Conflict (30 page)

Komir walked into the Flying Pony Inn feeling very low. The argument with Kayti had made him lose his temper and nearly led him into doing something terrible, and this had affected him deeply. He felt terrible with himself, truly ashamed and angry at having lost control. The fight had unhinged him, but what had really shaken him was that he had been on the point of injuring Hartz: the best person on the face of the earth, the best partner and friend anyone could imagine and want at his side. That had been unpardonable, as he realized now, and it hurt him.

He had nearly struck his dear friend.

Unthinkable! Unpardonable!

All because of a woman…

Big, kind Bandor smiled broadly when he saw him.

“By the Light! Blessed be the eyes that see you! You’re alive, young Norriel!” the innkeeper exclaimed. His tone was penetrating, so that everyone in the inn looked at Komir.

The young man felt a hundred curious stares stabbing at his back.

“Hello, Bandor. Yes, as you can see I’m still in one piece, a little bruised but in one piece…”

“You Norriel are hard as stone, I’m glad to see you’re safe and sound. Hartz and Kayti have come back, but they didn’t offer any explanation about what was happening to you. As I hadn’t heard from you since you left the Inn so urgently, armed to the teeth, I feared the worst…”

“We met with a few
misfortunes
, my innkeeper friend, but we’re all still alive, which is no small thing.”

“Great news, it gladdens my soul. You know I like the Norriel, although I must be the only innkeeper with that particular weakness in the whole city. While you were away I’ve been taking care of the belongings you left in your room.”

“Thank you for looking after them.”

“I haven’t many virtues, beauty and personal charm aren’t among them, but at least I’m honest to the bone.”

Komir could not help but laugh.

“And that’s why you have us staying here, with no intention of moving somewhere more luxurious, no matter how tempting the offer. The trust you inspire in us is beyond price.”

“I’m honored by your trust,” Bandor said, taking a step back and making a quaint bow.

Komir smiled once again. The truth was that Bandor was a lovable fellow of a none-too-common kind. Rogdonians in general were reasonably honest, at least as far as Komir had been able to tell, but they were not noted for being likeable. Besides, an honest trader in a big city was something as rare as water in a desert. Komir might not know much about life yet, but in his homeland he had learnt the hard way not to trust merchants, peddlers and people of that kind.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go up to my room to rest.”

“I’ll tell Norma to fix your room right away. Well, that’s if my dear wife is in a good mood,” joked the innkeeper.

“Don’t worry, Bandor, there’s no need. What I really want now is a jug of good local wine and something to eat. Yes, I think that’s something I could really do with.”

“Of course. Norma will bring you up something hot and some wine.”

“Thank you, it’s always comforting to come back to the Flying Pony Inn. It’s like my second home.”

“It gladdens my heart that you think that of my humble establishment. Even more so now that we all need security of some kind to hold on to.”

“Why do you say that, Bandor?”

“Haven’t you heard the bad news?”

“Well no, I haven’t… I’ve been very…
busy
. What’s happened?”

“War, Komir! War’s what’s happened!”

“Has it been declared already? I thought it was only rumors and that it wouldn’t come to bloodshed.”

“Luckily it hasn’t yet been declared. But everyone’s saying it’s a fact. The whole city is convulsed. They fear the worst, what we prayed to the Light would never happen. War seems to be completely unavoidable now. The Norghanians have set siege to the Fortress of the Half Moon. The city is in uproar, the soldiers are arming and re-grouping. Rumors of all kinds are spreading….”

“That’s very bad news, I can see that.”

“The worst kind. Many of the customers are beginning to pack, leaving the city to go back to their families or seek refuge in the capital, in Rilentor.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Will you go back to the highlands with your tribe?”

“No, Bandor, I’m staying, war or no war. I have a quest to fulfill and I won’t go back to my homeland until I’ve seen it through. If war breaks out, it’ll just be one more difficulty in my way, nothing more than that.”

“War’s something rather more than a difficulty, Komir. If the Norghanians take the Fortress of the Half Moon and invade Rogdon, all the east of the kingdom will be razed to the ground. There’ll be nothing left of farms and villages after the army of the men of the snow has passed through, and worse still, I don’t want to think of what they’ll do to our captured women… War is the worst of beasts, lad, bloodthirsty and cruel.”

“There’s a lot in what you say, and for the good of Rogdon I hope the fortress holds and the invasion is averted.”

“Let’s hope so. Although the rumors arriving from the South are just as bad, or even worse.”

“What’s going on in the South?”

“There’s a rumor that the Nocean Empire will take advantage of the Norghanian invasion to launch an attack on Silanda. A merchant from that sweet southern city told me that less than an hour ago.”

“I’m sure they’re just unfounded rumors, the product of people’s fears.”

“Let’s hope that’s it, Komir. If not, it would mean the end of the kingdom.”

“Don’t worry. The situation is worrying, but things will get better. The Rogdonian Army is strong, and if I’m not mistaken, your King is a good leader.”

“That’s why I pray to the Light. It would be a good idea for you to pray too, to your Norriel Goddesses.”

“I will, Bandor, don’t worry, I will.”

An hour later Komir was sitting on the simple bed, finishing the delicious food which Norma with her strange sense of humor, or rather lack of it, had prepared and brought for him. It was striking to see the difference in character of the couple who ran the inn. There was truth in the old saying that opposites attract each other.

He poured himself a little wine from a jug and tasted it, letting his palate fill with the strong flavor, savoring the body of the wine. The Norriel preferred beer to wine, but Komir liked the taste of the grape and drank it whenever he could do so in peace. To savor it gave him a pleasant feeling of wellbeing and took his mind away from the troubles which haunted it. He took another long draught and leaned back, stretching his legs. He was comfortable, and even though the news of war had upset him, he saw it from a distance, as someone else’s problem. One more difficulty to deal with in the course of his quest. The war was a Rogdonian problem, and he had more than enough of his own.

As he relaxed his mind began to wander, turning over the strange things which had happened since he had left Orrio, his native village in the Norriel highlands. He recalled one particular incident: the manner in which the Ilenian King’s medallion had acted with his own energy, the curse of Igrali. If he had already been worried about carrying that curse within him, for all that it had saved his life, then this new connection between the medallion around his neck and that inner power irked him no end more.

Back in his homeland, he reflected, that arcane energy, the curse which had made him Marked and repudiated by the members of his tribe, had manifested itself on two occasions, and had saved his life in both. The power had activated by itself, without Komir being aware of what was going on. The first time, as a boy, when he was being beaten in the river where he nearly drowned. On that first traumatic occasion the power had burst out, presumably born out of the fear of drowning.

The second time was different, although it had also been completely involuntary. That time it was something much more instinctive, a defensive reflex which had saved his life from Alkog’s treacherous attack during the sword tournament in the Ceremony of the Bear. That incident, together with the previous one, had made him
Marked
before his people, a scorned witch-man. That was why he had loathed with all his heart that curse he had been punished with by the Moon Goddess. He did not understand why it had happened to him when the only thing he had ever wanted was simply to become a warrior of his tribe, to be accepted by them, by his people.

Komir had buried that power deep inside him, crushing it, hating it, ignoring Amtoko’s advice. The old Witch of the tribe had advised him to study his power and the possibilities of using it. But he had not wanted to know anything about it. He remembered painfully how the power had saved him on that fateful night when his parents were murdered by the slant-eyed foreign warriors in their tiger-skins. Then, as before, the power had surged up spontaneously, out of the desperate situation he was in. Remembering that moment brought tears to his eyes, for the pain made his heart shrivel up inside him.

But during the ambush in the streets of the city, when those mercenaries were about to end his life, everything had changed. This time Komir had looked for it on purpose, he himself had invoked the cursed power, since otherwise he knew he was going to die.

He had summoned it intentionally.

It had been the first time.

He thought about it. Something of great significance had been revealed to him, something Komir was not expecting and which had surprised him greatly. The medallion of the Ilenian King had interacted with his own energy. It was an Object of Power, a potent weapon capable of calling up spells. Komir was aware that this was deeply significant, and although he was still unable to understand the implications, he knew they were important.

So Komir asked himself openly: was this so bad? Was using the power the Goddesses had cursed him with, to save his own life at a moment when everything was lost, really so bad? Somehow there in the city, far from the Norriel highlands, from the tribe and their superstitions, from those ancient beliefs, it did not seem so serious, rather the opposite. Did it matter at all? After all, he was already the
Marked
, that would never change in the eyes of the tribe. So that being the case, why not use that power for his own benefit? It might not be a curse after all.

He took another sip of wine and went on pondering. It was something he did not do often… ponder… he rather seldom did it… practically never, he admitted, smiling to himself. He was no great thinker. He was impulsive by nature, he mainly followed his heart, with the help of his mind, but always in this order, very rarely the other way round. He was aware that it was not a good quality. His beloved father Ulis had told him more than once:
A good heart may kill you as fast as an enemy arrow
. Komir had tried to change his behavior, putting reasoning before heart, but it had rarely worked.

His mind wandered to the most recent time when his power had manifested itself. He recalled the Dominator, Guzmik, and everything that had happened at his mansion. On that occasion he had deliberately searched for the power within him. And although he had not been able to kill Guzmik, it had helped him to get rid of one of the two acolytes of the Dominator. This time, like the one before, he had witnessed the connection between the Ilenian medallion and his own power. This connection had become sealed and the medallion had used his energy to create a powerful spell.

Something that was surely extraordinary and intriguing.

Something was changing within him, and he noticed it. Now he no longer loathed the power which had marginalized him among his people. He was beginning to realize that Amtoko had been right:
Who knows what we might come to find inside you? The power you may possess, the skills this power might offer you
.

Amtoko had spoken about developing unthinkable skills, of controlling the elements: Fire, Earth, Water, Air, and of creating magic based on them with crushing power. Developing skills to control other people’s minds, to connect with nature and the animals, or use the power to improve his own battle skills, perhaps even see the threads of destiny, the dangers around him. He remembered perfectly. At that moment, when the witch had told him all this, he had refused it with all his being, but he remembered what Amtoko had tried to explain to him.

He took a deep breath, aware that something was indeed changing within him.

Positive nervousness took hold of him.

And gradually he realized. What was making him feel good was accepting the fact that what was inside him and had tortured him so much was in truth something good. Not only that, it was a blessing, for the simple reason that without that power, he would now be dead.

He let out a long breath.

Now I see it clearly, I understand, I know what I have to do
.

He looked into the red liquid in the jug, losing himself in it.

I must learn to use my power, my Gift
.

And he felt encouraged.

He got up from the bed and a playful unrest ran through his body, concentrating itself in his stomach, rippling up and down without any control. Of course he had to learn how to use the power instead of burying it and despising it. How mistaken he had been!