Augury Answered

by Phillip Murrell

  She watched as a dozen guards repeatedly stabbed the prone crick.

  “Stop!” Egill shouted. “It’s dead. Don’t ruin the pelt and meat.”

  The warriors obeyed but kept their weapons raised, lest the crick proved more resilient than was physically possible. Hafoca stood and patted his leather armor.

  “Well done. Our combined might felled the beast!” Hafoca boasted.

  Murid clenched her teeth to keep from speaking. Clearly the three arrows lodged inside the crick’s brain were the reason it died, not the one absorbed by its ample blubber or the superficial wound to its hood. The faces of the surviving Vikisotes indicated everyone realized this. Hafoca’s boasts were embarrassing to listen to.

  Hafoca grabbed his bow away from Murid.

  “Thank you, my love. I believe this belongs in a man’s hand,” Hafoca said.

  Egill cleared his throat. “King Hafoca, your hunt was successful. Your steady hand and keen eyesight killed the juvenile crick. Would you care to field dress it?”

  Hafoca scowled before answering. When he spoke, his voice was pleasant, but Murid sensed his internal embarrassment.

  “Yes, I will clean the young, as well as the mother. We all contributed to its death, but don’t forget that I inflicted first blood. Its wound sapped its energy while my bride-to-be shared in this moment with me,” Hafoca said.

  Murid was impressed when nobody offered even the slightest snicker at a pathetic lie. She knew this man would never agree with fighting the Corlains. He was the epitome of a coward. She couldn’t understand how she had ever respected him. It hurt her to know this man would be the father of her children. However, a coward was easily controlled. None of them may speak about it openly, but there would be whispers of what really happened. Because Hafoca would want them silenced, she’d have power over him. Since courage inspired the Vikisotes, she now had more sway over them as well. She only had to walk the narrow bridge between both camps.

  Murid took Hafoca’s head in her hands and kissed him passionately. Hafoca looked shocked at first but soon closed his eyes and enjoyed the tenderness of her lips. When they broke away, Murid faced the curious expressions of the Vikisotes.

  “Thank you, King Hafoca, for giving me the greatest gift of overcoming my own fear. I was paralyzed in my terror when only you stood up to that monster. Seeing you put yourself in danger summoned my own courage. I understand now the respect you hold for life, as I know you will do everything in your power to save me.”

  Murid filled her voice with sweetness and affection. Some Vikisotes even looked like they believed her. Hafoca stared at her face. Murid wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to love her more, but in that moment she knew he was securely wrapped around her finger.

  “Please, my lord, show us how to remove the venom sac?” Murid asked.

  Hafoca smiled. He stepped forward with the bravado he usually displayed. “Certainly, my love. The key to removing the venom we use in our poisons and medicine is to cut far away from the gland, like this.”

  Hafoca stabbed into the mother crick and flayed open her torso. He removed many organs and placed them inside separate pouches for that evening’s dinner. He eventually removed a milky white organ and held it up for Murid to inspect.

  “This is the poison?” Murid asked.

  “Yes, like this it can kill within minutes,” Hafoca answered.

  Murid spared a glance at the two guards who had already succumbed to the poison. The time estimate was precise.

  “However,” Hafoca said, “we dilute it with water to multiply its uses. Many diseases can be cured if you drink a heavily diluted mixture. Assassins revel in a fifty percent mix. That gives them enough time to quickly escape before their target feels the first pangs of the end.”

  “Very interesting,” Murid said.

  “Yes, it is. We may not have the recipe for making the Corlains’ black powder, but they must respect our crick venom. Too bad the animals don’t live south of our border,” Hafoca said.

  “If we mixed the venom with fruit ferm, grape for example, could we kill many?” Murid asked.

  Egill smiled as he apparently understood where she was going with this.

  “Yes. Why, my love?” Hafoca asked.

  “I’m just thinking aloud. It is wedding season, after all,” Murid answered.

  “The Mayor of Samburg will wed soon. Perhaps we should help the city celebrate,” Egill said.

  Hafoca ended his demonstration. “Samburg is in Tomeron.”

  “I believe it is,” Murid answered with a smile.

  “Tomeron is an ally of Corla,” Hafoca said.

  “Yes, my love, I believe you’re right,” Murid said.

  Hafoca threw his hands up and shouted, “We are not going to war! Guards, continue harvesting these animals. I suddenly feel the need to go home.”

  Murid frowned. She pushed Hafoca too far, too fast. It was best to let him calm down before trying again. Hafoca marched back to his horse like a petulant child. His ego was likely still bruised, but any repair she had provided was thrown away by yet another display of cowardice.

  Egill grabbed Murid’s arm. “May I speak with you for a moment, Princess Murid?”

  Murid nodded. She allowed the Vikisote captain to lead her away from eavesdroppers.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” Egill said.

  “I haven’t hidden my intentions. Corla must pay. I’ll get Hafoca to see that, I swear it,” Murid said.

  Egill held up his hands in defense. “I’m on your side. The Corlains are evil. They continue to claim more land, usually while stepping over the bodies of the men, women, and children who have the audacity to choose freedom over oppression.”

  “That’s why good people need to stop them. Help me convince Hafoca that if we attack Samburg, others will rally behind us.”

  “Do you think you’re Faida’s hero? Are you buying into the prophecy?”

  “What if I am? I survived a massacre. I even come from a foreign land. I should have died, but I’m still here. The gods have a plan for me. I will save this planet from tyranny.”

  “The gods’ prophecy clearly states he will defeat a foreign army.”

  “So? I think we can agree, King Hafoca won’t do anything.”

  Egill rubbed his temples. Murid had known for some time that the Vikisote champion rarely agreed with Hafoca and had even less faith in him as the new king.

  “May I speak freely?” Egill asked.

  “Of course, I respect candor.”

  “King Hafoca is a coward. He always has been. Even King Viktor knew this. It doesn’t matter. He’s king now. The gods chose his bloodline to rule, and we must respect that decision. I was hoping King Viktor would last long enough to pass on his courage to a grandson. Now, there aren’t any strong leaders left.”

  “I’m here.”

  “You are,” Egill agreed. “I know you have the courage King Hafoca lacks. The men do too. I wish the gods had put your soul into a man’s body.”

  “Why do I have to be a man? You just said the men respected me.”

  “Wrong. I said they knew you were courageous. Courage can inspire. You can easily be the symbol we rally around and die for, but you will never lead the charge. Few warriors will accept the stigma of kneeling before a woman without a man.”

  “So, you’d rather be kept in Corlain chains with a king shackled to you than take their power away with me?”

  Egill laughed. “Oh ho, so you’re going to crush them now? Even if every Vikisote fought wholeheartedly for you, our numbers are nothing compared to Corla.”

  “The prophecy says I will. Faida believes in me, and she knows more about the gods than any other I’ve met.”

  “She does know a lot. I pray she’s right about you, but we must be pragmatic. You’ll be our queen. Perhaps, you can get King Hafoca to support our desires. If not, make sure he has an heir before he passes. If you’re the mother of his child, you’ll maintain the throne.
”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Murid asked.

  “I’m simply laying out the succession of the throne. You may not want to marry him, but you must. You must bed him. You must have his sons. That’s how you’ll contribute to the prophecy.” Egill looked over his shoulder. The cricks were completely stripped clean and packed up. “We should go. The king is in a foul mood. I’m eager to get this silent trip over with.”

  Murid nodded and followed Egill back to her horse. His prediction of the quiet ride home was exact. Hafoca didn’t utter a single word. Once they arrived back at their ring fortress, he immediately “escorted” her to her chambers. He jerked her arm as he practically threw her into the room.

  “Why are you upset?” Murid asked.

  She assumed a subservient persona. Hafoca would need his ego stroked if she was to keep her plan of attacking Samburg as an option.

  “They all laugh at me because of your actions,” Hafoca accused.

  Murid walked toward Hafoca. He turned his head to avoid her eyes.

  “No,” Hafoca said.

  “My love, look at me,” Murid said.

  She turned his head to face her, then she rested her hands on his shoulders.

  “They’re ashamed of me,” Hafoca said.

  “No, my love, they aren’t. They were confused. We all were. In the heat of battle, it’s hard to remain aware of all imperative information.”

  “They love you more than me,” Hafoca said.

  “That’s not so. Even if it were, my love is for you alone. They’ll prove their love for me by following your instructions.”

  “Sweet Murid, I love you, but you can be so naïve.”

  That makes two of us, Murid thought. “Why do you say that?”

  “I already had too many warriors with me. I demanded we ambush a crick barely out of the womb. I cowered when the mother attacked. Three men lost their lives because of my actions. They all saw it. Word will spread. I’ll sleep tonight a king and wake as a buffoon.”

  “Then change their minds before that impression takes root in their hearts and minds.”

  “How?”

  Murid gave Hafoca a kiss. She allowed her mouth to linger on his, then whispered into his ear, “Give them a reason to believe you’ll fight.”

  “We can’t defeat Corla,” Hafoca protested.

  “No, we can’t. Not yet, but the gods have decreed that eventually we will. We may not be able to defeat Corla, but we can easily take Samburg. Especially if we do it covertly. We have ample crick venom. I say we gift it to the mayor and his guests. Those in power wouldn’t have it if they weren’t Corlain sycophants. They serve their evil masters, so they deserve death.”

  “Assassinations are a tricky business. A wedding will make it easy to have collateral damage. We can’t afford to turn the people against us by killing children.”

  “Of course not!” Murid shouted. “We aren’t monsters. We poison the goblets on the head table. Perhaps the closest ones to it too. The greedy will die; the meek will just be witnesses.”

  “You ask too much of me. The wedding is a month away. We can’t plan an attack in so little time.”

  “We can. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks already. We can make this happen.”

  Hafoca stared into Murid’s eyes. She saw the fear that resided just beneath the surface. He was going to say no. She had one last gamble she could make.

  “Consider it a wedding present.”

  Hafoca’s gaze changed from fear and reluctance to immense joy.

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes. We’ll have our wedding three nights before the mayor. That’s plenty of time to begin our family. We wed, then we eliminate this one small target. It’ll inspire those suffering near our borders. Then, I’ll have some small justice. It’ll keep me content while your son grows inside my womb.”

  Murid felt pity for Hafoca. His entire demeanor had changed as she fed him as much false hope as she dared. She would get this single ambush from him. After that, she’d find a new way to entice him to give her a second attack. She may have been young, but she knew men were easily controlled by their carnal desires.

  Hafoca kissed Murid passionately. She returned the kiss. Her worries surfaced as Hafoca began tearing her clothing. He clawed at the ties on the back of her dress. Murid allowed him this moment. To deny him now would ruin her plans. Just as quickly as it started, it ended. Hafoca pushed Murid away. She lost her balance and fell.

  “What? What did I do?” Murid asked with genuine interest.

  Hafoca rubbed his face in frustration. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t you. It was me. I’m still in mourning, and we aren’t wed. I’ve waited this long to be with you. I won’t dishonor you or the gods by giving up weeks before we’re joined. Enjoy your evening. We’ll discuss your plan with Egill in the morning.”

  With that, Hafoca quickly left the room. Murid suspected his next stop would be to see one of his whores. She didn’t care. She had her promise now. That promise would lead to an ambush; the first step in getting the justice denied her for the past fifteen years. Murid allowed herself a moment to fantasize about the fall of Corla.

  chapter 6

  Two Dogs panted as he paddled deep into the Fraz River with his oar. For a week he’d been at it. They’d camp at night and dine on the tasty fish Mother Turklyo provided, but even magically enhanced strength had its limits. With the afternoon sun beating down on him, he would soon reach his.

  “Do you need another break?” Swift Shot asked.

  Two Dogs looked back at her. She showed concern. That was a bad sign. Her default state should have been to mock him on his “weakness.” If she was offering the suggestion, he needed to double his efforts.

  “I’m fine. It wouldn’t be a problem at all if I didn’t have to keep a barrier around the canoe. Every time I’ve dropped it, the dakydiles have reminded me why it was up in the first place.”

  “Mother Turklyo must have had an off day when she created those vile river monsters,” Swift Shot joked before chuckling.

  “Don’t blaspheme,” Ancestors’ Hand said.

  “Take it easy, Intakee, it was simply a joke,” Two Dogs said.

  Two Dog watched the dakydiles beneath the surface of the river. There were always a few following the canoe. They would strike occasionally, but Two Dogs’ magic kept them from damaging the turklyo-skin keeping them afloat. At the moment, Two Dogs thought he saw at least three stalking his canoe.

  Dakydiles were one of the world’s ugliest creatures. That meant they had to be especially vicious. They usually stopped growing when they reached four feet, but at three hundred pounds, hunting them was difficult. Thick, reptilian scales served as effective armor. Even igsidian blades had difficulty piercing the vital organs beneath the hide. The head of a dakydile was unusual. It had a long beak that resembled a stork or a crane, but inside were hundreds of tiny teeth, serrated on both sides. Two Dogs remembered seeing a dakydile spear a large fish as a child. After it punctured the fish, two younger dakydiles swam to the first and quickly eviscerated the flesh. He wasn’t sure if it was a mother feeding her young or just opportunistic poachers, but the vision of their lethality stayed with him. It was weeks before Owl Talon and Proud Wall could get him back on the river.

  Two Dogs slowed his pace again. The current had picked up. Two Dogs had to reduce his magical speed to increase his strength. He was vocal with his breathing. Both Swift Shot and Ancestors’ Hand shared a look of worry.

  “I can handle it,” Two Dogs lied.

  “Remove your protective barrier,” Ancestors’ Hand said.

  Two Dogs scoffed. “Intakee may not be aware of this, but dakydiles are rather aggressive. They’ll swim below and pierce our canoe. We’ll sink, and you’ll be eaten. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a barrier up around myself and float to the shore, where I’ll be eaten. So, no, I won’t be putting down my barrier.”

  “Trust me,” Ancestors’ Hand said. “We
’re closer to Intakee land than we are to Lacreechee. We have our own way of dealing with the dakydiles that doesn’t require us to make our men beasts of burden. Observe.”

  Two Dogs and Swift Shot followed Ancestors’ Hand’s pointed finger. The murky brown water seemed lighter. Two Dogs focused harder and could see a large yellow glow. The water was too muddy to determine what monstrosity Ancestors’ Hand had summoned, but clearly whatever it was, it had scared the dakydiles away.

  “Perhaps there are some benefits to summoning magic,” Swift Shot said.

  Ancestors’ Hand snorted and smirked. “You mean beyond raising an army to save your lives?”

  “We were taught that summoning magic was easily corrupted. Nobody wanted to learn it and become a pariah,” Swift Shot said.

  “Who said I wasn’t a pariah?” Ancestors’ Hand asked.

  She cackled to herself as she confirmed to Two Dogs that few people must care for this crazy Intakee woman.

  “What exactly did you summon?” Two Dogs asked.

  “Something bigger. I considered just making more dakydiles, but that likely would have led to the real dakydiles fighting with them. Now, they’re a safe distance behind us,” Ancestors’ Hand answered.

  “But they’re still following us?” Swift Shot asked.

  “Of course; this is their river. We just fish in it,” Ancestors’ Hand said.

  “Two Dogs, take a break. The current is weak here. I can keep us heading north while you rest. Then, you can paddle again, but you’ll only have to increase your strength. Ancestors’ Hand will keep the dakydiles at bay,” Swift Shot said.

  Two Dogs nodded. He laid his oar inside the canoe and wiped sweat from his brow. Ancestors’ Hand handed him a pouch of water. Two Dogs drank greedily from it.

  “Because you aren’t tired,” Swift Shot joked.

  Even Ancestors’ Hand laughed at Two Dogs. He smiled and finished the half gallon of water she gave him.

  “Ahhh,” Two Dogs said. “I kind of like having women do the work for me while I just lie back and relax.”