The Nivaka Chronicles Boxed Set

by Leslie E Heath

  Faruz, Serik, and Aibek stepped into the Bokinna’s clearing side-by-side, as they did before each practice session. They dropped to their knees before the ancient being and awaited her instructions.

  “Serik, you’re looking quite colorful this morning,” the tree said, her soft green eyes smiling down at the old man.

  “Yes, madam.” Serik blushed, and Aibek tried to remember any other occasion where the elderly servant had seemed even a little flustered. He couldn’t think of any.

  “You may observe from your normal spot.”

  He eased to his feet and strolled over to his favorite tree. He leaned against it, but didn’t sit.

  “Aibek. Faruz. You may drink your Kurim.”

  They did as she commanded, though Aibek still couldn’t suppress the grimace the bitter potion caused. He washed the vile liquid down with half a skin of water and waited for the Bokinna’s next instructions.

  “Move the logs over here.” A long branch indicated an empty place beside the tree-god.

  Aibek stood, his leg aching, but better than it had been. He was getting stronger; he couldn’t deny it.

  As they moved through the familiar exercises, Aibek’s mind wandered. He thought of Marah, of her intoxicating scent. He pictured the wild blond curls trapped beneath her bonnet. He imagined himself staring into the warm amber of her eyes.

  His heart pattered at the warm sensations growing within.

  “Aibek! Watch what you’re doing!”

  Faruz’s voice pierced Aibek’s musings and he looked up. The log he’d been moving had broken free of his hands and soared through the air — straight at Serik, who had fallen asleep against his tree.

  “Serik!” Aibek and Faruz screamed in unison.

  Aibek sprinted for his friend, arriving a heartbeat before the log. He raised an arm to block the impact but wasn’t fast enough.

  The log crashed into Serik’s chest. The crunch of bones made Aibek sick to his stomach.

  Serik opened his eyes and gazed up at Aibek. Confusion and pain colored his face, and Aibek dropped to his knees before his mentor.

  “No! Serik! Tell me you’re all right!”

  Eyes wide with shock and pain, Serik just shook his head. “Take me to her,” he whispered. Blood spattered his ashen lips as he spoke.

  Aibek hesitated, unsure if he should move the injured man.

  “Bring him to me.” The Bokinna’s voice rasped on the wind, the same as it had been when she had been so weak and ill.

  Tears filled Aibek’s eyes, but he bent to comply. He braced an arm behind Serik’s back and slid the other under his knees. The potion gave him strength, and he lifted his mentor as if he weighed no more than a child.

  Concentrating on every movement, he eased Serik closer to the ancient being at the center of the clearing. He set his dearest friend down on the mossy ground at the base of her trunk and eased his arms free.

  Guilt and helplessness crushed Aibek’s chest at the sight of Serik’s caved-in chest and gray skin.

  “Leave me here,” Serik rasped.

  Tears streamed down Aibek’s face, and he dropped his arms to his sides.

  “Leave us,” the Bokinna commanded.

  Strength and panic pulsed through Aibek’s arms and legs, but there was nothing more he could do. He considered offering Serik a vial of the potion, but the Bokinna had already ordered him away.

  Dejected and guilt-ridden, he knelt by Serik’s side once more and kissed his mentor. The old man’s cheek was cold and clammy, and Aibek sobbed at the knowledge that his oldest friend was dying.

  Serik coughed and blood speckled his lips.

  “Leave us!” This time, the Bokinna’s command carried all the force of the wind.

  Aibek stood, glanced down at Serik once more, and trudged to the edge of the clearing, where Gworsad waited. The dragon crouched down to allow him to climb onto his back, and Aibek grabbed hold of the rope. As he swung into place, he could see Serik’s lips moving.

  He focused his potion-enhanced senses on the old man, desperate to hear his friend’s last words.

  “All that’s been and yet to come…”

  Gworsad’s great, leathery wings stretched out.

  “Defend me now from evil’s harm.”

  Wind roared in Aibek’s ears as the dragon beat his wings downward.

  “Lower ‘er the veil of lights true…”

  Aibek strained to hear the last part as Gworsad lifted him above the treetops.

  “Hand upon me… Now, I ask…”

  The trees blurred beneath him as tears burned his eyes. Aibek didn’t know if there was more to whatever prayer Serik recited, but what he’d heard squeezed his heart in his chest.

  Serik couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. Aibek needed him. He was the best friend and mentor Aibek had ever known.

  Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as Gworsad pulled him closer to home. As the village came into view below, Aibek realized he had another problem.

  He still had the potion in his system.

  He couldn’t go into the village with his crazy strength. He’d already killed Serik because of a moment’s distraction. He couldn’t even imagine the damage he could do in a village.

  The Bokinna had warned him. She’d told him he had to focus on every single movement. Why had he thought he could daydream about Marah instead?

  Gworsad set him down in the clearing beside the stream, but Aibek didn’t climb down. Instead, he leaned over, buried his face in the mossy fronds around the dragon’s neck, and wept.

  “Can we just fly for a bit? I’m not ready to go home yet,” he whispered.

  Aibek caught a glimpse of Faruz’s confused face as Gworsad lifted off and flew away. He hoped his friend would understand.

  Gworsad flew to the south clearing, where the scattered remains of dozens of practice dummies littered the ground. Aibek climbed down and set to work cleaning up the mess, grateful for the distraction. It didn’t help as much as he hoped.

  As he worked, his mind replayed an endless stream of memories: Serik at his first sword fighting tournament, Serik cheering him on in the spelling contest, Serik quietly drilling him on his maths, Serik holding him as he cried over the end of his first real romantic relationship.

  “I can’t do this without you,” he screamed into the silent trees.

  Gworsad rumbled and nudged him with a gentle foot, but Aibek turned away. No new friends could possibly replace the one he’d just lost.

  He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the vision of Serik’s broken body laying propped against the Bokinna.

  It was his fault. He had let his mind drift. He had forgotten the Bokinna’s warning, and his oldest friend had paid with his life.

  When the clearing was clean and the dummies reset for the next training day, Aibek climbed onto Gworsad’s back and let the dragon take him home. He trudged up the stairs on legs made of lead but couldn’t go home. That big, empty house would feel like a tomb without Serik.

  Instead, he turned his steps to Valasa’s home and pounded on the door.

  The housekeeper opened the door, and Aibek asked to see Valasa, his voice wooden and stiff.

  “Of course. Come in, Mr. Mayor.”

  She led him to the den, where he sank onto the plush sofa and fought back the tears that threatened.

  “Aibek!” Valasa’s booming voice rang through the enclosed space. “I hadn’t expected to see you today. What can I help you with?”

  The healer must have gotten a good look at Aibek’s tear-stained face at that point, because his voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s happened?”

  Instead of answering, Aibek glanced at the open door to Valasa’s study.

  “Of course. Come in here and we’ll talk about whatever it is.”

  Valasa pressed a massive hand on Aibek’s shoulder and ushered him into the long, narrow room.

  Once inside, Aibek dropped into the closest chair and dissolved in tears once more.

  A
handkerchief landed on the table in front of him, and Aibek took it gratefully. He pressed the thin fabric to his eyes and wiped his nose, then took a deep, steadying breath.

  “There’s been an accident. Serik…” He could barely choke out the words before the sobs wrenched him again.

  Valasa waited patiently, allowing Aibek the space he needed to grieve for his beloved mentor.

  When Aibek’s tears finally abated, Valasa offered him a cup of water, which he downed in a few quick gulps.

  “All right, then. Tell me what’s happened.” Valasa’s voice was gentler than Aibek had ever heard it, and the tears threatened again.

  Aibek swallowed against the grief, took a deep breath, and blurted out the whole, awful story. He relayed every detail, including his preoccupation with Marah and his loss of control over the log. He told the healer about leaving Serik slumped against the Bokinna’s trunk, about the blood, his crushed-in chest, and the words Serik had spoken as Gworsad had lifted off. When he finished, Valasa regarded him with a compassionate gaze.

  “It sounds like the Bokinna has it covered. She’ll take care of him, child. If she can’t heal his wounds, she’ll take away his pain and let him go peacefully.”

  Aibek nodded, unable to say anything around the lump in his throat.

  “I know this is hard, but you have to trust that she’ll take care of everything. She takes care of us all every day. She’ll take care of Serik in his time of need.”

  Tears threatened again, but Aibek swallowed them back. He took a deep breath and tried hard to see Valasa’s perspective. Maybe the Bokinna could save Serik.

  The image of his friend’s broken body flashed unbidden to Aibek’s mind.

  If the Bokinna couldn’t save him, at least she could take away his pain. Valasa was right about that, at least.

  “Here, drink this. It’ll let you get some sleep tonight so you can see everything with fresh eyes in the morning.” Valasa pressed a small vial into Aibek’s hand.

  Without thinking, Aibek downed the vial’s contents and grimaced at the tincture’s rancid taste.

  “Here.” A fresh cup of water appeared on the table in front of him, and Aibek gulped it down.

  “Let me walk you home.”

  A fog covered Aibek’s vision, but he was vaguely aware of the walk to his home, the housekeeper’s worried exclamation, and Valasa’s soothing voice.

  Somehow, his boots came off and a pillow pressed against his head, and he settled deeper into it, grateful for the release of sleep.

  * * *

  Noral hummed a quiet tune, using the rhythm of his hammer to punctuate the song as he worked. They’d made a great deal of progress in getting the house ready to move over the past weeks, and trunks lined the walls in every room. The cook had declined Ira’s offer to travel south with them, but she’d recently become engaged to a nearby widower, so her decision didn’t come as a surprise. Remembering her happiness when she’d announced the gentleman’s proposal, Noral smiled. Her certain happiness eased any guilt he may have felt at leaving her without employment.

  A loud crash sounded outside, and Noral set down his hammer, listening for any repeat of the noise. A heartbeat later, a group of mountain tribesmen ran past his shop. They carried spears and improvised weapons, but their numbers worried Noral.

  His heart crashed in his chest as he strapped on his sword. He abandoned his work on the anvil and ran out into the streets. Part of the army had returned from their field training, but many would be trapped outside the city if the mountain men closed the gates.

  Or, Noral thought, if the city guard thinks this is an attack from outside and closes the gates to prevent more from entering.

  Unsure where else to go, Noral raced to the broad stone building that housed the army academy where Aibek had spent so many years. His breath burned in his lungs with each step, but he crossed the half mile to the school in record time.

  Noral braced his hands on his knees and struggled for breath. Slowly, the sounds of combat carried to his ears and broke through his panic. Eyes wild, he raised his head and took in the scene.

  Students and professors fought side-by-side against hundreds of armed tribesmen.

  Thankfully, the academy’s residents were better trained. Noral watched as the officers-in-training cut down enemy after enemy, aided by the battle-hardened professors.

  He wasn’t needed there. Noral spun on his heel, took a breath, and raced for the south gate. Low shanties inside the wall there served as the city guards’ headquarters. Someone there could tell him how he could help.

  As he ran, someone crashed into him from the side. Noral stumbled but kept his feet. He unsheathed his sword, searching for the source of the blow. A squat man with a dirt-smeared face and a knotted beard that reached his knees growled up at him from the street. Without missing a beat, Noral swung the sword and parted the grizzled head from its shoulders.

  He wiped the blade on his heavy blacksmith’s apron, thankful he’d forgotten to remove the garment in spite of its bulk. When he’d re-sheathed his sword, he sprinted toward the gate once more. All around him, Xona’s citizens engaged this new threat, fighting with whatever weapons they could find on such short notice.

  Ira’s face swam in his thoughts, and he hoped she’d stayed inside. Aibek had reinforced the doors and windows in the home as part of his training, so Noral was certain she’d be safe there. This enemy had no siege weapons. In fact, very few had proper weapons at all. Only one in a hundred wielded a sword. The rest had knives strapped onto broom handles— sometimes with the broom still attached to the other end.

  There are so many. They may have us by sheer numbers. Noral fought off the worried thought and slowed to a walk as he approached the guard station. He had to fight back a relieved smile when he grew closer. The man standing in the doorway had been Aibek’s opponent in the last tournament he’d fought in the Academy.

  What’s his name? Noral wracked his mind for the strapping young man’s name even as he approached and waved.

  “Intza!” Noral shouted the name as soon as it popped into his thoughts. “Is that you? Thank the trees you’re all right! How can I help?”

  “They need more men at the east entrance,” the young officer yelled back, straining his voice to be heard over the clanging of metal and the screams of the injured and dying. “I can’t leave my post, but you know the way!”

  Noral nodded, turned, and sprinted in the direction Intza had indicated. The fighting at the east gate was fierce. Mountain tribesmen pressed forward, trying to force the guard to close the gate, while Xona’s soldiers ran toward the city in the distance.

  Without stopping to check in with the commander, Noral unsheathed his sword and joined the fray. He stepped into a gap in the guards’ line and earned relieved glances from men on both sides. He cast one more glance at the army outside the gate, raised his sword, and swiped at an advancing mountain man. The enemy impaled himself on Noral’s sword, and Noral had to yank to free the weapon. He didn’t have time to clean it before the next enemy rushed for him.

  A scream pierced the air beside his head, and Noral looked over in time to see his neighbor fall. He regretted that he hadn’t learned the soldier’s name but couldn’t give the man more than a passing thought. They had to hold. They had to save the city. These were Helak’s men. If they took Xona, they’d have access to power, money, and weapons enough to crush Aibek’s tiny force like dust beneath their heels.

  11

  Message

  The force rolled over Xona like a wave taking the shore, and Eddrick could do nothing but watch. Horror filled him at the death and destruction Helak’s men wrought within the city’s glittering walls.

  Frantic, he closed his eyes and searched for Noral. The spark beckoned from the west gate, so Eddrick grabbed the others, closed his eyes, and transported them to that location.

  Chaos reigned. The screams of wounded and dying warriors filled the air, and Eddrick searched for Noral among the
fighting.

  Helak’s men outnumbered the city guards in that ward nearly four to one. All around, small pockets of Xona’s best warriors fought against groups of mountain tribesmen wielding hastily constructed weapons. It wasn’t a fair fight.

  Eddrick’s mouth fell open when two city guards struck what should have been lethal blows, but the men they fought didn’t falter. Instead, their eyes glowed green for an instant and they fought back with a new, frightening strength.

  “Should we get the others and make the barrier?” Eddrick asked Glesni.

  The youngest ancient closed his eyes the way he did when he wanted to consult with his superiors. At last, he opened his eyes and shook his head. “This is not the battle we prepare for. This is a test for Helak’s men. We will let them think their tactics will work.”

  “But these men are dying! That’s my brother! I have to do something,” As he spoke, Eddrick spotted Noral. He fought back to back with another Xona citizen.

  Both wore the heavy aprons commonly seen in blacksmith’s shops over stained linen work clothes. Sweat dripped into their eyes as they parried and blocked the mountain men’s jabs and swings.

  “Come,” Glesni said, his voice grave. “We need to see what is happening in the rest of the city.”

  “No,” Eddrick roared. “I will not leave my brother!”

  “You can do nothing for him now,” Glesni placed a hand on Eddrick’s shoulder, compassion shining in his rich brown eyes. “But we can let your son and his army know what has happened here today. We need to give him all the information he needs, which means we must investigate how the rest of the city has fared.”

  His shoulders slumped against the weight of grief and disappointment, but Eddrick nodded. Glesni was right. If the ancients wouldn’t allow them to interfere, then he could do nothing to help his brother. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, hoping it wouldn’t be the last time he saw Noral alive, grabbed hold of the others, and whisked away to the south gate.