The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  "Wielding a weapon is difficult and requires might in the shoulder, chest, back, and legs," she said. She drew one of her own swords and held it out to her side.

  "Slashing across the middle like this"—she swung the blade in an arc, attacking an imaginary foe—" engages the muscles in your torso."

  "Slashing the other direction"—she reversed it, the blade returning to her side—"uses muscles in your back."

  "Lunging forward and thrusting"—she jumped forward and impaled another imaginary combatant—"needs strong muscles in your legs, your chest, and your arms."

  "When do I get to hold a sword?" Mykel asked.

  "When you're strong!" she replied.

  The rest of the day was spent doing push-ups, pull-ups, deep knee bends and holding the weighted saplings in different positions. Every time Mykel would lower a sapling in fatigue, Gwyn would bark at him. He would flare health, then resume the activity.

  His strength grew quickly, and Gwyn challenged him every step of the way. By lunchtime, he was doing push-ups with her on his back and pull-ups from a tree branch while she pulled down on his feet.

  The midday meal was fruit and gathered nuts and Mykel ate three times what he normally would have. By the end of the day, exhaustion had overcome him. He retired to his bedroll before the sun outside had even fallen below the horizon. Despite what Anne had promised at daybreak, he never once touched a weapon.

  Bylo spent the day in front of the protection rune. He had never seen this pattern before, but after just a day using quill and normal ink, Bylo was confident that he would reproduce the design accurately. He was curious, however, as Anne had never told him exactly what it did. After lunch, she came by to check his progress.

  "Doing well?" she asked.

  "You're right," he said. "Definitely the hardest one I've seen, but I'm close."

  "Easier when you have it right in front of you, eh? I can't imagine how you managed to find success scratching away with a faulty old book as your guide."

  "What does it do?" he asked.

  "It will protect him," she said.

  "From what?"

  "From Vorick's men. And from Vorick."

  "Why would the minister want to hurt Mykel? I thought it was the church that posed the main threat."

  "Ministers, kings, queens, and the church. They are much the same on these sorts of things, Bylo. Politics and religion are often intertwined, unfortunately.”

  "True," Bylo said. "Vorick is a blessed, no?"

  "Yes."

  "A cutter?"

  "And a harvester too."

  "Which does this rune defend against?"

  "Both," she said.

  What kind of gift would it be to withstand the magic of the most powerful man in the realm? Protection and health, an interesting combination. But without armor, and having no weapon skills, he would be vulnerable to Vorick's soldiers, wouldn't he?

  "What does Mykel have that Vorick wants?"

  “He has sent men to come for Nara. And they will find her."

  A chill struck Bylo. He always suspected that the authorities would want Nara, but hearing it from Anne made the threat so much more real.

  "Why?" Bylo asked.

  Anne sat down on the stone bench next to him, providing comfort with her presence. "He collects valuable things. He collects power. Nara has power."

  Was it that simple? "She's young, and she knows so little about her talents. None of us knows what power she possesses."

  "Hear this,” Anne turned to Bylo, looking into his two good eyes with her single, broken one, "Nara has more power than you could possibly imagine. Her potential is so vast that if she ever embraces her gifts, there are no limits to what she could accomplish. Or what she could destroy. Vorick may suspect this, and he will stop at nothing to own her. The man is hungry for power of every kind. Politics. Money. Magic. He wants it all, and nothing will deter him."

  Bylo's heart raced with a growing fear brought on by Anne's words.

  "Mykel is her protector. More than that, he is her inspiration and her encouragement. Make sure he is capable of doing his job. Practice this rune until you're sure. When you are, let me know." She walked away.

  Bylo was not a leader, but he was an excellent follower. He thrived when given a meaningful task. He contemplated Anne's words, the threat presented by the minister, the need for Mykel to be able to protect her. Most of all, he considered the words about Nara.

  More power than I can imagine?

  Nara had always seemed gentle. Someone to be protected, not feared, and he wondered if he had misjudged the girl. Had he erred in discouraging the use of her talents, in keeping her hidden and ignorant? Perhaps she was a blessing from Dei that should have been trained to be a champion, to fight for goodness and justice in this dark world. Had he botched the only meaningful task he had been given? Had his fear ruined her? Put her in danger?

  He sighed and moved back to his studies. As he returned to his work, he was further resolved to get this tattoo right. Everything he cared about depended on it.

  25

  Kavalin

  Kavalin

  On the Kobac River

  It took less than a week for Vorick to muster five hundred men and travel to Kavalin, the town most recently lost to the barbarian rabble. The Kobac River's rapid downstream flow allowed for the quick deployment of the troops from Fairmont via barges; they would only have to march a dozen miles to Kavalin from the debarkation point.

  Like many frontier settlements, Kavalin had been constructed near a natural resource. Some frontier ports were erected near wild runs of fish, huge herds of wild beasts, or dense timber forests. Fishermen, hunters, and loggers would earn their coins by practicing their trades and selling to merchants who would then carry the products to distant places.

  Kavalin had a mine.

  The ore extracted at Kavalin wasn't anything as valuable as gold or silver. Such treasures were heavily guarded by the queen's troops, and no barbarian would be so foolish as to attack them. Kavalin mined lead, a less-desirable mineral, but had recently discovered copper. The copper vein called for greater attention from royal resources, and plans had been laid to bolster the guard around the town as a result. But Vorick had been busy. He hadn't acted quickly enough to provide the necessary security, allowing the town and the mine to fall into enemy hands.

  Upon arrival, Vorick and the army marched hastily to the plains south of Kavalin where they could see smoke rising from the captured town. From this distance, they couldn't see the invaders who had overcome it but had probably been seen by their enemies.

  "Some scouts have certainly seen us, m'lord," a captain said. "We came too close, too quickly."

  "That's fine," Vorick said, looking in the direction of the enemy from atop his horse. "Let them come. What's your name, soldier?"

  "Captain Jahmai, sir."

  "I didn't ask your rank. I asked your name."

  "Yes sir," the man said, shifting nervously on his horse.

  "Jahmai, worry not. You're about to see something that will find its way into the histories," he said. "That is if you obey me so that you can live long enough to witness it."

  By the look on his face, Jahmai clearly thought Vorick insane. His concern was warranted. The minister had ordered no reconnaissance and stopped on a flat plain with no elevation advantage. The enemy knew of their presence. His men were tired and hungry, and Vorick hadn't ordered them to form battle lines. From the perspective of a simple soldier, this scenario carried the makings of a disaster.

  "Where are the prisoners I ordered you to bring, Jahmai?"

  "In the back, sir."

  "March them forward."

  Vorick dismounted and left his horse to wander. He walked alongside Triff, who guided a slow-moving wagon that was laden with a single large box. At Vorick's command, Jahmai and some soldiers pulled the box out of the wagon. One soldier groaned under the weight of it as they placed it upon the ground.

  A horn sounded
in the distance—probably the barbarians announcing their approach. Doubt spread among the soldiers and grumbling could be heard in the ranks as they grew eager to take defensive positions.

  Jahmai and his men stepped back while Triff cracked open the crate and removed the lid to reveal the dark-red armor plates. Several men saw the coral and inhaled sharply with surprise. Word of the treasure spread through the soldiers and the grumblings stopped, silenced by wonder and curiosity.

  As Vorick shed his outer clothing and put on the silk under-padding, the soldiers gazed upon his frame. He could guess what they were thinking—he didn't have the strength and size of a soldier. Yet, each of his small forearms bore a bracer, a cepp, a reminder of his power, invoking the fear all men held for his magic. He could kill them with a look, no matter how fragile he might appear.

  He removed the bracers from his arms and placed them into the pockets of the silk undershirt. He then turned to see the wagon load of prisoners arrive. Eight men. All were dressed in the black garb of those sentenced to death.

  "Bring me two to start," Vorick said.

  It took a moment to unchain the prisoners and walk them over to Vorick. The irons around their ankles made for a slow, stuttering gait that drew out the moment with anticipation.

  "Kneel," Vorick told them. They knelt, eyes wide. He wondered what they felt. Was there any relief that their deaths had finally come, or only fear?

  It would have been proper to say something about justice for the Great Land’s enemies, but his priorities remained set on the task ahead. Nothing of these men would be remembered, and they warranted no words. Reaching for the armor with his right hand, he tapped power in the armor plates, then gestured toward the two kneeling prisoners only a few feet beyond his grasp. He ventured inside their bodies with his mind, severing arteries with a thought. Blood spilled inside their chest cavities, pooling in their guts as panic struck their faces. The loss of blood pressure caused a slow loss of consciousness, and faces went slack as the men slumped, dying. He drew out their life energies, slowly at first, then more completely just as they died. Wounds appeared, and blackened blood oozed from fissures in the dry, hardened skin. The bodies shriveled, skin darkening and limbs contorting into odd positions.

  The soldiers expressed horror at the display. All had heard of Vorick's power, but few had actually witnessed it. When the minister finished his task, that which remained of the two prisoners was not even recognizable as human.

  Vorick sensed the armor's energy. It was enough to begin.

  "Do it, Triff," he ordered the craftsman. "Jahmai, help him."

  Once the armor had been assembled on Vorick, locked together with hinges and hooks and clasps, he cut an imposing figure.

  "Still heavy," he said. "But I can move. Bring the others."

  After draining the remaining six prisoners, the armor became light enough for Vorick to walk, though with some difficulty. He looked again to his soldiers and at the shocked expression upon their faces.

  "You haven't seen anything yet," he said, grinning widely.

  Triff retrieved Flay and handed it to his master. Vorick drew the blade, feeding energy from the armor into the ivory until it was fully charged. Swinging the blade back and forth, he relished the feel of it. Light as a feather. He then marched directly toward Kavalin. One man against an army.

  "I'll be back soon," he called to his men. “Enjoy the show.”

  The enemy troops had assembled themselves in front of Vorick a short distance across the flat plain. At least three hundred men stood there, an impressive response in so short a time.

  Vorick waited. Would the enemy charge, or would he be required to close the distance himself? Would the armor protect him as well as he had hoped? If they came all at once, he wouldn't be able to kill them fast enough to avoid being trampled and would never completely fill the plates. This was a gamble, but one worthy of taking. If he succeeded, the victory would be glorious and would pave his way to greatness.

  He dropped the visor on his helmet, limiting his vision but providing protection against slings, arrows, or crossbow bolts; he had no idea what weapons these mutts had brought with them.

  The weight of the armor was far less than when first assembled, but he still found it difficult to walk, stopping periodically to catch his breath. His heart pounded with anticipation as he sensed the energy coursing through the plates. Power from the lives of eight human beings flowed around him, yet the armor could hold so much more. The power from a single man would normally overwhelm his bracers, yet this armor had the capacity to hold oceans of energy. How would it feel after twenty? Forty?

  A single spearman on the opposing line moved toward him. Of course. They thought this was a challenge to single combat. How fun! Since he held no concern for small projectiles at the moment, he lifted his visor; he would need vision to manage this challenge.

  The man who approached was large, well over six feet in height. He wore a steel breastplate and carried a spear and round shield. Blond hair was pulled back in a long braid, and blue paint adorned his cheeks and forehead. A long, bushy beard grew on his face. He stopped a dozen paces in front of Vorick, spear pointed upward, its butt resting on the ground. A scowl was all that he offered.

  "Show me," Vorick challenged, grinning. Was this beast of a man gifted, or was he just big, strong, and ugly? Vorick reached out his awareness, but his ability to sense a cepp on the barbarian was clouded by the overwhelming magic of his own armor.

  The barbarian grunted, then took a few steps back. Vorick expected a charge. Barbarians with spears always charged, didn't they?

  The man charged.

  The spear impacted him directly in the chest and should have launched him back a dozen feet, but the energy in the armor must have dispelled the power of the attack—he felt only a solid push. Still, it was enough to knock him over. He sprawled to the ground, resting on his back. The barbarian laughed and turned, walking away and allowing Vorick to crawl to his feet. The barbarian army cheered and Vorick felt a brief flash of shame come across him. For a moment, he was a child again, on the ground after being bullied by a bigger kid. But the feeling passed quickly. The fool standing before him had no idea what was coming. Vorick gestured for the man to try again.

  The barbarian sprinted forward again, spear leveled for the kill. A few yards before contact, however, the man's charge was interrupted as Vorick severed the man's Achilles tendon with a thought, forcing the warrior to stumble and fall awkwardly into the tundra. It was now Vorick's turn to laugh, and he heard the cheers of his own men behind him. What must the champion be thinking now, cut down without even a weapon?

  Vorick stepped closer, looking down at the man. "Get up," Vorick taunted. "Can you?" The warrior used the spear to brace himself and rose to one leg, his other foot flopping clumsily as he tried to plant it on the ground. The barbarian looked at his foot, his eyes squinting, and his face taut in obvious pain. He probably searched for blood on his boot, wondering what had hobbled him. Once on his feet again, he attempted to charge but was clumsy and slow. Without complete use of his leg, he was forced to rely on the spear as a makeshift crutch.

  Even with the weight of the armor, Vorick easily moved out of the path of the clumsy charge. He swung Flay as the barbarian passed, and the blade impacted the man in the side. Skin, muscle, and bone separated under the magic weapon, and his opponent fell to the ground beneath, blood spilling onto the cool dirt.

  Flay had done her dark work, and it was clear the man would not rise again. The single strike had torn through several ribs and a lung. Rasping sounds and bubbles of blood escaped the man's lips as he struggled to turn over and thrust his spear at his opponent without success. Vorick engaged his talent, tearing the warrior's heart to shreds, then siphoned the energy of his life force into the armor. It was easier than before, as if the power within the armor gave him greater control over his magics. Interesting. Did an abundance of power really give greater mastery of talents? Had he known this,
he would have covered himself in cepps years ago!

  He finished the task of draining the man, then left the blackened corpse at his feet, turning to face the awaiting army. Would they send another champion, or would they come en masse? He hoped they wouldn't run away, but that was a possibility. He suddenly regretted draining the warrior. If he had scared them away, how would he fill the armor with power?

  All concern vanished as they charged, and Vorick smiled. It was commendable of them to continue in the face of the unknown as they did, and he wondered what sort of culture made for such fierce wills. He resolved to speak with one of these curs someday to learn what he could on the matter.

  He dropped the visor on his helm as a few of the fastest arrived well ahead of the rest, small soldiers unencumbered by armor or heavy weapons. The first to be cut down was little taller than Vorick, wore nothing but furs, and carried a tiny sword. Vorick didn't have time to reach inside the man to do something as deft as severing an artery, so he simply decapitated the attacker from thirty feet away. Others that swarmed about received a similar fate, losing limbs or suffering the disintegration of organs as they approached their foe, falling into piles around him. As he could, Vorick reached out with both arms to his sides, draining the life essences of several foes into his armor at once. He reveled in the control he could exercise with this armor. Never before had he been able to drain more than two at a time.

  They came at him, throwing spears and swinging swords as they fell. The attacks bounced harmlessly off the armor. He swung Flay, and she drank her fill of death. As the armor became lighter, he moved about more quickly, occasionally dodging the attacks of his injured opponents, playing with them, laughing as they fell. And they all fell. As he drained more and more, the armor filled with magic, and Vorick's powers became ever stronger. Soon he was able to kill and drain four at once, then six, then ten. More than a hundred fell before the horde broke away, running back to Kavalin, screaming and cursing the fate of their brothers under the crimson demon that had slain them today.