Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind (3 page)

“What I do is my business. You still haven’t answered me. Why do you want to challenge me?”

“Look, I don’t care about all the honor and glory nonsense that fills the brains of the little kids you brawl with. I want your dagger because Livon made it and he’s the best armorer in the Overworld. If I have to play childish games with you to get it, fine.”

Nihal wanted to have at him, but she resisted. She concentrated on establishing the terms of the duel. Once they got started, she could let him have it for all she was worth.

They would fight with sticks. The first to be disarmed or fall to the ground would be the loser. She entrusted her dagger to the youngest member of the audience.

“You’ll be taking off that tunic, I suppose.”

“No, I’m used to it. I just hope you don’t mind being beaten by a guy dressed like this. …”

Once again, Nihal refused to let him get a rise out of her. The duel began.

Just as she’d imagined, Sennar was neither strong nor agile, and as far as technique was concerned, he was definitely less skilled than she was. And so what was it that made him so sure he would win?

Nihal quickly seized the advantage, moving constantly to disorient her challenger. The kids around them cheered her on with yells and whistles. She felt herself becoming more and more excited; battle fever engulfed her. Her movements became even quicker as she parried, hit Sennar on his side and prepared to break his stick.

I’ve got him
, she thought triumphantly.

Victory fled her grasp in an instant.

Sennar looked into her eyes with an icy gaze, gave a faint smile, and murmured a few words that Nihal did not understand.

Just as she was about to bring her stick down upon Sennar, Nihal felt it go limp in her hands. It became slimy and began to wriggle . Where her stick had been there was now a giant snake, hissing and twisting.

Nihal yelled. Her grip slackened. It was just a second, but Sennar took advantage of it, tripping Nihal so she fell to the ground. It was the first time she had ever lost a challenge.

“I think we have a winner.”

Sennar took the dagger from the little kid holding it.

For a moment, Nihal sat as still and as silent as a stone. Then she regained her senses and looked around. There was no sign of a snake anywhere.

“Filthy rotten cheat! You’re a sorcerer! You didn’t tell me! You swindler! Give me back my dagger!”

She jumped to her feet again and made to attack him, but Sennar held up a hand to stop her. “You should be thanking me for the lesson. Did you ask me if I was a sorcerer? No. Did you say, ‘I don’t duel with sorcerers’? No. Did you say that magic would not be allowed in the duel? No. You have no one to blame but yourself. Today you learned that before you fight, you need to make certain you really know your enemy. And strength is nothing without intelligence. So stop crying. Livon will surely make you another one.”

As he was leaving, he added, “But you’re strong, that’s for sure.” And off he went, as calmly as he’d come.

Nihal was frozen in place. Then Barod’s voice emerged from the audience’s embarrassed silence. “I’m sorry, Nihal, but that kid is right.”

Nihal punched him in the nose and ran off in tears.

She raced down the tower as fast as she could, bumping into passersby and knocking over an earthenware jar filled with oil in front of an inn. All she wanted was to take refuge in Livon’s comforting arms. He would understand and defend her. He would agree with her that the kid had acted like a coward. Then he’d give her a dagger a thousand times more beautiful than the one she’d lost.

Livon listened to Nihal’s story in silence as she brought it out through tears and sobs. When she had finished, he surprised her by saying, “So?”

It took Nihal a moment to react. “What do you mean, So? He tricked me!”

“Hardly! He was clever and you were gullible.”

Nihal’s eyes widened indignantly.

“Today you learned two things. First of all, if you really care about something, you have to hold on to it tight.”

“But …”

“And secondly, you need to be sure that you really know your enemy before you fight.”

That was exactly what Sennar had said, that coward.

“Losing is part of life, Nihal. You’d better get used to it. It’s important to know how to accept defeat.”

Nihal sat roughly on a chair, a sullen expression on her face. “You could at least give me a sword.”

“A sword? It’s not my fault you lost the dagger I gave you. Next time you’ll be more careful.”

“But I worked so hard to win it! And you have so many swords that …”

Livon’s face was serious. “I don’t want to hear another word. Is that clear?”

Nihal wrapped herself in silence as warm, angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

She was up thinking all night long. The defeat burned away at her, but above all she couldn’t forgive herself for having burst into tears. She tossed and turned in her bed, wishing she hadn’t lost face that way. She would have liked to jump up out of bed and find that kid no matter where he was, even if it meant going to the end of the world.

It was then, as she tormented herself with one plan for revenge after another, that she got a burst of inspiration. She realized that every warrior should learn magic. It was critical.

Nihal had never felt any real interest in magic. The appeal of the sword was, to her mind, infinitely greater than the more ephemeral pleasure of a well-cast spell. Now, though, she realized that magic could serve a purpose. And besides, beating that cheat on his own terrain would be the ultimate satisfaction.

She could already see the scene: Sennar, ensnared by a powerful spell—skillfully cast by Nihal herself—begging for mercy, pleading as he handed over the dagger.

Yes, that’s what she would do. It might take years for her to learn magic, but what did that matter? Even if it took a century, she’d hunt Sennar down and bring him to his knees.

All she had to do was find a sorcerer willing to teach her. She didn’t know any sorcerers herself, but with all the people who came in and out of the shop, Livon had to know one who’d be willing to take her on as a student.

The next morning Nihal informed her father of her decision. He did not take it well.

“Why are you making all this fuss about a game? I already told you, you have to learn how to lose. The sooner you do, the better.”

“This isn’t a game!” responded Nihal, stung. “I really want to be a warrior, a great warrior, and I need to know magic to do it. What skin is it off your back to tell me the name of someone who could teach me?”

“I don’t know anyone,” Livon yelled, completely fed up and hoping to end the conversation.

But Nihal refused to give up. “That’s not true. I know full well that you sometimes sell enchanted weapons. There must be someone who casts the spells for you.”

Confronted with this evidence, Livon grew even more irritated. He pounded his fist on his workbench. “Dammit! I don’t want you to learn magic!”

“Why not?” she hollered back.

“I’m under no obligation to explain myself to you.” Now it was Livon’s turn to take refuge in obstinate silence.

“If you won’t help me, I’ll go find someone who will.”

“There isn’t anyone who can help you in Salazar.”

“Then I’ll go to another tower. I’m not afraid!”

“Then do what you want and get out of here!” Livon said.

Nihal felt tears sting her eyes. It wasn’t just because she and Livon were fighting for the first time ever. It was because all of a sudden she felt misunderstood by the one person who always understood her thoughts and feelings. He was treating her like a spoiled little girl.

She fought back her tears and looked at her father’s broad back, now turned firmly against her.

“Fine,” she said angrily.

But when she made to leave, Livon’s deep voice stopped her. “Wait,” the armorer grumbled, turning toward her. “Nihal, it’s just that I’m so scared, all right? There, I said it. I’m scared you’ll leave. For as long as you want to be a warrior, I’m here for you. But learning magic …”

A lump in his throat kept him from saying any more.

“Don’t be stupid, old man. Where would I go? You’re the only person I have in this world!” Nihal hugged him. “Pop, you’ll always be my home.”

Livon was moved, but Nihal’s words weren’t enough to cheer him up. He returned Nihal’s hug, then released his hold. “There is a sorceress,” he said, hesitantly.

“I knew there must be someone! Fantastic!” Nihal’s joy burst out of her every pore. “Where?”

“At the edge of the Forest.”

“Oh.”

The Forest was the only woodland in the Land of the Wind; the rest was plains and fields of grass. The inhabitants of Salazar feared the Forest—Nihal was no exception.

“At the edge of the Forest, there’s a house. That’s where your aunt lives.”

Nihal was dumbfounded. In thirteen years she’d never heard mention of any relatives.

“Her name is Soana and she’s my sister. She’s a very powerful sorceress.”

“We’ve got a relative who’s this interesting and you’ve never said a thing about it? Why all the mystery?”

Livon instinctively lowered his voice. “The Tyrant doesn’t like magic being practiced in his lands or in lands allied to his. Your aunt had to leave Salazar. Let’s just say … she’s a good friend of the enemies of the Tyrant.”

Nihal felt herself shake with excitement. A conspirator! “Wow, Pop!”

“It goes without saying that I’d prefer you don’t go around bragging about this to anyone. Is that clear?”

“Me? Who do you think I am?”

The next day, Nihal was eager to get on the road. She packed a small bag. Livon insisted she take some bread, cheese, and fruit even though it was a short distance to the edge of the Forest.

Nihal stood in the workshop and listened to Livon’s instructions for the millionth time. “You’ll be on the road that heads south. You can’t miss it.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“And make sure you behave yourself. Soana is very strict. Don’t think she’ll let you get away with things like I do.”

“I won’t get lost, I’ll be a good girl, and I’ll make you look good. OK?”

Livon kissed her forehead. “Okay. Get going before I change my mind.”

“Bye, Pop. I’ll use a magic trick to clean the house next time I’m here.”

Nihal casually helped herself to a sword as she headed toward the door.

“
Nihal
…”

She turned, all innocence. “Yes?”

“I did not give you permission to take that sword.”

“You want me to wander around all alone without a weapon?”

Livon sighed and gave in. “You can
borrow
it.”

“Thanks,” said Nihal. She skipped out of the workshop.

The road unfolded straight and sure; there really was no way to go wrong. Her new sword hung reassuringly at her side and as she moved across the plains, Nihal began to feel at peace with herself. Even the consuming thoughts of revenge against that boy began to fade.

She walked through the grasses in the early morning mist. Autumn was in the air. Nature had always calmed her, but a strange sadness never failed to wrap itself around her when she was alone. With it came faint but insistent murmurings. That morning was no different. As she walked through the haze, distant voices called out to her, but they didn’t scare her. The melancholy and the voices were familiar companions; she’d come to love them as old friends.

After a few hours of brisk walking, the first menacing trees of the Forest became visible and among them a tiny, plain wooden cottage. Nihal was a bit disappointed. She’d been expecting a more impressive dwelling for a great sorceress.

She felt uneasy as she approached the door, so she paused for a few seconds. She couldn’t hear a sound from inside and she found herself hoping no one was home. Then she shrugged and knocked.

“Who is it?” came a voice.

“It’s Nihal.”

There was a brief silence followed by the sound of light footsteps. The door creaked as it opened.

Nihal saw a beautiful woman standing before her. She was tall and graceful. Dark hair framed her pale, solemn face. Her eyes were as black as coal, her lips full and pink. She wore a long, red velvet tunic.

Was this her aunt? Could she really be Livon’s sister?

The woman looked at her with an enigmatic smile. “You’ve grown. Please, come in.”

The inside of the house was exceptionally tidy.

The door opened onto a small living room from which Nihal could see two small bedrooms.
Maybe I have an uncle, too
, she thought. The walls in the main room were covered with shelves. One wall was all books, another, large tomes and vessels full of herbs and strange mixtures. A small fireplace and a table with stacks of books stood in the middle of the room.

Nihal was thrown by her aunt’s beauty and by the house itself, so different from Livon’s comfortable workshop.

“Sit down.”

Nihal obeyed.

“I imagine Livon sent you.”

Nihal nodded.

“Do you remember me?”

Nihal’s confusion grew. So they’d already met!

“When your mother died, I helped Livon take care of you for a while. But it’s natural that you don’t remember. You weren’t even two years old when I left. These dark times have made it impossible for me to be near you.”

There were a few minutes of embarrassed silence. Nihal would have preferred to be dealing with a perfect stranger and not someone who had taken care of her as a small child. Furthermore, this woman’s beauty was enough to make anyone feel awkward. All of a sudden Nihal felt like her reason for coming to Soana was infinitely stupid.

“Tell me, Nihal, what brought you to me?”

Nihal gathered her courage. “Well, I … I came because I want you to train me.”

“I see.”

“Actually I really want to be a warrior—when I’m older,” she said, feeling the need to clarify.

“I know. Livon tells me a lot about you.”

This annoyed Nihal. She never knew Soana existed and here Soana knew all about her.

“But I’d like to learn magic, too, because I think it would be useful. For a warrior, I mean.”