The Argument of Empires

by Jacob T. Helvey

  “Woodchips and NAPHTHA are two completely different things!”

  “You’re right. Naphtha has more therms, and is more portable to boot.”

  “That’s not the point!” Grith shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. “So our bodies burn the naphtha and turn it into what… energy? Are the other Delvers like this?”

  “Perhaps, but they keep it to themselves. There’s a reason there’s no formal school for training Delvers, at least not in the Empire. Everyone, every High Lord, even the Emperor himself, is competing for us. It’s best for everyone if we keep the extent of our abilities a secret. That way, if the day ever comes where you have to fight another of our kind, you can have a few tricks hidden up your sleeve.”

  Grith nodded. The sentiment made sense. You never let your opponent know the true extent of your abilities until it was too late. That had been his mistake when he had fought Tain back in Kuul. By killing Irrin’s guards, Tain had known the extent of Grith’s abilities before their blades had ever met. Grith had sworn to himself that it would never happen again.

  “The Delver we fought before,” he began. “The one who gave me this.” He motioned to his thigh. “You called her an Ignean.”

  “She can manipulate fire. Not like the pyromancers you hear about in stories, mind you, but nearly as dangerous. An Ignean can transfer heat into objects they touch, like the buildings in Erno, or the arrowhead she shot into your leg. They call it Infusion.”

  “Those arrowheads weren’t shot from a bow,” Grith said. “Or at least not any bow I’ve ever seen. She launched a dozen, all at once.”

  Tain raised an eyebrow. “Very observant. Their other ability is called Manipulation. It means an Ignean can move any object that they’ve heated using Infusion. The more heat the object has, the more easily it can be moved.”

  “Those arrowheads must have been as hot as the inside of a forge.” Grith gritted his teeth as he remembered the blinding pain shooting through his thigh. He looked down at his fingers, still raw from where he had pulled the red hot shard of metal from his leg.

  “I chased her through the fields outside town for half-an-hour,” said Tain. “When she ran out of arrowheads, she started throwing flaming branches at me.”

  “So how do you stop someone like that?” The ability seemed so powerful, especially in comparison to Grith’s own. It didn’t matter how fast and strong you were if you had a flaming piece of wood sticking from your chest.

  “A sword to the neck, for one,” Tain replied. He bit his lip and looked out towards the darkened sea beyond the harbor. His mind had clearly wandered elsewhere in the intervening moments. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?” Grith asked.

  “The Highlanders, the Ignean. None of it makes sense. Why would the Emperor’s own attack us?”

  “Maybe they weren’t Highlanders. Maybe they were just made to look like them. A tattoo and red hair aren’t that hard to fake. Hell, I saw one with skin as dark as mine.”

  “The Highlanders aren’t all Whitestoners. They’ll take any orphan child if the trainers think they can fight. How you can tell if an infant can fight, I don’t know, but they train them well. Those were Highlanders. I’d bet my life on it. No one moves or fights like them.”

  “Then what do we do?” Grith asked. He didn’t like all this talking, all this inaction. “At least Irrin has a plan, even if I don’t like where it’s taking us.”

  “And that’s the plan we have to follow. He is our High Lord after all.”

  Thirteen:

  Kareen

  The duel would happen soon. Xisa had said as much. The crowd was gathered, circling the same spot where less than an hour earlier, Chieftain Hura had sworn fealty to his new master. And the same spot where his son’s throat had been laid open at that same master’s hands. The ground still bore a red stain where the boy had bled his last. Livran will end up the same, some part of Kareen thought.

  No, she had to tell it. She had seen Livran fight, seen him kill a dozen Cutarans. She had to believe he could win, for her sake as well as his. She gave a quiet prayer to Tirrak, watching as it cycled through the heavens above. Please, Lord of All, guide Livran’s sword. Ensure it strikes true. She paused for a moment. And give him sense enough to not challenge Xisa when this is all over. She closed her eyes, sending the prayer to the heavens where she hoped it would be well received.

  Livran padded over. He carried his longsword in one hand, sheathed and looking far better than its owner. His thin dagger was already strapped at his belt and he’d taken his jacket off while he had been gone. The shirt beneath was soiled from days without washing, sweat-soaked and bloodstained.

  Livran stretched in silence, and finally, with a grin on his face, pulled the bandage free from around his head. The soiled cloth fell away, revealing a clean set of stitches that ran from just above his hairline and back to the crown of his head. He sighed. “It’s good to finally have that thing off. I swear, it felt like it was cooking my brain.” He pushed his hair over the wound and looked across the circle to where Xisa’s mate was preparing. He had donned his armor and now held a spear some fifteen feet in length. Anywhere else, it would have been called a pike, but somehow the weapon looked well-proportioned in the giant’s hands. Across his armored back, he carried an axe, its blade finished in bronze. In the hands of a Cutaran, it would be a brutal weapon indeed, perhaps even more so than the spear.

  “He’s so large,” Kareen said. “How tall is he? Eight feet?”

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s big but slow and probably not very skilled.” Livran gave a few practice parries with his sword still in its sheath. “You can be as tall and muscly as you want, but if you can’t tell a back-cut from a sweep, I can assure you, you’ll die all the same.”

  The crowd roared then, drowning out anything more Livran might have wanted to say. Xisa broke through the throng of men and women, carrying herself as she always did, with that confidant air of nonchalance. She walked over to where her mate was making his preparations and pulled off his helmet, revealing a bald and heavily scared head above a face that had more in common with an axe blade than any visage Kareen had ever seen. She kissed him then, the act both passionate and violent in intensity. The crowd roared as she rubbed herself against Jixxus, bare skin against cold bronze. Kareen only blushed.

  Livran didn’t seem to notice. He was kneeling. Praying perhaps? His lips moved soundlessly, and she realized with a start that it was not a prayer, but a song.

  “The Apple-cart Girl,” Kareen said, recognizing the tune. It was a folk song she had heard sung by many of the common children on her father’s estate during the autumn season.

  He finished the last word of the song and got to his feet. “I always sing it before a fight. I don’t know… it’s just always seemed to calm me.” He took a stance and drew his blade from it scabbard, throwing the construction of wood and leather to the ground and giving the sword a few more testing swings.

  “I’m ready,” he said. His eyes were fixed ahead, to where Jixxus was standing, stone faced, and ready for battle. Xisa had moved to the side, well clear of the ensuing combat.

  “I prayed for you,” Kareen told him. She didn’t know what to say to a man who was about to enter into a life and death engagement, but it seemed right somehow. Livran nodded and gave a smile, his eyes straying from Jixxus for the barest of moments.

  “Thank you,” was all he said.

  Xisa gave one shout and the crowd grew silent. All eyes were on Livran and Jixxus. Someone coughed. A bird cried high above. But as Xisa raised her hand, even the world outside the camp quietened at her unspoken command.

  Jixxus stepped forward, his armor clanking, his bare feet scraping across the hard packed earth. Livran followed suit, advancing until he was only a dozen paces from his opponent. The Cutaran placed his helmet on his head, hiding his face, co
mpleting his monstrous visage.

  They stared at each other for what felt to Kareen like an eternity. The world held its breath and then released it as Xisa mouthed a single word. She chopped down with her hand, and the two warriors, human and Cutaran alike, exploded into motion.

  Livran took a tight combat stance, his sword held back so that the flat of the blade touched his shoulder. Jixxus lowered his spear and thrust out. He could afford to be cautious with such a large weapon, and the thrust fell short. Livran beat the attack aside anyway, using his sword to gain leverage.

  Kareen thought the fight might be over then and there. If Livran could get inside Jixxus’ guard, he would be able to deliver a killing blow before the Cutaran could go for the axe across his back. But for some reason, Livran retreated, allowing Jixxus to recover and deliver another thrust.

  Was Livran toying with him? If he was, he was even more of a fool that Kareen had thought. This was not a matter of personal honor, this was a fight for survival. He had to remember that.

  Jixxus backed away, using the reach of his spear to give himself a moment to recover. Kareen realized now. That armor, cast of bronze and as thick as a cookpot, must have been crushing, even on the broad shoulders of a Cutaran. Livran was wearing him down, forcing Jixxus to fight on his terms.

  Livran pushed Jixxus back, parrying every thrust the man threw his way, and delivering attacks of his own, casual in order to conserve his strength. Under the late morning sun, Jixxus began to sweat heavily. Even from so far away, Kareen could see the sheen his skin had taken, the rivulets that cut their paths down his arms and legs.

  But a cornered man was a desperate one, and Jixxus showed that he still hadn’t given up the fight. He swept his spear around in an arc, using the great weapon’s length to drive Livran back before rushing forward, giving a bellowing war cry, and driving his spear forward with enough force to skewer a full grown ox. Kareen gasped, cringing back as the attack came.

  Livran didn’t flinch. He brought his sword around, grasping the blade with his off hand and pushing the blow to his right. Jixxus’ momentum carried him forward and into range of Livran. He pushed the shaft of the spear to the side and returned to a normal two-handed grip, delivering an upward slash to the Cutaran’s unprotected knee. The man cried out and rolled to the side, dropping his spear and reaching for his axe.

  Kareen gritted her teeth. This fight wasn’t over yet.

  Blood poured from the wound on Jixxus’ leg, but he managed to climb to his feet. Livran shook his head, either in anger or amazement at his opponent’s toughness.

  Jixxus growled and came forward, his stance tight and controlled. He was so different from the other Cutarans, as if he had been cut from different cloth. Kareen had seen the way the men and women who had attacked their baggage train had fought. They had been all speed and power and recklessness. Jixxus’ couldn’t be any more different. He was a good match for Xisa’s shrewdness.

  Livran backed up, humming to himself like some madman. Kareen thought he might be talking to himself, trying to form some strategy, but she recognized a tune in the mumbled words: again The Apple-cart Girl.

  He began to sing, his words clear and crisp in the silence.

  The Apple-cart Girl,

  She came a’walkin’,

  Came a’walkin’,

  Down the road.

  Jixxus seemed confused. He wasn’t the only one. Many of the Cutarans shared puzzled expressions. Kareen couldn’t imagine what they must be thinking—perhaps, that Livran had gone mad.

  The Apple-cart Girl,

  She came a’pullin’,

  Came a’pullin’,

  A heavy load.

  Jixxus took the end of the verse to attack, swinging his axe in a two hand grip. Livran parried two blows and ducked a third, stepping inside the man’s guard and giving a cut to his arm. Jixxus shouted and nearly dropped his weapon. He must have thought better of it, because he gave one last cut with his off hand. Livran darted sideways, humming all the while, and exploded, delivered a thrust to the Cutaran’s throat.

  The blade sank deep, going in several inches before it poked out the back of the warrior’s neck, just beside the spine. Jixxus gasped, dropping his weapon to paw at the blade, trying to yank the sword free, or perhaps to pull Livran close enough to get his meaty hands around the knight’s throat.

  But before he could grab the edges of the weapon, Livran pulled the blade free and let Jixxus fall, gasping, to the ground. Blood welled from beneath his fingers to pour onto the hard-packed ground. Kareen thought the man would die right there, but Tirrak had not seen fit to bless him with such a quick end.

  It took him nearly a minute of gasping, gurgling agony before he finally stilled. Kareen could only look on in horror. No one had come to lend their aid, even if that aid took the form of a knife to speed along his passing. Livran looked on, stone faced, and Xisa? The woman remained still, watching with eyes alight with a cold fire.

  This was her mate, the closest thing to a husband the Cutarans had. And yet she didn’t cry, didn’t shout, didn’t rage and curse Livran’s name. She simply stood there, her anger checked, watching her companion bleed his life onto the ground before her.

  There was no cheering, no booing, not even a whisper from the crowd. Livran breathed heavily, backing away to where Kareen stood. Xisa stepped forward, rolling her shoulders and flaring out her bare chest. Her steps were careful and quiet as she walked over to kneel next to Jixxus. She placed a hand on his face and whispered something, perhaps a prayer to whatever spirits or gods her people worshiped. She turned and rose to her full height, her attention firmly focused on the two humans before her. Kareen made to back away, afraid that they might finally face the wrath of the chieftain in full. Could they really trust her to keep her promise, of freeing them, after what Livran had just done?

  She stopped a dozen paces away and crossed her arms. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the sound sonorous, like wind passing through a tunnel. “You are free to go,” she said. “You have complied with our laws and traditions and… defeated my champion.” The words seemed to cause her pain with each enunciated syllable. Kareen realized with a start that Xisa was barely holding herself back. With the slightest provocation she knew, the woman would snap.

  “Thank you,” Kareen said. She gave a slight bow, and put her hand on Livran’s shoulder. “We’ll just grab our things…”

  Livran fixed Xisa with eyes that brimmed with hate. Kareen had only seen such rage from the man once before, upon discovering that his men had been beaten to death. “We should go-” she began.

  “I should kill you,” Livran growled. “Just like I did your mate.”

  “Livran…”

  He shrugged off her hand and stared down the chieftain. “I could end this war right here and have my revenge both.”

  End this war? Dammit! The man was talking himself into another duel, trying desperately to rationalize his actions. He was going to get himself killed, and likely Kareen in the process. If Livran died fighting Xisa, she had little doubt of her own fate.

  “Careful now,” Xisa growled through gritted teeth. “You just might get your wish.” She unfurled her arms and let her hand pass over the hilt of her sword.

  “Give us Tason,” Kareen said. “And we will leave in peace.” She hoped that the reminder of his duty to the blacksmith would calm Livran’s burning heart.

  “That wasn’t part of the deal. You parlayed for your own lives, not his.”

  “You bitch!” Livran shouted. “He is one of my men!”

  “And my prisoner. Unless you want to get him out here to fight a duel against one of my warriors, I would suggest you remain silent and take my kind offer while you still can.” Xisa turned. “You have until halflight to be gone from this camp.”

  Livran held his sword in a white knuckled grip. Tears rolled down his face.

  �
��Xisa!” He yelled at the woman’s back. She turned for the slightest of moments, her eyes brimming with tears. “Sheene es plisse!”

  Xisa whirled on her heel, so quickly that the motion only registered as a blur to Kareen’s eyes. She ripped her sword from its sheath in a single smooth motion, turning the spin into a swing. Livran moved to parry the blow, deflecting it high and pushing Kareen back in the same motion.

  Kareen screamed as she fell, the whole moment seeming to pass in slow motion. Livran pushed forward, swinging his blade to hit Xisa in the thigh. She took the strike, letting it slide across her skin, leaving only a shallow gash. Livran’s eyes went wide with surprised at the impotence of his attack.

  The chieftain countered with a single devastating blow. It came down like the force of a god, smashing into Livran’s shoulder, crushing the collarbone, and several ribs before coming to rest somewhere in the middle of his chest.

  Livran let out a single groan and fell backward, his ruined body slipping from the tip of Xisa’s sword to fall to the ground. His eyes rolled, conscience and still comprehending his fate. They settled on Kareen, pleading, half-mad in their fear.

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even scream. Half of her wanted to go to his side, to cradle him in her arms. The other half wanted to run, to get as far away from the exposed bones and slick brown organs as she could.

  The latter half won. She turned away from Livran’s gaze—that pleading gaze—and ran. She sprinted through the camp, tears stinging her eyes and blinding her to the obstacles in her path. By some miracle she broke free, heading, heading…

  She didn’t care. She just wanted to get away, as far away as she could.

  Xisa be damned!

  Corros be damned!

  Hadan be damned!

  TIRRAK BE DAMNED!!!

  She ran until her legs gave out and her heart felt as if it would rip itself from her chest. Then she walked. She walked until her legs gave out. Then she crawled.