For now his focus was on the building tension between Dorl and Rekka.
Dorl Theed was many things. A compassionate, thinking Man was not among them. He fought for the highest bidder. Drank until the floor rushed up to slap him in the face. Slept with any woman willing to take his coin. He did it all without emotions, for they often served to get one in his profession killed before his time. He wasn’t a bad person, but didn’t quite think he fell in the good category either. Dorl had been created by his environment. No one could fault him for that, not even the high and mighty wizard-son.
He took a seat on one of the charred wood stumps. His eyes never left Rekka. Conflicting thoughts played havoc with him. No matter how many times he thought he reached the appropriate conclusion to the dilemma in his mind a new wave of possibilities arose to taunt him. Life was simpler getting paid to fight. Dorl had seen many things in his young life. Experienced many unusual sensations, but love was the damnedest of them all.
He wanted to ask her about her relationship with Cashi. If there even was one. Normally it wouldn’t have bothered him. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe she’d never been with another man. After all, he’d slept with his share of women through the years. That’s how life was. What she did before they met aboard the Bane was her business and held no bearing on their relationship. The ridiculousness of any jealousy was laughable. So why was he feeling it?
The answer wasn’t as complicated as he wanted it to be. Of all the scenarios that could have played out it was Rekka bringing up their relationship that startled him. She’d talked so little of her life in Teng that he thought it wasn’t much at all. Her life began and ended in Trennaron with some demented old mystic that should have passed on to the next world long ago. Clearly Dorl deluded himself. Rekka remembered much more of her village than she was willing to share. That unintentional deception gnawed at him. He found doubt where, realistically, none should be.
“You should speak your mind, Dorl Theed,” she whispered, taking a seat on the log beside him.
Dorl resisted the urge to shrug her away. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Yes you do.”
He let out a slow, painful breath. “Who is Cashi Dam?”
She nodded, the gesture so minute he almost missed it. “He was to be my husband before I was accepted to go to Trennaron.”
“Husband?” he blurted out.
“Do not let your imagination get the better of your common sense. The youth in Teng are betrothed before they can even speak. It is an old tradition.” She felt silent, allowing him time to process what she’d said. Only when incomprehension lingered in his eyes did she add, “I did not love him, Dorl. Our incompatibility led to my being chosen to serve the Guardian.”
Cashi returned before Dorl could respond. His face was stern. Conflicting emotions roiled dangerously in his dark eyes. “Come. The dream masters will speak with you.”
They rose to follow before Cashi stopped them in place. “Only the wizard. The rest of you will stay here until it is deemed safe to have you in Teng.”
Even Rekka seemed stunned as the warrior and wizard strode off, leaving behind a group of disgruntled companions.
FIFTEEN
Teng
Bahr paced the small area, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His face was twisted in concern as he tried to figure a way out of their situation. Worse, the mistrust between the Anienam and the others was growing. As much as he wanted to intervene and smooth the matter away, Bahr knew he was next to powerless. He couldn’t change opinions, especially if they were based on previous prejudices.
Flashbacks from his meeting with the Old Mother in Fedro distracted him. She provided pertinent information while sprinkling portents of destruction. He shared this with no one. Bahr’s eyes drifted to Maleela. The soft, innocent girl he’d grown to love was gone, replaced with a hard, bitter shell of a woman who’d seen too much bloodshed over the course of a few months. His heart broke for her. She deserved better. A better father. A better family. A better life with the one she loved. Only he’d been hired to steal her away from that love under false pretenses. Yet another crime for Badron to answer to.
Armed guards watched them from afar. What appeared no more than casual interest didn’t fool Bahr. They were being watched, scrutinized for any minor action that would give their captors an excuse to attack. His hopes of Rekka intervening were dashed by the cold reception she’d been given. Whatever had happened between Cashi and Rekka was bleeding over into his group. She seemed despondent to all conversation. We all bear great weights. Hers must be twice as much.
“We should do something,” Boen said, passing him a half empty canteen. “Sitting like friendly prisoners doesn’t go well with me.”
“What would you have me do? We’re outnumbered, all but lost, and in desperate need of resupply. Even if we managed to escape we’d be devoured by this jungle,” Bahr retorted.
“If we kill enough of them we won’t need to run. I’m no pirate but we can take this village over and push on. We’re wasting valuable time.”
“Is there ever a time when you don’t think about fighting?” Bahr asked, harsher than he intended. Frustrations were clouding his judgment. He was tired. Normal thought processes, once clear and concise, were distorted, rendering him ineffective.
If Boen took offense he didn’t show it. “I’m Gaimosian. I was born to fight. It is the curse of my people.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that your entire race was created for the sole purpose of combat,” Bahr said, rolling his eyes. He threw up his hands and sat down.
Boen clenched his fist. “Gaimos was once the jewel of the west. Never was there a more beautiful kingdom. My people grew wealthy off natural resources, gold, and gemstones. They crafted great weapons prized across Malweir. Kings sought out our craftsmen with great competition. It is said we rivaled the skill of the Dwarves.”
“No one rivals a Dwarf when it comes to shaping steel,” Ironfoot growled as he chewed on a dried piece of deer.
Boen waved him off. “It was inevitable that my people turned to the art of war. Why not? Crafting a weapon was one thing, but what was a sword compared to the razor-hardened edge of trained warrior? Nothing. Warfare became an art form. Great companies of mercenaries were hired by every kingdom. Gaimos grew in power. But what proved to be a boon also became a curse. Petty kings became jealous. They feared for their kingdoms while secretly coveting what the Gaimosians had built.”
He paused to spit the anger filling his mouth. “A combined army of several kingdoms turned on Gaimos and razed it to the ground. Every city, town, and village was wiped from the face of the world without pause. What survived of the population was scattered to the four corners of Malweir. They vowed never to rebuild their home. Never to give in to the pettiness of organized civilization for it could only lead to evil. Thousands of years later we continue to fight, in small groups or individuals, but never as an army. The fear of total loss remains much too strong to ignore. So when you ask me if all I think of is fighting my answer is yes. I dream of the day when all of the kingdoms responsible for robbing me of my heritage are laid low. Perhaps then Gaimos will rebuild and my people can have a place to call home.”
“A grand dream but realistically no more than fantasy,” Bahr replied. “How many thousands of years have passed since the fall of Gaimos? Mankind has short memories except when it comes to dealing with those that caused grievous harm. Look at the Mages. It’s been centuries and Anienam would be lynched if he walked into the wrong kingdom.”
Boen jabbed an angry finger at Bahr. “Mark my words, Gaimos will be rebuilt. There are thousands of us scattered across the world. Our time will come again, Sea Wolf.”
“Sometimes even the basest of dreams is enough to keep us warm at night,” Rekka said without looking up from the muddy ground. Her eyes were glossed over, locked in doubt.
Dorl, reluctantly, rose and went to sit beside her. He still carried wounds i
n his heart for reasons he wasn’t ready to explain. That didn’t stop him from realizing the foolishness of his actions. Whatever demons plagued his subconscious weren’t to blame for Rekka’s revelations upon being captured. He fondly thought back to their first proper meeting. She’d nearly taken his head off thinking he was the killer aboard the Dragon’s Bane. It felt like years ago but in truth was a handful of months.
Most of his previous life was forgotten. The easygoing lifestyle meant little now that he had become enmeshed in a much greater world than any he could have imagined. Working petty jobs for a minor noble meant nothing compared to the world-changing severity of what he and the others set out to accomplish. He wrapped an arm around Rekka and pulled her close. She responded by resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.
“Dreams are often insubstantial. I cannot live off of dreams,” Boen replied, his tone less severe. “I will always hold hope that Gaimos will rise again, but do not live my life by it. I am a Vengeance Knight. Battle is my life. I fight. I kill and I live. What more is there?”
Bahr ran a hand over his white hair. “Love. Family. Peace and the opportunity to live out your days without strife. All I ever wanted was a rocking chair and a porch to watch the last years of my life pass by. I’ve spent decades roaming the world. Pirating on occasion. Fighting when I needed to. Harnin stole that from me.”
“You see, Bahr. We are too alike to know anything else. Men like us weren’t made to live ordinary lives,” Boen admitted. “Our deeds are what historians will recall when the ashes settle.”
Groge, much taller than them even while sitting cross-legged, blinked as he shifted focus between the two. Their world seemed so foreign. He’d never experienced violence on such grand levels. It disturbed him deeply, leaving a rot inside his soul. Killing was a plague his kind didn’t endorse or participate in. It wasn’t always so. Giants once were counted among the fiercest of races in Malweir. Foresight and the overwhelming burden of guilt drove them up to the highest mountaintops where they abandoned their weapons and began their pursuit of higher purpose. Groge was the product of centuries of pacifism.
Boen was an enigma. One he couldn’t crack by watching him in action. Groge only reluctantly participated in the skirmishes they’d had since leaving Venheim. Survival was an instinct a lifetime of pacifism couldn’t alter. Bahr, on the other hand, was a sad figure in desperate need of consoling. None in the group seemed to have the insight to offer what the sea captain needed.
Cashi marched back to them. His spear hung horizontally in a relaxed grip. The look on his face was a mixture of fury and regret. “The dream masters give you leave to enter Teng. But make no moves to betray their trust. My archers stand ready to take you down without notice.”
Bahr rushed to speak before the others let their emotions interfere. “We will obey their orders, Cashi Dam. Where is Anienam Keiss?”
“He remains with the dream masters,” Cashi replied gruffly. He clearly wasn’t pleased with the decision to allow outlanders free reign in his village and took it as a personal affront to his honor. Yet even as he spoke he glared at Rekka. Bad memories filled his mind. She rapidly became the object of his hostility.
Bahr caught the look and moved to keep something from happening. “Will it be possible to resupply before leaving? We were in a shipwre…”
“All will be taken care of. You will have what you need and be gone before the next sunset. I will send one of my warriors to assist you.” Cashi dismissed them without so much as a nod and stormed back into the village.
Rekka’s eyes never left him, even after he disappeared around the corner of a hut.
Nothol set down a sack of rice and wiped the sweat from his face with an old rag. He fought off a yawn and went for another. He’d always liked hard work, using it to define his moral standards. Life had been good, better than a Man like he deserved. Born to a middle class merchant family, Nothol quickly grasped mathematics and logistics. Working in the warehouse was fine but he felt empty at times. He needed more than what the mundane life of trading and factoring could deliver.
He secretly began exercising. Going so far as to hire a tutor in the arts of sword fighting and self-defense. Nothol’s skill quickly grew to the point where he didn’t need a tutor anymore. He began heading out to taverns and inns in search of odd jobs. The wait was short. A wealthy benefactor approached him with beguiling words and the promise of riches beyond his dreams. Young and inexperienced, Nothol eagerly accepted the job.
On the surface it sounded easy enough. Break into a warehouse and retrieve an item of great value that had been stolen. He wasn’t working alone. Another sell sword met him outside the tavern. His employer introduced the roguish Man as Dorl Theed. Nothol shook hands and began what would turn into a lasting friendship.
He smiled at the memory while trying to forget what had happened after. His employer didn’t bother to tell him that he had to break into his father’s warehouse and steal an item that rightfully belonged to Nothol’s father. The resulting fire and pair of dead guards forced him to flee Chadra. Word traveled quickly and he was banished from his home. The world his father carefully constructed for him, heir to an empire, shattered around him. He was broke, homeless, and wanted by the law. Fortune hadn’t smiled on him since. The only saving grace stemmed from his friendship with Dorl Theed. Making what he had to do next more difficult than he had hoped.
Waiting until Dorl arrived with his own sack of what looked like red potatoes, Nothol offered his rag and waited for his friend to catch his breath. “Have you ever imagined so much humidity?”
Dorl shook his head. “No. This almost makes me miss the winter. How can a land like this exist?”
“I don’t know but it makes me want to know what else is out there that we haven’t experienced yet,” Nothol replied. Their passing along the fringes of the Jebel Desert offered rare glimpses into a sun-blasted, golden world completely opposite of the dense forests and snow-covered mountains in the north. Now the jungle continued to open his eyes in amazement. A sudden desire to continue traveling took life and began to mature.
“I’ve seen enough. I don’t know about you but I want to go home, Nothol. This isn’t what we signed up for,” he said too quickly for Nothol’s comfort.
Tired of the same discussion, he decided to get to the point. “Is everything all right between you and Rekka? You’ve been acting strange ever since we ran into Cashi.”
“What do you think?” Dorl replied bitterly. “You’re my best friend and all, but there are some things I need to work out on my own. I don’t need anyone getting involved in this one.”
Nothol frowned. “Stubbornness will bring you down, Dorl. This isn’t the time to try and go it alone.”
Dorl opened and closed his mouth. His initial reply died on his tongue. Instead, he managed to clear his head and think before speaking. “Nothol, I appreciate your friendship. You’ve helped me through a lot of dark situations. Saying this isn’t easy for me, but I need to do this alone. You can’t help.”
The bigger sell sword spread his arms with a grin. “I had to offer. You’re my best friend. If it hadn’t been for your generosity I would have died in a jail cell. Just know that I have your back whenever you need it.”
“Thank you.” Dorl was humbled. Their normally unspoken bond of friendship had never been tested to the limits at which this quest was straining it. It felt good to know how much he could depend on the Man responsible for his life on too many occasions.
“Anytime.” Nothol snatched his rag back and went for another sack. There was still much work to be done and time was running out.
The villagers seemed insistent that they leave immediately following sunrise. Few, if any, in the group saw the need for such haste considering the duration of their quest thus far. Anienam droned about time escaping but it meant little to any of them. Whatever secrets he decided to keep were only harming the importance of their task. Men didn’t expend full effort when the
ir benefactor was reluctant to explain the details. Unfortunately Anienam was too blinded by his inner demons to notice. That distrust was in danger of spreading.
Skuld slid the fifty-pound sack from his slender shoulders with a loud grunt and stretched his back. He was wiry by all standards and poorly built for heavy manual labor. Much had changed since he stowed aboard Bahr’s ship. He was stronger, tougher than before. His mind was sharper, as if confused by the conflicting urgings of Anienam and Boen’s rejections. Contrary to all of his bluster, Boen repeatedly told him that not everyone was made to be a warrior. Skuld initially took offense, only slowly realizing the truth as more lives ended before his eyes. But what the wizard promised made less sense. Skuld wasn’t interested in magic and didn’t think he wanted to follow in the crazy old wizard’s footsteps. Being a wizard didn’t have many benefits from what Skuld determined.
“You’ll grow out of this stage soon enough,” Ironfoot’s rough voice called from behind. The stout Dwarf dropped a pair of sacks without so much as a grunt.
Skuld wanted to laugh but wasn’t sure if the Dwarf captain was serious or not. “I’ve never had to work so hard in my life.”
“Hard work builds strong character,” the Dwarf answered. “If you’d been born in Drimmen Delf you would have been conditioning from a young age. Dwarves are naturally competitive, to the point of getting hurt all too often. You have smarts, but you lack strength. Don’t worry yourself over it. Strength will come. Give it time.”
Empire of Bones Page 13
