Augury Answered
Page 5
Proud Wall had a magical barrier surrounding the children that stayed orange from the constant assault it was under. Many Corlains hacked at the limits of the shield with axes and broadswords. A few of the children huddled in fear, but most fought like true Lacreechee warriors! They cast simple elemental spells that passed through Proud Wall’s barrier. The children weren’t trained enough to be effective. Most Corlains hit ignored the elemental power. A few took a step back after impact, but their armor had enough enchantment to protect them from juvenile power. Suddenly, the Corlains ran away from the children as one unit. This perplexed Two Dogs.
Two Dogs came back to the reality of his situation by a thunderous noise. He stepped back and rubbed the ringing in his ears away. When he looked back at Proud Wall’s position, his heart shattered. Inexplicably, Proud Wall and the children were dead. They were more than dead; their bodies had been ripped asunder. Two Dogs looked back at the strange Corlains in their colorful uniforms.
The open ends of the long tubes smoked as the men pushed the objects, which were clearly weapons, back into position for another attack. With the deaths of Bird Song, Owl Talon, and Proud Wall, Two Dogs no longer felt any emotion but unabated rage. Perhaps a dozen Lacreechee were still fighting. Bright Stone was alone in the main group, but the fight still seemed even. However, his fury was entirely directed at the men with the doomsday weapons.
Two Dogs summoned nothing but strength and speed. He breathed heavily, but he had more killing to do before he could meet Mother Turklyo. He sprinted toward the first group of men and leapt twenty feet into the air. The men seemed unaware of his presence. A single Lacreechee was easily overlooked. That mistake cost the Corlains dearly.
Two Dogs landed with a tomahawk in one man’s skull and a knife slashing a second’s throat. He made short work of the remaining three men. Mother Turklyo gave him additional strength. He hoisted the large weapon and, with some effort, tossed it toward the next position. Two men were crushed between the weight of their weapon and the one Two Dogs had thrown.
Two Dogs slaughtered the men. All twenty were dead before a second volley of death had been loaded. The man Two Dogs assumed to be the officer-in-charge was the last to taste Two Dogs’ blade. He allowed the man to cower as he advanced on him.
“Please, I have children,” the officer begged in the guttural trade language common among outsiders.
Two Dogs scoffed contemptuously and answered in the distasteful tongue. “You just murdered children, and now want to hide behind them?”
“They were combatants,” the officer argued.
Two Dogs knocked the hat off the trembling man. He grabbed a thick handful of brown hair. The man shrieked and blubbered as Two Dogs jerked his head backward. Although he had intended to scalp the man, with his emotional state and enhanced strength, his blade cut through the man’s skull instead. The top two inches of head and brain dropped onto the ground. The man continued to scream, so Two Dogs chopped his tomahawk into the unprotected organ staring at him. This ended the officer’s suffering. Two Dogs pushed the body to the side and breathed heavily.
As he summoned his magic, it occurred to Two Dogs that he no longer heard battle sounds. Swift Shot’s arrows had ended. The wounded had silenced. Dawn exposed its earliest rays of sunlight. Two Dogs looked forward as he saw Bright Stone lean against a caged wagon. She didn’t move, but from this distance it was hard to tell if she was dead. Unfortunately, Two Dogs could easily determine that several dozen Corlains stood around her body. They stabbed her repeatedly with spears.
“Bastards!” Two Dogs shouted.
The Corlains turned their attention to him. Two Dogs saw movement inside the cage. A person stood and an orange light shone.
“Fallen Lacreechee, your spirits have not wandered far. Take your revenge on these murderers!” the woman shouted.
That sounded like summoning magic. Two Dogs’ suspicion was confirmed when ethereal yellow bodies rose from the fallen Lacreechee citizens. They immediately charged the remaining Corlains. Ghost warriors were fearless but not invincible. Many died a second time as enchanted Corlain blades passed through them. However, now the numbers were in the Lacreechee’s favor. They eliminated the final Corlains and disappeared.
Two Dogs surveyed the battlefield that was his home only an hour earlier. He dropped to his knees and wailed at the sky. He was the last of the Lacreechee.
chapter 3
Murid swung her sword with maximum force. Despite fifteen years of intense training with her adopted people, Egill easily parried it away with his axe. The force of the block sent Murid into a spin. She felt the flat side of Egill’s axe plant itself on her bottom and shove her forward. Murid sprawled into the mud. A cool morning wind added to the indignity. Roars of laughter came from the Vikisote warriors observing from the fence lining the training pit. Dozens watched as Murid once again failed to score a single point against her teacher.
Murid immediately stood and swung three slashes at Egill. He backpedaled as he intercepted each blow. He taunted her by only using one hand to wield the massive axe he held. Despite Murid’s best attempts, she couldn’t overcome the advantage his brawn provided.
Murid overextended herself with a thrust. Egill ducked under it and swept her legs out from beneath her. More laughter roared as Murid once again spat wet dirt. She felt the full weight of Egill resting on her back. She strained to force him off, but he outweighed her by at least sixty kilograms. Egill didn’t move.
“Do you yield?” Egill asked.
He stood and allowed her to roll onto her back. Egill looked sympathetic as he offered her a hand to pull her up from the muck. Murid graciously accepted it. She observed Egill after she stood but kept ahold of his hand. Egill was a man in his mid-forties. He had a salt and pepper beard that hung to the middle of his chest. He had once told her it was to hide his numerous scars, though that may have been a joke told to a child. Regardless, he had far too many scars to count. In fact, most looked so severe that Murid could barely believe this man was still alive, let alone the captain of the Vikisote guard.
“I never said yes,” Murid said as she tried to strip Egill’s axe from his hand.
It was a foolish attempt. Egill seemed to have anticipated Murid’s underhanded trick. He practically laughed as he yanked back on his axe and pulled Murid into his waiting knee. She gasped as his body connected with her solar plexus. Once again, Murid found herself on the ground, hacking up phlegm.
“I taught you better than that,” Egill scolded.
This time, Murid stood unassisted.
“I’m sorry, Egill, I know that was sneaky. If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying,” Murid said.
“You think that’s why I’m upset?” Egill asked. “There’s no such thing as dirty fighting. I’m upset you were so sloppy. Every one of us knew you would try something so obvious.”
Egill gestured to the surrounding warriors. The dozens who witnessed another embarrassing defeat nodded knowingly. Thankfully, it was only a few dozen and not the full three thousand warriors who made up King Viktor’s army.
“I learn something new every day,” Murid said.
“Yes, but it’s been over fifteen years since we began training you. I’m beginning to wonder if Olha was thorough with your initial lessons? Perhaps what you think is something new is simply that which you forgot when you were seven?”
Many Vikisote warriors laughed, but a stern look from Egill reminded them they should get back to their own training. The men and a few shield maidens paired off and went back to their drills.
“I thought she showed remarkable improvement,” Hafoca said.
Murid turned to face her fiancé. He was much more than the fifteen-year-old who had tormented her when they first met. Now a man beginning his thirties, Hafoca had evolved into someone whom Murid usually respected. She felt this regard would ultimately turn into the same love he professed to her daily.
“Thank you, Hafoca,” Murid said.
“She performed well enough . . . for a shield maiden,” Egill said.
Murid clenched her jaw. Egill was an amazing teacher and a fierce warrior. Murid had felt immense pride when Egill had taken over her training from Olha, but over the years he had frequently reminded her she was only a woman. Murid often ignored the barbs, but with Hafoca listening, it meant he would try again to set a date for their wedding.
“That’s all the future queen of Vikisoteland needs to be,” Hafoca said. “Princess Murid is more than capable of defending herself and my future children. Now that she’s come of age, we may establish the ceremony.”
Twenty-two, that’s how many years it took to reach adulthood in Vikisoteland. Her birthday had been two weeks earlier. Hafoca had celebrated it each day since. Murid had long accepted that Hafoca would be her husband. It was an acceptable match, but she knew in her heart she could never marry until Vikisoteland avenged her parents’ murder. Fifteen years wasn’t enough time to make her forget her fury, but it was far more than enough for Vikisoteland to have retaliated in her honor. The few disagreements that Murid and Hafoca had often begun with her pointing out this lack of justice.
“My love, you know the gift I desire before I’ll feel comfortable settling down and providing Vikisoteland with strong heirs. Corla mocks us and the rest of the world. They rape, steal, and murder their way across Glostaimia, yet we do nothing,” Murid said.
Egill cleared his voice. “Princess Murid speaks the truth of Corlain aggression. There are already Corlain outposts on our land. I could send a war party to wipe them out. It would send a strong message to Corla that we won’t be as easily intimidated as other nations.”
Hafoca sighed forcefully. “Do you believe I don’t know your opinions? I was there when the Corlains killed King Haymel and Queen Colchi.”
“With all due respect, Prince Hafoca, that’s more reason why we must attack the Corlains in Vikisoteland. They killed our allies. They killed our queen, your mother, and felt no repercussions,” Egill said.
“Untrue! We broke ties with their government,” Hafoca said.
“Which they laugh about behind our backs!” Murid shouted.
“Perhaps, but that’s no reason to overreact. War is easily entered but not so easily ended. How many more daughters must lose their parents simply because of our pride and arrogance?”
Murid clenched her fists by her sides. For all his qualities, courage was in short supply with Hafoca. It was likely the obstacle that kept her from loving this man.
“Be that as it may,” Murid said, “I need a victory over Corla before I can wed. You may force me to abandon this position, but you will lose my heart in the process.”
Hafoca gazed at his own feet. Murid knew he wanted her to care for him as much as he loved her. It was the only reason they weren’t married the morning she turned twenty-two.
“I don’t want you to fall in battle. I want you to raise my sons,” Hafoca said.
“I won’t fall. I’ve survived one massacre already. The gods want me to defeat Corla!”
Murid referred to the prophecy that Faida had groomed her to believe. Too many of the passages seemed to speak exactly of her life. Corla would be conquered, and she would be the one to do it.
“Marry me. Tonight. I’ll help you turn Father to your side. You know he’s unwell. Don’t deny him the chance to see his only son married before he joins the gods in the halls of Mount Heilagt,” Hafoca said.
Murid felt a pang of sympathy for Hafoca’s plight. His mother had died with her own parents. King Viktor had been wounded. His arm was amputated after they escaped the massacre at her home. King Viktor had always loved her like his own child. She wanted to give this gift to her new king, but she knew the second she officially became Hafoca’s wife was the moment he would only see her as the mother of his children. If she wanted to gain her vengeance, she had to gamble that King Viktor would linger just long enough to let her.
“I need justice.”
“I need an heir first.”
“A male heir,” Egill added.
Hafoca smiled at what the two men likely assumed was obvious. Murid forced a fake smile of her own. Her mother told her that most men think less of women, but the Vikisotes took it further than the majority.
“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” Murid said with a curtsey.
“Please don’t go,” Hafoca begged.
Murid turned and walked away. She left her sword and shield laying in the mud.
Murid strolled through the mountain kingdom that had become her home. It was a sprawling ring fortress that stretched across more than a kilometer. The ground was rocky, but occasionally cobbled-stoned streets, long unkempt, impacted her feet. Longhouses stretched thirty meters. They looked half buried from the street with triangular thatched roofs and stone walls. The smell of peat invaded her nostrils when she passed too closely. Murid closed her eyes and accepted it. That odor was one of the few things that reminded her of her parents’ home. Everything else in this country was hard and gray, not the vibrant green of the swamplands she grew up in.
“Princess Murid!” a child shouted in passing.
Murid nodded and waved. Several more children chased the girl in a game of tag. Murid quickly stepped to the side to avoid a collision with the young Vikisotes.
“Princess Murid, will you be watching the children’s performance tonight?” a middle-aged mother asked.
“I never miss a chance to hear them sing,” Murid responded.
The woman nodded and continued tending to her personal spice garden.
“Princess Murid! Catch!” a teen shouted.
Murid turned to face the voice. She couldn’t identify the speaker because she had to catch a hundred-centimeter snake thrown at her face. Murid stepped to the side and plucked the innocuous creature from the air.
“Isak, by the gods, what have you done?” a man shouted.
Isak looked shocked that he was so quickly caught by his father. The older man smacked Isak twice on the head; the second blow knocked him to the ground. Isak’s father looked ashamed as Murid placed the snake among a small patch of grass.
“I apologize, Princess Murid. The boy will learn his place, and my belt will be his teacher,” the father said.
Murid held up a hand as she smiled. “No offense taken. I understand that boys will push against their boundaries. I hunted far more dangerous animals when I was a child. It was all in good fun.”
The father looked relieved. Isak cracked a smile.
“Thank you, Princess Murid,” the father said. “The boy will still learn his lesson, but perhaps his studies won’t have to be as long.”
Isak cast his eyes downward. Murid offered a second smile and continued walking. It was a good prank, but a sore bottom sped the process of gaining wisdom.
After several minutes of meandering, Murid found herself at her destination. Three runes were carved into the stone pillar before the building, a hammer, a hoe, and a water can. They were the proud symbols of the Vikisotes’ religion. The hammer symbolized the pounding and shaping necessary to become a productive citizen. The hoe represented the need for society to tend to the environment necessary to thrive. The water can indicated the need to provide sustenance to foster growth. Murid now claimed these principles as her own. The gods had placed many obstacles in her life, but they had also guided her around them.
Murid rested a hand on the pillar with the runes and closed her eyes. Moments later, she opened them and went inside to speak with her best friend.
Incense burned throughout the room. The burnt honey aroma reminded Murid of molasses cookies. The interior of the stone building was cool. A dirt floor was beneath Murid’s feet. A stone table sat in the middle of the single room. On it were many totems of the more important gods. Arranging the totems was Faida.
Faida placed a small pool of honey
on a stone dish before the most prominent god, Jorosolman. It was dark after being poked by the red-hot rod Faida used to burn it. Her eyes lit up as she recognized Murid.
“Princess Murid, how nice to see you again.”
“I hope I’m not disturbing you or the gods?”
“Nonsense, royalty is always welcomed among the gods. Come in, come in, sit with me.”
Faida brushed away some dirt from the single bench that functioned as the only furniture the two could sit on. Faida smiled as Murid got comfortable.
“What brings you here today?” Faida asked.
“I just wanted to escape Hafoca’s constant badgering,” Murid answered.
“You’re a woman now. You had to know he would press the issue of marriage.”
“I did, but I thought his mistresses would keep him satisfied for at least a few months.”
“It’s different for a man when it’s the woman who will have his children. He’s older than you. He’s waited for this day longer than you have.”
“I suppose. I never thought of it like that before.”
“I know you think marriage will make it impossible for you to destroy Corla’s evil reign over this planet, but I believe the opposite is true.”
Murid arched an eyebrow.
“The prophecy clearly states that the survivor of a massacre will defeat an army from foreign lands. It implies that survivor will be a foreigner himself.”
“Exactly, himself; it’s always a man in the stories,” Murid said.
“That’s because it’s always men who tell the story. However, the gods have spoken to me. I know that the gender of the hero isn’t important. You survived the decimation of your people. Only you. You are the chosen one the prophecy foretold. Vikisote customs can’t change the will of the gods. Marry Prince Hafoca. Then, as his wife, you’ll convince him you’re the person the gods sent to free us from Corlain tyranny.”
“The moment I’m his wife, he’ll be so busy pumping babies into me I won’t have a second to get a word in.”