The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (9 page)

“Not that,” he said quietly. “Look at that armor, what do you see?”

Tiadaria stared at him, unsure of why, when time was apparently of the essence, he would be taking her to task for not knowing his preferences.

“I see leather and brass, Sir.”

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding. “Leather and brass, but what do you see?”

She glanced at him and then back at the armor on its pegs. She didn't know what he wanted from her, but she was determined not to fail in whatever test this represented. She looked hard at the armor, trying to decipher the mystery he obviously saw there.

“It’s thick,” she said, deciding to enumerate all the details she could. “The armor is slabs of thick leather, cut in sheets, and fastened with brass. It’s bulky.”

She paused, not wanting to anger the Captain, but having one final, if impudent, thing to say. He arched one eyebrow, waiting.

“It looks slow, Sir.”

The Captain nodded. “Indeed, little one. That armor is slow. Its heavy, meant to deflect a blade or keep it from piercing. It is the armor of a slow, plodding warrior who says, going into battle, 'I am going in this direction and nothing will stop me.'”

“And what armor do you prefer, Sir?”

“This,” the Captain said, with an unexpected grin. He opened the cabinet door and took out a neatly folded parcel of cloth.

He laid the package on the table and unfolded the heavy velvet. Tiadaria gasped, for what was revealed sparkled and gleamed like the finest silver the in the lamplight. A tunic of fine silk, overlaid with a fine mesh of tiny rings, lay in the center of the bundle. The Captain put the tunic aside and set out a pair of breeches of the same manufacture. Finally, he laid a pair of slippers out on the table. Turning to the cabinet, he withdrew two of the finest swords Tia had ever seen.

These were not the scimitars that he carried daily. These were awe-inspiring weapons that radiated a power she could feel in the base of her neck. Scabbards of supple white leather held the hidden blades. The guards, pommels, and hilts of the identical blades sparkled with the slightest movement. A golden dragon twined around the dark leather grip, frozen fire forming the guard that met the sweeping curved steel blade that the Captain withdrew a few inches from its housing for her to see before laying the swords and their belts next to his armor.

The Captain dropped his sleeping pants, and quickly slipped into the armored breeches. As he tightened the drawstring, Tiadaria got her first look at his naked chest. She had seen men naked from the waist up before. The men in her clan would often wear less than this in the drum circles around the great bonfires. What she had never seen before was a man with so many scars.

They stood out against his tan skin in bright relief. They crisscrossed his arms, his torso, and the broad line of his shoulders. There were some that were small and some that nearly wrapped around him. There were those that were straight as an arrow shaft and others that had jagged, torn edges. The ones that mesmerized her, though, were the fine white scars that made up intricate patterns that adorned his body here and there. They were incredibly detailed, obviously intentionally cut and not the result of some random wounding.

He pulled the tunic on next. Then passed the belt around his waist and slipped on the slippers. He stood before her, resplendent in the glory of the finest armor and most intricate weapons she had ever seen. They stood that way for a moment, before he smiled at her, catching her eyes.

“Get our horses, little one. We have an adventure ahead of
us.”

~~~~

Whatever Tiadaria expected to see when they arrived at the edge of what had once been Doshmill, a burgeoning village at the frontier of the Human Imperium, she wasn't ready for what they found. Everything in the village had been burned to the ground. The tall wooden palisades, the cottages, the temple, the lattices in gardens and fences around yards. Nothing that could burn was left standing. Those buildings that had been largely constructed of stone were charred and blackened.

The worst thing was the pile of smoldering bones and charred flesh that were the earthly remains of every single human inhabitant of Doshmill except one. The girl who had been hidden away in a water barrel and managed to survive until daybreak. Had she not been tucked away under and old bed in the earthen cellar of the inn, the largest stone structure in the village, it was unlikely she'd have survived either. As it was, she was white and shaking, being attended to by two priestesses when they arrived.

Royce swung from his saddle and handed the animal's reins to the girl, indicating a decent pasture for the horses with a curt nod of his head. His armor jingled quietly as he landed on the balls of his feet and set out with long strides toward the knot of people gathered just beyond where the gates had once been. He pushed his way through the crowd, making his way toward a barrel-chested man with coal-black hair and amber eyes that seemed to drink in every movement and every detail of the people and events around him.

“Torus!”

The man glanced up and as his eyes landed on Royce, broke into a wide smile. He bellowed an order and people shifted out of the way of the giant man, opening a wide path between them. Royce stopped a few steps away and straightened up, throwing off a salute that was instantly returned by the smiling titan.

“It’s damn good to see you, Captain,” Torus said, thumping the smaller man on the back and threatening to knock him off his feet.

“Constable, now, Torus. I hear you're in the running for the Captain's job
?”

“Aye, Sir, but you'll always be the Captain to me. You raised us from pups. Everything I know about battle and fighting and politics,” Torus wrinkled his face in an expressive grimace at the last word. “I learned from you.”

“You were always a good student, Torus. You didn't call me out here with all haste to talk about old times, though. What happened here?”

Torus Winterborne paused, cocking an eyebrow as the girl came up behind Royce, standing behind and slightly to the left. The old soldier glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and looked back at his former prodigy.

“A slave, Sir?”

The wonder and disbelief in Torus's tone made Royce wince inwardly. This wasn't the time to get into this discussion yet again. He knew all too well the younger man's views on slaves and the slavers who sold them.

“It’s a long story, Torus,” he said firmly. “It was my crowns, or an executioner's ax.”

“Ah,” Torus seemed to regain some of his composure. “Well, I suppose that makes things a might different then.”

“Circumstances are what you get when you run out of luck,” Royce snapped.

The younger man roared, slapping a huge hand on his thigh. It was obviously a remark he had heard before. Royce glared at him for a moment and then started laughing himself. The two stood that way for several long moments, drawing the disapproving glares from several of the people gathered around them. Finally, Torus wiped the tears from his eyes and gestured toward the smoldering ruins.

“It’s good that we got our laughter in now, Captain,” he said as they walked. “I'm afraid there's not much mirth to be found here today.”

“What happened?”

Torus shook his head. “I don't know. Or rather, I hope I don’t know. I have a theory that I’m betting you can confirm.”

“That doesn't sound good, Torus.”

Torus stopped and turned to look at his former mentor. He was worried, Royce realized. Really worried. He was struck forcibly by a memory from years gone by. Torus had been a teenager, and involved in the typical tomfoolery that boys his age were bound to get into. Someone had gotten hurt and that injury, as accidental as it was, had weighed heavily on the young man. Royce thought that he looked as worried and apprehensive now as he had on that day so many years ago.

“It’s not, Captain. Not at all.” and Torus's voice dropped to a rough whisper. “If all this means what I think it does, it’s bad. Really bad. For the entire Imperium.”

Royce whistled through his teeth. A village attacked was bad enough. Something bad enough that Torus thought the entire Imperium might be in danger? He quickened his steps and Torus and the girl trotted to keep up.

Crossing over what had once been the threshold into the village, Royce had to press the back of his hand to his mouth. He had experienced every form of carnage known to man, but the stench of a burning body still got him right in the back of the throat. This wasn't just one burning body either, it was what was left of an entire village of corpses thrown into a haphazard pile and set to blaze.

The fire obviously hadn't been tended, as more than a few of the bodies hadn't been consumed by the flames. Royce heard the girl retch behind him and he glanced back to see her doubled over, heaving the dregs of last night's meal onto the charred ground between her feet. He felt for her, but it would do her well to learn this lesson now and harden herself against it. She would face much worse and she would have to be ready. She'd have to develop a stronger stomach for the atrocities of monsters and men.

“This is everyone?” Royce circled the pile of bodies, taking note of which were completely destroyed and which were only partially eaten. If there was a pattern there, he couldn't see it.

“Everyone we know of,” Torus replied slowly. “We didn't bring the youngster back into the...well, the ruins. We didn't want to scar her even more.”

“Wise.”

Silence fell again and Royce continued his careful plodding walk around the perimeter of the bodies. He was pleased when he noticed that the girl had fallen into step behind him, following the same path, walking, literally, in his footsteps. He saw her straighten as her mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. He turned to her, and she pointed, dropping to one knee.

“This one, Sir. It looks,” she swallowed hard. “It looks as if this one has marks.”

Royce walked over and knelt down beside her. The stench was much more powerful this close to the center of the pile. He could feel the heat coming off the bodies and he was thankful that the girl had steeled herself for the task that must be performed. He looked where she pointed, to the thigh bone of a young man whose upper half was all but unrecognizable.

“You're right, little one,” he said, lightly touching the bite marks on the leg. He grasped the foot, turning the leg gently from side to side. The flesh had been torn from the bone and there were long grooves etched in the red-tinged ivory. “So what eats humans and piles them up to burn the bodies?”

“Wolves?” she asked tentatively.

Torus snorted and Royce shot him a quelling look.

“Wolves don't burn down buildings, little one.” Royce looked at her, willing her to make the connection that he had made.

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head, slowly at first, then with increasing fervor. “No. No, Sir. That's impossible.”

Royce's smile was humorless.

“Few things are impossible, little one. Most are merely improbable.”

“But,” she blanched as she looked at him. “But the Xarundi are a myth. They're a ghost story that mothers tell their children to make sure they are home before dusk. This isn't possible.”

“Have you ever considered, little one, that maybe every myth has a grain of truth?”

“But,” she said again. Her mouth worked silently for a moment before she finally gave up and pressed her lips together in a thin white line.

Royce sympathized with her. It wasn't an easy thing to learn that the nightmares you had as a child were suddenly coming true. If this was a
Xarundi attack, and he couldn't see how it could be the result of anything else, it was the first since his childhood. Since his father had been the Captain and he just a little boy tagging along to learn what it meant to be the most powerful fighter in the Imperium.

He remembered the first day
that he learned monsters were real and he felt a strong sense of remorse that he was the cause of the end of innocence in the girl. Still, better that she learn now, while he could protect her, then later when he couldn't.

Torus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with a massive calloused hand.

“I was really hoping you'd have better news for me, Captain.”

Brushing his fingers in the dirt to scour off the thin film of blood, Royce stood and brushed his hands together, as if the gesture could not only remove the dirt but also the memory of what they had seen.

“I don't like it either, Torus. There are troubling questions here.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “First, why this village? What was its importance? Second, why now? Why come out of hiding after thirty years? Finally, what do they want? And more importantly, how do we stop them?”

Torus shook his head, his face a grave mask of anxiety.

“I don't know. I do know that the King needs to know about this right away. I'll ride for Dragonfell immediately.”

“We'll go with you.”

Torus shook his head slowly.

“I'd welcome your company, Captain. I would. But the girl...”

“The girl,” Royce said firmly, “is under my care and protection. Where I go, she goes.”

For a moment, Royce was certain that Torus would decide that he didn't need the company after all. He hadn't trained a fool though. He knew that Torus would want his input when they briefed the King. Although slaves weren't well tolerated in the capital city, Royce was confident in his ability to diffuse any unpleasantness that might arise.

“Alright,” Torus said finally. “But you might want to warn her first. She's not apt to receive a warm welcome.”

Royce motioned for Tiadaria to follow him and stepped downwind, away from the bodies.

“Torus is blunt, but he’s right. If we go to Dragonfell, it’s not going to be easy on you. Slaves aren't welcome in the King's backyard. There are likely to be those who loudly call for your removal from the city. Some of them might even try to do it themselves. Even so, I would be there to protect you. I offer you the choice, we go or we stay...but either one, we do together.”

The girl regarded him for a moment and Royce returned her gaze evenly. He could almost see the thoughts tumbling about in her head and he urged her in his thoughts to stand up to the challenge. He thought she would. She didn't back down from a fight easily.