The Living Sword 3: The Burden of Legacy

by Pemry Janes

  It took him a moment, there were so many. Just looking for yellow fabric only cut it down to about a fourth or fifth of all the pieces of fabric that had been hung up. “Right, yes. I think I do.”

  “I don’t see her. But that is the banner of Caetiwo. Fervent is already here.”

  ***

  “You are in luck,” Leraine said in Linesan as she ducked into her chamber. “Perhaps. Fervent has come to the festival but she is not here at the moment. She went to see the loretellers in the Inner Circle.”

  “I don’t see how this is a good thing.” Rock looked around the small space they would be sharing. The walls billowed in the breeze. “I didn’t come to see only this. And perhaps it will be fine. How would she know who I am?”

  Misthell beat her to it, rolling his single eye. “Yeah, because humans don’t talk at all. Nope. Not like you’ve drawn any attention during this trip either. Nah, you’re fine. They’ve probably all forgotten about you. Not me, of course. I’m unforgettable. But you’re just the guy who carries me.”

  Rock rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Fine, you made your point. Still, how many will know who my mother was? I took your advice,” he told Leraine, “I haven’t mentioned her at all since we left Urumoy.”

  “That might only delay the inevitable.” Leraine left unsaid that her mother might have helped matters along. There were things one couldn’t say except behind closed doors under one’s own roof. “But you are right, remaining here won’t help at all. It will only make it easier for Fervent to find you if she does come looking. So instead, we’ll head for the Inner Circle ourselves.”

  “I have no desire to go find this Fervent.”

  She shook her head. “We, by which I mean you, need to go see the loretellers and shamans. They’ll need to rule about your abilities and whether you may use them in the Conclave Games. And one of the ones from Puma might know of your father.” Rock still hesitated. “Come, the crowds will be a far better place to hide.”

  “Right. I am . . . not that comfortable with that many people.”

  Leraine frowned as she considered Rock. He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable back in Linese and that city held far more people than Chappenuioc even during the festival.

  But there, his abilities were not diminished.

  Before she could say anything, though, Rock took a deep breath and got up. “I will have to get used to it.” He pulled the baldric over his head and settled Misthell in his customary place. “Lead the way.”

  “You can’t bring Misthell with you.”

  “What? Why not?” Misthell narrowed its eye. “I can be respectful around important people. I think. I haven’t had enough practice, really. Which is why I should come along, so I can practice being all formal-like.”

  “Only the guardians are allowed to be armed within the Circles,” Leraine said. “And you are a weapon.”

  “And I don’t think you’ll convince them you’re a Linesan flathorn,” Rock said.

  “Maybe a lute then?”

  That got a laugh out of Rock, for some reason. But he also shook his head and placed Misthell on a stand he drew from the earth. “You’ll stay safe here. And we’ll be back as soon as possible.” Yet he hesitated.

  “If you worry about someone stealing him, don’t. We are in my people’s quarter, within the pavilion reserved for my sept. Any thief would have to get past a hundred well-trained warriors. And Misthell would not go quietly.”

  “I sure wouldn’t.”

  “Right, lead the way,” Rock said.

  Leraine moved quickly, not stopping when others hailed her. Few did in truth, too tired from travel and too excited at being here. She led the way, following the curve of the Outer Circle and up a staircase built up against one of the tall standing stones that formed the Outer Ring.

  The lintels on top formed the base for the buildings here, constructs of reed, wood, and fabric. The pathways, however, were built out from the lintels and creaked and groaned as hundreds walked over them. The ropes that gave more support were taut and sang in the wind.

  Four rope bridges connected this upper level with the one on the Inner Ring. Only a few used them but it wasn’t much quieter. The sounds from everywhere else still reached here, and Leraine could hear chanting and singing as well.

  The Festival of Conclave hadn’t started yet—it would be a few more days—and not all preparations for it could be done physically. All shamans and loretellers received at least some of their training here, with a few exceptions, and it sounded like that training didn’t stop just because there was a party going on outside.

  Everything here was of more substantial construction, plastered walls with thatched roofs to keep out the worst of winter weather. Between the multilevel buildings she could see plastered walls preventing anybody from looking into the center of Chappenuioc. They’d been painted in vivid colors with scenes from the first Conclave.

  They passed the Wolf racing against the Hare, Hawk and Falcon chasing the traitorous Crow, Dragon leaving Chappenuioc to head south to go his own way. But Leraine had more of an eye on the carved door frames; she was looking for one in particular.

  ***

  Eurik felt a little uncomfortable walking along this walkway suspended as much as twenty paces or more above the ground. Wood as dry as this still had some earth chiri in it, enough for him to sense that not a single piece of metal had been used in the construction of anything nearby. There’d been some in the first ring, but not so here.

  It was easier to tell because just about everybody wasn’t wearing armor or weapons, including Silver Fang. All the metal he sensed on her was her fake tooth and a small knife on her belt. They passed a group of people queuing up in front of a building, the second such queue they came across.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Ah, the pedaethoc of the unarmed combat competition. The door frame should show Snake, Bear, Lion, and Ibex wrestling with one another.”

  “I’m not familiar with that word. Pedaethoc? Something about spiritual home?”

  “Not quite. A horse person would call it a temple,” Leraine said, using a Linesan word instead. “Though that wouldn’t be accurate either. But it’s the closest thing. Really, a pedaethoc is more for the shamans. Though it is not a house for people, not just people.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, not at all. “And an ibex?”

  “A mountain goat. It has large, curved horns. Not as big as the ones kept by dwarves, however. And there it is.” She pointed at a building with a queue of about twelve people in front of it. The building itself was painted white with blue on its frame, including the door.

  “I’ll come along,” Silver Fang said. “I can’t speak for you, but I’ll be able to explain.”

  They joined the queue and didn’t have to wait long for it to move up, though the person who came out was a surprise. It was Slyvair, a new left arm glinting in the sun.

  Chapter 10

  Of the World

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Eurik said in Linesan.

  The old orc grinned. “And I didn’t expect you. Are you joining the tournament?”

  Eurik nodded. “Yes. I’m hoping it will help my search, and it’s always a good idea to hone your skill against others. Especially when it’s a friendly competition.” His lips twisted in distaste as he recalled all the times he’d had to fight for his life. All of them since he’d left the island.

  “Not that friendly.” The orc looked at a few of the others waiting ahead of Eurik and Silver Fang. “But what search?”

  He frowned; had he never told the orc what he was doing on the mainland? “I’m looking to learn more about my parents. The san found me with their bodies, but I have no memory of them. All I have is their names, thanks to Misthell.”

  “Ah. Yes. If you are looking for a lot of Mochedan in one place, there’s no better time or place than right here. And you, Silver Fang? Competing
as well?”

  “I am, though not the unarmed event. I will have a better chance in the stick fighting.” She eyed Slyvair’s new arm. “The dwarves did quick work.”

  “Yes, Master Ghajir was grateful I kept his wares safe during a siege. Even a brief one. That and the bonus I got from Mayor Rozenbruk, and I had enough to finally get back into fighting shape.”

  “But will they let you compete in the unarmed event with a metal arm?”

  “They didn’t,” Slyvair said. “It was worth the attempt, but I knew it was a long shot. No, you’ll be facing me,” he told Silver Fang, “while Eurik here will not have to fear a rematch. At least in this tournament.”

  Eurik looked around; he didn’t notice Perun. “Will anybody else of the Gored Axes compete?” He didn’t think the child would, but Hanser, perhaps. Given that there was a prize, he would guess at least some of the mercenaries would fancy taking their chance.

  But Slyvair shook his head. “They’ve gone to visit friends and family while I got my new arm. That didn’t take as much time as I thought, though, so I took the opportunity to come here and test it out.”

  “And Perun?” Leraine had the same thought as Eurik, then.

  The orc gave out a booming laugh. “He was off the moment I turned my back to him. So yes, he’s down there somewhere.” Slyvair waved in the direction of the Outer Ring. “I just hope he remembers he has money to buy what he wants. He sometimes still forgets.” The last said so softly Eurik could barely hear it.

  Slyvair tossed his head. “But I’ll leave you to it. I got some last-day training to get in myself. I have a reputation to defend.” He gave Silver Fang a nod. “I hope to meet you in battle.” Then he looked Eurik up and down. “And you, I hope you’ve learned a few things.”

  “Try not to lose too quickly, old warrior,” Silver Fang replied.

  “I’ll surprise you,” Eurik added.

  “Good, good. Until then.” Slyvair walked away, the walkway booming with every step of his long legs.

  “Wasn’t expecting to see him here,” Eurik said. “What do you think the odds are for a conqueror of the Cider Duel to win this thing?”

  “Not that good. He is skilled, but not a young sun-man,” Silver Fang said, switching back to Thelauk. “He’ll do better than a horse person—too many rely on their magic. But People can use the assistance of the spirits.” She gave Eurik a sideways glance. “Remember that. You’ll need every bit of power you can call upon just to make it an even fight.”

  “So you’ve said. Several times now.”

  “Yes, but that skull of yours is so dense, it’s hard to say when something finally sinks in.” They exchanged a bit more banter as the queue moved up, until finally they could walk into the building’s dark interior. No mage lights here; they wouldn’t work. Instead, polished bronze mirrors did their best to spread the light falling in from windows high in the walls throughout the room.

  Several people sat or stood within, none of them dressed quite like any other Mochedan he’d ever met. With the exception of some of the women he’d seen coming in and out of a building across from Silver Fang’s home.

  Their draen were hidden by striped shawls draped over their heads like hoods, flowing down their shoulders to cover most of their arms as well. They all had bronze rods. Most had them tucked into their belt. The ones who didn’t either held it in their hand, or in one case, had left the rod lying on a table next to an opened book.

  Going by Silver Fang’s description, that was the person they were supposed to talk to. Eurik examined the rod closer. It had a spiraling groove going up toward the head, which was the head of a strangely massive deer with large, proud antlers. Perhaps it represented one of those fabled elk?

  The shaman looked from him to Silver Fang and back. “Yes?”

  “I’m . . . Rock. I’d like to join the unarmed combat event of the Conclave Games.” He’d considered using his real name, as one of his father’s friends might hear it and wonder if they were related. But while non-Mochedan were obviously allowed to compete, Eurik was sure they’d share Silver Fang’s unease at hearing his real name. And most would have known his father by One Claw.

  “And where are you from, Rock?”

  “Ah, the island of San. Do you know it?”

  “It sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “He grew up among the plant-people,” Silver Fang said.

  “Ah, yes. I remember hearing some stories.” The shaman tapped her chin. “But I am not familiar with them. To what spirit do the san belong?”

  “Spirit?”

  “Yes.” She made an expanding gesture with her hands. “Some may forget, but these contests are held to emulate what the Great Spirits once did. But that doesn’t work if a contestant represents nothing. That is why the soulless are barred from competing.”

  He could guess why Irelians were allowed to compete with that logic. “What of orcs, then?”

  “The honey bee.”

  Eurik blinked. “Bee?”

  “Yes. If you consider the way their people function and their love of fermented honey, what other Great Spirit would fit better?”

  That . . . makes sense. Sort of. I could see how an orc matriarch is like a bee queen.

  “But you are not an orc,” the shaman continued. “And there’s no such thing as a floral spirit. Well, some great trees may harbor a simple one.” She looked over at another shaman, he was speaking to a few young men. He’d tucked his fluted rod into his belt. “But even a little one isn’t enough.”

  Eurik didn’t know what to say. The san didn’t identify with any animal in that way. They mostly ate meat, but weren’t picky on what kind. He could try some sort of scavenger animal—given how they liked their meals—but none came to mind. Well, crow could work. But Mochedan really didn’t like crows.

  Silver Fang had been very clear about that in one of her lessons. Something to do with the Great Spirit associated with them.

  “The world!” Both Eurik and the shaman looked to Silver Fang at her outburst. She cleared her throat. “The san are attuned to the spirit of the world. That has to be a Great Spirit, right?”

  The shaman shook her head with a snort. “Just because the world is big, doesn’t mean it is a spirit. Places and things can have a spirit, yes, but they are simple things. Great Spirits can only form a connection with something more alive.”

  “But the world is alive,” Eurik said. “It breathes, its heart beats, its life flows through its veins.”

  The shaman squinted at him. “I’ve communed with the spirits for twenty years. I think I would have noticed being surrounded by a giant spirit.”

  “Perhaps some proof would be in order,” Silver Fang said, giving Eurik a look.

  He considered it. Easier said than done. In here, wind chiri was nearly nonexistent and earth was little better. Building up the wind would take time, more than the shaman was perhaps willing to give. His eyes fell on the rod.

  If this were anywhere else, all he’d have to do was gesture. But there wasn’t enough earth chiri in the wood to form a connection. Eurik gestured at the rod. “May I?”

  “If you damage it, you will have to pay for a replacement,” the shaman said with a smile that showed a lot of teeth.

  “I haven’t made a mistake like that in years.” He didn’t need much contact. A single fingertip was enough and he became aware of the entire object. Bronze, hollow, old. Handling and cleaning had worn away at the rod, made its grooves shallower. One of the antlers had broken off at some point and been reattached.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time it was damaged,” Eurik said. “It’s been cared for, probably older than you. Certainly older than me.”

  The shaman barely lifted her left eyebrow. “Nothing about its weight, its color perhaps?”

  The rod came up with his hand. He spun it lazily as he turned his palm up and levitated the rod. “No.”

  She hummed. “I can see that
sort of trick in the Outer Ring. And those gleepeople can sing and dance as well.”

  “So you want to see something more?”

  The shaman nodded.

  “Very well.” Eurik squeezed and the rod bent into a circle with an audible squeak. The metal groaned as the stag opened his mouth and tossed his antlers about. The shaman jumped in her seat at the noise and her hand went up. “Don’t worry, your, uh, rod is fine.” Spreading his fingers, he returned the rod to normal and floated it back to the table. It landed with a tick and rolled right into the shaman’s snatching hand.

  She ran her fingers over its length, examined it by holding it up and looking along its length. “Still straight, and I don’t feel anything wrong.” Her gaze returned to Eurik. “And certainly not horse people magic. Still, ruling that something like a World spirit exists is not something I can do on my own. I’ll put it before a tidaechanek. Come back tomorrow to hear our ruling. Ah, who were your parents?”

  He could take the safe route and simply give Zasashi’s name. The san had raised him, if the word parent meant anything more than where you came from. But he was here to find out exactly that. Eurik only had to risk the nebulous consequences of Fervent learning the son of Ardent was here.

  “Zasashi raised me . . . but I’m the child of One Claw and Ardent.”

  The shaman made a note, asking another question as she did so. “And their tribes? Were they People?”

  “Ardent was of the Snake tribe. One Claw, supposedly from the Puma tribe. But I have no certainty on that. Not yet.”

  “One Claw certainly sounds like Puma to me. I’ll accept it provisionally. We’ll see if anybody recognizes it. And that’s assuming you’ll be allowed to compete.”

  “I’ll come back tomorrow morning to learn your decision. If you’ll excuse me,” Eurik said, giving her a bow.

  “I’ll need to sign up as well,” Silver Fang said. “Could you wait for me?”

  Eurik gave her a silent nod even as he turned around to walk out. He took a deep breath once the door had shut behind him. Then he headed for the edge of the walkway and looked out, his hands resting on the railing.