Gregorian ended the celebratory meal with grace and aplomb, many grateful parents bowing and smiling at his offers of sponsorship for the rescued children and their families, assuring them that the Guild was happy to assist any struggling parent who sought an honest position for themselves and training for their children, directing more than a few hopeful souls toward a friendly looking scribe who gently led them from the dining hall. Malek flashed the Guildmaster a thankful nod, thinking that for those families, at least, there would be tomorrows full of hope and promise.
37
"Focus on the task at hand, whelp!" This from a fiercely grinning and fully kitted Alacabar wielding his now battered bronze roundshield and twirling about his blunted war axe even as he gazed at Malek, whose head still rang with the force of his partner's latest blow.
Malek grinned fiercely even as he saluted his friend and opponent once more before battle was rejoined in earnest. Their pace did not let up in the least, for all that they had been sparring upon the Guild training grounds for the past glass, Malek's massive practice blade whirling in a dizzying series of cleaves from all angles, preferring to dodge back out of range of his friend's attacks even as he countered with range opening thrusts or vicious hilt bashes when Alacabar strove to rush him, both of them dancing from strike to parry and countermove as fast as death and as sweet as any courtesan, as one onlooker had put it.
As the afternoon wore on, their intensity only increased, the soreness of muscles pushed to their limits the only time they truly felt alive. They reveled in the exertion, never feeling so vital, so connected as they did at those moments, save when they Delved into living dream.
Malek did his utmost to master his opponent, using his massive weapon to smash through Alacabar's defenses, even as Alacabar did all he could to charge past Malek's fearsome onslaught and close with him, and all at a speed so blindingly fast that more than one fresh-faced Guild servitor was left gaping, the adventurers practicing nearby roaring and clapping their approval at the bout.
They did not hold back their force or fury when they fought. Any of their blows, even with the blunt training blades they used, would had been powerful enough to snap necks or crush skulls, helmet or no, were they anything other than the Shadow infused creatures their repeated forays into twisted dreams and darkest nightmare had made them. For them there was pain but no true damage, no injury that would not heal with rest. It was as if they had grown so potent that they could reforge themselves anew upon awakening from even the most gentle of slumbers.
At least the pain kept them honest, Malek ruefully acknowledged as yet another one of Alacabar's brutal strikes got past his defenses, such that they always fought with focus and dedication. And as much as the unspoken rule was for Delvers to try to hide their potency while out in public, letting loose with all force and fury was actually encouraged on Guild grounds. Of course, most Guildmasters were happy to show off just how fast and furious their resident Delvers could be while sparring. It gave visiting men of substance a bit of entertainment, though its true purpose was to remind the upper classes just how potent an ally the Guild could be, and how deadly an enemy.
A blink. Distracted for the merest fraction of a second, catching sight of a strangely familiar smile off in the growing crowd of onlookers.
And then it was gone, replaced by a blinding flash of pain, Malek slammed to the ground with killing force.
"My apologies, Alacabar. You more than earned that point, my own fault for being caught flat-footed, even for a moment," Malek confessed, chuckling ruefully as he accepted his friend's hand pulling him to his feet once more, Alacabar's shield slam having sent him flying even as his axe pounded Malek's helm. For all that Malek had scored a few telling blows of his own, Alacabar had certainly gotten the better of him.
Alacabar chuckled. "Not so bad as all that, my brother. Even half distracted with your new foster daughter and the woman who would have you for her own, you still give a far better fight than anyone else at this Guildhall, save Morlekai himself!"
Malek flushed, both touched and oddly embarrassed by the heartfelt gratitude Anja had shown. Though marked by a life far harder than anyone should have to endure, Malek had caught sight a truly beautiful woman when she had smiled so bright and free of care. He knew she would truly blossom, as would her daughters, with steady meals and a kind master that did not work her so arduously for so little. And little Jacey's deep affection for him touched his heart as much as anything in his life save his shieldsister. Malek knew he'd visit them sometime soon. It would cost him but a pittance to buy Anja and her daughters a comfortable cottage of their own, even a small farm. Hell, he could buy them a truly grand farm upon prime fertile land, fully stocked with acres of fields and cattle, with a manor and servant's cottages, hiring regular farmhands to take care of the day-to-day, for a good deal less than a hundred gold. Of course, it was cold as the dickens this winter and a piss poor time to worry about a farm, even if a sharp investor would think it an excellent time to buy one, when the owners were most desperate and most likely to be in need of cash. But Malek was no opportunist, looking for vulnerable folk to prey upon.
Malek smiled in sudden inspiration. "You know, it would not be too much trouble to buy her a shop. She could be her own master, live in nice quarters upstairs, with the ground floor dedicated to the store and whatever she chooses to sell or make."
Alacabar flashed Malek an approving smile. "You have a good heart, lad. No one can take that from you. But have a care. 'Tis best she have some experience as a merchant or trader, or excel at a craft or trade, lest you want her business to fail. And though it would be but a pittance to you, I caution you that the shame she'd feel at letting you down would be no small thing." He flashed an evil grin. "She would like to impress you, you know. You are her hero, after all. Valiant knight and bloodthirsty Hound both! How interesting it must be to be you."
Malek flashed a wry grin. "Duke diOnni might have honored Jess and me with knighthood after rescuing his clan from a rather vile diabolical plot, but we were trained, first and foremost, as Squires of War. Classically trained knights actually have limited utility, my friend. Mounted, they are excellent for dominating a flat stretch of field, but traversing broken ground, woodlands, or fortifications, you need a different breed of warrior entirely. Agile cavalry trained in scouting and night raids are a damned sight more useful for getting past enemy lines and harrying the enemy's supply trains, crops, and other points of vulnerability, even as we gain valuable information on force deployment and vulnerabilities. We harry our foes, force them off balance, lead them down a lily path to a time and place of our choosing where our main forces have slipped past their weak points. And that is when our knights, bowmen, and pikemen can crush them with overwhelming force."
Alacabar grinned. "And as ill-suited as knights are for taking over Erovering, more forest than not, they are absolutely perfect for an offensive against our neighbors. No wonder the Crown has paid so many bards to wax poetic about the glories of the valiant knight, more noble lads and lasses aspiring for their spurs than at any other time in the last hundred years!" He gave Malek an approving clap upon his already abused shoulder. "So you have a knack for sniffing out your enemy's weaknesses, and the savvy to lead your pack in harrying them into submission. What a valuable Hound you are, boy. No wonder our king has invested so much in his pet project at Highrock."
“You have a point, Alacabar,” Malek allowed, giving his friend a measuring glance even as they took off their helmets and refreshed themselves with a pitcher of ale, Alacabar's smile making it clear he was well aware of the weight of his words and had no fear of consequence. And perhaps there would be none for the group who had uncovered such useful artifacts for king and Crown as they had. Besides, all that Alacabar had said aloud had already become common knowledge. The Lords Council was well aware that the Royal Family had close ties to Highrock. If anything, the competition for entrance had only grown more fierce in recent years. And only
those peoples or nations in blind denial didn't know that Erovering had every intention of declaring war upon Velheim. The only question was when.
Malek sighed and turned to watch the other pair of Delvers sparring at that moment, far more skilled and deadly than most mundanes, but to Malek they seemed almost painfully slow for warriors who would brave the horrors of Shadow.
“Those whelps have a lot to learn,” Alacabar noted, Malek nodding in agreement.
“I feel like I’m already an order of magnitude above them, though I’m guessing both have been in this game far longer than I.”
Alacabar nodded. "True, pup. But to be fair, you're gifted, even for a Delver. Morlekai wouldn't have anything to do with you, if you didn't radiate a certain potential, after all."
Malek nodded. "For all that we Delve as much to savor glory and wild adventure as for anything else, it also somehow sates the Dreamrealms. Keeps it all tame, no? I've long wondered what would happen to those mysterious layers of Regio if there were no adventurers to savor their magic and tame them with our gifts." He sighed. "Though I think I gained some sense of what would happen, when the Turnsby estates were almost pulled into realms of darkest Shadow."
"I think you begin to understand," Alacabar said quietly. "It is more than just glory that moves us. For the more we tame Shadow, the more we claim its power for our own and lock its mysterious potency within the confines of bardic verse, the safer our world's journey through seas of darkness and dream." He shrugged. "I don't claim to know exactly how it all works. I suspect Morlekai alone truly understands it. But whatever the twisted laws it follows, it is true that lands that welcome adventurers are plagued with fewer strange tales of hideous beasts, living nightmares, and walking horrors than those that don't."
Malek nodded. “Maybe that’s why we cease to age for so long as we wear the Delver’s mantel. It is nature’s gift to us for defending her against the nightmares that would otherwise strive to consume our land entirely.”
“Poetic!” his friend teased. “Or it’s just the dark forces we absorb from all our unholy kills in those twisted realms. The sweet rush of our enemy’s power and life-force infusing our own. Like vampires of a different sort, I suppose.”
“You might be right, but I like my explanation a hell of a lot better.”
Alacabar's hearty clap near knocked a grinning Malek over. “Enough philosophy, whelp! Let's see if you’ve learned to handle that oversized sword any better in the time we’ve rested. Come! Let us train so damn fiercely it puts the king’s elite guard to shame, till we both drop from exhaustion!”
Laughing, Malek nodded, and the pair did just that, blows fearsome and savage raining down upon them both, countered just as brilliantly, back and forth they danced, with breaks only for sips of water and invitations to the cheering onlookers, which for some reason no one ever took up, not even their fellow Delvers. Malek was pleased to note that by the end of their second bout, both of them panting in the starry night, helmets removed at last and ale shared once more, that he had given just as well as he had got.
Alacabar sighed even as he tossed away yet another banged up practice shield of thick hammered bronze. Unlike a steel shield, there was no chance of it shattering, and thus it was the perfect accompaniment for a Delver. Of course, few warriors lacking a Delver's strength would tolerate such a weighty shield, making them something of a Delver's oddity. It's secondary redeeming quality, Malek knew, was that a smith could easily hammer it back into shape, or simply melt it and recast it anew. "I would use my own, had it not its killer spike, and your blade as well needs the attention of a good smith." Malek gave a wry nod, his massive Zweihander blade of the same undulating construction as his own sword did indeed look a bit the worse for wear. He was glad that he, like Alacabar, had training weapons and armaments to spare.
“Hot food for us both and a good bath, and I’m sure we’ll sleep like babes,” Malek predicted, quite inaccurately. “Hopefully Morlekai will be back with us on the morrow.”
Alacabar grunted his agreement and both ate quite well, fellow Delvers and Guildmaster alike showering them with effusive praise for their earlier demonstration, and Malek noted more than a few well-dressed men he suspected were town council members eyeing them both apprehensively.
Malek locked gazes with the bunch, smiling coldly when they paled. “It's a wonderful thing to know that the Guild is full of concerned souls, well trained, who take an interest in the welfare of Barlton's citizens, is it not? 'Twould be an unforgivable crime if children were ever allowed to fall so easily into the hands of slavers again, wouldn’t it, councilmen?”
The grand dining hall suddenly stunk of fear as the men before Malek nodded effusively in their agreement. “Indeed it would, Lord Sousel,” declared the most lavishly dressed of the group. “We were just discussing with your fine Guildmaster that it was high time our town had its own investigators within the guard to better address the needs and problems of our fine citizens.”
Gaze never wavering, Malek gave the slightest of nods. “I know a number of families that will be most grateful to hear that their needs and struggles do resonate with the fine councilmen who look after the interests of Barlton.”
“But of course, my lord. You may assure all of that!” The men all murmured their agreement, gazing at the two Delvers before them nervously, glancing back at the Guildmaster almost as if for reassurance.
Knowing he had made his point, Malek saw no reason to listen to their prattle any longer. "Now if you will excuse me gentlemen, Guildmaster, I shall take my leave." He ignored the ingratiating smiles sent his way as he and Alacabar both headed back to their quarters, Malek's touch gently releasing his bloodwards to his friend's approving gaze, the pair savoring the wonderful moment their heads hit the pillows. Malek sighed, feeling a curious unwinding of the bitter regret that so knotted his heart and mind. He wondered if, perhaps, he had finally found a path to redemption. Regardless of what the world thought of him, what the gods themselves might think of the blood he had spilled in his short, violent life, he was grateful to have been able to rescue those children. Lucile, Jacey, and their mother Anja already held special places in his heart. Finally feeling some measure of peace, Malek allowed himself to slip into gentle sleep.
And he woke up gasping in the darkness.
A desperate face, haunted hazel eyes begging him for mercy even as the screams of countless children echoed through endless corridors.
The nightmare had returned.
Malek ignored Alacabar’s concerned gaze as he threw himself out of bed, donning armor and blade with a warrior's practiced efficiency.
Perhaps it was something in his face, perhaps an echo of the horror he had seen in his mind’s eye looking back at them, but Alacabar did little but sigh and nod, donning his own gear. “Your Shadow dreams have returned, I see.”
Nothing would do for it but to check. To make sure those children were safe.
The air was sharp with the chill of deep winter as they made their way out the Guildhall's front entrance, the footmen silently bowing as they passed, Malek's strides near effortlessly elongating into that loping run he could maintain all night, if needed.
Knowing their scents as well as any hound's, it took little effort to track them through the frozen air, Alacabar only grumbling once or twice as Malek's circuitous route took them repeatedly through market and workplaces as it was scent, not geographic knowledge that led him, their reinforced boots crunching softly upon the snow.
And Malek knew he would not be able to rest until he had checked on each and every one of those children. Grumbling aside, Alacabar did not protest as he and his young companion ran through the night, Malek gazing silently into every hovel or apartment building he came to, as if he could sense even the faintest heartbeat, feel the ebb and flow, the very lifeblood of the charges he had taken under his care, sensing the health and vitality of each and every one of them.
“Well, that’s that then, boy. Feel better? For
your eyes glow with moonlight and fire. A fiercer hound no child could hope to have as guardian and friend.”
Malek gave a relieved sigh, having saved Anja’s home for last, Malek’s senses making it abundantly clear that the mother and children were safely asleep in their little hovel. He could hear their heartbeats, after all. Lost in the slow deep rhythm of rest, he recognized each and every one. He chose not to think too deeply on this. He was, after all, quite gifted in the arts of blood.
Still, he had to resist the urge not to knock upon the door and drag them all to the Guildhall where he knew they'd be safe, as if they were all members of a sort of extended pack, brought together by near tragedy and his own desperate need to save those children, as if that would somehow soothe the terrified screams that still echoed through his mind.
“Come, lad. You’ve done what you could. Everyone is safe. Let’s head back home and get what sleep we can.”
Malek allowed his shoulders to sag, taking comfort in his friend’s soothing words. Despite his good-natured grumbles, his friend had said not a word of protest or disparagement against Malek’s dream-fueled compulsion, gamely running by his side in the dead of night, as only a true friend would.
They proceeded back to the Guildhall at a far more reflective pace, Alacabar regaling his younger friend with some of the wilder tales of his own adventures, trying to ease Malek's mind with a storyteller's distraction. Malek did his best to smile and lose himself in his friend's animated stories, and indeed he did feel better as Alacabar's cheerful voice regaled him with stories outrageous and bold, yet the lingering sense of helpless horror from his dreams haunted him long after they had settled to bed, Malek gazing forlornly out the open window upon the brilliant field of stars twinkling high above, afraid to close his eyes and sink into nightmare once more.
Gods of Shadow and Flame Page 40