Sword and Illusion

by Nancy S. Brandt

  She smiled as he released her hands, leaving the coins in her palm. "Thank you, sir."

  Varian watched her count the coins. She gasped and looked at Anthelme, who winked. She hurried away.

  "What did you do?" Varian asked.

  His friend's blue eyes crinkled in amusement. "I might have paid her a little more than the price of the drinks."

  "Are you determined to spend all of our money before we get back to the palace?"

  "I'm just assuring us good service. We might be here for a while."

  Varian took a big swig of his beverage. "I don't want to be here a while. I want to get home."

  "Are you going to try to find your daughter?”

  "As much as I want to believe that the child could still be alive, it's a slim hope." As unlikely as it was that the child could have survived, the idea tormented him.

  "A slim hope is still a hope. Maybe that's enough to hold on to. Maybe someone living on Lireek saved your daughter. If that's true, and you found her, all your problems would be solved."

  Varian shook his head, his mood now dark. "If the child still lived, Rillaur would have found her."

  "Maybe he didn't know about the pregnancy either."

  The Prince shrugged. "I suppose it's possible, but Rillaur isn't one to ignore his interests like that."

  "Surely, he doesn't see his sister as just one of 'his interests'."

  "Of course he does." Varian took another sip of his ale. His head ached, and it was time to head up to the room they'd secured. They weren't getting through the Portal tonight.

  "That seems a cynical way to look at your brother-in-law."

  "He's not my brother-in-law. Violetta was declared dead by Tellan law—"

  "You mean by you."

  "—so that ended our relationship. I'm sure he's not sitting in his palace thinking about how lucky he is that I'm related to him."

  At this, Anthelme laughed. "Maybe he is. You never know."

  "I know."

  The inn's dining room, which had been filled with a low buzz as guests chatted and enjoyed their meals, suddenly grew quiet.

  Varian saw the amused expression leave Anthelme's face, so he turned toward the door.

  One of the Monks of Tinaldor stood awkwardly in the doorway, clutching a scroll to his chest and looking around the dim room. The man was short, almost a child's height, and his rough brown robes nearly swallowed him.

  "I'll bet it's for you." Anthelme jerked his chin toward the new visitor.

  The Prince stood. "I'm sure it is."

  When the monk saw him, a look of recognition and relief appeared on his face. "Duke Emory, I'm glad you haven't left yet."

  The small man's eyes grew soft, and he handed the scroll and a book to Varian.

  As he unrolled it, the Prince felt the color leave his face, and he dropped into a nearby chair. Anthelme rushed to his side.

  "What is it?"

  "Violetta is dead."

  "May the Holy One have mercy on her soul." The monk bowed his head, and Anthelme followed his lead.

  "May it be as you say," Varian replied, blinking back unwanted tears.

  He closed the scroll and handed it back. He set the book on the table. "When did it happen?"

  "Within the last candlemark, sir."

  "Thank you."

  With a bow, the monk left the inn.

  "Just a few moments ago, Anthelme." A part of him ached at the lost opportunity to go back and forgive her. Another part was glad that she would face Judgment without it.

  "I heard. Come back to our table, Sire. You are attracting a bit of attention."

  Varian glanced around to see that several patrons were watching him, while pretending they weren't. He stood and followed his valet to their table in the corner.

  "At least you got to see her before she died," Anthelme said after asking the serving girl to bring more ale.

  "I wish I hadn't."

  "You can't mean that, Sire. Surely this visit gave both of you some feeling of closure."

  Varian shook his head. "I told her I couldn't forgive her for what she did to our child."

  He stared at the table. "My father would be ashamed of me, not to mention that my mother's heart would break knowing that her son had the opportunity to ease someone's passage to the next world, and I refused. And my own wife, too."

  Without looking at his friend, Varian took his tankard and emptied it in one gulp.

  "I should have forgiven her." However, he wasn't sure he could have.

  "She left your child to die," Anthelme said, gently. "Your reaction is understandable."

  Varian looked at his friend. "My mother cared for the dying. You know that. She raised all of her children to understand that whatever has gone before, when a person is facing that final journey, he or she deserves forgiveness and peace."

  He shook his head. "I denied Violetta that."

  "The Holy One is merciful, Sire. I'm sure she has received the peace you were unable to give."

  "I can only pray that's true."

  Varian considered the book. "This is her prayer book. I remember how frustrated I would be, seeing her reading this when she could have been talking to me."

  He opened it. A stalk of dried thistle that had been pressed between the pages fell to the ground.

  "Why would she save a weed like this?" Anthelme asked as he picked up the flower.

  Varian put the dried plant back in the book. "Who knows why Violetta did anything?"

  Chapter Two

  The cat crouched, never taking its gaze from Moonrazer's face. The Warrior prepared for the kill, mimicking the animal's stance, balancing on the balls of her feet, her knife hand relaxed but ready, the hilt of the hunting blade warm in her fingers.

  The number of deer she'd seen that day had been smaller than in previous seasons, so the cat population was growing. Killing this one, barely full grown, would ensure it would not breed and kill the animals so many Sarl depended on for food.

  The cat was less than six paces from her, and Moonrazer had killed bigger animals at further distances with a single knife throw. She grinned, just slightly. It was a good day indeed.

  The long yellow and white fur along this cat's back rose up just a hair's breadth, but Moonrazer saw it. She tightened her grip on the knife and held her breath.

  The cat sprang into the air.

  Moonrazer waited until just the right instant and hurled the knife toward the cat's throat.

  A full heartbeat went by before she realized that her weapon had missed its mark. She dropped to a crouch and rolled, feeling the claws glance off her leather armor.

  Quickly, she pulled another knife from her boot and thrust just as the cat sprang at her again, this time hitting the animal in the heart. It was dead before it dropped to the ground.

  The Exalted Warrior stared at the animal. She had never missed such a shot in her life. She'd killed her first glacier cat at the age of sixteen blizzards, when she had run away from her aunt's camp on World Cialo to visit the ancient Sarl home world.

  The cat's blood flowed out of the wound and Moonrazer watched it, reassuring herself that the animal was indeed dead.

  She'd missed. That thought kept rolling around in her head. In all her years as Exalted Warrior, and for some time before that, she had never missed an animal on a hunt. Why this one?

  She knew that the anniversary of her birth was approaching. In less than a moon cycle, thirty-nine blizzards of her life would be past. Few Sarl warriors lived to see so many.

  Was she losing her battle skills? This happened to Sarl warriors after a certain age.

  She stood up and pulled the knife out of the cat she'd just slain. A makeshift sled made of the branches cut from nearby trees and the skin of one of the animals she'd killed earlier sat nearby, waiting for her to dress her latest trophy and pile it on with the others. She'd take it back to the village and see that the furs and meat were distributed to families in need.

  Just as she f
inished skinning the cat and rolling the fur into a bundle, she heard the screech above her head. A dr'cala bird, a vicious scavenger, had been drawn by the smell of blood.

  This bird usually stayed out of sight of predators. Most carrion birds would not attack, but this one was unusually large. Also, from the motley look of his feathers, he probably had mrefami, a disease that came from eating sick animals. This illness drove the infected animal to a kind of madness.

  Her hunting had stirred up his desire for carrion, and he would fight her for the carcass at her feet.

  She watched as the bird soared in a circle above her head, loudly demanding his right to her kill.

  However, Moonrazer could see his eyes as he flew closer and closer to her, trying to drive her away from the fresh meat. He would not leave of his own accord, and with his talons and beak designed to tear an animal apart, he could injure her as easily as he could rip the dead cat's carcass.

  The bird grew braver, flying close enough to the Exalted Warrior's head that she could feel the air rush by. She kept her eyes on him as he swooped away and above the trees.

  This was sure to be preparation for an attack pass, and she fingered the hilt of her knife and let the adrenaline rush sweep over her.

  The bird rose to a great height, spun in the air, and dove toward her. She took a deep breath and waited until she could see his eyes clearly.

  She swung her forearm from the elbow and released the knife at the critical moment. It sank deep into the bird's neck, and he dropped at her feet.

  A chuckle escaped her lips, breaking the silence of the early morning. Her skills were just as sharp as ever. Kneeling down, she finished dressing the carcass to take back to her Tower.

  ****

  Steam rose from the large healing chamber on one side of the Tower. The structure, which her friend and adviser Olaf had designed and helped construct, was built against the wall surrounding the courtyard and Tower. The other three sides were wooden but as thick as the stone wall.

  Inside, Sarl men had dug a pit almost as big as Moonrazer's own bedchamber, which caught the water from a hot spring discovered flowing from the rock. It was deep enough to allow more than one person to sit and be submerged in hot water to the chin. The water and the herbs that her sword sister, Adazzra, a healer of the Tree Women, sent kept her from suffering overly from her past injuries.

  The clouds overhead had begun to break up a bit, but the Sarl would be lucky to have more than a candlemark's worth of sun this day.

  While the cold morning air was causing her joints to protest as she walked through the courtyard toward the steaming hut, she ignored the pain, forcing herself to stand straight as she passed the two warriors guarding the entrance to the Tower.

  When she reached the healing chamber, a familiar voice reached her ears.

  "Come on in, Moonrazer."

  She pushed the door open to see her dear friend Olaf. He was a muscular man from the waist up, but with green flesh, yellow belly-scales, and the legless, tapered body of a serpent.

  He had black hair and brown eyes, and as far as Moonrazer knew, he had never had any facial hair. He even lacked eyebrows. This would have made him look like a child, except that the skin on the upper half of his body looked leathery.

  Olaf was a unique creature in the Known Worlds, the only member of his race. He had been brought into being by the magic of a Dreaming Giant, but unlike other beings so created, he had not faded when the giant awoke.

  His serpent body was covered with various brightly colored gems. In his travels, as he found new precious stones, he would embed them in his skin.

  "You are awake early," she said.

  "Sunrise meditation.” He smiled. "It helps focus my mind for the day."

  Moonrazer stripped off her over tunic and walked to the edge of the pool.

  Turning her back to him, she took off her chemise and under leggings and slipped into the hot water beside him.

  A twinge of pain shot through her shoulder, causing her to grimace.

  Olaf's expression sobered. "The old arrow injury?"

  She closed her eyes. "It has never healed properly."

  "I don't see any mark," Olaf commented.

  The Exalted Warrior opened her eyes and glared at her friend. "That does not mean it does not hurt."

  "I suppose."

  The two of them were silent.

  Olaf stared at the hut's ceiling. "I saw you on the training field yesterday with some of the younger warriors. You seemed to have a little trouble keeping up with them."

  "What do you mean?"

  He looked at her. "I meant only that those young warriors have strength and stamina."

  "Are you suggesting that I do not possess those qualities?"

  "Not at all." He said nothing after that, closing his eyes as the steam wafted up around him.

  Moonrazer stared at him. Did he suspect that the pain she felt was, regardless of what she said, achy muscles from working too hard to best the younger warriors?

  After a moment, he sighed. "None of us are getting younger, I fear."

  "This is not how a warrior should spend her mornings," Moonrazer said.

  "I understand you were already out hunting before the sun rose."

  Long ago, Moonrazer had given up trying to figure out how Olaf knew the things he did.

  "Did you catch anything?" he asked.

  Moonrazer saw him studying her. "Four glacier cats and a disgusting dr'cala."

  "Was it a good hunt?"

  Now she looked him fully in the eye. "What do you know, you old snake?"

  Olaf's face was the picture of innocence. "I only know that you are moving slower these days and that your birth anniversary is coming. Sarl women do not remain warriors all their lives."

  "It is something I have not wanted to think about."

  The serpent man reached into a nearby basin, scooped out a handful of healing mud, and applied it to his left arm. "All of us are older than we used to be."

  "Not all of us are looking at the prospect of becoming someone we do not recognize."

  "Is that what is bothering you?" he asked. "You are afraid of the next phase of your life?"

  "I am not afraid of anything." How would she deal with being softer and having a husband?

  "None of us want to face aging," he said. "We are warriors. Warriors do not approach the end of our battles with a smile."

  "Most Exalted Warriors die in battle before they have to face these changes to their bodies." Wrinkling her nose, she rubbed her right shoulder. The warm water and steam had done nothing to ease the ache.

  "Would you rather have died in one of those battles you fought? And if so, which one? One of them you fought before you met Adazzra? Before you rescued me? Before you retook Carrick?"

  What did he expect her to say? That she was afraid of sitting in a rocking chair watching other, younger women fight in her place?

  "A warrior would always desire to die in battle," she responded.

  "I don't believe you. You wouldn't be able to enjoy my company."

  "I am not sure I am enjoying your company right now."

  He laughed. "Of course you are. We share a history. No one understands you like I do."

  "If you are so smart," Moonrazer said, "then you tell me how a warrior is supposed to live when her battle days come to an end."

  "I can't tell you that, but I know one thing. You think you have to be the Exalted Warrior all the time. It is a lot to live up to. You need to be able to be just Moonrazer sometimes, and let those who love you know the real you."

  "I am the Exalted Warrior all the time. That is who I am. There is no 'real' Moonrazer other than that."

  Moonrazer valued Olaf's opinions and insights, but she feared he was closer to knowing her deepest thoughts than she was comfortable with.

  "You are Moonrazer first, and you are a woman whose body is changing. I think you are worried about what will become of you when you aren't leading your people or charging i
nto battle. You are afraid of facing the woman without the armor."

  "Again, you are accusing me of being afraid. You tread on thin ice, my friend."

  Olaf smiled. "You do not frighten me, Moonrazer of the Sarl. I know you too well. You don't want your body to grow soft and fair in preparation for childbearing. The men around here are beginning to notice as well. You are a beautiful woman. Eventually, the thistle flower blooms. It is the normal cycle of life."