Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (30 page)

Her visitor followed her movements, then leaned
onto the tower beside her. Both of them looked out at the expanse
for a while without either saying a word. Pann felt an overwhelming
urge to say aloud unpleasant thoughts that continued to run through
her mind, but instead focused her attention on the beautiful
landscape before her. If not for the pleasant view, she might have
exploded then and there.

"I know how you are feeling and the words you
wish to say", stated the woman next to her. "I was once your age. I
yearned to see what was out there too." The woman placed her hand
on Pann's back and rubbed it softly. This time, the young girl did
not resist.

"I wanted to go on adventures", continued that
same soft voice bubbly. "To explore and discover new things. To
meet new people. But Ashkar is not the same place we imagine and
wonder about in our heads. There is evil out there. Injustice,
death, and pain. All of these things exist alongside the excitement
of adventure.”

Still Pann did not utter a word, or even budge
for that matter. The person next to her might as well have been
speaking to a ghost.

The woman took a deep breath. "In here, you're
safe. But out there, anything can happen. Good... or bad. Your
father understood these things. He wanted to fight for a world
that's better for you. It was all for y—"

Whatever the woman next to her was going to
finish saying, Pann never heard it for she turned and embraced
Sanjin deeply, her head burying deep into the older woman's bosom.
Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

"M-mother, I'm s-so sorry!" exclaimed Pann in
between sobs.

Sanjin reciprocated the embrace and held her
tightly, rubbing Pann's back assuredly the way mothers did. The
young girl continued bawling, unable to contain the pent up emotion
she had failed to block. The two sat together in each other’s arms
for an extended period of time until Sanjin pushed her away
slightly and pushed her chin up so that the two locked eyes. The
woman smiled brightly, her yellow eyes glittering as she wiped away
Pann's tears.

"I'm sorry too, sweetie", replied her mother. "I
just want to protect you. When you're older—and stronger—we will
travel all over the world together. Just you and me. I
promise."

---

Samantha stared deeply at the tombstone before
her, breathing heavily with fists clenched so hard that her
knuckles went white. Graf had accompanied her to Enorra's
graveyard, a grove in Farrin Forrest a little ways away from the
village. The two now stood in front of one particular grave, in
front of the resting place of someone that should not have done
what he did.

But how could you know, father?

Graf was silent, and so was Kavem. The two
thought it best to give her space, but she couldn't decide whether
she wanted comfort or isolation. She read the words written on the
thick stone over and over and over again:

‘
Here lies Charles Kell

4952nd Age Of Rimas - 5000th Age Of Lion

The Best Blacksmith Of Enorra, And An Even Better
Father

May He Rest In Peace’

Samantha shook uncontrollably, and unable to
cope with the overwhelming pain, shouted in despair as she stooped
to the ground. Rage overtook her, and she expelled a gust of wind
so powerful that grass, trees, and all manner of foliage rustled
violently. Behind her, Graf was almost sent flying as he staggered
backward to find his footing. Her hair whipped about as she
continued to summon gales of force around her until she could no
more. Samantha fell to her hands and knees, biting back tears.

"I apologize for your loss, ma'am", explained
Graf from behind in what seemed as his best attempt to soothe her,
even if a little. "The villagers said your father was overcome with
grief after he heard news of your demise. Before he took his life,
he told others that you were everything to him, and that he had
nothing to live for anymore."

Why father... why?

Samantha slammed the ground with her fist as
hard as she could, as if she could strike the pain away. Everything
went wrong so quickly. Her whole life ran through her mind, like an
onlooker passing by a panorama of experiences, surreal and
disconnected. Memories flooded her that she couldn't hold back:
first adventuring out into the forest at a young age and chasing
any animal she could find with a stick, learning craftsmanship and
swordsmanship from her father, and then traveling to the east to
Onturi, enlisting in the Order of the Faith’s training academy and
devoting years of focus to learning the Faith as she perfected her
combat skills.

Her whole life was the path laid before her, a
series of events that directed her where she needed to go. Until
now there had been nothing even remotely close to what had
transpired in these few, short weeks. Not only was she less than
whole, losing an eye and thus reducing her combat effectiveness,
but now she lost the only man she held close to her heart.

Tell me, God. Tell me what purpose does this
all serve?

She sat upright, then looked at her father's
tombstone. Samantha closed her eye and recited a prayer. She then
stood up, her armor clanging as she drew to her full height. She
turned around and headed in the direction of Enorra past Graf. They
walked back to the village, and were stopped by everyone who
recognized her.

The townsfolk offered condolences, but she felt
nothing. Apologetic faces pitied her. Their words—whatever they
could muster that sounded sympathetic—might as well have been
insults, for they did not lift her spirit in the slightest. In
fact, she felt herself fall even deeper.

Quickly making her way across the village,
Samantha entered the butcher's shop, and was greeted by a familiar
face as she stepped inside.

"Ah, Sam", said the heavyset man, "It is nice to
see you."

The man wore a bloodied apron, and had been
chopping a fresh shank with a large carver. He set it down before
offering them a seat. The odor of meat perforated the air, and
carcasses of several kinds were hung behind where the man stood. He
had been her father's best friend for longer than she was alive,
and she considered him her uncle; he was always there to offer
advice or soothing words, much like her own elemental. If the words
of the villagers were empty, she hoped at least his would not enter
her ears the same way.

"Hello, Kahm", said Samantha weakly.

"I assume you're not here for meat", said the
butcher with a faint smile. He set a chair for himself in front of
them and sat down. Her wound didn't seem to faze the butcher much,
and he stared her right in the eye. It was like she could waltz in
missing an arm or leg and she would be the same Samantha to him. In
a way, it was endearing.

"I knew Charles since we were but wee little
lads”, started the man as he laughed heartily. "One time, when we
were about your age, Enorra was attacked by bandits from Merchant's
Keep. And when I say one time, I mean lots of times. Since Enorra
is farther north than the other villages, we’re closer to
Merchant’s Keep and we’re always the first to get their scum. Ah,
those were the days… Anyway, what was I saying? Erm…” Kahm stopped,
distracted by his tangent. “Oh, right. So this one particular time
when we were younger was special. Those scum came over here and
thought it easy to pillage a defenseless village. Can you guess
what happened?"

"What happened?" asked Samantha, like a little
girl curious to hear the ending to a bedtime story.

"Well, your father and I were quite skilled when
we were younger", said Kahm with a smile as he reminisced about
days long gone. "At least, for that time we were. We alone defeated
and pushed back nearly a dozen of the bastards. Just the both of
us. Everyone in the village cheered when we came back victorious.
Both his parents and mine were extremely proud of what we had
accomplished."

Samantha nodded solemnly, the memories of her
father still assaulting her mind.

"What I'm trying to say", said the butcher with
a deep breath, recognizing the anguish that Samantha was feeling,
"Is that the mantle passes on from generation to generation. I know
this is difficult to do at the moment, but Charles would not want
you to give in to despair. He would want you to carry on, and
continue to be the strong woman he raised. He was so proud of you,
just like his parents were of him. Everyone dies, that is for
certain. God has a plan for that. What matters is what you do with
your life. The last thing Charles would have wanted is for you to
lose yourself.”

Samantha looked away at nothing in particular
and nodded absentmindedly, like one does when a new realization
slowly creeps up and cultivates the longer the mind rests on
it.

Kahm looked at Samantha expectantly. "What will
you do with it?"

Samantha took a deep breath, then rose to her
feet and did her best to smile at the butcher. "Thank you so much,
Kahm." With that, she turned and headed out the door and in the
direction of her horse. The sergeant quickly followed in her
steps.

"Orders, ma'am?" asked Graf.

"We find the man responsible for this", started
Samantha resolutely without stopping her charge, "And we send him
to Hell."

If Kavem was opposed to her will, he did not
make it known.

---

"Mister Fash, your next witness", commanded
Judge Bane.

Serraemas looked around, observing the assembly
again and making sure that nothing was out of place. They had all
reconvened after the break, falling into the same designated spots
that they were assigned to. The room looked just as it did before
the intermission. This time, however, both the prosecutor and
defender seemed much more confident. Clearly, they had been saving
their best witnesses for the lasting impression. Gallo claimed that
trials were about truth, but Serraemas felt there was also an
aspect of pride abound.

The prosecutor rose from his seat, his suit
immaculate and unmarred. Such so, that Serraemas wondered if he had
hurried off to clean it during the break. Once again, Mr. Fash
nodded in the direction of the door, and the guard returned with an
elderly woman. She was also of nobility, and wore a red dress and a
tiara with a ruby embedded in it. In her right hand she held a
wooden cane, and in her left were two rolled scrolls. With the
cane's help, and the help of one of the guards, she walked down the
aisle and toward her seat very slowly. The same guard helped her
again as she stepped up into her slightly elevated position.

"Lady Amoria, thank you for gracing us with your
presence", said Mr. Fash with a bow. The woman returned a nod, but
her expression seemed stuck at a frown. She locked eyes with
Serraemas and frowned even further. Neither seemed to feel the urge
to look away.

"Do you swear to speak only the truth?" asked
the guard next to her. The women finally looked away, instead
focusing her attention on the armored soldier.

"Of course", she snorted. The guard seemed
offended at her scornful tone, but stepped back in silence and
nodded to the prosecutor.

"Please tell the court your background and your
credibility in this trial", said Mr. Fash.

"I am Queen Amoria Senna of Palav", croaked the
elderly woman harshly. She said no more, as if her words would be
recognized throughout the entire world.

"Okay", continued Mr. Fash, "Can you share what
information you have that will expose the truth for—?"

"They are murderers!" snapped the witness as she
raised a wrinkled hand and pointed her finger directly at
Serraemas. "They are criminals that should be hung a thousand times
for what they did!"

Serraemas expected the gavel to come crashing
down, but only saw amusement in the judge's eyes.

"Please calm down", said the prosecutor.
"Everyone here knows the charges brought against these men, so tell
us why and not what."

"Many sleepless nights I have endured",
recollected the woman. "My husband, the previous king, was
assassinated by those men."

"A bold statement", boomed the judge. "Your
evidence?"

The woman hastily unrolled one of the scrolls
and held it up for everyone to see. Gasps echoed throughout the
room as what the woman revealed was not a drawing. On it was a much
more vivid illustration of the two warriors, almost as if they were
looking at a mirror. The background, however, was of a distant
land.

"Shit", whispered Raxxil as he leaned to the
left. "What are those called again? Cameras?"

Serraemas nodded. "Technology is moving
rapidly."

"Can you explain to the court what exactly you
have presented?" asked Mr. Fash.

"This is a picture taken from a new invention
called the camera", announced the elderly woman, pleased at the
reaction her evidence incited. "This is not a drawing, but an
actual moment in the past captured onto paper."

"Uh-oh", heard Serraemas from the defender
sitting to his left. "Objection, your honor! What the witness holds
only depicts these men as travelers and nothing more."

"Indeed it does", agreed the judge. He looked at
the prosecutor expectantly. "Mister Fash?"

The suited man motioned for the witness to
continue. She obliged and unrolled the second scroll, revealing a
vividly-depicted dead king sitting hunched over on his throne. The
wounds on the lifeless body matched the description of the other
evidence, and Serraemas felt Gallo begin to sweat next to him. Even
the judge had an expression of surprise at the new revelation.

"No further questions, your honor", proclaimed
the prosecutor as he tried his best to keep from smiling. On the
opposite end, Gallo was visibly frowning. The judge looked at him
and opened his mouth to speak, but the defender shook his head
quietly in anticipation before the judge uttered a syllable.