The Bone Sword

by Walter Rhein

  Among the crowd was one other whose concentration matched Malik’s. Oberon Keels stood with crossed arms and a stern stare. He was not happy.

  Suddenly, Turley ran forward wildly.

  Malik waited.

  Turley swung his sword sideways and down. His friends roared with laughter and the joy of imminent triumph. This was Turley’s special assault, and as of yet, none of his sparring partners had conceived of an adequate defense for it.

  Malik held his position, then, at the last moment, he again did the unexpected. He dropped to his knee, allowing his opponent’s sword to pass harmlessly over his head. Then he stood up violently, his sword skewering Turley like a thrashing fish.

  Malik lifted Turley completely off the ground before giving one final heave that sent the body flying into the air and off his sword only to come crashing back to the earth. The proud cadet began to writhe in the sand in agony.

  Turley was done, but Malik wasn’t about to let his advantage escape him. He thundered forward, bringing his sword over his head and then back down in a vicious chop that completely decapitated his enemy.

  “No!” somebody cried in anguish.

  Malik looked up in confusion. The silence that descended was absolute. All the other victors had been met by cheers and praise when they had defeated their opponents—why should it be any different for him?

  But it was different. Two guardians closed in on him. They entered the circle with malice in their eyes, swords halfway drawn. Two others were holding back Turley’s companions, who screamed in murderous protest.

  Surprisingly, it was Oberon Keels who came to his aid.

  The lean sword-master took his place and extended his hands in either direction.

  “Hold!”

  Quiet fell, such was the strength of the man that it could calm even the most bestial of emotions.

  “Cadet thirty-six has fulfilled the requirements, he must be acknowledged!”

  “But…” one of the elder guardsmen said, stumbling forward.

  Oberon leaped forward and grabbed the man by the tunic.

  “He must be acknowledged!”

  Oberon leaned forward and whispered in the other man’s ear. He spoke in a low voice so the mass of the assembly could not hear. But Malik heard, and Oberon’s words chilled him to the fiber of his being.

  “We must make a show of adhering to our laws or else the others will not fight.”

  “But Turley was a noble’s son, the consequences…” replied the other.

  “Most of the top twenty are nobles’ sons, remember, and their fathers have paid us dearly to harden them. We’ll be in a much better bargaining position with nineteen happy customers singing our praises.”

  It took a moment for the other guardsman to get control of himself, but he eventually swallowed his rage down and backed away.

  Malik stood numb where he was as Oberon retrieved a bone sword and brought it to him.

  Malik took it without a word. He said nothing as Oberon anointed him before the gathering. He felt no pride, no sense of belonging, none of the things he hoped for and which had driven him.

  It had all been a lie, everything he had been told. He hadn’t been “recruited” to become a warrior, he had been harvested, plucked from the street to give some noble youngling his first taste of blood.

  For Malik, there had never been a chance.

  The duels continued and Malik sat in a dark corner, alone.

  One by one, the elite cadets fought the whipping boys.

  One by one, the whipping boys spilled their blood onto the ground.

  The embers of the illuminating fires grew low.

  By the time it was over, every one of them was dead.

  But Malik did not stay to see it. Bit by bit he edged into a shadow, and then slipped away.

  He started running.

  He hadn’t stopped for nearly ten years.

  Malik opened his sweaty eyes to flickering light. He laid in a small cave and thick blankets covered him.

  Noah and Jasmine sat beside him with compassionate looks on their faces.

  “Have I healed?” Malik asked wearily.

  “You are healed,” Jasmine said softly.

  “By time or by your hand?”

  “By my hand,” she replied, looking away.

  Malik rose to his elbows and would have spoken if Noah hadn’t restrained him gently.

  “You spoke while you were unconscious. You told us about your youth. We heard it. We heard everything. We’re sorry, Malik. Nobody should have to go through what you did.”

  “You…” Malik began, but emotion quickly overtook him and he had to turn away.

  The light continued to flicker in the cave. There was a moment of silence.

  “Again, we must apologize to you, Malik,” Noah said. “We’ve been foolish to be critical of you. Until only recently, we’ve been protected from having to make the kind of choices that were forced upon you at such an early age. It’s time we entered the adult world. It seems our survival depends on it.”

  Malik nodded in understanding. He looked back at the two young children and his eyes twinkled in the darkness.

  “I’ve always been good at killing, but sometimes I haven’t made the best choices regarding whom to kill. Perhaps you can provide me with some guidance on that issue?”

  “Perhaps we can,” Jasmine responded, and Malik was startled by the newfound hardness in her voice. “And perhaps a good person to start with is this Oberon Keels.”

  Just the sound of the name caused a chill to run through Malik’s veins.

  The fire snapped loudly.

  “Yes,” Malik answered, “perhaps you’re right.” He paused before continuing. “But I pray to Lightbringer that we never cross his path.”

  Chapter 18

  The Chaos of the Cause

  The Earl of Miscony reclined lazily in his warm pool. Servants stood by a cauldron of boiling water, quick to add a bucket of steaming liquid when the mixture became tepid. Other servants sat beside him in the pool, naked, nubile, female. They massaged him delicately and provided heat of another kind.

  The earl took a sip of wine from a silver goblet.

  Denz entered the room.

  The weapons-master couldn’t hide an expression of disapproval as he noticed the girls. This was not the first time he had seen their like, and the story didn’t change. Young women seduced from the neighboring villages by the promise of a better life at the castle. They usually lasted a few months before the earl grew tired of them and had them returned to their villages, oftentimes to bear bastard children. By the time this earl was done, half the populace would be heir to the throne.

  The earl caught the disapproving look and smiled with the assurance of his power. Less than gentle, he caught one of his attendants by the nape of the neck and slowly forced her underwater.

  Denz looked away.

  “Progress?” the earl asked, smiling at Denz’s discomfort.

  “Father Ivory has burned Elmshearst to the ground m’lord.”

  The news seemed to momentarily upset the earl. He released the girl, who came up sputtering.

  “The mountain people are hearty folk, it is unwise to make enemies of them,” Denz continued. “We must take care or this situation could escalate beyond reason.”

  “Were the refugees taken?”

  “No m’lord.”

  The earl slapped the water in fury. “Leave us!” he ordered to his attendants, who all too willingly leaped from the water and covered themselves with flimsy sheets. For a long moment, the earl sat with his hand over his mouth in silent contemplation.

  “If I may be permitted m’lord,” Denz said, “I think it best that we let the incident die down for now.”

  The earl looked at Denz sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, they are only three, surely they mean to escape into the mountains and try to hold out the winter. We’ll hear nothing more from them. Why not just let them go? We can pick the
m up bloodlessly in the spring, if they survive the winter.”

  “Let them go?” the words escaped the earl in a venomous hiss.

  “We have enough to do with the rebuilding of Elmshearst!”

  “Rebuild! You wish to rebuild a haven for traitors!” the earl screamed. Denz took a step back at the intensity of the earl’s rage.

  “No, Elmshearst will not be rebuilt!” the earl continued, “Elmshearst will remain a smoldering black smear from now until the end of time as a reminder of what happens to those who oppose the will of the monarchy!”

  “But, sir …”

  “Don’t you dare to interrupt me,” the earl screamed, his flaring eyes swiveled to pierce Denz to the bone. “I want you out there, hunting. Find these godless refugees, bring me their heads!”

  Denz hesitated a moment and then straightened. He snapped his ankles together in proper military fashion and bowed sharply.

  “Your wish is my command m’lord,” he said. He turned to leave without awaiting further word.

  “As it should be,” the earl sneered to himself. “As it should be.”

  He sat alone for a few brief moments before snapping his fingers to call for more hot water and the return of his servants.

  Chapter 19

  Refuge

  Malik urged his horse into the mountains. Small snowflakes fell around him, not enough to accumulate on the ground, but certainly a hint of what was to come.

  Winter was on its way.

  The changing season would slow their pursuers, but it wasn’t the end to all their problems.

  Surviving the cold months in the mountains was no easy task.

  As if guessing his thoughts, Noah rode up beside the lean warrior.

  “Where are we heading? Do you plan to take us across the divide?”

  Malik gave the lad a quick look. They had been riding for several days since the last attack, and he was fairly certain they would not be easily tracked at this point.

  “What we need,” he said slowly, “is to find some place we can hold out for several months. Some kind of shelter with game and fresh water nearby.”

  Noah nodded. His expression impressed Malik. The boy was learning to assess situations from a distance rather than get caught up in the uncertainties of the moment. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that would serve him well in life.

  They rode on in silence for a while until Noah cleared his throat loudly.

  Malik looked at him pointedly.

  Noah gave a sheepish smile, then bowed his head.

  “I’ve been thinking—” he started, but Malik interrupted him.

  “Always a dangerous proposition.”

  Noah cast Malik a quizzical look.

  Malik’s cracked a half-smile.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “go on.”

  “Yes,” replied Noah, “I was thinking that, well … it seems that fighting is going to be a way of life for me now.”

  “Perhaps,” said Malik slowly, not approving of where the conversation was headed.

  “Well … I was wondering if maybe … maybe you could show me a couple things.”

  Malik’s face hardened.

  “You want me to show you the sword.”

  “Yes,” Noah replied

  The two fell silent, and for a few moments, the only sound was horses’ clomping hooves.

  Finally, Malik spoke.

  “If you carry a sword long enough, sooner or later, you’re going to have to use it,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “You’ll have to kill. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you’ll be learning the art just to defend.”

  Noah went silent. He bowed his head and thought about what Malik had said. The contemplative act impressed Malik. After a short time, the young man spoke again.

  “I’ve stood and done nothing while people I love have been hurt,” he said in a low whisper. “I’ve stood and done nothing while the people I love have been…” his voice cracked. “Burned.”

  Malik’s gaze flashed over to Noah, and he saw tears running down the lad’s cheeks.

  “I can see the mark that taking a life leaves on the human soul,” Noah continued, “you’ve shown me that. It’s a wound that even Jasmine’s healing hands cannot mend.” Noah looked hard at Malik. “But I would prefer it to the anguish of doing nothing. This is but a choice between two evils. I choose the lesser.”

  Malik nodded.

  “Then I will teach you,” he said, his gaze fixed steadily forward.

  Noah nodded silently, but made no exclamation of satisfaction.

  “And me,” Jasmine said suddenly.

  Noah turned his head in shock, “But sister, I …”

  “Quiet,” she snapped, looking far more animated than she had in a long while. “It was no easier for me to stand and do nothing for Father than it was for you. Besides, you might not always be there to protect me.”

  “But—” Noah stammered, only to have Jasmine interrupt him again.

  “What does Malik think? It’s really his decision, after all.”

  Malik inclined his head. After a few minutes, he shrugged rather indifferent to himself.

  “Jasmine is right. I’ll instruct you both,” he said.

  Again, Noah opened his mouth to protest, but Malik cut him off.

  “It’s not up for discussion.”

  Noah fell into silence.

  The three of them rode on quietly.

  The horses’ heads nodded back and forth as the animals made their way through the sparse underbrush of the highlands. The companions traveled along a ridge high in the mountains. The brisk air carried a decided chill.

  Outwardly, Malik showed nothing, but inside he began to grow concerned. They had little time to prepare, and the winter was to be long and harsh. He knew they had to find shelter soon.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, Jasmine pointed.

  “What’s that?” she said, her finger directed at a hidden valley they could just barely see.

  Malik rode up beside her and peered down.

  Below, there appeared to be a pool of deep, blue water. Around the edge of the pool was a ring of colors as brilliant as a rainbow. Steam rose up from its still surface.

  Malik said nothing, but he urged his horse in the pool’s direction.

  For nearly two hours they descended. As they rode, they often lost sight of their destination behind outcroppings of rock. Malik permitted himself a slight smile. The situation looked promising, the valley was well hidden.

  Finally, they came around a large granite face and were hit by a cloud of warm air. The smell of sulfur was on the wind, but not so bad as to make the breeze unpleasant. The pool lay before them, and surrounding it were green trees and vegetation growing bountifully as if it were mid-summer.

  “It’s enchanted,” Noah exclaimed.

  “A hot spring,” Malik replied. “I’ve heard of such places, though I never thought I’d actually see one.”

  With a smile, he turned to his two companions.

  “I think we’ve found our winter retreat.”

  Chapter 20

  Inquisition

  Father Ivory hunched under his large bearskin jacket and made his way across the muddy street. Snowflakes drifted around him but the people in the village scurried surreptitiously away at the sight of the furious priest.

  “Their sins make them cowards,” Ivory muttered. He had half a mind to chase them down and beat their confessions out of them.

  At the thought, his fingers twitched.

  He had the machinery all set up, all he needed now were mortal forms with souls in need of saving.

  A dog scurried across his path and Father Ivory kicked it violently.

  “Insolent cur,” he cried.

  The mutt yelped and sprinted off around a corner.

  The feel of the weak creature’s fragile rib cage against his boot had been soothing, but Father Ivory was still agitated. Although the peasants never spoke, the whisp
er of their thoughts was forever on the wind.

  Healers.

  A bone sword.

  True miracle!

  Rebellion!

  Father Ivory growled and slammed open the door to the small warehouse he commandeered. A small contingent of Nightshades sprang to attention. They stood rigidly, sixteen expectant faces turned Ivory’s way.

  They were the remaining sixteen of the original twenty-five he had sent to sack Elmshearst four weeks ago.

  Five had been lost in the raid.

  Four more had been lost chasing the refugees into the mountains.

  Nine of the supposed best fighters in Miscony.

  Father Ivory scowled again.

  “At ease,” he barked, and the men dropped back into their meditative positions.

  Kael, the attendant, stepped forward.

  “Everything is as you have requested m’lord.”

  Ivory nodded, but said nothing. Slowly, he pulled his gloves from his fingers.

  “Where are we anyway?” he asked in a tight voice.

  “M’lord?” Kael responded, a hint of confusion in his voice.

  “Where are we?” Father Ivory barked again. “What city is this?”

  “Stone Bridge,” Kael stuttered.

  “Is there a stone bridge of note around here somewhere?” Father Ivory asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Kael replied.

  “Stupid peasants.”

  Father Ivory looked past Kael to the crude holding pen constructed in the corner of the warehouse. Fifteen terrified men and women huddled inside, dressed in filthy rags that were, no doubt, infested with lice or worse.

  “Repugnant creatures,” Ivory said, “they barely look human.”

  He nodded sharply at one of the waiting Nightshades. The black-clad warrior snapped to attention and pulled one of the wretches from the cage. A woman. From Father Ivory’s estimation, she had fewer than five teeth left in her head.

  Wearing a bewildered look, she allowed the Nightshade to lead her to a stout wooden chair. Sitting down, the warrior strapped her arms and feet to the frame so she could not move.