Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  He put another arrow into the squirming^gdblin, then another. And then a third, and the creature seemed as if it would not die!

  The next arrow drove through the side of its head. It gave a sudden, vi­cious spasm, and the light went out of the goblin’s eyes.

  It was all Brynn could manage to keepjteafs flowing from her eyes, to keep from crying out in horror and revulsion, and pain.

  So much pain.

  Was this why she had trained as a ranger? Or was „ranger“ even the proper word? Was it, perhaps, merely a cover for the true intention of her training, the true title she should drape across her shoulders: assassin?

  „Come, and quickly,“ Juraviel said to her, drawing her back from her in­ner conflict. Hardly thinking, she followed the elf along the circuitous route, until they happened upon another goblin, out collecting kindling.

  It was dead before it even knew they were there.

  The perimeter was secured then, and so the pair focused their attention on the encampment itself, where a band of more than a half dozen of the creatures milled about and sat around the smoldering embers of the previ­ous night’s fire. They had a large, rusty pot sitting atop it, and every once in a while, one went over to it and ladled out some foul-looking stew.

  „We could wait to see if others wander out alone,“ Juraviel said to her. „Take them down one or two at a time.“

  Brynn winced visibly at the thought, wanting all of this to be over as quickly as possible.

  „The time for stealth is ended,“ she said determinedly, and started to rise, intending to charge straight into the band.

  Juraviel caught her by the arm and held her fast. „What is a To-gai-ru war­rior’s greatest weapon?“ he asked. „Even beyond courage and the bow?“

  Brynn nodded and handed him his small sword, then turned about, understanding. A few minutes later, the goblins in the encampment stood and looked cu­riously to the north, to the crashing and thumping echoing out of the forest.

  grynn Dharielle, astride Diredusk, came through the last line of brush with bow drawn. She took the goblin farthest to the right first, dropping it •with hardly a squeak, then got her second arrow away, knocking a goblin away from the cooking pot, a bowlful of stew flying over it as it toppled backward.

  A quick and fluid movement had the bow unstrung, and Brynn tucked it under her right arm like a lance as she guided Diredusk to a course right past a third, stunned creature. The goblin’s face exploded in a shower of blood, the sturdy darkfern bow smashing through. Brynn cut Diredusk hard to the left, the pony trampling the next goblin in line, then running down yet another as it tried to flee. Now Brynn swung the staff like a club, whistling it past another goblin’s face, a near miss that had the creature div­ing back to the ground.

  By then, though, her momentum had played out. She reached the far end of the encampment, leaving three goblins standing, no longer surprised, and collecting their weapons. Where was Juraviel? Why hadn’t she heard the high-pitched twang of his small bow or the yelps of stuck goblins?

  Brynn tugged hard on the reins, bringing her pony to a skidding stop and quick turn. She flanked around to the left, going to a half seat and bending low over Diredusk’s neck as the horse easily leaped a pair of logs set out as benches.

  Brynn yanked him hard to the left as he landed, lining up a second run at the center of the camp. The three goblins, though, had wisely retreated to the fringes of the forest, using brush and trees for cover, and the only target she found was the goblin she had narrowly missed on her first pass, the creature stumbling as it tried to rise. Her aim was better this time, the swinging bow smacking it across the back of the head as she thundered past, launching the creature facefirst. It crashed against the cooking pot, knocking it over, then it tumbled down right onto the hot embers. How that goblin howled and thrashed! Its scraggly hair ignited, its skin burned and curled!

  With movements so fast and so fluid that they defied the goblins’ com­prehension, Brynn bent and strung her bow as she lifted her leg over the horse’s back, then set an arrow as she dropped from Diredusk into a charge.

  She pegged the closest goblin right between the eyes, dropped into a roll to avoid a thrown spear from a second, set an arrow as she rolled, and came up firing.

  Then there was one.

  A flick of Brynn’s wrist had the bow unstrung as she charged.

  The goblin, obviously unsure, obviously terrified, started to run. Then it changed its mind and turned, crude spear presented before it. It thrust out as Brynn came in, but the skilled ranger slapped the awkward attack aside and started forward for what looked like a quick victory.

  Started forward, but stopped abpaptryas the brush to the side parted and a second goblin burst through,/chargingxat the ranger with a small and rusty dagger.

  Brynn turned sidelong and started to bring herbow-staff to bear, but the first goblin came back in hard. The ranger adeptly changed the momentum of her weapon, grabbing it up high with her left hand, reversing the grip, then thrusting the staff right back to the side in an underhand movement, guiding it with her right hand, holding on with her left. The charging spear-wielder had its weapon back, trying to gain momentum for its thrust at that moment, and so there was nothing in place to block Brynn s stab before the staff connected with the goblin’s face.

  Brynn let her weapon drop then, confident that the goblin was out of the fight for a while at least. She wove her hands furiously before her to set a defense against the goblin with the knife. Her balanced and precise move­ments slowed the goblin just a bit, as it tried to find some hole in the sud­den defense, and that was all Brynn needed. She sent her left hand out wide to the left and lifted her right hand up above her head, giving an apparent opening.

  And the goblin dove into that hole, thinking to sink its knife into her chest.

  Up snapped Brynn’s right foot, smacking the goblin’s lead arm out wide. She caught the back of the goblin’s wrist in her left hand and yanked it down, twisting to lock the creature’s elbow, its palm and Brynn’s facing up­ward. The ranger turned right inside the hold then, bringing her left arm over and around, then down under the caught arm, turned her back right before the goblin’s torso as she went. Brynn ignored the expected punch from the goblin’s free hand, keeping her momentum, locking her forearm under that trapped elbow, and yanking up, while throwing her weight far­ther out over that trapped hand and tugging down hard.

  The goblin yelped in pain, though it still managed to throw a second punch into Brynn’s back.

  It couldn’t maintain its hold on the dagger, though, as Brynn’s fingers worked the hand of the pained arm to force it free. As it fell, Brynn pulled straight out with her left hand, keeping the goblin off-balance, and released the arm from her right arm’s hold, stepping forward and snapping out her right hand to catch the dagger before it ever hit the ground. She flipped it over in a sudden reversal and, even as the goblin slugged her again, thrust out straight and hard behind her, planting the dagger deep into the goblin’s chest.

  The goblin punched her yet again, but there was no strength in the blow. Brynn pumped her arm once and again, tearing up the goblin’s chest and guts, then turned hard and shoved the dying creature to the ground.

  The goblin she had smacked in the face was up by then, but not charg­ing.The creature had seen enough of this fighter, apparently, and started to run off into the forest.

  Hardly even thinking of the movement, Brynn launched the dagger, hit­ting it in the back of the leg. The goblin howled and went down hard, then kicked and thrashed, trying to tug the dagger out, but in too much pain even to grasp it.

  Now Brynn was thinking again, and watching every terrible movement. As much in horror as in pragmatism, she picked up her staff, rushed over, and smashed the goblin in the head.

  It just yelled and thrashed even more.

  Brynn hit it again, and again, just wanting this nightmare to be over, just wanting the wretched thing to lie still.

>   A long while later, after what seemed like many, many minutes to Brynn, the goblin finally stopped its thrashing and its whining.

  Brynn slumped to her knees. There were still goblins about, some hurt, others perhaps not so, but she couldn’t think of that right at that moment, couldn’t think of anything except for the dead creatures about her, the gob­lins she had killed, and brutally so. She fought against the tears and against the urge to throw up, trying hard to steady her breathing and her sensibili­ties. She reminded herself that danger was all about her, told herself that a goblin might be creeping up even then, ready to drive a spear into her back.

  Brynn glanced over her shoulder at the unsettling thought, but all was quiet behind her. Even in the encampment, nothing seemed to be stirring, though she knew she had not killed all of the creatures back there in her ini­tial charge. She noted Diredusk off to the side, standing calmly, tugging at some low brush, then lifting his head with a great haul of small branches and leaves in his munching mouth.

  Brynn took up her bow and strung it, then pulled the dagger out of the dead goblin’s leg and set it into her belt. Fitting an arrow, she crept along a circuitous route, gradually working her way back in sight of the camp.

  None of the goblins was moving. Belli’mar Juraviel walked about them, kicking at them, and when any showed signs of life, the elf bent down and slashed open its throat.

  Brynn hated him at that moment. Profoundly. Why had he done this to her? Why had he taken her off the straight trail to the south and toward To-gai, only to slaughter these creatures?

  It took the young ranger a few moments to realize how tightly she was gripping her bowstring about the set arrow, or the fact that she had inad­vertently begun to pull back, just a bit, on the bow. She eased it to rest, then grabbed it up in one hand, clenching the bow at midshaft and wrapping one finger about the arrow to hold it steady. Then she determinedly, angrily, strode back into the encampment. Juraviel looked up at her. „A bit sloppy,“ he said. „Your first charge through was beautifully executed, efficient and to the point. But you spent far too long with the pair in the brush. Three of these were not dead, and two could have soon enough gathered their witsand strength enough to come in at you. What would you have done if I had not been here to clean up?“

  His voice trailed away at the end, his expression showing Brynn that she was correctly conveying her outrage with her steely look.

  „Is there a problem?“ the elf asked, his condescending tone alone telling Brynn that he knew well enough what was bothering her.

  „Was there a purpose?“

  „Need I give you another lecture about the wretchedness of goblins? How many examples should I provide you to settle your guilt, young ranger? Should I tell you about the forests they have burned to the ground, about the human settlements they have raided, slaughtering even the children, and eating more than a few? Should I recount for you again the great De­mon War and point out the hundreds of instances of misery the goblins per­petrated upon the land and upon the humans in that dark time? „

  „Raided human settlements,“ Brynn echoed, looking about sarcastically.

  „Yes, and took pleasure in every kill.“

  „As did you!“ Brynn knew that she was moving over the line even as the words left her mouth.

  „Not so,“ Juraviel answered quietly and calmly, seeming to take no of­fense. „I, we, did as we had to do. With expediency and efficiency. Without true malice, and with actions spawned from pragmatism. Did I enjoy the killing? Not really. But I take heart in knowing that our actions here just made the entire world a bit brighter and a bit safer.“

  „And seasoned your ranger a bit more.“ There was no mistaking the heavy sarcasm and anger in her tone.

  „And that, yes,“ the elf answered, unperturbed.

  Brynn quivered on the verge of an explosion. „And do rangers often gain their first battle experience against goblins?“ she asked. „Is that where they draw first blood, where they first can enjoy the sweet smell of death?“

  „Goblins or rabid animals, likely,“ the elf was quick to respond, and still he seemed completely unshaken. „Though it could be argued that they are much one and the same.“

  His tone as much as his words only brought even more tension into poor Brynn, and she wanted to scream out in protest at that moment more than she ever had since the murder of her parents.

  „As worthy an enemy as can be found, if not so worthy as an opponent,“ Juraviel went on.

  Brynn turned away and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then opened them and stared off into the forest. She felt Juraviel’s gentle hand upon the small of her back.

  „How steep are the mountains you must climb if you cannot scale this tiny hillock?“

  „I did not leave Andur’Blough Inninness to become a murderess,“ Brynn answered through her gritted teeth.

  „You left Andur’Blough Inninness to begin a war,“ Juraviel reminded, with even more intensity. „Do you think that your revolution will be bloodless?“

  „That is different.“

  „Because the Chezru are deserving?“

  Brvnn, her eyes narrowed, turned to face him directly, and said with an air of confidence, „Yes.“

  „And only the deserving Chezru will die?“

  „Many of my people will die, but they will do so willingly, if their sacrifice helps to free To-gai!“

  „And many innocents will die,“ the elf pointed out. „Children too young to understand what is happening. The infirm. Women on both sides will be raped and slaughtered.“

  Brynn worked hard to hold firm her gaze, but she did wince.

  „War is not fought along clear lines, Brynn. The Yatols at war will call upon the fierce Chezhou-Lei warriors, and they, by reputation, will not suf­fer any of the enemy race to live. And will your own people be more gener­ous? How many of the To-gai-ru have suffered horrible tragedies under the press of the Yatols? When you press into Behren, as surely you must if you are to force the people of the sand kingdom truly to allow you your freedom, you will overtake Behrenese villages, full of people who know nothing of To-gai and the plight of the To-gai-ru. But will not some of your own warriors take revenge on those innocents for the wrongs of the Yatol occupation?“

  Brynn didn’t relent in her stoic gaze. She could not, at that moment of dark epiphany. But she heard well Belli’mar Juraviel’s every word, and knew in her heart, if her head would not yet admit it, that he was correct.

  C H A P T E R *2*

  The Blood of Centuries

  „ML Z´ akim Douan, Chezru Chieftain of all Behren, opened his eyes on this, the 308,797th day of his life.

  ^L. The sun looked the same, peeking in his bedroom window. The springtime air, laced with the scents of flowers and spices and pungent camels, felt the same as it always had.

  Yakim Douan smiled at that thought, for he liked it this way, too much ever to let it go. He groaned a bit as he rolled off his bed - a hammock, as was customary in the city of Jacintha, where the aggressive and deadly brown-ringed scorpions often crawled into the padded bedding of mat­tresses or straw. Slowly the old man straightened, cursing the sharp pain in both his knees and the way his back always seemed to lock up after a long night’s sleep.

  His room was beautifully adorned, with all the trappings one would ex­pect for the most powerful and the richest man south of the Belt-and-Buckle - and arguably north of it, as well. Wondrous tapestries lined the walls, their rich colors capturing the morning light, their intricate designs drawing in Yakim Douan’s gaze and holding it there. How long had he been studying those same images? Depictions of war and of the human form, of beauty and of tragedy? And still, they seemed as fresh and inspir­ing to him as they had when first he had gazed upon them.

  Thick woven rugs felt good on his bare feet. He stretched and widened his toes, taking it in fully, then made his creaking way across the large room to the decorated washbasin, all of shining white-and-pink marble, with a golden-framed m
irror hanging above it. The Chezru Chieftain splashed cold water onto his old and wrinkled face and stared hard into the mirror, lamenting the way age had ravaged him. He saw his gray eyes and hated them most of all, and wished he had known their color before he had cho­sen this corporeal coil as his own.

  Blue eyes next time, he hoped. But, of course, some things were quite be­yond his control.

  His current set of orbs was quite telling to him. Never did they seem hite about the pupils anymore, just a dull yellowish hue. His body was •xtv-two years old, and he had hated every minute of the last decade. Oh, of course he could have any luxuries he wanted. He kept a harem of beautiful young women at his beck and call, and should he desire a plaything, he ould bring in any other woman he chose, even if she was already married. He was the Chezru Chieftain, the God-Voice of Behren. With a word he ould have a person burned at the stake, or order one of his subjects to take his own life, and the idiot would unquestioningly comply.

  All the world was Yakim Douan’s to take, and so he did, over and over again.

  A soft, polite knock on his door turned the old Chezru from the mirror. „Enter,“ he said, knowing full well that it was Merwan Ma, his personal attendant.

  „Your pardon, Great One,“ Merwan Ma said, peeking his head around the door. He was a handsome young man in his early twenties, with short, black, tightly curled hair, and large black eyes that seemed all the darker be­cause they were set in pools of white, pure white, with no veins and no yel­low discoloration at all. The eyes of a child, Yakim thought, every time he looked upon them. Merwan Ma’s face was boyish as well, with hardly a shadow of hair, and his nose and lips were somewhat thin, which only made his eyes seem all the larger. „Shall I have your breakfast brought to you up here, or do you prefer a litter to take you to the Room of Morning Sun?“