The Living Sword 3: The Burden of Legacy

by Pemry Janes

  “Are you sure?” Raven Eye let those words hang, but only briefly. “I wanted to talk to you. You and our guests. You might have missed it in all the excitement, but the Festival of Conclave is only three weeks away.”

  She had, actually. Not that Leraine was in any mood for a festival. So she shrugged. “So this is goodbye, then.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to Chappenuioc this year. Not with this hip.” She spun the cane and pointed its tip at Leraine. “You’ll be swearing Urumoy to the Great Truce this year.”

  “Me?”

  But Mother nodded as if it made perfect sense, and Leraine was starting to see where she was coming from. A direction Raven Eye confirmed with her next words.

  “Who else? Your deeds are spreading far and wide.” No doubt on the wings of Mother’s messenger swifts. “Having you swear the Truce will make good use of your newfound renown. Not like you were going to put it to any good use yourself.”

  Leraine carefully didn’t look in Rock’s direction. “Very well, I’ll go.” And while I’m there, I can participate in one of the competitions as well. Unarmed or sword-stick. I’m not good enough with the bow.

  “Should I congratulate you?” Rock asked.

  She gave him a shrug. “It is an honor.”

  “It’s a little more than that,” Mother interjected. “The Festival of Conclave is the most important event in the Federation and without the Truce, the Federation itself would not exist. We’d be back to a collection of squabbling septs and tribes. We’d drown in blood within the year.”

  Rock frowned at Raven Eye’s words. “I must admit the books I read weren’t clear on a lot of things. I think there was something about a festival at Chappenuioc in one, but they didn’t use that name.”

  Leraine sniffed. “Oh, I’ll bet they didn’t. But the Festival of Conclave is its proper name. It’s a celebration of our origins, of what it means to be People.”

  “Though those who are not are still welcome to participate,” Mother said. “Indeed, horse people, short-people, sun-men, they’ve all competed in the Games, and some even won them.”

  Leraine regarded her mother and Rock; there was something about that explanation. And why did she want him here if all she was going to do was tell me I’d be attending the festival? “You want him to participate in the Games!”

  Her teeth clicked as both Rock and Mother looked at her. Her mother shook her head after a moment. “Only to encourage him to join you. People from all tribes gather for the festival. It is quite possible for some answers to his questions to be found there.”

  Leraine shook her head vigorously enough that her draen swept over her shoulder and landed on her chest. “That is not wise.” Then she hesitated, and decided to use a different argument. “He is still learning our language and our customs. It would be too easy for him to give offense among such a large crowd.”

  Mother scoffed and ticked her cane against the floor. “Please. He could mortally offend a Crocodile swamp-dweller and at best he’d be challenged to a duel outside the bounds of Chappenuioc. One to first blood. Or are you worried about something more complicated?”

  She let out a sigh. “Of course you know.”

  “My ears and mind still work fine, whatever some may think.”

  Rock took only a moment longer to catch on, then he gave Raven Eye a hard look. “You know about my mother.”

  Raven Eye nodded. “I do. I even recall the incident. Well, of hearing of it. You are in quite a bit of trouble, boy. Fervent will hear of you soon enough and she’ll demand restitution. The leader of Caetiwo can’t afford to show leniency here, not that she’d be inclined to.”

  And would that news have any help reaching Fervent’s ear? Leraine wanted to ask that question, but she couldn’t. Not with Rock present. And Mother wasn’t done.

  “The gold you won in Linese might have been enough, but that’s gone.”

  Rock’s stance shifted. “How do you know?”

  Raven Eye smiled. “Your clothes and boots are wearing thin. My daughter’s new armor couldn’t have been cheap. And your sword has a habit of losing his bets.”

  “I’m not that bad,” Misthell said. “And most of my bets don’t even involve money. Right, tell her Eur—ah, Rock. Tell her we’re fine.”

  But Eurik’s shoulders sagged as he let out a long sigh. Leraine balled her right hand into a fist, the one out of view of Mother. How dare she. I invited Rock here. I promised him hospitality and now Mother thinks she can use him for one of her schemes? She gave him a worried glance. Leraine knew him to be stubborn, too stubborn for his own good often enough. Surely even a few words from Raven Eye couldn’t bring him down?

  “I’ve yet to hear anything that convinces me my mother did indeed commit the crime,” Rock said.

  Raven Eye’s smile only grew wider. “That’s the spirit. Excellent. But that only buys you time, boy. Fervent will bring her case before the loretellers and she’ll convince them of the right of her case. Your mother did you no favors by running away right after it happened.”

  Leraine couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “No doubt you already have a solution.”

  “I do. Rock here is a skilled unarmed fighter. He’d have a good chance at winning that particular event at the festival. The prize would be enough not only to provide restitution but also cover his living sword’s . . . habit. And the general expenses of living in a human settlement.”

  “I would be allowed to use the Ways in this competition?”

  Leraine was already shaking her head. “It wouldn’t matter. The Games are held within Chappenuioc. Horse people magic doesn’t work there and you told me you had trouble with your powers on the Road.”

  “Is that so?” Mother tapped the cane with her fingers. They hopped from left to right like an anxious bird. “Well, it’s just a thought. And whatever else, the festival remains your best opportunity to find someone who knew your father. I’ll admit the name sparked no recognition from me. But there will be plenty of people from the Puma tribe there.”

  Rock grew still, his head turned down. “I’ll need to think about it,” he said, looking back up at Raven Eye. “If it is about money, I can think of other ways to earn it.”

  Her mother nodded. “Of course. Though you don’t have long. Leraine and her party will have to leave soon. And while you are my guest, that protection only extends so far. But go, meditate, ponder. Talk to Misthell. Whatever you need to come to a decision.”

  “I need to talk to Mother about something else,” Leraine said to him. “But I’ll join you shortly. The training circle?”

  He nodded. “Sure. See you there.”

  “I’m really not that bad,” Misthell couldn’t help but say one more time as Eurik headed for the door.

  Leraine waited until it shut again before she spoke. “Why do you want him to compete in the Conclave Games?”

  “Leraine, he’s my guest. I just thought he could use a bit of advice. This is a complicated situation he finds himself in. Especially given that he didn’t grow up among our people.”

  She crossed her arms. “Mother, he’s not here now. You wouldn’t be bothering with this if there wasn’t some scheme. But Rock is my guest.”

  “Your guest?” Raven Eye lifted an eyebrow and glanced at the ceiling. “And here I thought this was still my house. Well, it’s very nice of you to let me pretend, daughter.”

  Leraine looked away. “I apologize. But my point still stands. You mean to use him.”

  Raven Eye let the silence linger and settled a little deeper into the cushions. “The favorite to win this year’s unarmed competition at the festival is a young man of the Wolf tribe named Dancing Spark.” Mother levered herself up and forward. “He is also favored to take up the mantle in Thevoy as soon as Gray Mist steps aside. And it will be soon.”

  The cane thumped the floor as her mother got up and went over to a small chest. “He is easy on the eyes, charismatic, and not afra
id to tell everybody that both Thevoy and the Wolf tribe must leave the Great Truce. And the winner’s podium at Chappenuioc would amplify his message a thousandfold,” she said as she stuffed some dried dreamweed into her pipe and went to light it.

  Leraine pressed her lips together. “I’m not so sure Rock could win. As I said, his magic doesn’t work properly on the Road. Chappenuioc will be no different.”

  Mother sucked deeply on her pipe and as she let out a stream of smoke Leraine could see some of the lines of her mother’s face soften. “Perhaps. It doesn’t matter if Rock wins, really. I’m not even counting on his participation. It’s a matter of throwing enough knives at your target, some will stick. Rock is but one more knife.”

  She stopped regarding her pipe and her eye bored into Leraine. “Now, does that strike you as a worthy endeavor? Stopping the destruction of our people?”

  Leraine wanted to argue. But she’d noticed more Truce Warriors walking the streets of Urumoy since her return. And she’d heard rumors of brawls between them and some Traditionalists. That word hadn’t been used a year ago. Lines were being drawn right through Urumoy and if that was happening in the other tribes . . .

  She nodded and took a step away from the acrid, sweet smoke slowly filling the room. “Yes. Do you need me to compete then as well?”

  Raven Eye sat down again. “You’re better with the sword. You should play to your strengths, dear. And it’s not like Dancing Spark is the only crow among our people.” She made a shooing motion. “Go, practice, talk to your friend.”

  Leraine inclined her head. “Mother.” She quickly left the room and took a deep breath of clean air once the door closed behind her. Then she headed for the yard.

  ***

  Eurik could practically feel the hidden looks even as he did his best to concentrate on his other senses. He knew he’d draw attention, but he couldn’t let that deter him from training. The wind was constrained here in Urumoy.

  But it still blew. Standing on one foot on a post, he could feel it pluck at his clothes and ruffle his hair. It was getting a bit long. The wind carried with it the smells of the lake, and the smells of the tannery it had passed along the way. It held the cries of the lake gulls, the barking of dogs, the cheering of playing children, and the yells of hawkers.

  Eurik tried to probe deeper. The wind had blown over the lake, but it hadn’t started there. It had come from elsewhere. The impression was faint. Or his own senses not attuned enough. His arms moved as he drew more of the wind toward himself and tried to focus.

  “I’m really not that bad. I win! Sometimes,” Misthell said.

  He wobbled on his post, the wind whirling out of his grasp. “Misthell . . .”

  “I just . . . we’re good, right? You don’t— I mean, you’re not a swordsman and I’m worth, like, a lot of money . . . You’re not thinking of getting rid of me, right?”

  Sighing, Eurik opened his eyes and looked down at where Misthell was propped up against another post. “No, I’m not.”

  “That’s good, great! Yeah, I knew she was just trying to scare me. I mean, you.”

  “Misthell,” he said as the sword kept rambling on. “I’m not going to sell you, but I’m not comfortable with how you’re acting either. That you like to gamble.” Eurik shrugged. “But you’ve been reckless lately and that’s not at all like you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “When was the last time you complained about the dangers of combat, how easily you rust?”

  “I did that yesterday, remember? You left me with that sneaky woman who wanted to make me work off my— You know.”

  “Your gambling debt. Yes, but you were worried you’d never see me again. About getting handed off from one person to another. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I think . . . that your memory is playing tricks on you. Must be from getting kicked around the ring so much by Silver Fang. Hey, Silver Fang! We were just talking about you.”

  Eurik sighed. “We’re not done,” he told the living sword in a low voice before spinning around by hopping from one foot to the other. “It was mostly Misthell talking. Everything all right?” he asked as he got a good look at her.

  Silver Fang looked over the training women, mostly consisting of more mature children being instructed by older people. “I wonder about that. But mostly I question what the right thing is.” She’d elected to speak in Linese and continued with that language as she met his gaze. “I did not tell my mother about Ardent.”

  He considered her words and the possibility that she was lying. Then, with a shake of his head, he hopped off the post. “I recall you once mentioned your mother has a lot of spies.”

  Leraine laughed. “Oh no, not spies. Mother has friends, people that share some news with her. An upstanding Mochedan leader does not have spies. Not among her own people, that is.”

  Putting a shoulder against a post she leaned against it and regarded him. “If you’re thinking of following Mother’s suggestion, I must warn you . . . it will not be as . . . safe.”

  “How so?”

  “Fervent may be there on behalf of Caetiwo, or one of her sept, which is about as bad. You could keep quiet about your parents, but that will not be received well and run counter to your own aims. They can’t simply kill you, not while you compete in the Games, not in Chappenuioc, but there will be hundreds of shamans and loretellers to pass judgment. I’m not one myself, I don’t know what kind of penalties will be allowed. But a duel to the death isn’t unheard of. It depends on how severe your mother’s crime was.”

  “If she did it.”

  Silver Fang nodded. “Your skepticism may not matter,” she said as she put a hand on his shoulder. “And many will find her cowardice wrong on its own.”

  It took Eurik a moment to catch on that Silver Fang was waiting for something. Right, cowardice. That’s an insult. There wasn’t any emphasis on such a thing among the san. Every san knew how to fight but they weren’t warriors. What mattered was to act correctly, to do what was right. The hard thing to the san was to discern what that was.

  To Eurik, fleeing justice was wrong but he didn’t know if that was what his mother had done. Did she have an opportunity to prove her innocence—if she was—or had she left before the death happened? Everyone appeared to consider her guilty and worried about what to do about that, but to him that was the one thing he needed to know.

  “I’ll go. Your mother was right in one thing above all: this Festival of Conclave sounds like the best opportunity to find someone who has at least heard of my father. And perhaps I will learn more of my mother along the way. If that brings me trouble, it can’t be any worse than having to face that demon,” he said with a smile.

  She considered his words, then nodded and returned his smile. “There is that. Very well. Then we best take this time to sharpen your skills. And there are a hundred things you must know or you will give offense.”

  Chapter 8

  To the Festival

  In the privacy of her own thoughts, Leraine had to admit she’d thought it would simply be the two of them on the road again, as well as Misthell and perhaps a few others. And the road would be packed with other travelers making their way to Chappenuioc. So maybe it wouldn’t be simply the two of them.

  However, she hadn’t considered the possibility that nearly half of Urumoy would be joining them. And with both her sisters part of it, even a couple of hundred people weren’t enough to shield her from them.

  The weather held up after they departed, though long ribbons of fluffy white clouds offered occasional relief from the heat. All of them rode horses, or a mule in a couple of cases—all except the man running beside her with long, loping strides.

  It had already earned him plenty of teasing as more than one had offered to let him ride with her. At least a couple were clear that they weren’t only talking about their mount. The jeering had abated, but the interest had not as R
ock had easily kept up with their pace the entire day.

  The sinking sun colored the sky an ocher red as they stopped for the night at the hold of Joyous Bell. She met them at the gate, which was barely open, so Joyous Bell could slip out. Her eyes surveyed their group. “There’s a lot of you.”

  “One hundred eighty-seven,” Anseri said. Leraine might have been chosen to represent Urumoy at the ceremony; however, leading this party had been left to her eldest sister. Not that Ferisha had accepted it.

  “Though we don’t expect you to let them all stay under your roof,” Ferisha said, pulling up next to Anseri. “We simply seek the safety your walls offer.”

  Ferisha ignored the glare Anseri shot her. Her eldest sister turned her attention back to Joyous Bell. “This is my sister, Golden Tongue, and that is my younger sister, Silver Fang. I am Resting Python.”

  Joyous Bell sucked on her teeth, then spat to the side. “Raven Eye’s get. Well, what do you got?”

  Leather creaked, hooves stomped, and mail rustled at the insult. None truly put a hand on their weapon, thankfully. Leraine caught some movement on the low wall. It seemed Joyous Bell wasn’t acting on impulse. But how to warn her sisters?

  Anseri plucked a sack from her saddle and tossed it at Joyous Bell’s feet, its contents clanking as the sack landed in the dirt. “Urumoy’s gift to a gracious host.”

  Joyous Bell manipulated the sack with her foot, the bars of steel inside clinking against each other. “That’ll come in handy. There’s more and more thieves spilling out from the west this season,” she said as she looked over their party once more. “Right, you lot can stay in my hold but I ain’t as rich as someone’s mother. So everybody except Raven Eye’s daughters will just have to share with my pigs.”