Kulvar Rand looked at Brant, his face unreadable. Then he turned to Tangar. “Thank you. I shall see you at the festivities tonight.”
Tangar grunted, turned, and left the bilt.
Kulvar sat on the opposite side of the fire, facing Brant. “It is good to see you, boy.” Kulvar Rand had switched to Newain, hoping that Gar’gon did not speak it well.
Brant smiled wanly. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Brant sighed and began the story. It didn’t take him long and when he got to the part about his sentencing, Kulvar frowned. “What is it?” Brant asked, seeing his expression.
“I’ve met that magistrate before. He did not impress me, nor did his son.”
“Well, your instincts were right. He sentenced me to a year with the Schulgs.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but my guess is nearly two years.”
Kulvar Rand sighed. “I wish I would have known of this earlier. Technically, your sentence is over and you should be free to go.”
Brant sat up. “You mean I can leave?”
Kulvar Rand was shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. They will never let Dy’ainian law supersede tribal law. In their eyes, you are their slave.”
“What am I to do? I cannot fight the Varga. He is my friend.”
Kulvar Rand looked over at Gar’gon who was sitting on the far side of the bilt preparing the green drink that Brant consumed daily. He was paying them little attention. Kulvar nodded toward him, whispering softly. “Does he speak Newain?”
Brant shook his head. “Very little.”
“I might have an idea. I’m afraid it’s the best I can do considering the circumstances.”
“What is it?” Brant asked eagerly.
Kulvar Rand reached into a pouch hanging from his belt and produced a small vile. “This is Nuru Oil,” Kulvar whispered, afraid that Gar’gon might recognize the word. “The Schulg use it when they hunt. It’s a poison.” He looked back at Gar’gon who was busy preparing the drink. He gave the two an occasional glance, but didn’t seem to suspect anything. When the nomad turned his back to reach for a mug for Brant’s drink, Kulvar used the opportunity to toss him the vile. He caught it and quickly tucked it into his pants.
“How did you get it?” Brant whispered.
“It is readily available here. I bought some on my way to see you. Thought it might prove useful.”
Brant thought about it for a moment. If he could poison Gar’gon, then maybe he could escape. But the hounds were still a problem. What if he could poison the hounds? That was the best idea. If he could do that, he reasoned that he could kill Gar’gon and escape. “I will see what I can do. Thank you for this. Whether I make it or not, I appreciate your help.”
“If you do make it out of here in one piece, try to find me. I could use a man who survived the pits and became Ull Therm.”
“I will.”
Kulvar got up to leave. “And Brant, remember, if you use the Way tomorrow the two nobles with me will know.”
Brant had forgotten about that. But what choice did he have? If he did have to fight Uln tomorrow, there was no way he could beat him without the Way. “If I have to fight, then I will have to take that chance. I cannot beat Uln without the Way.”
“Then let us hope you escape. Good luck tomorrow, Brant.” Kulvar turned and spoke in Schulg to Gar’gon. “I’m leaving now.”
Gar’gon moved towards him. “Follow me. Don’t want hounds to attack.”
Kulvar looked at Brant one more time before he spun on his heels and followed the nomad out the door.
Brant was thinking frantically. How would he get the poison into the hound’s food? Usually Gar’gon fed them after they had all eaten, and he knew that it was almost time for their meal. The hounds were large and they required a lot of food. Typically they were given the less than savory pieces of meat, entrails, fat, skin, and bones, along with whatever other scraps remained from their meals. There was plenty of left over scraps in the village, as well as fresh game from the hunters that Tangar paid to provide more meat.
Gar’gon came back inside and Brant noticed that he was throwing the fat and bones from the soup into a big wooden bowl. Then he came over to Brant. “Chain you to stone. Need to get scraps,” he said. There was a huge stone in the corner of the room, near his bed, where he was chained at night, or when he was left alone. He reached down and grabbed the chain linking Brant’s hands together, jerking him up hard. Brant had a sudden idea and he acted quickly. He surged aura energy into his right leg and rammed it with all his strength into the nomad’s groin. Gar’gon was hit so hard that his heavy body was lifted from the ground. He groaned in pain and keeled over, and Brant, not wanting him to scream out, quickly wrapped the chain around his neck and propelled himself forward, spinning to the nomad’s back and lifting him off the ground as if he were a sack of grain. Brant leaned forward, the weight of the Schulg on his back, and lifted him up off the ground. Gar’gon continued to struggle, gasping and gurgling as he tried desperately to breathe, but Brant pushed aura energy into his arms, constricting the chain ever tighter until finally Brant heard a snap and felt the nomad’s body go limp.
Dropping the body to the floor he quickly searched for the keys to his shackles. He found them easily, attached to the chain clipped to Gar’gon’s belt. He quickly unlocked his shackles, then ran to the hounds’ food bowl, filling it with more scraps that he found. There was some dried meat and beans left over from their mid-day meal. Throwing everything into the big bowl, he withdrew the poison from his pants and dumped the entire contents of the vile into it.
He paused for a moment, took a deep breath to settle his nerves, and carried the heavy bowl to the bilt’s opening. He placed the bowl on the ground and slowly pushed it forward. Once the bowl touched the flap, Brant heard the hounds growl. He kept pushing, using the weight of the bowl to nudge open the leather flap covering the entrance. Once the flap was open, Brant shoved the bowl harder, trying to get it beyond the flap so it would quickly close.
A few heartbeats later and Brant could clearly hear the dogs fighting over the scraps. The problem was Brant had no idea how long it would take for the poison to take effect. He ran over to the weapons rack and grabbed a sword and knife. The oswith was there but it was cumbersome to carry as the two blades made it awkward to sheath in any way. Next, he grabbed Gar’gon’s coat and hat, and put them on. He tucked the knife and sword into his belt and ran back to the entrance, listening for any telltale sounds coming from the hounds. They were still eating.
He went to the tables where the meals were prepared and grabbed a small bag, filling it with any remaining food he could find. There were a handful of urbas, the small fruit that he ate before his fights, along with some stale bread and goat cheese. He stuffed the sack full and ran back to the entrance, listening intently. He didn’t hear anything.
Drawing his sword, he used the tip to nudge open the flap. It was now dark outside and he could barely see a thing. But he didn’t hear the hounds, and that was encouraging. Slowly, he emerged from the opening. There were a number of torches illuminating the paths between the many bilts in the village, shedding just enough light for Brant to see two of the hounds lying still on the ground. But where was the third?
His question was answered when a massive form shot from the darkness and struck Brant in the chest, the heavy fur covered body knocking him to his back. Instantly he felt claws tear into his flesh. Instinctively he lifted his arms in front of his face to shield it from the creature’s jaws. Luckily the hound’s jaws found only his left arm as they snapped down on it, ripping and tearing his coat and the flesh underneath. The hound was so strong and heavy that Brant could barely move. As if his life depended on it, which it did, he surged a massive amount of energy into his right fist and slammed it repeatedly into the hound’s head. The third blow, delivered with as much power as he could
muster, knocked the beast sideways, catapulting its body across the dirt. Brant scurried to his feet, looking quickly for the sword that had been knocked from his hand.
The hound had quickly regained its footing, but then suddenly faltered. It stumbled briefly as if it were drunk, then collapsed to the ground where it lay rigid and still. The poison must have finally worked. Brant frantically looked about, hoping the commotion hadn’t attracted any attention. He didn’t see anyone about. There was eating and drinking at the pit where the fights were to take place and Brant figured everyone was there as they celebrated the fights to come.
He quickly inspected his wounds. Luckily the nomad’s heavy leather coat had protected him from most of the hound’s claws. His left sleeve was shredded and his arm was bleeding but he didn’t have time to inspect it further. Blood stained his leggings where the hound’s claws had torn through the cloth and found his flesh. The wounds stung but did not seem serious. Besides, he had just spent over a year fighting bouts to the death, and the numerous wounds he had suffered were testament to violent life he had been forced to live. He had certainly suffered worse injuries. Ignoring the pain he found his sword and sheathed it, picking up the bag of food and slinging it over his shoulder.
In the darkness he hoped he would look like any other nomad. So he simply walked the paths that meandered through the various bilts, passing a few people as they sat at their fires eating and drinking. Several nervous moments later he found himself hiding in the darkness behind a rock, looking at the shadowed bilt where he thought Uln had been confined. Two torches were stuck into the ground, their flickering flames illuminating the entrance. Seeing no one about Brant ran over to the entrance. He didn’t really have a plan. But how could he? He had acted quickly when Kulvar Rand had given him an option, and now he was just making it up as he went.
Brant drew his sword, took a deep breath, sent some aura energy into his body, and pushed through the tent flap. He scanned the room quickly, his eyes darting around the interior. The bilt had been erected next to a rock face, most of which formed the back wall of the structure. Uln was sitting against the rock, a heavy chain securing him to the unmovable stone. A man and a woman sat at a fire in the middle of the room. Brant had no idea who they were, but he attacked without thought, knowing that to do otherwise would allow them to cry out for help.
Before the couple could take a breath, Brant had reached them, attacking the man first as he stood and attempted to reach for his sword. Brant’s sword flashed twice, cutting the startled man across the chest, the second swing slicing through his neck. The woman started to scream, but it only lasted a second as Brant reversed the direction of his sword arm and slammed the pommel of the blade against her head. She fell like a bag of rocks.
Brant ran to Uln who was now standing. “Where are the keys?”
“The man,” Uln said.
He ran to the dead man and searched his body, finding the keys attached to his belt. Quickly he unlocked Uln. “Let’s go. Grab a weapon. We need to start running.”
Uln didn’t hesitate. He grabbed an axe from against the wall and followed Brant out of the bilt. The area around the bilt seemed empty. The chief’s bilt, where they now stood, was on a raised hill and they could easily see the party going on down by the arena. “Looks like everyone there,” Uln said.
“That is good. Let’s go.” Brant had no idea where they were going. He just knew that they had to escape into the night. They had to get as much distance between them and the village as possible. After that they could worry about where they were going.
Turning, they ran into the night, heading in the opposite direction of the arena, leaving an uncertain destiny behind.
7
Chapter
I’ve often wondered if there are others in our world with inherent powers like the Way. We know the Saricons have a similar ability called the Fury. But we had no knowledge even of them before several cyns ago. What other people’s exist in our vast world with similar abilities? It seems feasible that others may possess some type of power that we have yet to see. It seems rather arrogant to assume that only one’s own people would possess such powers. If such abilities are indeed given to us by Argon and Felina, why would they not also give them to others they created? But it seems that the question that eludes us is where did these powers come from? Did Argon and Felina forge the world? If not, who did, and why are we here? Where did these special abilities come from and why do only some possess them? I have not traveled as far north as Palatone, nor have I crossed the Varos Mountains. What wonders await us there? What types of people populate those lands? Would they too have been gifted with some strange power? There are so many questions, but alas I do not have enough lifetimes to search for all the answers.
Journal entry 54
Kivalla Der’une, Historian, Keeper of the records in Cythera, capital of Dy’ain
* * *
5090, the 14th cyn after the Great Change; present time
Six people sat around Daricon’s table in his study. Maps and ledgers littered the table before them and Jarak stood in front of his chair leaning over the table to get a better look at the map. Serix, Daricon, Captain Hagen, Colonel Lorth, and a new captain, Endler Ral from Cythera, sat around the table discussing recent military matters. The young captain was a nobleman from Cythera and a skilled Channeler. He had worked with Serix during several battle campaigns and had been requested by Daricon to come to Lyone several weeks earlier. No matter what decisions they made this day, war was inevitable. For Serix and Jarak to be affective, they needed a Channeler. Endler Ral’s father was a minor nobleman. House Ral made most of their income on trade and controlled over ten merchant vessels that sailed the Dark Sea all the way to YaLara and back. Jarak liked the warrior immediately. He was optimistic and he brought new energy to their discussions.
“So what do we know?” Daricon asked the men.
“It seems that Jarak was right,” Serix replied, “I believe they will be splitting their forces. Our spies have indicated heavy troop movements to the east.”
“It makes sense,” Colonel Lorth added. “It is so simple, which is perhaps why it hadn’t occurred to us. We needed a new perspective,” he said, nodding toward Jarak. “But we still have the same problem. What do we do in response?”
“The real question is how many men will they leave here to attack the garrison?” Jarak asked, as he studied the maps.
“The Saricons must know our numbers and will send a large enough force to defeat us,” Captain Hagen said.
“But surely we can hold them off with fewer numbers. Our walls are strong and when the drawbridge is up there is no way to cross the river,” Captain Ral said.
“The way I see it is we have only three choices,” Daricon said as he stood up and moved by the roaring fire. “We stay and defend our walls to the last man, we retreat to Cythera, giving up the garrison and allowing the Saricons into our lands so that we may face them at the capital, or we stay and fight, killing as many Saricons as we can before retreating to Cythera.”
Jarak sighed, not liking any of the choices. Everyone was now looking at him. Over the last few months he had noticed the men, and the officers, including Daricon, were treating him differently. He had been at the garrison for over a year, and slowly he had changed, gaining confidence, and earning the trust of his men in the process. He still had a long ways to go, but it was a start. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for it, but it was clear that they were looking to him to help provide an answer to their predicament. “I would rather spill Saricon blood on these walls than give them up to the enemy without a fight. Let us fight, and when the time comes that our defeat looks imminent, we shall retreat to Cythera where we will fight again.”
The others nodded in agreement. “I agree, my Prince,” Daricon said, moving back to the table. “Now, let us get some sleep. We have much work to do tomorrow to prepare for a siege.”
Everyone stood up, said their good nights, and moved to le
ave.
“Captain Hagen, may I have a word please?” Jarak asked, forcing himself to remain calm. It had been several weeks since their attack on the road. He had promised Cat that he would talk with her father and he could avoid it no longer. Captain Hagen had been furious with her, not only because of the risks she took but because she had forged his signature. But he could not deny that she had saved Prince Jarak’s life. Nonetheless, Jarak knew that the conversation he was about to have would not be easy.
“Of course, my Prince,” Captain Hagen said, remaining seated. He looked slightly suspicious, as if he knew what was to come. Daricon, curious, moved back to the table and took his seat. It was his study after all and he had no intention of leaving his private rooms.
Jarak reached out and poured the captain and Daricon some more wine, refilling his own goblet in the process. He drained nearly a third of his goblet before proceeding. “I want to talk with you about Cat.” Captain Hagen frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “As you know she wants to join the Legion. She is very skilled with a sword, and she saved my life. I must be honest with you and tell you that I feel obligated to grant her wish. It is the least I can do to honor her actions.” Jarak had worked on his words for many nights, trying to figure out how best to appeal to the captain. He hoped that Captain Hagen would respond more positively to a request laced with words such as honor and service.
Captain Hagen did not respond immediately and Jarak looked at his uncle for support. Daricon leaned back in his chair and drank calmly from his cup, a slight nod showing his approval.
“My Prince,” Captain Hagen began. “You do not have a daughter so I cannot pretend that you would understand. I have seen the atrocities of battle and my heart breaks in half every time I imagine my girl, her body broken and cut, sprawled across the muddy ground. Can you not understand why I would not wish it on her?”
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 24
