The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1)

by David J Normoyle

  As Suma approached the paddock, the noise faded. The entrance she’d hoped to have in the great hall, when she’d been all made up and looking lovely, she instead had dressed in Arron’s smelly castoffs. Perfect.

  By the time she reached the actual fence of the paddock, the only two people who hadn’t stopped what they were doing to stare at her were Arron and Balti, who continued to hack at each other with effortful but ineffectual blows. I don’t look like a fool. Suma wished she hadn’t come. Sometimes a step is better left untaken.

  “Stop,” the Duke shouted.

  The two boys stopped fighting each other. Seeing Suma, Balti pointed then started laughing.

  “Silence,” the Duke said.

  Suma wondered if everyone else would be laughing and pointing if they didn’t fear the Duke’s reaction.

  “Return to your quarters,” the Duke told Suma.

  She felt herself bending to his will. Her legs twitched, wanting to turn and flee. I am brave. She resisted the compelling power of his eyes.

  “I’ve come to fight.” She truly would look like an idiot if she left then. She would never be able to live it down. Perhaps that was true, whatever happened. What was I thinking? She wouldn’t be able to sit down with the girls for cakes or embroidery without them sniggering at her ever again. She had given up her tomboy ways for good reason.

  “I said return to your quarters.”

  She avoided the Duke’s stare, not wanting to feel the force of it again. Instead, she ducked through the fence and into the paddock, letting the wrapping fall from the axe’s handle. “I’ll take both of you together,” she told Arron and Balti. “Unless you are afraid of losing to a girl.” The last was meant more for her father than for her brothers.

  “Where did you get that axe?” Balti asked.

  “It’s yours if you beat me,” she said then wished she hadn’t. The axe gave her strength, but it didn’t mean she would definitely win. The boys had trained at fighting much more than her. Rather: The boys had trained at fighting.

  “The axe is mine as the eldest,” Arron said as he glanced over Suma’s head. Checking for approval from his father. Then he grinned and raised his wooden sword. Approval granted.

  “Whichever of us disarms her gets the axe.” Balti extended his training sword.

  Suma swung the axe, keeping the boys from getting too close. An oppressive silence hung in the air. Someone should shout or cheer or... something. Even the tradesmen had stopped their work to watch. The axe, light in her hands, sliced the air in front of her with speed and grace. The boys retreated, surprised and wary.

  Suma realized she had two problems. She had to beat her brothers, showing what she was capable of, but she had to do it without striking them directly. She had seen what the axe could do. Even with its padding, it could hurt the boys badly. Why didn’t I think this through? She had to make sure to hit only their shields or swords.

  The boys separated and came at her from either side. Her eyes shifted back and forth between them. She needed to take them one at a time. She charged Balti, swinging wildly. He retreated rapidly. Suma turned just in time to prevent Arron attacking her from behind. This put both boys in front of her, but they immediately began to separate again.

  Suma circled to keep them in front of her, surprised at their discipline and restraint. “You seem awfully scared of your sister. I thought you wanted the axe.” Surely, she could goad a ten-year-old into a rash attack. “Is little Baba scared?” Baba was Balti’s toddler name.

  “Don’t call me that.” Balti charged, swinging hard. He missed, and Suma struck his shield. She didn’t even hit that hard, but he went flying through the air, crashing into the dirt a full five paces away.

  Suma swiveled to face Arron. He had been trying to get to her blind side but backed away, glancing in confusion toward where Balti had fallen in a heap. Suma ran at him, swinging. Time to end it. Realizing the fence wasn’t too far behind him, Arron shifted to his left, and Suma moved to intercept. She swung hard at him then realized with horror that she was aiming at his sword side, not his shield side.

  To her relief, Arron managed to get his shield across in time to block. Arron’s shield split in two with a crack like that of a lightning strike. The boy jerked backward, crashing into the fence behind him. Suma dropped the axe and raced to his side. She rolled him onto his back and was delighted when he groaned and squirmed away from her touch.

  “I’m sorry, Arron,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  A single person clapped, and Suma twisted around to see that Lucii had arrived and was applauding.

  “Impressive, little sister.” As usual, he was half joking and half serious.

  Beside him, the Duke was very serious, and the others watching took their cue from him.

  “Don’t worry about Arron and little Baba,” Lucii said. “The blow to their pride is worse than their injuries.”

  It was true. Balti had already gotten to his feet and retrieved his sword, and Arron was sitting up, holding his head.

  The Duke turned to his oldest son. “Make this right.”

  “With pleasure.” Lucii climbed the fence and jumped into the paddock.

  Suma retrieved her axe. “I don’t want to fight Lucii.” She had proved her point.

  Lucii bent to pick up Arron’s training sword.

  “You have a sword at your belt,” the Duke told him.

  Lucii made a face, but he straightened without picking up the wooden sword and instead drew the one at his side. It gleamed as it caught the light. Suma backed away. The edge looked awfully sharp.

  Suma shivered. She hadn’t noticed the cold before, but she did then. Why does nothing go the way I want? Lucii didn’t carry a shield. How could she even strike at him after what she had done to Arron?

  When they were close to the center of the paddock, Lucii leaned forward and whispered to her, “Quite the pickle you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  She nodded glumly.

  “You’re back to your old self again." He winked. “Don’t worry, I’ve gotten you out of scrapes before.”

  Lucii’s sword flashed out, and Suma stepped to her left. Lucii circled, his sword darting out again and again. Suma twisted around to keep him in front of her, making tentative swipes back, but he never got within range, dancing back and circling to the right, and Suma had to turn rapidly to keep her brother in front of her. His sword snaked in and out, never getting too close but keeping Suma off balance.

  Lucii started to wobble—no, it was she who was unsteady. Lucii’s sword wavered back and forth, and Suma tried to twist away, then Lucii was spinning, and the paddock fence and the castle walls behind him also spun. Suma staggered and fell. The axe was levered from her hand, and Lucii knelt down beside her. “You always did get dizzy awfully easy.”

  Suma spat out a mouthful of dirt. “Fiend,” she said. “Using that against me.”

  He smiled, sheathed his sword, and held out to hand to help her up. “I’m devious like that.” He offered her the axe. “Yours, I believe.”

  “Bring that to me,” the Duke’s voice cut across them.

  Lucii raised his eyebrows and leaned in close. “Now we are both in trouble.” He carried the axe across to his father. Suma followed behind, finally feeling good about what had happened.

  The Duke stood up on the lower rung on the fence and looked around. “As for the rest of you, what are you all doing gawking? You, Boris—he pointed out one of the soldiers who had retreated to the edge of the paddock to watch—“you still carry your sword too low. You should be working on that. And Feris”—he turned toward the blacksmith—“the next time an assignment of swords is delayed, I’ll know it’s because you stop working at every distraction.”

  In a rush of movement and noise, everyone resumed their duties. The Duke threw his leg over the fence and jumped into the paddock. “Is that what you call making it right?” he asked Lucii.

  Lucii shrugged. “The girl was easily def
eated, and no one was hurt.”

  The Duke took the axe from Lucii and ripped the padding off it. He examined it for a moment then told Lucii to fetch a shield. Lucii went for Arron’s then, realizing it was broken, went to fetch Balti’s. The two younger boys stood off to one side, watching.

  “Brace yourself,” the Duke told Lucii when he returned.

  Lucii glanced over at Arron’s broken shield, a wince passing across his face, but he didn’t protest as he held out the shield.

  The Duke raised the axe high and struck down forcefully at the shield. Suma sucked in a breath, leaning back. The axe blade struck the shield solidly, denting it and knocking Lucii back a pace, but the blow contained none of the explosion that Suma’s strikes had.

  “Give the girl your sword,” the Duke ordered.

  Suma took the sword from her brother. It hadn’t looked big in Lucii’s possession, but Suma needed to use both hands to hold it up, and even then, the tip kept wavering.

  He turned his gaze on her. “Strike the shield with the sword.”

  You wanted his attention, she told herself. That gaze was not the type of attention anyone wanted, though. She pulled back the sword, ready to strike.

  “Make sure to hit the wooden part, not the part with legs and other appendages I’m fond off.” Lucii looked more worried than he had when his father had struck at him with the magical axe.

  Suma hit the shield squarely, though without any force. She frowned. “I can hit it harder than that.”

  “I’ve seen enough.” The Duke climbed back over the fence.

  “Give me that back while I still have all my toes.” Lucii snatched his sword from Suma.

  “Father, that’s mine,” Suma called, watching the Duke carry off her axe.

  Suma’s heart was in her mouth as he half turned and said, “You and everything you own is mine until I marry you off.”

  That was true. “Nevertheless, that weapon is mine,” she said.

  He ignored her. The axe had been her only chance of salvation against the horror of marrying Lord Fat Toad. And as the Duke carried it into the main keep, Suma wondered if she would ever see it again.

  Chapter 10

  Mortlebee stayed on the ground, keeping his eyes glued shut long after consciousness returned. Getting up would mean having to deal with what had happened. Time passed, and the cold soaked up from the ground, through his skin, and into his bones. He stood. Keeping his eyes shut hadn’t stopped the memories of what he had done from searing his mind.

  The sun sank into the western sky, and the long shadows of the lower hills striped the upper slopes. The bow lay in the dirt like a brown snake—only more poisonous. He would have liked to leave it behind, but he had to show it to Father. His story was already unbelievable enough. The thought of confiding in Father made him feel even more wretched, but that was an imperative first step. His heart was no longer just impure. It was blackened, perhaps beyond saving. Father would know what had to be done.

  Mortlebee started back toward Bluegrass, slowly at first, then speeding once his arms and legs warmed up. His quick stride and pumping blood could do nothing about the coldness at his core. He didn’t know what had caused him to collapse, and he didn’t even care. He just wanted to get back so he could unburden his soul.

  By the time he reached Bluegrass, the first of the hearth fires were being lit as farmers and shepherds returned from the slopes. Mortlebee went straight to the door of his house then stopped outside, unable to go farther.

  Father came out, saving him from having to take the final few steps. “Where have you been all day? There was work to be done.”

  Whatever strength had been holding Mortlebee upright disappeared at the sight of Father, and he crumpled, wrapping his arms around Father’s back and bleeding tears against Father’s chest. Between sobs, everything came out. Mortlebee wasn’t sure how coherent the story was or how many of his half-sobbing words were comprehensible.

  Father understood enough to not need to ask questions. He gripped Mortlebee’s shoulders and forced him to stand upright. “It’ll be okay.”

  “It will?” Mortlebee couldn’t look into Father’s face.

  “Crying never solved anything.” Father brushed the tears from Mortlebee’s cheeks. “Calm yourself. I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  Father disappeared back into the house. Mortlebee rubbed at his face. He became aware of those casting strange glances at him, but he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze.

  Father wasn’t the hugging type—he left physical affection to Mother—so Mortlebee could never have imagined the encounter going the way it had. Father’s calmness gave him strength. He was still lost, forsaken, cursed, but perhaps not irredeemable.

  The door opened, and Father closed it behind him before Mortlebee could see inside. A bag was slung across Father’s back.

  “What’s that for?” Mortlebee peeked at Father’s face, seeing deep sadness but resolute strength.

  “What I need to teach you.”

  Mortlebee leaned the bow against the wall of the house, glad to finally be rid of it.

  “No, bring that.” Father started down the trail to Eagleview. Mortlebee reluctantly grabbed the bow again and returned to using it as a walking stick, hurrying down the trail. Father didn’t slow, continuing at a pace that left Mortlebee struggling to catch up. Mortlebee was glad, though, that the initial teaching would take place away from the eyes of the village. He wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eye for a long time.

  The night descended quickly, the cold biting at Mortlebee’s exposed skin, his exertion keeping the chill from sinking deeper. The darkness made the footing on the path treacherous, but Father didn’t slow, so Mortlebee didn’t either. He skidded several times on loose stones but never fell. Mortlebee tried to use the silence between them to reflect on his sins—Father’s teaching would surely involve plenty of reflection—but every time he peered into his memory, the horror of what he’d done rose up in his mind like a beast with monstrous, giant wings of shadow, and he shied away.

  At a fork in the trail, Father stopped. Dread clenched at Mortlebee’s guts as he slowed, glad the darkness hid both their features. What punishment awaits me? Father took the bag off his back and strapped it around Mortlebee’s shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” Mortlebee asked.

  “You know the parable of the penitent man?”

  “Of course.” That part of the scrolls held hope for Mortlebee. The penitent man had committed violence, turning away from the teachings of Kale. But after several years away from the community, the penitent man had seen the error of his ways, returned, and been welcomed back.

  “I say that because I never want you to give up hope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The most important thing to realize is that he was forgiven. You must also remember that it took him several years before he was welcomed back.”

  “Several years. Are you saying it’ll be that long before my heart will be pure again?”

  “At least.”

  “Father, I promise I will do it sooner. I’ll spend all night naked in the cold if I have to. Whatever has to be done.”

  “I expect no less.” Father tightened the straps of the bag on Mortlebee’s back then stepped back. “Your path lies that way.” He gestured at the leftmost trail—not the one that led to Eagleview—the one that led down the mountains.

  “No.” Mortlebee realized what was happening. “No.”

  “There is some food and water in the bag, a spare cloak and sleeping rolls. You’d best walk all of the night, but by tomorrow night, you’ll be at a low enough altitude to sleep outside without fear of dying of exposure.”

  Mortlebee grabbed Father’s arm. “You can’t do this. I made a horrible mistake, I admit it. But I need guidance, teaching. I need to be brought back into the fold. Not this.”

  “It’s the only way. You are too far gone. You’ll only corrupt others.”

  “You can’t. I am
your son.”

  “Then you know how difficult this is for me.” Mortlebee remembered Father’s expression back at the house, the deep sadness and resolute strength in it. Those exact same emotions were also expressed by the tone of his voice.

  “If it has to happen, let me say goodbye first. To Mother and Kataya and Hessina and Dell.” Mortlebee started back up the trail, but Father blocked his way. Mortlebee shoved—surprised at his boldness at laying his hands on his father—but Father held steady.

  “You may be able to move me aside,” Father said, “but I’ll get up and stand in your way again. You can shove me aside one hundred times and get back to the village. Then the rest of the elders will stand in your way.”

  “You’ll stand in the way of my saying goodbye to my family but not stand up to the man starving your family,” Mortlebee said, anger sparking him to listen to the little voice that had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

  “Everything I do is for the good of all of us in Bluegrass. All of us in Tockery. Not just one person. You are too young to understand.”

  “And my heart too impure?”

  “I’m afraid so. Nothing would make me happier than welcoming you back to our village, but our teachings have not worked for you. You must find your own journey then return with a pure heart. Remember the parable.”

  Mortlebee fell to his knees, the temporary flare of anger fading. He had brought it all on himself. He had killed the priest. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better teacher,” Father said.

  Mortlebee sucked in deep breaths, each one filling his lungs with a shock of air almost too cold to bear. While they had been stopped, the cold had gotten inside him. However, the icicle that sank to the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the night air.

  “Tell them I love them.” Mortlebee struggled to his feet then started down the leftmost fork. Almost at once, he slipped and fell. His hip hit a stone, and he rolled. He didn’t cry out but got back to his feet and used the bow to stab at the ground in front of his feet as he descended. With every stab, he willed the bow to break into splinters.