Between Dark and Light (11 page)

“Please, leave us alone,” Crushaw responded to Kwarck, still speaking orcish so Suvene would know what he was saying. “Please.”

Kwarck stopped and moved back a couple steps but held his ground. Crushaw focused his attention on Suvene, who was eyeing the sword at his feet.

“You have a choice,” the old man said. “You can take up that weapon and end my life right now, or you can help me.”

Suvene’s jaw muscles clenched, and he glared at Crushaw.

“You’re nearly my equal,” he continued. “Help me train these elves.”

“What?” Kwarck and Suvene exclaimed simultaneously.

“I can’t teach them alone.”

“They’ll kill him!” Kwarck shouted in orcish.

“No, they won’t,” Crushaw returned, holding eye contact with the orc. “First, there’s not one of them who could defeat him with a sword, and second, they will follow my orders.”

“You’re crazy,” Suvene said. “Why should I help you?”

“Yes, young master,” Crushaw said, smiling. “I probably am. It’s crazy to go into battle at my age and crazy to think I can train an army in three months.”

“You killed my friend,” Suvene hissed.

“Then, take up that sword and strike me dead.”

Suvene glanced down at the weapon.

“You have skills,” Crushaw said. “Twice, you almost bested me. You can do something to be proud of, or you can live out your life a fugitive, always glancing over your shoulder to see if your people have caught you yet.”

Suvene looked south briefly and then fixed his gaze on Crushaw. The old man held his stare and waited for a response. Part of him expected the orc to go for the sword, but after watching him in the fields, another part had faith Suvene was too noble for cold-blooded murder. The orc relaxed his stance and looked at Kwarck.

“What do you think?” he asked his benefactor.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Kwarck said, shaking his head. “The elves will never trust an orc.”

“They’ll follow my orders,” Crushaw snarled. “And once they see your skills, they’ll want to learn from you.”

“Why are you asking me?” Suvene questioned, returning his gaze to the general.

“Because my options are limited, and I’m too old to do this alone.”

“I can’t support this,” Kwarck mumbled.

Crushaw turned to the wizard and gave him a cold, piercing look that made Kwarck squirm where he stood. While Crushaw respected him for saving his life and giving him a home, he was enraged that twice the wizard had openly questioned his judgment. He took a deep breath and calmed himself before speaking:

“Do you want to lead the elves yourself?”

Kwarck shook his head.

“Can you teach them how to fight with swords?”

“No.”

“Have I ever once questioned you about farming or healing?”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Then stay out of this.”

“Suvene, do what you want,” Kwarck said, before turning and storming to the house.

Crushaw turned back to Suvene and waited for an answer. He didn’t care if Kwarck was upset. He hadn’t escaped from slavery, survived the wilds alone on foot, and risen through the ranks of the Northern Army because he worried about what others thought of him. He did those things because of his willingness to take chances more timid people shied away from. Kwarck would either get over it or not. Crushaw didn’t care which. Leadership had little to do with popularity. It was about making hard choices and imposing one’s will.

“I’ll help you on one condition,” the orc said, each word staccato.

Crushaw remained silent, waiting for the terms.

“If I do this, you fight me once more.”

Crushaw smiled and reached out his hand to shake on the deal.

“So you’ll face me again?” Suvene asked, shaking the old man’s calloused hand.

“Yes,” Crushaw replied. “But like I told you the last time, if you raise a sword against me again, I’ll end your life.”

“We’ll see.”

“Finish in the fields today, and be ready at first light tomorrow. I’ll have a sword for you.”

With that, Crushaw picked up his sword and returned to the house to finish his lunch. Inside, Kwarck sat in silence, moving food around on his plate. Crushaw sat and grabbed his fork. He had to get back to the elves soon and didn’t have time to discuss this matter further, so he ate quickly, making small talk with Stahloor and Alysea. The elves chatted with him but kept glancing at Kwarck uncomfortably. When he finished, Crushaw thanked all three of them for the meal and excused himself.

***

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Crushaw asked Suvene in the faint light of morning.

“Are you sure they’ll follow your orders?”

“Without question.”

“Okay then,” Suvene said. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Teach them all you’ve learned about swordplay.”

Suvene nodded, and the old man pointed out the captains and leaders approaching from their campsites. Crushaw instructed him not to talk but to be ready to duel when he gave the signal. Suvene gripped the pommel of his sword and stood at order, ready to raise his guard at a moment’s notice. Crushaw smiled inwardly at the orc’s obedience, but his face remained an iron mask, emotionless and cold, offering no invitation for debate as the elves assembled in front of him.

“As you can see, we have a guest,” he spoke in elvish, his voice as firm as his expression. “He is to be respected as you respect me, and obeyed the same. Does anyone have an issue with that?”

The elves shuffled where they stood but didn’t speak.

“Was my question unclear?”

“No, sir,” the elves responded meekly.

“Then, why am I waiting for a response?”

“As you command,” the third swordsman said, bowing. “I’ll see to it personally.”

“Good. Now, step forward and draw your blade.”

As the elf unsheathed his sword, Suvene raised his to middle guard, and Crushaw stepped away to give them room. The pair circled each other, studying one another for a flaw. The elf attacked first, flashing with a series of horizontal slashes the orc parried without difficulty. The elf then backed away and reversed the direction of his circle. Suvene matched his movements, his footwork flawless on the dew-slick grass.

The elf charged again, raking at the orc’s hands, but Suvene again parried each strike, this time responding with a defensive rake that cut the elf’s forearm. Sensing an opening, the orc attacked, thrusting at his foe, but the elf avoided the thrust and switched to high guard, blood trickling down his left arm. From high guard, he slashed diagonally, and the orc blocked the blow and, with a flick of his wrists, sent the elf’s sword flying. Once his opponent was disarmed, Suvene stepped back but remained ready in middle guard.

“Very good,” Crushaw said, stepping between them as the elf went for his blade. “Now, take this orc to your camp and, after breakfast, spend the morning learning his footwork. Find your captain, and the three of you get moving. I’ll see to the other groups.”

He turned to Suvene and explained in orcish that Suvene was to follow the elves and train them until lunch. The orc hesitated, a hint of fear on his face, but Crushaw assured him all would be well. The orc nodded slightly and joined the elf he had just defeated. The elf motioned for his captain and crossed the open field to his campsite, Suvene following closely. Crushaw turned his attention to the remaining elves.

“That orc will work with one camp a day until you are decent swordsmen. If anyone attempts to hurt him, that elf will be dealt with by me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, general,” the elves responded in unison.

“After breakfast, I want your archers shooting at one hundred yards, and all others training with swords. Again, I’ll come to each camp.”

The elves turned to disperse, but Crushaw called to the second swordsman, the female Loorish elf whose face was so familiar to him. She came forward and bowed.

“Were we slaves together?” Crushaw asked, motioning for her to rise.

“I’ve never been in bondage,” she returned, her expression as stoic as his.

“How do I know you, then?”

“We haven’t met before two weeks ago,” she said. “But you know my son.”

Crushaw studied her face and thought for a moment. Then, it came to him, and he exclaimed:

“Roskin!”

“You saved his life,” she said, nodding. “For that, I owe you mine.”

“Please, tell me your name,” Crushaw said, his voice softening.

“I’m Sylva of the Loorish Forest.”

“Roskin’s mother,” Crushaw said, bowing himself. “I’m honored.”

“May I ask one question freely?”

Crushaw nodded.

“What’s this business with the orc?”

“You saw his skills. I can make you an army, but he can make you warriors.”

“We don’t accept outsiders easily, especially not orcs or humans. You’re a rare exception because of your reputation.”

“What is my reputation?” Crushaw asked, half smiling.

“They say you are immortal. You cannot die in battle.”

“If only that were true,” Crushaw mumbled, gazing into the distance. “What do you think?”

“We’re lucky you lead us,” Sylva responded. “And I have sensed that Roskin holds you in the highest esteem. That’s enough for me.”

“I have a job for you, if you’re interested.”

Sylva nodded slightly, indicating her curiosity.

“I need a second, someone I can trust.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“I know your son. That’s enough for me.”

“That means more to me than I can tell you,” Sylva said, her eyes filling with moisture. “But I didn’t raise him.”

“My mother didn’t get to raise me, either,” Crushaw responded, holding out his hand to shake.

“Okay,” she said, gripping his hand.

“Head back to your camp and start them on drills. I have something to take care of before joining you.”

She saluted him and hurried off to her group. Crushaw headed for the field where Kwarck gathered the harvest. They hadn’t spoken since the previous day, and while in the moment, Crushaw had felt justified in what he’d said, now that he had thought about it, he needed to make things right with the wizard. All of them had to work together if they were to have any hope of winning this battle, and that meant he had to apologize for disrespecting his friend.

Kwarck looked up from his cornstalk as Crushaw approached but turned away and moved on to the next plant. The old man moved to another stalk and pulled off a ripe ear. He tossed it into Kwarck’s basket and then pulled another, the stem snapping with a loud crack. Kwarck continued to ignore him, instead focusing on his labor. Crushaw finished picking his current plant before speaking:

“Tell me about my parents.”

“Your father was a fine warrior, not an ounce of disobedience in him,” Kwarck said, stepping to the next plant. “Your mother was more head-strong.”

Crushaw smiled, stroking a leaf on a cornstalk.

“What else do you want to know? I’m quite busy.”

“I’ve often wondered how my life would’ve been if they’d raised me, if I’d had a normal childhood.”

“Look,” Kwarck said, turning to face him, his face a veneer of pain and anger. “I have to get these crops in. I really don’t have time for idle chit-chat.”

“But then, if my life had unfolded any other way,” Crushaw continued. “I wouldn’t be standing here with you right now. I wouldn’t have the skills to lead your army, so I guess what I’m saying is that everything in our lives has led us to today, to this moment, in this cornfield, and I wouldn’t trade this day.”

Kwarck’s face softened.

“You’re my friend,” Crushaw persisted. “And I’m grateful for all you’ve given me. My ways aren’t often tactful, and I’m sorry.”

“I watched the duel this morning,” Kwarck said. “You’re right about Suvene.”

“All I ask is that you trust me.”

Kwarck nodded and held out his hand. Crushaw shook it and smiled. Kwarck returned the smile and thanked him for the apology. The old man took a deep breath and sighed. For the first time since the elves had arrived, he felt confident everything would come together. With Suvene helping train and Roskin’s mother serving as his second, he could focus on preparing them for the tactics he wanted to employ. Mending his friendship with Kwarck meant more than both, however, for without the wizard’s support, he couldn’t truly be in charge of the army. He had known enough elves on the plantation to know how deep their bond was. They would eventually feel the rift, and his influence would slip. More than that, though, he needed Kwarck’s friendship because, before he left for this battle, he needed to know that he had somewhere to call home.

Chapter 7

Fulfilling Obligations

Leinjar stopped on a crest of the trail overlooking the gate to the Tredjard kingdom. After a few more feet, there could be no turning back, and as he listened to the birds singing in the scrub pines on the mountainside, he almost turned around. He couldn’t remember how many years he had been gone, fifteen or sixteen, maybe more, but to Tredjards, no amount of time could eclipse the bearing of a grudge. As a boy, he had heard a story from his father about the long memories of his people.