Passion of the Different

by Daniel A Roberts

  “You're right,” Ryan heard himself casually reply, hoping his expression matched his verbal manners. It must have, for the Duke grinned as the big man finished his response. “But it's here and now that has my attention and I'm a lucky man with a beautiful woman. Doing anything else would be a waste of my time.” He reached out and pulled Myra against him, arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him, blushing slightly while glancing downwards. Her expression was that of pure happiness, she loved his compliments especially when he openly shared them with others.

  Haz'Bolian answered by reaching into his robe and pulled out a small sack purse. He counted out seven thick gold coins. Ryan's large hand made them look small in his palm. He bowed and the Duke bowed back. “Good day to you both,” he said, then went and mounted his horse who had been grazing on the green grass by the side of the road. He kicked it into a trot, and as they watched him go another rider was approaching at full gallop from the opposite direction.

  The Duke made his horse go to the side and stopped. The rider passed him without hesitation and the Duke turned around and followed. It was a messenger bearing the flag of Ocaza. The rider looked grim and determined. It took only a few minutes for him to rein in before Ryan and Myra.

  The messenger handed down a scroll to the big man, then said as Ryan took it, “Lord Gar'Jarbin bids you to report to Lord Vendegal of the Ocaza Garrison. We caught an enemy scout and learned there is a host of raiders three days from town. They are headed this way.”

  The Duke had heard and told Ryan, “I'll ride with you.” Then to the messenger, who knew who was addressing him. “Go to my fort, cut through the back fields in the south and you'll beat my wagons there. Alert my guard and tell them to send units three and eight to the Ocaza garrison.”

  “Yes sir,” the Messenger replied crisply.

  “I don't have a horse,” Ryan stated quickly while Myra hugged him, her smile replaced by a frown. The messenger dismounted and handed the reins to the large man.

  “Take mine, I can run the distance to Duke Haz'Bolian's fort.” Without wasting another moment the thin man took off. It was a good thing he was dressed lightly, if he had been wearing armor it would have been impossible for such an exertion.

  Ryan stared a moment at the reins, then the horse and finally, the stirrups and saddle. He knew how to mount and ride, he discovered, as he ran through the process in his head a few times. The Duke misunderstood his hesitation.

  “I think he'll hold your weight, Lord Za'Ryan,” Haz'Bolian assured him.

  Ryan took a deep breath and mounted the horse. It gave a small whinny in complaint but quickly got used to his size. The horse didn't want to drift or do his own thing, well trained into obedience to the rider. That made it easier on him to control it with the reins and the pressure of his knees. He winked at Myra and blew her a kiss which she caught, then tsked the horse into a gallop for Ocaza. Haz'Bolian wasn't far behind him.

  They rode hard and fast and it wasn't before long when they stopped at the center of town. Vendegal stood there with a wide wooden collar and iron shackles on a scruffy looking pale fellow with stringy long red hair. He wore strips of hard leather with brass studs on the seams. There were a half dozen armed and armored garrison soldiers surrounding him to foil any misbehavior. One of the captive's high cheek bones had a bruise on it from being handled roughly.

  Looking downwards in defeat, the captive failed to notice Ryan. It was when Vendegal started to address him and the Duke did he look up, the defeat vanishing from his amber eyes to be replaced by a startled awe.

  “Good to see you both,” Vendegal said to them as they dismounted. “Lord Za'Ryan, I sent for your armor and sword just a little while ago. I know you haven't gotten to test it yet, but that will have to wait. You may end up using them all too soon.” Then to the Duke. “Lordship Haz'Bolian, can you commit two dozen men for the city patrol while I assemble the defense force? You're the closest noble and your men can get here the quickest.”

  “I'll commit four dozen,” Haz'Bolian countered, his eyes on the captured enemy scout as he spoke. “I've got the men to spare and then some. My keep has been resupplied and we can stand up to a siege if it comes down to it.”

  “Excellent,” Vendegal replied, instantly satisfied with the cooperation.

  Ryan stepped close to the captive, gazed down at him and smoothing his large features to be as passive as possible. The imprisoned scout started to shake but couldn't flinch away or cower. He was bound too tightly. His jaw went slack when Ryan spoke in his baritone, a deep sound laced with an out of place compassion.

  “Why do you come here with violence in your heart?”

  The scout blinked. He muttered a moment, then said carefully, “Wind spirits preserve me, it spoke.”

  “Answer him!” Vendegal barked, raised his hand to strike. Ryan stopped him with a gesture of restraint. The blow didn't land even though the captive twitched his features in anticipation. He had gotten used to being slapped around by his jailors.

  “Well?” Ryan prompted him carefully and kindly.

  “I...” he stammered while slumping his shoulders, unable to tear his eyes away from the ice blue orbs that gazed down kindly at him, almost sad for his situation. This is something the scout never encountered before, could have never been prepared to face. He had gotten used to being brutalized. Used to being threatened and yelled at. But this overwhelming kindness from a living and breathing nightmare was far more terrifying than the childhood creatures that had evaded adult notice in his old bedroom closet.

  “It's all right,” Ryan said, soothing as if the scout had actually been a frightened child. He ignored the strange looks he got from Duke Haz'Bolian and Vendegal both, he knew what he was doing, felt the words and tone were right. He was about to pounce in a way they probably never thought or imagined. “I won't hurt you,” said the deep as hell voice of kindness. “I won't kill you, and I certainly won't eat you alive.” Ryan let a beautiful and serene smile pass over his lips, then added. “Yet.”

  The scout let out a wail of terror, eyes shutting against his will and the ground growing wet from where he pissed himself. Then he started to babble, “Queen Darya sent many units to hassle the center kingdoms. She wants to hurt the king who refused her trade agreements, she wants to have him come to her and beg her to stop attacking, the whole southern kingdom is mobilizing for war. Please, oh please don't eat me alive!”

  Ryan enjoyed the look of admiration for his tactics from Vendegal, but Haz'Bolian gave the huge man a sidelong look and kept his features bland. The Duke did notice the lack of negative reaction from Vendegal, so asked Ryan carefully, “You weren't serious, right?”

  Ryan's deep baritone emitted a booming laughter and he held his sides, unable to contain himself any longer. The prisoner was allowed enough slack to press his face into the ground while kneeling, shaking and hiding from the awfully deep voice as best he could. A few moments later, Vendegal joined him with his high tenor, and a few moments after that, the Duke was laughing with them too. Ryan's amusement carried a bit farther than his two comrade's comfort zone however, and he took distinct pleasure in not having directly answered Haz'Bolian's question.

  Vendegal mused out loud, prodding the shaken enemy scout with his boot, “What shall we do with this thing?”

  “Let him go,” Ryan suggested immediately. That earned a glance up from the ground from the small guy who wondered if he was to be Ryan's food or not.

  “You can't be serious,” Haz'Bolian replied quickly, followed with a fast agreement from Vendegal.

  “I am,” Ryan explained. “We got what we needed to know, now this poor bastard can take word to his unit what faces them if they come raiding here.” He paused for effect. “Me.”

  Instantly seeing the benefits from such a suggestion, Vendegal bent down and unlocked the iron cuffs that had bound the enemy scout's feet and ankles together. Haz'Bolian didn't say anything further or try to stop the Garrison Commander, but his express
ion showed that he didn't approve. He wasn't about to voice it either, not in front of the enemy.

  Noticing he was free once the heavy wooden collar was released, the scout got to his feet slowly, stretching his limbs carefully, watching Ryan and ignoring everything else, his fearful expression dancing with troubled thoughts across his features. He seemed uncertain, jerky.

  Ryan leaned towards him slightly, then bellowed from the pit of his stomach up through his thick neck in a shout that rumbled off the walls of nearby buildings. “Flee while you can!”

  Even as distant heads turned to the shout and even farther off people flinching, the enemy scout turned and fled with an amazing speed. His high pitched screaming followed him down the road like some unsettled ghost and was quickly out of sight.

  “Goodness,” Vendegal commented dryly. “I hope he slows down long enough to report what he found to his commander before he leaves the country.”

  Chapter Ten - Showdown

  The armor didn't feel as heavy as it looked. It fit perfectly, comfortable and well padded on the inside. Agumir's blacksmith skills were impressive. There was a slot built into the back to hold the massive two handed battle sword that made anybody who would see it go slack jawed. With the extra height added by the lightly armored horse, the biggest and strongest beast Ocaza had in their stables, and the high point of his helmet topped by an outcropping of long light blue bristles, he cut a frightening sight.

  The enemy raiders thought so too, who were mincing back and forth on their own horses, outnumbering the Ocaza Garrison by two to one. The city was only a mile behind the defenders, rooftops in the distance dotting the landscape, tempting the raiders with the promise of much to pillage.

  Ryan was a few yards in front of his own force, which stood in a battle line across the road and into the fields on both sides. He drew his eight foot long two handed battle sword, the steel polished to almost mirror perfection to reflect the light along its double bladed edge. He made sure the sun's rays danced along it for the enemy to review what was waiting for them.

  They got the message loud and clear. Their captain regarded the huge man while looking uncertain more and more by the minute. Ryan regarded them back with confidence, noticed the fact their armor were mostly dark colors, from a deep purple to a heavy brown. Compared to the bright, glittering silver-steel armor of the Ocaza troops, they did look like the embodiment of evil in the land. According to Vendegal's own scouts the enemy numbered between five and six hundred.

  After a few more uncomfortable minutes, the leader of the enemy decided the risk wasn't worth the reward. He made a motion with his hand and a blue haired fellow close to him blew on a whistle. Three short shrills. The invading force took about ten minutes to turn and head the other direction.

  Vendegal trotted his horse up next to Ryan and got the big man's attention. “If you weren't here I'm certain many of my men would not have returned home, if at all. We're all grateful, Lord Za'Ryan.”

  “I live here too,” Ryan replied casually, sheathing his sword into the back harness with the sweet sounding snick of superior craftsmanship. He was also grateful his wife and farm were on the other side of Ocaza. “I consider you my people, now.”

  This brought a smile to Vendegal's lips, nodded his understanding. “I'd wish you would consider joining us full time. I can only imagine the workout you could give my men in battle practice.”

  “My, you're slick today,” Ryan replied with an amused tone. He turned a little in his saddle and regarded the garrison commander's expression. A maintained, innocent wide eyed look. It forced a chuckle out of the big man. “I bet ten silver you were looking for a moment like this so you could try to draft me.”

  A guilty wave danced across Vendegal's pale features under his fancy helmet. “I'd lose that bet. You don't miss much, do you my friend?”

  “I hope not,” he said. It touched him with an inner warmth to be called a friend. Vendegal was the first to speak it since he woke up with zero memories, and while Myra was certainly his first friend, then lover and now wife, he hadn't actually heard it voiced before. Temptation to take the offer flowed through his veins, but he also considered his wife's happiness. She didn't want him tramping around in armor all day, she wanted him home and with her out on the farm. After a few minutes of thought, he agreed with his beautiful woman. Instead of outright refusing, however, he heard himself reply, “What about part time?”

  “Part what?” Vendegal asked, eyes flickering between the retreating distant enemy and the huge man.

  “Part time,” Ryan explained, giddy that this idea had oozed from the blank spot in his mind, followed by a weird chill that couldn't be explained to even himself. “I'll come to battle practices say, two for every seven days. I'll show up in the morning and go home at night. I won't need any pay and your men and I can see what we can do together. I spend winter at home full time though. How does that sound?”

  “Accepted!” Vendegal almost shouted, victory riding his musically accented tenor.

  Ryan's light blue eyes went back to the now distant horsemen who had considered the thought of raiding Ocaza. The wisdom of his own offer was rooted much deeper than simply getting involved with the city's defense. If they had been fighting right now, he had no idea what tactics the men on his side would use, what skills they had in actual combat. It could have cost him and them dearly to learn the hard way.

  Chapter Eleven - Explaining Himself

  "You did what, my lord?" Myra asked, respectful tone lightly salted with unhappiness.

  Ryan paused with the food halfway to his mouth and regarded her across the table. Those lovely lavender eyes squinted at him and turned hard. He clarified what he had just explained a little bit better. "I offered to go and practice with the soldiers two days out of the week, hun. I won't be staying overnight and I'll be home just before dark. This upsets you, doesn't it?"

  "I've gotten used to you being all mine," she admitted, a lopsided smile started to appear, faded quickly. "Those swords are sharp and pointy. All your strength and size will count for nothing should somebody slip and chop off your hand, or worse yet, your leg." She took a fast bite, not looking away to gauge his reaction.

  Ryan almost laughed, suppressed it quickly. She had a valid concern and he wanted to address it. He felt that if he was native to her people, he would put his foot down and make it acceptable because of his position. No, not here and not with her. If he was to try to show her a better way of life, a higher moral ground, he would have to lead by example. He slowly nodded and returned her stare and filled it with as much compassion as he could.

  "You're right, accidents do happen," he agreed, and she listened to every word he said and considered them all carefully. "I couldn't begin to imagine how badly you would feel if something terrible happened. I have thought of this you know, with the added fact that I may not be properly prepared to react correctly when facing those who want to kill us. I'm surrounded by friends who are fighting by my side, how many of them I might accidentally kill or wound if I have no idea how they fight? We were outnumbered, sweetie. Only my presence kept them at bay. That won't work every time."

  "I see," she replied, tone softening. "But I don't like it. I can't help it." Her gaze melted him, those lovely lavender eyes shimmering with a hint that tears might start. "I love you. I love the fact that we can talk about things like this when no other man around here would. It's their way and be damned to the feelings of the wife. But not you. It's a precious thing I don't want to lose. Can you understand that?"

  "Yes," Ryan replied with high sincerity, "I most certainly can. For the record, I love you too. As deep as our feelings run, honey, they won't change the world. It's hostile out there, filled with people who would rob you of everything including your life. The more I work at keeping such bastards away, the better I protect you, too."

  She mulled that over while finishing the rest of her meal. He didn't push her on this, she was smart and easily understood his point as
much as he understood hers. "Alright," she finally let out between lips that were straight as a sword blade. "You won't get any fuss from me anymore over the garrison duty you chose. It is only a few days out of the week and you're home every night. I'm going to hold you to that. Every single word."

  His smile was wide and his nod was respectfully slow. "Thank you, dear."

  Chapter Twelve - Myra's Surprise

  Ryan was busy stacking newly cut firewood when Myra brought him the routine jug of water. The chore needed to be done as they were only a month away from winter and their own personal food harvest was almost ready. As she handed him the ladle with a glow on her face, he noticed her fingernails were longer and more pointed than before. They almost resembled claws. He slowly reached out his hand and took her fingers onto his palm, looked a question into her eyes.

  "What?" she asked, almost too quickly. "These?" She flexed her fingers and the claw like nails looked dangerous.

  "They look sharper than before, more curved," he replied with curiosity. "Your hair seems even longer now than it was a few weeks ago, much thicker. I'm not complaining, dear, I've never seen these changes before. Is this normal?" He smiled to reinforce that he was only being inquisitive about her nature, but she seemed as puzzled as he was.

  "I feel normal," she eventually said, cocking her head to one side in deep thought. "I've been eating a little more than usual, maybe the food is making me stronger in different ways."

  He knew that was rubbish but he didn't dare scoff. There was no telling how she would react to that and he didn't want to test her social values now, not when something about her was changing. He took a different approach. "Have you ever grown sharper nails before, had your hair become thicker for no reason?"