Fires of Justice

Part 9:  Pilgrim – Magic?

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Kale and Valless talked a bit more, while they ate, then Valless watched with a critical eye as Kale set up the tent that they’d procured for him.  It took only a bit of puzzling, before he got it figured, and he set it up very quickly.

“Well done,” Valless said.  “Now, I will set up my bed, I think.  I’ll be down momentarily.”

“Down?” Kale said – but he was talking to the air.

With a speed and grace that made Kale think of a gymnast, Valless was scaling a tree off to one side.  She moved with phenomenal speed, and as casually as he might move while crossing the street.

In moments, she was in the lower branches of the oak tree that she had chosen, and was stringing a filmy-looking hammock between two branches.  She threw a couple of blankets into the hammock, then came down with the same ease that she had shown going up.

“There,” she said.  “I don’t mind getting in after dark, but I prefer light to work with, when tying it up.”

“Neat idea, that,” Kale said.  “Eliminates some of the need for worry, when you’re alone, I imagine.”

“Yes,” Valless agreed.  “Though there is little to worry about here, in these lands, anyway.  Unless you count the occasional band of marauding Orcs.”

“I don’t know about how little I’m worried,” Kale said.  “I saw a wolf the size of a small elephant, today!”

“An el-e-phant?” Valless said.  “I don’t know this creature.”

“The wolf was larger than any horse I ever saw,” Kale elaborated.

“Ah,” Valless said.  “A dire wolf.  Well, despite their name, there is little dire about them.  If you are wise enough not to trouble them, they will leave you alone.”

“I’ll leave them alone, gladly.”  Kale looked thoughtful, for a moment.  “Valless?  A couple of times, now, you’ve mentioned some sort of conflict, and your job – courier – has military implications.

“What’s going on?”

“The gods of the Humans are going to war,” Valless said, quietly.  “And it is very possible that the gods of my people will be forced to join the war, as well.  And possibly those of the Dwarves, and even the Littles will join in, as well.”

“Littles?” Kale asked.

“Some call them halflings,” Valless said.  “But, among themselves, they are the Littles.  Small people, closer to Human than Elf, in form and feature, but small.  Three and a half feet is tall, for the Littles.  And they are extraordinarily nimble, and dexterous.”

“Furry feet?” Kale asked.  “Hate shoes?”

“No,” Valless said, with a chuckle.  “No furry feet.  And they will wear shoes, if the ground is rocky.

“Why did you ask if they had furry feet?”

“There are tales of Elves and Dwarves on my world,” Kale said.  “And of a people called Hobbits, or sometimes Halflings, who are characterized by their small stature, furry feet, and hatred of shoes.”

“Well, perhaps they are based on the Littles, then,” Valless agreed.  “At any rate, it begins to look as though the gods of all people will be embroiled in the conflict that comes.”

“What started the war?” Kale asked.

“Evil,” Valless answered.  “Evil is always hungry for power, Kale.  The Gods of the Dark began, some three hundred years ago, to order their acolytes and worshippers to begin . . . taking more power.  They were fairly subtle, at first – so no-one noticed, until it was too late.

“Now, the Gods of Light respond – but, thankfully, all seem to be restricting themselves to fighting through humans.  A war between the Gods – power to power, aspect to aspect – that is something that would kill far more people than any normal army ever could – and that with just a shrug.”

“All right,” Kale said, trying to hide his disbelief.  “So, how did the Elves get involved?”

“Well, not all the Elves,” Valless said.  “Just my people, the Senvaril Elves.  Some call us wood elves, others wild elves.  But . . . in my tongue, ‘senvaril’ just means ‘open.’

“The Lytharien elves . . . they hide, in their hidden cities, and avoid all contact with humans, dwarves, and other races.”

“So, you are the ‘open Elves,’ because you don’t hide?” Kale said.  When Valless nodded, he asked, “So, what does ‘Lytharien’ mean?  And why do they hide?”

“Lytharien means ‘spirit,’ Kale,” Valless said.  “And they hide because . . . Kale Sword-breaker, do you find me beautiful?”

“Huh?” Kale said, surprised by the sudden turn.  “Well . . . yes, Valless, you are very, very beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.  And in my former line of work – I saw beautiful people a lot!  Just last week, I was fighting one – pretending, really.”  Sarah Michelle Gellar, he thought.  She had played the Greek heroine Sophitia, in Soul Edge.    Yum!  But still . . . .  “She was very beautiful – but nothing like as beautiful as you are.”

“Thank you,” Valless said, blushing just a little.  “But Kale . . . next to a Lytharien woman, you would not look at me, I do not think.  Even to my people, they are phenomenally beautiful.  To humans, they are . . . hypnotic, sometimes.  And to a human of low character, or an Orc . . . they are nothing but something to be taken.  Raped.  Owned.”

“Damn!” Kale said.  “That’s not even right!”

“No,” Valless said.  “But it happens.  And it has gotten worse . . . no Lytharien has left their cities, and traveled among the other races, in over a hundred years, now.”

“All right,” Kale said.  “So, how did the Senvaril Elves get involved?”

“Self-defense, mostly,” Valless said.  “My father . . . he is an advisor to the King, and he saw the increase in followers of the Dark Gods.  The increase in prejudice.  The beginnings of tyranny.  He convinced the King to set up a series of groups, that would study the movements of the Dark Ones’ followers, and aid those humans who have ever been our friends – the Clerics of Arteneh, of Davanek, of Alethanna, and their followers.  So, these last 50 years, we have increased our efforts.  When I came of age, I asked my father how I might help him, and, as I have no small skill in the woods, and knew many of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those humans with whom he was friends in his youth . . . father made me a courier.  I take messages to the various groups that oppose the Dark Gods.  I have been intercepted only a very few times, these last ten years, and always I have been clever enough, or lucky enough, to escape.”

“And what about the other races?” Kale asked.

“As their Gods get drawn into the conflict, so do they,” Valless said.  “Or perhaps the reverse, I don’t know.”

“Religious war,” Kale said, with a yawn and a sigh.  “Kale the non-believer gets dropped right in the middle of a religious war.

“Somehow, it figures.”

“You said you would give the Gods here a chance,” Valless reminded.  “And well you should.

“Now, I’m tired, as well – so, goodnight, Kale.”

With that, Valless went up the tree, while Kale was still yawning, before he could reply at all.

“Goodnight, Valless,” Kale called, as the elven woman slipped into her hammock.  He wasn’t going to ask what came next, but curiosity overcame him.  “Valless, why do say that?  ‘And well you should,’ I mean?”

He saw her lean over the side of the hammock, just a little, and the light from the fire was sufficient for him to see her mischievous smile.

“It is a well documented fact, in this world, Kale Sword-breaker, that the Outworlders brought here to Quelannas, have each and every time been sent here by one of the Gods.

“Good night, Kale.”

“Good night, Valless,” Kale said, distractedly.  He pulled down his bedroll, and crawled into his tent, going over the Gods and Goddesses that Valless had told him of, in his mind.

Nope, he thought, as he stretched out, remembering the mysterious figure who had sent him here.  No God whose name sounds like Axel, or Ax.

Weird . . . very weird.

And then, as quickly as flipping a switch – he was asleep.

_________________________________________________

Over the next five days, Kale learned a ton of things that he needed to know – though he had no doubt that there would be a ton more that he hadn’t thought to ask about, or that Valless hadn’t thought to tell him.

Races.  Monsters.  Animals.  Plants, both dangerous, and beneficial.  Class structure.  Government structure.  How to spot a cleric, and a mage – and how to tell their magics apart.

And etiquette.  Tons of etiquette.  His parents had raised him to be polite, and he was determined to be so, here.  And that meant a lot more than it did at home.

Warriors – wandering swordsmen – were considered to be of anywhere from ‘gutter’ class, to upper-middle class.  Given his appearance, skill, and determination to always be polite, when circumstances allowed, Valless decided to treat Kale as a member of the low nobility.

All together, he had to learn nine sets of manners.

One set for the ‘gutter’ class.  Beggars, prostitutes, low-born warriors, and the like.  One set for the street merchants, and performers.  One set for common laborers.  One for ‘fixed’ merchants – people with shops, and some sort of permanence.  One for the ‘high commoners’ those who had no noble blood, but were wealthy, who had worked themselves up the ladder.  One for the ‘low nobility’ – traveling warriors, of noble purpose, mages, of any stripe, hermits, and those of holy purpose, but with no gifts from their Gods.  One for the nobility, the barons, baronesses, dukes, and duchesses, who ruled in the name of the royal family of Quelannas.  And one for royalty – Lords, Ladies, Princes, Princesses, and the King and Queen.

And, even above this class, the Clerics, and other direct representatives of the Gods and Goddesses.  Paladins, champions, soothsayers, prophets . . . all those who had been blessed by their God, or Goddess, with some sort of otherworldly power.

Oddly enough – and against his will – Kale found himself liking that those “touched by the Gods” were placed even above royalty, in theory, at least.

On their fourth night of camping, the night before arriving at the city of Khorlan, Kale and Valless were surprised by a storm, as they set up their camp.  In only fifteen minutes, or thereabouts, the temperature dropped twenty degrees, and it seemed ready to fall further, as the wind blew down out of the mountains, actually sending a little snow before it.

“Damn!” Kale said, shivering.  He tightened the stakes of his tent carefully, not wanting it to blow over.  “That was fast!”  He opened his sports bag, and pulled on the sweatshirt that was in it, and then, after a moment, his gi top.

“The weather is unpredictable, at the beginning of fall, this close to the mountains,” Valless said.  “It may snow, tonight, though it will melt at first light, most likely.”

“Snow?” Kale said.  “Sheesh.  And it’s awful windy.

“Valless, maybe you’d better join me in the tent, tonight.  Warmer, by far, and no rocking in the wind.  It may be crowded, but that beats getting sick from the cold – or blown out of your hammock.”

“All right,” Valless said easily.  “And thank you.”

They went to bed after supper.  Kale’s bedroll was wide enough for both, and he had extra blankets, on top of the two Valless had.

In the tent, Valless opened her pack, and said, “Turn your back, Kale.”

Wordlessly, he did, pulling out the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d been sleeping in, and throwing them on, before putting the sweatshirt back on over them.

“You can look, now,” Valless said.

As Kale turned, the Elven woman was throwing back the blankets, and sliding under them.  She had wrapped a thin blanket, more like a sheet, around herself, and seemed to be wearing nothing else.

“Never sleep in leathers, Kale,” Valless said, chuckling, as his eyes widened.  “I’ve been undressing in my hammock, but, I can’t very well, tonight.

“And I’m pleased that you are surprised – it means that you are the gentleman I thought you to be – you haven’t looked.”

“No, of course not,” Kale said.  “Uh, good night, Valless.”

“Get comfortable, before I douse the lamp, Kale,” Valless said.  “Fumbling in the dark might be embarrassing.”

“Good point,” Kale mumbled.  He slid in next to Valless, and lay carefully flat on his back.

“Good night, Kale,” Valless said, and blew out the lamp.

Kale lay there, feeling the warmth of her, only inches away, for most of half an hour, before he fell asleep.

He woke some time later, while it was still dark.  It was colder, uncomfortably so, and Valless was moving around.

“It’s getting worse,” she said.  “I think, Kale, that we had best bundle together.”

Then she was pressed against him, small breasts pressing into his side through the thin sheet she wore wrapped around herself.  Automatically, he turned on his side, facing her, and pulled her closer, letting her wrap the blankets around both of them more tightly.

In minutes, she was asleep again, her breath tickling the base of his throat.  This time, he followed her more quickly.

It was still dark, when he awoke again.  He had turned slightly, in his sleep, and pulled Valless with him, so that the elven girl was laying half on top of him – and he felt her lips moving lightly against his throat.

Sensing that he was awake, Valless spoke.

“Kale,” she murmured against his throat.  “Kale, I am very fond of you.  You are an admirable man, and a handsome one.”

“Thank you,” Kale whispered, his arms tightening about her, for a moment.  “I care a lot about you, too, Valless.  And you’re gorgeous!”

“You remember when I told you that my people are sometimes called ‘Wild Elves,’ Kale?”

“I remember, yes,” Kale said.  Now, her lips were tracing the line of his jaw.

“It was the Lytharien who gave us that name, more than a thousand years ago,” Valless said.  “Others have picked it up since then – but, they all think it was given us because we live in the forests, and jungles.

“Not true.

“It was given us by the Lytharien, because we are more . . . open to new things, to different ways of doing things, than they are.

“And mostly, that comes because we don’t hold ourselves in virginity, until we marry.  We take lovers, Kale Sword-breaker.  Sometimes one, sometimes many, before we marry, though at marriage, we are faithful to our spouse, until one dies, and sometimes after.”

“I . . . see.”  Kale spoke softly, carefully controlling the desire to kiss her.  This could be going somewhere else, though it damn sure didn’t feel like it.

“Kale . . . after tomorrow, we may never meet again.  This is not a thing of commitment, that I would ask of you.  Only of caring, and desire, and affection.

“Can you accept that?”

“Yes, Valless,” Kale said.  “I can.  I do love you, as a dear friend – and you know I find you desirable.”

Then, Valless was on top of him, straddling him, and undressing him.  The sheet – it had been there only a second before – was now gone, and only warm, smooth skin met Kale’s wandering hands.

An hour later, they fell asleep again, this time curled up spoon fashion.  They didn’t wake until long after sunrise.

And when they did wake – they did it all again.

_________________________________________________

It was a cooler day, and neither Kale nor Valless minded walking briskly, to keep warm.  In fact, it helped make up for some of the time that they had lost, in their dalliances.

It was about two in the afternoon, when they walked into a clearing, and witnessed what looked like it was trying to be a rape, or a murder – no, both.

There were ten men, and four of them were holding down two women, as two more stood before the women, unlacing their trousers, in a clumsy, hurried fashion.  Off to one side, were the bodies of four men, all very obviously dead.

Kale was moving forward before he thought, sword drawn, determined to stop this, not counting the odds, not thinking at all.

He was maybe four steps in, when there was a “thrum” behind him, then another, right after – and the two men fooling with their pants were on the ground, screaming, Valless’s arrows protruding from probably-tender parts of their anatomies.

Then the four holding the women were standing, one of each pair striking the woman he was holding with a sap, or blackjack, knocking them unconscious.

Suddenly, one more was falling, an arrow in his gut – then one of them raised a crossbow, and fired past Kale.  He heard Valless cry out, and started to turn back to her.

“I’m all right!” she cried, seeing him begin to turn.  “Don’t stop, Kale!”

He glanced back, and seeing that the bolt had passed through her upper arm, and wasn’t life-threatening, did as she said.  But now, she couldn’t provide cover fire for him.

That didn’t matter, not to Kale.  He was seeing red, and thinking only of the fact that these men had killed, and planned to rape – and that they needed to go down.

The first of them leaped at Kale, long sword back to swing, and Kale simply stepped across the man’s body, so that he would have to swing farther than he could, to hit Kale.  As he passed behind the man, Kale thrust his sword backwards, feeling it bite flesh, and hearing the man scream.

Then there was another, and Kale simply parried the man’s blow – also delivered with a long sword – and snapped the hilt of his sword across the man’s jaw.  There was a satisfying crunch, and that man fell, clutching his face, and mewling.

Five left . . . and they were circling him, penning him in.

Then one fell, with a cry, and Kale saw another man behind him, this one dressed in a brilliantly white tunic, over pale gray trousers.  He had a long sword in one hand, and a flail in the other, the spiked ball of the weapon now spattered with the would-be rapist’s blood.

A man with a broadsword lunged at Kale, swinging his weapon in a horizontal cut at Kale’s neck.  Kale met the weapon with his own sword, parrying hard, to offset the weight difference, then snapped his wrists down, while rolling his forearms, slightly.  His blade bit into his opponent’s neck, deeply, and suddenly, there was blood everywhere.  Kale fought back an urge to vomit.

Then there was a pain, in his side, and Kale spun, to face the man who had cut him, swinging already, countering the man’s second strike, aimed at Kale’s chest.  The blades clashed, hard – and the would-be rapist’s blade snapped neatly in two.

The man was still staring at his broken blade, when Kale, continuing his spin, chopped off the hand that held the hilt.  Hand and hilt hit the ground, as did the man, seconds later, screaming in agony.  As he spun, he caught a glimpse of Valless, attacking a man with her short sword, and opening him up from groin to sternum.  Then, there was another opponent, holding a quarterstaff, playing defensive.

Kale came in low, as though trying to cut the man’s legs out from under him.  As the quarterstaff came down to block, Kale jerked his sword back, stepped on the end of the staff, pinning it to the ground, and ran the man through, sword slipping easily through his chest, and sliding back out again.

Kale spun again, just in time to see the last rapist fall to the man in white and gray.

And then there were none . . . .  Kale sighed, and leaned over to clean his blade on the tunic of the man he’d killed – and almost fell over.

Something’s wrong, here, he thought, as he straightened – and almost went over backwards.  Adrenaline burnout, or –

“Gently, my friend,” the man in white said, sheathing his sword, and hanging the flail on his belt.  His voice was warm, pleasant, despite the corpses all around.  “You’re badly hurt, but I can help.”

“Badly hurt?” Kale said, puzzled.  “I got scratched once, on my side, but that’s all.”

“I’ve seen less severe ‘scratches’ kill a bigger man, warrior,” the man in white said – and Kale looked down.

His red shirt was far too red, and his grey jeans were turning maroon, all the way to the tops of his boots, from the blood that was pouring down his side.

“Oh, sh*t,” Kale said, and sank to the ground.

“Kale!” Valless cried, running up as he sank down, the pain now washing over him.  “Sir, can you help – ”

“I am Emoran, Cleric of Arteneh,” the man in white said, as he knelt next to Kale, and Valless, who was now clutching Kale’s hand fiercely.  “It will be my pleasure to heal a warrior who would face so many, as well as healing your arm, young lady.”

Gently, and very slowly, Emoran helped Kale to lie on his uninjured side.  Then, while Kale watched, with eyes that weren’t tracking quite perfectly, the Cleric of Arteneh laid one hand on the six inch long gash in Kale’s flesh, as his other hand went to the medallion hanging around his neck, and gripped it firmly.  Kale had time to note the design, an open hand in an armored gauntlet, done in white on the gold medallion, before the cleric closed his hand around it.

Suddenly, the cleric was speaking, and his eyes were . . . glowing?

The words the cleric uttered were musical, and liquid, and Kale couldn’t understand so much as a syllable.  Then, the speaking stopped – and Kale’s side went numb.

Kale watched in disbelief, as the flow of blood stopped, completely, and the edges of the gash flowed back together, leaving not a single mark on his flesh.

Then came a flush of pleasant warmth, and a feeling of returning strength.

“Done, warrior,” Emoran said, wiping a small sheen of perspiration off of his forehead.  “Now, young lady, if you will allow me?”

Kale sat numbly, and watched, as Emoran cut the head off of the crossbow bolt that had gone completely through Valless’s arm, drew out the bolt – and healed her arm, just as quickly, and easily, as he had healed Kale’s side.

“Magic,” Kale whispered.  “Magic, and Gods.

“Oh, boy.”

Not the end!  

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