Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Moya,” Tekchin pleaded, but she refused to look at him.

  “This is insane,” Raithe told Persephone. “He’ll kill her. Moya will die.”

  “And then the Gula-Rhunes will rule over all of us,” Lipit pointed out. “This isn’t just her life at stake.”

  For most of the trip back, both inside Neith and on the ship, Persephone had watched Moya practice with the bow. On the boat, she’d refined her technique, tweaking Roan’s invention until she could repeatedly hit the forward stanchion from the rear of the hold. The ship was too small for any long-range exercises, but Udgar wouldn’t be that far away, and he was wider than a stanchion. Still, a wooden post wasn’t a man and Persephone looked to Moya for reassurance.

  The woman leaned on the bow and offered that disarming smile of hers. Then Moya jerked her head at Udgar and silently mouthed the word puppy.

  If she weren’t so genuinely concerned, Persephone might have laughed.

  “If you truly believe that I should be keenig…” Persephone looked at Raithe. “If you think I can lead our people to defeat the Fhrey nation, then you must believe I can defeat a single Gula. I know you think it’s impossible. But you just said I proved the impossible is achievable. I’m asking you to believe that I know what I’m doing. Do you, Raithe? Do you truly believe what you so eloquently said? Do you believe in me?”

  “But Moya—” Raithe said.

  “Just answer the question. It’s a simple question.”

  A long silence, and then…“Yes,” Raithe said.

  She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help leaking a little smile. Raithe was in love with her. He’d admitted as much on the beach and in Dahl Rhen, the first time he’d asked her to come away. He’d do anything to protect her. This one word proved more than his love; it proved he trusted her, even when reason told him he shouldn’t.

  She looked at the other chieftains. “Well? Do you agree? Do you appoint me to represent the Rhulyn-Rhunes? Do you give me the authority to choose my champion? And if my champion prevails, will you accept me as the leader of all our clans?”

  “Win this battle, and you will win my undying loyalty,” Tegan told her.

  “Does that go for the rest of you as well?” she asked, and they nodded.

  “It’s decided!” she shouted. “Moya will represent me in battle against Udgar for the position of keenig!”

  The crowd came alive. Shouts of “Gula!” and “Udgar!” came from the small but loud fur-covered contingent. Shouts of “Rhulyn!” came from the rest. No one cheered Moya’s name.

  Persephone walked to Moya as she bent the staff to string the bow. “Are you scared?”

  Moya looked over her shoulder at Udgar, who was flexing his arms and cracking his neck. “Of him?” Moya said, sounding insulted.

  Persephone watched Moya fit the string. Her hands were steady, her movements fluid.

  Is she really so confident?

  “No pressure, Moya. Just the future of every Rhulyn-Rhune, and maybe even all of humanity, is in the balance. So, nothing to really worry about.”

  Moya glared.

  “Seriously, though…” Persephone hesitated. “It’s just…he isn’t a demon. Does that bother you? Killing a person, I mean?”

  Again, Moya looked at Udgar. “Not him it doesn’t.”

  Persephone nodded. “Okay, then.”

  The mob drew away, pressing toward the walls, giving the two plenty of room. Raithe moved close to Persephone as they both backed up to the edge of the crowd.

  Persephone said a silent prayer to Mari as Moya pulled five feathered shafts from her belt pouch. One without feathers had been lost and the other one had been fixed by Roan during the boat trip back.

  “Sticks? You fight me with sticks?” Udgar laughed at her. He hefted his spear and pounded it against the face of the shield secured to his arm, making a mighty whump! “Come get me with your sticks, little girl.”

  Moya held all five arrows in her pull-hand, fitting one in the string. “Don’t need to.”

  Udgar raised his spear and took one charging step forward. Moya drew back, bending the bow. Just as with Balgargarath, she made a fine image—straight and confident.

  She loosed the arrow. A sound like the whisper of a small bird taking flight issued, and across the courtyard the Gula champion stopped his charge and collapsed to the dirt.

  In the wake of his fall, there wasn’t a sound. The courtyard remained silent. No cheer, no shouts of anguish. Bewilderment infected every face as the crowd continued to lean forward with anticipation for a battle that had already ended.

  Udgar thrashed on the ground, clawing at his neck, a spray of blood forming a pool. His legs kicked, and an awful gurgling sound bubbled from his mouth along with a wellspring of blood.

  The spectators still stared.

  “What’s happening?” someone asked, as confusion held everyone in shock.

  Finally, Udgar stopped moving altogether. The pool continued to spread, soaking the dirt. Still, there was a shaking of heads, a narrowing of eyes, questions whispered.

  One of the Gula-Rhune clansmen approached Udgar’s prone form and examined him. Everyone waited for the explanation to the riddle. When the man stood, he had a look of shock on his face. “Udgar…Udgar is dead.”

  Still, no one cheered. This wasn’t the answer they had expected. If not for the blood, they might have thought Udgar was faking. Trying to lure his opponent closer, so he could strike. Not even their own eyes were enough to prove that a petite woman had killed the Gula giant. That she had done so in the span of a single breath, made it even more unbelievable.

  Raithe looked at the fallen warrior, and then at Moya, who was already unstringing the bow. “You did it.” He turned to Persephone. “She did it. She actually did it! That was…that was amazing.”

  “You all right, Moya?” Persephone asked.

  Moya nodded, but there was no smile, no flippant remark. Instead, Moya wore a grim, serious expression—the look of a warrior.

  “By the blessed hand of Mari,” Lipit muttered as he took a hesitant step forward, struggling to believe. He stared at the prone form of Udgar facedown in the dirt. Then the chieftain of Tirre looked at Persephone with awe. “You really are the keenig.”

  Tegan nodded. “You are the keenig.” Then the chieftain of Clan Warric upstaged Lipit by kneeling before her.

  “Yes, you are the keenig,” Harkon affirmed as he also took a knee.

  So did Krugen and Alward, making it official.

  “I’d pledge my sword,” Raithe told her, “but all of mine are broken.”

  “I’ll make you a new one,” Roan told him. “A good one. One that won’t break…ever.”

  Tekchin ran to Moya. “And here we thought you couldn’t throw a spear! That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like it. Didn’t even see it fly.”

  She whirled on him. “No? Well, trust me, you will if you ever hurt anyone I love again!”

  Tekchin pulled back, confused.

  Moya leaned in, jabbing a finger at him, her eyes filled with far more fury than she’d showed Udgar. She pointed at Gifford. “If you ever do that, I swear to Mari, I won’t hesitate to—”

  Tekchin threw his hands up in defense. “I didn’t—”

  “But you didn’t stop it, either. I mean it, Tekchin! I’ll drop you like the poisonous snake you are. You or any Galantian.” She stared fiercely at Eres. “And I’m pretty sure I could do so at more than a hundred yards.”

  “Moya,” Gifford said, “it’s all wight.”

  “No, it isn’t!” Moya glared at Tekchin. “You could have done something, but you just stood there and watched…watched while he…he…”

  “I didn’t like what happened, either,” Tekchin said.

  “But you didn’t stop it! Why didn’t you stop it? Why? You stood there like everyone else, just watching. You heard Gifford’s cries; you heard his screams. And what did you do? Nothing!”

  She was sobbing.

&
nbsp; “Moya, I—”

  She held up a hand in front of Tekchin, wiped her tears away, and then slowly walked over to Gifford. She couldn’t look him in the eye; instead she stared at the potter’s feet. “Gifford, I’m…I’m…sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.”

  Gifford let his crutch go, hopped a step, and put his arms around her, hugging her close. “It’s okay.”

  She shook her head against his chest.

  “Moya, you just saved us fum Udga the Tewible. I absolve you.”

  “Absolve?” Moya asked.

  Roan looked over. “He means forgive, he just can’t pronounce the r.”

  Gifford smiled. “I might even owe you a few mo’ snapped bones. You did so much.”

  While Gifford held her and Moya cried, Tekchin started to walk away, his head down.

  “Wait!” Moya called when she noticed. She gave Gifford a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she turned toward Tekchin. “You’re ugly. You know that, right?”

  Tekchin nodded. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

  Moya shifted her weight to the hip that carried her sword. She folded her arms roughly and gave him a scowl. “Well, in case you forgot, or thought you might have improved while I was gone, I wanted to let you know you haven’t. You’re still uglier than Tetlin’s ass on a bad day…but…”

  “But?” Tekchin tilted his head to one side. His eyes narrowed and his lips parted just slightly as he studied her. “But what?”

  “But it doesn’t mean I want you to leave.”

  The Fhrey smiled.

  “Don’t go grinning at me,” Moya said.

  Just then a scuffle broke out among the Gula-Rhunes in the small group across the yard.

  “It’s the law!” one of the Gula yelled. One shoved, and the other pushed back.

  A fist was thrown, then another. Two more men jumped in. Then a spear was thrust and one man fell. The one with the spear glared at Persephone with hate-filled eyes. Jerking the bloody weapon out of the man’s body, he ran across the courtyard at her.

  Raithe, who’d gone over to Tesh after the challenge to show him the sword, moved to intercept. Moya did, too, drawing her sword as she ran. The Gula-Rhune was faster than both and rushed to within a foot of Persephone, where he halted. Not as big as Udgar, he was nevertheless terrifying: crooked yellow teeth, an empty eye socket, and the tattoo of a serpent curling up his forearm. His huge hands were soaked in blood where they gripped the spear.

  Persephone didn’t move. She was too terrified to even blink, but slowly, very slowly, she tilted her head up and looked into his one eye.

  A cyclops, she thought. I’m going to be killed by a cyclops!

  “I am Siegel, son of Siegmar, chieftain of Clan Dunn.”

  Tilting her head was as much as Persephone could manage. She kept her jaw tight and her eyes focused on that one eye. He appeared puzzled for a moment, then moved back one step and looked her over. “You are nothing to look at.” He began to nod, his lower lip protruding in grudging approval. “But you are brave.”

  Just too scared to move! Persephone thought.

  The cyclops—who hadn’t appeared to notice either Raithe or Moya—paused to look behind him at the other Gula-Rhune, then faced her again. “You can show us how to do that?” He pointed at Moya. “To do that to the gods? Kill them from a distance?”

  “They aren’t gods,” Persephone said. “They’re just Fhrey. And yes, Moya will teach you. And Roan will give you swords of iron that will break bronze weapons. And shields with markings that will stop their magic.”

  Siegel grinned, his mouth filled with crooked teeth. He nodded once more, then turned to Raithe. “Son of Coppersword, you accept this? You believe she can lead us to victory?”

  “Udgar would have killed me,” Raithe said. “We both know that.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet I would have fought. I would have died; died for her. No one else…only her.”

  Siegel looked back at Persephone. “And it was you who invited us?”

  “I need you to win,” she said. “You need us to survive. Together we can be free.”

  He grinned, then raised his voice so everyone could hear, “She has killed Udgar. The gods have chosen. Persephone of Clan Rhen is keenig. The keenig of Rhulyn and Gula.”

  Siegel reached up to the blade of his spear and dragged his palm across the chipped jade edge, cutting a long slice. Then he held out his bleeding hand.

  Raithe walked over and offered the edge of the iron blade to Persephone, nodding at it.

  She looked at her soft white hand, and with a quiver in her stomach and a clenched jaw, she extended it over the blade. Raithe put his on top of hers, pressing her skin to the sharp edge. Raithe made it quick. She felt the pain like a burn across her palm.

  She didn’t want to look. She was afraid to see what the sword had done. Instead, she reached out. Siegel, still grinning, took her hand and squeezed. It hurt but she imagined he could have broken every bone if he wanted. She continued to grit her teeth, and Siegel continued to grin.

  “You are the keenig,” he told her. Letting go and grabbing her by the wrist, he shoved her arm up, nearly wrenching it from her shoulder. He shouted to those behind him, “She is the keenig!”

  He let go, and Persephone clutched her throbbing hand to her chest as blood ran down to her elbow. Raithe was ready with a strip of cloth that he wrapped around the wound. She turned away from Siegel, who was walking back toward the others at the gate. She looked at Moya and mouthed the word, ouch!

  “Roan, get Padera,” Moya said. “Tell her to bring bandages and a needle. No offense, Raithe, but the Keenig of the Ten Clans deserves the best.”

  “Sharp, right?” Roan asked with a big smile.

  “Very,” Persephone managed to say through gritted teeth.

  “Roan…Padera…now! Go!” Moya barked, and Roan ran off.

  The chieftains ordered wine to be brought and spits to be loaded for the first ever Rhulyn–Gula celebration.

  “You okay?” Moya put her arm around Persephone.

  “Hand hurts, but yeah. I guess I am.”

  Moya gave her a hug. “You know what else you are?”

  Persephone nodded slowly. “I’m the keenig.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The Plan

  And that is how it all happened. It is how Persephone became the keenig of the Ten Clans, and Moya became her Shield. It is also the story of how Roan invented the bow and how Suri mastered the Art. For my part, I learned to write. I think each of us believed our adventures were over, and that under Persephone’s guidance, men like Raithe and Fhrey like Nyphron would take over and finish what we started. We certainly did not expect what came next. I am not sure anyone would have.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  “What now?” Nyphron asked, shaking his head. “Everything was going so well until…Why didn’t you know about this stupid rule where only Rhunes can become keenig? You’re a Rhune. Why didn’t you know?”

  Malcolm didn’t reply. The two walked the beach just back from the surf. He didn’t look the least bit apologetic or even concerned. The ex-slave of Nyphron’s father offered the hint of a smile and then turned to look out at the sea.

  “More Rhunes are coming, you know,” Malcolm said. “Thousands are already on the march from Warric, Melen, and Menahan. The army you wanted, the one you dreamed of having, is on its way. And Persephone has provided you with the means to equip them. All that remains is your training.”

  “That’s not all that remains,” Nyphron growled. “It’s not my army because I’m not the keenig! You botched it. You were so confident, so certain that…”

  Nyphron grabbed Malcolm by the shoulder and turned him around. “Wait. You did know. Didn’t you?”

  That hint of a smile again.

  “Actually, I didn’t. Being enslaved in Alon Rhist didn’t lend itself to learning all the ins and outs of Rhune custom and tradition. Still, I suspecte
d they wouldn’t trust one of your kind in that role. Especially not when fighting your people for survival.”

  “So why the smug smile? What am I missing?”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t come up with it yourself. Law prevents you from becoming the keenig, but nothing stops you from marrying one. As husband, you’d rule alongside Persephone.”

  Marry? A Rhune? Little wonder Nyphron hadn’t thought of it. He’d never been married, and hadn’t planned on it. Marriage was a waste of time. After so many years, people inevitably grew apart. His father had never wed his mother, and that worked fine for them. The idea of marrying a Rhune was even more absurd. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “She needs you to train her troops, help plan strategies, and indicate where the Fhrey are weak and how best to exploit their vulnerabilities. Without you, those thousands of iron-wielding warriors will be little more than a bunch of skittish farmers. They’ll run at the first Miralyith earthquake.”

  Malcolm allowed himself a full smile. “Presented at the right moment and in the proper light, it could work. Even if Persephone doesn’t find you appealing, I believe she’ll see the wisdom of a union. She’s a very practical woman and entirely dedicated to her people.”

  Nyphron looked back at the dahl. The Rhunes were gathering supplies. They had a new leader, new hope, and spirits were high for a better future.

  “And, of course, you’ll outlive her and any children she bears,” Malcolm went on. “After enough generations, people will only remember what you want them to…about Persephone…about the war…and about yourself. I’m positive that one day you will be known as Nyphron the Great and your empire will be regarded as the most impressive in the world.”

  —

  “Can you do anything for her?” Suri asked the old woman.

  Arion was probably twenty-five times older than Padera, but the Fhrey didn’t have the look of wisdom that came with wrinkles and white hair. Padera had enough wrinkles to be the sage of sages; and according to Maeve, she wasn’t white-haired, she was bald under her head wrap. Tura hadn’t looked even that old, and Tura could fix anything.