by D. L. Kramer
"You'd better be behaving yourself," he said to her as Yenene appeared behind her.
"I'm always good," Valry said, her tone almost defiant.
"I just worry about what you're good at," Nahtan pointed out, then looked up at Yenene as he brushed the hair from his eyes. "Do you have a minute?"
"Are you wearing your brace?" Yenene ushered Valry back into the room and took the door from Nahtan.
Nahtan held up his left hand. "Would I dare not?"
"All right," Yenene nodded. "Then I have a minute." She motioned him into the room and closed the door behind him.
"I need to know anything Jensina's told you--even if it doesn't seem important," he said, following her into the main room. Valry sat on the floor beside Tion, watching him sketch something on a smooth piece of leather.
Yenene turned and looked at him with surprised eyes. "Why?" she asked, her voice concerned. "Has something else happened?"
"I don't know," Nahtan admitted. "Has she said anything that you didn't understand, or that might have more than one meaning?"
Yenene shook her head. "She's been quiet lately," she answered. "There's hardly even been anything said about what you're doing." She searched his eyes. "What's going on?"
Nahtan shook his head. "There's a young man," he replied. "In the city. He knows more about Valry and--other things--then any other commoner I've met. There's something else, too, but I can't quite place what it is."
"It could be he's here from one of the other gods," Yenene said after a moment. "They each have their own servants and souls who are loyal to them."
Nahtan sighed. "That's what worries me," he confided. Although Zared could no longer confront him as a mortal, Nahtan knew the fallen god could bring in his own servants and priests to do his bidding in his place. While the odds were any strangers who found their way into his company were most likely sent by Zakris or one of his daughters, he didn't want to underestimate Zared. "Please," he continued. "Tell me if she says anything that might be a warning."
"I will," Yenene promised him, nodding her head.
"That's all there is," Bear insisted. "He showed up at the start of the first harvest and was hired by that family. They don't know where he came from, he just told them he was born in a small village somewhere east of here. Their kids and dogs all liked him, so they let him sleep in their barn and work in their part of the orchards."
"There's got to be more," Nahtan said. "Did he declare or register anything with the trader's office when he got here?"
"Nothing," Bear answered. "It sounds like he showed up with a change of clothes, bedroll and a willingness to work." He shook his head slightly. "Just like the hundreds of others who show up here every harvest."
They both turned as someone knocked on the door.
"Come," Nahtan called, not waiting to see if it was a friend who would simply open the door.
Aralt opened the door, pausing to nod to Bear. "Pardon the interruption," the Mo'ani said, then looked at Nahtan. "It seems there's been a challenge issued for you in the training yard."
Nahtan raised an eyebrow. "What, they don't even give me the courtesy of letting me be there now?"
Aralt shrugged. "You know how it gets when one of them wins a couple of fights."
"They don't get nearly as upset as he does when he loses a couple," Bear said, motioning to Nahtan.
"Later," Nahtan told Aralt. "I'll probably need to work out my frustrations then anyway."
Aralt nodded, then disappeared into the hall, closing the door behind him.
"You know," Bear's voice was thoughtful. "We could just find you a consort and accomplish the same thing."
"Don't even start with that," Nahtan warned his friend. The last thing he needed now was to complicate his personal life, too. He unfastened the archer's brace and adjusted the leather wrapping before buckling it again. "And before you say anything else, Valry is adjusting just fine with the female influences she has."
"Lady Adiella and Lady Bavol," Bear shook his head. "As much as I respect both of them, I'm not sure if I'd want them being my daughter's primary 'female influences'."
Nahtan gave his friend a deliberate look. "Would you rather I ask Brijade to stay and assume the responsibility?" He didn't remind Bear that Valry spent an equal amount of time with Meda and Yenene.
"Don't even think about it," Bear responded. "I want to know I don't have to worry about Valry stabbing me in the back when she can't do something she wants."
Nahtan smiled. "Then quit complaining about who I let my daughter be around." He turned toward the narrow window in the far wall when someone called his name. Not quite recognizing the voice, he looked at Bear, who shrugged. Sighing, he stood and walked to the window.
Below him, a young woman in her late teens held a sword in front of her. A red sash was knotted about her hips and her tunic and breeches were dusted. Her dark blonde hair was tied in front of one shoulder and her tanned face was determined.
"Am I going to have to come up there to get this done?" she called when he appeared.
"Get what done?" Nahtan called back, recognizing her immediately. His eyes moved over towards the training yard, quickly picking out the frail form of Gahrit and the more muscular form of Bredyn keeping close to his older brother's side. He couldn't see any sign of Lord or Lady Corydon, but he was certain at least one of them would have come with their children on the journey from Corydon Hold.
"There is no way you are leaving here with my brother in your place unless either Bredyn or I have our cloaks," Mehlis returned. "If you want your castle torn up that badly, then I'll be right up."
"Sounds determined," Bear noted from behind him.
"Sounds like her mother," Nahtan returned. "Couldn't one of them have inherited their father's calm?"
"Gahrit got it all," Bear said. "All that was left for those two was their mother's temper."
Nahtan sighed, knowing Bear was right. "Give me an hour," he called back to Mehlis before turning away from the window.
"You could be well out of the city in an hour," Bear noted.
"I'm not running," Nahtan said. "If it were Brijade making the challenge, I'd consider locking myself in a room she couldn't hack her way through to. I'm going to go find a regular longsword I can get comfortable with in that short of time."
"You don't want to use yours?" Bear asked, not quite surprised.
"I've heard rumors of how she fights," Nahtan replied. "If I used my sword the way I'm afraid I'd have to, she'd end up dead."
Bear chuckled as Nahtan led the way out of his office.
Nahtan dove to his left to get away from Mehlis' swing with her sword and immediate thrust with her dagger. He rolled to the side and came up, his sword between them once again. With any luck, she wouldn't get inside the weapon's range this time--at least not for several seconds. He wished for his own sword, the extra length and weight of it was more comforting to him than this borrowed one. Still, this one allowed him to respond quicker and fend off her rapid attacks.
He was surprised at how aggressively she attacked; not even Brijade was that fierce of an opponent. He now knew why Mehlis had been granted a sash so early.
While Nahtan realized she knew enough to hold her own in a battle where the goal was simply to cut down as many enemies as possible, he switched tactics to the more refined swordsmanship of the Mo'ani. If she were worthy of receiving a cloak, she would be able to hold her own against his attacks without attacking unless it became necessary.
Nahtan didn't hold back as he pushed his attack on her, slowly and deliberately driving Mehlis towards one corner of the training yard. Almost too late, he saw her realize what he was doing and she started pushing back. Nahtan refused to let her advance on him, his sword twisting and turning into each of her swings and thrusts. His wrist complained under the brace, but he ignored the pains shooting through his hand and up his arm.
When Mehlis thrust her dagger towards him without having her sword up, he grabbed her
wrist and pulled her forward, then spun her around and pressed her back against the top rail of the fence. With a single hit of her wrist to the rail, she dropped the dagger. Nahtan kicked it out of the yard before releasing her and stepping back to let her into the fight again.
"That makes it a little more even now," he pointed out.
"Nothing was stopping you from drawing one of your knives," Mehlis returned.
"Yes it was," Nahtan nodded as they circled each other. He knew she was hoping he'd be distracted by their discussion and not notice her turning him towards the corner. "I'd have won by now if I'd done that." When his back was almost to the corner, he smiled at her. "Now, this is one way to get out of this." Moving swiftly, he swung his sword in a diagonal cut towards her chest with all his strength, then took the moment while she responded to get clear of the corner.
Mehlis brought her sword up to block him as he moved, trying to keep up as he brought his sword around and down in another diagonal swing. She didn't quite move fast enough and Nahtan had to pull his swing away before it hit her.
"This isn't fair," Brijade's voice came from one side of the training yard. "The apprentices who go up against him now don't have to put up with his random bar brawl punches."
"That is a point," Mo'ani's voice sounded from somewhere behind Nahtan. "And didn't he trip and pin you when you faced him at Takis?"
"Yes," Brijade answered. "And I still say that was cheating."
"Technically, it was," Bear added from his place by the gate. Nahtan could see his friend at the edge of his vision, leaning on the top rail with Valry sitting in front of his arms on the fence. "But for some reason the captain didn't call him on it."
"Probably because he knew how dirty Lady Takis fights too," Nahtan said, loud enough for them all to hear as he ducked under one of Mehlis' swings and brought his sword up for a thrust.
"Are you begging for me to jump in there?" Brijade asked.
Nahtan circled so he could see her over Mehlis' shoulder. "No," he answered, giving her a smile. "I'm just stating a fact. Besides, I'd just have to go back to fighting that way if you were here."
"Don't you dare," Yenene's voice came from somewhere on his right. "And the rest of you quit goading him on."
Nahtan smiled again, turning his full attention back to the fight with Mehlis while his friends chuckled. After a few more minutes of fending him off, Mehlis tried shifting back to the offensive. Nahtan blocked her first swing and let loose a fury of swings and thrusts that drove her back almost to the fence. When he saw an opening, he resisted the urge to move for his skinning knife and end the fight. Instead, he continued driving Mehlis until her back was against the fence. Seeing he had finally worn her down, he pushed his sword into Mehlis' and gave it a hard twist, pulling it from her hand and sending it spinning to the ground. Without the weight of his longsword behind the twist, her wrist wouldn't be nearly as sore as Janec's had been when Nahtan managed that move to win his own cloak.
Mehlis bowed her head when she realized she was beaten, sighing and shaking it. Nahtan leaned closer to her. "We'll talk about your cloak later," he promised her. "I only saw a couple of things you should work on. I doubt Mo'ani or Bear saw anymore than that."
Mehlis shook her head again as she looked up at him. "I can't let Gahrit or my parents down," she whispered, her brown eyes searching his. "Bredyn and I have to be Gahrit's strength."
"You already are," he told her. "You don't need a cloak to be that."
Mehlis looked away for a moment before turning and retrieving her sword and leaving the training yard.
Nahtan handed the longsword to Aralt as he walked over to where Mo'ani and Gahrit stood. Bredyn waited several feet away, watching Mehlis walk away from the yard.
"I'm surprised neither of your parents came with," he said to Gahrit.
Gahrit turned sunken eyes to him, his skin strangely pale compared to his brother's and sister's dark tans. His tunic seemed to hang on him, his collarbones obvious near the ties on the front. His fingers were long and bony, laced together and resting on the top railing. The toll of his years of sickness as a child was still evident.
"They're not nearly so overprotective now that the BishopLord behind Corydon Hold is gone," he answered, his voice surprisingly strong and clear. Gahrit paused to watch Mehlis walk toward the stables. "She seems to think she needs to best you to have truly earned her cloak," he turned back to Nahtan. "Nothing mother or father has said has changed her mind."
"I can't just let her win," Nahtan shrugged. "Doesn't she realize there's more to it than that?"
Gahrit shook his head slightly. "Not to her," he explained. "I--in part--blame our parents. When they finally realized I wouldn't be able to follow in their footsteps on the battlefield, they started grooming Mehlis and Bredyn to not only take their own places, but to assume mine as well."
"I'd wondered about that," Mo'ani mentioned. "Your father was quite upset when the healers told him you probably wouldn't recover much of your strength."
"I have learned to compensate and to give my parents new expectations for me," Gahrit responded. "There is no longer any doubt that Corydon Hold will go to me when my parents are gone."
Nahtan smiled faintly. "And you'll be getting some very good experience in the coming year or so," he said.
Gahrit returned his smile. "I'll let you know if it's useful or not when you come back."
Twelve - "Bring us there and back safely"
Nahtan pulled his skinning knife from his boot and considered the razor sharp edge as it glinted in the torchlight of the cathedral room. Halona's altar stood before him, her statue behind it, faint shadows dancing over both. The knife once belonged to his master and was the only thing he took after meeting Kile. It was the one thing tying him to the life he might have led had he stayed in Edgewind. If the trapper had not bought him at the auction, his life might have ended up very differently.
Leisl had told him their father was a blacksmith and Nahtan their only son after six daughters. Nahtan had no memories of his own of his parents, and relied on hers to fill the empty places in his mind. He couldn't help but wonder how they would perceive him now. He couldn't allow himself to think about what he would do if anything similar happened to Valry. The thoughts stirred a dark anger in his soul and forcing it down took a great deal of effort. Pushing the thoughts from his mind, he turned his attention back to the altar.
Halona's room in the Grand Cathedral was smaller than Jensina's, but only because those who sought out her blessings did so on a personal level. Nahtan suspected Halona only helped armies when it fit her own needs, otherwise, she devoted her attention to individuals.
His army had left the Stronghold that morning while he and the others would leave Herridon within the next couple of days. He had his twelve Mo'ani Warriors to ride with them, along with his friends and those he had specially requested accompany them. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the few liabilities the group would have if they ran into trouble, especially since one was his daughter.
Hopefully there were enough fighters among them to keep Valry, Leisl, Tion and the two girls safe and to protect Bear and Yenene until they could get to a point where their archery would be a benefit.
Sighing, he resheathed the skinning knife and pulled open his pouch. It had worked once before, perhaps it would again. Taking out the tied lock of flaxen mane, he gently set it on the altar. The lock was his only remaining tie to Tyran besides his memories. He knew the Dweller's stallion hadn't felt any pain when Zared killed him, since the fallen god had been trying to weaken Nahtan by the suddenness of the act.
"Bring us there and back safely," he said quietly, looking up at Halona's face. He stepped back from the altar, considered the goddess' likeness for a moment, then turned to walk from the room. Just as at the Stronghold, the faint acrid smell of burnt hair drifted to him as he reached for the door latch. He paused for a moment, not bothering to turn around. Halona had once again accepted his offering and req
uest for her help. Zared would not find it so easy to hurt him now. "Thank you," he whispered, opening the door and stepping into the hall.
With the door to Halona's altar closed behind him, he turned down the hall leading to Jensina's altar. He would not have to make an offering to the younger goddess while Halona had accepted hers, but he still carried a stem of wildflowers for her. As he entered the small room, he paused, trying to feel for Rena's presence. As usual, he could not sense her anywhere near him.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out a darkly cloaked figure sitting on the front pew. Nahtan moved quietly, not wanting to disturb the other person. Only when he drew nearer did he realize it was Rial.
"Do you think, Nahtan," Rial said, not bothering to look behind him. "That gods shed blood?"
Nahtan stopped, shaking his head slowly. He didn't know how Rial recognized him, and didn't want to find out. "If they're here as a mortal, yes," he answered. "I know, I've killed one."
"So I've been told." Rial turned to look up at him, his eyes shadowed by more than the flickering torches. "But do you suppose they would shed blood in their true state?"
Nahtan shook his head again and stepped past him. "I have no idea," he said. He gently laid the flowers on the altar and looked up at Jensina's face before turning to look at Rial. "Why?"
Rial shrugged slightly. "Just something I was wondering," he replied. "I've been to each of the Gods' altars here, and don't feel any draw toward any of them. I do not know which god has my parents' souls, nor do I care, for they don't speak to me either."
"Sounds like you're trying to find what you can believe in," Nahtan pointed out, wondering if Rial were trying to come to terms with his violent past.
"And what do you believe, King of Herridon?" Rial asked him. "You would still cry your faith to gods who hid you in slavery and took your wife and mentor? You would declare allegiance to a goddess who returned you to the wild rather than take the responsibility for your well being herself? You would trust gods who do not take the steps to remove the fallen from their number, allowing him to prey on us mortals who are little more than prizes in a theological war?" Rial shook his head as he continued. "Why would you still have so much faith in them that they will see you through your trials? Did they comfort you when you learned of your wife's death? Did they wipe the tears of your family when you were taken from them and sold?"
