The Destroyer Book 3 (22 page)

"We really shouldn't be walking together, sklad. If our masters see us, we will be punished. Especially if they find out who you are." It was against their rules for us to congregate at night, but if I was walking alone I might explain that I was on some errand for my father. I didn't know if the Elvens knew of Warc, but I couldn't imagine them supporting a human that traveled uninhibited through their lands, spreading news and fables that excited their slaves. If they found out what the traveling bard did, they would torture and kill him without hesitation.

"You see, I am interested in your opinion of my stories," he continued as if I hadn't voiced my concerns. "Most seem overjoyed when I visit their tribes, they sneak me into their homes, make me endless meals, and treat me better than their own family." I nodded and understood why, we were not allowed to read, or tell each other stories, or share news of other lands. Warc was one of the few connections to our past and the outside world. "During my performances, I look across the entire audience and see their adoring faces, their eyes lit up with joy and their mouths hanging open, hungry for more of my words. It is like this everywhere I go, and while I offer no illusions about my worth to our people, I also must admit that I do enjoy the effect I have on them."

"I don't wish to offend you, sklad, as I know that the service you provide is enjoyed by everyone here, but I really would like to be rid of your company. I don't want our masters to question why two humans are walking together." I pulled my arm away from his grasp and continued on my path down one of the paved hillsides toward our dwelling. He dashed after me and put his hand on my arm again.

"Why don't my stories please you, Kaiyer? I've been to scores of tribal lands and performed in front of thousands of our brethren. Each place has their naysayers, of course, but I can always give them a heroic tale, or a bit of news that makes them happy. During my performances you are like a dark storm cloud in the room. If you looked any unhappier I would guess that instead of seeing my attractive visage, you were imagining that I was an Elven raping your mother's eye socket." I glared at the lanky man when he had finished speaking. I never knew what happened to my mother, but my father had told me she was beautiful, and the sklad may have been closer to recounting how her life ended than I dared to guess.

"I don't like your stories, Warc. Leave me alone and go back to the people who enjoy your presence."

"Why? Is it my delivery? Perhaps the timbre of my voice or my facial expressions? I would appreciate it if you could help me hone my craft."

“I do not like your tales, or your news, or anything you bring to us. I am sure you are skilled in your craft, but if I did not like horses, I would not enjoy watching even the most perfect thoroughbred stallion racing to a victory. This is simply my opinion. You do not need the love of everyone to prove your worth and skill. It is nothing about you, I do not enjoy any sklad.”

"Hoo hoo!" he laughed again and released the grip on my arm. "Why don't you like them?" He seemed genuinely troubled.

“Why should I? Knowing our past will not change our present or our future. We are slaves. Hope does nothing but hurt us when our dreams go unfulfilled. I don’t understand why others find it so enjoyable. It is like smelling the decadent food of our masters when we are hungry.”

"It is important for our souls. How can you go on day after day with no hope for a better future?" He winced and continued his awkward gait. It was like he was used to being in a smaller body and didn't know what to do with his elongated limbs.

"We should concentrate on our work. What you do is dangerous for us all. We should be happy with what we have, at least we are alive. There are others who suffer greatly.”

"But the ancient humans did not believe this, they fought against the Gods, what do you think about the Elven's role in those battles? Do you believe--"

"Sklad, I don't care for your stories. I don't even pay attention. They make me uncomfortable and angry. Now, if you don't get out of my fucking face I am going to break your fucking nose!" The man was half a foot taller than me, but working in the stables and wrestling with Leotol had made me strong. I certainly looked fitter than the entertainer. He pulled back from me in surprise and we both glanced around to make sure no Elven had heard my outburst.

"Very well then." His eyes darkened and he frowned. "At least I can take comfort that it is nothing I am doing personally to offend you."

"Good night to you," I said curtly before I walked up the other side of the path. My father had gone to visit the other smithy after the performance and would not return for a few hours. I picked up my pace, eager for the solitude that the stable work would bring me.

"Boy!" I heard him call after me. "Kaiyer." I turned around and gritted my teeth. I had left the bard about forty yards behind me and I didn't want to run all the way back just to punch him in the face.

"Every battle begins with people willing to die for what they believe. Our ancestors thought the same." He nodded to himself and smiled. The green moon reflected off his teeth and presented me with what might have been a dashing figure, except that I despised everything about the bard.

"Fuck your stories. If our ancestors beat the Elven’s Gods, then how did we end up as slaves? You just spread lies and false hope."

"You know, Kaiyer, I think you are right. These tales aren't that useful and I can see why you don't like them. After all, our ancestors were fighting against their creators. We aren't in the same place, are we?" He smiled and bobbed his head to his own words.

I shrugged again at the odd man and walked over the crest of the hill. The grass on the other side was long and curled up like river water rippling in a breeze. I felt dampness in the air that accompanied the sound of the blades of grass rubbing against each other. It would probably rain tomorrow.

I made it down the path and walked into my stables. The feel of the dirt on the floor and the wood grain of the first stall gave me a sense of security that the sklad seemed to have robbed from my mind. I took a deep breath and exhaled. Everything was going to be okay. I just had to worry about cleaning out these stalls, tending to the horses, fixing broken tools and shoes. If I performed my duties correctly, I would not be beaten or killed, and neither would my family.

"He fell off his horse a few miles outside of the human camp. He's had a fever since then and has been moaning those words." I looked around the stables in confusion. A woman's voice was carried by the wind. Was she near the stables?

"O'Baarni don't get fevers," a male voice answered.

"Hello?" I called out into the stables, one of the horses snorted and stomped its foot, angry I had disturbed its sleep.

"Hello?" I called again and sat. I heard the sound of a sword being drawn, but a sudden pain split the inside of my skull into what felt like four pieces. Had I been struck? The light was so bright that I couldn't open my eyes. I knew a blade had been pulled, so I pushed myself away from the noise. Something tripped my ankles and I fell a few feet and landed on my right side. I reached down to my legs and touched a sheet wrapped around my knees.

"Calm down, O'Baarni!" Isslata yelled. I heard the sounds of four more swords being pulled from their sheaths. "Hold your swords!" the woman shouted in our old language. "Don't attack. He is startled." I tried to move my hand away from my face and winced again in pain. Why was it so bright? My body felt like I had just been tortured, my skin burned, my head ached, and every single muscle between my feet and neck screamed with exhaustion.

"Do not make any sudden movements, O'Baarni. There are five guards along with Alatorict and I near you. Can you see us?"

My voice came out in a raspy croak, it felt and sounded like I was gargling dry earth. I made a few more attempts and finally managed to pull my hand away from my eyes to view my surroundings.

I was in a large tent of white canvas. It was thirty feet wide and long with a ten-foot apex supported by a thick wooden beam. Isslata had not lied. There were five Elven warriors between me, the golden-haired Elven woman, and her general, Alatorict. The floor of the pavilion was paved with oak boards that felt cool against my burning skin. I wanted to lie down on them and go to sleep again.

My body was so tired. I wanted to sleep forever.

"You've alarmed Alatorict's guards, O'Baarni. I don't feel that they need to worry about you, but I believe that it will help their skepticism if you voice an acknowledgement." Isslata smiled slightly and nodded her head.

"Water," I gasped and pointed to my throat.

"Get the O'Baarni water!" Alatorict commanded. The guard closest to him flipped her sword into her sheath with graceful ease and darted out of the tent.

"Can they put away their swords?" Alatorict was standing in front of a wooden stool and sat down after he had finished his question. I nodded and the guards all sheathed their blades.

"You may leave," Isslata instructed them. The four remaining warriors looked at me with suspicion but then exited. They only made it a few feet outside the tent before taking up position. My senses had started to come back and I could hear the familiar murmur and smell the scents of an active campsite.

"Need help getting into your cot?" Isslata smiled coyly at me as she pointed her finger. I shook my head and climbed back into the bed. I was only wearing a thin undergarment that protected my groin from visibility and the sheet that had entwined itself around my bony legs.

The guard entered with a large flagon of water. She handed it to Isslata, who passed it to me. It must have been a gallon of liquid, but it might as well have been a glass for how quickly I drank it. My throat felt better and my body relaxed. I must have been extremely dehydrated.

"More." I tossed the flagon back to the guard. She looked at Isslata, who nodded and closed the flap after the warrior left.

"Where are we?" I asked. My voice sounded like a log dragging over rough stone pebbles and felt like burning rust.

"We are at the empress's temporary camp outside Nia," Alatorict said. His silver hair was tied back with an elaborate braid. He was wearing robes of blue with golden flowers embroidered on the hems.

"You took ill. Fell off of the horse while riding. I delivered you to this tent about half an hour ago. Alatorict just arrived before you awoke." Isslata crossed her arms and looked to the other Elven. I couldn't understand the look they gave each other.

"Now that you are awake, we must debrief our empress. You should rest more, O'Baarni. You will need to be at your full mental strength to speak with her." He smiled reassuringly at me.

It reminded me of how much I hated the fucker.

"Get out then," I snarled at the Elven, but I was mostly angry at myself, I was presenting an image of weakness. I needed to enter this camp on my horse with a scowl on my face. Instead, I had been dragged in unconscious by Isslata. No doubt bent over her saddle like a spoil of war.

"Before we leave," Alatorict paused by the door and turned around with Isslata to face me. I looked at both of them without answering. A few dozen seconds passed while they studied me.

"What?" I finally said

"While you were unconscious you spoke," Isslata said. Normally she smiled, or frowned, or was a flurry of raw emotions, but now her face was blank and emotionless. They believed I did not know their language and I hoped I had not dispelled that assumption while delirious with fever. It would be useful in my dealings with the empress if they believed they could speak it freely in front of me.

"Did I say anything interesting?" I tried to smile and keep my heartrate steady, but I think I failed. Isslata and Alatorict looked at each other again in confusion and then back to me.

"You said the names of our Dead Gods and spoke in the language of the masters," she said cautiously.

"You must be mistaken. I don't know anything about your fucking Gods or whoever these masters are." I felt my heart beat faster, but the nausea had not returned.

"That may be so, O'Baarni," Alatorict said. "But that language is so old, we only know a few words of it and we have never shared it with a human. It is the same language that the Destroyer used for the name of your people. It was why they called each other the O'Baarni."

"If the Destroyer used this language, it must have been common knowledge during that time. Perhaps I picked up some during my travels. You should not be concerned." I forced a smile and was thankful that whatever delirious conversations I had experienced had not given away that I spoke their language.

"That is very interesting." Alatorict smiled like a cat that had just caught a mouse. "That language was lost long before the Destroyer's time. Our people never used it; we wanted to forget about the masters. Historians can't seem to determine how he knew of the words." I shrugged. His historians must have had their information wrong. While none of my people spoke the old language fluently, we knew enough words to sprinkle into our conversations and it was common to use it for names.

"Regardless, I am sure it will be another topic the empress will wish to discuss with you. She is very interested in both our races' histories. Especially the Destroyer." Alatorict opened the flap and beckoned for Isslata to leave first. She shot a backward glance at me over her shoulder before she exited the tent.