“Unless we could cauterize the wound,” Endler suggested.
Serix nodded his head. “I’ve been working on a spell. This may be the time to try it. It won’t heal him but I should be able to burn the wound to close it and stop the bleeding. It may also help by lessening the chance of infection.” Serix had never tried the spell on a person before and he hoped he would not do the prince further harm. But stopping the bleeding was his first priority. He had developed the spell to do just that. Endler nodded. “Do it. We have no other options and the longer we delay the more blood he will lose.”
“Very well. When I tell you to, remove the spear.” Then he looked at Ari. “Son, what is your name?”
“Ari.”
“Ari, I want you to hold his right arm while Captain Ral holds his left. He must be kept still to prevent further damage.” Ari nodded and held the prince’s arm firmly. “Now, let us begin.” Serix placed his right hand above the wound and closed his eyes. Within moments a bluish white light appeared under his outstretched palm. “Now,” he said.
Endler gripped the spear with both hands and pulled the weapon free. The prince jerked, grunting in pain as waves of crimson bubbled from the wound. Captain Ral pounced on his left arm and Serix placed his glowing hand on the bleeding wound. The light flared brighter under his palm and tendrils of smoke rose from the wound, carrying the odor of cooked flesh. Prince Jarak jerked, moaning in pain but they held him firmly, preventing him from thrashing around. Within moments Serix had removed his hand, and the light had disappeared. Smoke drifted lazily from the wound, which was now blackened and charred. But there was no more blood.
“Looks like it worked,” Endler said, inspecting the wound.
“I hope so. Get him inside where he can rest,” Serix ordered.
***
Brant was sitting on a pile of dirt staring at the bottom of the grave he had just dug. Despite the chilly fall weather he had worked up a sweat and had taken his shirt off long ago. Slowly and methodically he had dug his friend’s grave, next to his wife's, beneath the trees behind the house. Tears and sweat mingled on his face as he shoveled out the dirt, heaving it over his shoulder. He couldn’t remember when he had cried last and the emotion felt strange to him. But he could not stop. Kaan had been his only real friend and the loss weighed heavy on his heart. Finally, after several hours, the hole was deep enough. Brant had gently pulled Kaan’s body, now wrapped tightly in a gray wool blanket, to the edge of the pit, then slowly lowered it into the grave. He was emotionally exhausted and suddenly didn’t know what to do. So he simply sat on the pile of dirt and gazed down at his friend, whose blood now soaked the blanket. His melancholy thoughts weighed heavily on his conscience. He could not believe that Kaan was dead. The thought alone squeezed his heart, the pressure releasing more tears that fell and streaked his dirty face. Brant had not known much joy in his life; the few memories of it washed away with the blood of the two people he cared most about. Kaan had given him a home, welcomed him into his family, and now he was dead. Lord Rand had come to his aid for no other reason than to help a young man that he believed had value. And now, likely, he was dead as well. The injustice of it all began to turn his pain to anger, as it always did, and his fists clenched involuntarily as the emotion racked his body.
He turned as he heard someone approach. It was Cat and she looked exhausted, her arm hanging still at her side. They had determined that it wasn’t broken, but it was so bruised and battered it hurt too much to move it. She felt as if a giant had punched her in the shoulder. She walked over to him and stood next to him, silently staring into the grave.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply.
“He was my only friend.” His anger had disappeared as fast as it had come.
She looked at him. “That is not true. We are all your friends.”
He shook his head. “I have not known you long. I lived with Kaan. I was a part of his family. He took me in and helped me, and this is how I repay him.”
She didn’t say anything at first, knowing full well that he felt guilty for Kaan’s death. After a few moments of silence she spoke. “One could hide in the woods and live by himself, never knowing friendship or love. A family could decide never to have children since the thought of losing a child in this precarious world would just be too great.”
Brant nodded as he thought about her words. “I think that would be easier.”
“Maybe, but think what you would miss out on. You would never know what true friendship felt like, or the love of a woman. You would never hear the sound of your children playing outside, or experience the joy in watching them grow and mature. Your friendship with Kaan was worth the risks. If he were alive right now he would tell you the same thing and you know it. He would have cherished the time he spent with you and the relationship that you shared, not only with him but with his children.”
Brant was silent as he continued to stare at Kaan’s body, mulling over her words. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he finally looked up at Cat. “What will become of his children?” When Tobias had learned of his father’s death he had run into the cabin and crawled under his bed, sobbing loudly. Jana, terribly distraught herself, but sensing her brother’s need, had managed to get herself under control and now maintained a calmness that belied her age. It was as if she knew that her role now was to take care of her brother, and right now he needed her the most. When Brant had left their home to dig Kaan’s grave, Jana had joined Tobias by his bed and was gently talking with him as he cried in the darkness under his mattress. The scene had nearly broken Brant’s heart.
“They will need you, now more than anything,” Cat said, “but where we will be going will be no place for children. Do you know of a location where they can stay…someone who can take them in?”
“Maybe. But the thought of leaving them is difficult for me.”
Cat looked up into the sky as she seemed to be wrestling with her thoughts. “I understand,” she said after a few moments. “When I left the city I was leaving my father. I have no idea what has happened to him and my heart aches every time I think about him. There is a perpetual lump in my throat and nothing I do can dislodge it.”
They sat in silence, each caught for a while in their own haunted memories. Finally, Cat looked at Brant and broke the silence. “You have so many scars. Are they all from the pit?”
“Yes.”
“And the burns on your chest. What do they mean?”
Brant didn’t like to talk about them since they brought up so many images of the men he had killed to earn the marks. “They are Schulg sigils.”
“I had heard that fighters in the Schulg pits earned them, but I never knew what they meant. Will you tell me?”
“A mark represents either five kills, or the fact that you have killed another who has already earned the mark. In doing so you earn the mark more quickly. I am not proud of the marks and I don’t like to talk about them.”
“But you had no choice. Nor did your opponents. You either fought and lived, or you died.”
“That is true. But their deaths still haunt me. In war you also have no choice. You must fight and kill or you will be killed. But should you relish the killing?”
“I see your point. I killed a Saricon that had attacked Jarak and afterwards it almost made me sick.”
“That response will fade as you become accustomed to killing.”
“I’m not sure I want that,” Cat said.
Brant looked at her, fixing his eyes upon hers. “Then perhaps you are in the wrong profession.”
Cat sighed but said nothing. “Can I help you bury him?”
“No. Your arm is injured. Besides, I want to do this alone.”
“Very well.” She turned and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. She could feel the hard strength of it beneath her fingers. “You were not to blame for his death. Direct your anger toward the Saricons. The blame lies with them.”
Then she turned and walked away. Brant’s
eyes narrowed, angry again as he thought of their vicious attack. The Saricons would pay for Kaan’s death. He made a promise right then and there that whoever had ordered the attack would die by his own hands.
***
“The Shadow Riders have not yet returned,” Kahn Taruk replied before lifting his silver goblet to his mouth. “But that means nothing. They will find and kill him.”
King Daricon sat at their private table with his wife, Queen Mylena, and opposite them was Tongra Kahn Taruk. The big Saricon was cleanly shaved and his long blonde hair was pulled back from his face, tied into a braid that followed the rest of his hair to the middle of his back. He wore his silver armor as he always did, Heln’s symbol, a red horned helm, beautifully adorning the center of the cuirass. Just as Daricon was about to reply several servants entered from the side door carrying trays laden with food. Behind them was Jayla, Daricon’s cook. She had been his cook when he was commander of the garrison at Lyone, and she was forced to be his cook now that he was king. The servants set the trays down and Daricon looked up at Jayla and smiled. “What have you prepared for us?”
Jayla’s face was stern, hard like stone. She was not happy to be serving Daricon, and her expression made that abundantly clear. But there was nothing she could do. Just two weeks before she had spent several days in a rat infested prison, all because Lord Daricon had ordered it as part of his elaborate ruse to set her up as the one responsible for his brother’s death. But now that they had successfully taken the city, King Daricon saw no reason to waste her talents. Her cooking skills were legendary. So he had released her, placed her under house arrest in his own castle, and commanded her to cook for him, with a few stipulations of course. Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptivity, but Daricon pretended not to notice. He simply smiled. “I have prepared a potato leek soup followed by duck braised in wine and honey, and fresh sour bread.”
“Very good,” Daricon said. “Now please do us the honor.”
Mylena looked at her husband and smiled as she reached over to gently stroke her husband's strong forearm. She seemed to be enjoying Jayla’s discomfort.
Jayla took a small ladle from the tray, dipped it into the large soup bowl, and quickly swallowed its contents.
“How is it?” Mylena asked, knowing perfectly well that it would be delicious. Jayla did not cook every meal for them, but when she did they made her and several of the servants taste everything before they ate any of it, avoiding the possibility that she might poison them. After all, they were well aware that she had not approved of their usurpation. She had made that very clear, and in fact her outbursts when she had been released from prison would have typically put her before the axe, but Daricon did not want to kill her. He was too fond of her cooking.
Jayla maintained her stoic expression and stared calmly at the queen, her eyes barely containing her rage at having to serve these two traitors. “It is quite good.”
“Excellent,” Daricon said. “Now have two of the servants taste the bread and the duck. I cannot wait much longer, the aroma is intoxicating.” Two young female servants stepped from behind Jayla as she prepared a small portion of each dish.
Tongra Taruk looked on with amusement as the two girls nervously finished their samples and quickly retreated behind Jayla. “Are you satisfied?” Jayla asked curtly.
“I am,” Daricon responded, without even looking at her as he motioned for the servants to serve the dinner. “You may retire to your room.”
Jayla said nothing as she turned and left, two guards following her from the room.
“So, back to what you were saying. You believe the Shadow Riders will succeed in killing Jarak?” Daricon asked.
“There is no doubt. The young prince, if he is not dead already, will be dead shortly.”
Daricon frowned slightly. He resented the Tongra's use of Jarak’s title, perhaps as a subtle reminder that he was not the true king of Cythera. “Do not underestimate Jarak. He can be resourceful.”
“He is a pup. An untried whelp.”
Daricon did not want to argue. “And they have instructions to bring me his head? I need proof that he is dead. I want to display his head on a pole so all can see that I am now the only legitimate heir to the throne and, as such, am their rightful king.”
Tongra Taruk nodded. “They will bring his head.”
Daricon smiled and changed the subject. “So, how goes our plans?”
“Sigmar left three days ago with eleven thousand men. Soon he will take both Tanwen and Kreb.”
“And what of the mines?”
“We have men heading to the main working mines now. If the information and locations you gave us are accurate they should arrive shortly. Once the mines are taken, we will control the steel.”
“And that means our coffers will fill soon enough,” Mylena added.
“When you say our coffers I assume you mean mine as well?” Tongra Taruk’s eyes reflected a quiet threat, but his tone was almost playful.
“Of course,” Daricon replied quickly, not wanting to anger the volatile Saricon. “I have not forgotten our agreement. You will receive a hundred percent of the revenue from the Kul-brite steel for the first year, which should be more than enough to pay all the expenses for the recent wars. After that we will split the profits eighty twenty, you of course receiving the larger portion.”
The Tongra grunted as he turned his attention to the fabulous meal. Soon they were all eating and drinking, with only a few words of state spoken between courses as they focused on enjoying Jayla's savory dishes.
***
They had left for Amorsit the next morning. The cold crisp air nipped at their exposed skin. Brant, Serix, Rath, Cat, Tobias, and Jana had set out on horses with the clear mission to ride quickly to Amorsit and get supplies. The journey by horseback would take a full day. They talked little as they rode, their recent losses and the magnitude of their mission weighing heavily on them. Endler Ral, Ari, and Rath had stayed behind to watch over the prince, who still had not woken. Jarak was very pale but he seemed to be breathing steadily.
As they came to the peak of a gentle hill, the rising smoke from Amorsit's hearths greeted them. Brant rode beside Tobias and Jana, who were sharing a steed. They had talked little since Kaan’s death and both children appeared morose and withdrawn. “Do you know why I have brought you both with us?” he asked them softly.
Jana looked at him with eyes still swollen and red from her tears, her expression one of utter exhaustion and despair. “You are going to leave us here, aren’t you?”
Brant sighed wearily. “I don’t want to, but where I’m going will just bring more danger to you. I have some friends here that I think will take you in, at least until I return.”
Finally Tobias snapped from his trance and looked at Brant, his face pleading. “But what if you don’t return?”
Brant shook his head. “I promise you, I will return.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Jana said, as she gazed blankly into the distance. “Our father promised us he would never leave us after Mother died,” she continued as she brought her gaze back to Brant. “But he lied, just as you are now.”
“I am not trying to lie to you. I will do everything in my power to come back and get you. But you’re right. I may not survive. If I do not, rest assured that the people I am taking you to will take care of you. You will be happy there. I can at least promise you that.”
Jana glanced at him but said nothing more as Serix and Cat rode up next to them. “I will take care of procuring the horses and weapons,” Serix said. “Cat, why don’t you get the food, and Brant, once you have finished your business at the inn you can help her. And don’t forget healing supplies.”
They both agreed and when they entered the main entrance of the city, which was just a main road with the inn on the left and the mercantile on the right, with more shops and stores flanking the main road, everyone parted ways. Serix rode forward deeper into town towards the blacksmith sho
p. Jana and Brant dismounted and tied their horses before the inn while Cat did the same before turning to the right towards the mercantile. Before she entered the wooden building she turned, smiled, and mouthed the words good luck. They had talked about his plan the day before and to her it seemed the only option.
“Grab your bags and follow me inside,” Brant said as he led them through the main door of the inn. The sun had almost set and the inn was empty. That was to be expected as dusk was just the lull before the dinner crowd arrived. The interior of the room looked the same as Brant remembered, and he relished the comforting aromas of wood smoke, stale beer, and fresh baked bread. The two fires on either side of the room had been recently stoked and the flickering flames had completely chased the chill from the large room. It felt good as the crisp fall air had been cold. They definitely needed coats and warm clothes if they were going to survive their journey to Tanwen.
“I’ll be right with you, sir,” a man called out from behind the bar. It was Borgan. Brant recognized his gray hair and his small unimposing posture. He was occupied lifting clay mugs to a shelf behind the bar. Brant approached with Tobias and Jana at his heels. They sat down just as Borgan turned around, his business-like façade cracking into a wide smile when he saw it was Brant.
“Greetings, Borgan, it is good to see you,” Brant said, returning his smile.
Borgan reached across the bar and they shook hands. “And to you. I was hoping I would see you again. There was quite a stir last year when ten Dygon Guards and Kulvar Rand himself showed up looking for you.”
“Well, he found me. I wanted to thank you for everything. You stood up for me at the trial when no one else would and Master Rand told me you had helped him find me. And in doing so you saved my life.”
“Saved your life? Really? I would like to hear that tale. But first, let us make proper introductions and procure some food and drink. Then we can talk. I have a little time before the crowd arrives.” Borgan looked at Jana and Tobias and smiled broadly. “I am Borgan and this is my tavern. Who might you two be?”
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