The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  “That was too close,” Karah whispered to Doulos. “If we’d lost Tander, we might have lost all. Has the Deceiver found us already?”

  Doulos shook his head. “I don’t think so. This canyon is Tkeleth’s home territory. My guess is Kel crossed her path and she knew a blinkswift would lead her back to someone—the bird’s not native to the area. She could have caught him if she wanted.”

  “But won’t the Huwm know we’re here as soon as that dragon gets away?”

  “That’s why he’s fighting to hold her down,” Doulos said. “He won’t kill her but he’ll wound her badly enough it will take her days to recover. We’ll be able to make it to the open ocean before she can fly again.”

  “Where’d Mahir come from anyway?” Zalas asked. “Has he been following us?”

  “Mahir has guarded the Shrine since Xigara’s time,” Karah said. “He’s been keeping an eye on us since we departed.”

  “That’s good to know,” Zalas nodded.

  A triumphant roar spit the air as Mahir flew overhead. Tattered, he dripped water and blood into the river below, his usually bright hide cloudy and dull. He flew onward and disappeared around a curve in the canyon’s path.

  Stile came down from the quarterdeck. “Thanks for saving my ship, wizard.”

  “How long until repairs can be made?” Doulos asked.

  “I learned my lesson after that storm off Tower Island,” Stile assessed the damage. “We’ve got extra sail and rigging and there’s spare masts lashed against the rail. Once we get past the canyon we can drop anchor along the riverbank and take a day for repairs, maybe less. There’s a forest ahead, so we might take the time to cut some new spares.”

  “Good,” Doulos nodded. “We’ll all lend a hand to help the work get done faster.”

  A sputtering cough sounded from the port side of the ship. They turned to see a hand come over the ship’s waist, followed by another. Katalas drew his sword and peered over the side. A huge smile split his face and he sheathed his sword to reach a hand over the side. He pulled hard and the form of a muscular elf came over the side to stand dripping on the deck.

  “Quist!” Zalas exclaimed. “You’re alive.”

  “Yes,” the elf’s voice was weak. “I jumped clear just as Tkeleth’s fireball hit the nest.” The elf tottered and Katalas struggled to hold him upright.

  “Captain Stile?” Quist managed to croak.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to take you up on your offer of a bed.”

  63

  The Baqar Ocean

  A feeling of relief washed over the crew as the ship slipped into the open waters of the ocean. They shipped the oars and swarmed up on deck to set the new sails to capture the wind. Stile allowed himself a satisfied smile as the ship leaped forward like a cat after its prey.

  Water sprayed up onto the forecastle as they cut through the waves and it wasn’t long before a few of the passengers and newer crew members started feeling seasick. Stile grinned as he watched them line up along the ship’s port side railing to release the breakfast they’d eaten only a few hours before.

  Tenna stood at the end of that line, getting as far upwind from the others as possible. She felt a hand brush along her back and a tingling rushed through her veins like a wildfire. She gasped for air as the shock of it rolled through her body and her nausea melted away. The earth stopped its unending sway and but for an empty stomach, and a dreadful taste in her mouth, the sickness was gone.

  When she stood up she saw Doulos walking down the line of sufferers, his hand sliding across their bent backs. He healed them one by one and their faces bloomed in grateful relief. Each of them offered sincere thanks to the wizard, then moved off to clean up and see to their responsibilities.

  Doulos held his smile until he was left alone, then reached out to steady himself against the rail as sudden weakness threatened to send him to his knees. Still recovering from his battle with Tkeleth, he was forced to sit down on one of the new spare masts. He leaned back against the rail and closed his eyes.

  Tenna went and drew two helpings of fresh water from the barrel. She gulped one down to clear her mouth then refilled it before striding back over to offer Doulos the other battered tin mug.

  “Water?” she said.

  His eyes fluttered open and he took the water with a smile. “Thanks, girl.”

  “I should be thanking you for taking the heaves away,” she said. “It looks like that bit of magic sapped what little strength you had.”

  “I’ll be fine with some rest.”

  “We were all concerned you know,” Tenna said. “You were in bed for more than two days.”

  Doulos nodded. “I’ve used a great deal of magic over the last few weeks, more than I’ve had to use for centuries. This old body is having a hard time keeping pace. Battling the dragon and putting the fire out was tiring enough, but healing Tander, Quist, and that bird took what little I had left. If I’d been forced to heal the boy without the aid of his medallion it might have burned me out for good.”

  “How are they? Every time I go down they’re fast asleep.”

  “I’ve kept them that way, except when they need to eat and take care of necessities. The body heals faster at rest. I’m confident they’ll both be on their feet tomorrow and in full health by the time we reach Parthiy.”

  “And you?” Tenna asked pointedly.

  “Yes, me as well, if I can refrain from further magic.”

  “Then don’t waste it on taking away sea sickness,” Tenna laughed.

  Doulos cocked an eyebrow at her. “It’s never a waste to take away pain and suffering, child.”

  “It is if you’re too worn out to defend us against another dragon because you’ve been healing stubbed toes and runny noses.”

  “Point taken,” the old man chuckled, “but at least sea sickness won’t be a problem anymore.”

  “How so?” Tenna asked.

  “Because it’s gone. You and the others will never suffer its effects again.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I can’t,” he said, “but the power I’ve been granted can.”

  Tenna sat back and sipped her water, mulling over the wizard’s words. Questions had been tumbling at the back of mind for days—questions demanding answers.

  “What did you mean the other day when you called the Snake shaman’s power unnatural?” she asked. “You spat the word out like it was a curse.”

  “And you’re wondering what makes my power different?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember when I told you that mortal access to magic is a twisting of creation?” Doulos asked.

  Tenna nodded.

  “Once you understand that basic idea, it simply a matter of defining terms. There may be little difference in the magic’s results, but the means can differ significantly. Magic granted by a higher power is called bestowed magic. Mine was bestowed by Da’ath. There are others who’ve been given power by either an Azur or a Huwm. Even the Swords we seek are a kind of bestowed magic, talismans imbued with power by Onúl.

  “There are other types of magic. Dragons, for instance, are born with innate powers—healing, the power to change their shape—and each of them have at least one ability unique to them. There’s also natural sorcery but it’s hard to master and greatly limited. A sorcerer borrows life-forces to accomplish work, or coaxes those life-forces into doing their bidding. The elves on Nesos use a form of sorcery to shape their dwellings out of living trees. There are dwarven smiths who use sorcery to create fabulous metalworks. All such methods take enormous time and concentration.”

  Doulos rubbed his eyes. “What’s troubling about this shaman is the rumors surrounding his power. Clan shamans are often practitioners of sorcery, but some few are born with small measures of power. Such inbred magic is unpredictable, often manifesting itself in the form of dreams and visions. Some shamans have heightened empathy or intuition. I’m sure you can see how such powers would be of ben
efit to their clan’s chieftains.”

  “So you used the word unnatural because you think his power is from an Evil One and not sorcery,” Tenna said.

  “Yes,” Doulos nodded, “though there are other possibilities just as evil. It could be nether magic granted by a minor demon, or the shaman himself could be possessed.”

  “Possessed?” Tenna’s head snapped toward the wizard.

  “Yes,” the wizard looked down, sadness plain on his face. “It’s possible this shaman is an innocent victim possessed by a spirit, or possibly one of the Huwm themselves. An abomination.”

  Tenna pushed herself to her feet. “Where does it end, Doulos? I knew the world wasn’t perfect but I never imagined the evil things I’ve learned about or seen myself. How can we win against beings willing to do such things?”

  The wizard stood and laid a fatherly hand on Tenna’s arm. “We’re doing what we must. Onúl has provided the weapons we need to defeat the Huwm, but even if we defeat them the battle will not be over. Mortal hearts must change and they are easily led astray. The world needs people who will allow Onúl to work through them to lead others out of darkness into the light. People like you, Tenna.”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” Tenna shook her head. “I don’t know where to start.”

  “You already have, child. You already have.”

  Tander and Quist sat up in bed late the next morning enjoying their first full meal since the dragon’s attack. Their plates were piled high and Tenna was afraid they’d make themselves sick, but Doulos seemed pleased as they watched the mounds of food disappear down their throats.

  Gaunt and subdued, Tander looked older. His eyes belong to that of someone who had seen far too much and wished it could be unseen. It wasn’t only the attack and Kel’s near-death, Tenna knew, but everything the boy had been through so far catching up to him. Tenna hoped the effects of this latest ordeal would fade as Kel grew stronger.

  “It was nothing like I’ve ever felt before,” Tander told her. “Kel’s fear was what hit me first and it was overwhelming. Then he blinked out, like he had with the duck. The shock was worse because of how intense his fear made the bond. I tried to let go, but I couldn’t. We were locked together and he wanted nothing more than to get back to me, to be safe.”

  “You’ll gain control over time,” Quist said between mouthfuls. “Enough that you’ll be able to shut out or dampen those feelings.”

  “Katalas said as much,” Tander nodded, “but he also said he’s never seen a bond grow so strong so fast. Since I’m not an elf, the bond may work differently.”

  “I doubt the differences are significant,” Quist said. “A bird’s mind is quite alien to any mammal. Your minds will find balance in time, but until they do, you’ll each unconsciously strive to dominate one another.”

  “How long until he can fly again?” Tenna asked.

  “I think he could fly now,” Tander said, “but he’s skittish. I can’t tell if he’s afraid of another attack, or if it’s because of all the water. I’ll take him up on deck and see if he’ll at least fly between the yardarms.”

  “Take it slowly, boy,” Doulos said. “We need to be ready for whatever awaits us in Parthiy and your health is tied to that bird’s. Don’t push him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tander said around a mouth stuffed with food. He stopped in mid-chew to mumble incoherently.

  “What?” Doulos frowned.

  Tander swallowed hard and took a swig of water. “I’ve had a question in my head for days,” he said. “If the Deceiver knew there was a Sword on Tower Island, and that he needs to keep it from us, why didn’t he just go get it himself?”

  Doulos raised his eyebrows. “Well, well, a bard who knows how to ask the right questions, that’s a good quality for an aspiring historian.”

  The boy’s face flushed and he looked away. Then he realized the wizard wasn’t taunting him, that his words were sincere. Tenna’s smile helped a bit as well.

  “The Swords are holy,” Doulos said. “The Huwm can’t bear to touch them and even the fallen dragons would have difficulty holding a Sword for long. Unwitting surrogates are necessary.”

  “What about a mortal with evil intent?” Tenna asked.

  “They would find it an uncomfortable experience,” Doulos said, “but since the Swords were crafted for mortal hands they might be able to handle a one for short periods, for all the good it would do them.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tander leaned forward.

  “Each of the Swords are imbued with an attribute reflective of the nature and character of Onúl. Ehrler, is the Sword of Truth. Anyone holding or pierced by Ehrler cannot help but speak the truth. The wielder also sees things with absolute clarity. When I hold Ehrler, I can pierce directly to the heart of a matter. I cannot be lied to because the sword allows me to identify untruth when I hear it.”

  “What about the stolen sword, Dilkah?” asked Tenna.

  “Dilkah is the Sword of Purity. So, whoever is in possession of it now likely feels the urge to do the right thing every time they hold it. They will find themselves incapable of evil intent, impure thoughts, or ulterior motives. Dilkah spurs its wielder to stand against any and all wrongdoing.

  “Our thief having a crisis of conscience is likely our best hope of retrieving Dilkah.”

  “So in a way,” Tander said, “the sword will help the rightful owner find it.”

  “As long as whoever has the sword holds it rather than hides it,” Doulos said. “If they hide it away, it could be centuries before it’s revealed again, if ever. Thankfully, the Huwm will likely encourage their minions to strive for mastery rather than discretion, so I think we can count on the wielder openly displaying the sword at some point.

  “We just need to be nearby when they do.”

  64

  Ulquiy

  Eldinn despised the night.

  Not the darkness of night but nighttime itself—and the necessity of sleep all mankind seemed to suffer under. He’d lost the need for sleep after Sane had changed him but took to his cot each night out of life-long habit. After the attempt on his life he had removed his cot from his tent.

  It was then he learned the curse of sleeplessness.

  During the daylight hours, his army was either on the move or waging an offensive battle against the enemy. Daytime was filled with activity, with purpose, even if only the simple acts of eating and drinking. But when night came, barring a surprise raid by foolish clansmen, his army’s weakness was displayed as they wasted hours in useless sleep.

  Doing nothing. Thinking nothing. Contributing nothing.

  Worth nothing.

  There was not a soul worth talking to in the dark hours. Even his respected generals needed sleep and they were the only men in his army with any intelligence. Ordering them to keep the night watches with him would only be a detriment to victory.

  Now even those men, his chosen leaders, cowered in fear in his presence. None of them dared speak their minds any longer.

  Who would have guessed becoming a god would have a boring side?

  He surrounded himself with books and reports in the hopes of occupying his mind but found himself unable to focus on mundane things like words when there were enemies to crush.

  Then he’d tried distracting himself through the long nights with women captured from the conquered natives but he soon grew bored of their attentions. He also hated the mess when he lost control of himself.

  So walking through his army at night became his habit.

  A foolish man would have given in to his impulses. His flesh told him to take up his sword and spend the night raiding villages single-handedly. His heart told him to rain down fear and death on those who dared to oppose him.

  Eldinn was not a fool. Despite his gifts from Sane, he knew even a god could die if his head were removed from his shoulders.

  He found himself this night standing on the eastern edge of the encampment. A small creek was all that separated h
is army from the first true resistance they had faced since entering Ulquiy—warriors from the Fish and Horse clans. He’d been surprised at the scarcity of any true opposition. Something was keeping the jelefe from calling up the clans and mounting an organized defense. The clans had been left to fend for themselves.

  He watched their fires glow in the night. There was no doubt they would clash on the morrow. He’d ensured it.

  Representatives from the clans had requested parley at dawn and he’d received them, listening to their pleas for peace with feigned patience. His servants brought the best wine and he assured them he was only interested in peace and justice across the whole of the land.

  “If it is peace you desire, then why do you invade our lands?” the Horse clan proxy had asked.

  “Because,” Eldinn had replied, “there can be no peace until all who follow Onúl are dead.”

  He’d drawn his sword and lopped off their heads before they could react. The heads were stuffed in bags of manure and sent back to their camp.

  The enemy’s outrage was heard miles away.

  A grim smile played across his face at the memory. He turned to walk back to his tent and found his way blocked by the albino dwarf. He shuddered as he caught sight of her bloody teeth glistening in the moonlight. A manic grin split her ugly face.

  “Dar,” he tried to sound calm. “Your mistress has returned?”

  Dar spun and walked away, leaving Eldinn little choice but to follow. She led him on a circuitous route through the camp, kicking at tents as she went, knocking them down upon sleeping soldiers. Her ruckus made the soldier grab at swords believing the camp was under attack.

  Eldinn found himself smiling at his men’s discomfort, despite his hatred for the little dwarf.

  The guards watched in fear as they approached, their eyes on Dar and wide with fear. They knew who she was and what had happened to the guards during her last visit. She came to a stop a few feet from the tent then looked up at one of the guards. Then she licked her lips.