The Vengeance of Mirickar

by Stuart J. Whitmore

  The man laughed. “You’re an interesting boy, I’ll give you that,” he said. “I’m called Yunaren around these parts, ’though that’s not my only name.”

  “I am Mirickar.”

  “Well met, Mirickar, if all you say is true.”

  “And your claim to know where there is a kurakvin camp?”

  Yunaren nodded gravely. “Sadly true. I sent word to Madarre but have heard nothing and expect to hear nothing. Those of us who have seen them, including some who have lost goods and even loved ones to them, are not going to wait for the king to acknowledge the threat. Maybe war will arrive in full later, but for now the battle is up to us.”

  Mirickar nodded slowly. “And how soon will you be ready?”

  “We are ready now, but we are waiting. Three nights from now, the moon will be dark, and then we shall strike.”

  “I see. I am not sure I can simply wait here three nights. Indeed, I am already nearly out of what little money I brought, and I would rather go hunting kurakvin than bartering my time and labor for shelter and food.”

  The man shook his head. “I have no place for you, but I know someone who might, someone who is also going to fight the kurakvin when the time is right. There’s no sense in wasting time and effort hunting when we can show you to those we seek to slaughter. If you will, come, I will introduce you to Ardrham. He can probably house you in his barn at least. Bartering your time and labor, as you say, for his food and shelter will at least help someone who can be your ally in killing kurakvin.”

  Mirickar was silent for several moments. He did not want to trust the other man, but his choices seemed slim and unappealing. “Very well,” he finally assented. “I will follow you and meet this Ardrham. But if this does not lead to killing kurakvin soon, I will strike out again on my own.”

  Yunaren laughed loudly. “We share your eagerness to kill them. Come!”

  Chapter Ten

  Mirickar worked to keep his apprehensions in check as he followed Yunaren away from the palisade surrounding Dolat. The surrounding forest was dark as night settled in, but they did not walk long before he saw the lights of torches ahead. His unease shifted to curiosity when he saw a freshly-built palisade ahead, with its gates closed and three young men stationed outside of the gates, two bearing halberds and one bearing a sword. From what he could judge of the width and depth of the palisade, Mirickar guessed it only surrounded a few homes.

  “Sengetar!” Yunaren called ahead as the three men by the gates raised their weapons. “It is Yunaren, with another fighter for our battle! Is your uncle at home?”

  “He is,” one of the men replied as the three lowered their weapons again. In the distance and darkness, Mirickar could not tell which had spoken.

  “I will vouch for this young man, Mirickar,” Yunaren said when they were closer, “if you will allow us entry.”

  “As long as he’s ready to kill kurakvin, I expect Uncle Ardrham will welcome him,” Sengetar answered as he moved to open the gates.

  Mirickar’s concerns eased even further at the other young man’s words. Without any pretense, Sengetar had confirmed that they not only accepted that kurakvin were in the kingdom but that Yunaren’s claim to be planning an attack were true. Still, the cold glares from the three men at the gate did little to make him feel welcome.

  Once inside the palisade, Mirickar could see that there was a large cottage and an even larger barn inside, but those were the only buildings. The rest of the grounds were split between a vegetable garden on one side and fenced pens on the side where the barn stood.

  “The barn is not what I imagined,” Mirickar commented quietly to Yunaren.

  The older man laughed. “Ardrham has an affinity for horses. He was originally a blacksmith by trade but became a farrier over time, and a mighty good one at that. Always seemed able to handle the trouble cases that others couldn’t touch.” Yunaren grew serious. “Don’t ask him about any of that. In fact, don’t talk to him more than you have to. He hasn’t worked since… well, since kurakvin took his wife.”

  Mirickar said nothing more as they closed the distance to the cottage. Yunaren knocked firmly on the stout wooden door, and opened it when a deep bellow from inside told him to enter. The two stepped inside where they could see a large man stooping over his fire, stirring something in a pot suspended over the flames.

  “I found a recruit, Ardrham. This boy says he wants to kill kurakvin,” Yunaren announced. “Also says he was trained by Kallosarin.”

  The man at the fire turned and sneered.

  “The first part I only belief halfway, and the second part not at all. What do you know of kurakvin, boy, other than tales told by your mother to scare you?”

  “My mother is dead,” Mirickar said flatly. “Kurakvin killed her and my father. I fought some but had to flee. That was before I met General Kallosarin.”

  “That so?” Ardrham said disbelievingly before turning away again.

  “We can test his skills in the morning,” Yunaren said, “but for now he needs a place to sleep. I thought you might allow him to sleep in your barn until we attack the kurakvin camp. He can do chores for you during the day to pay for his bed and whatever food you can ration him.”

  “That’s what you thought, eh?” Ardrham commented without looking back.

  Yunaren caught Mirickar’s gaze and grimaced. “Would be good to have another sword, and he brings his own.”

  “Fine,” Ardrham grunted. “At least until we test him tomorrow. You set him up, I’m busy.”

  Yunaren promptly led the way back out of the cottage. There was little to be said as the two crossed the grounds toward the barn. The older man found some clean straw and a couple woolen blankets that Mirickar could use to set up a bed for himself.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” Yunaren said when there was nothing more for him to do. “Stay out of trouble and help if you’re told to.”

  Mirickar finished preparing his bed in the dim light coming through the windows from the torches in the open area of the compound. He settled in for the night, slowly eating the rest of his cheese and listening to the movement of horses in the dark. The night passed peacefully and he slept better than any other night since he had left Elthrana’s home.

  In the morning, one of the young men that had guarded the gate the night before woke Mirickar by giving him a light kick in one thigh. In his surprise and waking confusion, Mirickar almost reached for his sword, but his mind filled in the gaps quickly enough that he stopped himself from making a bigger problem.

  “Get to the cottage while there’s still some porridge left,” the other young man said. “It’ll be cold scrapings for you, but you haven’t earned more.”

  Mirickar stood, picked up his sword, and followed the other man out of the barn. He saw several men inside the stockade, all busy with various tasks. After obtaining and eating what little breakfast he was allowed, he began working on the list of chores that Ardrham grumpily assigned to him. Contrary to what he had been told, he saw nothing of Yunaren.

  When it was time for another ration of food at midday, he was given a slightly better portion. It was still small, yet he knew it was better than what he could have expected if he was on his own in the forest. He stood by himself and ate quickly, staying out of the way of other work going on. As he took his last bite, he saw with dread that Ardrham was approaching.

  “Sengetar, get some practice swords,” Ardrham yelled over his shoulder as he approached Mirickar. “Find some volunteers to test the new boy.”

  The testing of Mirickar’s skills didn’t last long. He quickly disarmed his first opponent, left his second opponent doubled over in pain, and doled out painful bruises all around when he had to face multiple opponents at once. When it was done, he only had a scraped knuckle to show for his fighting.

  “I don’t know where you learned to fight,” Ardrham told Mirickar after dismissing the others. “I’m not about to believe you’ve even seen Kallosarin, although I’m sur
prised you know his name, at your age. It matters not, it will be good to have you join the attack on those bastards.”

  “I would like to see your battle plans,” Mirickar said. “I want to make sure there are no errors.”

  “Errors!” Ardrham exploded. “How dare you, boy?”

  “I dare because I was taught by General Kallosarin,” Mirickar answered, holding the other man’s gaze, “and I want to make sure there is nothing about the plan of battle that he would find faulty.”

  The older man glared wordlessly at Mirickar for a long moment before turning and stomping away. Shaking his head, Mirickar retrieved his sword from where he had stowed it while being tested and then resumed his chores. He saw little more of Ardrham for the rest of the afternoon, but he did see Yunaren arrive in the early evening. The older man quickly disappeared into the cottage.

  “Mirickar!” Yunaren called out that evening when food was being distributed among the men in the stockade. “Come into the cottage, we want a word with you.”

  Mirickar sighed, for he had not yet received his ration and was unsure he would get any food if he did not stay in line. He reluctantly headed toward where the doorway to the cottage where Yunaren stood waiting for him. The other man promptly stepped inside. Once Mirickar followed him, he could see that Ardrham and two other men were standing at a table looking toward the door.

  “Get over here, boy,” Ardrham rumbled, “and see if you find any errors in our battle plan.”

  Mirickar glanced briefly at Yunaren, who merely looked amused. Keeping his own face as plain as possible, he crossed over to the table and looked down at the sketched map on the table. One of the men whose name he didn’t know pointed at various locations on the map and explained what they planned to do. Mirickar stood silently and paid close attention.

  “Thank you,” he said when the man was done. Avoiding using Kallosarin’s name, he continued, “From what I have learned, you can expect scouts here, and here.” He pointed to the map to clarify. “You can also expect a larger barracks tent somewhere near here,” he pointed again, “and possibly an alarm fire to be seen by watchers who may be far from the camp.”

  This brought a variety of reactions from the other men at the table. The skepticism of Ardrham and one other was eventually overruled and the small group worked on adjustments to the plan of attack. Ardrham still looked warily at Mirickar, but nothing more was said about not trusting his input. When they were done discussing the battle plan, Ardrham served the men in the cottage a hot, filling meal. Mirickar gave no sign that he noticed his portion being quite small in comparison.

  The next day was filled with final preparations for their raid on the kurakvin camp, and more men arrived to take part in the battle. As dusk fell, horses were brought out of the barn. Everyone present joined in the task of loading them with equipment. When that was done, the men who would ride were assigned horses.

  It was nearly dark when they filed out of the gates, some on foot and others on horseback. With few words they began the slow trek in the direction of the kurakvin camp. Mirickar felt his anxiety rising, but he knew that things had gone mostly according to plan and that this would be his best opportunity yet to avenge his parents.

  Darkness lay heavily on the land as they reached the point where they would launch their attack. The first riders in the group arrived slightly earlier than planned. Before Mirickar and the rest of the fighters in the back had caught up, the decision was made to go forward rather than risking discovery by kurakvin scouts. Mirickar barely had time to catch his breath before harsh whispers set the attack in motion.

  The men split up in preplanned groups and rushed forward. Mirickar moved with his group, trying to quell his dismay at how loud the men were being. His destination was the assumed barracks tent, and he could hear sounds of fighting in the forest well before he and fourteen other men reached the area where they expected to find the barracks.

  Mirickar’s heart sank when there was nothing to be seen. The dark forest revealed nothing resembling a large tent filled with kurakvin. Angry words around him let him know that he wasn’t the only one realizing they might have made a strategic error. A loud horn nearby startled him, though, and he heard others gasp as well.

  “There!” one of the men to his right shouted, but there was no need. Torches sprang to life among the trees in front of them, and they saw a mass of kurakvin surging in the direction of distant fighting sounds.

  “Now!” Mirickar shouted as he raced forward, the other men at his heels.

  The kurakvin who had been rushing to help their comrades suddenly realized their own danger as Mirickar and the others plowed into them from the side. Blades crashed against armor, shouts of anger and pain filled the air, and fallen torches started small fires that added flickering light and drifting smoke to the scene.

  At first, Mirickar was able to attack wildly, and he let his blood lust pull him forward into the kurakvin. Body after body fell to the side, and he was vaguely aware that the other men were having similar success. Their part of the battle shifted, however, as those kurakvin who had gone furthest circled back to join the fray. Mirickar found himself more and more challenged, but instead of panic, his training from Kallosarin flooded his mind. Still the kurakvin bodies dropped before him, but now it was slower and took more finesse.

  A mortal cry to his left told Mirickar that at least one of the men with him had been lost. He distantly wondered how many more had fallen, and how long he could go without being slain himself. The idea of dying there momentarily seemed satisfying. It would be a fitting end to his rampage and a closing note for his revenge. That thought was washed away by the flickering memory of Sraikura’s kiss.

  Mirickar had lost count of how many kurakvin he had killed, and still there seemed to be no end to them. Worry and fatigue started to gnaw at him. Perhaps Kallosarin was right. His errand would simply end in his own death, while kurakvin hordes could still wreak havoc in the kingdom. His sword strokes were coming slower, and the few wounds he was receiving were getting larger each time. He cried out in anger at the thought of failing Sraikura, but the kurakvin continued to come at him.

  A loud crash made its way through Mirickar’s increasingly dulled senses. The kurakvin seemed to hesitate, and he was able to kill two more as they looked around. Then it made sense to Mirickar. The other men had finished killing the kurakvin in the other areas and had come to join the fight with those from the barracks area. This gave him enough hope to better defend himself, but he knew that he was nearing the end of his own killing.

  The end came abruptly, and in Mirickar’s favor. The last kurakvin he faced was suddenly impaled by a spear from behind. It growled in pain and surprise as it fell, but it did not rise.

  “It is done!” Sengetar shouted from nearby. “The slaughter is complete!”

  “Wait!” another man shouted. “Quick, get a bow, there is one running away!”

  Mirickar looked and saw a faltering torch darting away from them among the trees. “No!” he shouted. “Let that one go!”

  “Don’t be a fool,” another man snarled.

  “Let that one go so he might take word of this slaughter to the rest of his kin!” Mirickar explained hastily. “Let them all know that we are ready to destroy them!”

  “Yes!” Sengetar agreed after a moment. “Let that one go!”

  Mirickar looked around at the bodies littering the forest, lit by the glow of torches and small blazes started by those that had fallen. He realized he was shaking, and the pain of his wounds suddenly became apparent. As others around him started to take stock of who had fallen, Mirickar longed for the healing of Elthrana, and the tender touches of Sraikura.

  Epilogue

  Mirickar sometimes felt that his feet were made of lead as he trudged away from Dolat. His heart was just as heavy. Burying Yunaren and Ardrham and the others who had fallen in the battle had been a sobering experience. Only one other man who had finalized the plan in Ardrham’s cottage ha
d survived, but that was enough for Mirickar to be given credit for ensuring the success of the raid.

  Credit meant little to him. Accolades did nothing to lighten his mood. The pyre that consumed the kurakvin bodies was only vaguely satisfying. As he had been told before, killing kurakvin didn’t bring his parents back. He knew, from Kallosarin’s comments, that there were many more of the creatures in the land, and he could not hope to make a meaningful dent in their numbers. He hoped that Yunaren’s message was received by the king and taken seriously.

  The wounds from combat did not slow Mirickar much, but his return to Elthrana’s home still took much longer than his journey to Dolat. Before, he had been driven by his mission. On the return, he almost dreaded seeing Sraikura. The slaughter of the kurakvin, a bloody effort that seemed to have little relevance in the long run, cast a shadow on all of his thoughts. He feared that Sraikura would now reject him, or, worse, that his feelings for her would be muted or gone.

  When he finally came to the peaceful cottage where Elthrana lived, Mirickar nearly turned away. Instead he paused where he would not be easily seen from within. Heaving a troubled sigh, he forced himself forward and approached the door. Despite that decision, he hesitated again before knocking. A few moments later, he heard movement in the cottage, and then the door creaked open.

  “Mirickar!” Sraikura exclaimed when she saw him standing on the doorstep. Without another word she flung herself at him and clutched him tightly.

  “I am sorry I ever left you, Sraikura,” he murmured. Inside the cottage, he saw Elthrana rising up from a chair where she had been knitting.

  “I feared you would never return,” Sraikura whispered. “Seeing you now is like a dream come true!”

  Elthrana gave Mirickar a long look when she reached the door. “Come, girl,” she said. “Mirickar returns with wounds both visible and invisible. Let’s bring him in so that he can rest, and eat, and heal.”