Finding Kai

by David A Willson

  She flared earth and a wall of dirt and rock rose between them, giving her ample time to dart out the gate and return to her men.

  A red banner flew high, tied on the end of a spear held by a man in the front. The soldiers had retreated to form a circle, armored men on the perimeter, spears and swords pointed out. Mykel was in pursuit of the racer but was badly outpaced. The racer was a bearded man, maybe twenty-five years old, holding a dagger in each hand. He was speeding around the perimeter of her army, stabbing her men, one at a time, so fast that they could not defend themselves.

  Nara dropped speed and flared earth, hard. She willed the ground to erupt, urgency, anger, and passion in her thoughts. The earth responded with a violent quake, rocks and pits appearing beneath her army’s feet and also beneath her own. It was too much, the disturbed earth stretching out over a far greater area than she intended. Many of her own men dropped, but so did the racer. She saw him fall, his face striking a rock, stunning him. Before he could rise, Martel put a spear through his heart.

  She whirled to see four soldiers coming through the destroyed gate behind her. Then ten. She was flaring no runes at the moment and seemed to move through a fog, a warm blanket of fatigue washing over her. So much energy spent and far too fast. If she’d had a cepp to replenish herself, she might have been able to keep going, but she had none. She’d planned this poorly and wouldn’t be able to finish this fight.

  A blur moved by, and it took a moment for her to realize that it was Mykel, engaging the soldiers that streamed from the outpost before they could fall upon her. He waded through the enemy, breaking ribs and tossing them aside like sticks blown about in a storm. He then disappeared inside the outpost and her men followed, making their way as best they could on the broken earth.

  Nara shook her head and took deep breaths, the fatigue fading slightly and vision clearing enough that she could move forward in pursuit of the others. As she entered the outpost again, she witnessed a grand melee before her. Mykel battled many at once and he was overwhelming them, moving with the staff as if doing some carefully choreographed dance. Dozens fell before him, and his relentless, perfectly-timed blows left the enemy no hope of victory. Several shouted their surrender and dropped their weapons, but others just gave ground, struggling in futility against Mykel and the others in what had become an unwinnable struggle.

  Moments later, the end came, the enemy commander calling for his men to stop. Jahmai walked up to the man, who bled from several wounds, including one on his head. They spoke for a moment, but Nara couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  “How ya doing?” Mykel said. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  She turned, surprised that she hadn’t noticed him walk up. “How many did we lose?”

  “Three so far. That’s why I asked. We’re about to lose another. Ferron caught an arrow on the back of his neck. He’s bleeding badly.”

  “Where is he?” she said, looking around, still fighting the fog that was clearing from her head far too slowly.

  “Back here, by the wall.”

  She turned and headed toward what little remained of the outpost’s northern wall.

  “No, Nara. Your wall. This way.” He grabbed her arm and led her to one side of the wall of dirt she had summoned in the middle of the yard.

  She was still disoriented. It was difficult to think, much less walk straight. Ferron sat with his head slumped forward, and one of the younger soldiers pressed a bloody bandage against the nape of his neck.

  “I have it now,” she said, removing the bandage slowly. The blood flowed generously as she placed her hand over the wound. Closing her eyes and flaring sight, she visualized the damage. Muscles were severed and a vertebra damaged, as well a nearby vein. She willed the muscle, blood vessel, and skin to heal, but the vertebra was fractured; pieces had detached. Arrows from those powerful longbows did a lot of damage when they hit bone. If she healed the vertebra now, in her foggy state, it would be irregular, and she might cause damage to his nerve cord with a bad knit. She didn’t trust herself with something so delicate at the moment.

  “Bleeding has stopped, but his spine is damaged. I’ll look at it again later. Immobilize his neck, and I’ll try again in a few hours.”

  She rose to her feet.

  “Who else?”

  “Some minor injuries,” Mykel said, “but not life-threatening. You need to rest more than they do.”

  “What happened? Why am I so tired?”

  “Look around.”

  She shook her head and tried to focus better. The walls of the outpost had been decimated, the ground pitted in some places and mounded in others. Several irregular columns of rock had risen a dozen feet in the air. She walked outside the wreckage, surveying the field where the racer fell. More pits and mounds, high columns standing tall and several boulders the size of a wagon had half-risen out of the ground. The damaged earth stretched as far as she could see, hundreds and hundreds of yards.

  Dei, no.

  “This is why you’re tired. Too much passion, no restraint. Hold back, will ya? We can win without you breaking the Great Land in the process.”

  “How about ‘good job’ or something?”

  Mykel smiled. “Good job. Impressive, actually. They’ll be talking about this in Ankar for a while. I’m glad I was here because you almost got jumped by a dozen or more.”

  “You were near, so I was fine. But thank you.”

  Jahmai approached Nara. “Ready for a report? You look a little pale.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m fine.” She reached to steady herself on Mykel’s arm.

  “Four of ours are down,” Jahmai said. “Three dead, and we almost lost Ferron too. He’s still breathing and looking better now, but you already knew that. Nice work there. I’ve never seen anyone knit a neck wound that bad.”

  “He needs more work,” Nara said.

  “Still impressive. Another five of ours injured, but not badly. They’ll wait. As for the enemy: twelve dead and twenty injured. Another fifteen escaped. Fifty prisoners inside, some are injured. Many will join us. The racer is dead. And you have a harvester now.”

  Three of her men dead. And a dozen of the enemy dead. This was her first battle report, and it was an odd feeling. They were talking about human beings like they were potatoes that fell out of a basket on the way from the market.

  “Is that good?” she asked.

  “Nara, you just led an assault on a well-defended fortification. You attacked veteran soldiers, single-handedly at first, while unarmed. Nobody does that. They wielded ranged weapons and held an elevated position, yet your army overcame them with a force composed mostly of civilians. Even so, you inflicted several times the casualties your army suffered and obliterated their outpost without catapult or ballista. In military terms, this was a rout. I’d call it a miracle.”

  “And so many want to join,” she said. “What did you tell them?”

  “I told them you’re the most powerful blessed the world has ever seen, and you’re taking Fairmont from the Queen. You resurrect the dead, punish the wicked, and reward your followers. They have two options. Get out of the way or march with the righteous and make history.” He looked about at the disturbed earth. “You did the rest. My Lord, girl, this was something else.”

  “Resurrect the dead, Ander Jahmai? Are you kidding me?”

  “You‘re the best knitter I’ve ever seen. I ran with the healing theme and got carried away.”

  “Stop that.”

  “Sorry,” he said with a wide grin. He wasn’t sorry at all.

  “And the other outposts?” Mykel asked. “Will they move on us now?”

  “When they hear what happened here? Not a chance.”

  “Good,” Nara said. “’Cuz I need a nap.”

  27

  A Grand Display

  As Kayna walked along the cobblestone paths, she lifted the bottom of her black robes to keep them from getting soiled. She looked about as she walked, marv
eling at the wide swaths of well-groomed grass and trees that separated her from the main building. The Ministry of War and Justice was more like a castle than a ministry campus, and Kayna wondered at the hubris shown by her father in making it so. The sprawling grounds comprised a half-oval central building containing the courtrooms, administrative offices, many meeting rooms, and the minister’s private garden in the center. Around the periphery were several smaller buildings, interrogation rooms, execution stages, kitchens, laundries, and cells for housing prisoners that awaited trial. Throughout the campus were beautiful, winding paths, bushes, well-manicured trees, and many flowers, as if Papa planned for prisoners to marvel at his civility and refinement while they were being prodded along to their deaths. Beautiful justice.

  “This way, Highness.” The newly appointed Minister of Transport, Darin Ripowski, wore a lavish blue military coat as he guided her along to the main building. The coat bore multiple ribbons that he’d never earned, gold braids that crisscrossed the front, embroidered sleeves, and oversized epaulets. The tails of his coat almost touched the ground, flapping with each solid, manly stride. Why the Minister of Transport should be decorated like a general, Kayna had no idea. Darin was always quite the peacock, however, and his vanity had only grown with the recent appointment.

  They entered through a side entrance, climbed several stone staircases, and traversed a high balcony, finally descending a small stairway to arrive at the courtroom where she would pronounce the sentence. The gathering was large, several hundred barristers and administrators, along with every minster on the council. The audience was appropriate for the crime but even more appropriate for the prisoner: a former man of authority, shackled and sitting cross-legged in a cage in the center of the chamber. His matted hair and unkempt beard gave witness to an uncomfortable time in the dungeon for his recent transgressions.

  Instead of taking her seat, as they had advised would be normal for such matters, she remained standing. “I am not the sort of monarch you have known in the past and am beholden to no traditions,” she said. “I will remain standing for today’s proceedings, while you will not.”

  The attendees looked at one another with confused expressions on their faces before finally deciding to take their seats.

  “You see before you a fine example of consequence,” Kayna said, walking down to the main level of the chamber. She ran her fingers along the iron bars, looking at the prisoner who sat, his eyes wide with fear. “This man, once Chancellor, did not protect my father from our enemy. In my mercy, I did not execute him but appointed him as the Minister of War and Justice. Placed into a position of trust, retaining wealth and station, he was given a second chance, yet betrayed me again. And committed a crime.”

  A hushed murmur moved through the crowd.

  “A crime!” she yelled. Her raised voice did not reverberate about the chamber as much as she would have liked. Still, it was loud enough. It would be nice to have a deep, booming tone for these occasions, but she had searched and could find no magic for such things. Yelling was an interesting thing, an act born of passion, capable of producing a great emotional effect when used properly. She folded her hands across her robes, trying to display a harmless image for a moment.

  “I am a victim of this man. And so are you. I gave him a responsibility. A charge. To protect our nation. He had armies, he had gifted, and yet he failed. A pretender has come. She challenges me. She destroys our outposts. Robs our treasury. Captures our faithful soldiers. She even burns villages. Kidnaps children. Murders their parents!”

  The murmurs grew, and one in the back said, “Hear, hear!”

  “I am only one woman,” Kayna said. She had prepared the speech yesterday and was quite proud of it. Pride. An interesting feeling and it only came with sincere effort and sacrifice, it seemed. One couldn’t get pride any other way.

  “I am blessed by Dei,” she continued, “but I cannot act alone. When I appoint someone to a task, they must complete it, with honor and diligence. They must play their part and protect this land. Neither Dei nor I will not tolerate the incompetence of faithless, honorless men, who swear oaths of loyalty one day, then allow treachery the next. We will cut them from the body of this beautiful nation as if they were a cancer. A malignancy that will be burned away if we are to achieve a productive society. A prosperous citizenry. A necessary peace.”

  She turned to the prisoner, who seemed to avoid her eyes, still sitting cross-legged in his cell. Kayna’s stomach turned at his stench. His disgusting appearance provided a beautiful deterrent for the gathered, but they didn’t have to be so close. Tomorrow’s prisoner would have to be cleaner, or she’d have to rethink the choreography of these sentences.

  “Archibald Holland, you are former Chancellor and former Minister of War and Justice. You are now a traitor, accused of betraying your nation, your Queen, and Dei. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Her voice was tender, hopefully appearing compassionate to the crowd. “Anything I must consider before delivering your sentence? Excuses, regrets, or perhaps an apology? I yearn to give mercy but must hear a plea from you first. Please. Defend yourself.”

  He said nothing, but that wasn’t his fault. To the audience, he would appear unremorseful, or so she hoped. They could not know that he was drugged, with his tongue having been removed three days before.

  “He’s not even sorry,” a man shouted from off to Kayna’s right.

  “Traitor!” cried another.

  “Enemy of Dei!”

  “Demon. He comes straight from Kai!”

  Whistles and jeers filled the room as the crowd called for judgment.

  Kayna held a hand high, her head bowed in feigned sorrow. The crowd hushed.

  “I have no choice,” she said. “Holy Dei, have mercy on this man, a sinner. May a cleansing of your holy fire burn away his transgressions.”

  Then Kayna’s eyes flared hot, and her hands extended toward the cage. Fire engulfed Archibald Holland, the screams began, and stench and smoke filled the chamber.

  Kayna wandered through the ministry’s private garden. She’d have to appoint a new minister and did not know whom to choose. Austere displays of power and justice were fun but assessing who would serve well in leadership roles was something else. Perhaps she should just leave it to a designee to find candidates. Let them all jockey for power and position, bribe one another, make a list of names, and she would pick the richest one. Or the most obedient. That’s what good monarchs did.

  She rounded a corner hedge, and a strange odor intruded on the floral scents that filled the area. Musty. It was Ennis. She whirled to find him behind her.

  “Don’t sneak up on me, Ennis. That’s rude.”

  “So sorry, Highness,” he said, clicking his tongue and pausing oddly. “You seemed lost in thought. Didn’t want to interrupt.” He was shaking and clenched his teeth between phrases.

  “What’s wrong? You look to be in a terrible state.”

  “Um. The compound.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “We suffered an attack of sorts.”

  “An attack? I thought you posted guards there.”

  “We did. Two dozen. Round the clock. Eight men in three shifts.”

  “Nara?”

  “We don’t think so. Arrows. Stealth. Snuck in and out, killed some guards, and, uh, the Roska boy.”

  “They killed one of our projects?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I misspoke. They stole the boy.”

  Stole him? How could they have known what was going on in the compound? And to get in and out, sneaking—that didn’t seem to be Nara’s style. She had been overt. Straight on. She had plenty of enthusiasm but no creativity whatsoever. This was someone else—one of Nara’s allies or perhaps a new enemy altogether.

  “Well, drat, Ennis. That’s a shame. But the others are safe?”

  “Yes, and we’ve augmented the guard on the project buildings. Three men at all times, on each building, with an additional dozen about t
he compound.”

  “Double it on the Dimmitt boy. We won’t have our favorite be stolen. Things are going too well with him.”

  “Of course, Majesty.”

  His clicking had stopped, thank Dei. So annoying.

  “Did you think I would punish you, Ennis?”

  His head drooped, and he averted his eyes like a scolded pet. “Yes, Majesty.”

  Seeing Holland’s execution had produced an effect. And this cur should worry; his security had failed. Losing a new cursed was a big blow to their plans and she hoped that the Roska boy wouldn’t now become an enemy. He had received little conditioning, so a hatred for Nara would not have been developed, yet. Such a shame. As for Ennis, he was brilliant. She needed him for the time being, but maybe she’d kill him later.

  “Don’t worry, Ennis. Not a whit. I need you and wouldn’t hurt a hair on your hideous little head. I didn’t care for the Roska boy, anyway.”

  28

  Recruits

  After a nap in the barracks, Nara was refreshed enough to work. With the outpost walls and buildings so badly damaged, the men had set up a tent between two columns that served as a field hospital. Inside, she found Ferron, his head immobilized by a crude brace of wood and cloth. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow, and she dreaded waking him. Sleep was rare to find after injuries like his, and a precious respite from the pain.

  She knelt and put gentle pressure on his shoulder. “Ferron, please wake. Shhh. Slowly.”

  His eyes opened and he moved to rise, but she held him firmly down. “Don’t move. Not yet. I’m here to finish the knit.”

  Without removing the bandages or his brace, she reached under his neck, fingers touching the cloth above the wound. She closed her eyes and flared the sight rune in order to visualize the trauma. The vertebra was still broken, but the shards had not moved far from the injury. Flaring the knitting rune, the fragments came together, but the flesh was being damaged in the process and she sensed Ferron’s pain. “Hang in there,” she said. “Almost done.”