Sisters of the Blade

by Shawn E. Crapo

  "What do you think, Morrigan?" she asked. "Should we let him go?"

  "I don't see any reason to kill him," Morrigan said. "Rian?"

  Rian sheathed her blade, shaking her head but approaching the man casually, grinning. He backed away again.

  "I should," she said. "But they never really did me any harm. I killed the guard that did all the damage, but he wasn't one of them."

  "He was a man without honor. But he had a bounty as well. We let him travel with us. It was a regrettable decision."

  "Go then," Igrid said, sheathing her sword. "Pick up your blade and go. Find passage back home and never return to my island."

  The man hesitantly reached down to retrieve his blade. He nodded at them, seemingly grateful for not only sparing him, but for allowing him to keep his weapon. He even bowed his head slightly before disappearing into the forest once more.

  "That was close," Rian said. "And you were quick with that bow. That was a good fight. But I need to ask something. When he mentioned the girl on the other ship, you smiled. What was that about?"

  "She is a friend," Igrid said. "A former shieldmaiden of mine. She has always been a very good archer, and it doesn't surprise me that she could hit those men with her bow."

  "Well then," Rian said. "She is an amazing archer. That ship was at least two hundred yards away."

  "That's her alright," Morrigan said. "She is with other friends of ours. They are on a similar mission of their own."

  "Fascinating," Rian said. "I'd be really interested in hearing that story."

  "Let's huddle in for the rest of the day," Igrid said. "And then we'll tell you."

  T'kar's strange glare made Randar a bit nervous. Though he did not fear the king, the look on his face was something that Randar had never seen before. Having told T'kar what he saw concerning Lilit and the statue, the situation was becoming uncomfortable as the two stared at each other quietly. It was only when the king took a breath to speak that Randar found the will to breathe as well.

  "Say that again, Randar," T'kar said. "I don't think I heard you correctly."

  Randar took a deep breath. "She mounted the statue, sire."

  T'kar's expression didn't change. "She mounted the statue." He echoed. "As in climbed atop it and rode it like a woman rides a man."

  "Yes."

  T'kar pursed his lips, nodding slowly as his eyes wandered over to Malthor, who stood nearby with a smile on his face. Randar could only snicker as he saw him, still impressed with the younger man's attitude.

  "And you saw this as well?" T'kar asked him.

  Malthor shook his head and began approaching the throne with his hands clasped behind his back.

  "I did not see it firsthand," he said. "But if Randar says that's what he saw, then I believe him."

  "Yes, yes," T'kar grumbled. "Of course. Why do you think she did this?"

  Malthor shrugged. "I suppose she assumed Kathorgo would transfer some kind of essence to her. An offspring, perhaps."

  "It is a statue," T'kar reminded him. "A stone thing."

  "A stone thing that represents a weakened being whose power wanes with every passing century."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Kathorgo is nothing, sire," Malthor said. "He is so much of a nothing that he claimed to be the source of my magical power. I already know that is not the case. He merely seeks worship in order to build up his own power."

  "Because the more worshipers he has…"

  "The more powerful he grows," Randar finished. "That is a fairly common concept."

  T'kar shot him a look, but waved him away.

  "This is all too bizarre for me to comprehend at the moment," T'kar said. "I am still in pain and not ready to do much thinking. What do either of you think is the best course of action?"

  Randar and Malthor exchanged glances. It was clear the younger man had no ideas, and Randar himself was at a loss. He could only shrug.

  "Nothing?" he said. "No harm was done, I don't think. He spoke to her. She spoke back. She mounted him. End of story."

  T'kar drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne, looking at Randar through weary eyes. For a moment, it looked as if he were going to doze off, but then he stood.

  "Fine," he said. "We'll forget about it. Keep an eye on her though. If she believes that she will spawn some kind of a Kathorgo offspring, then it could be so. I don't want any more rivals to my throne."

  Randar bowed his head. "Very well, sire."

  "On the other hand," T'kar said as he paused. "An offspring could be a powerful ally. Perhaps we'll just see how this plays out. Offer her any support she needs, and if she comes to me for anything, I will give it to her. But keep close watch on her, especially if she goes back to Kathorgo."

  "May I make a suggestion, sire?" Malthor asked.

  T'kar stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

  "Abandon that wretched piece of stone," Malthor said. "It has been worthless thus far. What has Kathorgo or Kingu done for you, really?"

  "Nothing, to be truthful," T'kar said, sighing. "But he did awaken my mind. If not for his guidance, I would have remained a grunting savage, squatting in a cave eating raw lizards and cave fish."

  "You do that anyway, sire," Randar said.

  "I'll think on it," T'kar said as he walked out.

  "It seems that he doesn't mind your sarcasm," Malthor said, grinning.

  "He knows I respect him as king," Randar said. "There is no need for him to make me fear him."

  Malthor wandered over to the throne, putting his foot on the top step of the dais. Randar folded his arms across his chest, giving Malthor a forbidding look and shaking his head. He knew what Malthor was thinking.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said.

  Malthor shrugged. "I wasn't going to."

  "I would hope not. T'kar would have your head on a spike."

  Malthor's smile told him that the younger man somehow doubted that.

  Lilit crouched over the chamber pot that had been brought in to her quarters. Her stomach churned and roiled with nausea; something she had never felt before. There was a stabbing pain below her navel, as if a small stiletto had been jabbed into her flesh.

  She felt dizzy as well, and every time she bent down to heave, the feeling got worse. She knew that she had been impregnated with some dark offspring of Kathorgo's, and that its birth would likely not be the most pleasant thing she had ever experienced. Still, it was better than being submerged in a swamp for a thousand years.

  "My lady," one of her lovers said behind her. "Are you ill? Is there anything I can get for you?"

  Lilit groaned. "Carry me to my bed," she said. "And lie with me."

  She felt the young man's strong arms take her up gently but firmly. She looked up at his handsome face as he smiled down at her. Through that smile, she saw, there was a look of genuine concern. He cared about her well-being, she realized.

  How incredibly odd.

  He laid her down gently on her bed, pulled off her clothing, and settled in beside her. He felt warm and comforting, and she found herself pressing against him and laying her head on his chest.

  "I will stay with you as long as you want, my lady," he said.

  "Thank you, Sirl," she said. "You were chosen well. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "That will never be a concern," he said. "But I would like to know what ails you. Surely a woman of your power could easily defeat any illness that attempts to overtake her."

  "True," she said. "But it is not illness. I will give birth soon."

  Sirl was silent for a moment, but then grunted. "With whose child?"

  Lilit chuckled. "Not yours," she said. "Nor the others. I will give birth to something greater than a man. A powerful ally that will help us crush this rebellion."

  "Ah," Sirl said. "That is good. It seems the assassin has failed."

  "Of course he failed," Lilit said. "He was sent after a mark that was much greater than he."

  "So where is he n
ow?"

  Lilit smiled. She knew the assassin had somehow disappeared from her vision. What had happened to him, she could not guess, but the powerful energy she felt was something familiar. The Alvar who had sank her in the swamp had that same energy; those that assisted the magi in her imprisonment. Now, they were here again, at least in spirit, and she could have her revenge.

  "My lady?"

  "He is gone," Lilit said. "He is of no concern. Stay quiet and let me sleep."

  "Yes, my lady."

  She closed her eyes and began to daydream about slaying her captors. She could imagine their flesh being burned away by her magic, and their sickeningly golden hair shriveling up in the flames. She imagined herself laughing as she engulfed them in her magic, destroying their beauty, and their divine spirits.

  Those divine spirits that had trapped her in the swamp for so long.

  She would have her revenge. Her child would see to it.

  Erenoth woke with a start, screaming and thrashing to put out the flames that had engulfed his body. The fire had singed his flesh to the bone and filled his lungs with its hellish fury, causing pain unimaginable.

  But it was gone.

  He rolled off of a bed, hitting the hard stone floor face first. He could feel the cold surface against his skin, soothing his pain and calming his heart. He was alive, and he was not on fire. As he opened his eyes, he saw that his flesh was whole, and there was a pleasant scent in the room. He rolled over and looked up at the ceiling, taking in deep breaths as his mind quieted down.

  There was stone above, angled upward in a low, vaulted ceiling. A chandelier hung directly above him, stunningly carved with glowing orange orbs that served as candles. It gave the room a warm feeling, and he found himself closing his eyes once more.

  What had happened, he wondered.

  He had been speaking to the Dragon in a strange cavern, and then he was suddenly engulfed in flames. He could even feel his flesh being burned away. It was real. But now it was gone. Why had it happened?

  The Dragon had said he must be cleansed; purged. Erenoth had thought it was simply a metaphor, but that was clearly not the case. The Dragon's own fiery breath had provided that cleansing, literally burning his sins away. The pain was real, and he knew that it was simply punishment for his past deeds.

  As he sat up, he noticed that something had definitely happened when the flames had consumed him. He felt renewed, peaceful and pure on the inside, unlike he had ever felt before. It felt good to him. The Dragon had truly purged everything malevolent from his soul in one long and torturous breath.

  He was a new man.

  Erenoth.

  He froze, his eyes darting around the dimly lit room. There was a bed, on which he had awakened. There was an armoire near the foot of it, a small desk and chair, and a tall mirror. There, by the heavy wooden door, stood another of the small creatures, cloaked in black and gray clothing.

  "Hello," Erenoth said. "What is this place?"

  This is your room for recovery. You have been purged of all darkness, and you are now pure. You may proceed into the inner sanctum at your convenience.

  "The inner sanctum?"

  You will receive the blood of the Dragon, and be anointed to his will. You will then begin your training.

  "What kind of training?"

  You will see. I will meet you outside the door. Open the armoire and don your new clothing. Your blades await you in the inner sanctum.

  The blades. He remembered them fondly. The dragon-handled blades left by the spectral boys in the forest. They had been promised to him if he heeded the Dragon's call. The divine being had kept his promise.

  "Thank you," he said. "I look forward to wielding them."

  The small creature turned and exited the room, closing the door behind him. Erenoth stripped off his clothing, stepping in front of the mirror to ensure his flesh was indeed whole and unmarred. Everything seemed normal. There were no burns, no wounds, and strangely enough, no scars.

  He had scars before. Many of them.

  As he looked at his own body, he traced the surface of his skin where his scars had previously existed. They were the remnants of the many wounds he had received in his life; both from battle, and the hundreds of painful and scarring beatings his father had inflicted upon him.

  He recalled the look on his father's face as he was whipped; that cruel rictus grin that was even more terrifying than the scourge that he bore in his thick and rock-like fists. Erenoth remembered the pain, the terror, the laughing as he was beat senseless. It filled his heart with sorrow, tugging at his very soul until he could do nothing but weep.

  But now that pain was gone.

  Still, he closed his eyes, placing his hands on the mirror and pressing his forehead against its cool surface. Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he stood there, taking with them the very last of all of his father's tortures.

  "You are dead," he whispered. "I have made it so. Haunt me no more. Your pain is gone from me."

  He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to smile as he leaned back and stared at his own face. Gone were the lines of sorrow that had once crisscrossed it. He was now ageless and handsome. Dark and mysterious as his soul had once been. It was good.

  "Hello, Erenoth," he said. "It has been a long time."

  He pulled on the strange clothing that had been provided for him. It was all made of a strange leathery material, with silver buckles and black onyx buttons. The boots were nearly knee-high, and soft and supple; almost like being barefoot. When he was finished, he looked in the mirror one more time. Though different from his former appearance, his new clothing was just as dark and menacing. This time, however, he bore the symbol of a dragon on his chest, and his overall dress was regal and noble in appearance.

  What caught his attention the most was the expression on his own face. For the first time in what seemed like forever, there was a smile on his face. It was not simple joy, he knew, but hope. He would no longer live his life not knowing what was next, or where his contracts would take him. Now he belonged somewhere; in this tower, in service of the Dragon.

  He had finally found his home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  This looks like a good spot," Neko said, gazing at the lagoon. "It's isolated. We should be able to drop anchor far out of sight of any passing ships."

  Baleron nodded, moving closer to the ship's railing. "We'll be hidden from the sea side, but what about inland? There's no telling what's in those woods."

  Neko shrugged, grinning. "That's a chance we'll have to take, my friend. We need food and water."

  "We'll go," Baleron said. "You should stay with your ship in case you have to disembark."

  "I'm not leaving you here," Neko said. "Not a chance. I'm having far too much fun for that."

  Baleron chuckled. He held onto the railing as Hakeem began turning the ship toward the lagoon. He could see the light green color of the lagoon's floor showing through the shallow water. It would be a good place to hide, to be sure, but he worried about the water's depth. Neko, however, did not seem concerned.

  "It's not very deep in there," Baleron said.

  "She'll be fine," Neko said. "She has a flat bottom. Watch out for any rocks, though, and keep your eyes on the shore. We don't want to surprise any natives."

  "How far south are we?" Finn asked.

  Neko looked up into the sky, appearing to do some calculations in his head. But he shrugged and grinned.

  "I don't know."

  "This looks like the area just north of the river," Hakeem said. "Where the city will be built. Maybe ten or so miles away."

  "We'll be rounding the southern reaches soon then," Neko said. "Then we can find a good place to land after another day or so. I'll get you as close to Tel Drakkar as I can."

  "What are those?" Freyja asked, nearly hanging over the edge of the ship as she looked into the water.

  Baleron saw a large fish-like creature poke its head through the surface, barking strangely and
disappearing beneath the waves again. Freyja chuckled excitedly.

  "Those are dolphins," Neko said. "They're harmless, sometimes helpful."

  "Always annoying," Hakeem added.

  "They're beautiful," Freyja said, her face plastered with a huge smile. "And they seem intelligent."

  "They are," Neko said. "Very playful as well. Throw them something. Try one of those buoys."

  Freyja picked up a painted cork buoy, holding it over her head as she waited for the dolphin to reappear. When it did, she tossed the buoy toward it. The dolphin squeaked loudly, rushing toward the buoy as it splashed into the water. It rose up from beneath it, balancing it on its nose, then tossed it back to Freyja.

  She giggled. Nearby, Ivar shook his head, grinning.

  "Come now, Ivar," Neko said. "She's never seen a dolphin before. I was excited when I first saw one too."

  "I've never seen one, either," Ivar said. "But you don't hear me squeaking like that."

  He was quieted by a splash of water to the face.

  "You shouldn't laugh at your fellow knight," Freyja said.

  "You shouldn't laugh like a little girl."

  She splashed him again, and he leaped up, snatching her up from the deck with both arms. As she protested, he held her out, dangling her over the water with one arm wrapped around her ankles.

  "Get me wet, you'll get wet, too," he jested, swinging her from side to side.

  "Put her down, Ivar," Baleron said. "For all we know, she can't swim."

  "The dolphins will save her," Hakeem shouted from the rudder.

  The rest of Neko's crew laughed. Ivar put Freyja back down onto the deck, patting her on the head.

  "Northmen," Alric said, shaking his head.

  "Bear to the north a bit, Hakeem," Neko said, reaching up to lower the main sail. "We'll glide in the rest of the way."

  "Can this ship be beached?" Baleron asked.

  "Yes. But we'll drop anchor just off shore instead. We might need to push off quickly, and that's easier to do when you're not stuck on shore. She's a lot heavier than she looks."