Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind (27 page)

“Are you scared?” Ido asked her.

“No.”

“That’s bad. Everyone is scared before going into battle; that’s the way it should be. I’m scared, too.”

“You don’t seem scared,” Nihal commented.

“I’m scared, not terrified. Fear gives me a proper consciousness of what I’m going to do. Fear is my friend because it helps me understand what I need to do in battle. It helps me keep a clear head and avoid taking useless risks.”

Nihal raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t fear make soldiers run away from the enemy?”

“That’s another possibility, Nihal. Fear is a treacherous friend. You have to learn to control it, to listen to what it tells you. If you can do that, it will help you do your duty well. If you let fear take charge, it will carry you to your grave.”

Nihal glanced at Ido. She liked him, though she did not always understand him.

“We’re almost there. We’ll go on foot from here,” Ido said.

They left the horses. Nihal took the black cloth from her rucksack and wound it around her head.

“No armor?” Ido asked.

“This is better for me,” she said.

“As you wish.”

Ido walked back to get Vesa. The foot soldiers picked up their pace.

Nihal moved forward quickly and stealthily, paying close attention to her surroundings.

The besieged city came into view. A yell from Ido gave the signal for the battle to begin.

Nihal fought even more ferociously than she had in her first battle. She flung herself at her enemies, ready to destroy everything that came within reach.

The army was like an infallible war machine. Ido commanded his troops with decisiveness, never losing his calm. He attacked as he dodged arrows fearlessly. The flames from Vesa spread terror among the enemy troops on the ground.

Once the coast was clear, Ido sent Vesa back up on his own and continued to fight from the ground. Nihal followed him confidently, slaughtering the enemy as she went.

It was a surprisingly easy victory. In forty years of war, the Army of the Free Lands had only rarely managed to retake any territories from the Tyrant.

In the newly freed city, their victory was met with celebration. The warriors received a hero’s welcome. Hospitality was offered from all sides and Ido willingly accepted it on his men’s behalves.

That night there was dancing and an impromptu banquet held in the main square. The women of the city had rustled up what little food remained to feed the men that had rescued them from the Tyrant; their gratitude added zest to the food.

Nihal did not join in the jubilation. She wanted to keep fighting, to kill other enemies. Even in the midst of the celebrations, she could think of nothing else.

“Would you like to dance?”

A young squire held out his hand to her. She blushed.
Dance? Me?
It was the first time anyone had ever treated her like a woman.

“No, thank you. It’s not my thing,” she said.

“Come on! We’ve just cheated death. It’s time to have fun,” the boy insisted with a smile of encouragement.

“I really don’t know how to dance,” she informed him.

The squire shrugged and bowed. A moment later, he was dancing with a girl from the city.

Nihal thought of Fen.

She had dreamed of dancing with him a million times, of being dressed in a long gown as she whirled around a glittering room in his arms. She rubbed her eyes. She could not fantasize like that anymore. She was a warrior, a weapon.

She glimpsed Ido through the crowd. He sipped from a tankard as he joked with his troops and watched the happy commotion that filled the city square. The victory was his doing.

Ido noticed her and walked to her side. “Let’s have a talk,” he said, as he pulled her to a portico away from the crowd.

He handed her his tankard. “Have a drink. It’s bad luck not to celebrate victory.”

Nihal took a sip. The amber liquid had a bite to it that made Nihal’s eyes water.

Ido laughed. “So, that was your first taste of beer, eh? It’s dwarves’ favorite drink!”

Nihal handed back the tankard. “It’s good.”

Ido took a swig and then cleaned his mustache with the back of his hand. “Why aren’t you rejoicing?”

“I don’t want to.”

“That’s obvious,” the man said dryly. He took another drink and said, “I had a good chance to study you while you were fighting.”

Nihal smiled, awaiting his praise.

“I didn’t like what I saw, Nihal.”

Her smile dropped. “Did I make a mistake?”

“No. It’s the way you behave in battle that I don’t like.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

“You throw yourself into the fray without thinking of anything but destroying everything that comes near you. It might be fine for a random foot soldier, but it’s not the way a knight ought to fight.”

“I thought what matters in war is how many enemies you kill. I’m just trying to keep busy.”

Ido passed her the tankard for another sip. As Nihal swallowed, she tried to hold back the anger and disappointment she felt at Ido’s words.

“In battle, you’re like a caged animal fighting to get free. You let your body lead and fight by instinct. What’s more, you act as though you’re the only one on the battlefield. That won’t do. You must know at all times where the others are and what they are doing. This is important for when you become a knight, you’ll be leading other men and you’ll need to see the big picture to plan a successful strategy. Most importantly, Nihal, you need to see that fighting is an unfortunate necessity, not a source of pleasure.”

“So I like to fight. What’s wrong with that?” Nihal asked indignantly.

“No.
I
like to fight,” Ido corrected. “
You
like to kill. There is no room in this army for bloodthirsty killers, Nihal. I won’t allow it. If you think you can use the battlefield as an outlet for your hatred, you can forget about fighting altogether. Is that clear?”

Ido held her gaze to punctuate his speech. Then he casually lit his pipe, as though he had been chatting about the weather.

Nihal felt the blood rise to her face. “Ido! The Fammin killed my father!” she yelled. “And Fen! They slaughtered my people. You have no right to judge me!”

Ido did not lose his composure. “The Fammin and the Tyrant killed my father. They took my brother from me and they enslaved my people. Everyone here could tell a similar story. We fight for something more than revenge. What do you fight for?”

Ido looked at her with such intensity that Nihal was forced to look away.

“If you don’t know, it’s time you reconsider this way of life.”

“But I’ve always wanted to …” she began to argue.

“That’s enough. Let’s go dance.”

“I don’t know how,” she said crossly.

“It’s an order.”

Nihal found herself in the middle of the square, moving to the rhythm.

As she moved, she wondered what was wrong with hating the Tyrant. He was evil. Hating him gave her the strength to fight. The Fammin were evil, too. Killing them was a form of justice and the only way to beat the Tyrant. What was so wrong about the way she saw things?

The party went on until late that night. Nihal and Ido went to their beds at the house of a town merchant.

“Did you enjoy the party?” asked Ido. “See how nice it is to have fun? Enjoy life, Nihal. Then you’ll understand why you’re fighting.”

Nihal crawled into her bed, more confused than ever.

Nihal’s real training began after Ido’s successful battle. The mornings were dedicated to practicing fighting techniques. Ido worked her hard. They started at sunrise and did not stop until lunchtime.

It wasn’t easy. Ido never missed, no matter what weapon he used.

Nihal reacquainted herself with the lance, the mace, the axe, and the whip—all weapons she had trained with at the Academy. She also learned to concentrate while fighting, rather than being led by instinct.

Ido was never satisfied despite his student’s progress. It wasn’t enough for Nihal to master the techniques. He wanted her to be strong and confident, to always have a clear sense of why she was fighting, and above all, he wanted her to control her blind rage.

He knew her potential and admired her tenacity, but he also saw that she was motivated by anger, a desire for revenge, and a feeling of contempt toward her own life. Ido was not willing to let her throw her life away. He wanted her to become a genuine individual who would be good to herself and to the Overworld.

And so, he never let up.

He rarely praised her. He would knock her to the ground over and over again and insist she get up to try again. Nihal always got up without complaining, despite her wounds.

As the weeks passed, however, Nihal’s determination began to waver. She had always believed she was destined for vengeance and never truly questioned the morality of her actions, but now Ido’s lecture had weakened her conviction.

She kept telling herself that there was nothing wrong with hatred. After all, why had she been spared, if not to seek vengeance? When she woke from her nightmares, she would convince herself that her only purpose in life was to beat the Tyrant. Then her life would be over. Nihal was unable to imagine what would become of her after the Tyrant was vanquished. Where would she go? What would she do? Without her goal, she would be nothing. And yet …

And yet Ido had raised all number of doubts. How was he capable of fighting without hatred? Where did he find his strength?

The beauty of life, he said …

There had been a time when Nihal thought life was beautiful, but that time was over. Her existence now consisted of only fighting and nightmares.

At times she thought about what she had felt the night of her first battle, the possibilities she had imagined. Was that the life everyone loved? Perhaps. But it felt like nothing but a distant dream to her.

Nihal’s training became a source of entertainment for the men at the fort. Ido’s skill was well known and Nihal was a good match for him. She was agile, talented, and, as an added bonus, she was beautiful.

She was not beautiful in the classical sense, but there was something fascinating about her. She had a mysterious air. Her violet eyes were daring and she was slender without being shapeless. Not to mention that her fighting style was graceful, enchanting, and deadly.

Many men began to notice her. There were even wagers on who would be first to catch her, but Nihal ignored the looks that came her way. She disliked the attention she was getting; she had stopped thinking of herself as a woman the day Fen died. Now she was a warrior and nothing else.

She did not make friends with the women at camp, either. They envied her. There were exceptions, of course. A couple of girls tried to befriend her, but Nihal felt she had nothing in common with those girls who stayed home helping their mothers until they could marry.

She was alone. The only creature to receive her attention was her dragon.

Nihal adored him. She knew she would never ride any other dragon but her own restless beast.

Ido had left her to do as she chose after the first few disastrous attempts.

“I’ve told you what dragons are like and how to behave toward them. Now you’ve got to find a way to make him accept you. When you’ve managed to mount him, we’ll start our training.”

Nihal worked with her dragon every day after lunch. On their first day alone together, Oarf had growled and clawed at the sight of her. Nihal held her ground and stared at him for a long time, showing him she would not be frightened off.

Oarf’s keeper stuck around to watch for the first few days, but soon lost interest. Every day, Nihal and Oarf would simply glare at each other venomously for hours. It was a bore.

When people asked for an update, the keeper invariably replied, “I think she’s nuts. She just stands there and stares at him. The half-elves must have been a really weird breed.”

One day, Nihal started talking to Oarf. She sat at one end of the arena with her eyes fixed on him and tried to connect with him telepathically, but when all her attempts proved ineffective, she reverted to using her words instead. She thought her personal story would be more compelling than fighting and was convinced that she and Oarf were linked by a common destiny. She hoped this knowledge would make him trust her.

She told him about the nightmares that tormented her, about Livon’s death, the destruction of her city. She told him about Fen and how much she had loved him, recounting his cruel death.

Oarf was unimpressed, but Nihal carried on trying to get inside the animal’s head.

Ido often watched from a distance. He thought Nihal was on to something. Oarf continued to look at her with suspicion, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

The rest of their time was dedicated to battle. Nihal and Ido rode into combat regularly, and Ido made sure Oarf was brought along to watch. Before every battle, Nihal would visit him and ask, “Do you feel the tension in the air? The excitement? They’re calling you, Oarf. They’re asking you to come back and fight.” Then she would take to the field and fight for all she was worth.

They won many battles and lost many others; Nihal got used to seeing the ground covered with the corpses of her comrades.

Ido continued to chastise her for her attitude on the battlefield. Every time, Nihal would promise to fight more honorably, but it was useless. The clang of the weapons went to her head; when she was on the battlefield, she became an instrument of death.

Nihal kept trying to get through to Oarf.

She tried to move closer to him each day, one step at a time. Oarf no longer feared her nearness and simply looked at her with suspicion. She sensed that the dragon was no longer hostile, no longer afraid. Now she wanted to try to establish a deeper level of communication.

For two weeks, she spent her afternoons hunkered down next to him.

She concentrated, trying to hear his thoughts. Ido had explained that between a knight and his dragon there could be no communication unless they both wanted it. And Oarf, for the time being, did not want it.