The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  And the utter ruin she might cause as a scorned enemy.

  Eldinn advanced deeper into Ulquiy territory, his new living weapons at the fore. They stripped village after village of life and wealth. So numerous were the yrch at his disposal it mattered little if he lost scores, hundreds, or even thousands in each engagement. Twice that number appeared to join his forces daily, and in this way Eldinn kept his army safe from harm.

  There was no way he could lose. And every battle he fought meant fewer of the nasty creatures he’d be forced to exterminate when the wars were over.

  Even after all this he regarded Sane with careful skepticism, until the day his life was nearly taken from him. It came when his manservants tried to complete the daily routine of helping him don his armor. The armor had been growing more and more constricting on the daily march, as if it were contracting around him. Ever fastidious, Eldinn knew he hadn’t gained weight, and how could he living off field rations?

  His servants had been forced to loosen the cinches and buckles, but even then it was all he could do to tolerate keeping the heavy steel on his body throughout the day. No amount of adjusting had helped.

  Eldinn was growing.

  Foregoing the armor the following morning, Eldinn ordered his formal field wear prepared instead. The light robe that once billowed around his ankles only reached halfway down his calves. He belted his sword at his waist to find it no longer extended below his knees. Finally convinced he was somehow growing taller, he ordered new set of armor forged that very day.

  Then came the assassination attempt.

  A pair of his own honor guards slipped into his tent late one night. One stabbed at Eldinn’s chest, aiming for the heart. He only missed because Eldinn snapped awake soon enough to roll toward his assailant. The blade punctured the emperor’s lung, but he hardly noticed the pain as he pulled his own sword free to swipe the man’s head away in a single, smooth motion. The second guard turned to flee but the emperor drew the assassin’s knife from his chest and whipped it into the back of the man’s leg. The guard collapsed in agony.

  Guards flooded his tent in reaction to the commotion, staring in horror at the scene. A week earlier their emperor had been a tall but lanky man, but now they found a hulking giant who towered over the tallest of them. It was the emperor’s muscular barrel chest that drew their awe as they watched what should have been a mortal wound seal up in front of their eyes.

  Edlinn bent over and picked the writhing mutineer from the ground with one hand and flung him from the tent. He ordered the man questioned, tortured if necessary, to discover who was behind the assassination. He had the other guard’s head mounted on a pike outside his tent as a reminder to those who might soon forget how the emperor had defended himself.

  Seven more head adorned pikes before the long night was over.

  Fortren, one of Eldinn’s generals had been implicated. He in turn accused several members of his own family and household. Even the two assassins turned out to be former servants of Fortren, servants who’d been paid to spy on Eldinn for years. Fortren accused Eldinn of conspiring with dark and sinister powers, and charging him with prosecuting an unprovoked war of conquest against their allies.

  Eldinn ordered Fortren’s entire household—his family, his servants and retainers, even his livestock—executed wherever they might be found within the bounds of the empire. A second decree stripped Fortren’s family of land and titles in perpetuity on the off chance an heir or some by-blow was overlooked and stepped forward in the distant future.

  Once the camp finally settled into a semblance of peace in the small hours of the night, Eldinn spent his time cutting himself over and over with the knife used against him. He watched as the wounds healed themselves time and time again. The only trace of harm was from the trails of dried blood left behind, and the soft pink glow of newly formed skin.

  The final test came just before dawn as he stretched his left hand out on the table, gritted his teeth, and chopped off his little finger. There was little blood or pain, and he watched in fascination as bone and sinew sprouted from the nub. Muscle and flesh reformed and a fresh new fingernail grew atop a complete finger.

  The only thing amiss was the new finger lacked a scar he’d earned in a childhood accident where his hand had been slashed during swordplay. The other three fingers still bore the scar, but the new one looked as fresh as a newborn’s.

  Eldinn cancelled his order for new armor and had his tailor fashion a new robe instead. Colored crimson and gold, it was short and cut to bare his impressive chest. A pair of burnished gold greaves were forged, more for show than any sort of protection, and a new long sword more fitting for his increased stature was in the works.

  With his war proceeding at a far faster pace than he’d anticipated, Eldinn’s chief concern became what to do with Sane and her kind once the dust had settled. He doubted the so-called Huwm would leave him to rule his empire in peace.

  Perhaps his patron would consider a pairing. Perhaps she’d accept the title of empress and rule the world at his side. They could overcome and banish the others of her kind together.

  Then, given sufficient time, he would find a way to dispose of her as well.

  55

  The Shrine

  Conversation ebbed as the dinner plates were cleared. Karah had gathered the extended company in her private quarters around a large but cozy round table. Though the setting was more intimate than the night before there was some underlying tension in the room. Tenna at first wondered if there was some animosity between Tander and Duras, but before the dinner was over the two had reconciled and sat roaring with laughter at some joke played at Katalas’s expense.

  Quist stood in silent vigilance throughout the meal, ready to serve and protect his mistress whatever the situation demanded. Tenna noticed the elf seemed to keep his eyes on Tander more than anyone else at the table, a strange little smirk playing across his face.

  Karah’s massive jungle tiger sat at her feet, content to nap through dinner. Little Mas was underfoot as well, bounding about nibbling on toes in an effort to coerce food from the diners above, so Tenna resorted to rolling balls of cheese across the room to gain a temporary relief from his mauling. Karah’s tiger let out a long, low growl as the acolytes began to clear the room, causing Mas to bolt up into Tenna’s lap and sit still and shivering.

  Karah stood and a hush settled over the room.

  “We live in auspicious times,” she intoned. “Each of you have walked a road of toil and pain to reach this place. War and death stalk the world, and it is the Evil One himself who is the root cause. His disciples have walked like shadows among us, setting brother against brother, and nation against nation, but no longer. They act openly now, in the light of day, stirring up strife among the peoples. Legions of yrch have issued from the deeps, slaughtering innocents on every continent. Chashak’s minions are no longer content to foment war from the shadows, soon they will lead the charge as they ride the winds on the back of their dragon steeds.”

  Karah stopped as a twinge of grief briefly washed over her face. She rested the tips of her fingers on the table to steady herself before going on, a small smile of memory replacing her heartbreak as she spoke again.

  “We’ve not been left helpless. Onúl led Xigara to leave behind a defense against our Enemy. You all know of the prophecy concerning the Bearers and the work that would one day be accomplished through them. The day has come and now is the time for each of you to answer the call.

  “No one wishes to see such times, and even those who stand willing to answer the call hope the day never comes. Anyone who would say otherwise is either a liar or a fool and there is no place at this table for either.”

  Karah paused again and met the gaze of each person around the table. Tander’s excitement had grown as she spoke and he took exception to her declaration. He was neither a liar nor a fool yet he was happy that the call of destiny had fallen on his shoulders.

  Then the High K
eeper’s eyes locked on his, piercing his soul like a hot arrow. He sensed the sadness behind her eyes, a sorrow that would never be erased. His own losses came flooding back as he remembered his mother, his sisters, his father.

  No, he decided. He would gladly give up the call of destiny to see those days reversed.

  Karah’s gaze held him until he thought he might break before releasing him and passing him by.

  “Three Houses have already answered the call,” Karah took up again, “but as High Keeper I call on each of you to renew those vows or proclaim them anew.”

  Zalas was the first to his feet, drawing his Honor Blade as he stood. Tander watched him with wide eyes.

  “I, Zalas, Blade Bearer and speaker for the House of Xigara answer the call.” He placed his shining Blade on the table before him, bowed to Karah, and sat back down.

  Katalas stood next, revealing his own Blade and repeating the pledge. “I, Katalas, Blade Bearer of House Katsumas, answer the call.”

  Duras was on his feet before Katalas could sit down. “I, Duras, Blade Bearer of House Burras, answer the call.”

  The two friends bowed in turn, setting their Blades on the table as they sat.

  Tander sat stunned by the trio of revelations, then he realized the room had grown silent. His stomach churned as he felt every on him.

  It was his turn to answer the call.

  He swallowed his rising nausea. He sensed Tenna holding her breath. Karah looked at him with gentle patience but Quist’s eyes narrowed as if weighing his soul. The elf gave him a slow nod, causing the boy to shoot to his feet, toppling his chair.

  “Um…I, uh, Tander,” he frowned as he stumbled over the words. Vonedil’s voice echoed in his head. A bard should measure his words before he speaks, and speak with confidence and purpose. He shook his head and started over.

  “I, Tander, Blade Bearer of House Lonarch, answer the call.” He pulled his Blade from his belt, bright scabbard and all. Karah’s eyes widened when she saw the scabbard, accompanied by gasps around the table.

  Tander righted his chair and sat down, tension draining from his body as he melted into his chair. He thought the formalities were over until the old wizard stood and motioned to Quist. The elf moved to retrieve a wooden crate from a nearby cabinet, then walked over to offer it to Doulos. The old man set it on the table and opened it to reveal a sword.

  Doulos drew it out and held it up in the light. His voice rang out, filling the room with tones both joyous and dreadful.

  “I am Doulos, envoy of Da’ath and Bearer of Ehrler, the sword of truth. I stood at Xigara’s side as he labored to forge this sword and its kindred. I stand again, ready to aid the scions of his legacy.”

  Zalas stood again, and though no one had seen him move, Quist appeared at his elbow holding another crate. Zalas drew another sword from the box, a blade five feet long from pommel to tip. Like Ehrler, its blade was composed of black metal, its surface swirling like living water. The pommels of both swords had distinct medallions embossed with an oak leaf, the hallmark of a Xigara-forged blade.

  “This is Nephali,” Zalas pronounced, “the Sword of Faith, forged alongside Ehrler by Xigara in the ruins of Kordas long ago. I will also stand, wielding this sword against the schemes of the Evil One, though my life be forfeit.”

  It was then that Karah nodded at Y’neth. All eyes turned to her as she stood. Quist appeared at her side bearing another box.

  “What’s this?” Zalas gaped in surprise.

  Y’neth opened her crate and drew forth another sword. This one was long, elegant, and rapier-thin. She grasped it by the blade, holding it out before her to show the sword’s pommel to everyone around the table.

  “This is the Sword of Peace named Mesha,” Y’neth said. “Once carried by Yashar, patron Azur of my people. It was left in the hands of the High Keeper, and has been responsible for the unmolested tranquility of the Shrine since its founding. Though I have my doubts, I will accept the call and wield this sword against the Evil One and bring peace to this troubled world.”

  “I wondered what she was doing here,” Zalas muttered to himself.

  Karah smiled and motioned the trio to sit down.

  Tander, awed by the revelation of the Swords, blurted a question he’d thought up earlier. “Where is the heir of Lorranos?”

  Karah held a hand up to stall the boy. “Fret not, heir of Lonarch. Your long-sundered cousin will be revealed in time. Some secrets must remain hidden for now, but there is one further secret left to reveal this day.”

  Karah drew a long chain of fine silver from within her robes. A pendant hung there, an oak leaf cast from bright silver. Intricate in detail it was lifelike, down to the veinous structure on its underside. It was a mirror image of the oak leaves embossed on the pommels of the swords.

  Zalas sprang back to his feet. “The Key!”

  “Yes,” Karah nodded. “It has been the duty of the High Keeper to safeguard the key Xigara gave to his mother.”

  “What is it?” Y’neth asked.

  “In elven culture, the key is a symbol of authority given to the family matriarch, recognizing her authority to call upon the houses honor bound to her own. Xigara bound four houses to his own—Lorranos, Lonarch, Katsumas, and Burras—then gave this Key to his mother.”

  “This Key is anything but ordinary,” Doulos added. “Once we find all seven Swords, we will use the Key to bind them together into the only weapon capable of defeating the Evil One.”

  “This is where our difficulties begin,” Karah said. “We knew the location of every Sword and were confident in their safety until recently. This is no longer the case. We’ve come to believe the Huwm returned from their exile some time ago but chose to remain hidden rather than reveal their power as they’d done in the past. They’ve been working behind the scenes, weaving a web of deception we are only now beginning to discover.”

  “Coordinated attacks have occurred around the world,” Doulos said. “Some of you were witnesses to these attacks—the burning of Madhebah, the attacks on the towns surrounding Lake Pelagos, and the siege upon the Celadine Mountains. But there was another earlier attack most of you know nothing about.”

  “Three days before the attack on Madhebah,” Karah said, “pirates from Ulquiy raided one of our secret holdings, a place named Tower Island. Tahor of the Azur left Dilkah there long ago, setting strong wards about the place to protect it, and establishing an order of protectors and caretakers to stand watch. The pirates were able to bypass those wards by means unknown.

  “They gained the beach, subdued the island’s caretakers, and found the sword. They set fire to the tower and murdered all our people save one.”

  Karah stopped and motioned toward Y’neth. “There was only one survivor.”

  Revulsion spread around the table, and every eye turned to find Y’neth’s dark eyes alive with a purple glow, her hands gripping Mesha so tightly her knuckles turned sky blue. Stile’s eyes filled with tears as he relived that day on the little island’s beach.

  “Captain Stile and his crew were passing nearby when the pirates triggered one of the wards, a great storm meant to repel any ship. His ship was caught in the tempest and nearly sent to the depths, but the grace of Onúl saw to their survival. They found the island the next morning, and though they arrived too late to prevent the massacre they were able to bring Y’neth to safety. If not for his serendipitous intervention we might still be ignorant of the sword’s theft.”

  “So it is that our next task is to reclaim Dilkah,” Doulos said. “The other Swords are accounted for, so we’ll move to acquire them with haste. The Evil One searches for us and our movements will create ripples that will spread across the world, pointing back to us at their center. We are already marked, every one of us.”

  “We must have all seven Swords,” Karah said, “it is the only way to defeat the Evil One. With the three we have we might be able to hinder his plans or hold him at bay, but not for long. Whatever hope this w
orld has is wrapped up in joining the seven.”

  “I think I can help,” Tander said. He reached into a pocket of his robe, pulled out a beautiful wooden box, and handed the artifact to Karah. When she opened it and saw what lay within she shook her head and handed it back to the boy.

  “Thank you, but I must refuse,” Karah’s voice was soft and reverent. “A spirit compass is a rare gift, given only once a generation—an elven generation mind you. Keep it safe for when times are truly dire.”

  “But what’s more important than finding the Sword?” Tander frowned.

  “I pray you never learn,” Karah said, “though I fear you will before this is all over.”

  Tander frowned. “If the prophecies have foretold everything, then there’s no need to worry. It means that everything will work out in the end, doesn’t it?”

  “Prophecy only tells us what must happen to keep us from falling into darkness,” Doulos said, “not what will happen. We stand on a razor’s breadth between the dark and the light.”

  “It is for this very reason we must act,” Karah agreed. “Doulos and I have formulated a plan to find the Sword, though it is one we’ve had to alter in light of recent news.”

  “What news?” Zalas asked.

  “Our first thought was to travel down river to Parthy and enlist the help of Ulquiy’s jelefé, but that’s impossible now. Emperor Eldinn has invaded Ulquiy in retaliation for Madhebah and the Bastion. He’s turned it into a religious war, falsely claiming both tragedies were engineered by followers of Onúl, and seeing as how Ulquiy is a nation of devotees he’s targeted them as his scapegoat. The populace has risen up to join his army of righteous vengeance.”

  Zalas sat forward, disturbed. “When did this start?”

  “We received word only yesterday, but it appears Eldinn invaded Hocsaros over a week ago, slaughtering every man, woman, and child before razing the city.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Zalas said. “Half the citizens of Hocsaros are Maehdrasian.”