Redemption (Book 6)
Read Redemption (Book 6) Online
Authors: Ben Cassidy
The Chronicles of Zanthora: Book Six
Redemption
By
Ben Cassidy
Copyright 2014 by Ben Cassidy
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2014
Books in the Chronicles of Zanthora:
The Raven in the Sea (Coming Soon)
Tales of the Two Rings:
Daughter of Llathe: A Tale of the Two Rings
Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 1
Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 2
Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 3 (Coming Soon)
To join an email update listserv for future releases, contact:
Dedicated to Randy Ingermanson,
For everything he has taught me
Contents
Chapter 1
Joseph saluted, the blade of his rapier almost touching his face. He swished the cold steel of the weapon down into a ready position. “On guard.”
Maklavir wrinkled his nose. He took a step back, and glanced down uneasily at the shaggy grass of the field. “You know there’s manure out here, right?”
Joseph’s face didn’t move. “Come on, Maklavir. Stop stalling.”
“Hold on.” Maklavir tugged at the purple cape that was fastened around his neck. He disengaged the clasp with some difficulty. “I don’t want to get blood on this.” He looked around the dew-covered field anxiously. “There...isn’t really anywhere to put this down, is there?”
Joseph’s frown deepened. “Hurry it up, Maklavir. We don’t have all day.”
“The fence, I suppose?” Maklavir stepped carefully through the grass, strategically avoiding the half-hidden cow-pies in his path. “Won’t be a minute.”
Joseph sighed and closed his eyes. “Maklavir, for the love of all that is holy—”
“Yes, well,” Maklavir responded over his shoulder, “I don’t think you have any idea just how difficult it is to get blood out of silk.” He cast a wary glance at the ground. “Not to mention
dung
.”
A black and white cow loomed up close to the fence. It shook its head and lowed.
“No need to take offense,” said Maklavir to the beast. “I wasn’t casting blame on you specifically.”
The cow turned away, swishing her tail.
Joseph glanced out over the misty field towards the orange glow in the east. “Sun’s already rising, Maklavir. If we’re going to do this—”
“Yes, yes,” said Maklavir irritably. “You can stab me with that thing soon enough.” He folded his cape carefully, looking at the fence with a critical eye. “Great Eru, look at all the dirt. I don’t think there’s a single spot that isn’t completely filthy.”
Joseph glanced at his own greatcoat, which had been tossed in a heap on the grass of the cow pasture. “Come on, stop being so prissy and let’s get a move on.”
Maklavir gritted his teeth and set his folded cape as gently as he could across the fence of the pasture. “You have no idea how much this hurts me.”
“You don’t know pain yet.” Joseph gave his rapier a slash through the early morning air. “Now hurry up,”
“Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Maklavir began striding back through the uneven grass.
“For a second time,” Joseph said, saluting with his sword yet again, “
on guard
.”
“Regnuthu take it all!” Maklavir howled. He raised a booted foot, stamping his heel down into the grass. “I stepped right
in
it.”
Joseph clenched his hand on the hilt of his rapier.
Maklavir began to saunter sideways across the field, dragging his booted foot across the grass. “That’s disgusting. Absolutely
disgusting
. Who lets these...these
beasts
wander around out here unsupervised?”
Joseph lowered his sword and glanced around the field. “It’s a cow pasture, Maklavir.”
“Don’t you think I bloody well know it?” Maklavir made a face as he rubbed the bottom of his foot across the ground. “Say what you will about Valmingaard, at least it has some proper forests. Arbela seems like one
big
cow field.”
Joseph straightened his arm. The blade of his rapier gleamed in the light of the rising sun. “You’re stalling again.”
Maklavir looked over at him disdainfully. “I’m not stalling. I have bovine filth all over my heel.”
“Look,” said Joseph as he swept his blade through the air, “if you’re too scared to do this just say so.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Maklavir. He scraped the last bit of manure off his foot and sighed. “This boot will never be the same again.”
“Oh, for Eru’s sake.” Joseph swatted away a fly. “It’s a
boot
, Maklavir. It’s supposed to get dirty.”
“Spoken like a man who has no culture.” Maklavir stepped carefully back over towards the center of the field. “All right, I’m ready.”
“You’re sure?” Joseph examined the blade of his rapier. “I wouldn’t want to rush you or anything.”
“Very funny.” Maklavir picked up another rapier off the grass, and weighed it in his hand. “I can never get used to how light these things are.”
“It’s a gentleman’s weapon,” Joseph said.
Maklavir gave the blade a cut through the air. “I suppose. Still, I think something with a little heft to it would be better.”
“Fencing is about grace. Form, skill, balance.” Joseph bent his knees and gave a few practice thrusts with his sword. “Not brute force.”
“Still,” said Maklavir philosophically, “a little brute force now and again never hurt anything.”
Joseph saluted with his blade. “On guard.”
Maklavir planted his feet, wobbling a bit as he looked about him for cow pies. He brought his own sword in front of his face in salute.
Joseph lunged forward. He cut hard and fast with his rapier.
Maklavir jumped back. His blade flashed in the rising sun.
Two sharp clacks of steel echoed out across the nearly-empty pasture. The swords of the two men met faster than the eye could track.
Maklavir gave a sudden cry of pain and collapsed back into the grass.
Joseph turned away, stretching his neck. “Point.”
“You cut me.” Maklavir hobbled to his feet. He put one hand to his leg and brought it away with a streak of blood across his fingers. “You bloody
cut
me.”
“You’re too slow,” said Joseph without a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You move back when you should move forward. Defend when you should attack.”
Maklavir spun in a circle, trying to check his back. “These pants are absolutely ruined. And I’m sending you the cleaning bill for my shirt. I have grass stains all over it. Ugh, I can’t believe you
cut
me.”
Joseph turned back towards the diplomat with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Look, this is fencing. You can’t swim without getting wet, and you can’t learn to handle a sword without a few cuts and bruises. And if you want me to teach you, this is the way it works.”
“Teach me?” Maklavir gave a sardonic chuckle. “I’d hardly call what you’re doing teaching. Drag me out of bed before dawn and chop me apart in a cow field? How in the Void does this teach me anything?”
Joseph grabbed a cloth rag and wiped off the end of his sword. “In real battle the enemy doesn’t give you time to fold your cape. He doesn’t wait until you’re ready. And he’s
trying
to cut you, Maklavir.” He slashed his rapier through the air in a figure-eight motion. “All right. Again.”
Maklavir gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He tottered painfully to an upright position, and saluted with his rapier. “On guard,” he said coldly.
Joseph returned the salute.
Maklavir lunged forward. He lashed out with his rapier.
Joseph parried the clumsy attack. He slashed in with a swift strike of his own.
Maklavir gave a strangled gasp. He dropped his rapier and stumbled back, a hand pressed to his side.
“Point,” Joseph said again.
Maklavir gingerly prodded the cut in his shirt. His fingers came away touched with blood. He looked up at Joseph. “Are you going to cut me to ribbons?”
“I’m trying to teach you,” Joseph said.
“Really? Because I’m not learning much.” Maklavir winced, putting a hand to the cut in his chest. “This really stings.”
“I didn’t cut deep,” Joseph said.
“Oh, I suppose I should be thanking you, then?” Maklavir straightened his shirt. “You’re lucky I put on some of my older clothes today. I’ll have to toss them out now anyways.”
“Except for the cape?” Joseph said with a cheerless smile.
“That cape was custom-made for me in Varnost,” Maklavir said sharply. “Not that you would understand the kind of quality work and effort it takes to produce clothing of such caliber.”
“Come on,” said Joseph. He nodded towards Maklavir’s rapier, which lay in the grass. “Pick it up.”
“So you can stab me again?” Maklavir gave a quick shake of his head. “I think not.”
Joseph prodded the grass in front of him with his own rapier in frustration. “Do you want to learn how to do this or not?”
“I don’t think you’re teaching me anything,” Maklavir reiterated. “It seems to me that you’re just venting a lot of repressed anger with the point of your sword.”
Joseph gave Maklavir a cutting glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maklavir sighed heavily. “We haven’t talked about it, Joseph.”
The pathfinder looked blithely away. “About what?”
“You know what.” Maklavir looked down at his fallen rapier. “Ever since Vorten we’ve—well, we haven’t discussed what happened, have we?”
Joseph’s face darkened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Pick up the sword.”
“We’ve been on the road for four weeks,” Maklavir said. “
Four weeks
, Joseph. Shawnor is a day’s travel away. We’ll be there by tonight, Eru willing.”
“I admit we’ve had our share of trouble,” Joseph said quietly.
“If by
trouble
you mean navigating our way through a warzone between the entire Arbelan army and the Cultists of the Fiery Dawn, then yes,” Maklavir agreed.
“Things are crazy in Rothland right now,” Joseph said with a shrug. “There have been more delays than I expected.”
“I’m not talking about the delays, Joseph,” Maklavir said heatedly. “I’m talking about you, and me, and...
Kara
.”
Joseph turned away. “Pick up your sword,” he said gruffly.
“You heard me in Kara’s room, back in Vorten,” Maklavir said. “I know you did. There’s been a wall of ice between us ever since. We need to talk about it, and every time I’ve even tried to bring it up for a month now you’ve deftly changed the subject.”
Joseph spun around. “Real men don’t talk about their feelings, Maklavir. They grunt and hit each other with weapons. Now pick up the blasted sword.”
Maklavir crossed his arms. “No.”
Joseph’s face simmered in anger. “You want to talk about this? You
really
want to talk about this, right here and right now?”
Maklavir glanced around the misty cow pasture. “Considering that we’ll most likely be on a ship for Redemption in the next day or two...yes, I do.”
Joseph took a breath. “All right, let’s talk. You
think
you have feelings for Kara.”
Maklavir thrust out his chin. “I
know
I have feelings for her.”
“Really?” Joseph gave a dark chortle. “The man who has a different woman in every town? The same man who goes to bed with every serving wench and tavern maid he can get his hands on?”