The Silver Claw

by Erik Williamson

  They spent the better part of the afternoon winding through chasms and gullies, working their way northwest. Every time they hit a low spot, Alixa scuttled up for a look. Eventually they got close enough to hear the flags whipping in the wind.

  “Alright,” Alixa whispered. “I’m checking it out.”

  “You want us to wait here, Lix, or no?”

  “We’re safer together.” She motioned them to come. “But do nothing without my say-so.”

  This sounded all too familiar. They picked their way through the rocks towards the now-constant sound of whipping flags and garbled din of voices. As they rounded a monolithic stone, the shouting—up until now dampened by the tricky echoing of the rock walls—hit them full force. Rows of iron rods were fixed into the side of a canyon wall, waving with tattered white rags. The rags, Alixa realized, were tinged not with paint but with spattered blood. As the wind swept convulsively through the canyon, the rags whipped in crackling unison. Fifteen soldiers stood below, heads bared, long blonde hair blowing in the breeze. The man at their head, though young-ish in appearance, conducted himself with raw authority. He thrust his sword in the air—and what a sword. The polished steel glimmered in the sun, its grisly serrated edges refracting light in all directions.

  “Lix?” Emmie whispered.

  “Shhh,” Alixa replied, barely audible. “Stay behind me.”

  “Never forget!” the leader bellowed.

  The 14 other soldiers echoed back an impassioned, “Never forget!”

  The charged emotion made Renn and Emmie flinch. Alixa’s heart pounded with a mix of dread and exhilaration.

  “Never forgive!” the soldiers shouted.

  “Never forgive!” the leader responded.

  He struck the lowest iron rod with the flat of his sword. The other Bandu soldiers banged the flats of their serrated swords against their spears.

  “We will never—” The leader’s speech cut off abruptly. After a brief silence, he spoke again, low and threatening. “I can sense you back there behind the bushes. I would know who dares interrupt our ceremony.”

  The only noise in the canyon was the bloody rags whipping in the wind. All eyes were now glaring towards their position.

  “Don’t reveal yourselves without my say-so,” Alixa whispered.

  Renn and Emmie had no plans of doing anything without Alixa’s say-so.

  Alixa took a deep breath, flicked her hair back, and fixed her face with a stern confidence. With her hand on her sword hilt, she sauntered out from behind the rock to meet the Bandu platoon. Emmie’s impression of her friend was unmistakable: she looked like the queen of these people she truly was.

  LXVI - The Northern Tablelands

  “My apologies.” Alixa emerged into the canyon, her voice echoing and her hair flapping as wildly as the bloody rags. “No disrespect intended, merely—”

  “Who are you?” The leader waved off her speech. “Eastern Helm, perhaps?”

  “No, Kleehen,” one of his men responded, sword trained on Alixa. “Where she’s from, is not so important as how she’s here.”

  “Agreed. This is selection only; you’re trespassing,” another soldier said. He advanced, sword drawn. “You are not worthy of this.”

  “Care to test that?” Alixa tapped her scabbard in open invitation. “Prove yourself worthy?”

  The men murmured and closed rank around Alixa and her challenger. The two combatants circled, each crouching and kicking up dust on the open ground. Alixa, a wry grin on her face, suddenly pulled her sword, twirled it dramatically, and stabbed. The man mirrored her attack, parrying then slashing at her. She nimbly sidestepped.

  “Peace! Blades to sheaths.” An old soldier stomped out, extending an arm towards each.

  Alixa and the other man crossed swords once more, then took half-steps backward, weapons still up. The older man placed himself between them, despite the protests from around the circle, and appraised Alixa.

  “We’ve a young woman savvy to traditional Bandu protocol. No call for bloodshed. Kleehen?”

  The leader, a calculating smile on his angular face, nodded.

  “Blades to sheaths.” The older man clenched his teeth at Alixa.

  Once her combatant complied, Alixa—with a meaningful pause—did likewise.

  “Welcome, woman,” Kleehen, the leader, said. “Cutchen, as usual, is correct. Yet your presence requires explanation.” He flicked his shoulder-length hair towards Emmie and Renn’s hiding spot. “As does your holding troops in reserve.”

  Renn and Emmie tensed, eyes still wide from watching their friend pull a sword on a flank of well-armed men.

  “Troops? Hardly.” Alixa barked a laugh, then motioned to them. “Rennwinn is a Midlander, as you can see; Longar.” Men grumbled and cursed, doing little to make him feel welcome. Alixa knit her eyebrows. “I’ll brook none of that. He’s my friend and covered by my sword. He’ll be treated with respect or you’ll feel that sword. Emmidawn grew up along the Khuul. I, the Basins.” Alixa licked her lips then spoke loudly. “Yet I was born in Kaisson. I escaped, alone, from the massacre as a child. My name’s Lisandra. I’m honored by the tribute you give to my people and my city.”

  Alixa locked eyes with the leader. Emmie quickly gauged the others’ reactions to Alixa’s claim: some touched, some perplexed, many visibly angered. I’m glad I’m not going to be the queen of these people, Emmie told herself anxiously.

  Kleehen invited them to share camp that night as honored guests. Declining, politely or otherwise, was not an option. Whether they were guests or prisoners remained an open question. They were invited to join Kleehen, Cutchen, and Kleehen’s second officer Delggai for dinner at one of the camp’s fire circles. Another invitation with but one possible answer.

  For Emmie and Renn, the dinner was almost worth the dangerous accommodations. After days of gnawing on rock rodents and thistleberries, they gorged themselves on cured venison and roasted vegetables. As these Bandu seemed to be all about feats of strength and manliness, Emmie reasoned, eating like an ogre was the appropriate way to show gratitude. So Emmie ate like an ogre—albeit a small teenage girl ogre.

  Throughout their dinner, she also studied their ‘hosts’ as she imagined Brie would. The old soldier, Cutchen, eyed Alixa in a manner Emmie didn’t care for. Then again, she didn’t care for the way any of the men looked at her and her friends. Yet Cutchen seemed to scrutinize Alixa with a wholly different agenda, though Emmie couldn’t hazard a guess at what.

  “The Lament of Kaisson is commemorated annually here along the eastern gate system. Helms alternate in paying homage. We’re from the west, Avenhelm,” Kleehen explained. “Cutchen’s from Durvishhelm, further east. Manages to juice a selection whether Durvish’s on or not. Old man can’t stay away.”

  “Lisandra, you say?” Cutchen stroked his white beard. “No survivor’s ever been found. Two in one evening, after all these years. . .”

  Alixa responded with only a tight nod.

  “You there, Emmidawn.” Emmie’s head snapped up at Delggai’s address. “We’ve no firsthand accounts of the last days of Kaisson. A report is in order.”

  “I was a baby. My dad found me abandoned near Winnepaca. That’s all I know.”

  “How’s that possible, that far south?” Kleehen asked.

  “I don’t know.” Emmie averted her eyes.

  “You remember nothing?” Delggai’s face shone with incredulity through the flames.

  “Yah. Really, nothing.”

  Delggai scowled. “But if you’re truly—”

  “Stop badgering her,” Alixa growled. “Her first years of life were stolen from her. Must you beat her up over it?”

  “Well then, Lisandra.” Delggai thunked a hunk of venison on his plate. “What of you?”

  “I was a child and, honestly, I’ve blocked out those years, just to cope.”

  “You escaped through a secret tunnel, you say? How’d you know of that?”

  “Some adults led me.
” Alixa shrugged. “I’d never been there before.”

  “Must’ve been the Fortress.” Delggai cut through his meat but continued to glare in Alixa’s direction. “How does a commoner end up—”

  “Is this any way to treat guests?” Kleehen smiled, hard and unreadable. The wine in his mug sloshed as he spread his arms. “They are fascinating finds, undoubtedly. We’ll have time to interrogate later.”

  Each of their stomachs turned a bit. The implications of interrogate didn’t sit well.

  “What do you know of the Bandu now?” Cutchen changed the subject.

  “We unfortunately hear nothing in the Basins, nor the Vale,” Alixa said.

  “They abandoned us three centuries back,” Delggai replied. “Still don’t care now.”

  “And we hear but rumors of your people,” Kleehen said smoothly. “We are rallying, though, under our new order. I say we’ve made ourselves a solid life in the peninsula.”

  “What do you say to that?” Delggai slapped Renn on his left shoulder. “Thought you’d beaten us, yes?”

  “I don’t. . .” Renn winced, holding his throbbing shoulder. “Why would I—”

  “The boy holds no ill will towards you.” Alixa slammed her plate to the ground. “Are you placing 300 years of bad blood on a 17-year old kid? This is my friend. You’ll extend due respect or you will feel my sword.”

  The whole camp, previously filled with the sounds of meal and merriment, went silent.

  “Peace, Lisandra.” Kleehen extended a calming hand to the others in the camp. “Old hurts die hard. Delggai has a right to his anger. But, Del, she’s correct about blaming one who doesn’t personally bear the guilt. Especially if —if—he’s one who’d treat fairly with us.”

  “Sorry.” Delggai spat. “I must tend to my weapons.”

  “My apologies,” Kleehen said after Delggai stomped off. He slicked his hair back and offered a smile of bright white teeth. “This is an emotional commemoration. Tempers run hot. If you are the rare Midlander who doesn’t despise my people, then you have my appreciation.”

  “He doesn’t,” Emmie responded, her arm around a glum Renn, who indeed was feeling responsible for 300 years of wrongs. “Nor his family. Nor many others. This old misunderstanding begs to be mended.”

  Alixa dug the toe of her boot into Emmie’s thigh. Emmie clammed up.

  “Point of contention among Bandu as well.” Kleehen eyed Alixa. “Much hinges on where one stands in regards the hope of Chastien’s heir.”

  “How do our people fare?” Alixa said with an offhandedness that belied the sudden churning in her gut. “I am Bandu, even if I live in the basins.”

  Cutchen hoisted his mug, guzzling wine. Looked expectantly to his leader.

  “We can make a union of Helms work. The west is strong. As is the center, around Aveon. The northern Helms. . .” Kleehen shrugged. “Wild and independent. The east. . . care to offer an Easterner’s opinion, Cutch?” The older man shook his head. Kleehen continued. “Many still expect Chastien’s heir to rise from the dead and unite us. That hope dies hard, in Durvishhelm most of all. It causes much unnecessary division.”

  Cutchen shook with a coughing fit. Kleehen turned to him curiously.

  “Drank too fast.” Cutchen waved him off. “Kleehen, you been so busy yapping, you’re forgetting curfew, no?”

  “After the commemoration, I planned to go easy on regs.” Kleehen flashed a politician’s smile and turned the brass fork in his hand. “Let emotions play out.”

  “Remain ever vigilant.” Cutchen turned his eyes on Renn and Emmie, then Alixa. “We are still Bandu, no? Still Chastien’s honor guard?”

  “Oh, alright, old man.” Kleehen yawned. “Curfew it is.”

  “You’re staying the night.” Cutchen turned to Alixa, Renn, and Emmie. His was not a question. “Over there, along that high stone.”

  Alixa surveyed the spot. Near the south rock wall, at the back of their camp, in full view of everyone. She was becoming less convinced they were indeed ‘guests,’ yet nodded her assent.

  “Morning’s at sunrise. Sharp,” Cutchen said brusquely and marched off. “Got it?”

  “Good night.” Kleehen bowed as he took his leave. “I will expect your account as we return north. Two survivors of the massacre, just now appearing after all these years? Most peculiar.”

  The encampment quieted quickly at Kleehen’s command. Alixa, though, stayed awake and on guard long into the night before rousing Emmie to keep watch. As Emmie’s shift wore on, the fullness of her stomach and the heaviness of her eyes outpaced the wariness in her heart. She faded in and out of alertness.

  Then, with a flurry of subtle movements next to her, a big hand smothered cloth over her mouth and nose. A man’s burly arms locked Emmie’s to her sides. She tried to cry out, tried to break free, but instead found herself whisked around the corner of the big stone slab, out of camp, and forced to the ground. Trapped and alone.

  LXVII - The Tablelands Labyrinth

  “Not a sound, hear?” A man’s bristly beard scratched Emmie’s face as his grating whisper tickled her ear. “Can’t risk you waking the others.”

  His thumb and forefinger pushed harder into her cheeks, stifling a muffled mewl for help. “Stop your squirming, girl.”

  He lugged Emmie back upright. Once on her feet, she kicked her heel backwards into his kneecap. The big hand smothering her mouth stayed firm but his grip on her arms loosened as he grunted in pain. She managed to twist and glimpse his face. Cutchen. Hardly unexpected. Her reward for nearly freeing herself was to be crushed into the rock wall. Then his beard was back, rubbing her face. Emmie recoiled as his wet lips touched her ear again.

  “I’m trying to help, so listen good.”

  Emmie pushed with all her might, her lungs stinging from lack of air. When her vision began dancing with spots, she was forced to nod her assent.

  “I’d sooner run myself through then see you come to a speck of harm. That’s why it’s gotta be this way.” He freed her nostrils, which flared, sucking in air. “Wake the other two. Tell them to follow. You gotta trust me, girl, or I swear on the crown your friend’s in deep trouble.”

  Emmie nodded weakly, and Cutchen dragged her back around the rock. He nudged Renn and Alixa with his boot—both startling awake to see him restraining their friend.

  “Shush.” Cutchen elbowed Emmie sharply and released her mouth. “Tell ‘em.”

  “Says he’s helping,” Emmie whispered between small gasps of air. “No noise.” He clamped his hand back over her mouth. She pleaded with her eyes for them to follow. Because even if he wasn’t helping? Joke would be on him; dumb enough to aggravate Alixa then invite her along.

  Cutchen pulled Emmie into a tight crevice. Renn and Alixa followed. She was itching to pull her sword at the first sign of. . . anything. After a few minutes of dodging and squeezing through rocky passes, they descended into a gullied depression, where their voices would be muted by the stone formations.

  “You done perfect.” Cutchen, breathing heavily, released Emmie.

  Alixa yanked Emmie behind her, and in one motion had her sword at his chest. “Better be good, old man. Explain fast or you’ll die faster.”

  “I know you,” Cutchen replied, eyes gleaming. “Alixa du-Albin. Chastien’s heir. Rightful Queen of the Bandu.”

  Alixa flinched. The words hit her harder than any attack he could’ve made.

  “Guessed it the moment you first drew that glorious sword. I know that sword.” He dropped to one knee, bowing his head and placing his hands on the ground. “My family’s served yours for generations. You’ve my word I serve you now.”

  Alixa glanced to Emmie, Renn’s arm around her waist but still looking shaky.

  “Give him a chance, Lix.”

  Alixa balked before speaking. “Fine. She says you live. For now. Explain.”

  Cutchen’s hand slid towards a pocket.

  “No!” Alixa batted his arm back with the flat of her sword
. “Hands where I can see them or I’ll slice you in half.”

  “Yes, m’lady. It’s just I. . . I carry the mark.” He gestured to his pocket. “I was a palace guard for your mother the queen, way back when. You’re not safe here.”

  Alixa stared, unblinking, sword still out.

  “A few may suspect. T’was why I was adamant you sheath that du-Albin sword earlier.” He turned his baggy eyes to Emmie. “Pardon my rough treatment, little lady, couldn’t risk no noise. I swear, only the best of intentions.”

  “You’re forgiven on my account.” Emmie rubbed a bruised cheek. “If you’re helping us.”

  “I am.” He returned his reverent attention back to Alixa. “As your body was never found, many from my home—Durvishhelm—still yearn for your return, m’lady.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Alixa blanched.

  Cutchen, still down on one knee, knit his brows together. “Um, my Queen, I—”

  “That either.” Alixa scowled.

  “I’ve sworn fealty to you since I was old enough to wield a dagger. I shan’t use a familiar name.”

  “Her preference is to be addressed as Almighty Queen, Revered Above All Others.”

  “Shut up, Sheep, you little. . .” Alixa cast her a baleful look

  Emmie shook with silent humor, soothing the fear and tension roiling within her.

  “We’ve no protocol here, see? No ‘thou’s’ and ‘lady’s’ and all that garbage. I’m just Alixa.” She offered Cutchen a hand. “Stand up, for God’s sake. Talk with me as an equal.”

  “You were wise to not reveal your name.” Cutchen choked back emotion but was unwilling to take her hand. “You don’t understand how much knowing you’re alive means to me. What you would mean to our people. Even so, I fear it’s not safe for your return yet, my. . . uh, Queen?”

  “Almighty Queen, Revered Above—” Emmie began.

  “Enough, little jester.” Alixa gestured Cutchen to continue.

  “As Captain Kleehen said, we are much divided. Kleehen’s aristocracy, but fair-minded. Others are not so honorable. They’d not yield without a fight, Queen Alixa.” The address brought a smile to Cutchen’s face. “Yet many of us have remained loyal to you and yours. And the bulk of the population, who’ve all but lost hope, would welcome you with open arms.”