The Land Beyond All Dreams (10 page)

I might have to get a hammock back home. Or maybe it was just being exhausted, I didn’t know. I woke up feeling sore, but refreshed, and it wasn’t even dawn yet. Maraz was nowhere to be found, but her chamber pot was outside the door next to a pile of folded cloth. I used mine, set it outside, and found no new sarongs. I wrapped up in my robe and went to take a few photos of the bay as the suns came up.

Maraz returned with a pile of folded cloth, which she set in our hut. She came over to where I was standing and said, “It is time to get dressed and eat. What are you looking at?”

I showed her the pictures I’d taken. “Just getting some mementos to take home. This captures images as well as playing music.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “It is still time to eat. I brought fresh clothes.”

So much for impressing the natives with the miracles of advanced technology.

Breakfast was fish, fruit, something resembling poi, and thick slabs of smoked bacon. Apparently the mountains were full of feral pigs introduced by a defunct Human colony a few centuries back as an act of eco-terrorism. Hunting them was equal parts shopping trip and target practice.

All the students and their Ideals sat at the same table, but there wasn’t much in the way of conversation. All the Dwarves were on a religious pilgrimage—something like the Hajj, I gathered—and were under vows of silence for the duration. The Humans made it clear they despised me, which left only the Elven woman. I was able to find out her name was Altia, but nothing more.

After breakfast, we had an hour of discipline training. We had to pick up a solid ball of ghost steel and carry it as long as we could. The longer we held it, the more it hurt. The one lasting the longest was exempted from the next task, which was doing chores around our living quarters. I didn’t win, but I lasted long enough to get out of washing the chamber pots. Once our individual tasks were complete, we got back to weapon training.

Stonewall’s combat philosophy was to identify the weakest point on your opponent and exploit it to its full potential. Usually, that meant getting in close and putting a dagger into a vulnerable spot. In my case, I was learning to work my blade from the ricasso, effectively turning it into a short sword. My other main task was learning not to parry blade-on-blade. Don’t block the weapon, remove the hand.

After lunch, more unarmed combat. This was, in essence, a class in barroom brawling. Like MMA fighting, the objective was to get your opponent into a position of helplessness. Unlike MMA fighting, you didn’t stop at an arm bar—you broke your opponent’s arm. Combat training gets painful and bloody when the instructor can mend bones and regenerate limbs if needed.

After dinner, we were free to either do our own thing or join the resident monks for prayers and an hour of tai chi-like moving meditation. By the time we got back to our hut, I was well ready for bed. This became our routine for the next few weeks. Everything seemed to be going well, until one night when I went to watch a meteor shower over the bay. I was watching a very bright fireball dive into the ocean when someone slammed into me at a full run and shoved me toward the edge of the cliff.

I landed half off the edge, fingers scrabbling dirt. My left hand touched a bench leg. I clung to it by the tips of my fingers. My right hand grabbed hair. I turned to the right as fast as I could and yanked. I felt empty air under my shoulder, but the guy on top of me toppled sideways. His scream didn’t last as long as I thought it would.

I rolled away from the edge and got to my feet. A ghost steel axe sliced through my side, knocking the air out of me. I grabbed the bastard’s arm, holding him in place so I could drive Kindness under his ribs and through his heart. Before I pulled it out, I twisted the blade. I got to my feet. He dropped to his knees and I took his head off.

I held my side and looked around, but no more hostiles were incoming. There was, however, quite a crowd of curious folks approaching. I stood and waited, cleaning Kindness with Dead Guy Number Two’s sarong.

The dead guy was one of the Human men, and I was pretty sure the one at the bottom of the cliff was the other. The Human woman looked pissed, and the two Ideals who had been partnered with the dead guys looked ready to chew steel and spit out nails.

“He killed them!” the Human woman screamed. “He attacked them with live steel and slaughtered them!”

Maraz touched my arm. “Please wait in our room. You will be questioned later.” I nodded and headed into the hut without saying anything. I lit an oil lamp and washed the blood off my hands. Once that was done, I got my sword care kit out and gave Kindness a thorough cleaning.

For a guy with a computer science degree, I was racking up a Hell of a body count. Even though these two were clearly self-defense, they still counted. It might be callous to say so, but the part bothering me most was the hatred these guys had felt for me.

I’m Caucasian, middle-class, and reasonably well off. I’ve never felt discriminated against in my life. I don’t even get much crap when I tell people my religious beliefs are based on the personal morals of a fictional character that lives in a blue box. Someone hating me enough to try to shove me off a freaking cliff? WTF??

Yeah. Welcome to the club. You can sit by the folks hacked to death by machete-wielding mobs.

Maraz came in and sat on her hammock. “You sure know how to make friends.” When I didn’t answer, she added, “The woman knew about the plan to attack you. Her job was to distract the Ideals so the others could get to you without interference. She’s going home tomorrow. You’re staying.”

I put my gear away and blew out the lamp. “I’m sorry. I never wanted anything like this to happen.”

“Don’t regret what you can’t control, Dragonbound.” Maraz stretched out and sighed. “You are alive. Never apologize for that.”

I nodded in the darkness. “Yeah. Thank you for your lessons, Ideal.”

“You’re welcome, David. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, Ideal.” I rolled over and followed instructions.

The next morning, Maraz woke me just before dawn. “The Superior Master has ordered a special exercise today. If you want breakfast, we go now.” She handed me a clean sarong and the ghost steel two-hander I’d been working with.

At the dining hall, it looked like half the monastery had rolled out early. I loaded up on bacon rashers and oat-laced potato cakes. They were the best carb-load I’d found here and always went fast.

Once I sat down, I asked Maraz, “So, what’s going on?”

She said, “Today is going to be a day of peacemaking. Anyone with a grudge is free to challenge anyone else and settle matters on the sand.”

Oh, my.
“And you think someone may have an issue with me?”

“Your body has been strengthened by Dragon magic and you just killed two other students. It would be a great coup to beat you.”

I snorted. “Anyone who wants to beat me will have to work for it. I will not disappoint you.”

We went out to the arena and took our places. There was only one actual grudge match on the agenda, a fight between two senior members of the monastery over a months-old personal slight. They’d wanted to sort things out for a while, so the Superior Master had given in and declared the peacemaking would take place today.

They chose to face each other bare-handed, starting with some old-fashioned punches to the face. Once they’d satisfied their baser urges, they fell back on their training and got up close and personal. They clinched and broke three times without doing any major damage. The fourth clinch, one had a hair more leverage and his opponent suffered a broken wrist, dislocated shoulder, and broken jaw in about a second and a half. Arm up, head down, knee up, teeth went flying.

It was damn impressive, and pointed out to me how badly things could go if someone had a beef. On the good side, it wouldn’t be permanent. I still didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction.

Once the arena was clear, the Superior Master called for any others with grievances to come forth and make them known. I didn’t think there would be very many, but apparently monastery life breeds a wealth of repressed conflict. It didn’t help that Dwarves really know how to hold a grudge.

One of the battles was over a pinch too much salt accidently added to the wrong breakfast plate. Another was over a borrowed text kept a week too long. Even the monks bringing the challenges laughed at them, and the majority of the fights were good-spirited bouts filled with boasting and trash-talk. It was a good example of what Maraz described as “being gleeful in battle”—at least until the Superior Master called my name.

I walked out on to the sand. “Yes, sir?”

“Ideal Amar has demanded a peacemaking on behalf of his student, Evig Arnesson, who died by your hand. What say you to the grievance?”

Don’t do anything stupid or dangerous just because a girl is watching.
It was one of the best pieces of advice Dad had ever given me and I was sticking with it. I gave Maraz a smile and turned around.

“If the families of the men I killed demand satisfaction, I will honor their requests. However, Ideal Amar has no grounds for grievance and thus no claim on me, Superior Master.”

The Superior Master nodded. “Agreed. Ideal Amar, your grievance is declined.”

Amar roared and charged like a bull on crack. I spotted a discarded ghost steel sword in the sand and dropped to one knee to grab it. I brought the blade up in time to slice Amar across the gut. It must have hurt like Hell, but Amar didn’t care. He grabbed my hair and punched me, breaking my nose. I dropped the sword and drove my fist up into his balls. Amar bellowed, lifted me bodily off the ground, and hurled me head first into a brick wall. I saw a few bright flashes and everything went dark.

I came to in a pool of blood. Maraz was holding my jaw open so my new teeth would form correctly. I waited for her to finish and asked, “Did he give up yet?”

“He had to be pulled off of you, if that’s what you mean. You drew first blood with a lethal stroke. That means you won. Amar shamed himself by continuing the attack.”

I sat up and looked around. Amar was across the circle, with three other clerics around him. My stomach clenched, roiling under memories of middle-school taunts and bathroom ambushes. I looked away from Maraz and said, “Not exactly a fair fight, though.”

She shook her head. “Are you listening to me? You’re already accounted the winner. Amar broke the rules. It’s time to walk away and let the Superior Master deal with Amar.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not going to live in fear of this guy. I’m not going to let anyone think I’m afraid of him, either.” I paused a moment, and then added, “Maraz, there’s something on my world called Danegeld. It was a tribute paid to sea raiders so they wouldn’t come in and ransack your town. The thing is, once you paid Danegeld, you found out you couldn’t get rid of the Dane. If I don’t stand him down, everybody and their brother will want a piece of me, because I’m Dragonbound. I can’t live like that.”

Maraz shook her head again. “Stop applying the rules of your world. You won. Take the victory and walk away.” She lowered her voice and pulled my head close so she could whisper in my ear. “You struck a killing blow on Amar when he attacked you. That impressed everyone. If you challenge him and he beats you, you lose that status and embarrass me. Do you understand?”

I closed my eyes and forced the shame and anger down. “I understand.”

“Good.” Maraz got to her feet. “Let’s go bathe. You’re a mess.”

It took close to an hour to get the dried blood out of my hair. I put on a clean sarong and we headed for the dining hall for lunch. I was feeling butterflies, wondering how I was going to be received by the monastery residents. I took a deep breath before opening the door and tried to look confident. I didn’t get any smiles—surrounded by Dwarves, remember?—but I did get nods and a few approving grunts. I nodded back and tried to relax.

Most of the food was gone, but Altia and her Ideal, Karav, had saved two platters for us. We thanked them and tucked in. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until we sat down. Even magical healing consumes bodily resources, and I’d needed a lot of work.

Karav pushed her plate aside and asked, “Maraz, will your student be up to sparring today?”

“No. Is there a waiting list already?”

“No, but there are many eyes looking your way. Teeth may follow.” Karav tilted her head to the side. “Reminding everyone he is a student might turn the eyes aside. It’s hard to ambush a live lion.”

Maraz gave Karav a nod. “Perhaps tomorrow. I’d like to see passions cool a bit. Are you requesting the first bout for your student?”

“Of course.”

“Granted. Thank you, Karav.”

Karav and Altia stood up. “It’s nothing. Be well, and we will see you on the sands.” Altia didn’t say anything, but as she passed me, she smiled at me for the first time since I got here.

I waited until they had left the dining hall and asked, “What was all that about?”

Maraz smiled and patted my hand. “Altia has reserved the first training duel with you. Until you fight her, no one else can challenge you.”

“I see. Very convenient.” I looked around the hall, but didn’t see anyone giving me the stinkeye. “So, what do we do the rest of the day?”

Maraz leaned forward. “How about a tour of the village and swimming in the bay? There’s a shipwreck out by the Teeth we could visit. It was picked over a hundred years ago and it’s half coral reef now, but sometimes people find things.”

“Sounds interesting.” It was an intriguing idea, and the survival case for my phone was rated up to two hundred feet. “I suppose we’d be using water-breathing spells?”

She gave me a
here’s your sign
look. “Obviously.”

“All right. Let’s do it.” I went to grab my phone and Maraz went off to arrange transport down to the village.

Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Transport, in this case, turned out to be a rickshaw pulled by Rats Of Ginormous Size. Maraz referred to the arrangement as a “scurrier”, an apt if not too creative term. The rats might be the size of racehorses, but they were still rats. They did, however, go like, well, stabbed rats.