The Contention (12 page)

Kneeling at the statue’s feet, Borrik leaned and pressed his forehead to the goddess’s toes.

“Ishanya, goddess of power, goddess of wisdom, I pray for your audience,” Borrik whispered into the stone of the statue.

Many long and silent moments passed. As Borrik had sadly anticipated, no answer came. He thought to rise, then believed that if the goddess watched, this would be a sign that he was impatient. Self-deterred, Borrik remained with his head pressed against the feet of the statue.

“Do you intend to spend the rest of your days upon the floor?” a musical but demanding voice questioned from the darkness.

Borrik could not help himself but be startled at the unexpected sound. Rising to his knees quickly, Borrik scanned the room for the source of the voice, yet found that he remained alone in the room with the statue.

“Imbecile mortal, I am here.” The voice spoke again, irritation plainly in the voice.

Borrik, realizing his error, looked up to the statue itself and saw that it was no longer a statue but the goddess Ishanya in the flesh. Exactly as she had been depicted by the stone, Ishanya stood both tall and regal clad in armor of the blackest night. Were it not for his feral eyes, Borrik would not have been able to distinguish any difference at all between the statue and the now living and breathing goddess. If, in fact, she was living; Borrik was unsure how such things worked for an all-powerful immortal.

“Do not just sit there wasting my time, servant. What is it that is so important that would have you call me to this place?” Ishanya demanded, the annoyance in her voice becoming ever more obvious.

“I wish to know my path, Mistress Ishanya. I wish to know what future it is that fate has planned for me,” Borrik pleaded. “I wish to know what you would have of me now that I have broken my vows and laid my seed as well as killed.”

“You brought me here to question my plans for you?” Ishanya spat, her voice beginning to rise. “You want to know your future on this path, yet you whimper like a pup about the deeds you have committed,” she mocked. “Are you sure you wish to know the role I have lain down for you, servant?”

“I am sure, Mistress Ishanya, I must know if I am to follow the teachings of a priest, or the path of a warrior, for I fear it is not in me to do both,” Borrik replied, praying he would not invoke the goddess’s wrath. “I am forever your servant, mistress, only I know not what you wish of me.

“Here is your path, priest,” Ishanya said, accentuating the last word as if it tasted vile on her lips. “Follow my champion until his end. Serve me no longer, only him. Do as he bids, and become a warrior unlike any other bred upon Thurr. Murder, defile and destroy all that stands in his path and you will have followed the road to your fate, for your fate is tied to the mortal master you now serve. I suggest you serve him well.”

With her final statement, the goddess was gone. No flash, no bang, no anything; just gone. The statue remained as it had been before the encounter, and Borrik could not help but to wonder if the encounter that had transpired had been but a figment of his very tired mind. Even if it was his own head, however, Borrik believed the answer to be the correct path in any case. He would serve Seth and only Seth from here on out. He would become more fearsome than any other being upon Thurr, perhaps even more feared than the Death Mage himself. In any event, Borrik decided he would be much better prepared to serve his master if he was well rested. Climbing into what had been his very own bed, Borrik lay down for some much deserved sleep, and without so much as a stray thought disturbing him further, he slept peacefully throughout the night.

*****

Sara approached the knights’ sparring field from the east, and as she did so dozens of torches were set ablaze surrounding the field. She had little to no more human need of such things since, with her altered body, she could see the world around her even when darkness swallowed it whole. Though everything looked unnaturally green at night, she could see plainly enough to navigate through the darkness. Yet she had to admit, even to herself, she still saw in much more detail when there was light. As she neared the field, she could see it was a healer clad in the white robes of her order, as well as a Knight of Valdadore, who lit the torches. Like herself, the knight was completely covered in armor, minus his helm at present. Much to Sara’s surprise, as she approached the knight, he took a knee, bowing to her higher position and station.

“No need for that, Sir Knight,” Sara said honestly. “Here you are the superior, hence the reason I come to learn from you.”

With that, the knight rose to his feet and extended his hand to his new pupil, which Sara accepted happily.

“Please call me Malik,” the Knight of Valdadore smiled. “I am not a man who cares much for titles and such.”

“In that case would you please call me Sara?” Sara replied while she appraised her would-be teacher.

He was not a massive man with bulging muscles like many of the other knights she had seen up close. Certainly he was nowhere near the size of Garret. Malik was shorter than the others, by several inches, though he was still taller than she was. Though his girth was not that of the other knights he was still well-muscled and well-toned. His hair was cropped short to his scalp, and appeared to be of a shade between blonde and brown, and his eyes were a strange hazel mix with hints of many colors. He appeared to be a man in his thirties, still within the peak of his life, and Sara could not help herself but to wonder what the blood of a man of this age would taste like. Would it be like a wine and be sweeter with more age, or more bitter, with a stronger tang of iron. She smiled again, more at her own thoughts than at the man.

“The king has told me to teach you arms and to prepare you for battle,” Malik stated. “Have you any previous training?”

“I have only fought from instinct, I am sorry to admit. But I assure you that I am a fast learner.” Sara replied.

Though Malik was actually disappointed by his current task, he would do his best to train the woman, if to no other end than to enable her to protect herself from rape should the kingdom fall in the weeks to come.

“Do you find you learn better from instruction or experience?” Malik asked, wanting to get this over with so his duty would be fulfilled.

“Experience I suppose,” Sara answered, not truly sure of her own response.

“Good,” Malik replied. “I see you are armed. Attack me.”

“Are you sure?” Sara asked, completely bewildered.

“Attack me,” the knight repeated, and he stepped back, putting some distance between himself and the girl. He hoped he would not injure her.

Sara drew the pair of long, slender daggers from her waist. She held one in each hand but she was clueless as to how to approach the knight, who now was armed with a sword of his own. Circling him, she looked for an opening to attack as she slowly closed the distance. Sara did not know that when she found her opening, it had been left for her on purpose by her instructor. Lunging in towards the knight, Sara attempted to pierce his side with one of her small blades, but before it made contact the knight sidestepped, knocking her blade aside with the flat of his sword. Ashamed by how easily the knight thwarted her attack, Sara immediately tried again, this time leading with one blade overhead as a distraction, but following with a slash to the abdomen below. Again Malik slapped away her strikes without so much as a grunt.

Now Sara was growing angry with her lack of experience as she realized that fighting a large beetle-like insect, which she had done in the past, was not like fighting another person. As her anger grew, her thoughts misled her attention, and Malik lunged towards her, driving the pommel of his sword into her breastplate knocking Sara sprawling backwards to keep her feet beneath her. Though she nearly fell, Sara managed somehow to stay upright. Realizing it was the thinking that was letting her down, Sara did her best to clear her mind. Taking a deep breath with her eyes closed, Sara relaxed and let her instincts drive her.

Bending her knees slightly, Sara leaned forward holding the long daggers in both hands at the ready. Malik hesitated, checking he had not injured the girl, but once assured he lunged towards her again. This time Sara was ready. Crouching low, Sara dove between the charging man’s leg’s, rolling once before rising to her feet again. As she rose she turned to face back the way she had come, as Malik too turned to face her. He smiled. Raising his sword above him, Malik again rushed Sara, and again she crouched. This time as Malik neared, he changed the length of his stride to prevent her from repeating her earlier performance. Though Sara noticed his altered tactic, she had not crouched to repeat herself. Instead as Malik neared, Sara leapt into the air, clearing Malik by several feet. Turning as she descended, she watched as Malik looked up in disbelief.

Unprepared for such a display, Malik was caught completely off guard as Sara came down behind him, driving one of her slender blades through his armor and deep down through his collar bone into his lung. Sara let the weapon linger a fraction of a second before she jerked it free, feeling the small surge of ecstasy race up her arm as her blade siphoned a week or two off the knight’s life. Though the leap into the air had given him pause, as Sara extracted the blade from his shoulder, Malik spun to face his opponent, driving his blade around him as he did. Sara stepped back as quickly as she could to respond to the attack, but she was not quick enough. She was not completely out of range, and seeing his strike too late, Sara felt the explosion of pain as the tip of Malik's sword pierced through her forearm. Instead of retreating, as Malik expected her to, Sara whirled like a dancer, effectively entangling his blade as she drew their bodies closer together. Still twisting his sword and arm around her, Sara drove her blade through Malik’s armor again, this time through his side. Seeing him wince from the pain, she twisted the slender blade, then using all the force her body could muster, she drove the blade upward. Slicing through his ribs and armor as if they were cheese, Sara used her unnatural strength in an attempt to gut the man through his side. Mortally wounded, Malik did not react in a way to spare Sara injury, instead choosing to relinquish his still entangled sword. Once freed, Malik was able to use his good arm to punch Sara in the head as hard as he was able. Though he broke his hand upon her helm in the process, the blow was enough to drive Sara backwards, effectively removing the blade from the large wound in his side.

“Enough,” Malik shouted, his breath coming ragged.

Dropping to a knee, Malik was joined within seconds by a healer woman with green eyes and dark brown hair that fell around her shoulders in loose curls. Sara would later learn that the healer’s name was Daniella, but for the time being she simply looked delicious. Sara waited patiently as the healer treated Malik’s wounds, and a quarter hour later Malik rose once more.

“Shall Daniella tend your arm before we continue?” Malik asked.

Sara had already forgotten her injury, but inspecting her arm, found it had already healed itself flawlessly.

“No, I am fine to continue,” Sara replied. “Shall we?”

For several hours Sara and Malik fought round after round, and both Jonas, a veteran soldier turned werewolf, and Malik, a Knight of Valdadore, were impressed at the speed at which Sara learned the art of battle. The knight and the princess traded wound for wound, lunge for lunge, and strike for strike as Sara adapted to the knight’s different fighting styles time and again. It was near midnight when Malik called a halt to the training to have the healer repair a tendon Sara had sliced a few moments prior. Though the injury was nowhere near fatal, Malik was finding it more than a bit difficult to train Sara hobbling on one leg, as his injured knee kept folding beneath his weight.

“Enough Princess Sara,” Malik said raising his hand in signal to stop. “Let Daniella tend my knee before we continue.”

Sara did not respond beyond nodding her head in agreement before she turned and strode towards Jonas who watched from the sidelines, not far from where Daniella sat in the grass. Approaching the large wolf of a man, the werewolf’s ears twitched at the same time that Sara paused mid-stride and craned her neck, both of them hearing a click from within the shadows of the nearby knight’s garrison. Neither would even have time to process the sound, let alone question it, as they realized that they were not the only ones present and it was too late to do anything about it.

*****

Mordal, the blessed assassin, had spent the last several hours slowly circling the outer wall of the castle structure. He crept among the shadows and called upon his blessing, making himself appear one with his surroundings when it was needed. Originally he had planned to gain entrance into the palace itself, and carry out his mission there. However, having witnessed the lighting of the torches upon the sparring field, and seeing a Knight of Valdadore fighting with someone armored in black, Mordal could not resist moving in closer to see if his targets had come out of the palace to make his job even easier. It had taken hours of tedious movement to avoid detection, but finally within earshot, Mordal watched the scene unfold before him, able to see and hear everything upon the field from within the shadows. What he found surprised him, which thus far was in itself no surprise at all. Nothing in Valdadore was what he would expect to find within his home kingdom. Here on the sparring field was a man fighting with a woman. They traded blow for blow, and occasionally they paused briefly for the man to get attention from an attending healer, yet the woman appeared to receive no wounds. At least nothing serious. It was at one such pause that Mordal found the truth in what it was he was seeing, as well as finding that indeed one of his targets had come to him.

Mordal watched as the knight in silver armor raised his hand to stop the match. He had been limping and bearing all his weight upon one leg for several minutes now. Although the knight had landed several blows upon the woman, she appeared to have no real injuries. Waiting for the woman to take his meaning the knight spoke his intentions, though Mordal heard only the first three words.