by A. C. Cobble
“That doesn’t sound like Saala,” said Ben, defending his friend. “I’ve never seen him draw his blade when it wasn’t strictly necessary.”
“He’s a good man,” agreed Amelie emphatically. “I’ve never seen him act the way you describe. He was always loyal to us.”
O’ecca simply shrugged. “I am telling you what my tutors taught me. Maybe it is inaccurate, or maybe the man has changed over the years. We agree on one thing, though. He was loyal. He would stop at nothing to help his House.”
Ben frowned. He was thinking about one of his earliest impressions of Saala, the time Meghan was accosted in Murdoch’s Waystation. The blademaster had decimated a merchant’s guard in a fight. The man was down on the barroom floor, unable to rise. The bouncers had just arrived. Saala ignored them and brought his boot down. He ruthlessly crushed the man’s hand. It likely disabled him permanently.
“Continue,” urged Ben, cutting his gaze at Amelie. “Saala has been a friend to us. He wouldn’t be our only friend with a checkered past.”
From ahead of them, Rhys snorted. The rogue hadn’t shown any other sign of it, but he was clearly listening to the conversation.
“Saala and his band, the Red Hand, as they called themselves, began to range further from home. He was no longer simply defending his father’s lands or people. He was encroaching into neighboring prefectures. The emperor took notice, and he reprimanded the Ram Lord for letting his son get out of hand. He charged a levy on the fishing fleet and confiscated some of the herds. It was merely a setback for the House of Ishaam, but Saala and the Red Hand did not take it well. They grew bitter at the emperor, convinced he was taking sides in the constant games of position that the lords played. They felt it was a plot against them.”
Even Towaal was walking closer, ear cocked toward the conversation, though, she was also pretending not to listen.
“The Red Hand had been operating for about six years, and they’d grown to nearly one hundred men. They were not all blademasters, but they were experienced and deadly. No one was willing to stand against them. They raided at will, taking what they wanted and always growing their power and reputation. They’d grown strong enough that even the emperor was getting nervous. He used the fear of Saala’s band to rally the other lords. In truth, at that point, it did grow into a plot against the Red Hand. For the lords, choosing between a benevolently neglectful emperor and an upstart raider was an easy decision. I’m told with little prodding, the lords joined the emperor’s plan.”
Ben was fascinated with O’ecca’s story. To him, Saala had always seemed unflappable and unlike the young man she described, but the actions had echoes of the philosophies he’d taught Ben.
She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I could use a water skin right about now.”
“I’m sure we’ll find a stream soon,” assured Ben.
“Hopefully,” she responded. “There isn’t much left to this story. The emperor and the lords suspected the Red Hand was ready to take bold action, so they made it easy for them. They staged a winter festival. The main event would be a special hunt for a white bear that had been spotted in the mountains south of the emperor’s city of Shamiil. There was an actual bear, apparently, and it was quite large. It had been harassing the peasants who lived in the foothills of the mountains and killed scores of them. While the bear was real, and the need to hunt it was real, the rest was a setup to draw out the Red Hand. The emperor invited all of Ooswam’s powerful families and decreed that whoever took the bear’s skin would be rewarded. The successful hunter and their party would win a newly commissioned fishing fleet the emperor was building. It was intended to be seen as a direct threat to House Ishaam’s prosperity. Each lord was allowed four companions. Even the emperor himself would participate. Just like the others, he would only have four men with him. It was expected that all of the young and powerful in Ooswam would be in the forest with minimal protection, a perfect opportunity for anyone looking to strike a blow against the empire.”
“Devious,” muttered Amelie.
O’ecca nodded. “The emperor and the lords weren’t actually planning to be out there with so few guards, of course. They sent imposters on the hunt and waited for the Red Hand to make their move. When they did, the might of the most powerful lords in Ooswam surrounded the wood and closed the noose. Saala and his men were trapped, but remember, these were the best blades on the continent. They fought fiercely. Some escaped, including Saala, but most were slaughtered. A few, it turned out, had already been working for the emperor. They betrayed their fellows and went on to reap great rewards. The Red Lord was one of those.”
Ben glanced at her. “The Red Lord was in Saala’s band but betrayed him?”
She nodded. “The emperor hoped that by vanquishing Saala, he would stop the bloody infighting among his lords and return to more congenial times. I think you saw for yourself in Indo how well that worked. The Red Lord is still trading on the credit he earned back then. Any of Ooswam’s other lords would have already been called to task by the emperor.”
Ben opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, they topped a hill and looked down on the town of Ayd.
It was full of green-armored figures. To the north of town, a huge pit had been dug. Next to it were stacks of cloth-wrapped tubes.
“That looks like a-a…” stammered Amelie.
“…mass grave,” finished Ben.
* * *
They sat in the common room of the only inn in town and waited.
O’ecca had disappeared upstairs with the captain of her father’s men.
The companions had a lot to discuss. The town of Indo was overrun, and presumably ransacked then burned by the Red Lord. The town of Ayd had been overrun as well, but these people had suffered at the hands of demons.
Grimly, Ben wondered which town had fared better. The thought of being consumed by a demon was awful, but the creatures moved quickly. They couldn’t hold a candle to the depths of cruelty that humans were capable of. A sudden spray of life-blood out the neck and a quick death were better than torture, rape, and watching your children be taken for unknown purposes.
They suspected the swarm that swept through Ayd was the one they faced and defeated, but the Red Lord was still out there. Lord Iyrron’s resources were rapidly vanishing. His remaining forces had work to do.
“Do you think they’d mind if I got an ale?” asked Rhys.
“The innkeeper is dead,” answered Milo darkly. “Surely he wouldn’t mind.”
“It’s not a good impression,” chided Corinne. “We’re supposed to be waiting patiently for Lady Iyrron to release us. These soldiers may have not lived here, but certainly, some of them had friends or family in this town. Be respectful.”
Rhys sighed. “I hate waiting.”
Ben turned from his friends and observed the room around them. Serious-looking men bustled in and out, all heavily armored in House Iyrron’s green. They carried wide scimitars, spears, and short bows. By now, all of these men would know it was demons that attacked Ayd. Demon attacks were rare, but they happened often enough that some of these men could identify the signs. The soldiers wouldn’t know Ben and his companions, along with the lady, had already dealt with the threat.
Grateful for their help, O’ecca had promised to keep their identities and what they were capable of a secret. Eventually, someone would find the site of the battle, and they worried that news could get to Eldred’s ears. There was nothing they could do about it now.
“There have to be three hundred of these soldiers,” muttered Amelie. “Maybe more that we didn’t see.”
Ben glanced at her.
“Where were these men when Indo was attacked?” she asked.
“Close to the lord, protecting him,” guessed Rhys.
The mood in the room suddenly changed. Ben looked to see Lady Iyrron descending the stairs with her father’s captain in tow. He was adamantly arguing a point with her, but from what Ben saw, she’d already made up her
mind.
“Good,” grumbled Rhys. “Maybe we can finally get out of here. Sitting in a tavern but not drinking is shameful.”
Lady Iyrron headed directly to their table.
She began without preamble. “What the Red Lord did in Indo to our people was horrible, inhuman. The rest of our towns must be secured, and the Red Lord must be dealt with. I will write to my father and inform him of what happened there. If the emperor will not act, then we must raise the banners of war and deal with it ourselves. What happened here in Ayd, though, is something beyond the understanding of my people. Those creatures we fought…”
She trailed off, a sick look on her face.
After a deep, steadying breath, she continued, “My father and brothers are in position and capable of raising our militias to meet the Red Lord. During the battle in Indo, it was apparent there is little I can do to assist in that war. I was merely one blade on the line, and that is not what our people need from me. I have thought about this, and there are threats to our people from the Red Lord and these demons. Both should be met head-on by House Iyrron, no matter the personal risk, which is why I will accompany you to Qooten.”
“Yes,” agreed Ben. Then he paused, blinking uncertainly. “Wait. What did you say at the end?”
Lady Iyrron met his eyes. “I have decided to travel with you.”
“I, uh,” stammered Ben.
He looked to his companions for help. The girl was impetuous and demanding. He worried that if she was with them, she would try to take over leadership of their little band. The mission was too important to get side tracked.
He stalled for time to think. “You want to travel with us?”
Lady Iyrron waved her hand in the air. “You saw what happened here just as well as I did. This cannot be. I will go with you and will help find a way to stop these awful beasts.”
Ben frowned.
“We need to obtain supplies, and there is no one to buy from here,” mentioned Towaal. “She could also ease our travel to the border.”
“Yes, supplies,” responded O’ecca. She turned to the captain. “We require seven fully provisioned travel packs with sufficient food and water to travel through the desert of Qooten.”
“Lady, your father…” protested the captain.
“Will have my letter explaining the situation,” interjected O’ecca sharply.
“There are a few more things we could use,” suggested Rhys slyly. “We lost our packs in Indo after we battled to save the children from the Red Lord.”
“Inform the captain. He will find what you need,” assured O’ecca. “Now, there is a shop here which I believe will have suitable desert attire for the women. If you’d care to accompany me, we can gather what we need.”
As soon as the girls exited the common room, Rhys turned on the captain. “Half a dozen ale skins, a few pints of Ayd’s finest spirits…”
Ben snorted at his friend’s requests and leaned back in his chair. She was strong-willed and volatile, but they had another recruit to their cause.
* * *
They spent the rest of the day in Ayd, gathering supplies and preparing to venture into unknown territory. As they moved through the town, Ben glanced around the carnage-filled streets. Demons were spawning, and the world was growing to be a dangerous place anywhere you went.
He thought back to the previous year and the threat that a lone demon posed to Farview. That creature had killed several people. It would have killed more if strangers had not arrived and saved them. Now, swarms led by massive arch-demons were roaming the countryside. Small villages like Farview would be overrun in heartbeats, just like Ayd was.
Beside Ben, Milo delicately stepped around a torso of a villager. The legs didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby. Ahead of them, Rhys ducked his head into an unmarked storefront. In a town like Ayd or Farview, shopkeepers didn’t need signs out front. Everyone knew everyone else. They knew what each merchant sold.
“Tools and other equipment,” called Rhys. He gestured to Milo. “Come on. We might have better luck in here than we did the blacksmith.”
Milo nodded and disappeared inside.
They were looking for a suitable weapon for the former apprentice. He’d displayed surprising ability with the trident, but the rusty tines were liable to snap the next time he needed to use it.
Ben waited outside with Rhys while Milo poked around inside.
Lord Iyrron’s men hadn’t cleared the street yet, and its length was littered with bodies of men, women, and children. Most appeared to have been taken down mid-flight. Only a few had weapons lying near them. Ben shook his head. These people had no chance.
“Do you think we caused this?” Ben asked Rhys.
The rogue’s eyebrows knit. “How do you mean?”
“Closing the rift, increasing the frequency of demon spawnings,” answered Ben. “Are we responsible for these people’s deaths?”
Rhys leaned against the side of the building and unhooked a flask from his belt. He took a drink and passed it to Ben. Ben took a swig as well and winced as the liquid burned down his throat.
Finally, Rhys answered, “Destroying the rift had consequences. We knew it might. Had we known how quickly the swarms would form all over the world, how many demons would come pouring out of the Wilds, would we have done it again? I don’t know. It’s possible we choose poorly and people like these are paying the price. It’s also possible our actions saved countless lives in the north and gave us time to figure out a plan to defeat the demons once and for all. Think about it. What if Northport had been completely overrun by that swarm? What if that giant arch-demon and its thousands of minions were turned loose on an unprepared world?”
The rogue swept his hair back from his face and looked up and down the street.
“I don’t know if we did the right thing, but I know we did the best we could.”
Ben drank again and handed the flask back to Rhys. He didn’t have a response to that.
“You can carry the guilt with you,” continued Rhys, “but that doesn’t help. Trust me. I’ve got centuries of self-loathing under my belt. That rots you from the inside and only makes things worse. You can’t solve a problem with guilt.”
Ben turned and surveyed the street around them. He counted a dozen bodies. He gripped the hilt of his longsword in frustration.
“Look,” advised Rhys. “The rift is gone. It’s done. You have two choices now. You can torment yourself for what happened, or you can acknowledge that we made the right choice at the time with the information we had. If you want, you can sail back to Alcott and hole up in some tavern and waste away while the world burns around you. I don’t think that’s what you’re going to do though, is it? Towaal and I didn’t agree to follow you because we thought you’d give up and sulk into oblivion.”
Rhys took another swig of his flask then hooked it back on his belt.
Ben’s gaze dropped to the flask then back up to his friend.
Milo stepped out of the shop. In his hand, he held an iron sickle-shaped blade. It was a little longer than his forearm and had a utilitarian wooden handle and no cross-guard. Ben suspected it was crafted for agriculture instead of battle.
“It’s not perfect,” mumbled the former apprentice, “but I guess you just do the best you can.”
Ben nodded. “The best you can. That’s all you really can do, it seems.”
* * *
Four days south of Ayd, they approached the border city of Vard. It was technically part of Ooswam, but as Qooten had no permanent settlements, it attracted a lot of desert dwellers for trade. The humidity near the coast had faded, but the heat increased. The landscape was turning to parched red dirt, bare rocks, and scraggly pine trees that hardly cleared Ben’s head.
“It reminds me of the Wilds,” remarked Ben. “It’s hot instead of cold, and there isn’t any forest, but this land is unforgiving to people. It’s a wonder anyone chooses to live here.”
Rhys nodded in assent. “Tough liv
ing makes for tough people. The Dirhadji are some of the toughest I have ever encountered. They’re unfriendly to outsiders and they’re as likely to steer you into trouble as they are away from it. Living in such a difficult environment makes self-sufficiency a critical trait.”
“When you were here before, you must have made some friends,” stated Ben. “How did you convince them to teach you the Ohms?”
Rhys smirked. “I challenged one of them to a drinking contest.”
Ben eyed his friend. He wasn’t sure if he was serious.
Rhys continued, “The Dirhadji are nomadic, and they have very few possessions. There is little material wealth out in the desert. Aside from their weapons, they place little value in any object. What they do value are ability and experience. Fighting, drinking, and loving are what they do, usually in that order.”
Ben gestured to the empty surroundings. “What are they fighting over?”
“Women,” answered O’ecca from behind them. “As I told you, the Dirhadji keep women as chattel. A chieftain or powerful warrior will have many women. A young warrior or an ineffective fighter may have none, though, ineffective fighters who’ve lasted past their youth are rare.”
“They raid each other constantly,” agreed Rhys, “with the aim of capturing women.”
“The women allow this?” wondered Ben. “They go with whoever takes them?”
“The women of Qooten are not strong,” claimed O’ecca. “They are not taught how to fight and defend themselves. Instead, they survive by attaching themselves to the most powerful warrior they can. If they are in the harem of a chieftain, they know he and his men will be able to obtain food and water. The woman and her children will be protected as part of his household. The chieftain rules a tribe, so that protection will extend to anyone who travels with them. Even with a low-level warrior in the tribe, a woman knows her sons have the opportunity to become powerful warriors. They could even vie to the title of chieftain themselves one day. Her daughters, though, will most likely be taken after their first blood by the chieftain for his own harem or given to one of his favorite warriors.”
