When the meal was done the groups moved around and celebrated, conversing about their different lands and about every subject under the sun. Several of the men in the room stared at the Sa’ba Taalor women with open curiosity. Many of the women did the same regarding their men. Their cultures were different down to the way they dressed and no one missed the fact that every last member of the visiting people was heavily scarred.
The pain in Andover’s thigh reminded him that he would soon be sporting a severe scar himself. The wound had been cleaned and tended to by the women who studied under Desh Krohan, and while the wound was severe, it was well on its way to healing. Not because Andover was a special case, but because the circumstances demanded that he be in relatively healthy shape for his coming travels. He had looked at the wound before the meal started and even though not a full day had passed, he could see that the damage was substantially healed.
He shadowed Drask Silver Hand around the event. Drask introduced him to Tusk – The man did not stand on formalities – who heard the story of how he lost his hands and how he fought for the right to keep them and then nodded his satisfaction. Then in the language of their people the king rattled a series of words at Drask and congratulated Andover on his victory. He felt rather like a simpleton being congratulated by a scholar: the man had killed the sort of beast that had a head large enough to sleep in and his praise seemed directed at making Andover feel more comfortable with his own inadequacies. Still, he supposed that was courtly manners. He honestly didn’t understand half of what went on around him when it came to the matters of the aristocrats.
And he was supposed to be an ambassador. The very notion made him more nervous than fighting his attackers had.
Drask tapped his arm. “The forge where you got your hammer earlier, it’s near here?”
Andover frowned and nodded. “Yes, of course. Burk’s smithy is on the premises. Well, just off them, really. He’s the smith to the City Guard.”
Drask looked past him and nodded. “We should go there.”
“Why?”
“You know how to use a blacksmith’s hammer, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must use it now. It is time to forge your first weapon.”
“My what?”
“Tuskandru is a king. He says you will travel with us, but you will do so as an equal, not as a burden. For that you must have a weapon. Now you must forge that weapon.”
“Burk will not be pleased.”
Drask looked directly at him. “Burk will under-stand. You must do this thing, Andover Lashk. You must.”
Andover looked around the dining hall and nodded his head. There was little he wanted that was in this area anyway, except of course, for Tega. But he wasn’t foolish enough to think that anything would happen with her. Dream yes, expect, no.
The Emperor himself had asked that he go with the strangers and they had gifted him with new hands. He would do as Drask asked for now, if only to ensure that all who expected from him were happy with their decisions.
An hour later the forges were burning brightly and Burk was watching him with the shrewd eye of a master smith. He was also watching with several small gold coins in his pocket, which had done wonders for stopping the man from being upset about being disturbed.
At first Andover had no idea what he was going to do, what he was going to make for his weapon of choice, but eventually the answer came to him as he stared at the raw materials around him. What else would he use but what he had used earlier to win his combat?
Of course he would use a hammer. But there would be modifications, oh, yes. There would be changes a-plenty.
Both Drask and Burk watched as he first gathered the materials and then began the work of making his weapon. He looked to Drask and asked three questions. First, “Why do I have to make my own weapon?”
“Because a weapon should be as much a part of you as your arm.” The brute pointed. “Or your hands.”
“I am to choose the materials that are used in forging my weapon?”
“Yes. Of course.” The man’s expressive eyes showed little comprehension.
Andover nodded. “If I am to have a connection with the weapon, and the weapon is to be a part of me, then I want the weapon to actually be a part of me. May I have the metal from the blessing box?”
“Of course. It is only metal. Why?”
Andover smiled. “If I am to have a weapon that is as much a part of me as my hands, than let it be the very same metal that forged my hands.”
Drask went back to his room and brought the box with him. They waited together while the metal slowly melted into the crucible where the blacksmith did his work.
There were three people present, but to Andover it seemed like a great number more watched him as he worked. His new hands got a great deal of exercise and his arms strained as he worked the metal after casting it. The weapon had a good number of metallic parts and he worked on each one, seldom letting himself think as he brought down the very hammer he’d used earlier to mete out his justice. The metal had tasted the blood of his enemies and that seemed to him a very important thing. Before he was finished the sun was nearly ready to rise and his leg ached from standing on the wounded limb for so long. His shoulders and arms burned with the hard work, and the small stings of a dozen sparks burning his skin remained to annoy aggravated nerve endings.
And he felt content, as if he had finally accomplished something worthwhile.
He had one day to recover and part of that was spent being fitted for his new clothes. A small army of tailors went to work making sure he was prepared for the trip, supervised in part by the Sisters who served with Desh Krohan.
And while he was allegedly recovering from the work of creating his new weapon, Drask examined the device and then began schooling him in the best way to use the bloody thing. The man seemed to understand instinctively how Andover meant to employ it, and he expanded on those ideas.
Despite the discomfort in his arms and the exhaustion he felt, Andover reveled in the new weapon and learning its potential.
It felt as if the weapon had been waiting all along for him to make it and then wield it.
It felt right in his hands, as surely as his hands felt natural and right attached to his wrists.
They traveled for days before they finally reached Roathes and days more before they made their way to the great stone keep of King Marsfel. It seemed at least half the time that the people with him were mesmerized by the ocean. Considering where they’d come from it must have seemed an impossibility. Merros could still remember the first time he’d stared at the vast expanse of choppy waters. He’d been nearly overwhelmed and he’d at least known of the ocean’s existence. Swech kept looking it over and shaking her head as if, even after days, she had trouble accepting the reality.
Though Merros hadn’t been in the area in a very long time little had changed, really. The people in the area lived a fairly routine life and aside from a few structures like the castle and the town center outside its walls there was little aside from well-designed huts to run across. Very elaborate huts, granted, but built from materials that seldom seemed like they’d hold up in a strong wind, despite the evidence to the contrary.
King Marsfel received them with a dubious expression. Reading the note that was passed over by Merros didn’t seem to help much, really. On the other hand, no one threatened to execute them. You take your victories where you can find them.
Within an hour they were settled at an inn not far from the palace. The rooms were small, the air was hot and humid, and it was still a welcome change of pace from sleeping on a bedroll. One wing of the rather large affair was set aside for them. The cost seemed prohibitive at first, but then there was the feeding of the mounts to consider. They did not eat grass or hay, and as they’d learned in the last village, sometimes the damned things went off hunting if they were not fed in advance. On the bright side, the money was provided by the Emperor.
He w
ould let kings and emperors work out the bills.
When they had all settled in Merros called the Sa’ba Taalor to join him and laid out a map of the area that the king had finally provided after a bit of haggling. There were limits and a map of the affected area didn’t seem too much to ask.
The map was clear enough. There was a large stretch of ocean; on one side of it there was Fellein, on the other was nothing. Somewhere in the middle of that vast ocean there was a long stretch of islands that had been unified under the Guntha flag. The problem seemed to come from the notion that the islands the Guntha called home were sinking. Seemed they wanted to live on dry land. In the defense of the Guntha, he could understand their dilemma. King Marsfel on the other hand seemed to find the notion of giving up his lands to accommodate their desires reprehensible. His father before him had felt the same way.
So he had to explain the situation to Swech and her friends. And once he started, the group immediately began expressing opinions.
Swech said, “They cannot come and simply take the land?”
Merros countered with, “Well, we’re here to assess that situation, to see if the Emperor has enough forces here already to repel the invasion or if he needs to send more troops.”
Swech shook her head. “No. We are here to stop them.”
“I don’t think so. We’re here to examine the situation.”
Swech shook her head again. “We are here to show your Emperor what ten Sa’ba Taalor can do. That is what Drask Silver Hand said.”
He pointed to the map. According to Marsfel, the Guntha had already claimed an area to his south, less than a day’s travel away. The land was considered inhospitable and it was hard to actually do anything there but settle a few hundred tents. However, that was where they were amassing a fighting force.
“Why does he not send his soldiers there to stop them?” Swech asked.
“Well, Roathes doesn’t really have an army. They have soldiers, yes, but more as a force to guard against possible attacks from the land. They don’t really have enough men to have an army and to tend to the villages as well as they should. They have many ships, and they’re certainly very good at sailing, but they don’t have an army. They depend on Fellein to handle issues where they might need an army.” He could see the way they looked at each other. They weren’t getting it, so he clarified. “As part of the Empire they’ve made negotiations in the past to guarantee assistance. They provide ships for transport of goods to different areas, and in turn the Empire is supposed to offer defense in situations like this.”
“Then why does your Emperor not offer soldiers?” That was Blane.
“We’re here to assess the situation. To see if soldiers are necessary.”
“How many of the Guntha have already settled here?” Swech pointed to the area on the map called the Blade of Trellia. The jutting finger of land was a harsh area, covered with rough terrain and a good number of easily defended rock outcroppings. Oddly enough, the Guntha almost always chose that spot. Apparently somewhere back in time it was sacred to their people. He had long since given up trying to understand why as he found it genuinely unattractive and uninhabitable.
“According to King Marsfel, the Guntha have over a thousand people there right now.”
“A thousand?” Swech looked at her friends.
“Over a thousand and more showing up daily.”
“We should go there. We should investigate.”
“Well, yes, that’s the idea. We just had to present ourselves to the King first.”
Swech nodded her head and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good! Then let’s go see these Guntha.”
“Well there’s more to it than that.”
The whole lot of them were already standing up and getting ready to move. Swech looked at him again. “What more is there? They are here.” She jabbed a finger at the map. “We are here.” Another jab. “We need to be there.”
“And that’s true, but no one here has ever been to the Guntha homeland and that includes me.”
“And?” Blane leaned in closer, his eyes watching every expression, every motion of Merros’ face to the point where Merros was nearly made uncomfortable.
“We know that there are people resting on the shoals, here.” Jab at map. “We do not know how many for certain, and we do not know if that is all the people they can spare, or if it is an advanced scouting party, or if this is a carefully laid trap to make sure the Guntha have good reason for declaring war. No one has been attacked yet. They have merely posted themselves on an inhospitable piece of land.”
“Did the king’s people not ask for help?”
“Yes, they did. But they are not the Emperor. He must know what forces are against his people before he decides to commit himself to an act of war.” They were a direct people, the Sa’ba Taalor. They didn’t really seem capable of understanding duplicity. That was a good thing when it came to relationships, but a bad thing when it came to understanding the fine art of backstabbing, also known as politics. Years in the military had taught Merros that much.
“No one has ever been to the islands of the Guntha?”
“No. Anyone coming close is normally not heard from again. The Guntha are not a gentle people.”
The people with him looked at each other and then back to him if trying to assess why, exactly, he was addled. There comes a point where you simply can’t make your point any clearer. Tomorrow, they would see.
Merros sighed. “Yes, well a good night’s rest would be the right point for starting this.”
“Come. We have a long ways to travel.”
That effectively ended the debate. The Sa’ba Taalor wanted to head on and he was supposed to be their intermediary. That meant he had to move along as well.
Within the hour they were well away from the castle and the town and moving along the shoreline. They rode through most of the day and stopped only well after the sun had set.
The weather was delightfully warm, even with the sun down and the breeze coming off the ocean. Tents went up quickly, more as defense against the sand and the breeze than because they needed any real shelter. The mounts were sent out to find their own food. Merros hoped they didn’t find anything that would cause problems later, like a herd of cattle or possibly a small village. There seemed to be sign of neither around the area; that would have to do.
Ludicrous. He was riding with strangers and heading into a strange situation. He’d have packed his bags and walked away from the situation, but the money was simply too damned good. He was still contemplating the money situation when he drifted off to sleep.
His sleep was interrupted sometime later when Swech entered his tent and climbed on top of him. He looked up at her sleepily and she looked down at him. Her fingers found his mouth and she shushed him before he could protest.
“We come closer to battle, Merros Dulver. Tonight I feel restless.” She leaned down closer, her words spoken softly. “Make me tired and satisfied.” Her hands, strong and callused but still feminine, ran across his chest and shoulders as she spoke, feeling the texture of him through the shirt he wore. His hands reached out as well and soon they were exploring each other more thoroughly. They did not make love; they rutted, neither pretending that what they did was meant to have a greater meaning.
When he woke in the morning, pleasantly sore, Swech was still beside him, but dressing herself. Some communications do not require words. They dressed in silence and worked together to break down the tent they’d shared. If anyone with them failed to notice what had occurred, it was simply because they were all just as busy breaking camp. If anyone did notice, they chose discretion when it came to making comment.
They rode for a good portion of the next day, moving across the land without fear of being seen by much aside from the occasional fisherman. Neither Swech nor Merros spoke of what had occurred the night before though there were many opportunities to do so. They did not avoid the subject either. It was simply something that did not need
discussing, not now at least. Perhaps after they had dealt with what was coming when they made camp.
“What do you intend to do when you see the Guntha?”
“Drask Silver Hand wants us to work on behalf of your Emperor. To handle the matter. We will handle the matter.”
Frustrating. The woman was frustrating. “Yes, fine, but how?”
Swech shrugged. “I will know after we have seen these Guntha and assessed what they are capable of.”
The conversation continued along those lines until they finally stopped at the Blade of Trellia. The land was mostly dark rock, black sand, and thick patches of grass that often stood as tall as a man. Occasionally, to break the monotony, there were trees laden with a thick gray moss that was almost the same color as Swech’s hair. Merros had thought there would be no proper places to hide the great mounts or the group as a whole, but he was wrong. There were enough hills and enough patches of the thick saw grass to allow a substantial gathering to hide. As they were almost a mile distant from the camp of the Guntha it was easy enough to conceal their location.
The great mounts did not roam or wander off as they sometimes did when they were finished for the day. Instead they lay down and slumbered, but Merros could tell they were not asleep so much as they were waiting. Blane and another of the group left the area, heading toward the beachfront where the Guntha were supposed to be camped. They came back when the sun was setting and nodded. “They are there. There are many.”
“Are they armed? Do they prepare for battle?” Swech spoke softly, but it was easy to hear her. None of the Sa’ba Taalor spoke out of turn and most barely moved as they listened to the discussion.
For the first time Merros realized on a conscious level what he’d noticed and acknowledged silently before: Swech was the leader of this group. It wasn’t unheard of for a woman to be a fighter, not even a solder, but it was rare. Never had he run across a female who was in charge of any sized group of soldiers before.
Still, considering her talents, he could not exactly blame them for choosing her. Her skills as an archer alone would have made her a just choice.
The Seven Forges Novels Page 16
