Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  Khamet forced a smile. “Thank you. I hope you’re right. Otherwise it might have been better that I died in that cage. Right now, I feel as if I’ve aged twenty years.”

  When they reached the other men, they found them in a state of complete panic. One groped at Akiri’s arm, his eyes pleading and his voice desperate.

  “We need to be home before nightfall… they are going to come, aren’t they? Tonight… They’re going to come for us. He won’t let us go, will he? You’ll stay, won’t you? You’ll protect us? Please. Don’t let him take me back.”

  Akiri wasn’t sure what to say to this shell of a man. He was here to kill Yarrow. And he would press on until he did. But he had not come to save villages. Of course, to do one, he might have to do the other. The truth of their situation was that he needed a place to form a plan, and the village was the most convenient.

  “Calm yourself,” said Akiri. “I will go to your village. And if Yarrow sends his demons, I will be there to fight them.”

  This seemed to calm them considerably. They crowded as near to Akiri as they could, as a child to a parent, their eyes darting back constantly. The spell that surrounded the fortress was again concealing it from sight, but Akiri could feel it out there. He could feel Yarrow’s presence bearing down on him. There was definite purpose to everything this dark magician did. It was one thing to contend with an adversary who possessed superior strength. Such a foe was often arrogant, and a clever warrior could use that. He could turn disadvantage into advantage and arise victorious. But Yarrow was not dim-witted or over-confident. And if he was truly the Yarrow spoken of in stories, he was ancient.

  “Never underestimate an old soldier,” Borlon had told him. “What they lack in strength, they more than make up for in guile.”

  They had been ordered to capture a deserter – an aging sergeant who had refused to raze a village filled mostly with women and children. A man named General Jarma had accused the village of sabotage and had ordered it destroyed and its people executed. The sergeant knew that the general only wanted revenge on a woman who lived there for rejecting his advances, and refused to carry it out.

  In the end, Borlon was proven correct. Although they did kill the old soldier, he took fifteen men, including two Dul’Buhar, with him to meet the ancestors.

  Akiri could very well be facing someone with both power and the experience and intelligence to outmaneuver him.

  They walked on in silence, winding between the hills until they reached the road that descended into the valley. By the time the rooftops of the village finally came into sight, the orange and purple of the clouds were heralding nightfall.

  “We need to hurry,” Khamet pressed, urging them to walk faster.

  Akiri lifted Seyla onto his shoulders. Fear drove the others to press their pace, despite their ragged condition. Even Rena was looking at the waning sun with trepidation.

  When they finally reached the outskirts of the village, Akiri took note that no one was in the street, all the doors were shut, and the shops and taverns were closed. Lanterns hanging on posts along the promenade meant to light the avenues were untouched. The aroma of smoke rose from the chimneys, and the soft glow of firelight could be seen inside the meager hovels.

  At once the gathering of prisoners spread out in all directions, presumably returning to their homes. Only a few bothered to thank Akiri, most so overwhelmed that they just burst into a staggered run, desperate to see their families. Soon, shouts of surprise and cries of joy carried down the various avenues as loved ones thought lost were welcomed home. He thought about Cammaric and the life he had chosen. Akiri had never had a home outside of the Dul’Buhar, and he had never been greeted with anything more than a respectful salute or a casual wave. What must that be like? he wondered, though not in an envious or sad way. Such strong attachments were difficult to imagine.

  A scolding rebuke called to him from Kyra. He had apparently let his thoughts stray, and she had heard them. Akiri chuckled. Maybe it wasn’t so difficult to imagine after all.

  Khamet led the way from one twisting street to the next, disappearing down an alley, forcing them to walk in single file. Eventually, they emerged onto a broad avenue, and after a few more turns, reached a small house with a forge built off to one side. Though not lavish by any means, it was well built and obviously dutifully maintained. A narrow porch spanned the front where two chairs had been placed on either side of a round table. A shed stood a few yards behind the forge along with an old stable where a sturdy-looking work horse was being kept. It began stomping and snorting in greeting as they neared the porch.

  “Welcome to my home,” said Khamet. “All I have is yours.”

  He approached the door and paused, taking a deep breath. He raised his hand, but the door flew open before he had a chance to knock. A woman stood just beyond the threshold, a stunned expression frozen on her face, her hair tied into a loose bun, and her dress stained with soot. Both stood in silence for a long moment. Then, as if a floodgate had been opened, she threw herself into Khamet’s arms. A small girl, younger even than Seyla from the look of her, ran out and latched on to his leg.

  “I knew you’d come back,” she said, weeping. She didn’t seem to notice his wretched state. Her joy was absolute. “I should have left when you said. I should have….”

  “Shh,” whispered Khamet. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault. I’m here now.”

  Khamet reached down and picked up his daughter. The three held one another for several minutes, as if afraid to let go, completely oblivious to the strangers waiting on the doorstep.

  Eventually, though, they pulled apart, and Khamet made the introductions. Khamet’s wife, Tisha, and his daughter, Lulan, greeted them with tear-filled eyes.

  Inside was simple, as one would expect: common yet sturdy furnishings, décor consisting mostly of various odds and ends saved over time, and a warm fire to keep out the cold. Khamet began to tell of how Akiri saved his life, but Tisha stopped him before more than two words were out of his mouth.

  As if she had just noticed his shabby appearance, she quickly told the others to make themselves comfortable and led her husband into a back room to get cleaned and dressed. Akiri and Rena took chairs near the hearth, while Seyla sat cross-legged on the floor. Lulan stood in a corner, eyeing them curiously.

  Khamet returned a short time later, looking a much different man. Though the dark circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks were still obvious, he looked as if life had been returned to his soul.

  Khamet joined them by the fire and sat his daughter on his lap. His wife brought a chair from the kitchen and took a seat as close to her husband as she could, gripping at his arm as if he might vanish should she let go. Khamet recounted his experience up until they exited the fortress, causing renewed tears to soak his wife’s face. When he was done, Tisha rose and took turns embracing Akiri and Rena, thanking them repeatedly through her sobs for saving her husband.

  “You should be proud of him,” said Akiri. “Khamet showed great courage. We may have released him from his prison, but had he not stayed behind, we would be dead.”

  Lulan gazed lovingly at her husband. “That’s my fellow. Best man in the village. Always has been.”

  Khamet took her hands and kissed them gently, tears now welling in his eyes. “I am who I am because of you.”

  His daughter poked at his ribs. “What about me?”

  Khamet burst into laughter. “Well, of course you too.”

  Akiri glanced over to the window. It was fully dark. “Do you own a blade?”

  Khamet tore himself away from the attention he was giving his family and looked to the window as well. “Yes.” He placed Lulan on the floor and retrieved a short sword from a battered chest in the corner. “We should get ready.”

  “Do you really think they will come here?” Seyla asked, the fear in his voice undisguised.

  Akiri wanted to offer him reassurances, but lying would not save him. And Seyla had been thro
ugh too much to be coddled. But how much could his young mind take? Thankfully, Rena intervened.

  “You’re safe with us,” she said. “No matter what happens, we won’t let anything hurt you.”

  “I’d feel safer if Kyra was here too,” he said.

  “She is,” Akiri promised. “She’s circling the village as we speak. Rest easy, boy.”

  Combined with Akiri’s presence, this seemed to satisfy Seyla.

  The growling of stomachs prompted Tisha to the kitchen. And when bowls of steaming hot broth were placed in front of them, they all ate greedily. Akiri could not remember when any of them last had a meal. Seyla ate ravenously, devouring the first bowl, licking it clean in a matter of moments.

  “Poor lad,” said Tisha, and gave him another. “A growing boy needs to eat.”

  Seyla thanked her through a mouthful of bread. Akiri only ate a single helping, not wanting the lethargy of too much food to slow him. Rena did likewise.

  Once the meal was done, Seyla curled up in front of the fire, warming himself. Akiri and the others sat nearby and watched the boy for a time. Soon his breathing was slow and even.

  “He’s asleep,” Khamet whispered, his own young daughter curled up in his lap and dozing.

  “We should get some rest, too,” Rena said. “We can sleep in turns.”

  Akiri nodded. “You sleep first.”

  “Wake me in three hours. Don’t be a hero and stay up all night.”

  Akiri cracked a smile. “I am many things. But I am not a hero.”

  She glanced over to the sleeping figure of Seyla. “He thinks you are.”

  “He’s a child.”

  “I don’t know,” she teased. “Rescuing a woman from a tower and a boy from monsters. And now you’re saving a village. Sounds like a hero to me.” When Akiri glowered, she laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Cheer up, Acharian. I’ve almost decided not to kill you when this is over. Almost.”

  Akiri raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? Then I suppose I should count myself lucky.”

  “Indeed you should.”

  He waited until Rena had settled near Seyla by the hearth before stepping outside onto the porch. Khamet and his family were sleeping in a rear bedroom, unwilling to part company even for a moment.

  He sat in one of the chairs and leaned it back against the wall, kicking his feet onto the railing. Kyra was still high above, circling, riding the updrafts, ever vigilant. She was not weary and could stay aloft for a long time still. This was good. Should the enemy come, her warning could prove the difference between life and death.

  He felt her inside his mind. It was comforting. Yarrow had been wrong – her companionship was all he would ever need. Hearth and home, wife and child; these were daydreams. In truth, what he really wanted was freedom for himself and for Kyra to find their own destiny. With her at his side, there was nothing that he could not accomplish. He felt the cold against his skin as though he was flying beside her. No simple life could ever match this. He had at times envied Cammaric. But he was coming to realize that it was not the life his sword brother had chosen that he envied, but the ability to be contented with such a simple existence.

  He considered that perhaps that was why the gods continued to meddle in his life; why they had chosen to take particular interest in him. Though he truly did desire simplicity, his actions told of a man yearning for greatness. Not fame or praise. But he felt that he needed to leave his mark on this world. Otherwise, what did it matter if you ever existed? Men like Khamet did so in small ways – they brought goodness into an otherwise bleak and cruel land. But Akiri was capable of much more. This was not arrogance. It was fact. No greater waste was potential squandered. Perhaps that was what had made him so very angry with Cammaric when he’d told him his desire to leave. But then, had he stayed, there would be no Seyla. And there lay the conundrum that Akiri could never resolve.

  For all he knew, Cammaric would have died in battle the day after he left. Or through some mistake in judgment, cost Acharian lives. Thinking about it made his head ache. Was this what the gods had that gave them power over the mortal world? The ability to see beyond the here and now, and untangle the web of circumstance?

  “Can she hear you?”

  Akiri hadn’t heard Rena come outside. Her eyes were turned skyward. The night was silent, yet he’d not even heard the door open and close. The woman could be preternaturally quiet when she wanted to be.

  “Kyra? Yes,” he said. “She can hear me.” He straightened and rubbed the back of his neck. “You should be resting.”

  “I did. It’s been three hours.”

  Akiri had been completely unaware of the passage of time. “I’m not tired. I can take another watch.”

  “Nonsense. You look like death. I need you strong, so no arguments.”

  As if her words held some charm or magic, he suddenly felt the fatigue soaking into his muscles. “As you command,” he said, with a half-smile. He pushed himself to his feet, his joints cracking with each movement.

  “Tell me, Acharian,” said Rena, just as he was about to open the door. “Why do you watch over the boy? Honestly.”

  “He is the son of my friend and sword brother,” Akiri replied. “It is the only thing I can do.”

  She regarded him for a moment, then smiled. “Typical Acharian. Blood and honor. That’s all you understand. Now get some rest.”

  Rena had left for him the blanket and pillow Khamet’s wife had provided. As he lay down, he thought back on the past few weeks. Nights spent sleeping in relative comfort had been few since he journeyed to the mountain. He remembered the tiny room in the monastery, the inn in the fishing village… apart from that, it had been naught but hardship and discomfort. He chastised himself for having such thoughts. A Dul’Buhar did not need a bed or a warm fire. Perhaps he was becoming soft; weak. The words of Borlon entered his mind once again: Even a stone changes with time. Was that it? Was he changing? If so, into who?

  You’ll change into a dead man if you don’t rest your muscles, he told himself.

  He pushed all thoughts from his mind and was soon asleep.

  THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He woke with an inexplicable sense of urgency and was on his feet a second before Rena flung the door open.

  “There’s something wrong,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  There was no shape to the anxiety inside him, but it was definitely Kyra’s. Danger, he realized, not panic. Nothing to suggest they were about to be overrun with more of the undead warriors. No, the danger wasn’t coming from outside the city; it was already within.

  Akiri joined Rena in the doorway and listened. “What did you hear?” he asked.

  “Footsteps. People running.”

  He couldn’t hear anything. On its own, that might not have been enough to convince Akiri that there was something amiss, but it had concerned Kyra enough to wake him.

  He heard Khamet’s footsteps on the wooden floorboard from the back of the house. He arrived a moment later, one hand fumbling to button his shirt, the other clutching his boots. “What’s happening?” he asked, as a dim shadow appeared out of the alleyway. It stepped forward into the light of Khamet’s house, revealing a short man, his face gaunt despite his girth, and covered with a sheen of sweat. Akiri recognized him as one of the men they had freed from Yarrow’s prison.

  “You have to hurry,” the man said. “You need to get out of here. Please. Go now. Before they come for you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Khamet demanded.

  “They think we’re going to become one of those… things; that we’re infected; that it’s somehow contagious.”

  “Speak sense,” said Akiri.

  His eyes darted to Akiri then back to Khamet. “They think he’s already killed us… that we’re sent by Yarrow. They’ve already killed two of us, and now they’re coming for the rest. You have to run.”

  “Who are they? Who did this?” Khamet a
sked.

  The man blurted out a list of names that, from his expression, were familiar.

  “Cowards, the lot of them,” Khamet spat. “Have you warned the others?”

  “I’ve tried,” the man said. “Some wouldn’t believe me; a few others started packing, ready to run. The rest are already gone. Dead, maybe. They mean to burn us in our houses if they have to. All I wanted was to come home. Why are they doing this?” He was in tears.

  “They’re frightened,” Akiri said. “Frightened people do stupid things.”

  “Which doesn’t help us,” Rena pointed out.

  “They’re barricading some of the streets. If you don’t get out now, they’ll have the whole place sealed off.” He looked at Akiri and Rena. “They’re convinced that you two are the source of the evil. They think that Yarrow sent you to steal their souls.”

  “This is madness,” Khamet said. “They saved our lives. What started this? Something must have set them off.”

  “Molly died.” There was no emotion in the words, just a clear statement of fact.

  “But she was already sick with a fever even before we were taken,” said Khamet. “Her husband’s return had nothing to do with it.”

  “They’re saying he took her soul. That the newcomers told him to do it. They’ve all gone insane, I tell you. Completely insane.”

  “We can’t stay here,” Akiri said. “Slaughtering villagers is not what I came to do.”

  Khamet took only a moment to consider their options, few as they were. “We can’t stay either,” he said. “Tell anyone who you can find to meet us on the east road by midnight. Those who are not there will be left behind.” The man nodded and hurried away as fast as his great girth would allow.

  They had no time to gather things together for their journey and no time for sentimentality in saying farewell to bricks and mortar. Khamet was clearly distraught, but moved quickly to organize his wife and daughter. Better to lose a home than their lives.

  Akiri was not pleased to be taking on a group of villagers with no means to protect themselves, but he could see no way out of it.