The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

“Wow, you’re way ahead of me on this. Never thought of that.”

  “Mykel, when you lift heavy things or fight with your eyes closed, your magic is terrifying. So is mine. But we’re on their side. The more we show our strength, the more confident they will be. They’ll become brothers in pursuit of a common goal. It may heal the rift between them, and ease their fears. We need that to happen.”

  “But showing off? Making myself look better or tougher? That’s just not my style.”

  “But you are better. You are tougher. You’re the toughest warrior they’ve ever seen. It brings confidence. It’s not our way, but that must change because bold men who are properly motivated will march forward and spread the word. Not only will they fight harder, but our force will grow. People want to be part of something victorious. Look at their reaction to what I just did. It works.”

  Mykel made an odd face, then sighed. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  He looked out at Keetna for a moment, then turned back. “I’ll do it. Want me to go arm-wrestle ten at once? Or head-butt some boulders?”

  “Boulders would be perfect,” she said. “Thank you.”

  They both laughed.

  “You might want to fix the ground back there,” Mykel said. “Hard to walk.”

  “Nah. It’s their reminder we’ve got big, bad magic and we’re gonna win.”

  Part Three

  War is a curious thing. Men kill for revenge. They kill for gold. They hurt one another because they have been hurt themselves. Pain begets pain, and in the midst of it, they defend their homeland. They defend their brothers. They defend their wives. They rise above themselves, displaying honor, sacrifice, and achieving a glory not possible without adversity.

  Darkness can give birth to beautiful stories.

  Author Unknown

  25

  Rescue

  The sun was almost down, and Gwyn again held the advantage over the guards within the compound who couldn’t see without torchlight. Over the last week, she’d made many trips over the wall, learning each building, which doors were locked, and the routes of each sentry. The northern sentries were like machines, always alert and focused, particularly when a carriage entered the compound. Sometimes, it was the Queen, but that was usually by day. Other times, it was the sick-looking man, who came often, or another who came rarely. The other man was in his fifties, she surmised, with long hair. Not just on his head, but on his face, and all over his arms. That guy was just plain hairy.

  At first, Gwyn thought the sick-looking man suffered from an ailment that was being treated here, but, after a time, it became clear that he held authority and was directing the actions of soldiers. She even overheard conversations between him, the guards and some porters. About moving prisoners and such. And moving bodies. Whatever they were doing to the children, some did not survive.

  The southwest sentry was her favorite, always having hot rolls and stinky cheese for his dinner. He would retrieve them from a kitchen in the large, central building and would abandon his post at least once an hour, making for easy entry and exit near his platform without the need to approach any of the other platforms.

  Of all the buildings she had surveyed, the four smaller ones were of the most interest. Not only did the Queen and the sick man spend all their time here among those structures, but it was also where they took the children. A sentry manned a single door on each building that faced the inner pathway that ran down the center of the compound. Only two windows were visible on the exterior of each building, one on the north side, and one facing the outer walls. The north window sported iron bars and the other, on the opposite side of the entry door, was locked and in clear view of a nearby sentry platform. Entry to any of these smaller buildings would require overpowering a guard and revealing her presence, removing iron bars, or breaking into a window in clear view of a sentry. Timing and stealth would be her only way to get inside one of those buildings.

  Five days ago, they had taken Yury into the southwest building, the one watched by the lazy, cheese-eating southwest sentry. Despite multiple attempts, she hadn’t yet picked the lock on the window before he had returned from collecting his dinner, but she hoped for success tonight, a silent, quick entry. Hard to do in the middle of an armed compound, but it was the best bad idea she could come up with.

  Once the sun had set, Gwyn didn’t have to wait long before the southwest guard began to look restive. He stood on his platform, periodically glancing back and forth at the main building. Once, he even grabbed his ample belly and Gwyn imagined hearing his tummy rumble. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

  She checked her quiver again to make sure the arrows were secure and adjusted the bow on her back. Another few minutes and the southwest guard turned to descend the ladder to the ground and Gwyn sprang into action, sprinting across the open space that separated the tree-line from the compound wall. After bolting up the side using well-practiced handholds, she held herself in place near the top, looking for other sentries. The southwest guard was the only human in sight, making his way in rapid fashion to the kitchen where his dinner likely awaited. She would have some time before he came back.

  Over the top and down the other side, she wasted no time moving to the target building. Catching her breath, she lingered a moment in the shadows on the south side of the building to check her surroundings. No sounds. No guards. Time to move. A hand went into a pocket, loosed a strap and lock picks came free. She eased around the corner, stopping in front of the window and putting a hook pick in the lock. She thought she had the pin combination right, but the torsion wrench hadn’t yet managed to force the tumbler.

  Feel. Lift. Lift. In with the torsion wrench. Turn.

  Drat. It was still stiff. Frozen – or had the tumbler seized? Perhaps she’d need to heat it somehow. Everything moved better with heat. With precious few moments before the lazy guard returned, she dropped the tools into her pocket once more and darted over to grab a torch from the sconce on the nearby wall. Back at the building, she placed the torch under the lock, warming it. The fire marked the windowsill black, and she worried about it igniting the wood before the lock warmed enough to move. Just another moment. She held her breath. There, that should do it! She set down the torch, applied the hook pick and the torsion wrench and turned. Harder. Harder. Clack! The tumbler broke free, and the latch fell open.

  Gwyn dropped the tools back into her pocket, grabbed the torch and replaced it on the wall sconce. She then dashed back into the shadows on the south side of the building, reassessing. Footsteps on the north side of the building moved toward the southeast platform. The guard was returning with his dinner. Hopefully, he wasn’t observant enough to notice the singed windowsill and open padlock. She’d have to make entry to the building tonight, however. In full daylight, it would be easy to see that she’d tampered with the lock and she would lose her opportunity.

  More footsteps. She spun to see a different guard leading several children out from the south side of the main building, moving toward the field latrine. She was exposed, saved only by shadows. Normally in a situation like this, she would hide in a high place, since few people looked up. But that was only when inside a building, not an open area. Instead, she dropped to the ground and flattened herself against the building, hoping that the guard’s torch wouldn’t be bright enough to reveal her location. They passed within thirty feet of her location and it was only blind luck that kept the man from looking her way.

  Each child took a turn in the latrine and it seemed like an eon passed before they all finished and the guard led them back. They passed by Gwyn again, far too close for comfort, and a small girl at the back of the line turned to the left. Her eyes met Gwyn’s and the girl slowed. Caught. All it would take now was for the guard behind her to notice and follow her gaze.

  “Hurry up,” the man said, pushing the little girl forward, causing her to stumble and fall. “I ain’t got all night.”

  The girl picked herself up and kept walking
. A moment later, they entered the large structure and the door behind them was closed and latched. Gwyn breathed a sigh of relief.

  A noise behind her drew her attention to the southwest tower. The lazy southwest guard must have forgotten a dinner roll, because he was descending the ladder yet again, failing to look about as he did so.

  Fortune favors the bold. With a quiet breath, she waited, once again. A moment later, the guard was out of sight and she was at the window, removing the padlock as softly as she could. The hinges at the top of the window creaked as she pushed it open. Over the sill and into the building, careful to avoid bumping her bow on anything, she soon found herself crouching on a dirt floor, a hand still holding the edge of the window above. She pushed it back to the closed position. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the room. She found a table with some papers, several boxes, and several side rooms. Moving ahead, no louder than a mouse on her boot liners, she passed the barred window and headed toward a stairwell that went down. As she descended, she engaged her vision to catch what appeared to be two cells on her right, each secured with metal bars and a solid steel door with a built-in lock. One prisoner slumbered in the far cell, the other remained empty. Yury? She hadn’t been able to keep a constant watch on the building since they brought him here, and couldn’t be sure.

  To her left, there was a single room, secured by a large, wooden door. She wondered what they did in that room that required such secrecy. She tried the latch, but it was secure. Out of her pocket came the picks and she was wrenching on the torsion bar a moment later. Click.

  She replaced the picks in her pocket as she pulled on the door, opening it to reveal worktables, with items on top. Moving closer, she examined the items. A bone chestplate sat on one table, fashioned with hooks and straps. On another table, she found an ivory blade, runes carved on its surface. It bore no handle, just a crude haft. Unfinished. Someone was following in the footsteps of the king. Bone weapons and armor. With runes. That would change the balance of power, for sure. Anne needed to know this.

  A sound from across the basement distracted her – the prisoner turning in his cot. She left the room, latched the door, and went to the cell with the prisoner. Long hair, like Yury, but it wasn’t him. His light was different, very different. It looked more like Mykel’s. Brighter. He was larger than Yury, too. Much larger. Not just wider but taller. In fact, it looked as if he barely fit on the cot. She looked at the prisoner’s thigh and saw a tear in the fabric of his trousers where he had been struck by the arrow. And a bloodstain, but no bandage.

  So, it was Yury. But what had they done to him?

  Anne told her to follow the boy, and she had agreed. She had her swords and a bow with four arrows. That wouldn’t buy an escape, especially since she couldn’t expect Yury to walk with his injury, much less fight and climb walls. But she had to try. The scorched wood around the lock would invite increased security and she would not get another chance.

  She pulled out her lock picks and went to work. The latch on the metal door was stiff, but not frozen, and the tumbler moved when she used a heavy hand. The door came open with a creak, and the prisoner bolted up.

  “Yury, it’s me, Gwyn.”

  He just stared at her. A rune on each of his thighs flared and Gwyn’s hand went to the pommel of her dagger. Runes! This was a bad idea. Either this wasn’t Yury, or he didn’t recognize her. She stepped back, intending to close the door behind her when the prisoner moved, blindingly fast, and in an instant he was behind her, an arm around her neck in a headlock, blocking her airway. She reached for her dagger and stabbed him in the arm, but as soon as she pulled back the blade, the flesh closed. She tried to speak, to tell him it would be okay, that she was here to rescue him, but she couldn’t speak. He was huge, so there was no way to overpower him. And with speed like that, he must be a racer as well. Health and speed without a cepp, just like Mykel.

  She felt pressure against the side of her head. He inhaled, smelling her.

  “Your name is Gwyn,” he grumbled, relaxing the arm around her neck slightly. His voice was deep and gruff.

  “Yes, yes. It’s me,” she said, voice strained. “Put me down, Yury.”

  He paused a moment. “Yury.” It was more a statement than a question. As if the word was an acknowledgment. He dropped Gwyn, and she landed awkwardly.

  She turned to look at him, dagger in one hand, the other rubbing her neck. He was much taller, almost seven feet now. And wider, but disproportional. One shoulder was higher than the other, his back was slightly hunched, and his face was misshapen, slightly twisted. Like the monster he had fought in the woods, but not as bad. That’s what the kidnappings were all about. Experiments. Kayna was making cursed.

  “Can you fight?” she asked.

  He paused, his eyes squinting in the darkness. He nodded.

  She slid one of her swords out of its sheath, slowly. Yury didn’t move, thankfully. Gwyn gave him the blade, handle first, then turned to ascend the steps. He was strong, but his mind seemed addled and she hoped he wouldn’t attack her again. At the top of the stairs, she turned to look behind. He was following. Good. Escaping a compound filled with guards wouldn’t be easy and she needed all the help she could get. But she had a sword, a bow, and a big, cursed racer wielding amnesia and an edged weapon. Should be interesting.

  She turned to go to the window, then realized how narrow the opening was. Yury would never fit through. The fight must begin with the guard outside the main door. She wheeled to direct him but before she could say anything, he had opened the door and was face-to-face with the soldier. Before the man could sound any alarm, Yury put the sword through his throat.

  Gwyn rushed past the dying guard, heading around the south side of the building and directly for the southwest tower.

  “Alert!” the lazy guard’s voice boomed from the platform above. Surely, the entire compound had heard it.

  The bow went to her hand, an arrow nocked, and the lazy guard’s eye socket suddenly sported the back half of a wooden arrow shaft. No more dinner rolls for that one. He fell forward, slumping for a moment, then fell off the tower and hit the ground below with a thud.

  Gwyn sprinted for the wall but Yury was faster, climbing the ladder in a heartbeat. He stood sentry at the top as Gwyn moved up the wall, the shouts of armored men in the distance behind her. If anyone had a bow ready, she’d get an arrow right in the back. A few moments later, she reached the top, then was over it, breathing intensely as adrenaline coursed through her. Her feet hit the ground on the other side, and she sprinted across the open area, Yury just a few steps ahead. As her footfalls pounded the earth in retreat, she wondered how many innocents she was leaving behind tonight. Yury seemed to barely know his own name, so he probably didn’t remember his sister, either. Good thing, because there was no time for a rescue. Saving one boy would have to be enough.

  She glanced behind to see several guards leaving the north gate. They held torches and were moving in pursuit but would have no chance against Gwyn’s vision and Yury’s speed. A short time later, they stopped running, having far outdistanced their pursuers. It was dark, and they would need a place to make camp.

  “Well, big fella, I guess it’s you and me, now.”

  Yury said nothing as he quietly towered over Gwyn, seemingly looking for direction.

  “Let’s build a shelter and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we find food.”

  “Sleep,” he said.

  “I hope you have some stories you can share; it’s going to be boring around here. We must wait for someone, and it could be quite a while.”

  26

  Ankar

  Nara led her men to Keetna where Able Wileman, the former banker, made purchases of food and extra wagons before they hit the road. She paid a visit to Nilly, finding her playing with a passel of little ones in the center of the town.

  “Nara!” Nilly said when she saw her, running full speed and colliding with Nara and spinning in a huge embrace.

&
nbsp; “Wow, I’ve been missed.”

  “I have something for you,” Nilly said. She held up her hand, urging Nara not to move. “Wait right here.”

  As Nilly dashed away, Nara mussed the hair on some little ones, pinching a few cheeks and laughing. When Nilly returned, she held a piece of fabric draped over one arm, with strings and ribbons over the other.

  “This is a skirt,” she said, handing the fabric to Nara. “It’s not tight, so you can still fight in it. And these,” –she held up the strings– “are for your arms.”

  “What are they?”

  “Some designs I made. Let me show you.”

  She helped Nara put on the skirt, which was soft yet very sturdy. Nilly wrapped the strings and ribbons around Nara’s forearms and upper arms, taking her time to fasten them firmly. The strings and ribbons were woven together in beautiful, intricate patterns that decorated Nara’s skin without being uncomfortable. “Tight but not too tight. Don’t want them to slip off when you’re beating up the bad guys.”

  “Such faith in me,” Nara said.

  “You’re going to win, I know it.” She finished the last pattern. “There. Perfect. Now you look like an angel.”

  “Thank you, Nilly, but you’re the angel. These are beautiful.” Nara touched Nilly’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”

  They embraced again. “I have to go now,” Nara said.

  “Come back and visit me someday.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  A few minutes later, Nara was far down the road, out of sight of the small village and again among the men of her growing army. Ninety-five soldiers now–if they could be called that. More had arrived from the north, bearing sticks and axes. Word spread quickly in these parts, even if military prowess did not.

  “What’s with the new outfit?” Mykel said as he approached.