Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (27 page)

They had been ferried in by none other than
Sanjin herself, plus a dozen or so armed guards. Exiting the
prison, they had traveled across the highest level where the king's
palace stood, if one could even call it that; Enept-Ihs was a
kingdom of warriors, leaving behind any form of royalty or wealth.
In here, power was from the sword and not the coin or dogma.

That isn’t to say that Enept-Ihs was led by
barbarians, however. As one of the central kingdoms in Makka's
affairs, certain individuals of high rank also had to wield the pen
with as much expertise as a weapon. The king, in particular, though
he was not present today.

Diplomacy was a large aspect of the kingdom.
This very courtroom was housed in the large, yet practical
structure that was the king's palace. The palace was not as lavish
as the palaces of other kingdoms, opting for more straightforward
purposes. It resembled more of the headquarters of a sizable
military, which was quite fitting.

Serraemas felt a tap on his left shoulder that
took him out of his thoughts. He turned his head and met the gaze
of Gallo, the man tasked with acquitting them of the allegations
put forth against them. The defender was cleanly groomed, and wore
a tailored suit and matching pants.

"Just to remind you", began Gallo, "It would be
best to avoid any outbursts, justified or not. Don't threaten
anyone verbally or otherwise." He then looked past Serraemas,
observing the other two prisoners. "You know what, just don't move
or talk really. It'll boost your chances."

Raxxil let out a hearty chuckle. "Yeah right.”
Out of the corner of his eye Serraemas saw a finger pointed at him.
"He's the dangerous one."

Gallo seemed confused at the words, and he
looked at Serraemas quizzically. Perhaps the man regarded Raxxil's
stature and demeanor, and Erendil's origin as much more threatening
than Serraemas's smaller—and quieter—form.

"Did you not review the allegations and
evidence?" asked Serraemas with neutral intonation.

Gallo scoffed. "Well
of course
I did.
However, allegations are just that until proven otherwise. The
evidence... well, it's not always factual. There are many
elementalists on Ashkar. Fire and ice? By God there are thousands
of you."

"Yeah right", said Raxxil mockingly. "There is
nobody like—"

A loud crash rang throughout the room, instantly
silencing all chatter and rousing attention to its source. In his
right hand, the judge held a gavel that had just released its
captivating force. Gone was his expression of boredom, now replaced
with stern purpose.

"Let us proceed with the trial", said the judge.
His voice was stronger than Serraemas expected, belying his age.
The elderly man's white beard covered much of his face, falling
down to his chest. His lips were completely covered, and the only
evidence of his speech was the rustling of his beard as his hidden
lips moved. "Is everyone present?"

He looked first at the crowd in the back, then
at the two tables, the jury, and finally at the group of Blue
Swords to his left for a moment before doing a double take. The
judge's expression shifted from boredom to discontent. "Where is
he?"

Nine heads of the Blue Swords turned to their
right. An empty chair sat next to Sanjin, whose reaction echoed the
judge's sentiments. They all shrugged, clueless as the rest of the
participants.

"My apologies, your honor", Sanjin said as she
stood up from her seat and bowed. "His behavior has always been
like this, especially as of la—"

Behind them, the two doors to the room burst
open, sending out a wave of crashing noise as they slammed against
the walls. A man with long white hair with a single lock of black
entered the room. He looked disheveled, like a weary traveler that
had just returned from a long journey. He wore an outfit that
matched that of the Blue Swords, including the insignia that was
inscribed on the breastplate, though it appeared that he had been
in a rush when he had fashioned the gear.

"Ah, Sevag", said the judge, his words betraying
the quiet air. "We were just wondering where you could possibly
be."

---

Light flooded her world as Samantha tossed and
turned in bed.

"Just five more minutes, dad", she said, still
half-asleep and groaning as she was roused from slumber. "I
promise."

But no one answered.

She laid there in silence, under the covers and
protected from the outside world. Then reality dawned, and she
remembered. Samantha bolted up with the speed of a Makkan Bluebeak.
Her face throbbed in pain, and she instinctively reached up,
feeling the soft cloth and realizing that nearly half her face was
covered in a bandage.

She put the pain in the back of her mind and
looked around. She was in a small room, accompanied by a small
table, a lamp, a large mirror, and the bed she laid upon. Next to
the bed rested her blade. She was at the inn at Bellis.

Ahead of her was the door, while to her left was
the window. Even with the drapes drawn, a streak of sunlight still
invaded the space, conveniently flashing across where her head had
just been.

One of her soldiers busted through the door,
most likely sensing the ruckus. He saluted swiftly. "Ma'am, you're
alive!"

Samantha looked up at him but offered no words.
In fact, she was only following his voice, looking through him and
lost in thought; the events before her collapse still swirled in
her mind, transpiring over and over again.

Just as quickly as he had appeared, the
guardsman stepped out and vanished on a mission she did not know,
leaving Samantha in her daze. She stood up, albeit clumsily as her
legs buckled. She staggered but caught her balance. Why were her
muscles so weak and atrophied? How long had she been resting?

Struggling, but determined, Samantha made her
way over to the mirror. It stood but slightly shorter than her,
garnering a slight chuckle out of her, though the pain quickly
corrected her gesture. She had always been taller—and more
muscular—than most other girls, and even some men. When she had
first arrived at the Order of the Faith, she was younger and
smaller, and a few thought they could tease her. They said she was
too weak to fight. She had quickly proved them wrong. Perhaps that
made others more apt to follow her orders. But, she was not a man,
and she glanced at a beautiful, feminine face. At least, what used
to be an alluring complexion.

Only a slight portion of her face was
visible—mostly the left side. The rest was engulfed in searing
pain, physical or otherwise. Samantha feared what laid underneath
the white cloth, but she needed to see. With trepidation, she
reached for the bandage and slowly unwrapped it in a circular
motion. Layer after layer came off until at last she witnessed the
truth.

She was horrified.

A deep gash ran from above her right brow down
through where her eye had once been, then past her nose, and
finally ending its cruelty on her left cheek. It had already begun
scarring, and though she wished otherwise, would be a deep reminder
of the blade that caused the wound for as long as she lived. That
was certainly not the worst, however, for what truly struck her was
the void that now encompassed where her right eye had once been.
Samantha felt the urge to look away, but resisted as tears swelled
up in her eyes. The truth was right in front of her, and to deny it
was a disservice to herself.

"Kavem?" Samantha asked within her mind.

"Yes, Sammy?" answered the elemental
swiftly.

Samantha sighed in relief, afraid that something
terrible had befallen her comrade even though she knew he had
rested by her side the entire time. "Why didn't you say anything
sooner?"

"I thought it best to remain silent and allow
you to discover for yourself", he said sincerely.

Samantha smiled weakly. If there was someone who
understood her well, it was Kavem. Even though he tried his best to
offer her wise words and caution, she usually decided otherwise.
And despite that, she knew he would always be there.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you", she said.
Tears once again attempted to flow, but she fought back.

"I know", said Kavem. "Mankind learns from the
choices they make and the consequences thereof. It is not your
fault."

"But that
is
our fault", she said, her
voice cracking at the emphasis. "Isn't it?"

Kavem did not respond immediately.

Samantha waited, gazing deep within the abyss of
her vacant eye-socket.

"You are very wise for your age", he replied
finally, but she didn't know if he was being truthful or just
trying to lessen her pain. “The elementals have conflict with each
other, but that is their nature. Humans aren’t much different. Fire
and water. Light and dark. It is not the conflict that defines you,
it’s what you do that matters.” Perhaps he truly was speaking from
the heart.

Kavem had told her many stories of his life as
an elemental, in another realm appropriately named as the Elemental
Plane. There, strife among the different elements was as abundant
as that among the people of Ashkar. She had only been there once
when she had traversed there to retrieve her weapon, connecting
with Kavem for the first time. All elementalists endured that
process—or died trying. The process of becoming an elementalist was
a test, designed to measure one’s character, will, and
strength.

Hurried footsteps stomped across groaning wood,
rising vertically and heading to her room. The door was still open,
and in seconds appeared the weary visage of Sergeant Graf,
accompanied by just about the entire remaining regiment. At this
point, there weren’t too many of them. The others shared the same
reaction of the first soldier, apparently astounded that she had
roused from her slumber.

Samantha did not look up, instead looking at the
wall so that the right side of her face was hidden from the eyes of
the men. Out of the corner of her eye she made out Graf's
expression, and it was the most solemn she had ever seen from him.
He quickly saluted, as did several other sets of hands behind
him.

"Report!" she ordered commandingly, skipping
pleasantries or any conversation of her status for that matter. At
least her voice remained strong even though her body failed her,
and she remained sitting on her bed in weakness.

"Bellis is secured, ma'am", responded Graf. He
rubbed his chin as if he was hesitant with his words. "So is
Enorra, and the other towns down Nokle for that matter. There have
been no more sightings of the mysterious traveler nor of his
demonic minions."

Samantha waited expectantly for more
information, but was only greeted with silence. "Is that it? What
about the other travelers?"

Graf turned around and motioned for the other
soldiers to file out. They saluted to both commanding officers,
then disappeared quickly. Hushed whispers broke out amongst them as
boots once again struck the creaky wooden floor the inn. Graf
waited just outside the door expectantly.

"You may enter", said Samantha softly as she
gestured for the sergeant to come in. She looked down at herself to
make sure she was presentable, noticing for the first time what she
was wearing: a simple cloth gown.

It served its purpose—covering the majority of
her body and providing comfort to the wearer. She much preferred to
wear her armor, but it was nowhere to be seen. Graf entered and
closed the door behind him.

"Do you think me a fool?" she asked aloud, still
looking away.

"Why would I think that?" asked the older man,
clearly confused at her question.

Samantha raised her head and looked at Graf dead
in the eye, revealing her misfortune. He winced, but not in
disgust. His eyes contained the sympathy he held inside for what
had befallen Samantha, and stayed fixed on her.

"Surely I do not deserve to be your lieutenant",
she lamented. "First I failed to defend the town, then I failed to
enact justice in God’s name. He got away, and who knows what he'll
do next, or to—"

"No", interrupted Graf. "I failed
you
for
not following you after them."

Samantha gritted her teeth and withdrew in
frustration, but not at the sergeant. She could have been smarter,
or faster. She could have beaten that dark knight. She didn't have
to have this wound—

No. What's done is done. God had a plan, and she
would not doubt him. It was time to figure out the next step in the
path that was laid before her.

"How long was I out?" Samantha asked. She stood
back up, albeit with unease. She moved her limbs in different
movements, testing out the capacity of her muscles. To her
satisfaction, she was able to move her body with full, pain-free
range of motion; at the very least, she was not debilitated beyond
the weakness of her muscles.

Graf's expression darkened. "A little over three
weeks."

"What?!" she exclaimed in disbelief.

How could she have been slumbering for so long?
She remembered the blade slicing across her face, searing her as
blood rushed out. She lost consciousness quickly, but before she
blacked out she had heard that hothead of an elementalist Raxxil
wanting to help her and something about the blade of an
Executioner—

"Samantha?" called Graf, bringing her back.

"Sorry", she said, blinking back into the
present. "When did you find me?"

The older man shrugged. "Actually, we didn't.
Not long after you left, a strange man walked in from the north
with you unconscious in his arms. He was rugged, with a full beard
and looking as if he had been in the wilderness for some time. He
was wearing an identical cloak as that of those elementalists, but
tattered and torn in many places. He left you in our care, saying
something about dark magic that had assaulted you, and that if he
had not intervened you would have died regardless of medicine or
triage. After that, he declined any questions and simply walked out
into the forest. We haven't seen him since."