by K R Schultz
“You are judged guilty and condemned,” Laakea said. The demon dissolved into a light gray mist and vanished.
With the death of the creature, the glow around Laakea faded from white to red and then disappeared, leaving him weak and wobbly as he sank to his knees. He felt a hand upon his shoulder and found Isil looking at him, eyes filled with awe. It took a long time before either of them found the strength to speak.
“I s’pose you just answered the question you asked Rehaak,” Isil said with a wry grin.
“What question?”
“The one you asked him, you ’member? The one ’bout if’n you might be able to kill these things. I remembers him askin’ me if I knew summat ’bout it.”
“Ah, that question,” Laakea murmured. He slipped into unconsciousness and fell facedown onto the crumpled and bloodstained grass beside the trail.
Isil knelt beside him, rolled him onto his back, and supported his head in her lap. She checked him over, concerned for her young friend, but he was in the capable hands of her god. Instead, she offered a prayer of thanks to the Creator.
When Laakea’s breath became regular again, and his heart thumped out a slow, steady rhythm, she rose to retrieve their belongings. On her return, Isil attempted to move Laakea, but he was too heavy. After she failed to budge him from where he lay, she stretched by arching her back, then covered the boy with their blankets. “It be hard for me to remember that you, half a head taller than Rehaak and solid as yonder tree trunks, be just a young’un. I reckon we stays where we is till you recovers. I dunno if’n battle left you weak, or if’n you just burned out like the time you spent in the Creator’s forge. I doesn’t understand; perhaps Rehaak could…but Rehaak ain’t here. It be plain as anythin’—
“Odium knowed me and Laakea was comin’ to rescue Rehaak, and they done used him for bait to lure us into this here ambush.”
Isil shook her head and cast a sidelong glance at Laakea. After tucking his blankets around him, she gathered firewood from the forest’s edge and lit a fire. Shadows deepened around them, as the sun sank below the treetops. She wrapped her blanket around her shoulders, prodded the fire with a stick, and never noticed the eyes watching from among the trees or the silent shapes slipping through the shadows.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The Cave
The smells of woodsmoke and cooking food awakened Laakea. Although stiff from his battle last night and sore from sleeping on the cold earth, he felt fine otherwise. Steam rose from the pot Isil tended beside a small campfire, and the breeze carried the mouthwatering aroma of spiced porridge to where he lay. “Good morning, Isil.”
“Good mornin’ to you as well, lad,” she replied. “I suspected vittles would rouse you from your beauty sleep.”
“I hope you made plenty because, for some reason, I’m starving.” Laakea threw his blankets aside.
“Yer always starvin’ for any reason or for no reason at all from what I seen,” she shot back.
Laakea got to his feet and stretched the kinks from his muscles with the conditioning routines his father had taught him. Once he completed his stretches, he said, “We’d best eat and be off as soon as possible. I fear we sprang a trap set for us by Rehaak’s captors yesterday. They used him as bait to lure us into an ambush, and they will kill him since the trap failed.”
“Yup, I been thinkin’ the same thing myself, lad.”
“I’m sorry, Isil, I should have been more observant. If I had, we might have been able to avoid that bit of unpleasantness.”
“Nah, look at it this way, yesterday we whittled down their numbers summat. Today we likely be havin’ an easier time ’cause o’ it.”
“I hope you’re right, because I don’t know if I can survive another fight like that one. If more Nethera are—” Laakea shook his head but didn’t finish the sentence.
Isil shrugged and remained silent as she handed Laakea a spoon. While seated on their bedrolls, they shared the contents of the pot. Isil wrestled the container away from Laakea several times to stop him from devouring the vessel’s entire contents.
Isil and Laakea broke camp under the brightening sky and continued on their way. Laakea urged more caution than the previous day, so they traveled carefully toward the falls, alert for any danger. Once the roar of the waterfall reached them, they crouched low to avoid making silhouettes that sentries could recognize. Laakea scanned ahead for guards while they moved from one patch of cover to the next. The roaring water drowned out every other noise, so he relied on sight alone to find the sentries.
Laakea’s keen eyes spotted movement near boulders along the stream bank. He warned Isil of the sentries with a hand signal and motioned for her to hold her position as he analyzed the sentries’ routine. I won’t rush headlong into another ambush—won’t push my luck again. The gods don’t abide repeated stupidity. A wise man learns from his mistakes if he outlives them. Laakea shrugged and shook his head. I’ve begun to think like my father; his proverbs echo through my mind, but I never thought I would find them useful.
Three guards hid in cover among the rocks. The watchmen had spread out in a semicircle, well in front of the cave mouth. The interior of the cavern was too dark for Laakea to see inside the cavity. He couldn’t tell the passage’s length or how many men it held in its depths. By dusk, the guards had changed three times. That meant there were over a dozen men inside the cave. The odds were terrible unless he evened them.
Once night fell, they crept toward the sentries. The guards had lit a fire to ward off the chill, and five more men exited the cavern and sat around the flames. The firelight illuminated the sentries for Laakea and ruined the lookouts’ night vision. He smiled at Isil and pointed out their respective targets. They eliminated the two guards on the flanks first. Isil used a rope to choke her victim, while Laakea slit the other man’s throat. Neither made a sound.
Isil worked her way toward the last guard, while Laakea readied an arrow and crept as close as he dared to the four men gathered at the fire. He stuck four more bolts in the dirt so he could draw and release them quickly. Isil moved into position, and when she throttled the last guard, she edged toward the fire and acted as bait.
Laakea cued Isil, and she rustled the bush she hid behind. The men had been talking but fell silent when they heard twigs snapping and bushes rustling. Two of them motioned, picked up their weapons, and advanced toward the shrub where Isil waited. Once they were more than halfway to Isil’s location, Laakea targeted a man near the fire and sent an arrow through his throat. The fellow beside him barely realized what had happened before death claimed him too.
Laakea released another arrow, and a man headed toward Isil’s position stopped to stare at his chest, a look of surprise on his face as he saw two feet of wood ending in black crow feathers sprouting from his ribcage. He cried out before he collapsed. The last man heard his cry above the sound of the water and turned to look.
That act made him Laakea’s next victim. When he fell, the last guard turned to investigate the disturbance. Isil dashed toward him, swinging her staff, but before she got there, he too sported an arrow in his chest. Isil clubbed him for good measure as he fell.
Laakea dragged the bodies into cover while Isil stood guard and watched for newcomers exiting the cave. It was nearly midnight before they began a cautious entrance into the cliff’s darkened mouth Torches lit the stone corridor, but no additional enemies lurked there. Once they entered, chanting, punctuated by screams, echoed off the passageway’s walls from somewhere ahead.
“That’ll more’n likely be our friend Rehaak joinin’ in that sing-along. It sounds like there still be a whack o’ them crazies though,” Isil said in a faint voice.
“Let’s hope we whittled them down enough to survive.” Torchlight gave Laakea’s face and grim smile, an eerie appearance.
They followed the sounds through a narrow rock-strewn passageway to the altar chamber. Over two dozen men chanted and pranced in front of the altar to the rhythm
of a drumbeat. Rehaak lay on the slab, bleeding from many wounds. A man in a black robe held a knife to Rehaak’s skin. When Isil saw Rehaak tied to the stone altar, she moved as if to dive into the crowd. Laakea grasped her shoulder, pulled her backward, and forced her to stand beside him.
He removed the last of his arrows from his quiver.
“Me first, greedy, you can have them when I’m done. Hold these arrows for me and put one in my hand each time I release,” Laakea said, unconcerned about the men overhearing his words. The noise inside the chamber was so loud, he almost had to shout for Isil to hear him.
Three men fell to Laakea’s arrows before anyone noticed. Two more before anyone reacted. The next one died with his warning shout still in his throat. The chants stopped, and the drums fell silent. Two more fell. The men in the chamber realized their peril and began their charge.
Laakea threw down his bow, drawing Justice and Truth from his belt. His swords gleamed blue-green in the torchlight of the narrow passageway that limited their attackers’ mobility. Isil and Laakea fell back slowly under pressure from their opponents and made them pay for every inch of ground. Four more fell to Laakea’s swords and three to Isil’s staff before she hooked her heel on a rock and landed on her backside.
Laakea saw her fall and moved to protect her. He fought with all the skills Aelfric had drilled into him, but the berserker rage that overcame him at other times failed him tonight. Laakea knew that without Battlefury, he would never withstand the onslaught of these crazed minions of the Dark Ones. The previous night’s battle had drained him too much.
He drew a ragged breath and shouted, “Creator, help us!”
Laakea pushed them back with a flurry of blows long enough for Isil to rise, but she had twisted her ankle in the fall and struggled to stand.
“Creator help us!” he bellowed again, and this time Isil joined him in his shouted prayer.
Their shouts enraged their attackers to new heights of bloodlust. They shrieked incoherent syllables and pressed Laakea even harder. Isil did what she could while she hobbled backward toward the cave entrance.
Laakea felled two more men before a hard blow struck him in the midsection. His breastplate stopped the weapon from disemboweling him, but it knocked the wind out of him. The spasm in his diaphragm doubled him over, and black spots marred his vision.
Isil stood on her uninjured leg and fended off blows until Laakea’s breath returned. Laakea’s arms and hands, leaden with exhaustion, kept a tenuous grip on his swords, but blood made the rawhide grips slippery. He blocked a blow from an opponent, but his sword clanged off the wall in a shower of sparks and rock chips, as he lost his grip on the blood-soaked handle. He sidestepped the fellow’s counterstroke and felled the attacker with his remaining sword.
It won’t be long until they overwhelm Isil and me. We can’t hold out long enough to reach the cavern entrance. At least we’ve halted the activities at the altar…the screams have stopped…either that…or Rehaak is dead, in which case we’re about to join him in the afterlife.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Kett’s Reveal
Kett lounged in the chair while Aelfric, the scarred warrior, stared out the window of the Swordsman and Swallow Inn. “Our arrival in Baradon is both fortuitous and timely, Aelfric. Today I received word my plans are about to bear fruit. This is my gift to you,” Kett pulled a map from a pocket of his embroidered waistcoat and smoothed the edges to flatten it on the worn tabletop.
“And what do you expect in return for this ‘gift’? That is what I want to know.” Aelfric crossed the room and bent over the map Kett displayed.
“A gift requires no repayment, my friend. My offer carries no obligation to you. My agents have organized cells among the Abrhaani slaves who work throughout Baradon. At the proper moment, all the slaves will turn on their masters. The slave revolt will bring the economy of southern Baradon to a halt. The mines, the farms, and the workshops will halt production, and in a matter of a few tendays, southern Baradon’s discontented citizens will be hungry and angry.”
“You are mad if you expect the slaves can unseat the nobles and vault me to power. It will never work.”
“Ah, but first, we must fan the coals of unrest among the Eniila into flame. I contacted those Eniila who are loyal to our cause through my operatives in Baradon. They know you are here and will stand with you against your brother and the other nobles and draw Aelrin to battle. With the troops removed from the south, the success of the slaves’ revolt is guaranteed. The uprising will cut Aelrin’s supply lines while weakening and demoralizing his forces. Then we crush Aelrin and his confederates between the hammer of your Eniila and the anvil of my Abrhaani.”
Aelfric pondered the statement. Kett’s foresight shocked him. If Kett had organized the Abrhaani war effort, the Eniila might have ended in chains instead of the Abrhaani. Thank the gods for that mercy.
“You call it our cause, Kett, but your cause and mine may diverge.”
“How so? I fervently desire you to become the war leader again. Is that not your wish?”
“True enough, but what of afterward? What happens once we unseat Aelrin and his cronies?”
“Did you not express regret at the enslavement of the Abrhaani in Baradon, and did you not promise they could return to Khel Braah?”
“True…”
“My cause is my people’s freedom; you want to regain your honor and keep your word to the Abrhaani. We are of one mind unless you wish to dishonor your promise to the Abrhaani in Sethria.”
The little bastard has me there. How dare this little ferret—I would never break an oath. I wonder how he knows …unless he was…there…impossible. Aelrin put every male in Sethria to the sword. No one survived.
“Let us prepare to return you to your rightful place and stop quibbling. Your cause and my cause are similar. Set aside your paranoia and listen to my offer.”
“Very well, tell me your plan,” Aelfric said.
“Lords Aldwynan, Torquil, and Sveinn are ready now to revolt. Lords Undalis, Kellain, and Addae need proof of your return before committing their forces. Their holds are in the far north of Baradon.”
“Yes, I am familiar with some of those names, but others must have risen to their estates in my absence, and I don’t know them. The northerners were always restive, even when I was the war leader. Why would they support me now?”
“They perceive you as the lesser of evils. Aelrin and the southern lords have made life burdensome for them with extra levies for roads and other improvements.”
“Roads? In the north? No wonder they are riled. To northern isolationists, roads are symbols of invasion and subjugation by the South. They never wanted close connections to the southern lands. If Aelrin forced roads upon them, that alone would rankle, and if he forced them to pay for those roads, the smoke must be curling out of their ears. I never understood their foot-dragging. Trade is a necessity, and roads make trade possible. I suspect the northern lords fear losing people to the South once their subjects see the variety and richness there. The northern climate is harsh. Only tough, pigheaded bastards survive there. ‘Poor but proud’ is how they put it.”
“There is more, Aelfric. They paid levies, but the roads were never built. There are other reasons for their antagonism.” Kett smirked and picked a piece of lint from his pantleg.
“The northern lords resent the southern lords. Well then, if Aelrin has pissed in the pristine water of their frigid lakes, they will not stand for it. I can’t believe Aelrin was stupid enough to poke a stick into that hornet’s nest,” Aelfric rambled, undeterred by Kett’s hint at secret knowledge.
“But he has, and that stick shall become the club you use to shatter your brother and win the title of Supreme War Leader.”
Kett grinned wolfishly at Aelfric’s shock when he heard the title.
“There has not been a Supreme War Leader since the Sundering. You believe we can unite the Eniila of the north, south, east, and west into a
unified empire again? Impossible!” Aelfric shook his head and scowled at Kett.
“We can, and more. Have you heard the prophecy of how the Eniila and Abrhaani must work together in the last days to bring peace to Aarda?”
“That campfire tale?” Aelfric dismissed Kett's statement with a flick of his hand. “You accept that fable as fact? Have you lost your mind?” He bit his cheek, then pursed his lips in thought.
“You and I are proof of its authenticity. Are we not working together? Are not your northerners and Abrhaani slaves both ready to unite against a common foe? Is that not enough proof?” Kett leaned forward in the chair, eyebrows raised, arms out wide. “This is a sacred cause, my friend, ordained by the gods. The prophecy’s fulfillment is at hand, we cannot fail.”
“So… what is our first step?”
“You go north to meet your loyal supporters and to convince the few remaining holdouts to join our cause. I will meet with my agents throughout the rest of Baradon and oversee our other preparations. Incidentally, I arranged mounts…horses for you once you reach Fort Pathar.” A sly smile appeared on Kett’s face.
“Horses? There are no horses…they’re extinct. Where…how—?”
“You said the northerners were secretive, as indeed they are. Horses are their best-kept secret. Their generations-long breeding program is one reason they do not want the southern lords involved in their affairs.”
“How many horses?”
“Enough to mount a sizeable cavalry force.”
“That changes everything. With cavalry, we can raid and flee. Aelrin’s infantry and mithun carts can’t move fast enough to overtake us. We can harass them deep in their own territories and melt away like snow under the spring sun.”
