Dross (Sphereworld: Joined at the Hilt Book 2)

by Caleb Wachter

  With deft manipulation of her wielder’s feet, she managed to outflank the ludicrously larger Balgruf after the first three parries by stepping almost completely around him and authoring a counterattack at his near hip.

  The Jarl was clearly no stranger to such an unorthodox attack—or to battling smaller, nimbler foes. He pivoted on his far leg and stabbed the butt of his axe down into the flat of her blade, sending her off-target as he followed up with a kick—using a boot the sole of which was as long as Randall’s torso. She evaded the attack, but his speed surprised her enough that she had to forego a counterattack opportunity.

  She backpedaled as the Jarl sent a high-low-high series of sweeping attacks at her. While she easily backed away from each, she was unable to find an opening to exploit for seven moves. When the eighth move came, she lunged forward and brought herself up in a sequence of rising, uppercut attacks which would have been impossible without the Titansand ballast within her—ballast which, it seemed, was working properly for the first time she could remember.

  The Jarl seemed even more surprised than she was at the rapidity of her onslaught, and he actually began to retreat as she flared four—five—six—seven of the rising swipes at his belly and shoulders.

  It was difficult wielding herself with only one of Randall’s relatively weak arms, but the Titansand ballast—which she found she had conscious control over—permitted her to make impossibly quick and, more importantly, difficult to predict transitions from one attack to another.

  Demonstrating that unpredictability, she shifted the Titansand down to her pommel and spun herself around in a long, sweeping arc aimed at the Jarl’s axe head. She scored a hit on the Grey Iron head, but it was minor and the Jarl deflected the bulk of her inertia. But she had momentum now, and she continued her spinning attack while angling herself downward in such a way that she would have cleaved the Jarl from shoulder to hip if uncontested. With each successive strike, she shunted more of her Titansand to her tip and the resulting increase in each blow’s force was enough to further confuse the Jarl.

  But he quickly proved that he did not become the leader of the most martially-minded human kingdom by accident. He stepped forward during one of her spins and released his grip on the axe with his left hand, punching out at Randall’s right arm and nearly knocking Dan’Moread from Randall’s relatively weak grip.

  Dan’Moread snarled in her own, silent way, and as she recovered she got the distinct impression that she had done all of this before. It was ludicrous, of course, to actually believe that since she recalled no memory of the sort, and after a costly moment which saw the Jarl punch the butt of his axe’s haft into Randall’s midsection, Dan’Moread was convinced that she had just experienced what humans called ‘déjà vu.’

  “Dani,” Randall gasped as she fought to regain their footing in the face of the Jarl’s renewed attack.

  I told you, she snapped bitterly as she launched a surprised counterattack of her own, do not call me that!

  Leaping up as the Jarl brought his axe crashing down into the flagstones following a deft sidestep, Dan’Moread planted Randall’s knee in the Jarl’s groin. The Jarl predictably wore a codpiece, but the brief confusion Dan’Moread had sown was enough for her to pivot and drive her blade into—and through—one of the massive, Grey Iron axe’s identical, crescent-shaped heads.

  The vaunted metal for which Greystone was famous clattered to the ground, and the Jarl snapped a punch down on Randall’s jaw with such force that even Dan’Moread briefly lost contact with their joined senses. Usually when Randall suffered unconsciousness, or a shorter disruption of his senses, Dan’Moread was able to retain at least some significant degree of awareness while he recovered.

  But this time was significantly more disconcerting than any previous instance when Dan’Moread’s wielder had been struck in battle. It was almost like she felt the impact of the blow herself, which was nothing short of impossible as far as her previous experiences would suggest.

  She blindly lashed out with her blade, finding—and cleaving—something soft and relatively inconsequential as she scrambled on all fours away from where she thought the Jarl was standing.

  It took precious seconds for her vision to return, but when it did even she was surprised at what she saw.

  The Jarl, holding his ruined axe in one hand, was standing awkwardly on his left leg and sending a murderous look their direction. The reason for his awkward stance soon became apparent when she realized she had completely severed his right leg below the knee!

  “Oh shit…” Randall gasped in unmasked terror as, apparently, his senses returned to him and he saw what she had done.

  Even Phinjo seemed surprised at what she had witnessed, but beneath the superficial surprise was something akin to approval as her lips briefly twisted into a smirk.

  “M-m-my Jarl…” the sheaf-bearing courtier stammered. “I-i-i-is…” he trailed off as his eyes widened in horror.

  “Is the trial well done, Jarl Balgruf?” Phinjo asked, her tone utterly unflappable as she allowed her doll-like eyes to linger on Dan’Moread and Randall for a fleeting second before turning to focus on the Jarl. “Does my kin meet with your approval?”

  The Jarl’s body trembled with some combination of rage and shock—though if Dan’Moread were to judge, she would confidently assert it to be more the former than the latter—and for a long moment she was uncertain what he would do.

  Then he snorted, sounding like a bull who had tired of chasing the bull-fighter around the ring, “He has passed the test, if that was your meaning.”

  “It was,” Phinjo inclined her head respectfully.

  “Give him his patents,” Balgruf growled as the former axe-bearer worked to bind his badly-bleeding leg, “and get him out of my palace.”

  Suddenly, Dan’Moread felt another wave of déjà vu sweep across her and she unexpected lost control of Randall’s body, along with her own consciousness.

  “Thank you, Jarl,” Phinjo said graciously as Randall stumbled, nearly falling to the floor as Dan’Moread’s control over him gave out amid a strange series of spasms. “I assure you that we will see to Greystone’s interests in this matter.”

  “See that your kin does so from the confines of his new estate,” Balgruf growled, his understandable anger at being dismembered somehow overpowering the horror and shock of losing half of his leg. “And see that he pays his taxes,” he added, grimacing as the courtier twisted the tourniquet tightly around his leg.

  “Of course, Jarl,” Phinjo bowed gracefully as the Federation ambassador snickered behind Randall, who finally managed to regain his equilibrium in time to find Phinjo’s expectant look as she gestured to the door leading out of the hall.

  Randall genuinely had no idea if he was supposed to apologize or say anything at all, so he opted for silence as he followed Phinjo out of the main hall and, shortly thereafter, out of the palace itself.

  The stone doors ground shut behind them as soon as they exited, and Phinjo’s icy disdain was all too evident as she said, “That was impolitic, young one. Conduct like that would normally leave a scar the size of a bowl—atop your neck,” she added when Randall’s brow furrowed in confusion.

  “Will he be ok?” Randall asked as his heart rate quickened, both out of concern for what had happened to the Jarl and for the reason why Dan’Moread had gone silent.

  “Greystone’s healers are not the most heralded in the world,” Phinjo allowed as they approached the Towers Grey, “but they should have little difficulty putting him back together. This is not the first time he has lost a limb, you know.”

  “I think I’m more shaken up about it than he is,” Randall said as his mouth began to go dry and his fingers started to tremble.

  “Given a Wandering, he will have likely forgotten about it,” Phinjo said dismissively, “but until that interval has elapsed, you would do well to go where he cannot find you. His mood can be…mercurial, even in the best of times—and these are decided
ly not the best of times, at least not from his perspective.”

  “What was that about taxes?” he asked as they reached the front door of the eastern tower. Phinjo carried the thick bundle of papers through the door, which swung open of its own accord as she approached.

  “Your new estate is a barony which spans thirty miles of the formerly False River’s eastern bank, and is headquartered at the very structure where you retrieved your tablet of lineage,” she explained as they climbed the stairs leading to the room with the large map. The door to that room also opened of its own accord, and Randall saw that the map was now replaced by a smooth, stone slab where it had been. Phinjo arranged the papers they had received on the table and gestured to a small stack, “These are your patents. They signify that your nobility is duly recognized and validated by Jarl Balgruf, and that your lineage is confirmed by the Ghaevlian Nation—“

  “Hold on a minute,” Randall blurted, “back up to the beginning: what’s this about a ‘barony’?!”

  “It is your new estate,” Phinjo tapped the thickest bundle of papers, “and you would be wise to review your commitments and the duties associated with that estate while you travel to Three Rivers.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, grandma,” Randall said scathingly, “I never agreed to be a baron!”

  “Your agreement was not required,” Phinjo said patronizingly, “it is both your birthright and your duty to your family and your Jarl.”

  “My Jarl?” he repeated incredulously. “The same guy who had me thrown in jail—the one whose leg we just cut off back there?!”

  “I had nothing to do with that,” Phinjo said icily before looking down at Dan’Moread and shaking her head fractionally. “In any event, Greystone is not a good place for you right now. I will see that your horse is tended while you travel to Three Rivers, but—“

  “Why do you keep telling me I’m going to Three Rivers?” he demanded. “I agree that I should get out of here as fast as possible, but after all of this bizarre treatment—including your putting me into mortal combat against the Jarl—“

  “Do not be so dramatic,” she tisked, “it was a simple rite of combat made necessary by the Federation’s increased scrutiny.”

  “I didn’t want this,” Randall shook his head adamantly. “I didn’t want any of this.”

  “Perhaps not,” she shrugged, “but that is no longer relevant. You must do the best you can, given the circumstances, and it is my opinion that your course of action should be to travel to Three Rivers and visit your friends. This may be your last time to see them.”

  “I killed a Federation soldier—we,” he rattled Dan’Moread’s hilt emphatically, “killed Feds while they were trying to take Dan’Moread back to the Federation Capitol. Three Rivers is the biggest port city on the eastern shore of the Rydian Sea; the place crawls with them!”

  “Indeed,” Phinjo nodded, fixing him with a piercing look, “Three Rivers’ strategic importance is unparalleled across the lands north of the Blue Sands between the Rydian and Binding Chain. It is for that reason that I suggest you visit your loved ones, and that you do so with all possible haste,” she said, her eyes flaring dangerously while her tone remained cool and dispassionate as ever.

  Randall was about to argue further, but thankfully his temper cooled for a precious moment as he thought he understood what she was saying. “You’re sayin—“

  “I am saying nothing more on that matter than I have already said,” she said, holding his gaze for several long, tense seconds before returning her focus to the stacks of papers. “These papers include your noble patents in their entirety, the legal description of your barony and the attendant duties—including tax burdens which you need not worry over just yet,” she added nonchalantly, “and the writ of ownership binding Dan’Moread to you for as long as you draw breath. But these are the originals and, as such, must remain here until you have established yourself and can afford for their security. Copies have been placed in Greystone’s library, as well as in the Nation’s archives, but it would be prudent to maintain your own records on-site in the event communication becomes problematic.”

  “Like if I’m under siege in my ‘barony’?” he asked, hardly able to believe what he was hearing.

  “Precisely,” she agreed with muted approval.

  “This is insane,” he muttered, “I don’t know the first thing about being a baron!”

  “Then I advise you to begin your education in earnest,” she suggested, pointing to the second and third stacks of paper, which were both only a few pieces thick. “These papers,” she gestured to the middle stack, “are your traveling documents. Carry them with you and, even in the event of war, the Federation will not be legally permitted to detain you longer than one hour for questioning. Included is an abbreviated provenance for Dan’Moread,” she flashed a look at the worrisomely silent sword, “which, assuming you are not caught in the active commission of a crime, will permit you to retain custody of it at all times.”

  “Even in the streets of Three Rivers?” he asked, coming to grips with the magnitude of what Phinjo had actually done for him. She was giving him everything he would need to go to Three Rivers, make contact with his old friends—those friends being Lorie, Ellie and Yordan—and get them out of there before whatever gods-forsaken plot that Greystone-and-or-the-Ghaevlian-Nation had cooked up consumed it in what sounded ominously like a war that would shake every corner of the world Randall knew.

  “Yes,” Phinjo nodded, “and, owing to your duly-recognized nobility, any attempts to disarm you of your rightful property or panoply may be legally met with lethal force if you deem it necessary. Of course,” she added scathingly, “I would advise against such since it might entangle you in a legal system which is designed to suffocate even the most patient and influential individuals.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why are you helping me?”

  “We are helping each other, are we not?” she asked, cocking her head and blinking her large, hypnotic eyes. Those eyes softened ever so slightly as she sighed, “I will not pretend that you and I will ever be close, Randall. I both pity and respect you too much to spin such an appealing falsehood.”

  “Thanks,” Randall grumbled.

  “What I do, I do on behalf of the Nation and, to a lesser extent,” she allowed, “for those whom the Nation has failed in the past. I would undo those failures if I could, but I cannot. Perhaps it is a product of my lived experiences, and perhaps it is immutable maternal instinct,” she shrugged indifferently, “but I would not have you share the experiences which continue to haunt me to this day. All I can do is clear the way—it is for you and you alone to walk it.”

  Randall nodded slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around this situation. Too much had happened too fast; he needed time to order his thoughts—not to mention that Dan’Moread’s continued silence only served to heighten his anxiety.

  Exhaling slowly, he pointed to the second stack of documents, “Ok…so these are my traveling papers. Are you sure they’ll let a half-elf—sorry,” he apologized when her expression tightened, “a star child walk right through the city gates like he owns the place?”

  “No,” Phinjo allowed, “you will need to gain entry into Three Rivers via more clandestine means. But once within, assuming you keep your ears clean, you should encounter no insurmountable obstacles if you keep these papers on your person at all times.”

  “Ok,” he said, deciding he had no choice but to trust her in this if he ever wanted to see his friends again, “what about the third pile?”

  “This first sheet is a list of names and accounts,” she said, picking it up and handing it to him, “which you will memorize, then burn, before you depart Greystone this night. Once you arrive at Three Rivers, you will make contact with each person listed there and repeat the phrase ‘the Forest walks, and the river flows.’ You will see to this task’s completion first, and only when you are finished with contacting each of these people a
re you to withdraw all funds and items from the accounts located at the various banks itemized on the second and third sheets,” she continued, handing him the other two papers, “which you need not burn unless you are supremely confident in your memory.”

  “Dan’Moread’s got a better memory than I do,” he muttered as he scanned the list of fifteen names on the first sheet before seeing about a dozen accounts listed on the other two. “If she wakes up—“

  “She?” Phinjo repeated with a cocked brow which quickly lowered as her features resumed their unflappable veneer. “She is unwell?”

  “Since the end of the fight,” he nodded, “she’s been silent. That’s only ever happened a few times before, and usually it was because she got overtaxed.”

  “The duel with the Jarl did not seem overly strenuous,” Phinjo said dubiously.

  “Not for her,” he nodded, though his aching ribs protested his assenting too ardently. “It was strange…it was like she was torn away from me, but the other times she went dark it was after she withdrew normally.”

  “Curious,” Phinjo mused. “But ultimately irrelevant. The task before you should not, if done properly, require her assistance.”

  “It’s a long road to Three Rivers,” Randall shook his head. “What with the Fleshmongers and Federation patrols everywhere, I don’t think—“

  “Were you to take the road,” she said, beckoning for him to follow her out into the stairwell, which he did before following her up the stairs which led to the roof, “that would indeed be an important consideration. But you will not be taking the road for this particular leg of your journey.”

  They arrived on the roof of the tower, and Randall was awestruck by the sight provided by their current perch. The city of Greystone was marvelous, with buildings bearing the architectural design of no fewer than twenty distinct styles making up the various districts which stretched forth through the rocky valley beneath the Palace District. The view of the rolling plains beyond the city gates was equally mesmerizing, with the contrast of the blue-grey mountain stone, the brown mud near the city gates, and the lush green-and-gold of the field grass painting an indelible picture in his mind.