Until All Bonds Are Broken

by Tim Frankovich

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Victor said. “You grew up together.”

  “And now he’s gone.”

  Victor nodded. They sat in silence for a while again. Now for Gnaeus.

  “I don’t want to sleep alone,” Callus said just as Victor opened his mouth.

  “Uh, all right.”

  “I don’t want to be alone in that tent.”

  “Right. All right. Well…” Victor thought for a moment. “I’ll talk to Rufus. I’m sure he’d be glad to get out of the tent with Wolf. I think you two will… get along. Is that all right?”

  Callus nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered.

  “If you want to encourage me, it’s pointless,” Gnaeus growled.

  “Is that right?”

  “I’m not in shock.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I just got someone killed, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t—”

  “I did. I was supposed to be his shield. And he died. From arrows. No getting around that. It’s my fault.”

  “No one was prepared for what happened. A lot of soldiers died today.”

  “You prepared us. You and the decanus, wherever he’s hiding.”

  Victor winced.

  “You gave me a job,” Gnaeus went on. “Protect Albus with the shield. And I didn’t. He’s dead.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “You know why Merish is cursed?”

  Victor blinked. He hadn’t expected that turn in the conversation. Even Callus turned to look at Gnaeus.

  “That’s my fault, too. I had this big plan to steal something so valuable it wouldn’t matter if we got cursed for it. Except we got caught in the act. And Merish killed a man. So I got this.” He held up his twisted hand. “And he got his head messed up.”

  Something popped in the fire and a few sparks sprayed out near Victor’s foot.

  “What were you trying to steal?” Callus asked.

  Gnaeus snorted. “The only thing that got Merish’s interest. A sword. The most beautiful sword anyone’s ever seen.”

  Gnaeus got to his feet. “So keep your sympathy. My real curse is messing up other people’s lives. I’m good at that.” He left the fire.

  So that hadn’t gone the way Victor expected or hoped. Still, he tried.

  After finding Rufus and explaining the situation to him, Victor returned to the fire alone. He didn’t want to see Marshal again just yet.

  Lost. That’s what he felt. Through their entire journey from Drusa’s Crossing, he had followed Aelia and Talinir. With both of them gone, he had looked to Marshal for guidance. But Marshal rejected the idea of leadership. Of course, why would Marshal have any idea what to do next? His power didn’t grant him wisdom.

  So what should he do? They had gone along with the whole conscript thing to get to this location. Nian suggested it might be a way to the Otherworld, a way to find Talinir. Victor looked out toward the battlefield. If a gateway to the Otherworld were out there somewhere, he certainly hadn’t seen it today.

  Guidance. He needed someone to tell him what to do. Marshal wasn’t making any decisions, not that he knew any better. But who did that leave? No one else even knew about Marshal and his power. Except Volraag. And the Eldanim.

  “Now that’s an idea,” he whispered.

  He checked to see if the pouch was still attached to his belt. After that crazy battle, it wouldn’t surprise him if he had lost it. But no. He felt the shape of the pouch and almost smiled. He got to his feet. He needed to get away from everyone else. Unfortunately, that meant either wandering out onto the battlefield again, where Rasnian archers might spot him, or crossing the entire camp. Well, if that’s what it took, that’s what it took.

  He crossed the camp in the dark easily. No one recognized him as the “hero” of the battle. Most people ignored him entirely. The walk took less time than he expected.

  Beyond the edge of the conscript camp, he hesitated. He knew regular soldiers patrolled the edges of the camp to keep any conscripts from trying to run away. He didn’t want to run away; he just needed some space. He moved on.

  Darkness kept him concealed once he found some trees and brush. When the conscripts had arrived, they passed by on the eastern side of the town of Kanna, coming south. By now, he must be quite a bit further to the east.

  Victor tripped on a tree root and stumbled. Regaining his balance, he looked ahead. The ground looked darker not far away. He glanced up at the nearly full moon and then looked down again. He took a cautious step forward. Then he realized: the darker area was a ravine. He couldn’t tell how deep it might be in the dark. That tree root might have saved his life.

  This was probably far enough, anyway. No one should be able to hear him, unless he were unlucky enough to attract the attention of one of those patrols. Maybe they didn’t come this way because the ravine provided enough of an obstacle. Maybe.

  He untied the pouch and removed the Ranir Stone. To his eyes, it looked like an ordinary grayish-white rock. Its smoothness made it attractive, he supposed, but nothing about it seemed magical or anything. How did this work, exactly? Aelia hadn’t told him much. She only said you could call the Eldanim while holding it, and they would hear you. At least, if any of them were nearby. Or something like that.

  He held up the stone. “Eldanim!” he called. “I need your help!”

  Silence.

  “Eldanim! Can you hear me?” He rapped on the stone with his knuckle. “Anyone?”

  More silence.

  “This stupid rock doesn’t work,” he grumbled. He almost turned to go back. But he had come this far. May as well stick with it.

  “I’m friends with Talinir!” he tried. “I’ve visited your city! Um… Looking for some help here now.”

  Nothing happened. Or did it? Victor scrutinized the stone. For a moment, it glowed a faint orange. Maybe.

  Victor brushed off a spot near the ravine’s edge and sat down.

  “I’ll, uh, just wait right here, then. I guess.”

  Silence.

  “Stupid rock.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  KISHIN SLOWED AS he came down the hill. The creek at its base flowed a little more swiftly than he anticipated. Strange. This late in the Spring, it should have diminished by now. Still, his path led across it, and crossing it would be only an inconvenience, not a true hazard.

  He had almost reached the water before he noticed the old man, leaning on a walking stick. He almost backed away, but he had already been noticed.

  “Ah, good day, young sir!” the elderly man called. “Theon’s blessings on you this fine morning!”

  “And to you, sir,” Kishin answered. Why would a man of such obvious frailty be out on the road? He looked as if a strong wind might blow him away. His skin tone implied a Ch’olanese background, but Ch’olan was still many miles away. And his accent sounded wrong. Kishin couldn’t place it.

  The aged one wiped at his scraggly beard. “I wonder if I might, perchance, persuade you to help such a one as I across this formidable stream.”

  Kishin resisted a sigh. At his first sight of the old man, he suspected as much. Words rose up in his throat and he almost let them out. The urge to ask for the old man’s curse pulled at him. But what good did it do now? He was not that person any more. His outward appearance had changed; should not his behavior change as well? All these thoughts and more wrestled their way through his mind.

  “I seem to have dumbfounded you. Was my request that startling?”

  Kishin shook his head. “No, no. Not at all. I just…” He paused, words continuing to wrestle their way to his lips. “I was just thinking of something else. I will help you, father.”

  Kishin waded into the edge of the steam and bent down so the old man could clamber onto his back. It took three tries, with quite a few friendly grumbles, before the old man succeeded. He handed Kishin his walking stick, a sturdy staff polished and worn smooth over years of use.

  As Kishin exp
ected, the old man weighed very little and caused hardly any difficulty as he began making his way through the flowing water. The creek itself caused him much more of a struggle. In a few steps, Kishin found himself almost waist deep with a swift current pulling at his legs.

  “What smooth skin you still have!” the old man said. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  Kishin stumbled. Such an unusual comment. Why choose that particular observation?

  “Sorry for distracting you. Use the staff. It does wonders for me.”

  Kishin leaned harder on the staff. It did make a significant difference. Step by step, he made it through the deepest part of the creek. As he neared the shore, he heard the old man let out a relieved sigh.

  “Time was I could walk right through one of these,” he said. “Just my staff and I.”

  “Old age comes for all of us,” Kishin said. He bent down and let his rider off. He turned around and found the old man holding a sword and gazing at it admiringly. Kishin grabbed at his sheath. Empty.

  “A warpsteel blade,” the old man said. “In the right hands, it can do amazing things in two worlds. Even crossing the worlds.” His eyes narrowed. “Yours are not the right hands.”

  In Kishin’s mind, he gave the old man a swift blow to the chin with his own staff, killing him instantly. Instead, he offered the staff back and said, “Shall we trade?” What was wrong with him?

  The old man snorted and proffered the sword back to Kishin hilt first. He took it and handed the staff back. He returned the sword to its proper place.

  “Good day to you, sir,” Kishin said, tired of this encounter. He turned and started down the road.

  To his annoyance, though not great surprise, the old man fell into pace beside him. “We seem to be going the same way.”

  Kishin grunted.

  “I’ve been away from Woqan for quite some time,” his unwelcome companion said after a few moments. “I look forward to seeing how it’s grown.”

  Kishin nodded, but increased his walking speed. Somehow, the old man kept up with him without showing any signs of difficulty.

  “Come, Kishin. Why do you keep trying to run?”

  Kishin came to a complete halt and stared at the old man. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You spoke my name.”

  “Did I? You haven’t spoken mine.”

  “I don’t know your name.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Kishin growled in frustration and his hand instinctively slipped toward his sword hilt. The old man noticed and sighed.

  “And still your instinct is to resort to violence. Even now.”

  “How do you know so much about me?”

  “I know you’ve been given an unbelievable gift.” The old man found a large rock next to the path and settled back against it. “I must say: I’m quite intrigued to see how you handle it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do.” He pointed his staff at Kishin’s face. “Don’t lie. It won’t get you a curse, but it is a commandment, all the same.”

  Kishin blinked. He had no idea what to say next.

  “Ah, I’ve rendered you speechless at last. You keep asking questions of me, yet you never ask me the one question you always asked everyone else.”

  The words tumbled out, without conscious thought allowing them: “Tell me your curse.”

  “That’s the one. And yet… I have no answer to that one.”

  “All men are cursed.” Again the words came automatically.

  “Yet we two sit here—or rather I sit and you stand—without a curse between us. How is that possible? Have neither of us done anything deserving of punishment?”

  To open his mouth again would condemn him. Kishin fought to keep from doing so.

  “Ah.” The old man sighed again. He looked down and scratched in the dirt with his staff. “Afraid to say the truth even now.”

  “I am afraid.” Not. He had meant to say “not afraid.” Why had it come out wrong?

  “You should be. Grace is terrifying.”

  Trembling. He was actually trembling.

  “You have been given much. You should expect that much will be required from you.”

  The old man stood. He shook his staff and looked down the road. “I have traveled so far, for so long,” he said. “Perhaps my journey nears its end.” He looked back to Kishin. “Your journey is just beginning. You get to decide which direction it takes. Look!”

  With his staff, he pointed to a beetle careening wildly across the path. Kishin watched it run into a stone, hesitate, then turn around and run the other direction.

  “Your choices will decide. Will you fall that low? Or rise as high as that mountain?” He pointed the staff behind Kishin’s back.

  The former assassin turned and looked up at the mountain in the distance. Marshal and his mother had come from that mountain, or near it, anyway. Coincidence? He licked his lips. He felt confident enough to speak his mind now, to ask the old man the direct questions. He turned around.

  The old man was gone. Only his staff remained, leaning against the rock.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  VICTOR WOKE UP in pain and wondered why he saw trees. What happened to the tent? Then he noticed the edge of the ravine. He had fallen asleep waiting with the Ranir Stone. It took him a moment to find it a couple of feet away. He didn’t remember leaving it that far away, but he also didn’t remember falling asleep out here.

  He glanced over the edge of the ravine, then took a longer look. Far deeper than he had anticipated. While most of the ravine’s floor looked smooth, the area immediately below him sported dozens of large rocks. It seemed an unusual formation for this flat region of land.

  “Victor?”

  The voice caught him by surprise. He whirled, reaching for his flail. Only Marshal stood there. He looked even more miserable than usual. The dark circles under his eyes clashed with his scars. Victor relaxed.

  “You… didn’t come back.”

  “Yeah, I slept out here.” Victor chuckled. “I didn’t plan to.”

  “I’m… sorry.”

  Victor waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone felt strange last night. I guess war affects people in different ways.”

  Marshal moved to the ravine’s edge and looked down. “This is… strange.”

  “I know. I’ve never seen anything like it. Ravines aren’t so smooth at the bottom.”

  “It’s not natural.”

  “No, it’s not. Wait. What do you mean?”

  “This was dug by magic.”

  Victor frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Marshal nodded. He stepped back from the ravine, bent down and pointed. Victor couldn’t see the magic being released, but he saw the effects. As Marshal drew his finger across the dirt, dust erupted and a narrow ditch formed.

  “So someone with a lot of power did this? Volraag?” Even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t right. “No, if he had done this, there would be soldiers here keeping an eye on it.”

  “Lord Tyrr.”

  Victor leaned as far as he dared and looked down the ravine. “This might reach all the way to Rasna’s side. It’s the perfect way to sneak some troops around behind us.” He looked around on the surface. Varioch’s scouts probably assumed they could see any troops moving through this region, but not if they were moving below…

  “You should tell the centurion.”

  Marshal nodded. He moved back to the ravine’s edge and looked down again.

  “If we position some archers along the edge,” Victor said, illustrating with his hands, “properly concealed, of course, we could take out any soldiers that try to come through.” He jogged several yards along the edge and took another look. “Yeah, there’s a good spot right over there. That would work.”

  He turned back. Marshal still stood in the same place, staring down. Victor returned to his side, and glanced down at the rocks.

  “Why
the pile of rocks, do you suppose?”

  Marshal started, as if he hadn’t noticed Victor’s approach. He hesitated before answering. “Lord Tyrr probably pushed all the rocks he uncovered to one side or the other as he dug this.”

  Victor cocked his head. “I wonder. Could you just collapse this whole thing by yourself?”

  “Maybe. But why?”

  Victor shrugged. “To save trouble.”

  “He’d just dig it out again… I think.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Victor turned to go, but Marshal continued to look down. Victor put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let’s go find the centurion, huh?”

  Marshal blinked and nodded. As they both headed back to camp, Victor couldn’t help but wonder. Marshal’s expression at the end had been odd. He seemed sad. Over what? Lord Tyrr’s scheming? The soldiers who would die for it? Or something else?

  The centurion thanked Marshal and promised to look into it, though he seemed suspicious about why they had been so far from camp. Victor grumbled, but he knew their status didn’t demand much better.

  They returned to their squad. To Victor’s delight, Topleb returned, healed by the starshine. He moved stiffly and would take a few days to fully recover, as Victor well knew. But just seeing his smile was enough to make him forget Marshal’s odd behavior and the magic-carved ravine.

  Victor wanted to resume training, but Marshal rejected the idea. The men needed a day off after the battle, he argued. Some were mourning. Victor suggested a good workout would help get their minds off of it, but Marshal stood firm. Today was a day off. Victor accepted the decision and sought out the company of the rest of the squad, to see how they were doing.

  “Where did you disappear to last night?” Rufus asked as he approached.

  “I needed to get away from these tents,” Victor said. “Everyone stinks around here.”

  “You’re no better,” Callus said. “You haven’t even washed the blood of your face.”