“The rest of my stories should sound more pleasing to your ears,” the scout smiled. “The dwarves of Alhouim find themselves in a similar state as Havenstahl but have vowed to aid in the further defense of our fair city should she fall under attack again.”
“She will,” Daritus replied grimly.
Tiegran nodded, “All the dwarves aiding in the rebuilding effort can remain as long as needed.”
“I had hoped as much, but that is more heartening news,” Daritus draped an arm across Tiegran’s shoulder before adding, “Now, accompany me to the ale tent for a pint or two. We can talk of battle and glory and forget reality for a bit.”
Chapter 21
Fifteen Summers
The sun was hot that day. Sweat glistened from Cialia’s brow as she attacked the training dummy with two unsharpened training blades. The planks above her provided ample shade but offered little relief from the sweltering heat. She ignored it. Her technique was crisp and elegant. No movements were wasted. Every step she took, and each flick of her wrist had purpose. If only the dummy could fight back. She was ready to test her talent against a real swordsman, a warrior. When that day came, she would be prepared.
Her father called out to her as he emerged from his forge, “Cialia, put away them blades and break for the mid-day.”
Once a fearsome warrior in the king’s army, Agrimon was widely considered the finest swordsmith in all the villages under the protection of Varisghoul. He walked with a considerable limp, and his right arm was mostly useless due to severe damage to his shoulder on that side. Despite those injuries, finding anyone courageous enough to fight the half lame smith would be more than a challenge. He would call it ancient history, but the cause of those injuries was the stuff of legend.
Sixteen summers prior, he had led twenty of Varisghoul’s finest riders north to protect a caravan of supplies heading for Mount Grindelhorn. The ore mined from the peak produced the strongest weapons known to man, and the dwarves who worked those mines were considered the finest smiths on Ouloos. The myths would suggest the mountain itself was a star fallen from the heavens. Whether the peak had fallen from the stars or sprouted out of the ground made no difference to Agrimon. The grizzly mongs that attacked the caravan were a different story. The battle was brief. It would have been a slaughter, but Agrimon earned the legends told about him that day. When the initial assault had ended, sixteen of his men lay dead and the rest too wounded to fight. He protected those wounded men against the five remaining grizzly mongs and killed them all. By the time the last of the monsters fell, Agrimon’s right shoulder was mangled and useless, and his left leg could no longer hold his weight. The men he saved that day told the tale to all who would listen, the story of Agrimon the titan facing down the horrible snow beasts of the northern pass.
Cialia knew all those stories. They were not frightening enough to prevent her ignoring her father’s command, and she was not quite ready to stop beating on the defenseless training dummy. The thing spewed tiny stones out its top every time she struck it. She used two blades. Father had trained her that way since she was old enough to lift a sword. Of course, he fought with his left hand. After battling the grizzly mongs, his right arm was not good for anything but holding molten metal in place while smacking it with a hammer. That was precisely the reason Cialia had learned to use both. Every limb is a weapon. When one fails you, you should know how to use the rest of them.
“Cialia,” father called out again, “heed my word or you won’t train for a full week.”
Cialia launched a vicious assault on the dummy, her last stand for the day. Then she hollered back, “Coming, father.” Once she could tell he had moved on to their hut, she looked down at the blades in her hands and added, “If only I could skip the laundry and floors and feeding of pigs, I would swing the two of you until the moon chased the sun from the sky.”
The blades clinked dully together as she tossed them at the wooden weapons rack next to her training area. The sound they made grabbed her attention. It was not out of place or anything. They sounded exactly like two hunks of metal clanging against each other should sound. As it hit her ears, she suddenly could not remember how she had gotten there. As the idea slithered around her mind, it occurred to her she remembered nothing prior to smacking the dummy with those blades. Everything was familiar, the dummy, the blades, her father, the hut they shared, but somehow, she felt she did not belong there. These were all her things, and her days had always been the same. Why did she feel like a visitor in somebody else’s life? The uneasy feeling remained as she walked toward the hut. Nothing seemed out of place, but…
The hut Cialia shared with her father was simple, more hunting lodge than home. The walls were stone, solid but chipped with age. The back wall across from the entrance was mostly dedicated to a large hearth good for cooking and warming the small room. The brick around it was blackened with soot despite being scrubbed weekly by Cialia. Stacked bunks took up most of the wall running along the right side of the room. They awkwardly covered the window there, but father had always cared more about function than form. He was not one to worry over impressing anyone. The left side of the room had another window. This one offered a nice view of the road that followed a winding path to the river. A large wash basin rested beneath it. A simple table—wooden slats and four sturdy legs—sat in the center of the room.
By the time Cialia entered, Agrimon and Marielle were seated across from each other at the table. Marielle was a lovely woman, full-figured the men would say. She always looked like she was heading off to a ball with her fancy dresses, elaborate hairdos, and delicate hats. Cialia always assumed Marielle was sweet on her father—she ran a bakery a full village over but always seemed to be haunting Agrimon’s hut with gifts and breads and sweets. That was fine with Cialia. She had never known her mother, and Marielle had no children of her own. The attention seemed lost on Agrimon. He obviously liked her company just fine, but his heart belonged to one he lost.
Something bubbled in the big kettle over the fire. Whatever was in there smelled salty and savory. Cialia’s mouth watered at the aroma. Then the sweet cake at the center of the table caught her attention. Marielle had outdone herself. It was beautiful, decorated all fancy with flowers and bows made of frosting. As Cialia took it all in, she suddenly realized it was the anniversary of her birth, the end of her fifteenth summer. She only had a moment to trouble over why the thought had not occurred to her sooner when Marielle stood and embraced her.
“Oh, just look at you,” Marielle gushed as she held Cialia at arm’s length to admire her. “So tall and pretty. I bet you can’t keep the boys away.”
“They won’t be hanging around my door if they know what’s good for them,” Agrimon chuckled.
“Oh, Agrimon,” Marielle scolded, “what do you have against love?”
“Not one thing,” Agrimon shrugged. “I know my daughter better than anyone. Unless they’re aiming to trade blades with my beautiful little lass, she won’t be interested.”
“The trail is my only love,” Cialia smiled.
“Never mind that,” Marielle frowned. “You have plenty of time to figure out where your path leads. Today is a celebration. Fifteen summers, lass, you are a woman today.”
Marielle could barely contain her excitement as she hurried across the room toward a large box sitting on the bottom bunk. Even rushed, the woman moved as if she were dancing, each step more elegant than the last. The box was wrapped in paper, pink, of course, and tied with a frilly, white bow. She could have dumped whatever the box held into a burlap sack as far as Cialia was concerned, but she loved Marielle. Her elegant movements and mannerisms, her warm smile, how excited she got about simple things like sharing a meal with friends, Marielle was a gem.
Cialia’s smile grew so big it nearly ran out of face as she took the pretty box from Marielle. She tore into it, destroying the delicate bow and mangling the pretty wrapping. Her smile fled as she flipped the top of the box off. It
was a dress, pink lace with white bows just like the cake. Despite a genuine effort to hide her disappointment, Marielle was not fooled.
“You hate it,” the sweet woman’s smile never faded.
“It isn’t that,” Cialia lied. “I was just hoping for something a bit more rugged. Father always says his days of adventuring are long over, but I intend to test that claim every chance I get.”
“My feelings are not hurt in the least, lass,” somehow Marielle’s smile grew even warmer. “I am not so foolish to believe Agrimon the titan’s daughter would swoon over some frilly thing. Keep this one for those dreadful times you must play the part of the sweet lass. I made you something else I think you might like a bit better.”
Marielle danced back to the bunk and grabbed something off the top. Cialia remained skeptical. This one was not a bit less fancy than the first. She managed to keep those thoughts from showing on her face as she gave Marielle a wide smile and accepted the gift. She tore into with the same vigor as the first one. This time, there was no disappointed look. Her excitement was completely genuine.
“These are perfect,” Cialia shouted as she held up brown, leather trousers and a white, fabric shirt. She nearly knocked Marielle over when she threw her arms around the woman.
Agrimon laughed, “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Marielle. Those are perfect for the trail. I fear her days haunting my hut are few.”
“This must be just how it feels to have a daughter,” a tear slipped down Marielle’s cheek, but her smile never left.
Cialia squeezed just a bit tighter, “You have always been like that to me.”
“The girl speaks true,” Agrimon smiled from the table. “We’d be lost without you, Mari.”
“As I would be lost without the two of you, Aggi,” Marielle smiled back.
Cialia gave Marielle an odd look before shooting the same at her father, “Mari? Aggi? Father, please tell me you haven’t gone cute. I could vomit.”
Agrimon shrugged, “I ain’t all grizzle and grime. Sweet Mari is my oldest, dearest friend. Never mind that. I’ve made you something too.” He reached under the table and pulled out what looked like an oily pile of blankets.
The bundle beckoned. It looked like something he had found stuffed into a corner of his forge. The fact meant nothing. Agrimon may not have been all grizzle and grime, but there was certainly nothing frilly about him. The wrapping did not matter. Cialia could not wait to tear into the oily mess and find what treasure lay inside. “What is it?” she asked.
“Only one way to know,” he chuckled. “Open it up and solve the mystery.”
Cialia charged over to the table and began unraveling the thing. The wrapping was completely inconsistent, twisting one way and then the other. At one point, she realized she was wrapping the thing back up rather than unwrapping it. Somehow, the fact only caused her excitement to grow. There was something hard inside. She could not tell what as she padded at it while trying to unwind the mass of oily cloth. Then something sparkled from the dark fabric. It was red and shimmering. It grabbed the light from the fire and splashed it all over the walls of the hut. She gasped as she slowly slid the thing out of the bundle.
The sword was the most amazing piece of weaponry she had ever seen. The scabbard by itself was a work of art. Black leather with a prang tip and a prang collar, both shimmering near as bright as the red gem encrusted to the base of the handle. The handle was prang as well, but it was in the shape of a dragon. Outstretched wings served as the guard, and a dragon’s head the pommel. The shimmering jewel sat in the dragon’s open mouth, still splashing color all about the room. Between the two, the handle was wrapped in black leather that matched the scabbard perfectly.
“It is beautiful,” she whispered.
“My best work,” Agrimon replied softly. “Well, come on then. Free that magnificent thing from its cage. You can’t see the true beauty of a proper sword without looking upon the blade.”
Cialia obeyed her father and slowly slid the sword out of its scabbard. It seemed impossible, but the blade shined even brighter than the gem or the prang handle. She could barely look straight at it, like stealing a glance at the sun. She flicked her wrist a few times going through sword techniques her father had taught her over the years. The balance was unbelievable. It felt like an extension of her arm, just another part of her body.
“You won’t find a stronger blade,” Agrimon said as Cialia looked on the thing in amazement. “That metal came from that mountain the myths say fell from the heavens. I don’t know about all that, but I do know you won’t find better stock for forging blades. That sword has no equal in all Ouloos,” he paused a moment before adding, “except its mate.”
“Its what?” Cialia managed to pull her gaze away from the glorious thing.
“You didn’t finish opening your gift,” Agrimon grinned. “I didn’t teach you to fight with two blades so you could only swing one.”
Cialia slipped the sword in her hand back into its scabbard and renewed her search through the bundle of treasures. A few moments later, she held a sword that perfectly matched the first. Crying was not something she normally did. Right at that moment, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Father had always been very clear she could never be a soldier. No army anywhere would have her. Not because she lacked the skill, but because she was a girl. Men fight wars while their women feed them and raise their children. The gift she held in her hand proved he believed that nonsense about as much as she did.
“You look just like your mother right now,” Agrimon lost a tear down his rough cheek.
Cialia put the sword down and sat beside her father. She laid her head on his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay?”
He absently wiped at his eyes and put on his best attempt at a smile, “Aye, today is at once my happiest and saddest. The gods saw fit to take the first love of my life and replace her with the next love of my life in the same moment. She would have loved you.”
“I wish I could have met her,” Cialia’s gaze drifted toward the fire.
Marielle sat down at the table across from them. She remained quiet, letting the two process their grief as she sliced up the sweet cake for them. This day was always a tough one for both of them, full of mixed emotions, joy and laughter, sadness and tears.
“They call me the titan,” Agrimon chuckled. “I tell you true, she was the titan. We only had a little better than a summer together, and I was broken for most of it, healing from the battle that left me unfit to fight. She took care of me and everything else. There was nothing she couldn’t do. She was just like you.”
Chapter 22
A Treacherous Path
The brush was thick and the going slow. Cloudy skies made it near impossible to judge what time of day it might be. Chagon had been at it for days and had no idea where he was or in what direction he was heading. As long as it was away from the terror on the trail, he did not much care. He never wanted to see anything like that again. The sights were bad, broken wagons, bloody, smashed bodies with missing limbs and heads, and piles of things which should remain inside bodies not in the dirt. Somehow, the smell seemed even worse than all the gore. Stale blood had a smell, something metallic. Couple that with the odor of rot, and it got right in your mouth and saturated your sinuses. That is why the direction did not matter. Away was all he really cared about just then. Still, it would be a dream to find a settlement or even a friendly face who might want to share some grub.
He caught sight of a bit of smoke drifting up between the trees. It seemed close enough. Hopefully, it was a settlement. There was no way he could know for sure without investigating. The land surrounding him was completely foreign. The fateful journey to Druindahl marked his first adventure. Prior to fleeing from giants and monsters, the only reason he ever had to leave his farm was trading with folks in other nearby villages. Ouloos ended ten miles in any direction from his gate as far as he had been concerned for most of his life.
The prospect of
human contact—and hopefully some food—had him so excited, he failed to notice the large clearing he strolled into. Chagon knew very little about travel but avoiding wide open spaces when you are hoping to avoid grizzly mongs—who seem very fond of traveling along the same trails men used—seemed pretty obvious. Sadly, he was a good many steps into the broad clearing before he even realized it.
“Hey there,” a gruff voice beckoned from the darkness at the other edge of the tall grass in between thick banks of trees.
Chagon nearly jumped out of his skin as he crouched low. He felt kind of silly crouched there with nothing to hide behind. “I ain’t about looking for no trouble, just lost, hungry, and happy to mind my own business.”
“Chagon, is that you?” the voice asked. “I hoped I was not the only one to survive the attack, but it seemed everyone else was dead or fled.”
The tension twisting up Chagon’s spine eased a bit as he finally recognized the voice belonged to Tarantian. It took a minute to place. He did not sound good. “I ain’t found none alive. Must have lost consciousness when my head hit the rock I’d been resting on when I woke. I’d still been a bit woozy, but there weren’t no signs of life around them wagons.” He peered into the brush and asked, “Where are you hiding in there?”
“I am leaning against a tree just outside the clearing. The going has been slow for me. I have been moving as quickly as I can, but I remain weak from the battle. All I remember is getting slashed across the chest. When I woke, I was in the thick brush alongside the trail. I burned the wound with a hot brand, but I fear infection had already taken hold. I sweat and I sweat, but I get mad bouts of chill. Huddling up with all my limbs close under my cloak is the only thing that keeps me from freezing.”
Kill the Gods Page 13
