by R A Oakes
“How’s that relate to girls?”
“Oh, so now I have your attention, have I?”
“So, does it relate to women?” Marcheto had asked smiling broadly.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You can possess a woman’s body but still not possess her spirit.”
“It’s not her spirit I’m after,” Marcheto had laughed.
“It will be when the right woman comes along.”
“Really? Then how can I possess her spirit?”
“By never trying to possess either her body or her spirit. It’s only by your not being possessive that she can freely choose to give you everything.”
“I’m lost, grandmother. I don’t understand.”
“It’ll make sense one day.”
Staring out a castle window in Lord Daegal’s anteroom, Marcheto doubted that anything would ever make sense. Once again, the young man thought about his disastrous encounter with the silken tigress and thought, Maybe the problem is that I finally met a woman who cares even less about love than I do. But do I care about love? Is that what I want? Is that what’s missing?
“Marcheto, Lord Daegal will see you now,” a castle guard growled.
Whirling around from the window, the young warrior almost stumbled but tried to snap out of his musing saying to himself, Focus! Focus!
What had his father told him when he’d daydream his days away as a child? Oh, yes, Marcheto recalled, his dad would say, “You have to be more effective dealing with reality.”
Well, he had. He’d conquered what seemed like half the girls in the castle, if that meant anything, but now he wasn’t so sure. He was also good with a sword, and he’d discovered that he was rarely afraid of anything.
But as he watched the hulking guard approaching him, Marcheto lamented the effects that getting older were having on him and wondered if there was anything special about him now.
“Follow me, Marcheto,” the guard growled.
Marcheto thought, I need to put my personal problems out of my mind. I have to focus on doors that are opening for me and not on ones that are closing. Dad did say that Lord Daegal has something for me that sounded fun.
And it involved sex that was safe for his wounded ego, which was no sex at all. Which was fine with him. After he was finished with whatever Lord Daegal wanted him to do, maybe he could join a monastery. His life seemed over anyway, or so he thought.
Marcheto and the guard approached a set of massive doors that other guards pulled open to let them pass. They then followed a series of winding passageways leading to a vast great room. There, sitting with his back to them as they entered, was the great Lord Daegal.
Marcheto dropped to one knee in the presence of the warlord and remained silent as the guard left. The young man waited for some sign of recognition or welcome from the master of the castle. He waited for over an hour. His knee got sore, but he dared not shift to his other one. He remained quiet and, gradually, he was silent but also in pain. Maybe the softness of the silken tigress was preferable to . . .
“Marcheto!” Lord Daegal said greeting him as if the young warrior had just arrived.
“Lord Daegal,” Marcheto said putting his forehead to the stone floor and holding it there.
The warlord turned back to the table glancing at something he’d overlooked on one of the documents. He picked up the paper, sat back in his chair and proceeded to read several other stacks of papers lost in thought.
The cold from the stone floor started seeping into Marcheto’s skull. His teeth began chattering, and he tried to force them to stop afraid that the sound might annoy his master. It wasn’t beyond Lord Daegal to have Marcheto’s teeth pulled out or his head chopped off if anything about the young man offended the powerful warlord or even served as a distraction.
Marcheto told himself, It’s a privilege to kneel here in my master’s presence. An honor.
It wasn’t unknown for Lord Daegal to kill a person’s entire family for the slightest offence. But the problem was that one never quite knew what might offend the warlord.
After having his head against the stone floor for what seemed like hours, Marcheto realized his brain was fogging over from the cold. However, if Lord Daegal wanted a quick answer to something and found Marcheto to be slow witted, then the embarrassment he’d experienced at the hands of the silken tigress would be nothing compared to the warlord’s wrath.
Marcheto began to shiver, now more from fear than from the cold.
Lord Daegal tossed a paper aside, got up and strode to the window at the far side of the room. “Marcheto come look at this!”
Struggling to get up, he found that both his knees refused to move. They were so stiff they were locked into place like solid bone or rock. Trying to keep from panicking, Marcheto improvised and began rolling over to Lord Daegal. After reaching the window, the young man grasped the ledge and pulled himself up so he could look out and follow his master’s gaze.
Only half aware of Marcheto’s presence, Lord Daegal said more to himself than to the young warrior, “Look at the vast landscape going on for miles and miles. It looks solid. It looks real. But it isn’t, it’s just a façade, a temporary façade.
“People plant their crops and harvest them in orderly succession. The rains must come or the crops will fail. Hunger is almost as real as cold and fatigue. They can make things seem real, and they are, but only for a while. Time passes, people get old and they tend to think about what is coming next. Well, what is coming next is eternal boredom. I think I could stand only so much of an afterlife filled with peace and happiness.
“Pain and suffering are realities. They are real in this world and the next. Some people feel pain and some people cause pain. If someone has to be in torment, I would rather it was someone other than me,” Lord Daegal said.
“You always have to keep the upper hand, Marcheto. Always! To slip for even a moment is like stepping into quicksand for many people are waiting in the wings for their chance at power, and they will cover you in an instant with their own ambitions.
“There’s no time to cultivate the finer things in life. There really are none. Everything dies in the end. Art is but beauty on a gallows.
“You are going to get a chance to help prove that, Marcheto,” Lord Daegal said as he looked down at the young warrior. “And we are about to build the grandest gallows of them all, one that will span this world and the next.”
After pausing for a moment, Lord Daegal put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and said, “Marcheto?”
“Yes, Lord?”
“There’s a certain teenage girl who interests me.”
“Yes, Lord?”
“I want you to take a sword, a special sword, and kill her with it.”
“A girl? You want me to kill a teenage girl?” Marcheto asked looking up at him.
“Well, she’s a unique young woman, and she won’t be easy to kill. But I want you to meet her, get to know her, gain her trust and lure her away from her traveling companions.”
“That should be easy enough,” Marcheto said smiling a little. “Who are these traveling companions?”
“A horse, a sword and an old man.”
“Is that the sword I’ll use to kill her?”
“No, Marcheto, it’s not. But whatever you do, don’t harm her until after the summer solstice. By then, if all goes well, she won’t be so special anymore.”
“Won’t any sword do in that instance?”
“No, not quite, not even then.”
“Why not?”
“Women in her family have a nasty habit of continuing to turn up. Defeat one and 100 years later you’ll end up having to fight her great-granddaughter. It’s tiresome, but that’s the way of it.”
“We’ll all be dead long before that, Lord Daegal. Why worry about something that far off in the future?”
“Because I still intend on being here. Perform your task well, and you may be as well!”
�
�When will I get the sword I am to use?”
“It’s a dark sword, a sentient being. It will find you.”
“How?”
Lord Daegal stood to his full height, glowered at the young warrior at his feet and demanded, “Are you willing to kill the girl for me? Are you?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“With all your heart?” Lord Daegal shouted, his anger a terrible thing to see.
“Yes, Lord Daegal, I promise!” Marcheto said backing up against a wall.
“Then the sword will find you, my boy. The sword will find you!”
Chapter 9
The riders came storming out of the east with the sun at their backs, their horses’ hooves pounding the dirt filling the air with plumes of dust. Urging their mounts onward, the riders clambered up a slope and around a bend in the road, the same bend Corson was looking at while walking ahead on point. The warrior woman had been waiting and hoping for something dangerous to happen. In an instant, it materialized with a vengeance. Corson smiled.
Unsheathing the sword slung over her back and gripping the hilt with both hands, she planted her feet firmly and raised the weapon above her head. Watching the horses barreling towards her, the warrior woman tried to judge their speed and distance while staring hard at the faces of the riders bearing down upon her. Time ceased to exist. All of life stood on the edge of her sword.
With blinding speed, Corson’s blade arced through the air and the lead rider fell from his saddle landing on the ground in a heap. One man tried running down the warrior woman, but at the last moment, Corson sidestepped the horse leaping at the front leg closest to her and gripping it firmly. Never having heard of anyone tackling a horse before, the rider was completely taken by surprise and thrown hard from his saddle. Two horses following close behind tripped over the fallen animal sending their riders flying as well. The horses scrambled to their feet uninjured, but the marauders remained sprawled out motionless on the hard packed earth.
Corson was back up in a flash, striking the next rider so hard that she almost cut him in half. Twirling about, she slashed at another rider cutting through the back half of his thigh severing an artery. Realizing his death was imminent and bursting with rage, the rider spun his horse around and kicked the animal’s ribs with the heel of his good leg sending it into a headlong charge. But the rider never made it to Corson, at least not alive. Dying in the saddle, he fell from his horse onto the warrior woman knocking her to the ground. Lying on her back and feeling stunned, she took several deep breaths clearing her head while trying to make a quick assessment of the situation. Standing back up, she again planted her feet firmly, raised her sword and waited for the next assault to begin.
Having made it past Corson unscathed, the few remaining riders stopped, turned around and were utterly amazed at the extent of their losses. Seeing so many crumpled forms lying in the dust, they stared in shock at the carnage. Then as one man, they hurled themselves at the female warrior.
Even with fewer attacking marauders, Corson was still outnumbered which was how she most enjoyed battle. Horses charging, saddle leather creaking, angry riders shouting with swords flailing and all bent on her destruction. Corson felt flattered. Then she calmly cut them down.
Looking at the riders who’d been thrown from their saddles, the warrior woman discovered one had broken his neck when he fell, but two others were alive, though mortally wounded and moaning in pain.
After listening to the cries of her vanquished enemies, savoring the sounds of victory, Corson silenced them with a few quick swipes of her sword. Looking up, the warrior woman watched her traveling companions approaching, especially focusing on Aerylln’s face, and asked herself, How will this innocent girl react to what she sees?
Aerylln drifted among the dead like a waif floating through the clouds. She saw what was around her but was still somewhat detached. The teenage girl looked at the dead riders, the blood soaked ground and lastly at Corson’s face.
“Life is totally unpredictable, isn’t it Corson?”
“Yes, at least it’s always been that way for me.”
Aerylln continued walking through the human wreckage, the hem of her dress turning crimson so covered was the area with blood. Corson watched her young friend expecting Aerylln to be sickened by what she saw.
Instead, Aerylln seemed to grow stronger, and Corson would later swear that Aerylln had matured at that very moment in time.
“I’m sorry, little one,” Zorya said nuzzling the young woman’s neck brushing against her golden locks.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s just the way things are, I suppose.”
And having said that, Aerylln reached for Baelfire who was hanging from the pommel of Zorya’s saddle, and the teenage girl unsheathed the sword. Zorya was surprised as the young woman’s golden hair fell to the ground, and Aerylln kept cutting until it barely touched her shoulders. Pulling it back and securing her hair with a clip, more of Aerylln’s face was exposed making her appear even younger and thinner than before.
Quietly coming over to them, Eldwyn bent down and picked up the locks of golden hair. No one asked him why, knowing the wizard had reasons and ways of his own.
“Who’s that?” Aerylln shouted spinning around and pointing at a grove of nearby trees. When a young man’s face peeked out from behind a tree limb, Aerylln bolted for it.
Swinging Baelfire and sending the sword whistling through the air, Aerylln slashed at the tree limb cutting through it with effortless ease. Amazed that the tree hadn’t even slowed the arcing movement of the sword, Corson wondered, What exactly am I dealing with here?
Aerylln swung Baelfire once more but cut only air.
Never before having seen such a powerful sword,
Marcheto tore down a path through the woods with his chest heaving and his eyes wide with shock and surprise. And who was the man who wielded his sword so effectively during the battle? Or was it a woman? he asked himself. It had been hard to tell.
Looking over his shoulder and seeing Aerylln still hot on his heels, Marcheto thought, What a mess! Wait till my father hears about this. That’s if anyone’s left alive to tell him, including me.
Marcheto focused again on the efficiency of Corson’s defense and how she’d fought with an economy of movement. Every motion was lethal. There had been no wasted effort or energy. Marcheto recalled one of his teachers telling him, Simplicity, inner harmony and self-discipline can transform personal combat into a thing of beauty, and in rare instances, into a form of poetry.
Well, whoever that warrior was, he or she’d learned their lessons well, Marcheto thought, totally amazed.
At that moment, a bolt of energy from Baelfire struck Marcheto in the back knocking him off his feet and down an embankment. Being a bit of a romantic, Baelfire had given this little nudge to Marcheto as a way of helping Aerylln along on this, her first foray into the world of young men.
Tumbling through grass, brush and small trees onto the level ground below, Marcheto lay on his back feeling dazed but was still able to reflect on how the day’s events had gone so very wrong.
Lord Daegal and his father had arranged this attack, or what had been planned to be a mock assault with no one dying or getting seriously injured. The riders who’d stormed down upon the travelers were to give Marcheto the opportunity to look like a hero. He’d pretend to hack at some of the riders with his sword, make a display of bravery and drive them off. But they hadn’t factored in Corson.
I feel like a fool, Marcheto thought. A teenage girl with a very powerful sword is chasing me. What an embarrassment.
Breaking into his reverie, Aerylln came plunging down the embankment and would have tripped and fallen, but Baelfire intervened keeping her upright. Looking on, Marcheto felt sure the young woman had stumbled and was going to come crashing down the hillside as well, but the sword had somehow not fallen with her. Fortunately, Aerylln had been able to maintain her grip on Baelfire, who wasn’t in the mood to go bou
ncing down a dirty hill.
Marcheto watched in horror as Aerylln reached the base of the embankment, raised the sword over her head and took another swipe at him. Regaining his senses and rolling out of the way, he barely escaped the sword as it dug deeply into the earth. Fearing for his life, Marcheto leapt to his feet and was off and running again.
Back at the scene of the battle, Corson turned to Zorya and Eldwyn and asked, “So, what do you suppose Aerylln is up to?”
“Maybe she’s found herself a boyfriend,” Zorya said smiling.
“How do you think it’s going?”
At that moment, Marcheto came running from behind some trees sprinting as hard as he could. Close on his heels was a blond girl who was gritting her teeth as she gave chase.
“I think it’s going pretty well. At least she has him on the run,” Zorya laughed.
“Good, Aerylln’s learned the first rule of dealing with men. Keep them off balance, in the wrong, and never let them feel they have you,” Corson said smiling.
“So what are we going to do with him?” Eldwyn asked.
“I guess we’ll see what the young man has to say for himself,” Corson said. “If Aerylln leaves us anything to question after she catches up with him.”
Marcheto reached the small group of travelers, but Corson, Eldwyn and Zorya showed him no sympathy.
“What are you doing with my sister?” Corson shouted tripping him with her walking stick and sending him sprawling in the dirt.
The powerful warrior woman strode over to the young man, glared down at him and growled, “Did you put a hand on my defenseless little sister?”
Catching up to Marcheto, Aerylln swung Baelfire once more and would have struck him right across the chest, except the sword decided the young warrior had been harried and harassed enough. This time, Baelfire allowed Aerylln to be drawn off balance sending her sprawling into the dirt also and ending up on top of Marcheto.
And Aerylln, who had initiated the chase, pursued Marcheto recklessly, scared Marcheto half to death and almost killed him, hauled back her palm and slapped him full across the face.
