by Brian Fuller
With a precise sword strike, the Shadan cut Rafael’s gag near where it wrapped around his ear. Rafael, still bound, spit the gag out. “He sent Captain Omar to bring them back, boy, just before breakfast! He’ll kill them, he will!”
“Oh, that’s right!” the Shadan mocked. “I sent Omar to fetch them, but you know Omar! He’ll have a hard time keeping his sword in his scabbard when it comes to Hubert. He wasn’t very kind to Regina, either, when you and I were away at Ellenais, was he, Rafael?”
Gen stared expectantly at Rafael, who hung his head to hide his emotion. Anger stirred in Gen’s stagnant heart.
“What did he do to her, Rafael?” Gen demanded.
Rafael turned his gaze on Gen. “He . . . he hurt her, Gen.”
Gen’s eyes widened involuntarily—she had never said a word. Rafael had never mentioned it. Anger turned to rage and desperation.
“Here, Gen,” Torbrand said. “Take my sword. Don’t worry about the stones holding you back. I can let you wander as far as I will. I think they went in the direction of Sipton.”
Gen didn’t bother to buckle the sword. He sprinted out the door and ran down the road at a dead run for as long as his lungs could take it. The air was bitter chill, and the trees dusted over with dry snow that swirled with the slightest breeze. Thin gray clouds denied the sun its full strength, the world below cold and lifeless in the weak light. These details barely registered to Gen, who scanned the ground in front of him. The trail was easy to find on the untraveled, snowy road. Regina and Hubert walked slowly, Regina slightly behind him. Omar followed the trail jogging, and Gen set off again at the best pace he could manage.
He cursed himself for not taking Rafael’s cue, cursed himself for lingering at breakfast. He pushed aside the guilt. It would serve him no purpose. Trees whipped by as Gen did his calculations. If Rafael and Regina left a little before dawn, then by the time Omar left they would have had an hour’s head start and on the poor road had likely gone little more than a mile. At a jog, Omar would have caught them just about the time Gen finished his bread. Redoubling his efforts, Gen pressed on, taking advantage of a trail blazed through the drifts and difficult spots by those ahead, affording him a small advantage.
He reined in his imagination of what Omar would do to his victims when he caught them, concentrating on jogging as efficiently as he could, cutting any corners at every opportunity. Abruptly, the trail turned off the road and into the wood. Gen walked over quickly, examining the surrounding area. Here Hubert and Regina rested, and here they discovered their pursuer. They had risen in a rush, and the distance between footfalls widened as the pair had sprinted into the forest. In contrast, Omar’s narrowed; he had found his prey and relaxed his pace.
Gen charged forward, the way easy to find though difficult to negotiate. Deadfall and underbrush concealed beneath the snow conspired to trip him almost as if purposefully barring his way. But his training made him nimble and strong, and he pressed forward with fervent haste. The tracks he followed indicated that Omar still had not increased his pace, but Regina and Hubert had slowed, surely exhausted from the labor of so difficult an escape.
Gen stopped and listened. He had to be close. He took the time to buckle the Shadan’s sword about his waist to free up his arms as the trail slanted up the side of a difficult hill. Gen wondered why Hubert or Regina would choose to go upward where they would be more exposed. A snapping branch to his left turned his head upward. Above him, some fifty yards, he could just see Omar heading straight up the hill away from Hubert and Regina’s path. He wanted to cut them off and meet them at the top.
The sight of Shadan Khairn’s Captain rekindled fire in Gen’s heart, and knowing that he had hurt Regina during his absence infuriated him. Gen turned and clawed up the hill directly after him, crashing through brittle low-hanging branches and twigs, using the boles of the trees to propel himself upward.
“C’mon, boy!” Omar taunted, twisting to yell down the hill. “I’ll kill you, too, and rid us all of Khairn’s stupid project. Hubert and the girl go first, though. Come stop me!”
Omar resumed his climb, redoubling his efforts. His squat legs made quick work of the remaining distance to the top. By the time Gen crested the hill, he couldn’t see Omar through the thick grove of thin pine trees. Sprinting forward, lungs afire, Gen finally caught a glimpse of his opponent as he cleared the hilltop and started down the other side.
“Hubert!” Regina yelled. “He is coming.”
In a moment he saw them through the branches of a dead pine. They were resting in a small clearing, wearing fur cloaks against the cold. Both had stood up from where they were sitting on a log. Hubert held a stout stick, a club for defense, but upon seeing Captain Omar charging down the hill, sword drawn and snow exploding away from the thrashing of his legs, the Showles’s oldest son abandoned Regina and ran, leaping over the banks of a small frozen creek. Regina ran to Gen’s left into the forest. Thankfully, Omar pursued Hubert first, and Gen altered his course, intercepting Regina, who screamed at his unexpected appearance.
Gen grabbed her hand. “Up the hill and over. Quickly, Regina.”
She did not wear her veil, and the weight of her fear and desperation landed heavily on Gen’s heart, resurrecting it from its lifeless despair. Hoping Hubert was faster than he looked, Gen half-dragged Regina up the littered slope, heedless of the clawing branches that ripped clothes and flesh. A horrified yell signaled Hubert’s end. Time was short. Gen cast about, searching for any way to hide their tracks, but the snow rendered it impossible.
“Where are you, boy?” Omar yelled from behind. One hundred yards. They couldn’t escape him. He only had one idea left. Finding a large mature pine with easily climbable branches, he led Regina around its far side.
“Climb as high as you can, Regina,” Gen ordered.
She regarded him briefly, eyes pained, conveying all the hurt and anger his inattention had caused her. She had been humiliated and scared, and he had done nothing to comfort or help her in her distress. He had left her to the cruelty of Omar and the Shadan, wrapped himself in his own hurt, and hadn’t been a friend or lover to her when she needed his affection the most.
Guilt poisoned Gen’s heart, mixing with his rage as he watched her climb, snow falling about him as she dislodged it. There was only one redemption: to save her now. As quietly as he could, he pulled the Shadan’s blade from its sheath, laying the scabbard on the ground. Their footprints would lead Omar to where they were.
“You’re sending her up a tree, then?” Omar mocked, still obscured by the branches, but close. “I’ll beat ya’ for that. I’m tired of this chase!”
The cocky captain took no pains to be silent or careful as each footstep brought him inexorably closer to his prey. A wind in the pines blew snow from the branches in a fine dust, and for a moment Omar stopped. Gen could just see his boots on the other side of the trunk.
Gen leapt out and swung his sword at Omar’s square head. The Captain blocked, a mighty clang ringing through the forest, startling the winter birds. Omar pushed the blade aside and riposted, forcing Gen to leap aside, the snow hampering his ability to move. Omar’s thrust tore through Gen’s cloak, narrowly missing his belly. Gen slapped Omar’s blade to the ground and swung left, gashing the Captain’s arm. Omar, employing his training, didn’t grimace or grunt, but, after squaring off, he approached Gen more carefully.
To help his defense, Gen backed around the thin bole of a tall pine with no branches lower than his head. They circled slowly, Gen keeping the tree between him and his attacker. Omar lunged forward, forcing Gen away from the tree, and charged. Gen backed down carefully from the assault, wanting to move farther downhill and away from Regina’s sanctuary in the tree, but Omar herded him toward it at every opportunity. Sword strokes came fiercely but sporadically. Branches, underbrush, and slippery footing kept the pace of the fight irregular. Wide swings were virtually impossible, and they had to settle for quick flicks and lunges at each other
, neither able to gain advantage. Sweat ran down both of their faces.
As they moved horizontally, staring at each other intently, they found themselves in a small break in the trees. Both charged and blows rained down. Gen’s fury powered him forward, Omar inching backward. Once the more seasoned warrior had weathered Gen’s angry attack, he pushed back with his own.
Omar was powerful and fast, and he beat at Gen with every ounce of strength his burly arm could deliver. Gen was more than equal to the speed, but Omar’s power wore him down, driving him back into a tangle of fallen trees. Omar, seeing his opponent trapped, lunged forward. Gen dodged away and knocked the blade aside, but in the process he stepped into some branches and his right boot got caught under the tangle.
In the momentary distraction, Omar rushed. Gen chopped at him, blade slicing the Captain’s ribs, but Omar was inside his guard now. Omar pinned Gen’s sword arm against his side with his muscular biceps and kicked at Gen’s trapped knee, breaking it with a sickening crack. Pain flooded over Gen, but as he had been taught, he ignored it, remaining standing on his good leg.
“Got ya now, boy,” Omar grinned. Gen head-butted him, forehead ramming into the Captain’s mouth. Omar’s head snapped back, but he held Gen’s arm fast. With a bloodied snarl, Omar broke Gen’s other knee and the boy crumpled to the ground.
“Time to climb a tree,” Omar jeered, wiping the blood from his lips on his sleeve. “Don’t worry. You get to see her die.”
Omar walked away and noisily started his ascent up the tree. Gen extricated his foot from the bramble and dragged himself along the ground hand-over-hand toward the tree, sword left behind. Regina was whimpering and yelling “no” over and over again. Gen looked up just as Omar grabbed her foot and she kicked at his head. He yanked hard and she tumbled, bones breaking as she slammed into one branch after another, falling near Gen in a shower of pine needles and twigs. Gen crawled to her, fingers raw and numb. Blonde hair spilled over a pale face, blood running from her nose as she breathed in ragged gasps. Her eyes were unfocused and vacant, and she mumbled ‘Gen’ as if searching for him in the dark.
Tears ran down his face. “I am sorry, Regina. I am sorry.”
He went to reach for her face, to reassure her that he was there, but Omar crushed his hand with a heavy boot. An instant later he beheaded her, her lifeblood melting the snow around her. Gen yelled a curse and rolled onto his back, wracking sobs overcoming him. He barely heard Omar say, “And now, for you.”
“Leave him, Omar!” Shadan Khairn jogged over the hill and Omar held up, face disappointed and a little fearful.
“I did not give you leave to kill anyone but Hubert!” the Shadan yelled. “I told you that she was not to be harmed and Gen left alive! What have you done? Answer me!”
“She climbed a tree. I went to fetch her and she fell. I killed her out of mercy. She was nearly dead already.”
“Liar!” Gen spat in agony, vision too blurry to see either of them. “He wanted to kill her in front of me.”
“And I see the boy marked you, Omar! How many times?”
“Three. He should be killed, Shadan! He is too good for one so young in his training. He is too dangerous.”
“Ha!” the Shadan laughed. “Dangerous to you. You lied. You killed her out of spite and there will be consequences. The first is that I will not heal you. The second is that you must carry her back to Tell and dig a grave for her, and a deep one so that no animal can disturb it. This respect you must pay.”
“But the ground is frozen, Shadan!” Omar protested. The Shadan slapped him.
“Trust me, these are the least of your punishments. I promised my daughter that this girl would not be killed. Now I will have to explain to her that she is dead, and that displeases me, Captain Omar. Now shut your ignorant mouth and get her back to Tell.”
The Shadan healed Gen and retrieved his sword and belt from him. Gen was despondent, barely registering their return trip to town. As he walked, he found the only escape from the pain was to seek the dark void the Shadan had fashioned within him with brutality, but even then something was different. His heart burned with purpose. He would have revenge. He wanted it now more than health, happiness, or escape.
Once in Tell, the Shadan sent him to his room for the balance of the day. When night fell, Rafael brought him food, his eyes swollen and face gaunt. He promised to come see him when he could and left. Gen didn’t touch the food but sat, arms around his knees, in a corner of the room as emotion drained out of him, leaving him even deader than he felt before. The calm, dispassionate void locked itself into place, for he could no longer bear his pain, and the only way to avoid pain was to feel nothing at all.
And so Rafael found him in the middle of the night, having sneaked from his room against all caution.
“Gen,” he whispered as he sat beside him. “Are you awake?”
“You should go. He’ll kill you if you he finds you here.” The coldness of his voice no longer surprised him. Even in the dark he could sense Rafael’s hurt.
“Listen, boy,” he said, voice firm as when he used to school Gen in lore or singing. “I had to see you. I’m sorry about Regina. I loved her, too. But you cannot let him have the victory! I’m as angry as you are, but he’s killing you, Gen. I don’t know to what end, but he is making you his. Fight it, Gen. Find your heart again.”
Rafael crouched and put his arm on Gen’s shoulder. Gen flinched away and stood.
“You should go, Rafael.”
Rafael also came to his feet. After muffling a fit of coughing, the old man started toward the door, head bent in weariness. Several moments of silence passed.
Rafael finally said, “I love you, Gen, and I’m sorry,” and slipped out the door. Gen returned to his corner and sat numbly. All night long, Omar labored outside his window, cursing as he chopped over and over at the frozen earth in his attempts to excavate a grave the Shadan would find satisfactory. His every stroke reminded Gen of the fatal blow to Regina, and he fixed her face in his mind as he saw it when they danced on the day before the Aughmerian invasion. That was what Omar had taken from him and what he would pay for.
Hours passed. The dawn broke through his window. Gen hadn’t noticed when Omar had stopped digging, but Gen stood and opened the shutters, finding a fresh mound of earth free of snow. Gen stared at it until the Shadan opened the door, crossing to where he stood in front of the window.
“You’ve been holding back when we sparred,” he began. “That was obvious from your ability to even mark Omar, much less three times. A nice little trick, hiding your abilities. You might think that I would be mad about that, but I am not. You are a quick learner and a clever one, and that pleases me. I had no idea what would happen when I placed all three stones upon you at once. I thought you would go mad. Instead, you have learned more quickly than any other student I have taught. In another month, you will likely be as good as Captain Omar.
“And so my dilemma. The Captain was right about one thing: you should not be as good as you are. He would have me kill you before you get too dangerous, but to be quite honest, I am enjoying myself a little too much to let that happen. Besides, I assured the good Captain that as long as I had Rafael, you would be quite tame. In fact, I’m planning to let you visit the old man more often now.”
Torbrand leaned in close. “I liked the fire I saw smoldering in your eyes yesterday. Rafael will be your little reminder to keep that alive. When a passion to fight for something consumes you and you can yet feel calm, empty, and in control, then you will be truly formidable. I anticipate standing toe-to-toe with that Gen come spring.”
Torbrand left, closing the door quietly. Gen’s mind played Regina’s death over and over again. The Shadan used his friends to trap him, and the only way out was to kill his master, something he could not do. In the cold stillness, he realized that ending Torbrand’s life or dying in the attempt was the only way to end the torture, avenge Regina, and possibly secure Rafael’s life. The only wa
y he had a chance was to endure a little more, to learn all that the cruel Shadan could teach him, and then attack when given the opportunity. At last he had what he needed to survive—a purpose.
Chapter 12 - Farewell and Freedom
“We think we can help you, Gen.” It was Samian. Gen wondered at the offer. After the first day the three warriors had not once expressed that they knew about his circumstances or feelings.
“Yes,” Elberen continued. “With your help we can free you from the bondage of the stones and you can flee. We can no longer tolerate the use to which we have been put. We long to be free.”
“Not yet,” Gen said. “Teach me everything. Never stop. I must know it all.”
“What we propose to do will do that, Gen. You need suffer no longer.” Telmerran sounded more compassionate than Gen had ever heard him. From the scenes they showed him, Gen could not see how any of them had a grain of tender feeling left.
“It is not time,” Gen continued. “I must learn all I can from the Shadan, and while it is winter, I cannot escape with Rafael. The cold would kill him. And I cannot leave while Torbrand and Omar still draw breath.”
“Revenge must not govern your actions, Gen,” Samian counseled gravely.
“Then what should govern my actions? My days are filled with hate and killing! And so far, the killing I’ve seen has been of the innocent and undeserving. Killing the Shadan and Omar, whether out of revenge or justice, is warranted by everything good and decent. And if goodness and decency are served then I care little what feeling motivates it!”
Silence followed.
“Very well,” Samian said, voice resigned. “Our lessons are nearly done. Let’s begin.”
Torbrand kept to his word, allowing Gen time alone with Rafael every morning to talk, though Gen rarely found anything to say. Rafael’s paled skin clung to his bones, face wracked with worry and a hacking cough wearing the old bard down. But valiantly, Rafael ignored his discomfort and doted upon his apprentice. Gen appreciated his attempts to rekindle his interest in music, but no matter how much Rafael prodded, Gen could not fathom ever plucking the lute strings again, much less singing. Music required some depth of feeling from which to be born, and revenge was all he could find in an otherwise vacant heart.
