Nico felt an inner rage building up inside, though not at this private. No, the anger was directed mainly on one man, Lord Jacinto, whose bitterness exceeded reason.
The rage was contained, but Nico did not trust himself to speak for the moment. He had always been a calm, patient youth. When exactly had emotion gotten the best of him?
The moment I became responsible for every life in the kingdom.
In any case, he was not the only one who felt the burden. General Freilenn grimaced, then said aloud what Nico was thinking.
“While we waste time here, others pay the price. I feel sorry for anyone in the middle of that horror.”
9
Gothenberg
“Bones,” Yohan said, pointing to the glinting white objects half-buried amidst the refuse of the recent camp.
“You don’t think they’re Summer’s, though?”
“Nay. I’m sure much was lies, but I believe that part of Redjack’s story. I think the women are headed for a different end.” He inspected the refuse more closely, then wished he had not. “Our women, that is.”
He walked away, letting the harpa see the torn white dresses for himself, and form his own conclusions.
Yohan had initially thought of using the remnants of this camp as one of their own, for it was good ground on which to cook and spar. Now, however, he wanted to put this place in the distance, even if it meant stopping in the rougher terrain ahead.
Now that they were inside the hills, they could see the mountains in greater detail. The next day or two would take them the rest of the way through to a point not far from the opening of Sea’s Pass.
Yohan still maintained hope that they would catch their quarry before that point, though that hope slipped a bit with each passing hour and no sign that the trail grew fresher. In sad fact, the opposite was happening.
He and Patrik had briefly discussed stealing mounts from Threefork, something that would have required time and planning, but was certainly no riskier than sneaking into the town hall to take revenge on the traitor. Ultimately, however, they agreed that stealth and surprise were their only advantage over the numbers they faced, and a pair of horses would eliminate that edge.
Besides, Yohan believed that two men pressing hard could catch up to a group of twenty or more, now that their destination was known.
That was another part of Redjack’s story that Yohan believed, at least in part. He had no problem accepting Sea’s Pass as the next stop of the journey, if only because part of him always knew he would be returning to the Stormeres.
As for the rest of Redjack’s fanciful tales…the man was too full of deception and dishonor, and his words so rambling and nonsensical, that Yohan gave up trying to separate truth from fiction. As his companion had grown fond of saying, there were tricks and deception at every turn. It was simply easier to focus on the things he could control, and that meant catching up.
Now, Yohan had to admit he was wrong about the relative ease of that task. He had not counted on the hours of hiding from large parties of tribesmen coming from the direction of the pass. All told, there had been three groups of a dozen or more, and each occurrence forced the two hunters to fall back to suitable cover and wait for the passing.
“What are they doing?” the harpa had asked, though Yohan had not known the answer. The groups seemed to be wheeling empty carts in the direction of Threefork.
“Redjack spoke of supplying the raiders.”
“Tricks and deceptions at every turn, Soldier Yohan. Tricks and deceptions at every turn.”
It had now been more than a day since the last encounter, and the two men could hope there would be no more. They pushed hard to make up for lost time, but the fear of falling too far behind became increasingly worrisome.
“At least the weather is cooling,” Patrik said. Though discouragement affected them both, the caravaneer had managed to find golden linings within dire circumstances. These small offerings were a boon to the soul, even if Yohan could not bring himself to say so aloud.
“Never hold your shield still like that,” Yohan reprimanded. “I know it gets heavy, but it has to keep moving, just like your feet. Especially against axes. If an axeman sees a stationary target like that, they’ll cleave it in two. You need to deflect, more so than block. Guide their blade away, like so.”
The caravaneer had managed to acquire some slight proficiency with the sword, but the shield remained his biggest weakness. Unfortunately, the two worked in close conjunction, one all but useless without the other.
Yohan considered reproaching Patrik further—more harshly, just as an army instructor would do—but his companion was exhausted, and the hard march was taking a toll on them both. Perhaps rest was more beneficial now than practice.
They each sat in silence, their thoughts drifting in different directions. Or perhaps the same.
The rock on which he looked up the slowly rising trail was so comfortable that Yohan felt sleep tugging him down. A refreshingly cool—almost even cold—breeze wafted between the clusters of rocks and over the southern ridge line.
That ridge line warrants inspection, he thought. Enemies could be positioned there, less than a hundred yards away from where he sat. They could be talking, planning an attack, and he would never know because he was too weary to check.
Yohan closed his eyes.
“My son, I know you aren’t old enough for this conversation, but events require it.” Yohan’s father shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, alternately looking down on the five-year-old boy sitting cross-legged on the deerskin rug and at the package he held just out of sight.
Yohan sat quietly, unaware of the gravity of impending events, but always respectful of the man he looked up to, figuratively and literally.
“I have a gift for you—”
At this, a boy’s instinctive enthusiasm broke free of the weak bonds of deference, newly learned but not yet matured. “What is it, Da?”
“Control yourself, little one,” his father said sternly, waiting for the squirming to cease before addressing the question. “It is a gift that you will only receive if I feel you have understood the lesson I am about to teach. Are you listening now?”
“Aye, Da.”
“That is good. Hear me now…”
Yohan’s father spoke then of discipline, of authority, of the essential need for rules and obedience. All lessons the boy had heard before, though only in the context of the home and family. Now he learned of an extended family, the community, the people of Parca and—more extensively, the soldiers who protected them. He listened to a story of a social contract between all women and men, and how the loss of one need not threaten the whole.
“People pass on like a river, but rules stay constant like the ocean. Find the code that makes sense for you, then live by it. Sometimes that code will be all you have to make sense of the world, when all else has let you down.
“Remember, to rely on yourself is strength; on others, folly.”
These, though, were separate thoughts, separate memories, spanning many childhood years and brought together by a tired mind seeking simple answers. Many separate memories, but all ended with one.
A knock on the door brought a sudden end to the lecture, along with an unexpected sigh. Never had Yohan seen his father less than fully in control of a moment, but now the sigh was followed by a momentary closing of the eyes and a break in the imperturbable facade.
“That will have to do, then,” he said, reopening his eyes and ignoring the repeated pounding at the sturdy hardwood portal. “Do you understand, little one?”
“Aye, Da.”
“I see you do not, but that is to be expected. I can only hope you will in time.”
“The door, Pa?”
“In a moment. First, do you want your gift?”
The disturbance at the door was becoming so loud, so foreign to young Yohan’s experience, that the son was no longer certain he did want the gift. Yet he nodded and looked reverentially at
the sword and scabbard that had always been inseparably a part of his father’s persona. Not until later did he stop to question why the sacred object—not yet thought of as a weapon—was being passed from adult to child.
The child held on to that object for a very long time, well past the moment he came to understand that his father was never coming back. Sometimes objects are mere objects, but other times they are all we will ever have to remember with…
“What is that?” Patrik asked sharply.
Yohan opened his eyes. The sight of the harpa staring at him with flushing cheeks told Yohan what was in his hands even before he looked.
I should have told him, before. Yohan did not know what to say, so he said nothing.
“You’ve had that all along, even knowing I looked for it?”
Yohan stared at the thing, just a small blue and black rock. He should have thrown it away many tendays ago. Except it meant so much, and not only to the two men.
“You’re a thief.”
Yohan could not deny that, for he certainly felt like one.
“I was starting to see what others…what Summer saw in you. And now… Will you say nothing, as you always say nothing?”
Yohan searched for words that might help. The best he could do was minimize the damage. “When I took the stone, I knew not what it meant.”
“Yet you kept it even after you did.”
Yohan noticed Patrik’s hand slide over the pommel of his sword, where it paused. Yohan blinked, untroubled, for a swordfight was one problem Yohan knew how to resolve.
Overhead, the skies darkened with cloud. Even nature expressed its outrage at him.
The hand slipped away. Instead, Patrik held it out, palm open. “And now will you return it to its owner?”
Would that I could.
With great reluctance, Yohan held the sapphire out. Patrik snatched it away and turned his back, empty of words but full of resentment.
Yohan stood. “I am sorry, Patrik.” Looking up the trail, he scooped his shield and pack off the ground and slung them over his back. Then he resumed the long, eternal walk.
The discovery, the argument, and the anger were nothing compared to what lay ahead.
For once, he did not hear his companion fall in behind. Perhaps that was for the best. If he turned back now, the harpa might still survive this ordeal. And Yohan worked better on his own. He did not need friends.
The sudden tear surprised him enough to stop walking. He wiped his cheek, staring at the unexpected wetness, only a sign that the stress was starting to overflow. Then, turning back, he saw the flash of long blade just in time to throw himself out of the way.
He rolled and drew his sword in one smooth motion, discarding the pack on the way back to his feet. Then he stood, staring at the face of evil before him.
It had come over the ridge, silently as a bird despite its immense bulk, its horrible stench undetected until now.
What he had taken as a blade was actually one of two forelegs, now held up for display like the pose of a praying mantis. They might just as well have been actual swords, for their entire four-foot length was edged so sharply he wondered how it moved without cutting itself.
That question was answered when he saw the unexpected grace with which it balanced on its two clawed limbs, first launching itself in another attack, then whirling and spinning around before Yohan had time to turn his dodge into a counter.
During this second pause, he studied its skin for potential weaknesses. Scales covered most of the torso, thick hide and dark fur the rest. Nothing jumped out as an obvious target, which meant he would need to use trial and error—provided he could ever get his blade on the thing.
It leaped again, forcing him back. He dove once more, this time in the opposite direction, hoping it might favor one side over the other. It did not, and an aggressive thrust of his sword brought a defensive parry with one leg and an impossibly fast slash with the other, just catching Yohan’s shoulder as he attempted to pull back.
He barely felt the cut, at least at first. Then a glance showed severed chain and fresh blood, and shortly thereafter a rising of pain. Nothing dangerous in itself, but Yohan worried what the cumulative effect of a few such wounds would do to him. And wounds were an inevitability, given the speed, precision, and power of the thing before him.
Yohan needed his shield, that much was certain. He could feel the reassuring weight on his back, but he dared not take the time to unsling it.
Another swift pass, another lightning-fast cross of blades, another calculated pause. The opponent barely showed any effort. It was toying with him, no more, and he recognized it for what it was. A pure killing machine.
The beast smiled—or seemed to, though the long row of teeth maintained a perpetual look of amusement. As it lunged into another attack and the mouth opened, Yohan half-expected to hear a laugh.
Only when his blade sliced through the outer curve of that maw, and the creature abruptly recoiled, did Yohan rethink his first impression. He knew that cut had hurt, yet its unnerving expression was not altered. That’s just how it is, he decided. Best not to ascribe human emotions to the face of a demon.
At least the exchange bought him the time to get arm in shield, and a calmness settled in as soon as he felt the tautness of the strap. Now he could think again.
Fear flickered at the fringes of awareness, but he pushed it back. The mind could focus on only one idea at a time, and if panic ever reached the front it would block out all else. Instead he honed in on the demon’s movements, searching for patterns and habits—anything to give him a chance.
Reading an enemy came as natural to Yohan as a book to a scholar. This opponent, however, was unlike any he had ever encountered, for its behavior was a constant fluctuation between stillness and motion, the latter so fast as to be nearly a blur.
Nevertheless, after two more passes, Yohan believed he had the measure of the beast. It was certainly the fastest thing he had ever fought—animal, man, or other—yet he was not daunted. He had scored one wound, and could do so again. All he needed was an opportunity.
Patrik provided one. The rock he threw merely bounced off the scaly side, but the head turned in the new direction just long enough for Yohan to pounce. He dared not risk a penetration of any depth, for its body moved so quickly that he feared losing control of his weapon for even a fraction of a second. The demon twisted away from the thrust, and Yohan was barely able to duck under the swinging forearm. He attempted a counter of his own, felt his blade turn on the parry of the other leg, then threw himself back as it lunged forward in a new move. The claws of the back legs tore into the hard ground where he had just been standing, digging shallow gouges like a pair of spades.
This time, the two combatants did not pause. The exchange continued, one sequence flowing right into the next.
Another lunge with those claws, and Yohan sensed that the demon was off-balance. He seized the opportunity to close, hoping to get inside the effective range of those long-bladed arms. But any momentary vulnerability was quickly gone, and it danced backward and sideways almost too fast to keep up with, though he tried hard to stay near. Suddenly it stopped and lunged forward once more, maw open and teeth gnashing. Yohan maneuvered away just as the reaver had a moment before, backward then sideways, and the jaws clamped down on nothing but air.
At last they came to a stop two yards apart, studying each other intently. The beast’s head cocked to one side, as though considering its opponent in a new light. A steady stream of liquid ran from a cut in the side, though it gave no indication of noticing.
For his part, Yohan’s heartbeat was racing, his chest heaving from exertion. He fought to steady his breath, calm his tensed nerves, and relax his muscles for the next barrage.
Another rock bounced off the demon’s side. This time, it never took its attention away from Yohan.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the harpa running toward them. “Patrik, stop!” he called. “This thing will
kill you in a heartbeat.”
The movement stopped, the man obeyed. “Yohan…”
“It’s all right. I can kill it.”
He liked to think the demon understood him. Whether that was true or not, it surged forward again, moving as quickly as ever.
He parried, feinted, blocked, and countered with as much precision as he had ever done in his life. And still he did not connect, instead finding himself turning away, stepping back, pushed further and further to the defense. The rare times he got in a swing of his own, Yohan not only failed to score a hit but was forced to burn more energy to escape the inevitable ripostes.
He simply could not get to it. So he would have to let it get to him.
The next time it lunged, back legs up and forward, claws out to shred and tear, Yohan stood his ground. He took the shock of its weight on his shield, thrusting forward with his sword as he was driven down to the ground. The air burst from his lungs on impact, leaving him gasping, and he felt those claws digging into the lower stretches of his chain mail.
But it had misplaced the jump badly, expecting him to move back rather than stop. The claws found their way to flesh, but Yohan was less aware of his own pain than he was of that he inflicted on the reaver. He had sensed the moment when his point stabbed through scale, and pushed as hard as he could manage given the awkwardness of falling, the sudden weakness of having the wind knocked out of him, and the immense weight now pressing down on his torso.
The hideous shrieking restored some strength to his muscles, and hope to his mind. His right arm pulled down and pushed up again, and the giant maw opened wide, the smile broadening, bile dripping like rain onto Yohan’s face. He turned his head to the side, desperate to get relief from the sickening odor emanating from its open mouth.
The big body twisted, ripping the sword from Yohan’s grip, so he used both hands to hold the shield between himself and the thrashing paroxysms of the beast. Its mouth clamped shut, over and over again, but could not get past the wooden partition between demon and man.
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 68
