by CF WELBURN
“I’m sorry.” he said, looking away in shame. He wanted to reach out and stroke her but instead, he turned, and stumbled out into the pale sunlight.
* * *
He wandered unseeing, not sure of his destination, until he stood over a table where Grinchell drank with Tre, Brigal, Jank and two other equally unwholesome Kazra. A brazier burned beside the table, melting all the snow around it. The clan chief looked up, mild surprise on his face.
“Sit.” he grunted, patting a space on the bench.
“You made me think she was dead!” Oben blurted. “That I had eaten her!”
Grinchell looked confused at first, then slowly nodded.
“Ah, I had forgotten,” he said, and then gestured at the bench again, as though such a trivial act deserved no more thought.
“Fuck yourself.”
Grinchell’s face hardened.
“Leave us for a moment,” he told his men. No one moved. “You got sawdust in your ears? I said give us some space!” The Kazra nodded and carried their drinks to another table, muttering as they went. Tre regarded Oben with a concerned frown, but decided not to intervene.
“You too, Brigal.”
“I wanna hear it. Put this worm straight. How dare he come over here and insult—”
“Now.”
Brigal slapped the table. “But the horse thing was my idea. I deserve—”
“Ishral help me, man, go now or I’ll break your head.”
Brigal blanched and stared at Grinchell a moment.
“Fine. I’m off.” As he passed Oben, he leant in and hissed: “You may have everyone else under your thumb but there’s an axe coming for you.”
When they were alone, Grinchell signalled the seat for the third time, and Oben grudgingly sat in Brigal's chair across from him.
“Had my things moved up from Lanoc,” the clan chief said. “Never gave it a thought. Forgot how attached you southerners got to your beasts.” He filled an empty cup and slid it across the table. “Drink.”
“Not thirsty,” Oben said.
“Drink!” Grinchell repeated, gruffly. “I have a proposal. One we must toast.”
Oben hesitated, then reached for the cup.
Grinchell grinned. He looked like he had been drinking all night.
“Your horse is alive. You should be happy. Not sure why. Dumb animal. You’ve obviously never had a harsh winter standing between you and your next meal. I’ve eaten worse than horse and gone back for seconds.”
“That’s the difference between you and me.”
“The will to survive? I think not. I’ve never met a little shit more difficult to finish off than you. Believe me, I’ve been trying.” If it was a joke, he did not smile. “You act like a farmer, but when it comes to survival, I think you’d do much more despicable things than eat horse. And you call us the savages!”
“What is it you want, Grinchell?” Oben asked, tersely. He still hadn’t taken a drink.
“I think you know.”
“Spit it out.”
Grinchell set his cup down and leant back so that bench creaked under his weight. He held Oben’s eye for a moment, and when he spoke, his words were deliberate, as though he had played this conversation out in his head many times.
“You want revenge for what I did to your village. I understand that. You came all the way north on your own to hunt me down. Deriath! I even respect that! What I’ve seen you achieve has changed my opinion of you. Of your people. I’ve had to swallow my pride and would continue to do so for Ishral. But I cannot let Mascal’s death remain unchallenged. It’s no secret, I did not like the man. But the Ferra are mine now, and I’ll not have their loyalty or trust until I avenge their chief. Conduit or not, you must pay in blood.” He took a long drink, never breaking his stare. “We’ve come far, you and I. Prisoner and captor, slave and master, equals and companions, Conduit and… disciple. I think it’s overdue we become combatants.”
Now Oben did take a drink. A big one.
“We fight?” he asked, just to make sure.
“About time, right?”
Oben looked around.
“What, here? Just start fighting?”
Grinchell looked down at his beer and shook his head.
“No, not here. I’m drunk and plan on getting much drunker. But tomorrow we will put an end to this.”
“But you believe I’m the Conduit. You can’t hope to beat me.”
Grinchell shrugged.
“I can’t live without doing it. Think of it as a final test. You lose, Mascal is avenged and my clan trusts me again. And best of all, we’ll finally be rid of your scrawny arse! You win and you get your revenge. Not that it will change anything. Believe me, revenge tastes worse than horse.”
“Then it’s settled.” Oben said, raising his cup. “Tomorrow, it is.”
Grinchell’s lip twitched and they clashed cups.
“Tomorrow. Now, go fuck your horse. I’ve got some drinking to do.”
20
A FATE FORETOLD
Oben’s confidence had soared since he began sparring with Arnor, but finally faced with confronting the enemy he had set off to find almost two years earlier, he was having doubts. He slept little that night, and though he hoped Grinchell would have a raging hangover, he too, felt far from his sharpest.
He considered telling Gulmorgon. Surely she would have something to say about the Conduit and her most celebrated clan chief facing off. Perhaps she would think it an insult to Ishral and have Grinchell punished. Though it was more likely she would simply prohibit the fight. Oben would regret losing this opportunity.
He also thought of consulting Blin. She was as dirty a fighter as you could hope to find. She’d no doubt share some underhanded moves Arnor or Tre had not stooped to mention. Perhaps she would agree to kill Grinchell for him, should he fail. An insurance of sorts.
Again, he decided against it. Blin had finally found a peace here—if drinking, gambling and brawling could be dubbed such. It was best he did this alone.
As his mind worked over these problems, his muscles worked over the moves Arnor had beaten into him over the previous seasons. Could he really do this? Mascal was dead by poison, Kai through distraction. The notion of facing his most formidable enemy on a level field unnerved him, Conduit, or not.
And what did that mean anyway? It wasn’t like that made him invincible. If he threw himself from the roof of the lodge he’d die, wouldn’t he? He wasn't sure how fate worked. How far he could push it. If he survived the fight with Grinchell, it would be proof enough. Jumping from the roof of the lodge was arguably less dangerous. He’d already done it once when he leapt onto the giant.
* * *
He practised until noon, finding a flow and loosening his muscles. When he was done, he knelt by his bed and began to pray. But the act felt meaningless. He’d done this so far without the Trinity’s aid. So, he left his house and went to get some food. When he had wiped the grease from his chin, he knew he could delay no more. It was time.
He looked for Grinchell in the most likely places. When he had exhausted all the watering holes, of which there were plenty since the rebuild, he began to scour the snow-piled backstreets, reluctant to get too close to the lodge lest Gulmorgon summon him for some detail.
When he reached the stables, he paused. Could he be in there? Some last goad to push him. Justice’s head on a spike? No. Grinchell may be a murderer, but he had shown some honour in his unwavering loyalty to Gulmorgon and in his grudging acceptance of Oben. And he had arranged this fight instead of simply stabbing him in the back.
Oben turned away, relieved. He was not ready to enter the stables again. He could not look Justice in the eye until this was done.
On a whim he turned to a part of town in which he had not spent much time. The dug-out bear pit, where gladiatorial fights were held and unruly Tanda prisoners punished.
* * *
The bear pit was empty save for Grinchell, who stood in the centre
waiting. He already had his axe in his hand, and from the sweat on his brow had been warming up. Oben dropped down into the arena and approached. It was as deep as he was tall and surrounded by three rows of benches. The snow in the arena had been scraped clear and was piled up around the edges, though the stands were still thick with the stuff. Openings set in its inner wall were shuttered up with wooden bars to contain the animals that gave the pit its name.
“You took your time,” Grinchell said. He did not look as hungover as Oben had hoped.
“An appropriate setting,” Oben said, gesturing at the empty stands. Oben looked Grinchell over carefully: his relaxed stance, his patient expectancy. There was something premeditated about the whole scene.
“You knew I'd come.” he said. The big Kazra nodded, resting the head of his axe on the ground and leaning upon the haft. “You saw it on the river?”
Grinchell said nothing, but Oben knew he was right. He felt a fluttering of hope.
“If you’ve seen your death," he told the clan chief. "You know you cannot win. Why have you come?”
“Never ran from anything in my life. Not about to start now with a southerner.”
Oben allowed that to sink in. He realised he didn’t really know the man whom he had hated for so long.
Kai had been a disturbing foe. He'd had no fear.
Mascal, by all accounts, had been a nasty piece of work, who not even the Ferra seemed to miss.
Gulmorgon was a complicated woman, and in some ways scared him the most.
But Grinchell was another matter.
“Why’d you do it, Grinchell? Why’d you torch my village?”
The big man shrugged. “Animals are not as important to me as they are you.”
“There were people in those buildings! Living, breathing people! My sister for one! She died screaming!”
“That is unfortunate.”
Oben bristled. “Unfortunate?!”
“I did not personally kill your sister, nor did I give the order to. But we did raze the village. A message needed to be sent. The Persuasion, your Jade Knights, greedy priests, that fat swine lord of yours needed to know the Taliskans were coming. For blood this time, not land. They must answer for their crimes.”
“What happened at Tristleton does not excuse what you did. The people of Gilden were innocent!”
“You see the Taliskans as invaders, but it is said your people once did the same. The Edalians came from the east, on ships. It is the way of man – we take what we want, make it our own. But time passes and the deeds that soaked the land in blood are gradually forgotten.”
“What the Persuasion did was wrong, but they must have been given cause.”
“You may look like a simple farmer, but you’re smarter than that. Stop being a sheep.”
Grinchell was right. Oben had heard Rak’s account of what had happened, and he believed him. Why was he still defending the Persuasion?
“Yes,” Grinchell said, nodding. “You know what the Persuasion are capable of. You’ve been controlled by them your whole life. You passed the Grim Cages to get here.”
“The cages are a warning. They are intended to keep invaders out, to keep our people safe and put an end to all of this!”
“And maybe some in the cages deserved it. Maybe I should have been one of them. I’ve never pretended to be a good man. I’ve done things that even Ethra has yet to tally. But those who defied Seringil and accepted the treaty went in peace. My brother amongst them.”
Something changed in Grinchell’s tone.
“Penn.” He spat on the frosty sand. “That isle is worse than Deriath!”
“I’d only ever heard that Penn housed Edalian prisoners.”
Grinchell shrugged.
“There are bad men on all sides. But the Taliskans who went to Tristleton had committed no crime apart from defying the Bearn’s orders. My brother never made it back, but a few did. And they were broken. Tell me, why do your Trinity need northern slaves to mine their precious stones?”
Oben snorted but Grinchell continued before he could think of a logical defence. “Has Ishral ever asked payment of you? For saving you, choosing you, marking you? Wake up, Conduit! If it took burning your pious village to the ground to set you free, maybe it was worth it!”
“You are right. There are bad men on all sides. But no matter what you claim the Persuasion has done, my sister was innocent. I was innocent.”
“Maybe once. Not anymore.”
“My hand was forced. You think it had ever crossed my mind before that day to come riding into this shit place?”
“You seem in no rush to leave.”
“I’m hardly free.”
“Yet you share Gulmorgon’s bed. Drink her wine, enjoy her body. What of your own wife? Not savage enough for you?”
Oben’s cheeks flushed.
“I’ve done things I regret, but I did them to survive. Once I’m away from here, this whole thing will be nothing but a nightmare to be forgotten.”
“I don’t think Gulmorgon will see it that way.”
It no longer mattered that he was unveiling his plans to escape. They had come here today behind Gulmorgon’s back, and only one of them would leave.
“How long have you known about us?” he asked.
“You’ve not been subtle. But who she fucks is no concern of mine.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“I loved her once. But she condemned me when she sent me to that fucking river. I have followed her orders since for Ishral, not for her. Gulmorgon is a cold bitch. She has no heart. She’ll get what she wants from you, then you’ll be dead. Like the rest of us. But you’ve already seen that on the Swan Road, haven’t you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I saw,” Oben said. “I’ll change it.”
Grinchell laughed grimly.
“Just as I intend to change what I saw.” he said, patting his war axe.
“Shall we get on with it then?” Oben said. There was only one way to find out how fate worked. Win here and worry about changing it later, or die and his worries would be over.
“It’s time.” the Kazra chief said, lifting his axe.
“I’ve hated you for a long time, Grinchell, but I wish we had spoken sooner.”
Grinchell spat again on the earthen floor of the pit.
“Who says I would have listened to a rabbit?”
Oben smiled despite himself, and slowly unslung his axe.
Grinchell came at him as though the conversation had all been a dream, and Oben danced back creating some space as the Kazra wheeled and hefted his axe in both hands. Oben parried, staggering back, hands ringing from the impact. The Kazra swung at his neck, and he ducked feeling the wind ripple his hair. He came again, pushing, chopping, driving Oben back towards the edge of the pit. Oben blocked and parried when he could. The clashes and smacks of metal and wood echoing off the walls of the pit and up in the empty stands. Oben applied pressure, but Grinchell was as quick as he was strong, and easily read his movements.
Oben’s grip became slick with sweat and numb from the wrenching jolts. Grinchell caught him with his axe haft under the chin, rattling Oben's jaw, sending him staggering. He fell on his rump, stunned, dizzy. He tasted blood. He scooped up some loose dirt and threw it into Grinchell's face. The Kazra growled, his downward strike missed Oben’s chest but clashed with his axe, wrenching it from his grip. Grinchell wiped his face.
“This ends, Conduit.”
Grinchell hefted his axe, Oben had nowhere left to go. He looked up at the big man and nodded.
Then Grinchell was gone in a flash of black movement. Oben clambered to his hands and knees and looked around. Grinchell lay at the edge of the pit, a giant black bear bending over him, slashing him with its claws. Oben’s mouth went slack. Grinchell’s axe lay just beyond his grasp; he gripped the bear by the throat, holding it off. He glanced at Oben, then at his axe… But Oben was already backing away. He grabbed his own weapon off the dirt an
d scrambled out of the pit. Then he watched in horror as the Kazra and the bear struggled on until the strength went out of Grinchell’s arms and the bear chomped down on his screaming face.
Oben turned away at the wet sound. He sank down on a snow covered bench and stared into the pit. The cage door on the far wall of the pit was broken.
"Hey!"
Oben jumped at the voice and saw Blin sitting up in stands eating a chicken leg. She watched impassively as Grinchell flailed his gored arms and kicked the red sand. She stood and approached. Oben began to tremble.
“What the fuck did you do?” he said.
“Well, that’s gratitude.” She pulled a piece of bone from her teeth.
“I was… he was—”
“Going to kill you?”
“But I’m the Conduit, you should not have interfered.”
She shrugged.
“And I’m supposedly your disciple. How do you know I was not meant to interfere? How do you know Ishral herself did not tell me to come here?”
“Did she?” he asked. He glanced back at the red-muzzled bear worrying Grinchell’s head like a nut.
“No. I saw you skulking around. By the way, you were being followed. I got rid of the tail. You can thank me for that later, as well. When you’ve come to your senses.”
Oben shuddered.
“Wait, how did you know the bear would attack Grinchell, and not me?”
Blin shrugged and threw the stripped chicken bone over her shoulder.
“It was half-half. Better odds than I usually go with… Besides, Ishral’s got your back, right?”
Oben slumped. He had no energy to argue. Despite Blin’s mockery, it certainly looked that way. For the time being at least.
21
FLIGHT OF THE CONDUIT
There was a knock on his door.
Oben dragged himself from his bed, limping barefoot across the room.
“Who is it?” he called.
“Tre.”