by M. D. Grimm
Fray grinned, relief naked in his eyes. "Thank the Hunter."
"And the Mother," Wyn said, standing at my feet.
I heard my father shouting orders. My mother yelled my name. Our tribe had fallen into battle mode, which could be just as chaotic as falling into panic. Everyone was readying for a battle, the females and elderly taking the children into hiding. My father was calling for order.
"Why did the glenshod come here?" Eulun asked no one in particular.
I shook my head. Despite the pain, I was smiling. No matter what our differences and our arguments, my family, my brothers, always had my back.
That was when we all heard a chorus of roars from deeper in the forest. I saw Wyn jerk in surprise before swinging around, his sword high, his body blatantly shielding mine.
"It was a scout," Fray whispered before standing to the left of Wyn. Eulun took the right flank.
"To arms!" I heard my father shout. Hands were suddenly grabbing me, and I saw my mother's face among the crowd. I wouldn't be in this battle, but I knew I would be in others.
The glenshods had just declared war.
***
Two years later
The glenshods came at us hard. My swords were never still. My muscles burned and I was short of breath, but this was war. If I stopped I would die. The axe cut through the air, aiming for my head. I deflected the blow, using my sword as a shield, catching the glenshod soldier's wrist against the grip. I jerked to the left, sending his arm flying away from his chest. That gave me the opening to ram my other sword straight into his belly. I grunted with the effort. Glenshods had tough outer skin, almost as tough as truls. They also wore leather armor, and I had to put my entire body weight behind the thrust. Usually, we were taught to hack off limbs or heads when fighting these beasts, but I had the opening so I took it.
The beast howled and pulled away, freeing my sword. I couldn't allow him to retreat. His large nostrils flared larger, his bulbous eyes staring at me in hate colored with pain. Thick blood gushed out of the wound as his hand closed over it.
I panted and ran forward for the kill. He tried to bring his axe up to protect himself, but I got to him first. I shoved both swords straight into his stomach with a roar of defiance. My face came within mere inches of his. He coughed, blood spurting into my face. I gritted my teeth, stepping back and yanking my swords out of his body.
He fell and lay still.
I sucked in a breath before spitting his rancid blood out of my mouth. I staggered but kept my focus on the battlefield I stood upon. The glenshods were large, bulky beasts, their skin muddy brown scales. They were bald with large ears, capable of hearing far into the distance. Their hands and feet were clawed, but they still used weapons of war, being far more intelligent that many of the other beastly creatures who lived on Karishian. They were organized, brutal, and land-hungry. They had begun to form their own kingdom and planned on taking free lands to accomplish that goal. Seela kingdoms were fighting them far west of us, and it was the east where my tribe and many other tribes of dialen defended.
The sickly sour smell of death and the iron scent of blood coated the air and seeped into the ground. The sounds of battle rang all around me, the roars of a charge, the gurgle of the dying. I knew I was covered in the blood of our enemy, and I wore it as a mark of honor.
Standing up straighter, I rolled my shoulders and neck. My own leather armor was light, but after fighting nonstop for who-knew-how long, I longed to take it off. It was beginning to chafe in all the wrong places.
My eyes roamed over the battlefield as I sheathed my swords, quickly scanning the ground for a bow. I'd lost mine in the first moments of war; a glenshod had snatched it out of my hand. I grabbed one that wasn't broken before drawing an arrow out of my quiver. Arrows weren't the most effective against the glenshods' hides, but they would at least distract the beasts from my kin long enough for our warriors to cut their heads off.
I had a fair vantage point on top of the hill, and my keen vision managed to find the thinner skin of the glenshods' necks. My arrows whistled through the air, landing exactly where I meant to put them. Thank the Hunter for my dedication to my training. I managed to incapacitate a few long enough for my brethren to finish the job.
"Aishe!"
I swung around in time to keep my head from being detached from my body. Crouching, I dropped the bow, releasing my sword before striking out at the glenshod's legs, slicing right below the knee. Wyn came charging toward us, he being the one who shouted my name. He leapt in a graceful arch, and with one clean slice, severed the glenshod's head from its shoulders. The body fell with a dull thud while the head flew a short distance before hitting the ground and rolling down the shallow hill we stood upon.
"Watch your back, little brother." He grinned, gripping my bicep and pulling me to my feet.
"Watch your own." I slapped his armored chest with the flat of my blade. "Nice speed, by the way. He never saw you coming."
"That's how we beat an opponent who is bigger than us."
I matched his grin before staring down the hill, watching the remaining glenshods retreat, back across the field of battle and into the forest on the other side.
My shoulders slumped. "Thank the Hunter. I don't think I could have kept that up for much longer."
Wyn was the only one of my brothers who I'd ever admit that to. He was the only one who would never tease me about it. He sheathed his sword and switched his axe to the other hand before slapping me on the back.
"Good show, little brother. Good show."
I smiled, and I finally looked down at myself and cringed. Then I looked at Wyn. He didn't look much better. His black and purple war paint had been coated with red along one side of his face. Blood and other bodily fluids covered his tunic and leather, and of course his weapons.
When he turned fully toward me, I realized the blood on his face was his own.
"Hunter's Bow, Wyn," I cursed and gripped his chin, turning his face. "You're gushing like a geyser. Get back to camp."
He shoved my hand away, his cocky smile never leaving his face. "Don't worry so much Aishe. It's only flesh the beast cut, nothing vital."
I swallowed any argument. It wouldn't do any good. My brother was stubborn when it came to such things.
Taller than me and broader, Wyn was my second oldest brother. His hair was pure white like mine, but his eyes were periwinkle, just like our mother's. He was the best warrior of my brothers, and he never let us forget it. He wasn't so much smug, just... overconfident. And far too eager for a fight. He lived for combat.
"You go back to camp. I'll look for survivors."
I shook my head. "No, we need everyone to look. This battle was fiercer than the others."
Wyn nodded. We started down the hill slowly, crouching and shifting bodies, trying to find any who were alive. It was the worst part of any battle in my opinion. I wished I wouldn't find anyone alive, simply because if I did, they were usually on their way to dying, and I had to stay with them until they drew their last breath. I didn't want to do that. Not today. Not again.
But I looked, shoving aside glenshod bodies and killing any that were still alive, and swallowed my bile as I looked upon my kin. Many had body parts scattered everywhere across the field, and I had the morbid task of collecting all of them, for the life force of our dead kin could not journey to the Mother's bosom if their bodies were incomplete.
I didn't know how long it took me and the others to complete that task, but the sun had long since gone down before we were done. I was weary, straight to my bones. I could barely climb up the hill, and my legs were shaking when I reached the top. I forced myself to keep walking. Just put one foot in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right...
The camp wasn't far, which was a small blessing. It was active, dialen running here and there, the wounded limping or being carried to the healing tents. Shouts and curses and crying. Some screams were thrown in for flavor. I managed to stagger to the lar
ge water barrels, and barely resisted sticking my face in one. Instead I filled my canteen and took small sips of water, conscious of my roiling gut. I wouldn't be eating tonight.
It was a challenge just to lift my arms, my muscles burned so badly.
"Aishe."
I turned. I managed to smile a little.
Amyla, my only sister, smiled up at me. But it was strained. She was two years younger than me, with sweet green eyes and hair as black as a fasion's wing, which was pulled back behind her head in a long tail. She wore healer's robes, stained with blood. I could see the misery in her eyes. Her face was round and innocent, her body petite, and I couldn't help but notice the attention she would get from the other soldiers. We were fighting alongside five other tribes, and while I accepted the fact that she was an adult, and of uniting age, the protective side of me itched to grip my sword.
"We won, yes?"
I nodded. "If there can be such a thing as a 'win' in this war."
She looked exhausted, and I doubted she'd gotten much sleep lately.
"I'm scared, Aishe. Do you know when this might end?" she whispered.
I wanted to hug her, but considering what I was covered with, I resisted. "No, I don't."
Being closer in age to her than any of her other brothers, I had always been her confidant. She would never admit her fear to anyone but me, or perhaps Mother. Having grown up with brothers, she'd learned to have a thick skin, and to give as good as she got. There were times when she had been my confidant, especially in my younger years.
"You look awful."
I snorted. "You should find Wyn. He looks worse than me."
Amyla frowned. "Really?"
"He has a head wound, but... you know how he is."
Her sweet face pulled into a snarl and she whipped around, stalking toward the battlefield in search of our brother. I grinned. Let Wyn try his stubbornness on her. He didn't stand a chance.
"Oh, Aishe," she called back.
"What?"
"Father wants to see you."
I nodded. I walked in the direction of my father's tent. I just wanted a quick bath and a warm pile of blankets. Maybe a few hours of sleep. I took a deep breath before splashing water from my canteen on my face. Not yet.
I had just reached my father's tent when the other five chiefs stepped out. I backtracked, giving them room to exit. They nodded to me, and I returned the gesture. I didn't know what sent a chill down my spine, but something wasn't right. Nothing in their expressions gave anything away, and yet...
I stepped into my father's tent, and my eyes instantly went to a dialen sitting in the corner, his arms bound behind his back, his legs stretched out before him, his ankles bound. His head was lowered, hiding his identity.
"Father?"
My father embraced me despite the blood, guts, and all the filth I had on me. I clutched him back, comforted by his strong presence and protective love, as if I were a child again. The hug was short but fierce. He let me go and stepped back. He was as tall as me but broader, giving his bulk to Wyn. His hair was long and tan, braided back from a face that had seen many wars, and had endured many losses of life. I had his eyes, but his were far wiser and stronger. He wore simple armor like his soldiers, nothing grand to proclaim his position. He didn't need any.
He wore his sword at his hip, and I saw the black bow of our tribe lying across a table with a map on it. As always, the sight of that bow made my heart jump. Only the chief of our tribe could use that bow. The position was not hereditary. It was given to the most suitable dialen by a vote of the tribe.
But there was also another item that was given to the chief once he was elected. The item was worn in an enchanted leather pouch hung around the chief's neck. I'd felt it knock against my armor as my father hugged me. A stone of power. All I knew was that it was a ruby and it was a secret that our tribe fiercely held. Not even other dialen tribes knew. The pouch kept the stone under control, keeping whatever power it had contained. It was a great temptation to have it constantly around one's throat, to know it would be so easy just to open the pouch and take the power. Especially in a war.
My father proved the temptation could be resisted.
"Where's Wyn?" my father asked.
"Still on the battlefield, searching for survivors."
He nodded. I could easily read between the lines. Wyn hadn't reported back, and my father hadn't known if his second son had survived. I saw the flash of relief in his eyes before they were shielded again. He slapped my shoulder hard, once, before turning away.
It was then that I noticed Eulun, my eldest brother, who stood silently in the corner, near the bound dialen. Slimmer of build, and slightly shorter than me, Eulun resembled our mother in many ways. He had her eyes, her hair, but our father's temperament without his control.
We nodded to each other.
"Amyla said you wanted to see me," I said.
"We found the traitor, Aishe."
My eyes widened, my gaze shooting toward the tied-up dialen.
"Yes," Eulun said. "It's him. He sold out our position to the glenshods." Eulun gave the dialen a hard kick to the ribs. The prisoner sucked in a breath, jerking away.
"Enough of that," my father said, a sharp edge to his voice. Eulun didn't look apologetic, but he did subside. I thought the kick well justified.
We'd begun losing the war to the glenshods weeks ago, as it seemed they always knew our plans before we could implement them. It was quickly established that we must have a traitor in our midst, one who was selling our secrets to the enemy.
"Why?" I asked, aiming my question at the traitor himself. He lifted his head and glared at me. I finally recognized him.
"Sessan?" He had been a great hunter of our tribe. He'd been one of my mentors. But more than that, much worse than that, he was my uncle. My father's brother. Our blood had betrayed us.
"It doesn't matter why." Eulun snarled down at Sessan. "We finish this now."
I swallowed hard. Now I knew why I'd gotten that strange sense before entering the tent. Sessan was a member of the Ravena tribe, which meant his punishment had to be delivered by my father. Sessan had brought shame upon our tribe, and the other chiefs would never allow us to forget it.
An execution needed at least two witnesses. My father had wanted me here to be one.
Could this day get any worse?
My father stepped forward with the large execution sword. The black blade was long and thick, shaved down to a vicious edge. The grip was two-handed and bound in leather. I'd seen an execution before, but it wasn't something I could ever get used to. My father stood close to Sessan and hesitated. My eyes burned.
I saw the crack in my father's blank face, his shielded eyes. Misery, confusion, hurt. The pain of betrayal was a hard thing to swallow and recover from, especially when it was your own blood.
I shook my head. My father couldn't do this. He shouldn't do this. Before my father could lift the sword, I stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. His eyes shot to mine. I said nothing, only slid my hand down, pushing it between his, to grip the handle myself.
I saw the stubbornness in his eyes. I didn't back down. I shook my head. We stood there in silence, our wills battling. For the first time in my life, I won. My father let go of the sword and stepped back, taking a deep breath.
I glanced at Eulun. His lips thinned and his jaw clenched, but he said nothing. This was against our customs. It was always the chief's job to be the judge, jury, and executioner. The chief served his tribe, and because of the responsibilities he bore, and the judgments he pronounced, it was only fitting that he carry through with his decision instead of putting the burden on another.
My father wasn't weak. But there were some things a creature shouldn't have to do. Sometimes a family member had to step in and do what had to be done.
I gripped the sword in my two hands, feeling the weight, feeling my stomach clench and twist. I was about to execute my uncle. I desperately wanted to be back on the
battlefield again. I knew who the enemy was there. I accepted it. But this...
I stared at my uncle. "Why?"
He stared at me blankly and raised an eyebrow before rising to his knees with difficulty, considering his bound ankles. He lifted his chin defiantly. "Why not?"
My eyes widened. "You betrayed your blood. Your brother. He deserves a reason."
"Aishe," Eulun said softly, impatience lining his voice. "Just do it."
I ignored him and focused on my uncle.
Sessan smirked. "Little Aishe. You grew into a big bad warrior, didn't you? It's really quite funny, how you look now. Do you remember what you used to be? Awkward and clumsy, no more a dialen than a deer."
I glared and swallowed hard, my arms trembling. "I grew up."
He grinned. How could he be so cocky when he was about to die?
"Yes, you did. But I have to wonder how you did. There wasn't a single dialen in our tribe who thought you would become a warrior. No one believed in you. Not your mother, your dear father, or any of your brothers. No one thought you were worth anything."
I bared my teeth. Anger pooled in my gut, at what he'd done, at what he was saying. I tightened my grip on the sword and told myself to end it.
"So tell me, please, before I die. How did you become what you are today? Tell me, Aishe, and I'll tell you why I sold you all out to the glenshods."
"I trained."
He clicked his tongue. "Be serious, Aishe. You were hopeless. Don't tell me it didn't have anything to do with that mage."
The sudden mention of him, coupled with my lethargy and anger, set me back on my heels. I gasped, and my grip on the sword wavered.
"Aishe." My father gripped my shoulders.
"Did the mage put a spell on you?" Sessan kept at it, his eyes gleaming with a madness I'd never seen before. "Or did he give you a magick amulet? Oh, and tell me," Sessan's grin grew wide, "when he touched you in the dark, did you like it?"
I shoved my father back, and with a roar I slammed my foot against Sessan's chest. He flew back and hit the ground hard. Placing my boot on his chest, I held him down, lifting the executioner's sword high above my head.
