by Brett Vonsik
The raver stomped again and bellowed, louder and longer than before. It will charge at any moment. Rogaan needed a way to get the raver to leave them be. He needed to inflict enough pain on the beast to make it wary of him. How? The raver stomped again, impatiently, then took a mock step at him. Rogaan looked around and realized he had weapons . . . the broken railing. Selecting a thick pointed shard slightly longer than his forearm, he grabbed it, testing its weight and balance. It will have to do.
“Leave . . . Save yourself, my son.” Mithraam coughed up blood before settling his head back to the dirt.
“I will not abandon you, Father,” Rogaan answered him speaking slowly and with conviction. Rogaan stood and took a position between the death beast and his father, holding the shard firmly in his hands.
“What be ya doin’, Rogaan?” Pax asked with a tone hinting of insanity.
“What I must,” Rogaan answered without taking his eyes from the raver. With some concentration, Rogaan could make out fine details of the animal. Scars about its neck and snout told him the raver had experience fighting . . . and winning. The raver’s head pitched up suddenly, snapping at a dark featherwing swooping at its head. Rogaan wondered at it a moment before dismissing it, just another strange happening for the day. The beast returned its attention back on Rogaan, stomping, then crouched, readying itself to launch at him.
“Make them fear you and your rage.” Rogaan heard the words of the War Sworn in his head. I may die, but I will not let that animal at Father again. “Let it and all of them fear my rage.”
The raver dug its claws into the dirt, then launched at Rogaan and his father, Pax and Aren. Rogaan crouched and dug his boots into the dirt, readying himself to charge the beast, to strike at its eyes, wound it . . . blind it. Make the animal fear him. Rogaan watched the rhythm and length of the raver’s strides . . . measuring them and the distance between them, waiting for it to lower its head further before he charged back at it. The wrath in the beast’s eyes was unmistakable. The raver wanted Rogaan’s Light. Then the animal dipped its head as it opened its teeth-filled maw. Rogaan tensed his body to spring into his charge as his skin prickled and his hair stood on end. He caught movement above and just to the left of his head. A spear tip and shaft flew past his head unnaturally fast. Despite the embrace of his wild spirit, the spear moved with the speed of an arrow, not as a heavy-shafted weapon from a Tusaa’Ner that it looked to be. With a thud and crack, the spear buried itself into the skull of the raver just left of square between the eyes. The beast’s eyes lost their focus and anger before the raver stumbled, then collapsed to the ground, sliding toward Rogaan. The lightless eyes of the animal came to rest a stride from him, the spear shaft passing him on his left. The raver’s last putrid breath left it a moment later.
Rogaan stood confused. What happened . . . who? He turned to see who threw the spear with such deadly accuracy and force. Rogaan took notice that the arena stood eerily silent. The crowd appeared to be shocked by the events. Scanning the crowd, Rogaan saw at the far end of the arena, almost one-hundred strides away, where the commotion he noted earlier, lay unconscious or dead a contingent of Tusaa’Ner guardsmen on the wall and on the arena ground. A lone darkly clad figure jumped from the wall landing and rolling with the grace of a leaper. His roll brought him to his feet and a run in one smooth movement. Who is he? Rogaan did not fear the approaching stranger. If he was the spear thrower, he just saved all their lives.
Rogaan felt his wild spirit leave him as the stranger approached, making it difficult to discern who the cloaked one was until he was almost upon them. The stranger dressed in a dark gray cloak, hide pants, and vest that had more sheathed knives, pockets, and places to put and attach things than could be counted. The stranger was familiar to Rogaan. His short cut black hair and a closely trimmed beard, solid build, and that dangerous, confident stride gave a wave of relief to Rogaan. Im’Kas. Rogaan cast his eyes to the heavens and thanked the Ancients.
Chapter 24
Righteous Purpose
Im’Kas ignored everyone and everything as he approached, his focus completely on Mithraam. He kneeled over Rogaan’s father and placed his hands on Mithraam’s mortal wounds. Rogaan’s skin prickled, and his hair bristled. He backed away from Im’Kas a few steps. What is he doing that makes my skin crawl so? Mithraam convulsed and gasped violently. He looked to be in terrible pain, causing concern to sweep through Rogaan. The way his father’s body convulsed gave him fear Im’Kas was doing something unhallowed. Rogaan held his tongue though. Im’Kas and Father are friends, Rogaan hoped. His father a mere breathe away from his Light leaving him made Rogaan no choice but to trust Im’Kas. His father did. That would have to be good enough for Rogaan.
“Open your eyes, my friend.” Im’Kas spoke kindly to Mithraam while wearing a deeply concerned look. “I’ve done all I can. You must do the rest, if you’re to live.”
His father lay motionless, causing Rogaan to fear the worst. Tears filled his eyes, and his chest tightened. Show mercy, great lords of the sky and world, Rogaan prayed to the Ancients . . . something he seldom did. Im’Kas’s face turned sad. The Dark Ax lowered his head and closed his eyes as if saying his own prayer. Father’s body remains still. Rogaan’s chest tightened so much he struggled to breathe. He just wanted his father back. Tears washed down his cheeks. Im’Kas looked to Rogaan with sorrow-filled eyes.
“My heart is heavy with regrets, young Rogaan.” Im’Kas offered kindness with a pained voice. “I fear I’m too late. His wounds too—”
Breath filled Mithraam’s lungs before he let out a painful groan. Rogaan watched, stunned as his father came back from the edge of oblivion. Mithraam’s eyes opened and darted about, confused at where he was for a few moments before focusing on Im’Kas. Rogaan’s father offered a slight grin to his friend.
“I thought you might . . .” Mithraam hoarsely coughed his words, “ignore my wishes.”
“It appears I was just this side of too late,” Im’Kas almost smiled back.
“I am . . .” Mithraam coughed more words, “joyed you disobeyed us. Rogaan . . .” Chills shook Rogaan at his father’s reference to the Master Dark Robe.
“—is alive,” Im’Kas interrupted.
“Lord Dark Ax.” Pax spoke with a pained and unsteady voice. Rogaan looked to his friend and saw him visibly shaking from fear of Im’Kas or the loss of his parents, he did not know. “Could ya . . . would ya . . . do dat ta me ma and father. Brin’ ‘em back?”
Im’Kas did not speak. He appeared to be considering his words. He looked at Pax with those pained eyes. “It doesn’t work in that manner.”
“But ya saved Rogaan’s da.” Anger flared in Pax’s voice as he pointed at Rogaan.
“Rogaan’s father is whole of body,” Im’Kas replied calmly, kindly.
Pax made to lash out at Im’Kas with his famously wicked tongue. Rogaan saw it in his friend’s eyes and heard it in the tone of his voice. With his left hand, Rogaan reached out and gave Pax a firm grip on his right arm. Pax looked at him with anger oozing before pulling his arm away. Instead of lashing out at Im’Kas, Pax focused on Rogaan.
“Dat be me ma and da layin’ out dere.” Pax pointed to the bloody mess of bodies where his mother and father lay torn apart. Tears poured from his eyes. “He saved ya da. What about me . . . and Suhd? Don’t we be needin’ our parents? Why be it ya father and not dem dat he saves?”
“Pax . . .” Rogaan’s father tried to comfort, reason with Pax by his tone . . . weak as he was.
“Ya no need ta be talkin’.” Pax addressed Rogaan’s father with a voice filled with pain and anger. “He saved ya . . . must mean somethin’ ta him. Me parents just be nothin’!”
“Aaaah . . . we have more important troubles than crying over those already lightless,” Aren broke in with impatience. Pax fumed at Aren’s interruption, but Aren ignored him as he pointed to the wall. “Look!”
Scores of Tusaa’Ner, each armed with bow or crossbow, took up positions on the wall in front of the Seats of the Honored with its many streaming sky-blue pennants, half-bearing Farratum’s gateway symbol, and the crossed spears between two towers. Five sky-blue, armor-clad guardsmen entered the arena grounds from a small door in the wall under the perch of the Announcer of Games. They approached with hurried strides.
“I care not of any of ‘em,” Pax growled at Aren.
“Be still.” Im’Kas held Mithraam’s eyes, but spoke to Pax and Aren. He lowered his voice such that only Rogaan and his father could hear his next words. “They come to demand my surrender.”
“They cannot.” Mithraam struggled to speak his words before coughing and settling his head back onto the dirt. He was weak and pale in color. Rogaan realized that whatever Im’Kas did for him was just enough to keep his father from slipping into Darkness, but might not be enough to keep him from that final slip after all.
“I know, ol’ friend.” Im’Kas calmed Mithraam, then stood facing the gathering guardsmen and archers filling the wall.
“Violator of laws.” The lead Tusaa’Ner guardsman, a sakal in his red cap, spoke with confidence as he and his fellow guardsmen stopped some nineteen strides from Im’Kas. Despite the guardsman’s display of command, a hint of nervousness carried in his voice as his words echoed throughout the arena. “Disarm and surrender yourself.”
“Then disarm, and I’ll accept your surrender,” Im’Kas replied loudly and as if he meant it.
The Tusaa’Ner commander appeared confused at Im’Kas’s response. He looked to his fellow guardsmen as if confirming he was not alone in misunderstanding. “Perhaps you misunderstood—”
“No misunderstanding, Commander,” Im’Kas cut him off. “I’ll not parlay with you as we have no quarrel.”
Rogaan’s skin prickled again, and his hairs ached as they bristled. Im’Kas stood tall as if about to address an audience.
“Is this your new justice?” Im’Kas’s voice boomed throughout the arena. “Is this how we treat our citizens? I knew us better than this.”
Rogaan did not know who Im’Kas addressed. His gaze was beyond the guardsmen and upward into the seats. A stir in the Seats of the Honored drew Rogaan’s attention. Is he challenging the powerful? Rogaan took a few small nervous steps backward away from Im’Kas. Im’Kas stood firmly waiting for a reply as the Tusaa’Ner sakal grew more confused. The wait was short. A trumpet from somewhere near the Seats of the Honor sounded, announcing a richly dressed Baraan male in blue robes speaking words from the Seats of the Honored. A white and blue-robed Baraan male of long years stepped up to the announcer’s perch speaking on behalf of his masters in the seats above.
“Make their surrender or cut them down . . . by order of the First Za,” the gray-haired announcer spoke, relaying orders from the lawmaker above, his words echoing loudly throughout the arena. The Tusaa’Ner commander standing before Im’Kas regained his composure before taking a step forward.
“By orders of the First Za, surrender yourselves,” demanded the blue-clad, red-caped commander.
Im’Kas shook his head no in response, then replied, “Zas hold no such authority under the laws of the land. They make laws, not command their obedience, nor do they pronounce judgments.”
“So be it.” The Tusaa’Ner commander’s voice hesitated, but was strong as he raised his right hand.
Scores of Tusaa’Ner archers lining the arena wall drew and aimed their weapons toward Im’Kas and all near him. Rogaan looked about for cover. He found Aren on the stage behind him wearing a doubfounded look. Pax was gone. A glance found him kneeling over what was left of his father’s body beyond the edge of the stage. Rogaan felt great pain for his friend, having just been to the brink of that possibility himself. The only good of it was Pax hopfully was safely out of the way of all but a stray arrow. Father! Rogaan thought of his father lying helplessly under a storm of arrows unleashed upon them. Father will certainly die.
“What in Kur do you think you’re about?” Aren got the words out before Rogaan could ask the same of Im’Kas. Im’Kas ignored him. “You’ll see us all into the Darkness.”
Rogaan rushed to his father’s side, readying to offer his body as a shield. A hand grasped Rogaan’s forearm. He forced a smile at his father.
“Do not think it, Rogaan,” Mithraam coughed. “Get from me and take protection behind the fallen beast.”
Rogaan shook his head no in reply. He would protect his father, shield his body with his own. Maybe Im’Kas can give to me that healing, if I live.
The Tusaa’Ner commander looked hesitant to give the signal to fire. Im’Kas merely stood waiting, saying and doing nothing except staring at the guardsmen. Rogaan was at a wonder. What is he doing? He must be mad.
“You’ve lost your head, now it’ll be your Light, Tellen,” Aren ranted from somewhere behind Rogaan. A scamper of sandals on wood told Rogaan Aren was on the move looking for a hiding place to protect himself from what was upon them.
“You don’t have to do this,” the Tusaa’Ner commander offered Im’Kas.
“Same of you,” Im’Kas offered back. “This doesn’t have to be.”
Rogaan felt his skin prickle again, and his hair raised on end. Breathing became a struggle as the air felt heavier. He looked up at Im’Kas when the Tusaa’Ner commander lowered his arm down in a command to unleash Kur upon them. Rogaan held his breath as a volley of arrows from all directions filled the sky. His innards felt as if he was falling from a great height, making him dizzy. Realizing his father was still exposed, Rogaan fought through his disorientation enough to lay across his father’s body, shielding him, he hoped, from a certain death. Rogaan closed his eyes and held his breath waiting for the onslaught of pain of arrowsheads ripping through his body. Again, he prayed to the Ancients for mercy and salvation. He made his peace with the coming Darkness, he hoped, then waited . . . and waited. The pain did not come; no arrows pierced him. He waited a few more moments with eyes closed tight. Is it my wild spirit again?
A resonating gasp filled the arena. Rogaan felt it as much as heard it. He looked up and stared in awe and wonder. Every metal-tipped blue arrow hung still in the air after having arced downward toward them. A wall of blue surrounded them, the closest white fletched shafts stopping less than two strides away. Im’Kas was deep in concentration and did not seem to notice the suspended projectiles of death. The dark-clad Im’Kas slowly raised his head as a murmur from the crowd turned into another gasp as the wall of blue and white fell to the dirt.
“It was never to be.” Im’Kas spoke directly at the Tusaa’Ner guardsmen as the commander and his guardsmen backed away with fear-trembling strides. Im’Kas stood taller as he addressed the Seats of the Honored in a booming voice. “This . . . is not of our laws. The dead were not judged before the courts, the Gals. These younglings were not proclaimed guilty . . . of any crimes before the court. This dying Tellen is accused only of hording wealth, a family heirloom, passed down father to son through the generations.”
“That young Tellen made my guards lightless!” A tall, blue-robed Baraan proclaimed in a heated tone. His voice carried throughout the arena as he stood stiffly at the railing surrounding the Seats of the Honored. Two blue-tuniced escorts framed the robed Baraan.
“Put him before the Gals, First Za,” Im’Kas countered without hesitation. “Let the law decide if his actions were righteous or not.”
“Stealing the Lights of those serving the Zas is never righteous!” The First Za pronounced. One of his blue-tuniced escorts quickly got the First Za’s attention, then exchanged unheard words with him. The First Za began waving off his blue-tuniced aide, seeming to not like what he was being counseled about.
“Are these accounts true?” Asked a blue and white-robed, white-haired Baraan of long years who now stood at the far left end of the Seats of the
Honored. “I am disturbed by what I hear.”
The First Za looked perplex at the interference of his exchange with Im’Kas. With an aggressive posture, the First Za made to speak something to the white-haired Baraan, but his aide stopped him. After a short and heated private exchange between the First Za and his shaking aide, the First Za asked of the white-haired elder, “Gal Nigina, what is your proclamation?”
“Yes,” Rogaan’s father wheezed from under Rogaan.
Realizing he still lay across his father as a protective shield, Rogaan lifted himself up, then sat down beside him. “What is this about, Father?”
“I feared Im’Kas . . . lacked strength to shield us.” Mithraam struggled to explain, coughing up a little blood. “He again proves me short of faith in him. Im’Kas confronted the unruly Zas before the people . . . and Gals. First Gal . . . that white-haired Baraan, has . . . authority to proclaim . . . to rule . . . justice. Honoring the laws. Honoring . . . your life.”
Trumpits sounded, drawing Rogaan’s attention to the Seats of the Honored. The First Gal stood where the First Za stood moments ago. The First Za now was nowhere to be seen. The First Gal spoke his proclamation that echoed loudy about the arena. “By order of the Mes, justice must be served. I make the following proclamations seeking justice. I order the Tellens, the young Baraan, and the young Evendiir to the courts. The injured Tellen is to have healing. See that done immediately. Im’Kas, you have made quite a mess of things. Your reputation as one for disturbance remains unspoiled in this, but have managed once again not to have violated known laws if the guardsmen you . . . laid to ground live, as they stood between you and injustice. Your actions, unorthadox as you are famous for, were in defending the unproclaimed from judgments. You may go your way. Seeking truth and justice for the dead lying before us, I order Truth-finding to reveal lawbreakers.”
