Steel and Sorrow (60 page)

Limbs flailed in a cloud of dust and a heap of wood. A soldier from Effren’s army, the Hell Patrol’s employer, climbed to his feet, howling a string of curses. Blood and spit sprayed from him as he searched around his feet. He pushed aside a plank that fell apart in his hands and snatched up a dirk. Jonrell edged through the mouth of the alley. He took in his surroundings and searched for what could have let out the screech.

“Where are you? I know you’re still here,” said the man.

“Cord, what’s going on?” whispered Jonrell when he was within a few feet of the man.

The man wheeled around with his blade. Jonrell caught his arm and pushed him backward. “One Above, what’s gotten into you?”

Cord staggered back, looking dumbfounded to see Jonrell. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I thought you were that little devil.”

Jonrell cocked his head. “What?”

“Shhh,” said Cord, holding up his free hand, wild eyes darting around the alley.

A hint of movement caught Jonrell’s eye as a small figure hidden in shadow crept from a window opening. It dropped to the ground without a sound. Slowly, it inched away from the two men.

Cord whipped his head around at the movement, and ran toward the figure, dagger in hand. The blade missed as he slashed furiously at the shadows. Off balance, Cord fell into a wall, toppling several blocks and sending another storm of dust into the air.

The form tried to slip around Cord with another high-pitched screech as the soldier’s flailing limbs knocked it to the ground. A grin crawled across the soldier’s face as he eyed his prey, blade ready.

Now bathed in the light of a rising moon, Jonrell clearly saw the soldier’s opponent, and with several quick steps barreled into Cord as the man tried to rise.

“What in the name of the One Above is wrong with you? She’s just a child!” Jonrell took the girl by an arm as he regained his footing and backed away.

Cord scrambled to his feet, eyes narrowed with a determined focus. “Get away from her, Jonrell. That ain’t just some innocent little girl. She’s been scrounging around camp and stealing from me for over a week. When I caught her earlier, she bit me. Then I chased after her and she pushed a door on me and pelted me with rocks. The girl needs to be taught a lesson.”

The girl let out a yelp and backed into a wall. Her path of escape had been cut off and Jonrell saw the fear in her eyes. “Back off. She’s just a kid.”

“That ain’t no kid. Look at that red hair. They say that kind is touched by the One Below.”

“That’s an old crone’s tale. I’m not going to let you kill her.”

“Don’t worry, I promise she’ll live through what I plan to do.” He grinned. “But I guarantee she ain’t gonna have any fight left in her afterward.”

Cord lurched toward the girl, but Jonrell blocked his path. He stared into the soldier’s eyes and raised his sword.

Cord came to a halt, beady eyes widening. “You best get out of my way. I’m set on this,” he said starting forward again.

Jonrell held firm his position.

“One Above. Get out of my way!”

“Go back to camp and cool off,” said Jonrell in an even tone. “You don’t want to die tonight.”

Cord eyed the little girl. Jonrell felt her cling to his leg. Cord met Jonrell’s eyes and muttered a curse. “You and your commander ain’t gonna be in charge of us forever, you know.”

“I know.”

Cord started toward the alley’s mouth. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Cord swore again as he rounded the corner.

Jonrell allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was to kill one of Effren’s men in a dark alley with no witnesses to back him up. He knew Ronav, his commander, would support him. However, the rest of Effren’s army, especially General Ahned, would want blood in return.

He looked down, surprised to see two thin arms still clinging tightly to his leg. He frowned at the little girl. Lice crawled through her wild red hair. Her stomach distended from her body. Grime covered the pale skin of her arms and legs. She wore a potato sack as clothing. The girl reminded him of the young sister he left behind. Jonrell felt a tug in his chest. He cleared his throat.

The sound startled the girl and she quickly unwrapped her arms and jumped back. She eyed his right hand which still held his sword. He spoke quietly, using the common tongue of Thurum. “I’m going to put this away now.” Moving with care, he sheathed the weapon and took a knee to speak with her eye to eye. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know, sir,” said the girl in a soft voice.

“You do?”

The girl nodded and quickly averted her gaze. “You saved me, sir.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.” He removed his gauntlet and extended a hand, not sure what else to do. “My name is Jonrell.”

The girl looked at his hand with trepidation. She inched forward and reached out with her own. “Yanasi, sir.”

She took her hand away, seemingly ashamed just for speaking. “How old are you, Yanasi?”

“Eight, sir.”

She’s so small.
“Where are your parents? Maybe I can get you back to them.”

Immediately tears ran down her face, streaking paths through the dirt. “My mother died,” she sniffed. “My father left me here on the way back from burying her. I begged him not to, but he said I was old enough to take care of myself.” She sobbed harder. “But I’m not. I only wanted to get something to eat and drink. I didn’t want to steal, but I was so hungry!”

One Above, she’s starving to death.

Jonrell reached out to her with open arms and she flinched back between sobs, shying away from his touch. He snatched up her frail frame anyway and embraced her gently. The fight left her. She rested a head on his shoulder and cried harder as her arms tightened around his neck. He started back down the alley and through the ruins, carrying her in one arm.

She’s as light as a babe.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked through her tears.

“To see that you’re cared for. First, something to eat and drink. Afterward we can get you cleaned up and find you some clothes.”

She squeezed his neck again. “Thank you, sir,” she said, voice barely a whisper.

Jonrell blinked away the wetness forming in the corners of his eyes.

Must have been all the dust that was kicked up earlier.

Chapter 2

Krytien sat inside a small wooden hut in a village on the northern tip of Mytarcis. His master, Philik, a man older than dirt whose mind had been honed by age, sat across from him. Krytien had never been able to figure out why Philik had insisted on mentoring him after their chance meeting in a local market a year earlier, but the old man wouldn’t take no for an answer then, just as it seemed he wouldn’t now.

“Estul Island? But Master, I’m not ready for that.”

The old man shook his bald head. “Your understanding of the arts has increased at a pace I’ve never seen before. You still lack discipline though and I feel confident that High Mage Amcaro will succeed in helping you where I have failed.”

“You haven’t failed, Master. I just prefer to practice sorcery off of feel rather than wasting my time on silly exercises.”

Philik’s eyes narrowed. “Those exercises are not silly. I thought I proved that by controlling your mishap today.”

Krytien lowered his head. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Master. It’s just . . . for me to improve as rapidly as you say I have, then I must be doing something right. I just need more practice.”

Philik sighed. “You do need more practice, but you need to learn the old ways and concentrate on structure first before attempting anything so risky again. Do you realize that no one has progressed in becoming a black robed mage as quickly as you have? You could be a High Mage one day if you learn to apply yourself. Perhaps one of the best, ever! I’ll write you a letter of recommendation tomorrow to take to Estul Island. There, you will learn from the greatest mage alive. Despite your reservations, I know it’s what you want. Am I right?”

“Yes, but the money. . . .”

“. . . .will be waved once Amcaro reads my letter. Now, it’s late. Go home and get some rest.”

* * *

>

Krytien woke with a start. He rubbed his eyes.

Twenty-five years ago and that dream still haunts me.

He sat up and shook away the lingering images. His former master never wrote the letter and he never saw Estul Island. Philik died in his sleep that night and Krytien went off to seek his fortunes elsewhere, eventually joining the Hell Patrol.

“No use worrying about it now,” he muttered while rising to his feet. “Plenty enough to worry about today.”

* * *

An hour past dawn, Krytien slipped into the dark tent as his commander snored. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol-infused sweat. The mage exposed a chubby hand from his black robe. A blue light formed in his palm, brightening slowly until the tent dimly glowed. The snoring broke off and Krytien watched his commander attempt to shield his vision as he peered through cracked eyelids. Red eyes glared for a moment, then the man rolled over, turning his back to the mage.

The room brightened and Krytien added a bit of heat to the man’s backside with his other hand. The groggy figure slipped his hand under his pillow, doing his best to conceal a dirk next to his head. Ronav turned and flung the blade across the space.

Krytien casually stepped aside and the dirk embedded itself in a nearby post. The man fell to his back with a loud exhale of breath as if the effort had drained him.

With Ronav awake, Krytien dimmed the light in his hand and lit a lantern.

“One Above. Can’t this wait until morning?”

“It is morning,” said Krytien. “You look like death.”

Ronav forced his eyes wider and groaned as he sat up, wiping away the crud that had accumulated in the corners of his mouth. He rested his head in his hands and rubbed at his face. “What was I drinking with Effren last night?”

“Whatever it was, you’re not the only one feeling the effects. Our employer is puking his guts up, last I heard.”

“Serves him right. Hand me that water skin.” After long gulps, he took a deep breath, his eyes regaining some of their luster. “One Above, last night was some celebration, wasn’t it?”

“Aye, and I’m sure a lot of people did things they’ll regret after sobering up.”

Ronav’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even start. Glacar killed two of our own last night.”

“No kidding. General Ahned has the entire camp placing bets on the confrontation they expect to come. He’s put up quite a bit of money against you.”

“I’m sure he has. He still hasn’t gotten over Effren making me commander of the army.” He chuckled. “Let him lose all his pay then.”

“You know, those two idiots were cheating Glacar at dice. It’s not like they didn’t have it coming.”

“That’s beside the point. He’s not Hell Patrol.” Ronav stood up. He stumbled over to a pot in the corner and relieved himself. “You know I can’t just leave something like that alone. Fair or not, he needs to be put in his place before others think they can get away with pushing us around.”

Tightening his trousers, Ronav walked over to a table. “That’s especially true now. With the last rebel army submitting to Effren as their ruler yesterday, our contract is officially up. Some hold a lot of resentment toward us for how we got things done.”

“Effren doesn’t.”

“Aye, he doesn’t. A good man, mostly,” said Ronav, pouring water over his head. He flung his head back and his long mane of black and gray sprayed water behind him. He rubbed at his face again. “But Effren can’t be everywhere. I want those who might still hold a grudge, like Ahned, to know what they’ll get if they try anything. With or without cause.” He paused. “No better way to do that than to take a man like Glacar down.”

“I understand, but you could always let the new guy handle him. He may be small but Kroke has more than a knack for killing a man. . . .”

“Kroke? If we weren’t friends, I’d slap you for that. When have I ever let someone fight my battles for me?” He shook his head. “And if I can help it, I’d rather not kill Glacar. Like you said, those two recruits had it coming anyway.”

“You’re not going to ask him to join us, are you?”

He shrugged. “Never hurts to have another fighter in the group.”

“He’s more than just a fighter. The man’s an animal. You didn’t see the destruction he created during the last battle. The crazed lunatic was covered head to toe in gore and grinning the entire time.”

Ronav’s mouth twisted into a smile. “If you’re trying to talk me out of this, you’re doing a poor job of it. You know I like a challenge.”

“This one’s different,” said Krytien. “Since he’s so new to Effren’s army, you haven’t seen him fight up close yet but. . . .”

“One Above. You’re acting like I can’t beat the man.”

Krytien chose his next words carefully, not wanting to wound the pride of his commander and friend. “It’s not that, it’s just. . . . Can’t we push this off another day? I mean, you’re still hungover.” Krytien watched Ronav sway on his heels.

Ronav slapped Krytien on the back as they headed toward the tent entrance. “Quit worrying. I’ll be fine. All I need is some food in me.” He pushed back the flap, letting in the morning sun. He squinted and rubbed at his eyes. “You coming?”

“Can I at least give you something for the hangover?”

Ronav laughed. “Why? I gotta give the poor fool some kind of an advantage.”

* * *

Jonrell grunted as clanging steel sounded across the crude battle circle and echoed in his ears. Surrounded by a chanting crowd, mostly of soldiers from Effren’s army, Ronav leaped at his opponent, pressing him with a flurry of blows. Glacar’s double-sided ax parried each of Ronav’s attacks and the spectators cheered in satisfaction.

Despite all we’ve done for them, they love us little.

Jonrell felt anxious watching the battle unfold as the two combatants hacked away at each other. He knew little about Glacar except that the warrior’s reputation had grown quickly in the few months since joining Effren’s army. In that time, many spoke of his fighting prowess with both awe and fear. Jonrell could certainly see how Glacar had developed such a reputation as none had ever stood toe-to-toe against Ronav for so long without being overwhelmed.