The shaman made his way toward Tobin just then. Tobin called out. “I was just thinking about you. I’m on my way to see Father.”
Nachun ducked his head and shook it, coming up close to whisper in Tobin’s ear. “Your father can wait. You need to see Odala.”
“What do you mean? I’m sure someone else can check in on her,” said Tobin, trying not to stutter.
“Don’t play coy with me. Your relationship with her is not a secret. Most of the camp has known for some time.”
Tobin tensed.
“Relax,” said Nachun. “You are Warleader. Not one of your men has an issue with your decision. And as your friend, I am happy that you’ve found someone.”
“I see.”
Nachun smiled. “Good. But you must go to her now. One of her guards came to me while searching for you. Something must have happened for she was crying hysterically.”
Tobin was ready to race toward her tent but Nachun gripped his arm, much tighter than he thought the thin shaman was capable of. “Remember who you are Tobin, and more importantly where you are,” said Nachun, casting his eyes about.
Tobin looked around and nodded. Nachun eased his hand away.
It would not be fitting for a Warleader to run after a crying woman under any circumstances. Compose yourself, Tobin.
* * *
Not bothering to announce himself, Tobin pushed his way through the tent flap. If everyone knows of our relationship, then what sense does it make for me to continue the charade?
Odala lay curled up in her bed hugging a pillow. She looked up sobbing with blood-shot eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked, ice in her voice.
Tobin saw a look of disdain in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in some time. He brushed the look off, and strode to her side, sitting on the edge of her bed. “One of the guards told Nachun you were upset. I came right away,” he said, draping his arms around her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, sitting upright and pushing him away.
Tobin leaned back in surprise, eyes widening. “What’s wrong, my love?”
“Liar. You don’t love me. It was just something you said to get what you wanted, to use me.”
“Will you tell me what is going on?”
“Bazraki has sent someone to kill my father.”
“Impossible. Where did you hear that?”
“Soyjid told me.”
“And how would your skinny little brother know such a thing?” asked Tobin through narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know, but I believe him. He is never wrong about these things. He said Bazraki sent messengers to my father this morning before the battle even started, one of whom was an assassin. When my father’s camp went to bed, he was going to sneak in and kill him for his failure in drawing away more of the Yellow Plain Clan’s army.”
“That’s ridiculous. There is no way Soyjid would know such a thing.”
“Go ask Bazraki and see for yourself.”
“He and I talked briefly about your father this morning and he gave me his word he would not do anything.”
“Then he is a liar. Just as you were when you promised me that you would save my father’s life.”
“Odala, listen to me.”
“No. Get out. I never want to see you again. Who do you think I am? Some common whore you can make empty promises to?”
Tobin started to speak again but saw that it was pointless. Odala rolled away from him and threw the covers over her head, sobbing once again.
* * *
Scowling, Tobin pushed his way past the guards as he exited Odala’s tent, nearly knocking one of the men over. He thought about talking to Soyjid about how he knew of Mawkuk’s fate, but decided it could wait. He needed to hear the truth from his father first. He set off toward Bazraki’s tent. Tobin’s mind was a maze of confusion as he tried to piece together the conflicting information. His father had told him that morning that they would discuss Mawkuk’s fate after the battle, and he would not act until then.
And what reason does Soyjid have to lie? But for that matter, what reason did Father have to lie to me?
“Warleader,” said Ufer, pulling in beside Tobin.
“Not now.”
“But it is something you should know….”
“Can it wait? I am on my way to see Bazraki,” said Tobin.
“It concerns Odala.”
Tobin stopped.
“She is upset, isn’t she?”
Tobin said nothing.
“She believes your father sent someone to kill Mawkuk?”
Still, Tobin remained silent.
“Her father lives Tobin, at least for now.”
Tobin worked his jaw, unsure how to respond. “How do you know all of this? Did my father send someone to kill Mawkuk?”
“Yes. A group of messengers was leaving this morning before the battle. They intended to sneak through the Yellow Clan’s ambushes and deliver a message to the Gray Clan. Among them was a young Kifzo that I trained myself. He was in disguise, which is why I grew suspicious. Bazraki was sending him to assassinate Mawkuk.”
Odala was telling the truth. How did Soyjid find this out? And why would Father lie to me? “Then it is only a matter of time until Mawkuk dies.”
Ufer shook his head. “No, Warleader. I removed him from the group and replaced him with someone else I instructed to protect Mawkuk.”
Tobin was taken aback. “You defied my father? Why?”
“Few have ever followed Bazraki. Surely you must know that,” said Ufer, pausing for a moment. “We learned long ago to let him believe what he must, but we know he is not the reason for the Blue Clan’s success. Your uncle was responsible for our training and so we followed him, then we followed Kaz, who led us. After today Tobin, there is not one among us who would follow anyone but you. We won today based upon your battle plans. You were the one to defeat Sunul in combat, not your father.” He paused again. “I know you have a relationship with Odala and therefore I assumed that you would frown upon her father being killed without your knowledge.”
“If Bazraki were to find out about this, he would kill you.”
Ufer shrugged. “The decision is yours. The Blue Clan is yours. We will do as you tell us.” Ufer turned and left Tobin standing in disbelief.
* * *
“I see that you decide to grace me with your presence only at the end of the day, when everyone else has been tended to first.” Bazraki began to speak before Tobin even had a chance to close the tent flap. The sound of his voice came as a surprise. Seeing his father at the back of the tent, standing ominously between the red coals of two braziers, caused him to forget his own fury for a moment.
“There is much to do after a battle, Father…”
“El Olam,” said his father in a hard tone.
Tobin clenched his jaw. Tobin chose not to acknowledge the comment and continued on. “I was tending to the wounded and prisoners, sending out scouts…”
“You were allowing the enemy to escape,” Bazraki shouted. “You should have pursued them.”
Tobin shook his head. “They were mounted. We would have had to give up superior position to do so and they would have run us down. We will finish them on better terms. They are weakened. We took over ten thousand captive and I estimate they lost almost twenty thousand more by our hands.”
“And how many did we lose?”
“Seven thousand.”
“That is too many of our own and not enough of theirs.”
“I did what you commanded of me. I brought you victory.”
“A hollow victory. You should have crushed them. And you would have, if you had not defied me once again. Yes, I was told that my plans were changed. The heavy cavalry were completely removed from battle.”
“Not removed, we had them approach from the opposite side of the stream to our left to take out their infantry before they joined the fray. They ensured the Yellow Clan could not rally their rearguard and mount a flanking attack.”
“You should have used them as a wedge, striking against their center, breaking them in half. Kaz would have listened to me. He wouldn’t have allowed them to escape. Now I will have to clean up your mess.”
Kaz would have been wrong. He was about ready to tell Bazraki as much when his father started to speak again.
“But that is not what I spoke of earlier when I meant I was the last to be attended to. My guards told me you first met with Nachun and then Odala. No doubt the shaman told you how distraught your little swamp whore was knowing her father’s death was imminent.”
Tobin barred his teeth. “She is not a whore. And regarding Mawkuk, you said you would not act until I spoke with you tonight.”
“And since when does a ruler answer to his warleader. You answer to me,” he yelled again before bringing his voice back down. “After you left my tent, I knew right away that Mawkuk must die, as a lesson to you. I never had to teach such lessons to Kaz. He would have never presumed as much as you do.”
“I am not Kaz, Father.”
“El Olam! Even now you defy me. This little whore of yours is clouding your mind.”
“You will refer to her by name,” said Tobin, tightening his fists.
Bazraki grunted. “So, you take her side over mine. Already, she handles you almost as deftly as Nachun does.”
“What?”
“He is the root cause of all of this. In Nubinya, I asked you to watch him, and to keep me informed of his doings. Yet, all I have gotten from you is pieces of useless information and nothing of value. And then I hear stories such as the one today, in which he set an entire battlefield aflame and it took dozens of our own shamans just to contain it.”
“He keeps the extent of his powers secret. As do most shamans.”
“No. Nachun is an enigma. He shows just enough for others to be wary, but never enough to gauge what he is capable of.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he has outlived his usefulness. He has given us enough and I dare not keep him around any longer. He is too dangerous and too arrogant, a deadly combination. And perhaps, after he is gone, you will realize how much he influences you.” He paused. “Of course, you will be the one who needs to dispose of him. He would never expect it from you.”
Tobin’s head spun. He had strode into camp with the intentions of giving his father an account of the day’s battle and garner his praise. But he had just learned how vile a man his father truly was.
He has lied to me, abused me, and belittled me at every turn, all the while praising Kaz for his monstrosities. And now he wants me to kill the person who has done everything in his power to help me. I will not allow it.
“No.”
His father laughed, taking Tobin off guard once again. “No? I expected as much from you,” said Bazraki, his smile turning into a look of disdain. “Still I thought to give you one last chance to prove yourself to me.”
“Prove myself? I have spent my entire life proving myself to you, Father. But it was never good enough for you. Nothing ever was.” Tobin spat.
Bazraki took two quick strides forward and raised a hand to strike his son. Tobin caught it and threw his father’s arm back down. “I told you that you would never strike me again,” said Tobin seething.
“Your brother would never dare such a thing. When he returns, he will be Warleader once more. Until then, I will lead the armies.”
Now it was Tobin’s turn to laugh. “You don’t understand, do you? You are nothing to them. The army is mine and mine alone. The assassination on Mawkuk has already been stopped. That’s right. You think you lead. They would rather kill you first then to be led into slaughter. They know you are nothing on the field. Your plans for today were pathetic. We would have all died had I been stupid enough to follow them. I am done begging for your recognition. I don’t need it. I have my men. I have my woman. And I have a friend in Nachun. All of them have done more for me than you ever have.”
“Kaz would…
Tobin grabbed his father’s throat, pulled him close and whispered. “Kaz is dead, Father.” Tobin’s blade slid into Bazraki’s side as he drew him tighter. “I know because I watched Nachun do it.” His father tried to struggle then and Tobin twisted the blade. “And I helped him hide it from you.”
Tobin held Bazraki close until he felt the life leave him. Then his father’s body slid to the floor with a soft thud. He stood over his father for some time, staring at his blood-soaked torso. He blinked away his daze as the celebratory music reached his ears once again. He looked at the knife still in his hands and expected to feel depressed or perhaps even overjoyed. But he felt nothing.
For that is what he was to me in the end.
Tobin wiped the blade on the front of his father’s vest but kept the dagger in hand as he walked outside, unsure what he might find.
Ufer said that they were mine but it is one thing to say those words, another to mean it.
His mind relaxed upon exiting the tent. No one stood watch. In the place of Bazraki’s personal guards, Tobin noticed spots of blood, and marks in the dirt from bodies being dragged away. Tobin looked up. At a nearby fire, his officers stared back at him. They greeted him with a simple nod or inclination of the head.
They know. They understand. And they approve.
A small space cleared near the flame, a place where his father would have sat. He sheathed his dagger and moved to the place of honor. Sitting, he looked across the dancing flames and met Nachun’s gaze, dark eyes peeking through a hooded silhouette. His friend gave him a smile. The shaman bowed his head and Tobin nodded in return.
He saw Ufer as well, which reminded him that he had yet to bring news to Odala that her father would live. He thought about getting up, but he dismissed the idea.
No. This is my place tonight. With my people. My clan. And tonight nothing else matters.
* * *
He watched Tobin emerge from Bazraki’s tent, face lined with a hardness he hadn’t seen before, bloody hand clenched tight around a clean dagger.
He did it.
Tobin met the eyes of the men who acknowledged their Warleader with a sign of respect.
The Warleader walked around his men and took the seat where Bazraki would have been positioned. Only after settling down did it seem that things clicked into place inside Tobin’s mind. Tobin looked across the blazing fire and met his eyes. Victory.
Victory for us both, my friend. Sacrynon’s Sceptor will be mine again.
From beneath the red hood of the High Mage’s robes, Nareash smiled.
To read Steel and Sorrow: Book Two of the Blood and Tears Trilogy, click here.
Thank you for reading my story. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a rating or review at the site of purchase as well as other places such as Goodreads and Librarything. Like many other indie authors, I do not have a marketing team working for me and a positive review (even if only a couple of sentences long) can go a long way in enticing others to give my works a try.
Thanks again for your support.
Joshua P. Simon
About the Author
Unlike most authors, Joshua did not immerse himself into the world of books as a child. After finishing graduate school, he quickly made up for lost time by buying and devouring countless graphic novels. Remembering his love of the original Conan movies, he moved on to the fantasy genre with the compilations of Robert E. Howard. He was hooked.
Since then, he has moved on to other authors such as Glen Cook, Joe Abercrombie, George R.R. Martin, Steven Erikson, Paul Kearney, Steven Brust, Peter V. Brett, Patrick Rothfuss and many more.
Joshua was inspired to write and create his own fantasy world after reading Glen Cook’s Black Company series. Thanks to a vivid imagination, he soon found himself with more ideas than he knew what to do with. After some prompting by his wife, he took the plunge.
When not writing, Joshua lives a life devoted to God and spends time with his beautiful family. He is employed
as an accountant.
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Excerpt of Walk Through Fire - A Blood and Tears Prequel Novella
Prologue
Stepping off the ship and walking down the cluttered streets of Mudhole Bay had felt like entering a new world. Jonrell and his best friend, Cassus, tried to acclimate themselves to the rough way people behaved and the broken speech patterns of the grime-covered town. Yet, even after a change of clothes, they could not shake the mark of being outsiders.
Stares from the locals followed them wherever they looked for work.
Jonrell noticed Cassus nervously eyeing the passersby, his thick black hair bouncing with each swing of his head. “Wishing you would have stayed behind?” he asked.
“The thought had crossed my mind.” A fight broke out in the middle of the street and they skirted around the altercation. “High Mage Amcaro always told us the world was much different outside of Cadonia. I just never realized how different.”
“It’s not too late to turn back, you know?”
“Are you going back?”
Jonrell shook his head. “Not while my father lives.”
“Then neither am I.”
Jonrell pointed at a tavern up the street. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”
They stumbled into The Orchid, assuming from the name it was a relatively reserved place. Within minutes after sitting at the bar, Jonrell learned that the worst of the worst frequented the bar—many taking issue with new arrivals.
Three men approached them and Jonrell knew there would be trouble. He tried to smooth things over by offering them drinks. But the men wanted more than a drink.
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 54