fate's pawn 11 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 11

 

 

What happened next was a tale told in whispers for many years.

The sun was blotted out with a swirl of dust in the street, which whirled up and took on the semblance of a warrior.

“On your knees if you value your honour!” roared a voice. The voice was thin, and dusty, but carrying.

A couple of the mercenaries fell to their knees; the rest sneered.

“It’s an illusion,” said one.

As one, their bronze blades turned green and crumbled into dust, and they cried out, dropping their hilts, and nursing their hands as a death glyph appeared on the palm of their hands.

“Touch a sword again and you will die, but you will not come to me,” said the sand figure. “I will have none of you. Those who yielded I geas you to present yourselves at my nearest temple as soldiers, in need of instruction, and if you have not learned within a year, you will share the fate of your fellows.”

The figure turned, laid a dusty hand on the head of each of the six, and whirled up the street towards the shrine. The love of their god came with that touch, putting heart and strength into them.

Kaz drew a long, shuddering breath.

“I thought we were gone, then,” she said.

“Where’s Alathan?” asked Protasion.

“You know we’re not supposed to rely on his aid,” said Kaz. “But I fancy he may have raised a manifestation of Alethos to punish those who mock his name in supposed worship.”

The mercenaries muttered amongst themselves, uneasy and unsettled.

“It cannot have been Alethos; why would he protect a bunch of losers like them?” said one. “It’s nothing but a trick.” He and one of his fellows snarled in anger, and seized their own second swords.

They appeared to struggle as they drew them, and somehow stabbed themselves with their own swords.

This was enough to make the others flee. Whatever magic protected the trógling and her fellows was too much for them, and what had been an evening’s light entertainment had become a horrible nightmare. They were Anathema to the cult which gave them their profession, and they fled in confusion to try to rebuild their lives… somehow. Those who had knelt continued to kneel, giving prayers of thanks before they left.

 

 

Word eventually filtered out of the mercenary enclave that those who claimed the glyphs of truth and death and behaved with dishonour had had their own swords turned to verdigris powder, and had been warned; and the Glyph-Lord who oversaw the training of them was found sitting at his desk, bolt upright, terrified, and dead.

The party of six young warriors was given a wide berth. Anyone who could control one of the spirits of retribution of Alethos, as it was determined the figure must have been, should be left alone. One of them must be a glyph-priest incognito.

One rumour that was started by the late Glyph-Lord’s servant, a grizzled veteran and initiate, was that the party was on the business of Lord Alethos to test those claiming to worship him, with a most unlikely-seeming apparent leader to tempt those of less than pristine morals.

 

There was no further trouble.

The town justice, or Dikast, left the mercenaries strictly alone, unless they hassled residents, and the brothels and temples hired their own guards. It was none of the business of the dikasteria, the strangers had come, there had been trouble, and people had died, but only mercenaries. The coffin maker made three coffins to charge to the mercenary hall, and found later that he had to make that four. He, at least, turned a profit.

Evgon, who had put himself in charge of provisions, on the grounds of his early training from his mercantile parents, stocked up. Kaz had the farrier check her mules’ hoofs, and sharpened the nicks out of her own blade, sitting in the bar with her whetstone.

Nobody even approached her, save another trógling.

“I seen you kill that man; your god is mighty,” she said. “I want to serve you.”

“What’s your name?” asked Kaz.

“Rynn,” said the trógling.

“Up the stairs, first door on the right. You can leave with us,” said Kaz.

“There’ll be trouble from that,” said Protasion.

“I’m not leaving behind someone who has the spirit to run away,” said Kaz.

“Never said you should,” said Protasion. “Just saying.”

“It has to start somewhere, if I’m to steal my people,” said Kaz.

“What, one at a time?” asked Protasion, amused.

“If that’s what it takes, at first,” said Kaz. “I need places to home them, anyway; the temple isn’t large enough to accommodate many.  But if I attract one or two, stories will spread. And then the one or two stones which fall off the cliff will start an avalanche, and we will have gained a veritable army, and their civilians too.”

Protasion whistled.

“I had not considered it; but you are serious,” he said.

“Of course I’m serious; I’ve been charged by Fate to do this. I interpret ‘The Daywalker brings in a new dawn, with joy for the cursed, and the ending of curses,’ to mean that I have to bring ‘the cursed,’ which is tróglings, to freedom.”

“OH!” said Protasion. “Is that how you interpret it? It does make sense, now you say it.”

“It ought to please the Toróg, as well, but I wager they’ll regret their slaves more than they bless a return to fertility.”

“I suspect that they won’t notice that their fertility improves for a while after they miss having slaves,” said Lelyn. “I take it you’ve been discussing it with Alathan?”

“Yes,” said Kaz.  “He helped me to understand what I have to do. And I suspect there’s more to it than ‘free the tróglings, get cursed by Daze, trust it to become a blessing.’” Her tone was carefree and gay, but her friends read, correctly, how her voice concealed fear and strain. They all embraced her.

“We’ll do all we can,” said Protasion. “Nobody expects you to do it overnight. You need to build up to it. Prophesies are often pronounced at birth, you know, and nobody expects a baby to fulfil a prophecy until they are fully grown, and you sort of had a rebirth into being free. You need to concentrate more on… well, on growing up; like the rest of us, you’re an adult, but still young. We’re given a lot of leeway over doing foolish things, enjoying the last days of our childhood, until we are one-and-twenty, in our own homes, we only have stricter discipline for having chosen the military lifestyle.”

“Indeed; and I’m not stupid enough to take on even someone like Polia or Vulk, who are street-good, if not truly professional. Not before I’m ready,” said Kaz.

“You might be able to take her, but I’d hedge my bets,” said Protasion.

“Protasion!” scolded Lelyn. “Fine support you are!”

“He’d be supporting the group finances, I suppose,” said Kaz, who had looked shocked.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” said Protasion. “I’d support you fully if you went against Polia, but hypothetically, if it was someone of your skill against Polia… I’m digging myself a grave, I’d better jump in it before Lelyn pushes.”

“Thank you,” said Kaz. “I was a little hurt.”

“Well, if you took on a fight against unreasonable odds, I might not bet on you, but I’d rush into it with you. But don’t go against Polia until you can best her; and don’t take on the whole Toróg race until you can pick up the blue moon and beat the red moon over the head with it,” suggested Protasion. Kaz laughed.

“I’d rather have your sword beside me than your money on me, anyway,” she said. “But you’ll all have to help me with this ‘growing up’ business; I’ve never had a childhood, so I don’t know how to enjoy any remnants of it. I’ve been doing some sort of job of work since I can remember, and a full day’s work since I was eight or nine. It’s given me some muscles to work on, even if not the right ones for a warrior. Though I was a bodyguard for the last couple of years.”

“It isn’t fair,” said Lelyn, tears in her eyes.

“No slavery is fair,” said Kaz. “And I plan to fight against it in all its forms.”  She considered. “Evgon, get clothing for Rynn, but also other loose garb which can be adapted, in case we pick up anyone else.”

Evgon nodded.

“Life here is hard, and there is plenty of second-hand clothing around, for children as well as adults,” he said. “Life expectancy for miners and river-folk alike.  And the shop that sells ready-made clothing provides for all sizes too.  Shall I get extra cloaks?”

“Yes, and sandals, which do not have to be a precise fit, or rather, can be adjusted with straps,” said Kaz. “Ask Rynn if she has a favourite colour; and try to find a pretty tunic. The souls of even trógling crave pretty things, and never expect to see much that is pretty, let alone own it.”

“I will,” said Evgon, reading more into his companion in that sentence than perhaps Kaz realised.

 

The group, including Rynn, were served an evening meal without comment, and Lelyn and Protasion exchanged amused glances, as it was quite as fine a meal as anyone might hope to obtain at such an inn, and plainly a lot of effort had gone into it.  Rynn was subdued to be eating with everyone else, but Kaz was long past that, and nodded to the innkeeper.

“A tolerable meal,” she said.

“Oh, very nice, just the right tone,” said Lelyn.

“He pushed the boat out because he’s afraid,” said Kaz. “And, whilst I don’t like people being afraid of me, just for being a warrior, they should be wary, and perhaps it will prevent him from being unduly rude to people he thinks he can push around another time.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Lelyn.

Rynn kept a low profile. She was wearing the second-hand tunic and trews that Evgon had bought, to replace the ragged tunic she had worn, and surreptitiously fingered the gay embroidery around the keyhole neckline. Evgon had bought cheap, but decorative cloak clasps, too, not plain utilitarian ones. And she had sandals to accustom her feet to footwear, and boot-socks for if it was cold in the mountains. Rynn was used to being expected to go barefoot, even in snow, but she appreciated the thought, and would gladly wear the boot-socks, however ridiculous they might look with sandals, if it grew cold enough to need them.

 

 

 

“How much weapons training have you?” asked Kaz of Rynn, as they set off next day.

“I can use a spear and a sling,” said Rynn.

“Fine, we’ll begin sword work, but you may as well keep up practice with what you know,” said Kaz.

“Do I call you ‘mistress?”

“No, you call me Kaz, and you call the others by name.”

“Where was the one with the air of a leader when you had to kill that human? Alathan? He turned up again after you left.”

“Chanting up the spirit of retribution to keep us safe when the dead guy’s friends got stroppy,” said Kaz, firmly. “He does undercover work and has to be careful who sees him where.”

“I call it fishy,” said Rynn.

“I call it good of him to give up time to guide us,” said Kaz.

“He stinks of high-powered magic,” said Rynn. “Is your nose gone deaf amongst humans?”

“I smell it, but if he wants to pass as an ordinary initiate, that’s his business, and none of mine or yours.”

“Why would he want to disguise it?”

“Why did you sneak out of the Toróg inn rather than declaring to all and sundry that you were running away?”

“I didn’t want to be noticed. Obviously; or I’d have been stopped.”

“Well, nor does Alathan want to be noticed and he has his own good reasons. Leave it, Rynn.”

“I don’t want him to hurt you.”

“He won’t.” Kaz sighed. “Alathan is here to train me. It’s my duty to learn enough to fulfil the prophesy. He sometimes couches his lessons in being absent, so I do not start to lean on him. And so it is for the rest of us. He could rescue us from any predicament, but that would not help us to learn. As to my personal relationship with him. Do I make myself clear?”

“Very,” said Rynn, with a sniff. “You want him, and he’s holding aloof, I assume because he despises you.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘to assume makes an ass out of u and me?’” asked Kaz.

“No. But what else am I to think?”

“That he’s old enough to have more self-control over his emotions than I do, and that he’s holding back to give me a chance to grow up without becoming merely his shadow. Now, leave it.”

“Very well,” said Rynn, who planned to watch Alathan very closely.