The bearded man stood up and brushed the grass and dust from his pants. “We can rest here for the night.” He looked at the large man still sitting near the fire. “Couldn’t keep your head in there, could you? I hope you enjoy sleeping on the ground tonight.”
The huge man just hung his head. Kian could hear him softly laughing.
The man turned his attention to Kian. “It was smart of you to follow us, friend. There would have been a lot more guards to kill, if you had waited around. I am K’xarr Strom and this is…”
“I can say who I am,” the giant said.
He stood up and walked over to Kian. He towered above the half-elven warrior by at least a foot or more, and he spoke with a heavy accent like one who was unaccustomed to speaking in the common language used by merchants and traders. “I am Cromwell Blood of the Blood Clan. I hail from the village of Volech. I am a Toran warrior. My clan’s blood goes back to the founder of my country and second greatest warrior of my race, Tor Ironclaw. None have stood against me and lived.”
Cromwell stood with his chest out, looking at the half-elf with his sullen eyes as if he dared Kian to dispute anything he had said. The big man sat back down.
Kian could see K’xarr trying to hide his grin.
“Cromwell thinks a lot of himself, as you can see. Can I ask who do we have the honor sharing our fire with?”
“I am Kian Cardan. I was born in Thieves Port.”
He could not think of anything else to say. He saw K’xarr looking at him in a strange way, and he knew before the man could speak what he was going to say.
“Cromwell, I’ll be thrice dammed, he’s a half-breed,” K’xarr said.
Cromwell cocked his head and gave Kian a long look.
“He can’t be a half-breed, K’xarr, he can fight and hasn’t tried to pick my pocket or beg for food.”
Kian’s jaw tightened, and his hand dropped to hang near the hilt of his sword. K’xarr and Cromwell both saw it.
“No reason to be so touchy, half-breed, there are very few elves on the Harsh Coast, and even fewer of your kind. Hell, I’ve never even talked to an elf. Have you, Cromwell?”
“No, I have killed a few, though. Poor warriors,” Cromwell said as he stretched out on the ground and put his hands behind his head.
K’xarr folded his arms across his chest and looked at Kian a moment, as if he was trying to decide what to say. “We are kind of outcasts ourselves in a way. We won’t hold your blood against you, half-breed.”
Kian sighed. “I just don’t like the word half-breed.”
“K’xarr doesn’t like to be called ass, but it is how he is known throughout the world by most women,” Cromwell said without sitting up.
“At least they don’t run away from me screaming, you ignorant bastard,” K’xarr countered.
“I like it better when they run, makes it more of a sport when you have to chase them.”
They bedded down for the night. Kian wrapped his cloak around himself and pulled his hood up. The night was damp and the morning would most likely be very cool. Leaning his back against a tree, he tried to fall asleep. He listened as the two warriors continued to insult each other. He had been pondering something, so he waited until there was a break in the banter.
“Cromwell, can I ask you a question?” Kian inquired.
“Ask away, half-elf, I will answer if I can.”
Kian pulled his hood back enough so his face could be seen. “If this ancestor of yours, Ironclaw, I think you said his name was, is the second greatest Toran warrior that ever lived, who’s the greatest?”
The small camp was silent for a few moments. Kian thought that Cromwell might not answer him, then he heard Cromwell say, “I am.”
Kian shook his head as both K’xarr and Cromwell busted out laughing. Kian would never understand some people’s humor.
The fire was dying down, and he could finally hear the other two snoring. Kian was very tired to but couldn’t fall asleep. He just could not stop thinking about what might have happened to his mother and Tavantis. Where could they be? Maybe they finally got out of Thieves Port too? There was just no way to know. They had left no word for him and he didn’t even know what direction to head. Finding them was a lost cause for now. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of his lost family.
Morning came chilly and wet; the fire had died during the night, leaving nothing but a faint smell of smoke and grey ashes. Kian opened his eyes; he saw that K’xarr was already up and strapping on his armor. The half-elf heard an odd splattering sound and looked over to see Cromwell was relieving himself against a tree. Kian could only stare with his mouth open.
“Have you ever seen anything like that, friend?” K’xarr said, grinning.
Kian turned away quickly, embarrassed that K’xarr had seen him staring at Cromwell.
“Don’t be upset, my little half-breed friend. The first time I saw that Toran’s cock, I stared too. I think his father was a horse, that’s why the women run from him and he has to pay the whores double. They’re afraid he will split them in half with that thing.”
K’xarr and Cromwell both started laughing.
“Shut up, K’xarr, you will make me piss on my boots,” Cromwell said, shaking with laughter.
K’xarr tightened his sword belt and stretched his arms, yawning like a big cat. “Put that thing away, Cromwell, we need to get going.”
The Toran laced his breeches back up and walked over to Kian, squatting down. “Don’t worry, half-breed, when you grow up, your cock might be as big as my sister’s.”
He patted Kian on the head and offered the half-elf his hand to help him to his feet.
Kian knocked the Toran’s hand away and jumped up, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I said I don’t like to be called a half-breed, and I am tired of your insults. I am an elven warrior, trained by Gildor Singollo, Sunblade to King Celebrindal. I am not someone to be made sport of.” He stepped into his fighting stance and waited for them to come at him.
The two men began to laugh.
“Damn, you’re a thin-skinned bastard. Is that the way with all half-breeds or is it just you that can’t take a joke?” K’xarr said.
Kian realized the two men did not care that they had angered him.
“Just look at him, Cromwell. I think he was going to fight both of us.”
“I think you're right, K’xarr. The little half-breed is a fool but he has courage. It would be a shame to kill him.”
Kian was angry the two men had gotten under his skin with their continuous slights. Kian pulled his sword half way out of its scabbard. “Stop laughing at me.”
K’xarr put his hands on his hips and looked the half-elven man right in the eye. Kian saw no fear in the warrior.
“I wish you could see yourself standing there all puffed up spoiling for a fight. It was only a jest.”
K’xarr held his hands up and walked over to Kian; the half-elf eased his blade back into its scabbard. The bearded warrior put his hand on Kian’s shoulder and gave him a very sincere look. “We are sorry…but you’ll never have a cock as big as Cromwell’s sister’s.”
They roared with laughter again. Kian was unsure of what to do. He stood there staring at the two large men as they laughed at their own vulgarity. K’xarr bent over and put his hands on his knees. “And by the way, my half-elven friend, where did you get that clothing? With those leathers and big cloak, you look like you could be a Celonian circus performer. You must know there are no elven warriors left, and if there were, they would be in the March with the rest of their defeated race. You need to learn to be a lot less serious. Friends jest with each other. Now let’s go find something to eat.”
Cromwell and K’xarr both turned and walked away from him. Kian didn’t know what to do. He felt a little foolish. Jesting and friends—two things he knew very little about. Perhaps he was too defensive, but he had always had to be. K’xarr was right, he was no elven warrior, and he was not even truly
elven. The two were rude and callused, but they were the first two humans he had run across who said his blood didn’t matter to them. He followed after them, unsure of the reason why.
Later in the day after foraging for food, the three men found themselves sitting on top of a grassy hill. They could see the harbor from where they sat. Kian watched as a caravel with its sails spread by the stiff breeze cruised lazily into the harbor. The sun was shining and the day had warmed up. The sun felt good on Kian’s face and his belly was full of some black berries they had found that morning.
K’xarr stood alone away from where Kian and Cromwell sat staring out towards the sea.
“He hasn’t said anything since we got up here. Has something angered him?” Kian said.
“Who can say what he broods about--the future, the past--he just gets that way sometimes. When he does, I leave him be. If you stay around K’xarr long, you will find he is a very ill-tempered man.”
“You spoke of a clan last night. Is this clan your family?”
Cromwell plucked a blade of grass and spun it around between his two huge fingers. “K’xarr and I were both driven out of our homelands several years ago. My clan turned their back on me. I’m clanless now, a great insult in my country. So I have no family, though I am still Toran and will be until I draw my last breath.” The big man tossed the blade of grass into the air and shook his thick dark hair out of his face, looking to the north. “I miss Tora. The feuds, the battles, the women, there is no place I would rather be. Kian, my half-elven friend, there is nothing like a good Toran woman. They are nice and thick; they know how to keep a man warm at night.”
Kian saw Cromwell reach down and clench the hilt of his shortsword. “What I miss most is my honor. Someday I will go home and win it back and avenge myself on those who drove me away.”
Kian could tell the Toran’s mood was becoming grim talking about his homeland, so he tried to change the subject. “Where is K’xarr from?”
Cromwell looked over at his friend then back to Kian. “He is from Camir. You would have to search hard for a more unforgiving country. It is a land of rock and ice. The Camirians themselves are mountain warriors. Raiding and pillaging is their way of life. K’xarr talks little of his homeland and even less about his family.”
Kian looked at the harbor again, thinking of his mother. “A man needs a family, it is what makes him whole. If I knew where mine was, nothing could stop me from going to them.”
Cromwell looked dour and stared at the shortsword strapped to his side. Kian was curious about the weapon the large man carried.
“Where did you get that blade, Cromwell? I have never seen any shortsword like it,” Kian asked.
Cromwell looked down at the weapon on his hip. It was as long as the half-elf’s arm from his elbow to the tips of his fingers. The cross pieces were forged into the shape of some kind of animal talons and the hilt looked to be a solid piece of iron wrapped with black leather. The blade was straight and wide enough to deliver a brutal wound with a cut or thrust.
Cromwell grinned. “This is no shortsword. It is my Voltakar, a dagger blessed by a priest of Fane the God of War. It is forged from the iron of Tora and tempered in the blood of our enemies. It is placed in our cradles at birth. As the babe grows, they roll and crawl over the blade, cutting themselves many times over. When the child is old enough, he begins to carry the Voltakar with him at all times. It is the first weapon of a Toran warrior. My people believe the practice teaches the child to endure pain, and the blood that is shed is a sacrifice to Fane.”
Kian looked at the warrior in horror. He could not fathom doing that to a child. “What happens if one of the children dies? I mean, they could cut themselves bad enough to bleed to death.”
Cromwell looked up and pointed to the sky. “Then Fane has decided that child is not worthy to be a Toran warrior. It is a sacred ritual of my people. The Voltakar can only be taken from us by death.”
“The Old Gods are gone, vanished long ago, so why do your people still honor this war god if he no longer exists?” Kian asked.
Cromwell laughed. “Fane is not gone. He waits for us to join him in Vinteytium. It is where I will go when I die, half-breed, make no mistake about that.”
Kian watched as the Toran drew the wicked blade from its sheath. He had angered Cromwell. He should never have said his god didn’t exist.
“Cromwell, I apologize for being disrespectful of your beliefs, it won’t happen again.”
Cromwell turned the huge dagger over in his hand then inspected the blade’s sharpness with his thumb. “If a Voltakar is drawn, it is custom that it must taste blood.”
Kian looked perplexed. He shifted himself back away from Cromwell, not knowing what the Toran intended. Cromwell looked Kian in the eye then drew the blade across the palm of his own hand. Black blood ran down Cromwell’s scarred forearm. Kian had never seen anything like it, not even in an animal. The Toran’s blood was as dark as night. Kian watched it as it rolled down the big man’s arm and dripped from his elbow onto the ground.
“Cromwell, look at your blood! Are you ill?”
Cromwell looked at the cut then put the weapon back in its sheath. “I’m not ill, my blood has always been like this: black as the Reaper’s heart.”
Kian shook his head in disbelief. “Do all Torans have black blood?”
“Of course not, you half-elven fool.” Cromwell paused a moment and stared at the blood. “Only me.”
He wanted to ask the big man more about it, but the look in the Toran’s eye made him hold his tongue. Cromwell must have seen the question on Kian’s face. “We have a saying in Tora, my friend. If you ask too many questions, you will soon get an answer you do not like.”
“Cromwell, stop carving on yourself, it’s time to go.” K’xarr had rejoined them. Kian had been so engrossed in Cromwell’s tale and the strange blood, he hadn’t even heard the Camiran walk up.
“K’xarr, have you seen his blood?” Kian said, pointing to Cromwell’s arm.
“Yes, we have traveled together for a long time. I have seen more of that Toran than I care to. You don’t have a problem with it do you, Kian?”
“No, I have just never seen anything like it. Have you ever run across anyone else that bleeds black?”
Cromwell looked at K’xarr. “Only one other that I have ever seen.”
Kian looked back and forth between the two men. “You have it too, K’xarr?”
“Aye, since the day of my birth. I wouldn’t think you would question the purity of anyone’s blood, half-breed.”
Kian stood up. “I don’t judge men on the color of their blood or the shape of their ears or anything else. I was taught to judge men by their deeds.”
K’xarr nodded. “Good, but I ask you to keep it to yourself. Most people in the world don’t think that way, and we have had trouble in the past because of it.”
“You have my word, I will tell no one,” the half-elf said. Kian understood all too well how intolerant the world could be.
“Where are we going?” Cromwell asked, ignoring their conversation.
“We will head back to the city and take ship to the middle continent and see what kind of trouble we can find there.”
“We have no coin to pay for passage, K’xarr, you know that,” Cromwell said as he stood up and slung his two-handed sword across his back.
“We’ll get the coin. It’s time to seek our fortune in the world. I have seen twenty-five winters and so have you, oaf, and we don’t have a thing to show for it. I am tired of living like rats and fearing someone will find out about this accursed blood. Let’s join the first band of sell-swords we come across and see the world. Make a little coin while we do it.”
Cromwell stood up. “Well, I have nothing better to do and I too have grown tired of living like beggars. We are warriors, K’xarr, it’s time we acted like it. If people don’t like our blood, we will teach them to fear it.”
K’xarr looked at Kian, seeming pleased
with himself. “Well, my half-breed friend, you can go your own way or you can come with us if you like, but I warn you now, the road Cromwell and I are traveling is a bloody one. We will live by the sword. I want you to know that before you make your choice. If you come, maybe you will run across that family of yours. I plan on seeing much of this world before I’m put down into it. If you choose to go on alone, we will not hold it against you.”
Kian thought for a moment; he too was a warrior and had no other skill to speak of, and traveling with humans, even if they were savages and had strange blood, would make it easier for him to journey through the world. “I have nowhere to go and little coin. My family is lost to me for now, and the only talent I have is with a blade. So I will come, but I tell you this. I will do no murder, and I will not make war on women or children.”
Cromwell gave him a friendly slap on the back. “You can leave that to us.”
She had made it back to her chambers. Raygan locked her door and leaned back against it. Her chest was heaving after her erratic flight from the throne room. The princess’s mind reeled. She had never been so mixed up by anything in her life. How had it happened?
King Aaron had been taken down to the throne room early that morning before any of the nobles had arrived for court. Raygan had directed his servants on what her father should wear and the route they should take to get him to the first floor of the palace unseen. No one needed to know the king could not walk to the throne room on his own if it could be helped. Her father had been very quiet that morning. She should have known something was wrong. He was so serious and deep in thought. He had seemed almost troubled. She had dismissed it as the strain of being out of bed for the first time in months.
Once in the throne room, they had carried him up on the dais and seated him on the Phoenix Throne. The day before, Raygan had ordered the king’s staff to adorn the whole palace with red and gold, the royal colors of Bandara. There were banners and garland, even the carpet had been changed to reflect her idea of a nationally themed event.
DAWN OF THE PHOENIX Page 8
