Jundag

by Chris A. Jackson

  Avari charged the robed figure with a yell, wildly swinging her sword over her head. He continued his incantation—tiny motes of energy began swarming between his hands—but his eyes were drawn up to her blade, which caused him to miss the flick of her wrist that sent her dagger plunging into his abdomen. He folded over, grasping the hilt and gasping in pain, errant sparks of magical energy spilling harmlessly to the ground. Avari kicked him in the throat, crushing his larynx to ensure that he would cast no more spells, then whirled her attention to the other two.

  Surprisingly, they had not attacked while she was busy with their companion; they were not following her plan at all. They stood well apart, each gripping two weapons comfortably; one held two short swords, and the other a longer blade and a dagger. They smiled dangerously at her and immediately circled to gain the advantage.

  "I don't know who you are, mister," one chided, "but you just killed three of our friends." They circled more closely as Avari stepped away from the fallen men. "Now, they weren't exactly close friends, but we been ridin' together fer near two months, and it's got Jubal an' me a bit riled, ain't it Jubal?"

  "It was a downright unfriendly thing ta do, all right," Jubal agreed, rasping his two short blades together and squaring off his stance professionally.

  "First," Avari said coolly, adjusting her posture to keep them both at bay, "I'm a miss, not a mister.

  "Second," she continued, enjoying their surprise as she dropped her guard drop just enough to invite a careless attack, "I only killed two of them. The tall one will live...long enough to reach the headsman anyway."

  Her taunt scored. The men lost their relaxed poses and tightened their grips on their weapons; they knew the penalty for horse thievery, not to mention murder and rape. Avari relaxed her stance even further, dropping the tip of her blade and drawing a kerchief from her belt to wipe her brow.

  "And third," she said with a predatory smile, "the family you destroyed six days ago were neighbors and friends of mine." She waited a heartbeat to let the information sink in. "And I'm going to take great pleasure in killing you for what you did."

  At some unseen signal the two men sprang simultaneously, but they had already made the fatal error of allowing Avari time to prepare. She flung the kerchief, which was filled with sooty ashes, into the face of the man on her left, blinding him. She blocked Jubal's predictably high attack, dropped and rolled into his shins, inflicting a sizeable gash to his knee in passing. The two men collided, but managed to avoid stabbing one another. They lost their balance, even while Avari regained her feet. She leapt to the attack, intending to end it quickly. It was her first real mistake.

  Avari had not noticed how closely Jubal's hand lay to the blazing fire. Now a burning log spun at her face as she lunged. She managed to knock the fiery missile aside with the flat of her blade, but the shower of sparks and cinders blinded her.

  She back-pedaled madly, swatting the burning embers, knowing their next move would be to rush her while she could not see. She tried a crossing slash, and was rewarded by a clang of sword against sword. Short sword, her trained mind clicked with the tone, Jubal's short sword. This gave her a good idea where his other blade was, and she managed to knock that aside with a quick twist of her weapon, and step inside his guard. A knee to his groin and an elbow to his face sent him sprawling, but she dared not finish him while her other opponent was unaccounted for.

  Avari backed away, whirling her blade in a defensive arc while shaking her head and blinking to clear her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks, helping to wash away the painful bits of burning ash, but it was her ears that saved her. The scuff of his boot was not loud, but to her it resounded like a thunderclap. She whipped her sword behind her in a vertical arc. Her enemy's thrust was deflected just enough to send the sword's tip grating through the chainmail of her upper arm instead of between her shoulder blades.

  Pain exploded down her arm, her hand numbed. Avari ignored her screaming nerves and spun to defend herself, dropping her sword into her off-hand. Her opponent pressed in hard with a quick four-stroke attack, but he overestimated his advantage. Avari's vision had cleared, and he stared in astonishment as his last stroke was met with a lightning stop-thrust, which passed easily through his abdomen and out his back. His sword dropped to the grass as he gripped the pommel of Avari's blade, stabbing desperately at her with his dagger. She tried to kick him off the blade, but the descending dagger demanded her attention, and her right arm hung useless. Reluctantly, she loosed her sword and snatched his wrist before his blade pierced her neck.

  For the span of a heartbeat they were face to face. He struggled weakly, trying to push the dagger into her, while she strove to make her numb hand grip her sword hilt and finish the job. Then his eyes flicked beyond her, and she remembered Jubal.

  Avari shifted her stance instantly, pulling the skewered man off balance toward her. Dropping to the ground, she planted a foot on his stomach, just above her sword hilt, and rolled back. His own momentum, aided by the strength of Avari's leg, launched him over her and backward—right into Jubal.

  Jubal managed to not skewer his friend, but caught the full weight of the flung body squarely in the chest. His eyes widened in surprise as the foot of steel protruding from the man's back plunged between his ribs and into his heart. The two fell dead to the ground, killed, as it was, by a single thrust of Avari's sword.

  Avari struggled to her feet, gripping her upper arm tightly to staunch the flow of blood, and stood over the dead thieves. The luminous moon reflected in their rapidly glazing eyes, but Avari saw only the blank stare of a battered girl, and did not pity them in the least. She tried to pull her sword free, but her numb hand wouldn't close on the hilt.

  "I am in the understanding of your anger with the vileness of these men, Miss Avari," Hufferrrerrr said from behind her, startling her despite her fatigue, "but you should not be one of taking such chances as you are. I would have been more than in the willingness in helping to dispatch such evil foulness as these."

  "It wasn't much of a risk," she assured her leotaur friend, giving up on dislodging the sword. "I knew if things got too sticky, you'd break your promise and come rushing to my rescue."

  "That I very well might have been doing, Miss Avari," he agreed, drawing a metal flask from a satchel and pointing to the steady stream of blood flowing from her elbow, "but I am thinking that things did indeed be getting into a bit of the stickiness, as you call it. Please to be drinking some of Master Szcze-kon's potion before all of the life fluid in your body is being on the ground."

  Avari released her grip on her arm and watched the blood pulse from the wound.

  "Damn." She had not realized that it was so severe. She took the flask from Hufferrrerrr and drank greedily, enjoying the wash of wellness that instantly pervaded her to the core. The bleeding stopped and the wound slowly closed, her fingers tingling with renewed nerves even as Hufferrrerrr wiped away the mess with a cloth. In a short time her arm would be as good as new, with only a thin pink scar and a lot of drying blood.

  Lucky it was my arm and not my neck! she thought. "Anyway," she said aloud, "hunting down scum like this is the only exercise I get anymore, since I went back to being a horse farmer."

  Hufferrrerrr's hissing laughter startled the horses, and he moved to comfort them, ignoring Avari’s glare. Granted, she had been busy during the last year since the defeat of Iveron Darkmist. The wealth she had accumulated during her adventures had allowed her to purchase an expanse of wilderness bordering the coast about twenty-five leagues south of Fengotherond. With the help of the devoted leotaur and a number of hired hands, they had cleared sections of forest and used the wood to build a house, stables and corrals. Searest, she called her new home. She had bought several brood mares and a stallion, and begun training them as her father had taught her. So, although her tasks of felling and chopping trees, building fences, training horses, and tossing hay bales had kept her muscles in shape, she hadn’t had a good fight in g
ods knew how long. And she missed it.

  She flipped over the dead wizard with her toe, and rifled carefully through his pockets. She gathered a number of trinkets to present to Shay the next time she saw him, repayment for the curative potions he had insisted she accept. The thought of her friend tugged at her heart. It had been more than a season since they last had last met, and she missed him terribly.

  Avari began tying the fingers of the surviving thief together behind his back, yanking the thin leather thongs mercilessly tight. She then bound his wrists, elbows, knees and ankles, making sure the knots were out of reach. She poured a small amount of the curative potion into his smashed mouth; it was a crime to waste it on him, but she needed him alive, if only barely, to face the consequences of his actions. The private deaths of his companions gave her satisfaction, but only a public execution would deter other would-be thieves. She gave the last knot a particularly vengeful yank, and looked up to see Hufferrrerrr watching her with a thoughtful look on his broad, feline face.

  "I am in the thinking," the leotaur ventured, "that The Thallon may have been being in the correctness. Perhaps it is that you would be making a better warrior than a horse farmer."

  "And I'm thinking," Avari snapped, instant anger flushing her face red, "that I told you never to mention that...that...man again!"

  "I am in the understanding, but—"

  "No 'buts', Huffer!" she spat, wiping the last of the soot and caked blood from her sword and snapping it into its scabbard. "The last thing of interest to me is some guard captain's opinion of my potential! Now go get our things. We'll make camp here."

  CHAPTER 2

  No, no, no!" Shay scolded as he pushed and prodded Lynthalsea's limbs into the proper form. "You are casting a spell here, not making shadow puppets. It must be done exactly as described in the book, or there is no telling what will result. You did read it, did you not?"

  "Yes, Shay," his half-sister answered tolerantly, relaxing her stance for a moment to wipe the beading sweat from her brow. "I read the spell, and I know it has to be performed exactly. I'm just having trouble concentrating. We've been at this for over an hour and I haven't even had breakfast yet. It's a beautiful morning, and I'd much rather be running through the forest than cooped up in this stuffy tower learning how to wiggle my fingers properly."

  Though Lynthalsea's tone was mild, the muscles of her slender jaw bunched and writhed with annoyance. Shay had been pushing her hard lately, constantly insisting that she study, practice, read, and study some more. And, while she enjoyed learning magic and was becoming fairly adept, there were times when she would rather be elsewhere. Right now, for instance, her mouth was watering as the scent of a distant rabbit wafted through the tiny window.

  "The next time we have trouble with jackaleks or ogres, I will remember that you prefer running through the forest to learning how to 'wiggle your fingers properly'," Shay said. "I just hope that anyone suffering from your lack of magical skill is as understanding as I am."

  "Okay, okay," Lynthalsea said, deciding that compliance was easier than resistance. She renewed her convoluted stance. "How's this?"

  She had almost argued the point—she had had no magical skills when they were searching for the cornerstones, yet had pulled her weight with her archery and wolfish abilities—but there was no sense in it. Shay was being contrary about everything of late. Apparently, he wasn’t finding that Refuge, the home they had built in the foothills of the mountains, was living up to its name. The keep was to be the culmination of Shay’s dream—a haven for wizards and priests who were outcasts or unwelcome in their professional circles. Now more than two dozen wizards and priests of many sects dwelt within the keep’s walls, providing ample protection. The beasts of the forest and mountains, which had plagued them during construction of the keep, had learned quickly, and now left Refuge well alone. So, Shay’s insistence that her magical skills might turn the tide was more than a bit exaggerated.

  Which makes all these spells I'm learning rather superfluous, she thought as another wisp of rabbit scent tantalized her keen senses. She swallowed and tried to renew her concentration, knowing that her brother's philosophy of continual readiness was well meant. Dealing with Iveron Darkmist had driven that message home; it was a lesson they would never forget, even if they wished to.

  "There," Shay said with satisfaction, "that is perfect. Now roll the pearl between your fingers as you recite the incantation."

  Lynthalsea complied, and as she finished the spell-casting, they were enveloped by a shimmering, multi-hued dome, a shield that would turn the sharpest arrow or the keenest blade. She allowed herself only the briefest moment of pride; complete concentration was required to maintain the spell. A sudden knock at the door, the sharp crack as it opened against the towering bookshelves, and a cheery "Hellooo!" broke her concentration like a fragile porcelain plate hitting the stone floor.

  "Huh? Oh, damn!" As Lynthalsea cursed, the pearl slipped from her fingers. The sphere of magical energy collapsed into the dropped pearl, which spewed forth small globes of radiance, each colored a different shade of the spectrum. The red globes burst into tiny gouts of flame, the blue into water, the yellow into light, and the white into ice.

  A torrent of uncontrolled magic sent the siblings stumbling backward as more and more colors burst forth with even more bizarre effects, including puffs of smoke, flowers, mud and noxious vapor. Shay quickly chanted his own spell and, with a puff of coal dust, clapped his hands. The volcano of chaotic elements immediately ceased, leaving a pool of brown, foul-smelling sludge in the center of the room.

  "Oh, my goodness!" the untimely intruder exclaimed as she ventured further into the room. "I am sorry for interrupting. But...my! What a mess!" She glanced sidelong at Shay, a pitying expression on her slender elven face. "I hope that wasn't anything important."

  "No, Mother, and it is not my mess," Shay assured her. "Actually, it is a valuable lesson to Lynthalsea concerning the maintenance of concentration." He shot his sister an “I told you so” glance that she answered with a sheepish shrug.

  "It really isn't that important," their mother assured them. "I just had a little problem with two of our guests. I wanted you to have a talk with them, but it can wait."

  "It is all right, Mother," Shay said as he straightened his robes and strode toward the door. "I will talk to—"

  "Actually Shay," she interrupted with an apologetic smile, "I was hoping Lynthalsea could talk to them. You see, they both seem to be smitten with her, and I was hoping she could...well, you know...smooth things over."

  "Oh!" Shay exclaimed, his graceful ears flushing crimson. "I was not aware that she...I mean that you had..." He stammered a bit, then waved the two out. "You two go do whatever it is you need to do to...whatever. We can resume this later."

  "Don't worry, Shay." Lynthalsea assured him, both relieved at her escape from the spell-casting lesson and amused by Shay’s reaction. "They're just upset that I'm seeing someone else. There won't be any trouble, I promise."

  She preceded her mother out the door, and wondered which of her would-be suitors were feuding this time. After so many years alone in the forest with only her wolf pack for companionship, she was flattered by the attention she attracted from the keep’s guests, but there was only one whose gentle advances she encouraged.

  As the door closed, Shay toed the congealing pool of slime and considered the two women who had just departed. The mother-daughter resemblance was obvious looking at them side by side; they both had the same silky black hair, petite nose, and little crook to their chins. It bewildered him that he hadn’t noticed the similarities when he first met Lynthalsea. And that he had actually harbored amorous feelings toward his own half-sister, before he knew her as such, still embarrassed him, though Lynthalsea never mentioned it, for which he was eternally grateful. But he hadn’t known that she was seeing someone among the guests.

  I suppose I have not been paying attention lately, he lamented, and wondered
what else he might be missing. The first few months after he had purchased the land for Refuge, in the forested foothills of the mountains that harbored Zellohar Keep, had been hectic, but now the keep basically ran itself, or rather, ran under the able hand of his mother, Irielnea. She had been at Refuge for eight months now, and kept everything as tidy and organized as her own home had always been. She knew how important Shay’s studies were to him, and she did everything she could to allow him to concentrate, always encouraging him, unlike his father...

  Damn! he thought. If his father had lived only three months longer, he wouldn’t have died thinking that his son was a heretic. Shay had been so proud—so arrogant, if he admitted the truth—ready to tell his father that not only had Tem accepted his arcane magical studies, but had granted him great spiritual powers. But by the time Shay and Lynthalsea had traveled to his parents’ home, it was too late. Shay’s heart weighed heavily in his chest as guilt washed over him once again. He considered praying for relief, then dismissed the idea. Whenever he closed his eyes to seek the solace of his deity, he saw his father’s face.

  I wish I could talk with Avari, he thought. She would understand.

  He skirted the puddle of goo and went out into the hall, starting toward the sweeping stair to his private workshop in the tower above. But as he grasped the balustrade, he stopped, one foot poised over the first step, and gazed upward toward the workshop door like it was a portal sheltering a forbidden pleasure. He had made such progress—such tremendous progress—in the last few months, that he felt drawn to his studies at all hours of the day and night. Lately, though, the subtleties of the increasingly complex spells consistently evaded his grasp. He could lose himself up there, studying his magical tomes, learning and practicing new spells, increasing his powers...