Bastial Steel (35 page)

“Move or die!” Jek shouted, now just in front of Cleve.

The man who’d locked the gate decided to run, but the other two cursed him and remained steady.

Cleve felt nothing but urgency. He didn’t worry for these men’s lives. He couldn’t in that moment. If they slowed their exit, then Cleve and Jek would just have to deal with more people—possibly more lives he would need to take. Anger surged through Cleve at the thought of it. He blamed the two in front of him for the possibility of needing to kill more.

He jumped off his mount, charging at them with one last warning: “Move!”

They didn’t, attacking instead.

He easily dodged one man’s thrust and finished him with a clean slice across his neck. The other was taken by Jek’s fireball.

Done with them, Cleve turned his focus to the lock holding the gate shut. To Cleve’s dismay, he found it wasn’t a simple lock but a thick bar of steel held in place by several smaller locks.

He searched the fallen guards for keys for a breath before giving up.

Jek blasted the gate with fire to no avail.

“Use your sword!” Jek shouted

“It’ll ruin it.” The moment Cleve spoke, he realized how absurd he sounded. Yes, he was right—the sword would be ruined being bashed against metal and wood until it broke through, but the alternative of not escaping was much worse.

The mob of angry villagers had grown. He could hear them coming, their shouts so loud it was like an oncoming tidal wave.

Jek sent another fireball against the gate. No result. Breathing heavy, he moved back to give Cleve room.

“Do it. I’ll hold them off,” Jek said.

In a blink, Cleve focused all the Bastial Energy within him into his arms. They were burning hot and couldn’t be held still any longer.

With the strength of two men, he slammed his weapon down against the steel bar holding the gate shut. A sting of pain just as torturous as Azaylee’s spells shot from his fingers to his shoulders. But he didn’t stop.

Letting out the agony through screams, he focused on nothing but hitting the same spot over and over. He could hear the horses being frightened, Jek yelling something to the crowd.

They’re almost here.
He didn’t waste a moment turning around to check. He was making progress, a dent at first and then cracks soon after. His sword was chipping away, though. It might not last long enough before it cracked.

A final blow and the bar came apart with a loud snap. He shoved the gate open and looked behind him. Jek was getting on his mount, keeping the reins of Cleve’s in hand as well.

Cleve jumped on Nulya just as arrows started passing by his ears.

Out of all the shouts, one stood out—the girl’s. “Wait, please!” Cleve and Jek were out of the gate, the mob slowing to a halt except for her.

She ran out after them onto the open land. No one came after her. Not one person stopped her.

As hopeless as it was, she didn’t stop. She kept running and running.

The distance between them became insurmountable. Didn’t she realize it? Was she that dumb?
Or maybe just that stubborn.

Even when Cleve and Jek eventually got to the top of the hill miles out, she was still puttering after them, looking even more like a desperate child than ever as she struggled to stay on her feet.

Jek dismounted, looking down the hill with his hand over his eyes to block the high sun. “Girl’s like a mooker,” he said. “Won’t stop chasing us.”

With the villagers no longer a threat, Cleve’s emotions re-emerged from wherever they’d been. Pity stuck him hard, making frustration twist within.

Why must I care what happens to this girl?

He despised her, yet couldn’t bring himself to ignore her. He couldn’t even look away, wondering when she would stop, figuring she couldn’t possibly keep running all the way to Goldram.

But then where will she run to instead? Will she go back to her village?

“How far is the town Lysha took the Takarys to?” Cleve asked.

“About a day’s ride northeast. You don’t think she’ll follow us there, do you?”

Cleve was so distracted by this incessant child, he’d momentarily forgotten to check his weapon. Looking at it now, he felt his heart shatter. Chunks of Bastial steel had been chipped out of it, leaving the blade grotesquely uneven and even dull in some places along one edge.

Jek noticed him looking. Putting his hand on Cleve’s shoulder, he said, “It was worth it.”

Cleve let out a breath, nodding to show he agreed.

“But it still won’t make me feel any better about ruining it,” he said.

“You probably shouldn’t let Danvell Takary see how his gift turned out,” Jek advised. “He might think of it as an act of disrespect.”

Again, Cleve nodded.

He was so frustrated he wanted to throw the weapon off the hill, but it was a childish thought. The disfigured weapon was still more useful than a sword of regular steel, at least on one of its sides.

Nulya let out a sputter of air, her lips flapping loudly.

“Let’s go,” Jek calmly stated. “I want to learn what’s written on this paper of Azaylee’s.”

Jek was right. As hard as it was for Cleve to turn his back on the desperate girl still running toward them, it was time to leave.

Chapter 29

By the time the sun was setting, they’d reached the city of Gajiri—where Lysha had taken Raymess and Vala. Guards belonging to Zav’s kingdom protected the entrance.

They informed Cleve and Jek that Lysha already had left. One of them even had a note from her:

My handsome young men,

We got all the support we needed from the people in this town. Prince Raymess has made a full recovery, so I am taking him and Queen Vala back to the palace. I’ll tell the Takarys that you should be close behind. Don’t come into Goldram too far in the north. There have been battles around the southern edges of Waywen.

I’m coming in around Lake Mercy. I recommend doing the same. Let’s celebrate when you get back.

Liquor. Lots of it.

“You know where Lake Mercy is?” Cleve asked, shortly after they thanked the guards and entered in hopes of purchasing some food.

“Yes. I’ve crossed from Zav to Goldram through there before, when I took Prince Harwin.” Jek’s eyes went unfocused as he said the boy’s name. “I can’t believe how close he came to being murdered. It would’ve been my fault for bringing him there.”

“Those spies would’ve come up with some plan to kill him at another time,” Cleve said. “And who knows who would’ve been there to save him…probably no one. I’m glad it occurred when it did. You were part of making that happen.”

“You tease,” Jek replied with a smile. “Or you’re the most modest person I’ve ever met.”

Cleve supposed he was modest, for he certainly wasn’t joking, and he’d heard something along those lines before. “Just don’t call me a hero,” he muttered. There was something about the word that made him cringe.

Then he realized what it was. Looking at the hills ahead, poking out from behind the city…the many miles left to travel, he felt insignificant.

Cleve had done nothing for the war in Ovira. He’d almost killed Rek, and that was it. Before he ever could be a hero, he needed to go home and fight for Kyrro. He was nothing until then.

It seemed as if Gajiri had been ravaged by a recent battle. Old fires had left their mark on the roofs and walls of many houses. People had uneasy stares for Cleve and Jek—strangers on horses. Many hobbled on a wounded leg or nursed a bandaged arm.

Before asking what happened, Cleve and Jek decided it would be wise to ask for food.

A saleswoman with a cart of fruits, dried meats, and bread wanted to see their money first, eyeing Cleve’s sheathed sword for a long while before speaking.

Eating right there, Jek asked the woman, “Who attacked this village?”

“Presoren bastards,” she spat out. “They were our allies ten years ago, many of their kin still living here until recently. A lot of us even have some Presoren in our blood.” The way her eyes tightened made it clear she was speaking for herself, her self-disdain palpable. “Used to be a wonderful thing when I was young—when people mixed together knowing their true enemy was the desmarls. Now a group of Elves are the only ones with enough honor to fight those monsters while the rest of us fight each other.”

Cleve studied Jek’s face to see if this was news to the mage. His head was tilted, his blue eyes squinted skeptically.

“What is this you speak of?” Jek asked.

“You’re from Goldram, right?” the saleswoman assumed, leaning forward as if ready to reveal a secret.

Jek didn’t reply, not before studying her expression to see if the wrong answer might be dangerous.

But the saleswoman continued without waiting, seemingly content that her assumption was correct. “News must not have reached there yet. Everyone’s heard about it in southern Zav.” She leaned back with a smug grin, saying no more.

“Heard about what?” Jek asked.

“Why don’t you ask the Elves yourself? You’re the only people who can reach them, being in Goldram.”

Cleve thought of the note in Jek’s pocket, wondering if it might have to do with this rumor. But then he reminded himself that that’s all this was, some rumor. In fact, it had nothing to do with Kyrro.

Still…he had to admit to himself that he was interested.

The woman seemed to enjoy knowing something they didn’t, so Cleve didn’t want to waste his time playing her game any longer.

“Thank you for the food,” Cleve told her, putting his hand on Jek’s back. “Let’s go.”

The mage was reluctant at first, his body turning while his head remained on the saleswoman. But with a little added force, he joined Cleve in stride.

Soon they were back to riding, their horses just as eager to get back as they were, it seemed. Nulya’s rhythmic hooves didn’t slow, even when they came to shallow streams.

They rode until night came, and then they continued by the light from Jek’s wand.

When the mage grew weary of keeping up the white glow, they finally stopped to rest.

While sleeping, Jek had light burst from his body, waking Cleve.

“It even happens when you don’t use any SE during the day?” Cleve asked.

“Yes, because I can’t stop my body from absorbing too much of it.” Jek wiped the blood from the fresh wound across his chest.

Cleve despised the idea that Jek’s only cure was waiting somewhere in Ovira, making Cleve responsible for bringing it back. Jek didn’t deserve these nightly terrors, but Cleve couldn’t bring himself to promise to return.

“There must be something in Greenedge that absorbs SE,” Cleve said.

“I’m thinking the same thing, but no one I’ve talked to knows of anything. There’s no reason anyone else might find use in a plant or animal that absorbs SE. So it’s unlikely someone has the answer for me.” Jek took his eyes off his wound to look up at Cleve. “How confident are you that your chemist friend would know of such a thing?”

Cleve started to yawn. He let it come out slow and long to give himself time to think of how he should answer.

He was confident Steffen would know of such a plant or animal, but only because the young chemist seemed to find interest in everything. His mind was filled with what Cleve would call useless information.

But what was the point behind giving Jek this false hope? It felt better not to. There was a chance Cleve would never see him again, even if Steffen had the answer.

Maybe Steffen would want to visit Greenedge.

Cleve tried to imagine what Steffen was doing during the war in Ovira. He’d never asked Terren what chemists’ roles were.

The thought was dumb, he realized right away. Chemists had medical training as well as skill in potion creation and usage. They were responsible for injured soldiers during war, of course.

His yawn finished. An answer still hadn’t come.

“I’m not sure,” Cleve decided to say, lying down and shutting his eyes in hopes Jek wouldn’t continue the conversation.

I’ll do everything I can,
Cleve wanted to say.
When the war ends, I’ll come back if I’m able to.

Cleve didn’t see any reason to say it aloud, though. As long as it was true, that’s all that mattered. If Cleve never came back, yet he gave Jek the hope he would, it only would make things worse.

Days later, when they crossed around Lake Mercy, Cleve finally got the sense his adventure was coming to an end. The reality that he would be going home to Kyrro soon started to sink in.

He’d never taken the time to think about all the fighting ahead of him until then.

Just his experiences in Karri Forest and at the village in southern Zav had resulted in enough death for a lifetime. But it was really only the beginning—a daunting realization.

He’d had dreams of riding into battle on Nulya’s back, wielding his red-orange Bastial steel sword, killing Krepps on either side of him. But he knew battle was far more complicated than that.