King Callie: Callie's Saga, Book One (5 page)

Kells said nothing. Valric had glanced at him, from time to time; his gaze was locked on the foot of the mountain, and on the flowers; not on Valric, as it should’ve been. “You said it was Naeb’s Coil, didn’t you?” he finally asked, in a distant tone - as if his mind was on something else the whole time. It irked Valric completely; what Captain of the Guard, so wholly devoted to the safety of the Royal Family, could even think of anything else at such a time?

“Of course I did,” Valric snapped. “What else would I have said? Are there so many damned plants that you can’t tell them apart?” Valric glared pure hate at Kells, and wished that he could have driven his dagger into the Captain’s useless heart. Seven men traveled with them, each more pointless than the last, and him - the worst of all. Valric turned in his saddle, to face the men behind him, and shouted at them. “Can none of you tell them apart? Am I traveling with a company of fools?” he said, the bitter, frustrated words spewing out of his mouth.

“Children,” Kells said, as he spoke before - detached. Laughter bubbled out of Valric’s mouth, from deep in his belly; he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.
Did Kells truly say that?

“So you agree with me, Captain?” he asked, his words cutting and his tone sharp. “You admit how useless you are, and that you’ve brought seven children to defend me?”

“No,” Kells said, as he finally faced Valric with placid eyes. He nodded to a point in the distance, just at the edge of Valric’s vision; not at the base of the mountain, but in the field to the side of it. Swatches of brown hair, disappearing in the flowers and the tall grass, only to re-appear again. “Erimeni children, gathering flowers.” The words robbed Valric of his mocking tone. The children would know where to find it.

“What kind of flowers?” the Prince asked, instantly curious. “You know them. What do they pick?” As he spoke, a new thought emerged, bound with frantic energy. “They might’ve picked it already,” Valric said, as his anger rose. “Those little shits…”

“Your Highness,” Kells said, with careful calm, “Let me talk with them. Please, stay here. I know these people.”

“No. You can’t trust them. They’ll lie, and hide it. Do you know how rare that plant is, Kells? It blooms once every ten years. If they’ve found it, there’s no talking with them. Not even in their mother tongue.” Valric’s hand went to the pommel of his sword, and gripped it. “If you’re not man enough to take what the King needs from some wet-nosed brats, I have no use for you,” Valric said.

Kells’ voice rose, and he moved his horse ahead of Valric’s, to block the way. “Don’t,” Kells said. “Don’t draw on children, Prince.”

“Who cares if I draw steel on some Erimeni brat?” Valric sneered. “They’re not Barrish. They’ve never built anything of consequence. They’re dirty, tanned little mongrels that will steal every scrap of food on your table, and every coin in your pocket. And if I paid their chief enough, he’d let it pass.” Kells remained, but Valric could see the anger - the boiling hate - in his brown eyes. “If you’ve nothing else to say, Captain… get out of my way,” Valric said, as he started to walk his horse past Kells’s. But the Captain moved into his way, and blocked the Prince.

“I’m warning you, Prince,” Kells said, stern. “Don’t draw on them.”

“And I’m warning you, Captain,” Valric said, as he gritted his teeth, “Get in my way one more time, and you’ll be cleaning my chamber pot for the rest of your life. Am I understood?”

Kells slowly nodded, and reluctantly moved his horse backward, to clear the path for Valric. The Prince smirked; it was good that the Captain still knew who his superiors were. Valric squeezed his calves against the horse’s sides, and his horse trotted out past Kells. Valric angled his body to the soldiers, and pointed a finger towards the flower-picking children in the distance. “Encircle them,” he said to the soldiers, “Don’t let any of them escape. If they have the flower, I want it. If they know where it is, I want to know. Are we understood?”

Two of the men glanced nervously at Kells, as if for approval - which only angered Valric further. “Don’t look to him,” Valric snapped. “I’m your Prince. You do what I say. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they said, almost in unison.

“Good,” Valric said, as he turned his horse back around to face front, and kicked his heels in. Valric’s horse flew into a gallop, and the Prince heard the thunder of hooves behind him. He hardly cared if Kells followed; as long as the Eremeni children gave up the Naeb’s Coil, it was all that mattered.

The little ones soon came into view; four heads perked up, as they heard the sound of hoof-beats. Valric saw them stand up fully, to get a better look; they weren’t old at all. Barely seven or eight years old, barefoot, clad in the dark brown of simple traveler’s clothes. As Valric and his horse came closer, he saw them break into a run.

“Get them! Stop them! Stop them!” Valric shouted, as he steered his horse away from the foot of the mountain, and towards the flower patches in the field. He pressed the horse’s side with his right foot, to make it turn; at his pace, he could get out in front of them, and head them off. The other soldiers understood, it seemed; he saw several break off towards the left, but stayed parallel. As he got closer, Valric could see the flowers clutched in their fists as they raced through the grass. But they weren’t fast enough.

Valric rode in front of them, and cut them off; three of them scrambled to change directions, only to find themselves walled in by the other horsemen, who closed the gaps, and formed a tight ring around the children. One of them was too scared to run; his quavering, fearful hand clutched a familiar lavender triple-blossom, as he looked up at Valric with frightened eyes. The others ran back towards him, and huddled together.

“Give it to me,” Valric said, with an outstretched hand. The child pulled it tight to his chest, and it angered Valric. “I said, give it to me,” Valric repeated. He drew the full length of his sword from its scabbard, and the scared child yelled something Valric couldn’t understand. Then, he whistled twice; one short, one long. “What was that?” Valric demanded, as he threatened the child with the sword. With a free hand, he gestured to the flower, and again to himself. “Give it to me, and we’ll leave. Give me the flower.” But the child held on. No sooner had Valric brought the blade to the child’s throat than he heard the second whistle; two long whistles, and a short whistle. “Give it to me, now!” he said. He felt the sword dig slightly, as he turned.

But Valric’s attention was drawn by a sudden noise - a crossbow bolt whistled through the air, and lodged itself in a soldier’s neck. Valric turned to find the source, but saw nothing; only a rustling in the grass. Then, another bolt whistled past his face, and cut his ear. Shocked by the pain, Valric’s hand flew to his ear to cover it; he looked about again, and saw the glint of wood, steel, and crossbow bolts in the fading afternoon light - a dozen of them, braced against the shoulders of men and women, with Valric and his men in their sights. Valric’s pain and anger mixed with sickening dread in his stomach: now it was he who was surrounded.

A woman’s voice called from the distance. The children glared at the soldiers, and though Valric could see the fear in their eyes, the child with the flower - who held his other hand over his neck - cautiously walked around the blade. He looked at Valric, then at Kells, and then, made his way past their swords, to the greater Erimeni group that surrounded them all. The other children followed suit. Valric grit his teeth, and seethed at the circumstances. He was so close, and it hurt - it hurt so damned much that he had failed. A familiar voice spoke, from the side. Kells. “Do you want me to reason with them, Your Highness?” he asked.

“A lot of good it’ll do now,” Valric said. “They’ll kill us. They meant to ambush us from the beginning. What are you waiting for?” He demanded of the Erimeni crossbowmen and crossbow-women. “End my life! Do it, you cowards!”

“Your Highness,” Kells said, gently. “I could bargain with them. I think I might be able to save us.”

“Then do it,” Valric replied, hostile.

“First, lay down your sword,” Kells said. “Just the sword, only yours, no other weapons.” Valric expected some chiding remark, but Kells said nothing of the sort. Kells spoke calmly, and waited while Valric lowered his sword to the ground, slowly as he could. “Now, unhorse, and walk with me. Face your palms up to the sky. And let me talk. Say nothing.”

Valric chafed the most at this last command; he was not one who should be ordered around, nor should he be silent. He obeyed it with bitterness, and grimaced as he walked towards the Erimeni, palms-up, horseless. Kells was at his side, and began to address the crossbowmen loudly in Erimeni. Valric didn’t understand Kells’ words in the least. A woman, middle-aged at least, stepped forward; she spoke back to Kells, and the debate began. They argued for long minutes, and Valric could only pray that the tension would soon be relieved. Dead or alive, it didn’t matter; the only thing worse was not knowing which they’d be.

Kells had said two words, multiple times, and Valric could not understand why. Badahra kawat. There was a gesture that accompanied the words, which he made with his hands as he said them; a quick slice, a dragging of rigid fingers across each empty palm in turn. The woman considered Kells’ proposal, for a time, until finally, she nodded.

“Well?” Valric asked.

“I’ve explained to them our circumstances,” Kells said. “And that your father’s condition has made you short-tempered from worry. They forgive that. And they will give us the flower, but…”

“But what?” Valric demanded.

“Your sword drew the child’s blood. For them, this is unforgivable,” Kells said. “They would have killed all of us for it, for harming their child.”

“Impossible,” Valric huffed. “The sword barely touched him. Bring the child out!” he demanded. “I didn’t hurt him!” He watched Kells give the Erimeni woman a solemn look, and said a few words. She turned to look behind her, and called out. Valric heard a child sniffle, and cry.

“I’m afraid you did hurt him,” Kells said, as the smallest child walked towards them; the flowers in his hand were wet with blood, and pressed against his neck. Valric felt the chill in his gut; he’d not meant to press against the child’s neck so hard. He wanted to look away, but he was transfixed. “And if it weren’t for that, they would have let us go free.”

“You said that we won’t die,” Valric said, as he looked on at his work in horror. “Why?”

“You’ll have to fight their champion in badahra kawat - a duel. The child’s blood must be avenged.”

“I barely hurt him!” Valric replied, shocked. “They shot our man in the neck!”

“If someone hurt my children,” Kells said, “I’d want to bleed them in kind, and worse. I’d expect the same of you for your sisters, Prince.” Valric couldn’t argue that in the least.

“Is that what they want?” Valric asked. “They want me to bleed?”

“No, Prince,” Kells said, his voice suddenly cold and grave. “They want you to die.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

It’s the best way
, Kells told himself. Either they were all dead, or the Prince was. It was too late to consider any other paths, especially after he drew the child’s blood.
That Yom-damned fool never listened
. If Kells hadn’t begged the esarami, the head children’s guard, for a duel of honor – and if the chief hadn’t accepted the conditions – they’d all have been dead.

Instead, Valric stood in the makeshift fighting square, the kalwa; the Prince was bare-chested, barefoot, and angry, pacing back and forth as he waited for his opponent to step inside. The Erimeni surrounded him, on three sides of the square – standing behind the taut ropes, pulled between each of the stakes at the corners. On the fourth side waited a ceremonial throne for their chief, a crude work of broken spear-shafts, lashed together with leather, framed around a broken, faded shield that served as a seat. Next to the chief’s throne, all six of the living guards, plus Kells, held as prisoners – unchained, but with a sword to each neck. Seven sets of eyes, including his own, stared back at Valric from the sideline.

In mere minutes, one of them would step into the ring as the champion of the Erimeni, and fight for their captors’ honor. Kells knew the practice well; the Erimeni prized adaptability, and surprise. He’d seen it when he was young – when the Erimeni raised him from a boy, into a man – the men in the square were always taken by surprise. They expected a man of the tribe to fight them. The Erimeni were only too happy to disappoint; after all, they preferred to kill when they would be paid for it, and it was infinitely more amusing to see the struggle of men who knew each other fight for their lives.

The Erimeni fought by four rules: quickness, cleverness, loyalty, and renmit. Something that Kells could never translate cleanly to Barrish; the ability to kill without mercy, without guilt, but with honor. His people never stabbed in the back, though they would punch a man there to end a fight. They never hurt children, or the infirm, or anyone who could not defend themselves. They did not rape. But they did kill. Men killed. Women killed. Children killed, once they were old enough, or if attacked. Death was not feared; it was a close friend. The Barrish, by contrast, were soft. But they could be. They had walls. They stayed in one place. They farmed, and raised cattle, and their warriors prided themselves on skill. What was skill, next to the will to stay alive, and needing to use it every day?

The wind picked up; Kells’ nose found the distant scent of urine carried on the fresh breeze, wafting from the tanner’s tent at the edge of the village. All of it – the dirt, the leather, the sweat, the breeze, the piss – it was as home as it could be, for a man with feet in both worlds. Valric, in the meantime, glared at the chief’s empty chair; Kells could see in his eyes he took umbrage at the absence.