Trials of the Twiceborn (The Songreaver's Tale Book 6)

by Andrew Hunter

  “Sorry I am though, Garrett,” Shortgrass said, running his uninjured hand through his short, curly hair, “‘Twas a thick-witted play on me part to miss it. I shoulda smelled the silver on him a day away.”

  Garrett chuckled.

  “‘Tis funny to ya, is it?” Shortgrass snapped.

  “No,” Garrett laughed, “I think that’s just the first time I ever heard you call me by my name.”

  Shortgrass frowned, looking a little embarrassed. “Well,” he said, “I’m not at me best at the moment... ya chuckle-headed shufflefoot!”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, smiling at the injured little fairy, “If you hadn’t been there... well, I never woulda made it past the first guy alive.”

  Shortgrass grinned at him. “Let’s just hope there’s no more dragon slayers out there, floatin’ around in tha pool tomorrah!”

  “Tomorrow?” Garrett said, lifting his head in surprise, “I thought we failed!”

  “Ya walked away, an’ the other fellas didn’t,” Shortgrass said with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder, “How do ya figure ya failed?”

  “We only beat two of them,” Garrett said, “I thought I had to beat at least three.”

  “Aye, ya could slank away in defeat, if ya chose ta,” Shortgrass said, “but, after ya laid out their bonnie gray birdie this mornin’, I think they’re all willin’ ta overlook it and let you have another go at losin’ yer head again tomorrah.”

  Garrett sank back into his pillow with a weary sigh. This wasn’t going at all the way he had planned.

  “How is our patient?” Lady Ymowyn asked as she returned with a plate of hot mutton and warm bread.

  “He’s good fer another dance,” Shortgrass said with a wave of his tiny hand, “though I could use a wee rest.”

  “I’ll take you back to the tree as soon as I’ve seen to Garrett,” Ymowyn said with a smile as she laid the plate of food on the table beside the spearhead and helped Garrett into a seated position. She carefully checked the fit of his shoulder bandage as she fluffed a pillow behind him against the stack of crates that served as the headboard of Garrett’s cot.

  “I am in yer debt, dear lady,” Shortgrass said with a stiff bow, wincing a little as he stretched his splinted wing.

  Ymowyn smiled at him as she helped Garrett take the plate of food.

  “Where did you get this?” Garrett asked, looking down at the steaming meat and buttered bread on the silver platter in his lap.

  “Warren and the others brought it back a few minutes ago,” Ymowyn said, “They dropped off everything they had managed to steal so far and then went back out again.”

  “They stole it from the Astorrans?” Garrett asked.

  “Yes,” Lady Ymowyn said, dabbing at an abrasion on Garrett’s shoulder with a stinging salve.

  “Ow,” Garrett said, flinching at the pain, “I don’t want them to get caught.”

  “They’ve dug a tunnel under the supply tents,” Ymowyn said, “and are now doing their best to steal or bury most of the food in the camp.”

  “I wish they’d be more careful,” Garrett sighed as he took a bite of the meat. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, appreciating the savory flavor of the tender meat. “This is good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of mutton.

  “I will pass your compliments on to the thieves,” she said with a grin.

  Garrett looked toward the open flap of the tent again. The incessant drone of the undead filled the night air outside.

  “How long are they going to do that?” he asked.

  “All night, I would imagine,” Ymowyn sighed. She quickly rolled two wads of bandage into tight balls and laid them on the table beside Garrett. “Stuff those in your ears when you’re ready to sleep,” she said.

  “Can’t we just tell them to stop?” Garrett asked.

  “Master Cenick seems to think that it would be wiser to weaken the resolve of our enemies using every method at our disposal,” Ymowyn said as she straightened her back and smoothed her dress, “I for one, intend to spend the night in the forest, at least a mile away from this racket.”

  Garrett raised his eyebrows in resignation and took another bite. “Feels like I should be thanking the Astorrans for the meal or something,” he sighed.

  “Perhaps you’ll have a chance to do just that,” Ymowyn said cryptically as she laid her hand, palm-up on the table for Shortgrass to climb on.

  “Huh?”

  “Try not to engage in any duels while I’m away,” Ymowyn said, “I’m looking forward to my night off.” She smiled as she turned to go, and Shortgrass waved his goodbye from the palm of the fox woman’s hand.

  Garrett waved them off before falling into a grim contemplation of the day’s events.

  Your choice of sword proved adequate for the task, the voice in his mind said, breaking into Garrett’s anguished memory of Sir Jons’s lifeless face.

  “Yeah,” Garrett whispered as he set the half-finished plate of food aside.

  A little light for my tastes, being forged for a woman’s hand, the voice continued, but well suited to your slight frame, and, of course, I must work with what I am given.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, lying back to stare at the flickering green light on the ceiling of the tent.

  The voice within fell silent for a moment. That’s all you have to say? it asked at last.

  “What do you want me to say?” Garrett asked.

  I thought perhaps that you might scold me for taking that fool’s life this morning, the voice said, sounding a little bewildered, I was expecting some form of protest... some childish nonsense about the sanctity of life, or at least a plea to be more careful about where I’m putting your blade in the future.

  “It’s not your fault he’s dead,” Garrett said.

  I dashed his life away with a single blow! the Spellbreaker’s voice scoffed, I claim the credit and glory for it by every right!

  “But you were only doing what I asked you,” Garrett sighed, “It’s my responsibility... and my fault that he’s dead now.”

  The voice seemed to be choking on Garrett’s words. It took a few moments to regain enough composure to speak again. Are you insinuating that I am nothing more than your... servant?

  “I’m just saying that I’m not gonna blame anyone else for the bad things that happen around me anymore,” Garrett said, “If I hadn’t come here today, that guy might still be alive... Then again, he and his friends might have been eaten alive by Serepheni’s worms, or swarmed over with Max’s zombies... or maybe Prex would still be alive, and he’d have found some reason to think they were impure or something and burned them all to death.

  “All I know is that I killed a man today... That’s my fault and nobody else’s... but maybe, just maybe, a lot of other people are still alive tonight because of the things I’ve done too.”

  The dreadful noise of groaning zombies and banging shields drifted in with the breeze again.

  I misjudged you, Garrett, the voice said at last, I believe you are beginning to understand what it means to lead.

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, “and thanks for not letting me get my head chopped off today.”

  It isn’t the comeliest head that I’ve ever called home, the voice quipped, but I am growing rather fond of my fellow tenant.

  Garrett laughed softly as he closed his eyes and settled back into his pillow. The moaning chorus of the undead was actually starting to grow on him. Perhaps he should look into having Cenick form some sort of designated marching corps of musically inclined zombies.

  “Lord Garre’Thul?” Haven’s voice roused Garrett from a light slumber.

  “Huh?” Garrett called out, sitting up slightly as the brown-haired girl poked her head into the tent through the open door flap.

  “I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you, Deathlord!” Haven said, putting on a great show of feigned dread, “An emissary from the Astorran camp would treat with you.”

  “Treat with... what?” Garrett asked, rubbin
g his tired eyes with his fingertips.

  “You have a guest,” Haven said, shifting her eyes sideways toward the dark-haired young woman who now stepped to her side in the doorway of the tent.

  Garrett’s blood went colder than usual at the sight of Sir Jons’s squire, the slender woman in gray livery, bearing a hawk-shaped sigil on the breast of her tunic. The girl’s eyes looked red from crying, and she held her lips in a tight frown as though she wished to be anywhere else in the world but here. She held a scabbarded sword in her hands before her.

  Garrett began to tremble a little, unable to meet the woman’s gaze directly anymore. He let his eyes drift to the polished crossguard of the longsword in the woman’s hands.

  “May we enter?” Haven asked, with a tinge of exasperation in her voice.

  “Yeah... Yes,” Garrett said, remembering at last to affect an imperious aire. He raised his hand in what he hoped would look like a commanding gesture. “Enter!”

  Haven and the Astorran woman entered the tent. Haven dipped to one knee before Garrett, but stood again a moment later with an annoyed look on her face at the Astorran woman who showed no sign of obeisance before the slayer of her master.

  “Kingslayer,” the Astorran woman spoke, her voice rasping and weak, “I bring to you my lord’s sword... yours now by right of combat.”

  “His sword?” Garrett asked, giving Haven a confused look.

  Haven took a step back out of the Astorran’s line of sight and gave Garrett a bewildered shrug.

  “His armor will be delivered to you on the morrow, if you so desire it, or its fair value in gold instead,” she continued, her voice strained almost to the point of breaking, “His horse as well... though, if you intend only to feed it to your unholy beasts, I beg you at least to allow me to end its life mercifully beforehand.”

  Garrett stared back at the girl, dumfounded. He had expected her to demand some sort of fight to the death to avenge her master’s honor or something, and now she was trying to give Garrett all of his stuff instead. What kind of insanity passed for reason in this strange land?

  The girl’s face pulled into a tense grimace as she struggled to master her emotions. At last she spoke again in a sobbing voice, “Know this, Kingslayer... that no kinder, gentler man ever fell to your blade... never before have you robbed the world of so great a treasure, and I thank the gods that his soul lies now beyond the reach of your foul grip!”

  Garrett cringed further back into his pillow, his heart hammering in his chest as he fought the urge to crawl under his bed and hide.

  “And if any shred of a human soul remains inside your twisted and withered husk,” she continued, now trembling with rage, “let it weep for the damnation it will surely taste in your hour of judgment... a judgment that I pray will come swiftly and surely, and, though all the world names you Kingslayer, know this... From this moment forward, from this hour until the day your black heart spills its blood upon the green earth, I will name you Hawkslayer! For that crime alone do I hate you! For that crime alone will I devote my life to ending your foul reign!”

  Garrett saw the furtive motion as Haven’s hand slipped to the pommel of the knife at her belt. The brown-haired girl gave him a questioning look as she stepped into position behind the Astorran woman, pulling the dagger halfway from its scabbard.

  Garrett shook his head emphatically.

  “Take it!” the Astorran girl shouted as she thrust Sir Jons’s sword, hilt-first toward Garrett.

  Garrett stared at the offered sword and shook his head again, more slowly now.

  The girl looked pale, her red-rimmed eyes glistening with fresh tears as her body shook with stifled sobs.

  How would Graelle have dealt with this sort of thing, Garrett wondered.

  Garrett ran his tongue beneath his lip, sucking loose a bit of mutton that was caught between his teeth. He glanced away, thinking of the Chadiri dragon lord that night he had first met him, face to face.

  “Hmn,” Garrett grunted at last, looking at the Astorran girl with the same dispassionate scorn that Graelle had shown to Garrett that night long ago. “I have no need of his sword,” Garrett said, trying his best to imitate the dragon lord’s gravelly growl, “or anything else... take it and go!”

  The Astorran girl stood, silent and trembling for a moment before she pulled the fallen knight’s sword closely to her chest as though she had just snatched a beloved child away from a fire. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief as she stared at Garrett with something she could not quite seem to equate with gratitude.

  Garrett’s eyes drifted to the silver spearhead on the table beside him. He reached over and picked it up, tossing it to land in the flattened grass at her feet.

  “Take it!” Garrett grumbled, giving the girl his most Graelle-like sneer of disdain, “You’ll need it the next time we meet.”

  She stared down at the ancient relic in shock for a moment before she scrambled to snatch it up, clutching it protectively the her chest beside her master’s sword as she stood again, staring at Garrett through tear-filled eyes.

  “Sir Jons only made one mistake,” Garrett said, flinching inwardly at the broken look in the young woman’s eyes, “... He shouldn’t have aimed for my chest... I have no heart to pierce.”

  The Astorran girl’s lips twitched into a hateful sneer as she took a few halting steps back toward the door of the tent.

  “I leave you only with my hatred then, Hawkslayer!” she spat, “And my vow... that one day... one day, I will see justice done upon you!”

  Garrett forced an appropriately arrogant snort of derision as he looked away, anxious to be free of the woman’s scorn. Still, some nameless regret twisted inside his gut, and he couldn’t bear to let her leave without assuaging at least a tiny shred of his guilt.

  “One more thing!” Garrett called out as Haven ushered the weeping Astorran girl through the tent flap.

  The squire turned and looked back, a flush of real fear in her face as she hesitated on the threshold.

  “Your master fought well,” Garrett said quietly, unable to keep up his gruff demeanor any longer, “He almost killed me today... I just thought you might want to know that.”

  The Astorran girl sniffed and nodded, her lips trembling with a suppressed sob. She turned quickly and stepped through the tent flap where Carak and Radda, the two Neshite hunters stood outside, waiting to escort her away.

  Haven paused in the doorway of the tent, watching the Astorran girl go. At last, satisfied that the threat had passed, she let her hand fall from the grip of her dagger and stepped back inside, shaking her head.

  “That was kinda... intense,” Haven chuckled as she approached Garrett’s cot.

  “Yeah,” Garrett sighed, relaxing at last as he slumped back into his cot.

  “It might have been better if you’d let me stab her,” Haven said.

  “It’s not her fault,” Garrett said, taking Haven’s hand as she stepped up beside his cot on his uninjured side.

  “It might’ve saved us some trouble later,” she said, throwing her leg up over the edge of the cot and settling in beside him. She leaned over and kissed Garrett on the forehead. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I still like your withered husk.”

  “Yeah... what was that about?” Garrett grumbled, “I’m not withered, am I?”

  “Only your heart, Deathlord,” Haven sighed dramatically as she cradled Garrett’s head against her breast, “Only your cold, black heart.”

  “What was her name anyway?” Garrett asked.

  “Why do you want to know?” Haven demanded, pushing away from Garrett with a suspicious look.

  “I dunno,” he said, “I’d just kinda like to know the names of people who swear eternal vengeance on me I guess.”

  “You thought she was pretty!” Haven accused, her eyes flashing dangerously.

  “What? No!” Garrett scoffed.

  “You did!” Haven laughed, poking Garrett hard in his bare right shoulder.

  Garrett�
�s laughter trailed off as he looked away, struggling with the memory of the Astorran girl’s wrath.

  “What’s wrong?” Haven asked, her tone suddenly serious.

  “I don’t know,” Garrett said, “It’s just that... I don’t know...”

  “What?” Haven asked softly as she reached out to turn his face toward her again.

  Garrett took a low breath and then answered, “It’s just that I’m always telling people that we aren’t bad guys, and maybe that used to be true, but now...”

  “You’re not a bad guy, Garrett!” Haven said, giving him a tense smile.

  “Yeah, I really am,” he said, “The moment we took our first step into Astorra, we became the bad guys, and I turned into... I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be now, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t good.”

  “Would you rather just sit back and let Max deal with it his way?” Haven asked.

  “No, but that doesn’t make what I did today right either,” Garrett sighed.

  “That man was trying to cut your head off, Garrett,” Haven said, “He hated you for something you didn’t even do, and he wanted to kill you for it. You did what you had to do to survive.”

  “No, I didn’t!” Garrett said, pushing himself into a seated position as he twisted to face her, “I did what I thought was right... but what if that’s how all bad guys start out? What if I really do wind up like Graelle or Brahnek, just because I think I’m doing it for good reasons?”

  “You’re not them, Garrett,” she said, taking his hand between her own, “You did what you did today because you’re trying to save the lives of people that hate you! Do you think either the dragon lord or the Spellbreaker would have done that?”

  Garrett shook his head. “But what if this is how it starts, Haven?” he said, “I killed a good man today, and now I have to pretend to be happy about that. That’s not a good thing!”

  “But, Garrett, you’re still a good person inside!,” Haven insisted.

  “No,” Garrett said, giving her a desperate look, “No, I’m not!”