Nihal of the Land of the Wind

by Licia Troisi

  What could be wrong with choosing that? Nothing. But it was out of the question. There was no way she could live peacefully knowing that her people had been annihilated.

  As Nihal’s musings ended, everything around her came back into focus. Once again, the tower was just a ruined hulk. The olive tree stood alone in its bed of weeds. Nihal undid her long braid, loosing blue hair that flowed down past her hips, the kind of hair that troubadours extolled in courtly songs of beautiful queens and doomed love. She took up her sword. One by one, her tresses fell to the ground. She gathered them up and dumped them in the garden.

  That night, Nihal turned her back on dreams of a normal life. She became a warrior.

  Laio woke when he heard the second horn call. He saw Nihal standing at the foot of his cot and his jaw dropped.

  “Nihal!” he gasped. “What happened?”

  “Long hair spells trouble in battle. Now, get up. You’ll be late for inspection.”

  Nihal took a seat in a corner of the tent, feeling strangely calm. She took a long piece of black cloth and set her sword down in front of her. She saw her reflection in the metal and got a lump in her throat. Nonsense. Stop acting like a fool.

  She wound the cloth tight around her head until her face was completely hidden. People would notice her, of course, but no one would know she was a half-elf.

  Laio, still sitting on his cot, watched her, wide eyed.

  Nihal took one last look at herself. Her eyes shone against the black cloth. She had never noticed how pretty they were. Enough, Nihal. This is no time for vanity.

  It was still dark when the troops began to march. They had to reach the camp near the battlegrounds before sunrise. Nihal was looking forward to seeing Fen.

  They marched in utter silence. Within an hour, the camp came into view. It was much bigger and better organized than the one they had left. The mood was tense. Nihal scanned the faces passing by, looking for Fen.

  At last she saw him as he came out of a tent. He looked tense and serious. Taking care not to be seen by her commanding officer, she slipped away and went to him. “Fen?”

  The knight looked puzzled. Nihal had hoped he would recognize her despite her disguise. She sighed, disappointed, and opened her cloak so he could see her cadet’s uniform.

  “It’s me,” she said.

  “Nihal!” Fen took her hand and held it tight. “Try not to take any unnecessary risks. You’ll have a thousand chances to be a hero in the future. I’ll be thinking of you while I’m flying.”

  Her commanding officer yelled from down the lane. “I have to go,” she creaked.

  Fen let go of her hand. “Good luck.”

  The cadets joined the other foot soldiers in the second line. It was a mixed group: young men, old men, dwarves, and even wood sprites who served as spies.

  The strategy was spelled out for them once more. They would wait until the first group had engaged the enemy. Their job was to get into the castle while the enemy was busy fighting the vanguard.

  They took their positions.

  Dawn was approaching. Nihal looked over at the archers, then the knights and their dragons. They all stood quiet and stock still as they awaited the signal.

  The fortress was nothing but a tower slightly less ravaged than the others. Its walls had been fortified with buttresses, making it look stout and solid.

  Long moments passed before the archers raised their bows at the signal and loosed their arrows in unison. The chirp of their bowstrings was followed by the swoosh of dragon wings as the knights took to the air.

  A third sound pierced the air. Large firebombs whistled across the sky toward their army. They fell just scant meters short of the first line. Then a flock of flying beasts rose from the tower walls.

  “Blasted buzzards!” cursed a soldier near Nihal.

  “What are they?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Don’t know. We call them fire buzzards. They breathe fire and keep the archers engaged so the foot soldiers don’t have cover.”

  As the man spoke, large clumps of earth began to change shape. Hundreds of hollering Fammin emerged from the earth like cockroaches. It took seconds for them to form strong defensive lines along their walls.

  Nihal’s heart beat hard in her chest. Waiting was torturous, but they could not attack without orders. It was the first thing the cadets had been taught: follow orders. She saw the knights astride their winged creatures and thought she could make out which one was Fen. Then she looked at Laio standing next to her. He was trembling and biting his lip so hard it bled.

  “Relax. Don’t be afraid,” she told him.

  Then came their orders. The group charged. Nihal raced down the field. There wasn’t a moment to think. Fammin came at her from all sides. Her black sword spun in every direction, striking flesh with every swing.

  The battle was long. Men and Fammin attacked mercilessly, using weapons, claws, and teeth. Hundreds of bodies lay on the ground. The grass was red and slick. Blood sprayed across the battlefield like rain, but Nihal took no notice. She kept fighting and killing, determined to take the field yard by yard until they reached the tower.

  When she made it to the outer wall, a fleck of boiling oil burned her arm. She looked up and saw the Fammin emptying cauldrons of the stuff onto the soldiers. Nihal ran around the tower until she found a niche where she could hide. She held her breath and chanced a look out of her shelter.

  She could see a Fammin, but it would not suffice to hit just one of them. To gain access to the tower, they would need to eliminate the entire defenses of at least one side of the tower.

  She looked around anxiously. Not far from her lay a soldier who had fallen from the tower. There was a bow beside him. Nihal ran out of her hiding place, grabbed the weapon and scampered back to her shelter, gathering fallen arrows as she went.

  She fitted an arrow to her bow, stepped out of her niche, and hit the first Fammin she saw. Her second shot also struck its mark, but Nihal had no time to rejoice. Behind her, a roaring Fammin waved a bloody axe. Nihal slung the bow over her shoulder and reached for her sword.

  The monster was on her in a flash. He swung at her, hard, forcing Nihal back. The general, flying on his dragon, saw and swooped down from the sky. He impaled the monster with his lance, grabbed Nihal by one arm, and set her down on his saddle.

  The dragon beat its powerful wings and they rose back up into the air.

  Nihal caught her breath as she clutched the knob of the saddle and looked down at the battlefield. The Fammin were blocking access to the wall, and the rain of arrows was steadily fading.

  “I’ll circle around the tower while you take them out,” the general said.

  Nodding, she said, “I’m ready.”

  Nihal fit another arrow and took aim. The arrow struck its target. Nihal felt her leg burn and saw an arrow had grazed her.

  “Damn, they’re on to us. You distract them. I’ll take care of the boiling oil.”

  Nihal took the last two arrows from her belt and fired them one after the other.

  The knight wasted no time, thrusting his lance against one of the cauldrons. It fell toward the inner wall of the tower. They heard the enemy’s cries of pain from above.

  The dragon turned immediately back toward the Fammin.

  “General!” yelled Nihal. “I’m out of arrows!”

  The officer swore. “All right. I’ll bring you back down to the ground.”

  Nihal jumped back into the battle and drew her sword. She joined a group that was charging the gate. They were trying to break the doors with a battering ram, but the Fammin kept taking out their men.

  Nihal was fighting when she saw someone hiding in a bush.

  “Laio!”

  He was crouched down, trembling. His sword had fallen from his hand.

  “Run away!” she yelled.

  Nihal ran to his side. “Do you want to get out of here or what?” she yelled.

  Laio came to his senses and ran toward the camp. He w
ould not have made it, had the commanding officer not taken pity on him. The officer reached down to Laio and set him on his dragon.

  “It’s over. You’re safe. It’s all over,” he comforted.

  Laio clutched him and began weeping desperately.

  Nihal picked up Laio’s sword and fought with both blades. She was tired and wounded all over.

  She heard a crashing sound and spun around. The gate was beginning to give way. Soon, they would take the fortress. The battlefield was strewn with fallen Fammin and the army was preparing to storm the outpost.

  Suddenly, a dense, hot fog descended upon them. The air was thick with smoke. Nihal coughed and struggled to breathe.

  “What the hell?” she asked no one.

  The gate burst open with a final blow of the battering ram. There was a cheer from the men, but it quickly turned into screams. All the men at the gate caught flame. It seemed the enemy decided to burn the fortress rather than surrender it.

  The army had nothing left to do but retreat. One by one, the Dragon Knights moved away. The catapults fired at them as they went.

  Nihal, running back toward the camp, did not see some of the Dragon Knights, struck by balls of fire, as they plummeted to their deaths near the tower.

  16

  A NEW SORROW

  The army watched the tower burn from their camp. Fire whipped around its sides, the giant flames growing taller every second. Finally, the bricks gave way and the building folded over itself, melting into the smoke and the dust.

  The troops cheered victoriously when the building collapsed. Nihal raised her sword toward the sky and smiled at the spectacle.

  The general appeared beside her. “You performed well,” he said gruffly.

  Nihal looked at him and knew she had made it. Now she would have a dragon of her own. She thought of all the enemies she had killed and felt triumphant. That day, she had avenged her people.

  Her commanding officer also made a point of speaking to her. “You must be happy to have passed the trial. I have to admit that you performed remarkably on the battlefield. Your friend, though … he hasn’t really come back to his senses. You should check on him.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Nihal replied. Then she set off at a run.

  She found Laio curled up in a corner of the tent. He was sobbing and sniveling. She curled up next to him and patted his head.

  “It’s all over, Laio. There’s no need to be afraid,” she soothed. “Now you can talk to your father. You can explain how you feel. Everything will be all right.”

  Laio looked at her. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. “It was terrible. I never would have thought it could be like that, all those people dying, the Fammin running all over the place, soldiers falling to the ground one after another. It’s horrible, Nihal. Horrible.”

  Nihal didn’t know what to say to him. Everything he said was true. It really was horrible—death, blood, monsters. But that was war.

  “Why does all this have to happen? Why does the Tyrant hate us? Why does he hate people who never did him any harm?”

  “There’s no reason, Laio. He hates us, that’s all. That’s why we’re fighting.”

  “You’re fighting. I’m not brave enough to do it. I was scared. I put your life at risk.” Quietly, he added, “I hate myself. I know we have to fight, but I also know that I’m not cut out for it. I feel like a coward. How can I live with myself after what I saw today?”

  “Not everyone is cut out for fighting, Laio. There are a lot of ways to help our world besides being a warrior. Think of the councilors, or the rulers of the free lands. They don’t use weapons, but they do a lot for the freedom of the Overworld. You’ll find a way to be of use.”

  Laio continued weeping.

  Nihal stepped out of Laio’s tent and saw that something was wrong.

  She grabbed a man by the arm and asked, “Hey, what’s going on?”

  He twisted his arm out of her grasp and kept trotting down the lane of tents, yelling back, “Casualties among the Dragon Knights.”

  Fen! She hadn’t seen him after the battle. Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing’s happened to him, she told herself. Still, she could not shake her feeling of unease.

  She walked up to the command tent, hoping to hear Fen’s voice from inside. She heard murmurs and hurried voices, but none of them were Fen’s.

  She turned to one of the cadets. “Do you know what happened?”

  “I think they’re talking about the battle. It didn’t go as well as we thought. A lot of foot soldiers died and a Dragon Knight is seriously injured. Four more are missing in action―”

  Nihal felt her heart in her throat.

  “―One’s called Dhuval. The other is Pen, or Ben or something. …”

  Nihal grabbed the boy by his shirt. “It’s not Fen, is it?”

  “Hey, what’s with you?”

  “Was it Fen?” she repeated, raising her voice.

  “It could be! I don’t know!” he said.

  Nihal pushed him off and ran toward the infirmary. When she arrived, there was a sorcerer seated beside a man, reciting healing spells.

  Nihal grabbed him by a shoulder. “Who is this?”

  The sorcerer was annoyed at the interruption. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Who is it? I beg you, tell me his name!” Nihal could barely keep from yelling.

  “It’s Dhuval, a veteran knight. He won’t be here for long, though. The healing spells aren’t doing any good.”

  Nihal ignored him and ran out of the tent. There’s still hope. We’ll find him. Maybe he stayed on the battlefield, or maybe Gaart is wounded. Nothing’s happened to him. She kept running at breakneck speed. She ran and prayed that Fen was not dead. When she reached the command tent, the general was questioning a young soldier.

  “And when do you say you saw him?” the man asked.

  “When we broke through the gate and the army began to retreat. There were knights flying low over the tower.”

  “Are you sure of what you’re saying?”

  The boy nodded. “A lot of us saw him, sir. The catapult struck him and he fell onto the tower in flames.”

  “And you are sure it was him?”

  “Yes, sir. I recognized his dragon. It was Fen.”

  Nihal was in complete disbelief. “No!” she yelled from the crowd. The men turned to look at her. “No, it can’t be true! Fen’s been in worse battles than this one. He can’t be dead!”

  Her eyes were wild as she looked at the men’s faces. Clearly, they believed Fen was dead.

  “They’ve taken him prisoner!” she told them. “That’s it, they’ve taken him prisoner and we have to go find him! He’s not dead!”

  The general grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “That’s enough. Get a grip on yourself!”

  Then Nihal fell to her knees and gave in to desperate sobs. The general looked at her with sympathy, then ordered a young soldier to accompany her to her tent and keep watch over her.

  Nihal cried uncontrollably. When she finally calmed down, she curled into a ball in a corner, her head between her knees, silent. She wanted to hole up inside herself and forget everything, but images of Fen kept flashing in her mind. She could see his smile, hear his voice. She remembered the moments they had spent together over the last few months, the words he’d said to her before her first battle, their duels, the first time they had met.

  The soldier looking after Nihal felt sorry for her. He knew who she was. The first time he saw her he had been amazed by how slender she was. She was a strange creature, but beautiful, too. Then he had seen her on the battlefield. It did not seem possible for a girl to wield a sword like that. But now as she lay there crying, she looked like a normal, defenseless little girl.

  For a while he simply gazed at her, but finally he asked, “He was your teacher, wasn’t he?”

  She did not answer.

  “That’s what I heard, anyway. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
r />   Nihal would not even lift her head, but he persisted anyway.

  “I haven’t had a teacher like that, but I think I understand what you’re going through. I’m twenty-two and I’ve been fighting since I was sixteen. I’ve seen a lot of my friends die. The first time I cried like you are now, but then I got used to it. That’s just how war is. People die all the time and crying, unfortunately, doesn’t make it any better.”

  Nihal did not respond. There were no words that could console her. All she wanted was for the ground to open up and swallow her whole so she would no longer feel such pain.

  “I believe what the priests say,” the soldier told her. “I’m sure that after this life there’s a world without war and without any sorrow. My friends are all there. I feel it. And your teacher is there, too, and he’s so proud of you. I saw you fight. You’ll be an incredible Dragon Knight. But now you have to do what you can to stay strong. I’m sure your teacher …”

  Nihal lifted her head and fixed her violet eyes on the soldier. “Leave me alone.”

  The soldier was startled by the break in her silence, but then he nodded and said the only thing he could think of: “Buck up.” He lifted the flap and walked out of her tent.

  When night fell, Laio went to stand in for the soldier. He was shocked to see the strong girl he knew curled up on her cot. She was pale and her eyes looked empty. Laio did not say a word. He simply lay down beside her, put an arm over her shoulder, and went to sleep.

  Nihal convinced herself that Fen was only missing. Yes, the soldier had seen what he had seen, but he could not have recognized Fen from so far away. He was mistaken. The enemy must be holding him prisoner.

  Nihal had to go looking for him. She would find him and bring him back to the camp safe and sound. The next day they would laugh about their adventure and about how crazy she had behaved.

  A desperate smile traced itself across her lips.