Forging Destiny

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “What?” Brund’s look hardened like cold granite. “You mean you gave your position away?”

  “No, sir,” Tovak said. “I’m sure they didn’t see or hear me. That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” There was a harsh edge to Brund’s question that indicated he did not have time to play games. “Explain yourself.”

  “I could sense him, sir.” He looked to Benthok. “Really, I could feel him coming before I even saw the enemy.”

  Tovak blew out a frustrated breath as Brund and Benthok exchanged skeptical looks.

  “I swear I felt them approaching,” Tovak continued before either could speak, “and when the Koin’Duur got close enough … that last moment … he turned and stared straight at where I was hiding. It was as if he knew I was there, just like I knew he had been getting closer to us.”

  Brund had turned his gaze back to Tovak. He stared for a long moment, then looked to Benthok. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “No,” Benthok said. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it. Though, he did alert me to the presence of the enemy and I could not see them myself. He and I had pretty much the same view of the forest.”

  Brund was silent for several moments before he spoke.

  “Have you felt such things before now?” Brund asked. “This … this intuition?”

  Tovak gave a nod. “At first, I thought I was imagining it, sir.” He took a slow, deep breath and let it out. “I had the same feeling in the enemy’s camp. I mean, it’s impossible, right? Isn’t it?”

  “Listen, Tovak,” Benthok began. He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “That poison may have you not thinking too clearly.”

  “I am not imagining things, sir,” Tovak insisted. “This is very real.”

  “I guess it could be something like Rock Sense,” Brund said to Benthok, then turned back to Tovak. “Maybe you did imagine it, maybe you didn’t. We’ll worry about this later, after our mission is over and the warband has access to Keelbooth. But, that said, I want you to promise me and Benthok something.”

  “Anything, sir.”

  “If you ever get a feeling like that again, let us both know immediately.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Good,” Brund said. “Also, don’t discuss this with the others, at least for now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said.

  “Think you can walk?” Brund asked. “After what happened here, we’re all headed back to camp.”

  With effort, Tovak sat up. Benthok helped him to his feet.

  “I believe I can, sir,” Tovak said, wobbling a moment before becoming steady. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he lurched forward a step, then became steadier.

  The lieutenant stood close to hand, ready to help, but Tovak waved him off. If he could, Tovak wanted to do this himself. He breathed deeply for several moments, trying to gather his strength. He still felt dreadfully tired, but he was ready to do whatever was expected of him. At least he wanted to. He looked around and realized that all of the bodies were gone, as were the casualties they had taken. One of Brund’s pioneers was busy sweeping branches over an area about ten yards away, but aside from that, the area had been pretty thoroughly cleaned up.

  To his trained eyes, it was clear that something had happened, but most of the boot prints and marks had been smoothed or covered over with leaves and deadfall. Scanning the area, he realized that from a distance, at least, it would just look like more forest with no story to tell.

  “Where are those we killed?” Tovak asked, searching. He wanted to see the enemy leader’s body. There was almost a need to.

  “I had them dumped in the river,” Brund said. “The current should take them a fair distance downstream and well away from here. With luck they won’t be discovered anytime soon. I also did not want to leave them for animals to discover. That might have attracted some notice.”

  “And our own dead?” Tovak asked. “Are we taking them with us?”

  Brund shook his head. “Buried and covered over with leaves. Like this whole area, nobody will know a fight occurred here, unless they’re standing on it and are skilled at reading signs. At least we can hope, anyway.”

  Tovak gave a nod, feeling a wave of sadness that the dead were not receiving the honors they deserved.

  “There’s no choice,” Benthok said. “We’re moving out shortly. It’s either we bury them here or carry them back to the detachment to be buried at the camp. As such, we don’t see any reason to bring them back with us. This is as good a spot as any. As it is, carrying Karn will slow our pace some.”

  “It might be better to put him out of his misery,” Brund said. “That poison is nasty stuff.”

  “No,” Benthok said, firmly. “Tovak recovered, perhaps Karn will too.”

  “We can only hope.” Brund sounded far from convinced.

  Tovak looked around, spotted his sword and pack a few feet away. He moved over and picked up his weapon off the ground. His bandaged arm hurt from the effort, but it was tolerable. He could feel the stitches there, tugging against his skin. The area still burned, but it was more distraction than pain, only a fraction of discomfort compared to the fire that had burned through his entire body when he was first cut.

  Tovak turned to Benthok and caught him eying the back of his arm. Maybe, Tovak thought, he’d just imagined the whole thing. Maybe all the pulls and feelings were just his imagination trying to deal with everything that had been going on. It couldn’t be real. Could it?

  He closed his eyes for a long moment and turned his attention within himself. The light was still there. As if a physical thing, it burned a blue fire inside his chest. As he was reaching out to touch it, Brund’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

  “Tovak.”

  “Sir?” Tovak blinked, focusing on the lieutenant.

  “I asked if you were ready to head out. Are you?” Brund eyed Tovak. “Are you certain you’re okay to make the hike back?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak replied without hesitation. “I will make it.”

  “Iger’s already on his way back with word of what happened here and what we found,” Brund said. “We’ll go slow and steady. There’s no reason to rush. If you need a break, speak up, understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tovak said. “Did you find a path for the detachment?”

  “Aye,” Brund said as he picked up his pack and put it on. “We did. Also, it seems the enemy army is not yet in the valley. We saw no evidence they were there in any meaningful strength, which is a good thing.” He turned and whistled once to catch the attention of the remaining pioneers who were readying themselves. Two had fashioned a stretcher, upon which Karn lay.

  The sight of Karn, lying still and unmoving, filled Tovak with sadness. He let go a breath and offered up a silent prayer that his corporal pull through.

  “Let’s go,” Brund ordered.

  Tovak took it slow. He felt exhausted and weary. The going was tough but with each passing step, he became more confident and felt better, recovering a measure of himself. When they reached the river and the fallen tree they’d used before, Brund quickly made his way across. Benthok motioned for Tovak to make the crossing next. The lieutenant followed close behind, clearly to make sure that Tovak did not slip. Once across, Karn was brought over next. Then the diminished party continued on.

  The moon rose through the trees and hovered high overhead, shining its light through the canopy of leaves. The temperature dropped and the shadows within the forest grew longer. Tovak was already immensely fatigued, tired, and run-down. A few times he stumbled, either from exhaustion or due to low-lying brush he’d not seen. He vowed to himself to make it all the way without help.

  Taking turns, the pioneers and even the officers helped to carry Karn. All throughout their journey, the corporal did not wake.

  Please help, Thulla, Tovak prayed, glancing at the darkened sky. Keep Karn alive. Do not let him die.

  When they stopped to switch l
itter-bearers, Tovak took several gulps from his waterskin and re-corked it. The water was refreshing. And then, the march resumed. Pushing his fatigue aside, Tovak continued on.

  “One step at a time,” he said to himself, determined. “Just one step at a time.”

  It seemed to take an eternity to reach the camp. When they arrived, there were no fires. Most everyone, barring the sentries, was asleep. It had to have been sometime after twelve horns. They were challenged and Benthok answered. Then they were moving through the gap in the camp’s wall and roughhewn gate.

  “Send for Fenton,” Benthok said to one of the sentries as Karn’s stretcher was set down. The lieutenant’s tone was low. “And tell me, where can we find Captain Dagon?”

  Tovak took a deep breath and struggled to stay on his feet. He shrugged off his pack and knelt down beside Karn. The corporal was pale as fresh snow and covered in a sheen of fever sweat.

  “Yes, sir,” the sentry said, “I’ll fetch the healer straightaway. And the captain is over that way, sir. He’s asleep.”

  Brund set out, walking between and around the sleeping warriors. Benthok hesitated a moment and stepped over, close to Tovak. The lieutenant leaned in and whispered, “I think you should tell the cleric everything that happened. He might have better insight on what’s going on with you. You can trust Fenton. He’s a good one.” And then he was gone.

  Tovak stared after Benthok. He turned back to Karn. The corporal was lying deathly still and under the moonlight looked extremely pale, almost as if he had already died. The only hint that he yet lived was his chest rising and falling. Karn’s breathing was shallow.

  “What happened to him?”

  Tovak looked up to see the priest, who knelt down opposite of Tovak. Father Fenton carried a bag with him.

  “Koin’Duur blade,” Tovak said. “Lieutenant Benthok said so.”

  “Poison then,” Fenton said as he looked over his patient, opening one of Karn’s eyes and checking the corporal’s pulse.

  “It cut me too,” Tovak added.

  Fenton stopped what he was doing and looked up at Tovak for a long moment. The priest’s eyes went to Tovak’s bandaged arm. He gave a nod and then turned back to the corporal. He set about removing Karn’s bandage and examining the corporal’s wound. He checked Karn’s pulse again, then wrapped the wound back up. “Not much I can do, other than make him comfortable and hope he can fight off the poison. I would not hold out hope, though. He’s pretty far gone, and most people do not recover from Koin’Duur wounds.”

  Tovak felt a terrible wave of sadness crash over him. Here was another friend and comrade laid low. And to make things worse, Tovak felt responsible. The guilt wracked him.

  “Now,” Fenton said, and nodded towards Tovak’s bandaged arm, “let me see this injury of yours.”

  “The lieutenant stitched it up,” Tovak said, his eyes still on the corporal. Tovak felt absolutely wretched.

  “I still want to see it.”

  Tovak held out his arm.

  Fenton carefully unwrapped the bandage, which had been fashioned from some coarse cloth. He turned the arm over to see the wound under the moonlight and scowled.

  “What game are you playing at?” Fenton asked, looking up and releasing the arm. “It’s only bruised, a bad scrape at best. It’s not been stitched up.”

  Tovak looked at his arm, where he’d been sliced. He blinked, thoroughly astonished. There was no cut. He could still feel the residual pain, but the wound had healed and there were no stitches. It was as the priest said, a bad scrape only.

  Fenton glanced down at the unwrapped bandages that lay next to Karn. He leaned forward and picked up what looked like a loop of thin thread. Tovak realized it was what Benthok had used to stitch him up.

  What was going on with him?

  “Who are you?” Fenton asked, looking back up at him. The priest suddenly grabbed Tovak’s arm and poked at the wound with a stiff finger. “Did that hurt?” he asked.

  “It did,” Tovak replied. “Not too bad though.”

  Fenton gave him a curious expression. His eyes narrowed.

  “How does it feel? The area in general, I mean.” He prodded the skin again, this time around the wound, eliciting a wince from Tovak.

  “It still burns a little—more like a tingle than anything else at this point. The pain was much worse before.”

  “Curious.” The priest looked from Tovak to Karn and back again. “You were struck by the same blade? Is that correct?”

  “I was,” Tovak said. “The pain was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It radiated throughout my entire body. I thought I would go mad from it. And I think I lost consciousness … I mean, I know I did … it’s just that … I um ….” Tovak suddenly felt unsure.

  “Go on.” Fenton’s gaze had fixed itself upon Tovak.

  Tovak took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He felt like he was being studied by the priest, as one might look at a strange insect. Maybe, like Benthok had said, he could tell Fenton everything, but he was still leery to do so. Tovak had long ago learned that trust needed to be earned. And some priests were better than others. Tovak had encountered a few who, after learning he was a Pariah, had wanted nothing to do with him.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Tovak said, and decided to give a little. “After I was wounded, I only felt pain. I saw a blue spark ….”

  “A blue spark?” Fenton interrupted. “In the air?”

  “No. It was in my mind,” Tovak said. “When I reached up and grasped it, I felt a cooling wave flow through me.” He looked to the cleric and searched his eyes. “The pain seemed to fade somehow. I don’t know how or why, but what could only have been moments later … it can’t have been more than a few heartbeats … I woke.”

  Fenton leaned back, studying Tovak. “A blue spark, you say? This is very curious, interesting even. What else are you not telling me?”

  “I fought the Koin’Duur.” Tovak felt a return of the horror and revulsion he’d felt at seeing the enemy’s leader. A coldness ran down his back. “I killed him. Before I could see him, I could sense its evil, the darkness. I felt an almost overpowering need to kill it. I am not sure what’s going on with me. Do you know what’s happening?”

  “Interesting.” Fenton’s gaze was still fixed upon Tovak. “You are Tovak, the Pariah, aren’t you? Iger pointed you out to me yesterday.”

  “I am,” Tovak said, wondering how this would change things between them.

  “Many of our people have lost their way,” Fenton said. “You, I judge, have not. You are a believer.”

  “I am,” Tovak said again.

  “You are not the first Pariah to find comfort in faith,” Fenton said. “I sense Thulla’s hand here.”

  “You do?” Tovak asked, surprised. Perhaps he wasn’t going crazy after all.

  “Yes,” Fenton said. “I do.”

  Tovak nodded, feeling a wave of emotion come over him. He looked away, remembering Father Danik, the cleric of Thulla who had so profoundly changed his life, helped him find faith. Danik had also helped Tovak find the will to keep going. Fenton reminded Tovak of him.

  “In the holy books there are tales of Thulla granting His warriors abilities, powers to fight evil,” Fenton said. “It is possible, when you needed it, because of your faith, He lent you some strength.”

  Tovak looked up at that. “I am not a holy warrior.”

  “No?” Fenton asked, cocking his head to the side slightly. He regarded Tovak for a long moment. He then gestured at Tovak’s arm. “You are a believer and faithful. By killing that Koin’Duur, you were doing His holy work. That poison should have killed you, and you said the lieutenant stitched you up. Wounds don’t heal that quickly. Only a miracle could do such a thing, and those have been in short supply of late.”

  Tovak did not know what to say. He needed to think and was tired, exhausted even. He could think after some sleep.

  Karn suddenly moaned and Tovak turned his gaze back to his corporal.
He felt helpless.

  “You will look after him?” Tovak asked.

  “He will be in good hands,” Fenton said. “You have my word on that. I will also pray for his soul.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tovak stood, glanced once more at Karn. He was about to turn away and then stopped. There was the slightest pull, tugging at his mind. It was faint, but by the moment was growing stronger. He slowly turned back and stared at Karn for several heartbeats. As if urged, he knelt, placed his hand upon the corporal’s chest, and bowed his head. Tovak closed his eyes. He did not know why he did it, only that it seemed the right thing to do.

  “Thulla, it is not my place to ask for Your strength. I fear that, somehow, I might be asking for more than is my right. Karn faced evil bravely and knowing full well what it could mean. I only ask that You deem him worthy as he faces death and fights for his life. To die by poison seems a fate unworthy for such a warrior. Please, I beg You, grant him life or, if not, spare him undue suffering.”

  Tovak felt a surge from inside him. The blue spark grew into a raging fire. Time once again seemed to slow. The internal fire flared bright and he felt a flow of what could only be described as energy. It moved from the fire within, through his arm, then hand, and into Karn.

  Tovak opened his eyes and gasped, astonished. The energy or power or whatever—it seemed to have been holy. He felt soothed by it. The night somehow seemed brighter. Then the fire within faded back into a spark.

  Shaken, Tovak rose to his feet. Surely he had felt Thulla’s power.

  “I could not have said it better myself, Tovak,” the priest said. “That was a fine prayer. He’s in good hands and I am sure Thulla will look after him.”

  Tovak stared at the priest for a long moment. It was clear Fenton was unaware of what had just happened. He had sensed nothing. Why? What was going on?

  “Thank you,” Tovak said quietly, feeling like he might just fall to the ground and dive into a deep sleep. Grabbing his pack, he turned and walked off, threading his way through the camp, in search of his squad. He found Dagmar, Bettoth, Torimar, and Gorabor asleep.

  Wearily, Tovak set his pack down and, as quietly as he could, removed his bedroll and blanket. All he wanted to do was lie down and pass out. His eyelids felt like they were made of stone, the weight of the world upon them. He laid his bedroll down next to Gorabor.