He waved a hand. “Oh, desist. I know what you meant, and why. Believe you me, if it were possible, I would be doing it. But it is precisely the pain I’m experiencing just now that makes it untenable. Bloodsounder’s absence burns. Burns fiercely, Arki. The cursed thing torments me whether I wield it or not. And the pain is like a wound that has gone sour, but inside my body, a sickly flame that spreads and consumes.”
We sat there in silence for a bit, both of us watching the rushing water, listening to the cascade and spray as it flew down its own peculiar well. Finally, I asked, quietly, “And has there been any change? With Soffjian, I mean.”
If he looked in my direction, I couldn’t see it. “You have such concern for my entire bloodline. Incredibly touching.”
It lacked some of its usual sting, though, being less pointed, and more a rebuttal by rote than driven by any passion or innate irascibility. So I pressed on. “She is still out of it, then?”
I expected that to raise his ire, and was ready for it, but instead he only exhaled slowly and said, “She is the same. Yes.”
Braylar said nothing else, so I dropped the subject, and was weighing whether to ask about anything else now that I had his undivided attention, or to return to my cot and resume sleepless staring, when he abruptly said, “You asked once what was the true cause of the rift betwixt us, which I rightfully silenced you about. But you guessed correctly at the time—it wasn’t simply my inability to kill our father’s murderer that sits between us like a poisonous puddle. That was the start of it. But only just the start.”
I said, “I asked her. What the origin of the rift was. She told me you were. Though she admitted some culpability in failing to help you avenge the murder.”
That seemed to simultaneously agitate and amuse the captain. “Did she now? And what else did she tell you then?” Finally, there was the telltale edge to his voice, but still muted. Somewhat.
“Nothing, really.”
“Nothing, really, or really nothing?” He was looking at me, and his face might as well have been obscured by the mail drape of his helm for all it told me in the dark.
“She said the two of you conspired to bring down the murderer, but stopped there, and said that if I was ever curious, I should risk your wrath by asking you myself. She’d say no more about it.”
He thought about that for a moment before replying. “Curious. I would have expected her to take the opportunity to spew all manner of truths. More damning than lies in this case, as it happens.”
“So I know you tried to kill your father’s killer and failed. But I don’t know the particulars.”
“Nor shall you,” he replied. “They are pointless to rehash. I will tell you only this. Soffjian had no intention of leaving me to carry out the deed myself. She simply didn’t trust me to do it successfully.”
“And by your laws, she couldn’t do it herself.”
“Yes, that is correct. But that didn’t stop her from concocting strategy and assisting in carrying it out. It was a foolish enterprise underpinned by a shortsighted plan carried out by idiot children. Failure was a foregone conclusion.”
“What was the plan?”
“I do sometimes admire your quiet relentlessness. Sometimes.”
I said, “But not now?”
“Not especially.”
“Should I stop?”
“Will you stop? Unless I gag you, I suspect not. But you should know enough by now to be sure that gagging someone will trouble my conscience not at all.”
I knew that to be true but pressed on anyway. “So you tried to murder the Syldoon murderer and failed? What happened?” “You know about the Choosings, yes?”
“When the Syldoon recruiters choose candidates from among far-flung tribes? Yes.”
“Well, the Syldoon are insurmountably stubborn at times, and the Jackals more so than most Towers. This outfit insisted on meeting my people for the Choosing, as if murdering the chieftain’s brother and nearly doing the chieftain in himself as he sought vengeance was no deterrent whatsoever.”
“But your priests, they must have objected?”
“Oh, certainly,” Braylar replied. “My sister and I were counting on that, you see. As I hid in the woods nearby, Earthpriest Grubarr and Sunpriest Hordomin marched out to parley with the Jackals, to demand justice, in truth. They ordered the Syldoon captain to turn the murderer over to them, so he might be tried by our laws.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure the Jackals were really receptive to that.”
He might have laughed, though it was short and hard to hear above the distant roar of water. “Astute. The captain insisted the murderer would be tried according to Syldoon law and none other. They continued shouting, as the Syldoon soldiers and Orlu looked on, weapons at the ready, but no one especially eager to bloody them. The Syldoon were greatly outnumbered, but the priests knew that if they slaughtered this platoon, the wrath of the Empire would fall on them, and their own doom would be sealed.”
“And so you did what, exactly?”
“I stepped into the open, out of the treeline, where I’d been watching, waiting, my head and heart filling with these swollen ambitions, my blood pumping like a war drum. For a moment, and for the first time in my life, I felt powerful. I was not meekly following my sister, I was not continuing my father’s weakness and passivity. I was powerful. A part of me began to hope that my sister didn’t interfere as we planned—it was a small part, and undoubtedly crazed, but part of me felt as if I could actually beat this soldier, strike him down with the sword in my hand.”
“Sword?” I asked. “Wait. You didn’t have one of your own, did you?”
“No, but do you suppose there was only one blade on the island? It was my father’s, if you must know. I stole it before he was put in the ground.”
“I see. And so you marched out to do, what, slay the murderer in front of an entire Syldoon company?”
Braylar leaned over further, holding tightly to the bars. “I walked onto the grass and towards their line, towards the murderer. Their captain had not rejoined them yet, his back to me, occupied as he was with the priests of my tribe. But many of their soldiers saw me. How could they not, a lone figure walking across the grass bearing a sword? They saw me, and I knew that my own people could see me as well. There were shouts from both sides.
“The captain turned to see what his soldiers saw, and he smiled, hands on his hips. And then I heard laughter, snickers. And suddenly, I no longer felt powerful. In fact, I suddenly felt like revenge and redemption were overrated. But I told myself that this is what we had planned for, Soff and I—we had anticipated their reaction and would turn it to our advantage.”
“I still don’t understand. I expected you might try to slip into their camp, catch them unawares or something. Surely, you didn’t think this plan was going to work. Did you?”
He gave a tired shrug. “We were foolish children, Arki. Yes. In fact, we did imagine our plan was going to work, as Soffjian had engineered most of it, and as I had most of my life to that point, I trusted her implicitly. We were counting on them not expecting this at all.”
“Well, I imagine you nailed that true.”
“Yes. Now, would you like to use your extensive imagination as to how the rest of it played out, or shall I continue?”
I nodded, and then when it was clear he might not have seen me, I said, “Please continue.”
“Many thanks,” he replied, laden with sarcasm. “As I closed the last few paces the captain lifted a hand to silence his troops, and he spoke to me. There was no doubt about the smiling now. He said, ‘Little man, why do you come to us so armed and battle-ready? We are about to hold a Choosing, and this is a peaceful affair.’”
I said, “May I ask one more thing?”
I felt Braylar’s glare more than saw it. “If you must.”
“I noticed before, when you were talking to Ven and me about your father’s burial preparations, that you seemed to recall words spoken decades ag
o by Earth Priest Grubarr as if you heard them just yesterday. I wasn’t sure if Bloodsounder had somehow made your memories sharper, in relief, or . . .”
“What? Me playing fast and loose to capture the spirit of how things actually happened?”
“Yes. Something like that.”
He snickered. “Unfortunately, that cursed flail has gifted me with an unnatural memory nearly as potent as a Memoridon’s. So, as much as I would like to forget the awful moments of my life, they remain clear and precise. Anything else then?”
I shook my head and he must have seen that much as he continued, “I wasn’t sure if I should respond to the captain—I didn’t know if I had courage for many words, and I hadn’t rehearsed any for him, so I saved them. I took four steps and stood before the murderer.”
“No one stopped you?”
“No one stopped me,” he said. “They saw a scrawny youth who was more comical than threatening. They no doubt were curious what I intended. My father’s killer was clearly a dullard, because no recognition was etched on his face. He was shorter than I remembered, and with his hands bound, he didn’t seem so fierce or brutal. I held the sword in front of me, with both hands, and addressed him, praying I would get the words right and that I had the strength for all of them. ‘Five days ago, at a Sanctuary, you struck down and murdered my father. I was there, I was witness. I am here today to claim the vengeance that is mine by custom and law. I challenge you to a duel.’”
I shook my head. “That was your plan? Challenging a trained killer to a duet?”
The captain ignored me. “It took a moment for the words to register, but when they did they were met with hooting laughter. It took the dullard an additional moment or two, but then he seemed to find the humor as well.
Even with my confidence aswirl, even though we had hoped for such a reaction, this still infuriated me. I didn’t feel powerful, but I felt a surge of anger, and I knew it would be enough to carry me through.
“I didn’t take my eyes off the murderer, but I sensed the captain walk closer to me. He said, loud enough for all his troops to hear, ‘Vengeance is a heavy task, little man. You might consider waiting a few years. Why don’t you come back to us when you have some stubble on your chin?’
“I did face him then, and though I hadn’t planned to speak to him, my rage emboldened me. ‘I’m here now, I claim it now. Or is he such a coward who would only face old, unarmed men?’
“The murderer took a step towards me, but two of the other soldiers restrained him. The captain spoke in Orlu for all to hear, ‘You declare a duel with one breath and call the man a coward with the next. You are an amazing boy.’ He called out to his troops, though his eyes did not leave mine, ‘There is a reason we take their children—there will be fewer to grow up and kill us.’ And then he said something in Syldoonian. He directed his next words to me in my tongue. ‘You are brave, little man, but you are misguided. Your father was not murdered, and there is no vengeance to—’
“But I surprised both of us by interrupting with an emphatic, ‘Liar!’”
He said this loudly, as if he were speaking to this captain again rather than his archivist, and I was worried he was going to wake some nearby soldiers.
Braylar continued, “I called him a liar again, and then said, ‘Did you ask the Lemonman? Did you? He saw it! I saw it! My father did nothing—nothing!—and he killed him. Your soldier there, he killed him!’
“The captain still smiled, but he seemed infinitely less amused. ‘Called a liar to my face, twice in one day. You are an incredible people, truly.’ He looked over my shoulder. ‘But if I cannot convince you to stay your blade today, perhaps one of them will.’
“I looked over my shoulder as well, at the three priests closing, and panic began to well up in me. An exchange with the captain was not part of the plan, Soffjian taking this long to loose an arrow was not part of the plan, and I suddenly felt small and ill-suited to this task. But it was too late to go back to the trees.
“Hrodomin was shouting at me to return to our lines, this was no place for a boy. A hand fell on my shoulder, sweaty and heavy, and I turned—a Syldoon soldier was standing before me, his helmeted head towering above me. He said, ‘Give us the blade, boy. It’s over.’ His beard was like a stiff brush and his breath reeked of eels. I had no more time to think this through—I simply reacted. I lowered the sword as if I were about to hand it to him. He released my shoulder, and when he did, I took a swing at him.”
“Were you really trying to cut him or—”
He replied, “I was trying to get space. Which I got. He stepped back and I darted past. Before anyone could do anything I moved in and thrust the sword at the murderer’s belly, just as he had done with my father.
“He saw me coming and tried to retreat but bumped into the solider behind him. Trapped, he raised his bound arms and blocked the blow—I stabbed him in the forearm. He jerked his arms away and I stabbed again, this time hitting him in the chest, and while I was but a lad, I felt it slide in several inches.”
I asked, “You’d never attacked anyone before, had you? What . . . how did it feel?”
He gave me a long look lost in shadow. “I expect you know the answer to that now, Arki. Just as it had during Sanctuary when my father was killed, time seemed to freeze. I was two feet from this man, could see his eyes, his mouth, just as he had seen my father’s. There was shock, and pain there—his mouth was open, his shoulders were rolled forward. But when time began to move again, the similarity ended. He did not collapse immediately as my father had. The murderer bent forward and grabbed at the sword with his bound hands, wrapping both of them around the blade.”
Even though this was an incident that happened decades ago, and Braylar obviously survived, I still felt my pulse quicken. “What did you do?”
“Instinctively I tried to pull it away, out of his body, away from his hands, but I’d caught the blade on a rib. My father’s sword was stuck fast, and I couldn’t wrench it free. I grabbed the hilt with my right hand and pulled again, but it was stuck fast. Seeing the soldiers stepping forward to stop me, I did the only other thing I could think of.”
“You ran.”
“I pushed. Hard,” he said. “With both hands and all my weight. And the murderer screamed. I pulled again, digging my heels in—the blade slid towards me, stuck again on the same rib, and then, with one more heave, came free, sliding out of his chest and slicing his other hand almost to the bone.
“The bastard screamed again, shrill this time, and doubled over, blood from his chest and hand pouring down the front of his trousers. I stepped back, looked at him, looked at the sword in my hand, and for that moment, it was as if we were alone, alone in the world, just the bleeding murderer and me. I didn’t hear anything. There was movement all around, on the periphery, but none of it registered, or mattered, not at that instant. I had stabbed a man, sawed at his insides, slashed his hand almost in two, and I wanted nothing more that moment than to stand there and watch him, to see what feelings would develop in my chest. Pleasure? Hatred? Disgust? Bloodlust? But I shook it off, knowing every instant was precious, and turned to run.”
“You said something about Soffjian shooting a bow, for distraction, I assumed. I’m guessing she must have, or you would have been struck down or captured already.”
“How remarkably perceptive. You must be a scholar of some kind,” Braylar said. “I turned to flee and almost ran right into a spear. A soldier was ready to skewer me, and had I been an instant slower I would not be relating this to you now. But I turned in time, and by blind reflex alone managed to sidestep the thrust. He drew the spear back to thrust again, but then he spun, his torso whipping around before his legs could respond. He turned to face whoever struck him and I saw an arrow sticking in his shoulder, just outside his scale cuirass, a small circle of red growing around the shaft.
“And it was then that I heard the noises around me—the sound of feet and hooves on the ground, men shouting or
ders, the hum of another arrow. It was then, too, that I noticed that there were already two arrows in the ground, one on either side of the murderer, who was now starting to stagger in small circles. Another arrow flew over my head, missing by only a foot or two, and foolishly, instinctively, I tuned to see where this last one was heading. There was a soldier behind me, clutching his thigh, the arrow sticking out between his fingers, its white feathers bright in the sun.”
“So that was your plan, you would attack him while she shot enough arrows for you to escape in the confusion?”
He paused, and I could only imagine the twitching going on there, but then heard humor in his voice. “She took longer than I expected. But yes, she was finally doing her part to help me escape. And so I ran as hard as I could, knowing I was running for my life, knowing I might have waited too long, with all that sword sawing. I flew past a soldier who was on one knee, his shield in front of him facing the woods where the arrows were coming from. He saw me, and shouted, as if anything he could say would make me stop. Another soldier turned away from the woods, took a few steps to cut me off, a broadsword drawn, shield slung on his back. I started to change direction, but it turned out not to be necessary—an arrow skidded off the top of his helm, shearing the feather plume as it went, and the soldier dove to the ground, rolling out of my way.
“There were a few soldiers on either side, but no one in front of me. All I had to do was pump my legs and make it to the trees before I got cut down. I pushed harder, trying desperately not to slice something off with my father’s blade, and I was suddenly sure I was going to make it—I was too fast, they would never catch me, not so long as Soff kept shooting. I’d done it, I’d stabbed the murderer, watched his blood gush, and now I was going to sprint to freedom. I started to laugh. The laugh of a man who has faced demons or death and won.
“My joy was short-lived indeed, however,” he said. “One moment I was running full speed, the next, I was flying, my feet taken out from beneath me, the ground rising up to smash me, plugging my mouth and eyes with dirt. And then I felt it, an awful pain across my left shin, and I thought for a moment that my leg had been severed, that my foot must be somewhere behind me. I planted a hand on the ground, tried to rise up, discovered that both my legs were whole, even if the left was throbbing with fire, and so I started to run again, but my leg wouldn’t cooperate, buckling underneath me. As I fell again, I saw who had struck the blow—there was a soldier on my left, behind me, kneeling behind his large shield, and there was a spear in the grass alongside him—he had swung out and struck me with the haft as I ran past.
Chains of the Heretic Page 22