Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (17 page)

“You speak as a prophet, sword smith.”

“If you hear wisdom then pay heed to me. If I speak falsely, then reject my counsel. But dark days lie ahead. Of this I feel sure.” Linsair stepped back and his eyes shifted to look past him. “Ah, so these are the famed Warrioresses.”

Ilfedo turned to find the sisters in a half-circle behind him. They stared at Linsair, without speaking. “My sisters,” Ilfedo said. “This is the sword smith, Linsair.”

Still, the sisters said nothing.

“Commander Veil.” Ilfedo waved his hand at the waiting soldiers. “They are dismissed.”

The commander bowed and walked between the rows of warriors, sending them to various tasks. Most of the men trooped to the makeshift arenas, challenging one another to improve their swordsmanship.

“Forgive us, Linsair.” Caritha curtsied and swept her hand toward her sisters. “You remind us of someone.”

Linsair bowed. “Then I hope he is someone you respected and loved.”

“He was.” She introduced each of the Warrioresses by name and then greeted Ilfedo. “You are heading back north, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He turned to Linsair and shook the man’s massive hand.

Linsair made a slight bow.

Ilfedo nodded back. “When you have outfitted all these men, you will have my thanks and that of your adoptive homeland.”

The albino man stepped back, and Veil walked up to him, tilting his head to look in his face.

Evela rushed forward and planted a kiss on Ilfedo’s cheek. Stunned, he looked down at her and held her away from him. He could see embarrassment in her sisters’ eyes, yet none said a word. Tears welled in Evela’s eyes. She sniffled and said, “Don’t stay away too long, my lord. Remember you have a child to raise.”

Ilfedo left as quickly as possible. He stopped on the brow of a hill and looked back at the camp. Inside an open tent Linsair set down his anvil and shouted for someone to help him build a forge. A dozen men answered his call.

In the arenas, the sisters raised their swords and commenced combat with the warriors. He turned to the forest and set off to the north. Now to deal with the Art’en haunting the Hemmed Land’s border.

O
mbre ignored the sweat dripping down his face and gripped his sword with a vengeance. Moonlight filtered through the trees in front of him onto the winged man thrashing on the ground. “Why did you come here?” Ombre shouted.

The creature shrieked and rolled in the leaves.

“Tell me what I want to know. I
will
spare your life.”

A laugh erupted from the creature, a laugh that turned into a cackle. It stumbled to its feet and grabbed at him.

He poised his sword at its chest, prepared to strike. Suddenly, the forest around and above him erupted as five more of the creatures sprang upon him. He was driven to the ground but fought back. “Help!”

Several soldiers appeared. They ran a couple of the winged men through with spears and assailed the others with swords. But a fresh group of the vile beings arrived. They fought like animals, using no weapons, and quickly overcame Ombre’s men. Again they attacked him.

Ombre growled as he fell to his knees and received a kick in the side. “Get back!” They swung at him, and he impaled another on his sword.

As he drew the blade from his opponent, a whinny rang through the trees, and a white stallion burst into the fight. Its silvery mane flew behind it as it reared and kicked one of the creatures in the head. It landed on its forefeet and kicked its hind hooves into another’s chest, crashing it against a tree. Silver flecks flew off its hooves. It moved with the speed of lightning.

“My champion.” Ombre rose and smiled as the animal rampaged through the winged men.

It wheeled close to him, and he swung his leg over its back. The white, silver-maned stallion raced him to a hill and dumped him. Ombre sat on the ground, breathing in the free air. The stallion pranced around him, flaring its nostrils in the direction it had come. Its silver-blue eyes watched the shadows. Then it reared, thrashing its silver hooves at the moon and screamed with such force that the sound echoed in the forest.

“Whoa there, boy. Take it easy. They aren’t even close to us anymore.” Ombre stood and sheathed his sword. He approached and stroked the wild animal’s moist neck. “I’m going to call your species Evenshadow, after the glorious twilight hours.” He chuckled. “You are magnificent.”

The stallion blew its nostrils, and suddenly Ombre knew they were not alone. He glanced over his shoulder and three white mares crested the hill, whinnying to the stallion. The moonbeams reflected in their silvery manes, tails, hooves, and eyes. The grass glowed blue around their feet.

Ombre walked to the mares and reached out his hands. “You are all Evenshadows.” They nuzzled him as if he were an old friend. He stroked their velvety muzzles and glanced at the forest from which he’d come.

A winged man sprinted from the shadows at the base of the hill. Ombre slipped his hand to the hilt of his sword. The villain dropped to all fours and raced up the hill.

Suddenly the forest erupted with blinding white light, and a torrent of flames ripped through the trees behind the winged man. The Evenshadow stallion wheeled and fled into the forest with the mares racing after him; silver flakes glowed on the ground in their wake.

On the other side of the hill, Ombre watched half-a-dozen winged men fly from the trees. The moonlight revealed their startled faces. They screeched and their companion on the hill sprang into the air after them.

The Sword of the Dragon blazed in Ilfedo’s hands. His body shone in the darkness with blinding brilliance. He saw the Art’en creature on the hill. It had been running toward Ombre but had turned to flee. Ilfedo ran forward and pointed the blade at the Art’en. Flames leapt from the blade, wove through the air, and engulfed the creature. It screamed and crashed into the trees.

The others had flown beyond the sword’s reach, but Ilfedo cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled into the forest. “Archers!”

Arrows broke through the trees. They soared like an avenging rain into the fleeing creatures’ midst. The Art’en floundered, and the arrows peppered them until they too fell.

Ilfedo climbed the hill and sheathed his sword. The living fire pulled from his body, the armor vanished, and the flames withdrew into the magnificent blade.

“Are you all right, Ombre?” They grasped each other’s arms and laughed.

Ombre shook his head. “Every time I think you’ve proven the limits of that weapon, I am overcome with amazement and humbled.”

“It is the power in the sword. I cannot call it my own strength. The Creator has given me a great gift.” Ilfedo grasped the sword’s handle for an instant. The living fire sprang forth. He released it and the flames subsided. “But it
is
a magnificent weapon.”

Together they returned to the valley by the desert, and the men celebrated the victory around roaring fires. But Ilfedo summoned a dozen of his choice men and rolled out a map. “My lords and captains,” he said, standing before them. “Consider the future of our land as laid out on this skin. In ten years’ time the Hemmed Land will become an effective nation with an organized military and government.”

He waved his hand over the map. Laid out for all to see were the three known borders of the Hemmed Land. “To the south of our land is an uncharted desert, to the east lies the Sea of Serpents, and here in the north the way is again cut off by desert. To the west is the Western Wood and beyond that we know not what. Our recent clash with this race of winged men, called the Art’en, has made us all realize how vulnerable we are to the unknown territories beyond our borders.

“Therefore we will secure the exposed northern, southern and eastern borders with three forts. And within the Hemmed Land we will establish walled towns.” He tapped his finger on the map. “Here, in this valley, the first fort must be built.”

“Peace! All I require is a place to work in peace!” Linsair loomed before Caritha while her sisters fidgeted behind her in the tent’s shade.

The crowd of soldiers milling around outside the tent grew as the sword smith struck his hammer against the anvil.

Linsair spun and threw the hammer into a heap of unfinished swords at the tent’s rear. The neatly stacked blades clattered to the bare damp ground, and the smith faced her again. “I cannot work under these conditions. Too many people are watching, and my forge is open to the elements. I would that this task was completed. Already a cycle of the moon has passed and not half of the swords I promised Ilfedo are forged.

“Therefore I have something to show thee.” He crouched near the swords, fished out his hammer, and stuck it in his belt before rising. With long strides he led her out of the tent and into the forest toward Ilfedo’s property. The rest of the sisters fell in line behind her, as did a few of the Elite. Linsair roared at them, “This business is between the Warrioresses and I. Do not follow us!” Stiffly bowing, the men returned to camp.

It took well over an hour before Linsair halted them in a stony place. Broad trees had grown between numerous boulders strewn over a small hill in the forest.

Rose’el leaned against a tree and crossed her arms. “We followed, sword smith. Now, pray tell us what in Subterran you’ve brought us here for.”

“We are near Mathaliah Hollow.” Evela pointed to the northwest. “Ilfedo’s parents died not far from here when he was a younger man. I wonder how well the cabin is holding up. He’s not been out here for a long time.”

Linsair used his foot to clear fallen branches from a stone. Then he bent over the boulder and dug his arms around it, rolling it out of the ground. In the boulder’s place a hole no more than two feet across stabbed deep into the earth. An iron grating spanned its mouth, alleviating Caritha’s fears that a person or animal might break their leg falling inside.

“Follow me.” The sword smith barreled downhill through thick bushes. Caritha and her sisters swept after him until he paused by another boulder and stepped behind it, out of sight.

Caritha stepped over a dead branch. Her skirt caught, and she knelt to free it.

“Caritha.” Laura crouched next to her and whispered, “He reminds me of Father.”

“You mean Linsair?”

Laura nodded vigorously.

“Yes,” Caritha admitted. She freed her skirt and stood, placing a hand on her sister’s arm with a smile. “But Father is a good deal larger than any man.”

Everyone laughed except for Rose’el. She rolled her eyes and trudged around the boulder.

Caritha followed to the mouth of a deep cave. Large torches lined the long tunnel that descended under the hill. Their flames spread a warm orange glow down the passageway, and at their end stood Linsair, a blazing torch in his fist.

Rose’el trudged forward, neither glancing to the right nor to the left. She stood next to the sword smith, unsmiling.

“What delayed thee?” the man demanded of the lagging sisters.

Caritha gazed around the cave’s interior, a circular chamber of considerable size. The walls of solid stone behind the sword smith arched to an orifice at its center some fifteen feet above her head. Directly beneath it on the floor an enormous forge stood on tri-sided legs of hammered iron. “Linsair, what is this place?”