War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  “No. Not coerced. Asked. It was not made for me, I think, but it does not push me away.”

  “It has a will of its own.”

  “And so…I am not its goddess.”

  Noah grunted.

  “You do not agree?” she asked.

  “The opposite,” he replied. “This world was not made for us. It was made for them. The things that we claim to have power over do not feel the same here.”

  She coyly twirled a cyclone between her fingers. “And yet, they worship us.”

  “For all the good it does them.”

  A new voice interrupted. “Perhaps, worship was never the intention.”

  She turned to see an umber-skinned man with a white beard sitting quietly at the edge of the field. He wore clothes of hemp tied together with twine. She looked at Noah, the confusion evident. The old man sighed and shook his head. Galeblade returned to the Wind as she gave the newcomer an amused expression.

  “What was the intention?” Ana asked.

  The stranger shrugged with a pleasant smile, but she noticed his movements were not quite human. “We are all, simply, to be. This world and yours were built very close together, and whether by design or accident your fates have always been closely entwined. Humans always seek something to believe, something that gives them reason, purpose. And when beings fall from the sky and wield fire, the power of life and death, they see something to give praise to, even if it is beyond their understanding.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Fates?”

  His face flashed amusement. “No pun intended.”

  “And who are you? You seem to know us and are welcomed here on protected land.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say welcomed,” the man answered.

  “He’s not,” chimed Noah.

  The strange man stood and walked to her at a leisurely pace. At his passage, all manner of green things, flowers and foliage, took root where he stepped, and her suspicions grew. He was handsome, if rugged, his eyes were green with speckles of white.

  “You are of the Pantheon,” she said as he came within arm’s reach.

  His smile dimmed. “No.”

  “Then…what?”

  Again, he shrugged. “I am what I am. A byproduct of creation perhaps, but not this one. It has granted me a strange boon, being able to cross here and there as I please. I am all but forgotten, except perhaps to the most ancient, and it suits me.”

  Her breath caught in her throat before she could form her next question. “Are you the Creator?”

  He cocked his head as the old man snorted. He gave the old man a look that spoke both amusement and irritation. He gestured to the flora at his feet. “I create. Therefore, I suppose I am, but I do not think I am the One of whom you speak.” He sat and gestured for her to do the same. She did. Noah huffed and went into the house.

  Her confusion grew as her suspicions wove elaborate tales of their own. “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I wanted to meet you. I know some things; I have seen what makes you. You are a warrior, but not always so. You love your freedom, you love to fly, and here, you have chosen to love a man.”

  “And that means something to you?”

  The man spread his hands with a wide grin. “It means a great deal to me. I have taken a liking to the boy. I know what much of the troubles in Anu. While it hosts beings of power, it seems it is privy to the same problems that plague this world. Power corrupts. But here you are, subverting expectations.”

  She frowned. “Loving a man is subverting expectations?”

  “Between you and he, love seemed unlikely, but it has led me to wonder; was it always part of the plan? It seems almost too perfect. The Lady of the Wind, fleeing tyranny and untold brutality, holding onto only a sliver of hope, and finding the last descendant of the Lord of War. One could almost write a book about it.”

  Ana puffed a laugh and the man grin evolved into a smile. “As far as plans go, that seems a little farfetched.”

  “And yet here we are.”

  She sighed through a weary smile. “Yes. Here we are. Of everything that has happened, here and in Anu, loving Jon is not one of my regrets.”

  “That is good to hear.”

  She stared at the dark man, finding peace in his casual posture and easy smile. “Will you join us? In the end?”

  He held his smile, but his eyes dimmed for the briefest of moments, “Perhaps I shall. My time grows shorter as my exile nears its end. But these paths have not yet been written; perhaps there are some surprises yet. I wish you well, my Lady.” With that, he took his leave in a breath of falling leaves. Ana found herself with more questions she was sure would remain unanswered, and yet, she somehow felt better. As if that “sliver of hope” was now something more.

  They had been a long time in coming, this small procession. The horses left dust on the dry rolling hills, making them hard to see in the sun’s dying light, as they plodded along at an irritating rate. But that, Noah figured, was the point. The fire crackled, and his chair creaked as he smoked and waited. He listened as they arrived, dismounted, and made comment on the chill evening. The soldiers trudged up the steps to his home. One in front and two more in full armor behind him. The one in charge was kind enough to knock.

  When Noah opened the door, he found the weary eyes of a burdened soul. He had seen their like a thousand times and even boasted them himself. Ivan Emersin, former General of the Expansionist Army and current commander of the local garrison, did not seem burdened so much as haunted, and not in the figurative sense. Beyond that, the old man could not discern. When last they had, met it had been from some distance, and it was a meeting Emersin would not have remembered. The years had seen the imposing physicality of a hardened general falter somewhat into the figure the old man saw before him. His belly was larger, his hair receding casually, his face well lined the bags under his eyes aged him extra years.

  “Good evening,” said Noah.

  “Good evening,” the general replied. “I hope we’re not intruding.”

  “Not at all, Commander.” Noah moved out of the way to allow them passage. The general walked into the living room, apparently taking in the lack of livery, while his subordinates waited in the foyer.

  “You don’t seem surprised to see me,” said the general.

  “I’m not,” Noah replied.

  “And you know who I am.”

  “I do. Brandy?”

  “Please.”

  Noah made himself busy gathering cups and finding an unopened bottle. In the spirit of the old man’s smoking pipe, the general took out his own. When the old man turned back to his guest, the general was admiring the swords by the fireplace.

  “I have seen swords such as these,” he said, “during my time in the campaign.”

  “You must have travelled far,” Noah remarked.

  “Graceful things. Far more wieldy than our broadswords.”

  “The single edge makes it less acceptable on a battlefield,” replied Noah. “They are more the weapon for a dueler.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” said the general. “They seemed to do their work just fine on the fields I trod.” He ran his hand along the scabbard of the old man’s blade and admired the engraving. “What does this mean?”

  It was a single word in High Speech. “Spellhound,” Noah answered. He found his seat after handing the general a brandy.

  “The name of the blade?” the general asked.

  The old man lit his pipe and nodded.

  “And this one?” the general pointed to the boy’s blade.

  “Born in Flame.”

  The general dropped his hand and admired his brandy. “And it belongs to your son, I assume.” Noah nodded. The general lowered himself slowly on the sofa and took a long swallow.

  The general sighed. “That is good.” The fire sent shadows dancing as the sun continued to fade, casting an eerie glow in the general’s eyes. Almost unnoticeably, the general twitched as though the crackle
of the fire was not something he enjoyed. “Where…” he twitched again. “Where is your son? If I may ask?”

  “He and his wife have decided to take some time for themselves. Elsewhere.”

  “Ah, it seems I missed them.”

  Noah smoked quietly as he met the general’s eyes. “What is it that I can help you with, Commander? Are you merely passing through?”

  “No. I am here to interview your son’s wife. We are conducting a search for a fugitive of the Empire. And his wife is a newer addition to the town’s census.”

  Noah smoked. “Is this a formality or is there evidence?”

  The general was silent a moment. “How did you come to be here? You and your son.”

  Noah noted the change in topic but did not comment on the abrupt shift. “Traveled a lot, liked the look of the land here so we settled down. Do you plan to be stationed here long?”

  “Who can know?” the general took another healthy drink. “I never did catch the name of that town. The one where I saw swords such as those. It was very far from here.”

  “Nathera.” Noah intended his honesty as a cue to the general that there was no need for further small talk. The general grunted and set down his drink to focus on his pipe. The two men in the foyer stood by, nervously chatting to themselves, their tone showing they were keenly aware of the charge in the air. Noah knew he could reach his blade long before the general could move, but he did not think this man’s intent was violence. Not yet.

  “Men like us,” said the general, “we’ve no need to be coy.”

  Noah nodded.

  “Your son’s wife is not what she seems,” he continued. “She is something more.”

  “Yes.”

  “She is a goddess.”

  “You and my son would agree.”

  The general chuckled. “Yes, I suppose he would.”

  It was Noah’s turn to allow a moment of silence to linger. “Your Ambassador,” Noah said finally, and the general became still. “He is the Lord of Murder.”

  “He?” repeated the general. “I’ve always thought of him as an ‘it.’”

  “That is not inappropriate,” the old man said without humor. “You and your men are in grave danger. When the spark lights, it will end in the death of many.”

  “Is that a threat, Noah?”

  “I am being plain, Ivan.” The general lifted his eyebrows at the mention of his first name. “I do not blame you for the burning of Nathera,” Noah continued. “But know that those that I do blame are here, in this town. The rest are high in Anu’s hierarchy and are waiting to join us in battle very soon.”

  General Emersin was silent a moment before he barked a laugh. “Spoken truly, I am sure.”

  Noah faked a smile. “Do you even know why you seek her?”

  The general thought as he puffed a cloud. “No. Other than my orders, I am unaware of her crimes.”

  Noah leaned forward. “Commander, this is beyond you. Leave the girl alone. Let her have this measure of peace.”

  “You know that I cannot.” The general looked into the dancing flames, seeming lost in memory he would rather have forgotten. A moment passed, and Emersin glanced away quickly as though some other voice had caught his attention. A lone howl split the silence on a distant hill. The Wolf sends his warning. Murder stalks the defenses.

  “You have brought him with you,” said Noah.

  “I…” The general looked as though he was going to say something more, then changed his mind. “Let us have the girl, and you and the boy will never see us again.”

  “That will not be what happens. There is more at stake than a lost girl. You know this already as well, and Murder has never been one to leave loose ends.”

  “Those loose ends being you and the boy,” the general remarked quietly.

  Noah smiled.

  “And…” the general started, “Who are you exactly?”

  Noah puffed his pipe silently. The general nodded, seeming to accept the lack of response. “Perhaps I am indeed out of my depth, but when has that ever not been true?” He then stood slowly then, stretched, and finished his brandy. “I’m sorry to have troubled you at such a late hour. We’ll be going. It is a long ride back to town.”

  “Can I not offer you a room for your troubles?”

  “The offer is appreciated, but unnecessary.” He motioned for his men, and they made for the door. As the general exited, Noah called to him, “The past is hard to forget, Commander, but it can be forgiven.”

  Emersin paused briefly and considered. “I would not forgive me, Noah. If given the choice.” He turned and looked to the old man’s eyes. “I would do it all again.”

  They left, their boots echoing loudly on the wooden steps. The general stopped and turned once more as the two soldiers untethered their horses.

  “I understand that your son and the girl are to be married at the Harvest,” he said. The old man watched silently from the doorway and nodded once. The general returned the gesture and seemed in thought, torn between opposing forces the old man could not see.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “They will have their…measure of peace.” The general turned and mounted his horse. “After the Harvest Moon, and not until then, we will come for her, and I beg that you not to get in our way. I think you know well what It is capable of.”

  The old man admired the general from the threshold. Holding Murder in check would take much courage. Having gained a new respect for the man, Noah nodded his thanks.

  The Ambassador, the Lord of Murder, waited for them on the road far from the homestead. It sat with its back to a rock on the roadside, its head hanging as if in deep slumber. Its clothing, formerly pristine, now lay in taters on a skeletal body. In its right hand, it held its left arm, completely detached from the left shoulder. What remained of the shoulder and upper arm hung in ribbons of bloodied gore. Its serrated fingers were stained and dripped in blood. When Murder’s head bobbed as they approached, both the soldiers to Emersin’s side covered their mouths and noses.

  “Gods!” one of the men exclaimed. “What in Lamen happened to you?!”

  Murder puffed, “Pfft. Fucking wolves.”

  Emersin stared at the haphazard creature, wondering how such a misfit of appendages could be a Lord of anything. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

  “More or less.” Murder gathered himself into a standing position and tried to walk. Promptly, its knee extended in a direction it should not, and the creature collapsed. Behind Emersin, a man vomited. Murder sat up and looked at his knee, took it with his remaining hand and punched it back into place. Murder stood again.

  “It would seem the farmstead is well protected,” he said.

  “You don’t say,” Emersin mocked.

  Murder was unamused. “And you? Did you…take your measure?”

  Emersin nodded. “Aye. This is the place.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “No. I met someone else.”

  Murder eyed Emersin suspiciously. “And?”

  The general gave a sigh. “I’ve told them we will not approach her until after the Harvest Moon. I assume that will be enough time for your…plan?”

  The Lord of Murder rose steadily to its full height. “Might be we need a touch more, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “No doubt. The work can be…hard on a tender spirit.”

  Emersin scoffed and signaled for his men to resume their march. “And you’re sure they won’t run?”

  “Oh nonononono, they’d have done so by now. It’s almost like they want to be caught. I do have a question, however: Who the fuck is Jon West? Why him?”

  The General smirked. “He’s Natheran, for one.”

  Were its face not so excoriated, Murder’s expression might well have been humorous. Its eyes bulged from his head, and its mouth went slack jawed so much that it looked unhinged. It took some time to recover, and Emersin was patient enough to allow it. Wh
en it did, Murder had to drop the arm in his hand to level the crooked mandible back into place.

  “Well,” Murder mused. “That’s not good.”

  The old man peeled back the rug and opened the trapdoor in front of the fireplace. He descended the steps to find Jon and the girl sitting on boxes of supplies and looking pensive. They had built this chamber not only for storage but also as an escape route should the worst come to pass. A tunnel, its entrance hidden behind several crates of winter clothing, led to yet another hidden cache of equipment and emergency supplies in the forest nearly a league from their property.

  “Well, that was nice of him,” the boy said.

  The old man nodded. “I did not sense any dishonesty. I do not doubt that the general will keep his word.”

  Ana cocked an eyebrow. “But?”

  “We cannot count on Murder doing the same.”

  The boy shrugged. “Perhaps we should go ahead and kill him? Get him out of the way.”

  The girl scoffed and the old man gave a wry grin. “Were it so easy.”

  “Either way,” the boy replied, “we will have to deal with him. So what do we do?”

  The old man turned back to the stairs. “We prepare.”

  14

  Blood Magic

  The old man and Irving rode into town at first light, leaving Jon and Ana alone in the house for the first time since they had made their trek into the woods. As soon as the door closed and the old man was well on the road, their bedclothes disappeared, and their lovemaking threatened the house’s integrity for a long hour into the morning. When finally they lay still, Ana’s bare leg thrown over Jon’s stomach, her breasts pressed softly against the side of his chest, her lips not far from his ear, she asked, “May I come with you this morning?”

  Jon looked at her. “You want to come with me?”

  “Aye. I could use some practice, and last I checked you’ve no sparring partner.”

  “You sure you want to get your ass kicked so early in the morning?”

  Ana’s eyes shone as she accepted the challenge.