Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Look,” Persephone told her. “There’s no reason we all need to set out. Suri and Arion are the only ones with a part to play.” She thought a moment. “And I will have to go, too, of course.”

  “Why you?”

  “I’m the chieftain. What sort of leader would I be if I didn’t lead my troops into battle?” She nodded, mostly to herself, her lips firm on the subject. Most of Reglan’s battles had occurred before they were married, before she was even born. But there had once been a dispute with Nadak, which she remembered. Reglan had taken down his spear and shield and marched out the gate at the head of more than sixty men, all in war paint. Forty-three returned, and Nadak never challenged the might of Rhen again. They said Reglan had led the charge and had slain the first man with a masterful thrust of his spear. The story was told many times in the lodge. Persephone never thought to ask her husband if he’d been frightened the night before. At the time, they’d only been recently married, and Reglan had yet to discover his wife was worthy of any serious conversation. She seemed to remember him lingering in the Great Hall that evening even after the other men had left. He had come to bed late, waking her when he did. He kissed her on the head—yes, she remembered that. Such a strange thing, she had thought back then. Not so strange anymore.

  Another knock sounded. Before Persephone could say anything, Moya entered with Roan in tow. “Why is it so cold?”

  “Stone sucks the heat,” Brin said.

  “Something sure sucks,” Moya grumbled.

  “Seph is going to leave us here and go with Arion and Suri,” Brin announced.

  “Like Tetlin’s malformed ass, she is,” Moya replied, making Brin laugh.

  The girl saw Persephone scowl and stopped with a guilty look.

  “She’s right. You’re all staying here,” Persephone said.

  “I’m not.” There wasn’t any jest in Moya’s words this time. No attempt at bravado. She was serious. “I go where you go. Especially when facing a demon, whatever that really means.”

  Her hand slipped down to the handle of her little sword. The weapon was always at her side, attached to the thick leather belt that hung off one hip in a manner Persephone thought provocative. Moya could wear a grain sack and look seductive, but the low-slung belt drew attention to her hips, and the unseemly weapon declared her wild ways. Any man would be titillated by such a woman. That had been the point, Persephone thought. Moya lived to break rules, to rebel and seduce. She had flirted with the Fhrey as one more taboo, one more conquest, and the sword was a trophy.

  “I don’t think a sword will help against a demon,” Persephone said. “There’s no reason to risk your life.”

  “What about you? You don’t even have a sword. Why are you going?”

  “It’s my responsibility as chieftain.”

  “And it’s my responsibility as Shield to the chieftain.”

  “Shield? Who said anything about being a Shield?”

  “I’m here to protect you, and I’m the only one with a weapon.” She made a show of looking around. “You see someone else volunteering for the position?”

  Persephone grew frustrated. Moya was being ridiculous. “You can’t be a Shield, Moya. You’re a woman, and not even a big one. How do you expect to defend me? This isn’t a game. People could die. Be serious for once.”

  Moya looked as if she’d been slapped. Then her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. “You’re a woman, too, Seph. Did you ever hear me say you couldn’t be chieftain?”

  “It’s not the same thing and you know it.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  “Because I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.”

  Moya’s hand came off the pommel of her sword and fell limp at her side. She stood staring at Persephone for a long moment, breathing hard, pursing her lips. Then slowly she began to nod. “Okay…sure, so I’m not the best warrior in the world. You’re right. How could I be? I’ve only been training for a few weeks, and I am a woman. And everyone knows women can’t fight, right?”

  Persephone didn’t answer.

  “Right.” Moya nodded again, taking silence for a reply. “So what you’re saying is that…that…I’m good for nothing.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Yes, it is. You might not mean it that way exactly, and you’d never say those words because you’re too nice, but that’s the truth of it.” She looked down at her feet. “You don’t think I know? You think I don’t hear what people say about me? Of course I do. It’s why no one really protested when Konniger ordered me to marry The Stump. Because the whole dahl thinks I’m some kind of whore.”

  “No one has ever said—”

  “They don’t have to.” Moya looked back up, her eyes glassy, her lower lip quivering. A tear slipped down and she pushed it away in anger. “But you know what, Seph? You’re right. I’m not a man. I’m not six feet tall, and I can’t lift you with one arm. I honestly don’t even know…if it came right down to it…if I could really kill someone. But I know this…” She paused and sniffled. “I’d die for you, Seph. I’d throw myself in front of a sword, a spear, or the gaping mouth of a demon to protect you. And I wouldn’t even think twice, because, as we all know, I can’t think. I’m not a genius like Roan or a Keeper like Brin. I’m not a mystic or magician. All I can do—all I’m good for—is to put myself between you and harm. But isn’t that what a Shield is? A shield? I might not be able to use a sword like Raithe, and I might not be able to wrestle even as well as Habet, but dammit, Seph, no one would fight harder to protect you. No one.”

  Tears were coursing down her cheeks by then, but Persephone had her own to contend with. So did Brin. Roan was the only one with dry cheeks. She had wandered over to the desk and the wall of hammers.

  Persephone leapt off the bed and threw her arms around Moya and squeezed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re my Shield.”

  “I’m coming, too,” Brin declared through sniffles. “I’m Keeper. I have to witness, just like at the council meetings. That’s why I came, isn’t it?”

  Persephone frowned, but nodded.

  Roan was bent over, opening the drawers of the desk and rummaging through their contents.

  Moya crossed the room and slammed a drawer closed. “And dear Mari, we can’t leave Roan here alone. If I left a pair of shoes with Gronbach, I wouldn’t expect to find both when I got back. There’s something shifty and insincere about that Dherg.”

  “I guess everyone comes then,” Persephone said. “Unless Minna chooses to stay.”

  “Doubt it,” Moya said. “That wolf is crazy.”

  —

  Suri stood near the window, looking out at the vast white of the morning fog. She didn’t like being inside. The little people’s stone room was better than the hut of dead trees back in Dahl Rhen, and the door wasn’t bolted. That helped. She’d checked and managed to leave it open a crack, but still she missed the sun and wind. Minna felt the same way. The wolf lay with her head between her forepaws, looking up with forlorn eyes as if to say, Do you really want to go through with this? Suri didn’t have an answer, and so she stared out the window to avoid the conversation. Minna knew what Suri was doing. The wolf always did, and Suri felt lupine eyes burning into her back.

  So much had changed, and little of it for the better. This time last year she was likely swimming in the blue lake, where the falcons flew, or lying on her back in the wildflower beds of the hidden meadow. Midsummers were the best. She and Minna enjoyed exploring the Crescent Forest or naming clouds while chewing on stalks of grass.

  Now, they were in a cold, dark room—far, far from home. Suri tried to pretend this was an adventure—a truly grand one. That was true, but just as a plant might enjoy swaying far to the right or left with a breeze, it was another thing entirely to be torn out by the roots. Suri felt disconnected from her home and didn’t know why she had agreed to come. She was feeling sorry for Persephone, and irritated with Arion, wanting to push back. But there was more to it
than that.

  Why did I stay? Why didn’t I leave the dahl after everything had settled down? She had planned to return to the Hawthorn Glen after Grin the Brown died. No reason not to.

  Sitting in the Dherg’s cold room, she imagined herself walking back from the dahl to her home, past the strawberry bushes and across the little creek. She would have used the four stones as a bridge, but Minna never did. On the far bank, she would pass the scorched mound. By then, more grass and flowers would have grown, helping to hide the burn marks of that circle, the place where Suri had said her final goodbye to Tura. Even if the forest had erased the evidence, Suri would remember. The Hawthorn Glen—that happy place of her youth—was empty. The trees were still there, the lake, the meadow, the birds and bees, but the heart had been burned to ash.

  Because my home isn’t where I left it.

  Tura had always just been the Old Woman. For a time, Suri had hated her and spent a week alone in the forest as a grand act of defiance, a statement of independence. The Old Woman wasn’t her mother and had no right to make demands. She believed the forest would be a better place if Tura left. Suri never thought the Old Woman would leave the way she did. She also didn’t expect Tura’s absence would leave such a hole. Suri’s home was just a place now—a nice place, to be sure—but only a place, and one haunted by the laughter of a once carefree girl and the warmth of an Old Woman. The hole within her still ached, but Suri had discovered, with more than a little surprise, that being with Persephone and Arion took away some of the pain. They were only strangers—Arion being very strange indeed—but Tura had been only an old woman. Funny how things that shouldn’t matter actually meant so much and how things as permanent as homes moved.

  Arion woke not long after the light from the window reached the bed. Her deep, regular breaths quieted. Then she shifted, rolled her head, and finally opened her eyes. She peered at Suri, squinting, and then rubbed her face and pushed up on one elbow. She stayed like that for several minutes, staring at the floor.

  “How do you feel?” Suri asked, speaking in Rhunic to help Arion learn.

  Arion bobbed her head. “Very better. That boat and I don’t agree. I fear the return trip.”

  Suri felt it was too early in the day to correct Arion and merely looked back out the window.

  Arion sat up, stuffing the two pillows behind her back. Shifting to Fhrey, she asked, “Have you practiced the gathering chant? The finger movements?”

  “You said those weren’t necessary.”

  “True, but they help. Sometimes it can be difficult to concentrate. Faced with so many possibilities, it’s difficult to choose. Chants can help you center, break through the confusion, and focus your mind on the task.”

  “Focus wasn’t my problem. I focused just fine. That part was easy.”

  “Might need it this time.”

  Suri didn’t reply. She peered out at the fog, which was finally thinning. She hoped to see trees, but the gray shapes in the cloud were straight, sharp, and angular.

  “You should practice,” Arion said in Rhunic, perhaps because it would be hypocritical to do otherwise.

  “I’m afraid. I thought we were going to catch and move a giant, but Gronbach said it was a demon. What do we do with a demon? Will it need to be killed like the little men keep saying? Will I have to crush it, like I did Rapnagar? And what if I mess up again? What if I crush Persephone, or you, or Minna?”

  Minna whimpered and looked at Suri, head tilted. Suri scratched behind the wolf’s ears.

  “I don’t think it’s a demon,” Arion said. “I’m not sure demons even exist. But that’s all the more reason for you to train. Ferrol knows what we’re going to be running into. The dwarfs certainly made it sound dire. But I’m sure there is a way to solve this problem without resorting to killing. It’s the option of last resort. That’s what people like Nyphron don’t understand. The Instarya’s first impulse is to kill and destroy. But there are better ways. We both feel bad about Rapnagar. If we can take care of Balgargarath without killing, maybe we won’t feel so guilty.”

  Suri did feel guilty. Originally, she had blamed Arion for the giant’s death, feeling angry for being called upon before she was ready. She even tried blaming Rapnagar for a time. He—and the people who’d hired him—had set the forest on fire, which made the trees scream so loudly it threatened to tear her heart open. What kind of creature would do such a thing? Didn’t he deserve to die for the death and pain he inflicted? She hated him. He was evil and needed to die. But afterwards…she didn’t feel the same. Afterwards, she hated herself and didn’t know why. It didn’t make sense, or maybe she didn’t want it to. Most of all, she tried not to think about it.

  “I’m just not sure I’ll be able to.” Suri looked up at the Fhrey. “If I fail, will you—” She stopped when she saw the fear on Arion’s face.

  Suri remembered how the Miralyith had looked in the darkened cell, her face terrified in the glowing green light. Finally, she knew why.

  “You’ll die if you do,” she said aloud, realizing in that instant it was true. “Every time you use magic, it hurts. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? That’s why you’re scared. You think that the next time, or the one after that, whatever is wrong with you will be pushed too far. That’s why you need to teach me, because you can’t use the Art anymore.”

  “Maybe,” Arion said. “I don’t know. But you’re right; it’s getting worse.” She sat up and clutched her knees, staring at her toes with a faraway focus. “Was so bad the last time, I thought I might die. My head feels…” She struggled for the word. “Plugged, like the power is trapped…it fills, builds, and hurts. Feels like it might—” She made a bursting gesture with her fingers and a silly pfft sound with her lips like a failed whistle. “Maybe in time it could heal. Maybe.”

  Suri looked down at her own hands and felt her stomach sink. “I’m afraid I did want to kill Rapnagar. I was angry…hated him for what he and his kind did. But I didn’t plan it. I didn’t mean to. I…I don’t know. It just happened.”

  “The power listens to your will, but yes, it must be your will. You were angry, hurt, scared, and didn’t know what to do. It’s difficult to control feelings and emotion.”

  Suri nodded. “Still, I feel bad, even though Rapnagar was trying to kill us.”

  Arion frowned with sympathy. “Why do you think that is?” She asked as if she already knew the answer.

  “I don’t know,” Suri replied, hoping Arion would tell her.

  “Maybe the Art is telling you something.”

  “Are you saying Rapnagar wasn’t evil?”

  “I’m saying that perhaps it is killing without need that is evil.”

  Suri continued to look down at her hands. She didn’t like that idea at all. There had been no need to kill Rapnagar.

  “But what if…what if it happens again? Frost said if we met Balgargarath, we would want to kill it. I don’t want to kill anything. But if it is a demon, if I’m angry or frightened…maybe I’ll do it again. I don’t want that. I’m…I’m scared, scared of what I’ll do or what I won’t.”

  “I know.” Arion leaned toward her. “But I promise that the training will help. The best way to face your fear of failure is to find success. Now, will you let me do what I can to help? Will you let me teach you?”

  Suri looked back at her hands and nodded. “Okay, tell me again how to do that thing with my fingers and that chant you mentioned.”

  —

  They were treated to a fine morning meal in a private dining hall where they ate alone. The stools were short, but the food was good. Ham, sausages, porridge, breads, fruits, eggs: Persephone had never seen so fine a presentation. The group barely touched any of it. She forced herself to swallow a bit of bread soaked in gravy. That was all she managed. Stress and food didn’t mix. Frost, Flood, and Rain packed what was left, placing it in leather satchels, which had been left for that purpose. Water, they said, wouldn’t be an issue, as Neith had plenty of clean founta
ins and something called aqueducts.

  An assortment of magnificent weapons was presented for their choosing. Persephone had never seen some of them before, and the dwarfs provided the names: halberds, pikes, tridents, maces, and flails. All of them were cast out of the gray metal that had been polished to a silver sheen. Looking at the array, Persephone gaped. Such power! How could they have lost their war? She imagined that an army outfitted with such wonders would be invincible. Persephone, however, had her doubts about the six of them no matter how well armed.

  Persephone picked a shield that could be slung on her back and thought seriously about a spear, but realized she would be lugging the pole around for nothing, so she settled for a small sword similar to the one Moya wore. Brin, with her slates and marking tools, and Roan, with her sticks and ropes, had no room for more than small blades that might actually have been large daggers. Arion and Suri took nothing, and carried only food and bedding. Moya took a large silver shield, a dagger, which she hooked on to the other side of her belt, and a mean-looking spear tipped with a long, bladed point that had jagged barbs near its base. She tried on a shining helmet cast in the shape of a hawk’s face—the beak forming the nose guard—but it didn’t fit. None of the armor did.

  Weighed down and clattering, they were escorted outside into the still, cool morning air. Gronbach and another, very nervous Dherg, who was dressed in bright yellow and orange and fidgeted endlessly with the knots in his beard, walked out with them. They must have exited the city at a higher point than they entered, as the docks were far below. They stood in the heart of Caric, in a city square complete with a stone fountain. All around them were shops and homes.

  Persephone saw few inhabitants, but she did catch her first sight of Dherg females. Legend held that they were indistinguishable from males, right down to their beards. In truth, Persephone found them surprisingly cute. Without a beard among them, most of the Dherg ladies—so petite they were doll-like—had dimples, large round eyes and cheeks, and tiny noses.

  No livestock was in the pens, and few lamps were lit against the gloom. Only the lonesome cry of seagulls and the ominous crash of waves pounding the cliffs masked Persephone’s own rapid breaths. They were nearly alone in what she felt should have been a busy city. Perhaps Gronbach had ordered the inhabitants inside to allow the Rhunes and the Fhrey secret passage, but why empty the livestock pens?