Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (25 page)

Alyx countered off the last one and slammed the back of her bohkir into Yetteje’s forehead, right above her eye. As the girl reeled back stunned, the sergeant followed up with a hammer fist, dropping Yetteje like a sack of potatoes on her rump. A short snap kick slammed the girl backwards and spread-eagled out onto the rough granite surface, her bohkir flying from her grasp to bounce out of the square with a wooden clatter. No one watching interfered, not even for royal blood. What happened within the combat square did so without rank or favor.

When the princess opened her eyes, she was still on her back, and Alyx had her blade at her throat.

“Why did you lose?” the sergeant asked, her bohkir not wavering. When Yetteje didn’t answer, the point of the blade poked her chest. “Why?”

“Stop it!” Yetteje cried. “What do you want from me?”

“You fought terribly, like a student hoping for her First Blade.”

“You don’t care at all for my family, do you?” she said, her eyes squinting as tears started to fall.

“I care about you living, more so it seems, than you do.” The bohkir was withdrawn and a hand replaced it, outstretched, demanding her grasp. Yetteje reached up and was pulled to her feet by the sergeant, but not unkindly. Sergeant Stemmer regarded her for a moment. “Why did you lose?”

Yetteje let loose a huff then said, “I was angry.”

“That’s right. You were. And in that anger, you let me hit you with a strike a child could have blocked.” She put a hand on the princess’s shoulder and said, “Now, look at me.”

She waited until the princess met her gaze, then said with a smile, “What have you learned?”

Yetteje breathed out again through her nose. “Not to fight angry?”

“Mayhap a better lesson is to understand when the moment is upon you. You may face an opponent who is far more skilled, but when given the chance, remove your emotion. Learn to
strike true.”

Yetteje nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I’m not as angry now.”

“It’s not gone, I can see it simmering. You have lost those you love, and that space will feel empty for a time.” She looked about the wall, her eyes finally resting on Niall. Then she said so only Yetteje could hear, “Your skill surpasses most—in leadership, diplomacy, even blades. Do not let the actions of others change who you are.” She squeezed the princess’s shoulder reassuringly. “You are special, Yetteje Tir. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t. It’s just... difficult.”

Before Alyx could answer, Niall came up to join them. “Do you think they’ll attack again tonight?” he asked, his eyes on the barbarian encampment. He seemed wholly oblivious to the fact that he was interrupting their conversation.

“Perhaps... perhaps not.” Sergeant Stemmer caught Yetteje’s eye and gave her a half-smile, then made her way over to a basin and scooped up some water to wash off her face. She threw a wet towel to Yetteje, who touched the knot on her eye gingerly.

“They pushed us hard the other day and continue to test our resolve.” Alyx went over to the princess and grabbed the cold towel and folded it into a tight ball. Then she braced the back of the princess’s head in one hand and pressed the cold towel into the swelling.

“Ouch! That hurts!”

“Now their leader must be wondering how to get us out of here. With Shimmerene at our back we have water, and the Lowland Pass behind allows us to go for food.” She ignored the girl squirming under her grasp as she applied pressure to the swelling. “How long will the other kingdoms stand by and let trade be disrupted? Even now the queen must be rallying Haven’s forces.”

She pulled off the towel and inspected the lump, noting the swelling had reduced significantly. “Hold this here, as I did,” she instructed. She turned her attention back to the prince. “We need only hold for a while and they will come to our aid. For us it becomes a waiting game.”

“That did
not
feel good,” Yetteje complained, but despite that, she held the cold compress to her eye pressing hard, if not harder than the sergeant had.

“Just like most things that are good for us,” Alyx responded. “How’s the eye?”

“Fine.” Tej looked out over the battlements, her demeanor and one word answer making it clear she did not want to admit the sergeant’s ministrations had helped in any way.

Instead, she answered Niall’s last question. “They’ll come... likely try to sneak in. They know we’re not going to just open the doors and invite them in, and they can’t get past our walls, so they’ll try to sabotage us.”

Alyx nodded and smiled. “I see someone is finally thinking. I’m happy for that, else I’d have been talking to myself all this time.” Though their contact fit mainly around her regular duties to the king, Alyx and Yetteje had formed a tenuous bond, the sergeant almost an “elder sister” for the young princess while she was at Bara’cor.

Yetteje had proven pragmatic and disciplined, and Alyx was known and respected for the same. It had been no accident that the veteran aide-de-camp had been assigned to see to the princess’s needs.

Niall looked at the sergeant and asked, “So we have a plan then? We are prepared for this?”

“We will be vigilant, patrolling the walls with double guards at night.” Alyx stopped, replacing the bohkir and bracing her hands against the warm stone and looking out over the desert. She took in a deep breath of the dry air and caught the whiff of cinnamon from the camp below. “Do you see that
ger?”
she asked, pointing at a large tent decorated with pennants and animal tokens. It sat well behind the front line. “Their leader sits there, plotting how to bring us out.”

“At first I thought he might be weak and cowardly,” said Niall. “But seeing him stand against Durbin’s arrow was...”

“What? You think him brave now, or noble?” Yetteje turned on Niall, her amber eyes flashing yellow with anger again. “He killed innocent people...
my
people.” She went over to the wall and stared at the camp, her face barely able to conceal the fury she felt.

Niall came up behind her and said softly, “Sorry, Tej. I didn’t mean it like that. I just...” He searched for the words. “I just thought that since he was evil, he’d be craven too.”

The sergeant spoke then, knowing something needed to distract the young princess from her own misery again, and this time blade work would not do. “You judge him ‘evil,’ but by what standard? Because he attacks us?”

Alyx shook her head slowly, though there was still a smile in her eyes. “That is often a mistake, judging your enemy as you would a character in a tale. This is no story, but real life. Here, good people die and not everyone looks the way they act. You must learn to know what is in your enemy’s heart if you mean to defeat him. The first place to look is in the eyes, for they are the window to a person’s soul.”

“And what if I find myself fighting a ‘good’ man, Sergeant?” asked Niall.

“Niall, no man who is trying to kill you can be good,” Alyx said with a small laugh, conceding to her own joke. “But seriously, would you rather see a good man go home and tell his family of his brush with death, instead of you? You have heard it said, ‘ask no quarter and give none.’ It is sooth, for the only honor you will find across blades is in the King’s Tourney. On the field of battle, the prize for winning is living. The dead eat dirt.”

Niall was quiet, thinking about what the sergeant had said. His next question came out hesitantly. “So... you have never granted someone mercy?”

Sergeant Stemmer looked at the two youths, her lips pursed in thought. “Would you think me evil if I said I have not? I do not look for conflict, but if a blade is drawn against me, I will grant no quarter.” Alyx turned, her mind on days long gone, and despite her statement to the two she no longer knew if this were really true. “No quarter,” she whispered, almost convincing herself.

Yetteje looked at the nomad encampment. They all heard the drums, the laughter. They could smell the food. Normally the night was best for fighting in the desert, the day’s heat making any kind of attack unlikely. However, it seemed that as the sun set on this day, the barbarians were going to rest. She turned to Alyx and said, “I want vengeance.”

The sergeant looked sidelong at the young princess, knowing she was angry and hurt. “Lives can be brought into focus through tragedy. It gives purpose, direction.” Then she looked up at the stars, barely discernible, as the sun slipped below the horizon. “But it cannot sustain you forever. What do the gods care if you or I have been wronged? There are greater ills borne by lesser folk. You have lost your family and I mourn with you. However, think on the tale of the gods Eben and Aaron and their fight against the demonlord Eris. This is a tale, I think, showing the difference between what drives us.”

Niall nodded, but Yetteje looked confused. “I remember some of it...” Niall said. “Lord Eben lost his kingdom through trickery. Since there was no shedding of divine blood, he and his consort accepted banishment. But that’s all I know.”

Alyx nodded at Niall’s summary, then began to tell the tale. “This was in an ancient time, when our world was embroiled in a bitter war with the demonlord Eris. Remember too that Lord Eben was betrothed to Selene, said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. When he and his wife accepted banishment from the land, Lord Aaron went with them.

“He did this even though he was next in line to sit upon the throne; such was his love for his brother. For years, they wandered the wastes of Winters Thorn, never allowed to return home. Through all this, Lord Aaron always stood by his brother’s side.

“When word came that the demons of Eris were looking for Selene, Lord Eben bade his brother to protect her while he went looking for a legendary weapon, said to be hidden in the mountains of Dawnlight.”

Alyx turned and leaned her back against the warm stone, continuing, “Lord Aaron knew he could not guard Selene without rest. He would need to sleep at some point and dreaded losing her during these moments of weakness. Therefore, he crafted a spell, placing her within the crude shelter they called home and circling it with magical sand.

“Then he said to her, ‘Selene, do not cross this barrier I have constructed, for it shields you from the hosts of Eris. They cannot cross this line, for it is my boon that it protects those I love, so long as they stay within its bounds. I must sleep, but will break the seal in the morning.’ With that, Lord Aaron went to take his rest.

“However, he did not understand the deception conspired by the demons. They sent dreams to Selene, dreams of her husband hurt in the mountains, fallen in a crevasse, trapped. They whispered on the wind for anyone who loved Lord Eben to hear, lies saying he was lost in the icy peaks, crippled by the cold and dying alone.

“She could not sleep and did not believe in Lord Aaron’s spell of sand. ‘How could such a small, fragile line stop true demons?’ she reasoned, not knowing it was Lord Aaron’s own purity, his faith, manifest in the sand that protected her. She crossed the seal, breaking the spell it contained, hoping to go to her husband in need. No sooner had she done so, than she was taken.”

The sergeant paused for a moment, looking at Yetteje. “I do not mean to say the burdens carried by others are somehow greater than what you feel for your family. I only tell you this to remind you of what has driven others, so we may perhaps be inspired.”

Seeing Yetteje understood, the sergeant continued, “When Lord Eben returned and saw his beloved gone, he turned on Lord Aaron, ‘I asked you to do a simple thing! Guard her! And you could not even accomplish that!’

“When Lord Aaron heard these words, his heart fell to pieces, for he had followed his brother these past years for love’s sake, relinquishing title and throne. He had protected and served him dutifully, never once coveting what his brother had and never seeking happiness with another. His happiness was his brother’s safekeeping and love. Think how his heart must have broken at this moment, to think he had failed his brother so completely.”

Yetteje’s eyes fell from the sergeant’s face to stare out at the sea of sand. “The problem is Lord Eben’s, who is ungrateful...”

Alyx turned to the princess and said, “Perhaps. Yet Lord Aaron did not give up on his brother and held no ill will on him for those words. He stood fast and firm and did not succumb to the misery he felt, both for losing Selene and for failing his brother. Lord Aaron carried that burden for another year, seeing his own failure and misery every time his brother looked upon him.

“Lord Eben, for his part, seldom entrusted his brother to another task. He rarely spoke to him and never with the brotherly love they once shared. To him, his brother was dead and their relationship became as you are to your shadow, forever beside each other, but silent. He gave up hope of ever finding Selene again and railed at the gods for punishing him so.

“Now I ask you this. Who suffered more? Lord Aaron, who carried the guilt for losing Selene and bearing Lord Eben’s anger in silence, or Eben, who lost his mate
and
brother?”

Yetteje looked at the sergeant thoughtfully, then said, “They both lost, but I judge Lord Eben’s loss greater. He can mend things with his brother, for they are still alive. You cannot make amends with the dead.”

Alyx looked at the young princess and said, “Lord Aaron never gave up hope. He carried his brother through his darkest hours of hate and self-pity, until at last they found and rescued Selene from Eris’s kingdom, alive.

“You see, had he allowed himself to be driven by guilt or hate, it would have eventually destroyed him. I judge that by maintaining hope, a better end was achieved, in which all were healed. But, Princess, what gave him hope?”

Yetteje shrugged, then said, “Stupidity.”

The sergeant smiled at that. With a small laugh she came over and clapped Yetteje on the shoulder, “No. It was
love
that drove him. Love for his brother and the desire to do the right thing. These things can also sustain us through difficult times.”

Yetteje shrugged off the sergeant’s hand and looked out at the nomad camp, clearly in no mood to accept the lesson. Her next words came out harsh, and seemed directed at herself more than anyone else, “Hate is an emotion too. It can sustain much, as it did Lord Eben through his darkest hours.” She watched the encampment for a moment longer, missing the look of sorrow that crossed Alyx’s face.