas waved a fork at the two empty chairs.

  “Yes,” Karah nodded, “and for another who will join us for dinner. We’ll hold council in the morning but for now I wish you to enjoy the peace of this sanctuary while you’re able.”

  When no more bacon appeared to be among the offerings, Tenna resorted to asking an acolyte to bring her some, along with poached eggs. Breakfast passed in pleasant conversation. The men bantered at their end of the table while Tenna spent most of her time listening to Karah and Y’neth, sitting in silent awe over the pair’s accumulated wisdom. Tenna felt out of her depth and sinking fast.

  Once the company had eaten their fill, Karah dismissed them and bade them to rest and explore the grounds, all except for Doulos and Tenna’s father. Those two she told to retrieve their Swords and join her in private. Y’neth informed Tenna she was off to try and persuade her captain—whoever he was—to join her for the day. Katalas and Duras went in search of Quist, leaving Tenna standing alone in the midst of the gardens.

  “My lady?” A soft voice made Tenna turn to find Pixie standing at her elbow.

  “Please,” Tenna held up a hand, “call me Tenna. I’m nobody special.”

  “It is not proper for the Unnamed to use the name of another,” Pixie said. “I’ll gain the privilege of speaking your name when I’ve earned my own.”

  Tenna shrugged in acceptance. “Do you have some time to show me around? It seems I’ve nothing else to do until dinner.”

  “I’m at your disposal, my lady,” Pixie said with a smile. “There is much here to fascinate you. Please follow me.”

  They walked through the garden, passing a pair of beautifully carved doors. Guards stood on either side, watching the girls with kind but intense eyes.

  “What’s through there?” Tenna asked.

  “The High Keeper’s private sanctuary,” Pixie answered. “It’s the only portion of the Shrine under guard. No one may enter without invitation, not even another Keeper.”

  Pixie led them through a maze of winding corridors until they exited out into the sprawling courtyard Tenna and her party had crossed the day before. White robed acolytes and Keepers in myriad colors moved down the soft gravel paths between buildings. Some carried satchels or bundles of materials, others strode empty handed.

  “What is it you do here?” Tenna asked. “I see so much busyness, but I’ve no idea what goes on here.”

  “We have diverse tasks,” Pixie said. “Most acolytes fill their days studying to become Named members of the community in addition to performing necessary housekeeping. As children we learn our letters, languages, history, arithmetic. We share meals together, practice our faith and learn its truths, and do our chores. Then, we use whatever time is left to play or pursue personal interests.”

  “What are you studying to be?”

  Pixie turned and pointed at a large, square building looming ahead. “I was taking you to show you. I’m working to become a scribe.”

  “What do scribes do?” Tenna asked.

  “Oh, many important things,” Pixie’s steps seemed to bounce as she walked. “We preserve the written word, creating fresh manuscripts of the scriptures and the histories. We also translate ancient and important scrolls from one language to another. Some scribes are librarians who catalog every scrap of the written word we find.”

  “How many languages do you know?”

  “All of them,” Pixie said.

  Tenna stopped on the path and stared at Pixie open-mouthed. “All of them?”

  “Yes,” Pixie said, then frowned. “Well, all but some of the dialects of northesk. I’m having trouble with the syllabic emphasis. And the nasty yrch tongue is never learned. Nor can I speak dragon, of course.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is a private language shared between their kind,” Pixie said. “I doubt a mammal could speak it properly in any case.”

  Pixie pulled Tenna along and they soon came to the door of the Scriptorium. The elf girl held a finger to her mouth and warned, “Don’t speak inside the Scriptorium unless I give you leave. We must be careful and not distract the scribes as they copy. Some documents are of such importance that if a single mistake is made, no matter how small, the scribe must start all over again.”

  Tenna swallowed hard and nodded. She couldn’t imagine the horror of working for weeks or months only to have it washed away by a momentary distraction.

  Pixie pulled on the heavy wooden door. It made a chuffing sound as it opened and an inrush of air causing their robes to swirl about their ankles. They stepped through into a small anteroom and Pixie closed the door firmly behind them. Tenna gasped as the little room went dark. She felt the other girl pass her by and pull open the interior door, letting light fill the air once more.

  The interior of the Scriptorium was nothing like Tenna expected. She’d envisioned scribes hunched over desks in dusty candlelit cells. Instead she discovered a wide open space filled with crystal clear light flowing from wide skylights overhead. Scribes did sit at desks but the place looked more like an artisan’s studio. Each worker sat at an angled table surrounded by hoppers filled with pens, inks, brushes, and paints.

  Pixie led her between rows of scribes, each scrivener copying text or producing beautiful works of art. One elf was illuminating a manuscript. Though the script was dwarven, Tenna recognized the scene, having read th
e same history at the Imperial Library in Madhebah. That copy had possessed an identical scene painted within but was hundreds of years old. Could this elf be the very same artist?

  As they moved through the room the complexity and beauty of the manuscripts became more simple. Scribes at the far end of the room performed base transcriptions from an old scroll to a new. Tenna noticed the scribes in this area were mostly younger, their white robes marking them as acolytes in contrast to the colored robes of their masters.

  Pixie turned back up another row, stopping about midway through the room at an empty desk. She leaned forward to whisper in Tenna’s ear.

  “This is my desk,” her hushed tone carried a certain amount of pride. Pixie leaned forward to unroll a scroll, clipping it to the edge of the desk to reveal a flow of neat elvish script. The lettering filled two-thirds of the page, leaving ample space for future illumination.

  “I’m almost done with this copy of the Shrine’s history,” Pixie said. “My scripting master—the elf I pointed out as we passed,—said he will personally adorn it if I can complete it without error. That’s often a sign an acolyte is ready to be Named. My hope is to become his apprentice and learn his art. He’s not taken an apprentice in over two hundred years.”

  The girl’s excitement was tangible and Tenna couldn’t help but smile at the joyous sound of hope. Hope had been in small supply lately.

  Pixie rolled the scroll up and stored it away with care. She motioned for Tenna to follow and led them away from her desk toward a door at the far end of the studio. They stepped through another dark anteroom into a warehouse filled with row upon row of shelves stacked with scrolls and books. Reading table were interspersed throughout the room, situated beneath the skylights. Scribes and Keepers sat at the tables making notes on spare scraps of parchment as they read from their chosen manuscripts.

  Pixie piloted them through another section filled with ancient records, shards of pottery, and massive slabs of stone. Some were being transcribed or rubbed onto paper by acolytes. A dwarf woman sat at one desk working on a broken vase, striving to piece it together with thin lines of white, sticky resin.