Fires of Justice
Part 8: Pilgrim – Sword-breaker
As soon as he had stepped out of what had looked like Ben Kenobi’s living room, Kale Connor looked behind him. As he had suspected, there was no door, there – just a blank rock wall, that went up, and up – apparently, he was in the mountains, somewhere. Somewhere in a temperate zone, by the look and feel of things. The air was crisp, clean, and cool – and slightly thin. The temperature felt to be in the low-to-middle sixties. The trees were mostly deciduous, but there were some coniferous trees mixed in, pine, and what Kale thought were Blue Spruce.
The sun was high, not at its zenith, Kale thought, but high enough for either late morning or early afternoon.
Kale stepped away from the rock wall, and listened. Ax had told him to follow the stream. He listened, carefully, and heard, under the sounds of birds, and rustlings of things in the woods, the sound of running water. He started off that way – then stopped.
“Ax said this world was a darker place,” Kale said, aloud. “More full of evil, and strife.
“Bokan maybe not such a good idea, Kale.”
Kale shrugged his over-sized sports bag off of his shoulder, and rooted around in it, pulling out his real sword, in it’s scabbard. He tucked the bokan in the bag, then dug a little more, and pulled out the sports bottle that was in there. There were a couple of swallows of Gatorade left in the bottle, and Kale drank them with relish, before putting the bottle back in the bag – then stopping, and emptying the bag out on the ground.
“Better do an inventory,” he said to himself.
He had the clothes he was wearing – grey jeans, black leather belt, and a dark red long-sleeved shirt, socks and a pair of combat boot-style work boots. In his bag, he had his gi, a set of sweat clothes, a spare pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a pair of sneakers, two towels, a spare set of sweat socks, a spare pair of jockey shorts, his cell phone – dead battery and all – his shinai – a bamboo practice sword, lighter than the bokan – his bokan, and his sports bottle. At the bottom was a small shaving kit, with a razor, shaving cream, a toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste.
In his pockets, he had his keys – the key to his apartment, his locker at the dojo, a key to his parents house in Philadelphia, and his father’s pick-up truck – two quarters, one dime, and three pennies, his Swiss army knife, and his wallet, which had $86 in folding money, a few pictures of his family, and old girlfriends, his California driver’s license, his Stuntman’s Union card, his Screen Actor’s Guild card, and a few sheets of folded paper with phone numbers on them.
Kale repacked his bag and his pockets, and stood, and hung the scabbard of his sword on his belt, fiddling with it until it hung just right, on the left side of his body, for a cross-body draw.
The blade was long, just over 34 inches, an inch and a half wide, at the base, thicker at the middle, actually shaped like a very narrow diamond, and tapering to a fine and deadly point, at the end. The grip was just long enough for his two hands, and the cross-hilts short, to accommodate the spinning style he used, to simulate light saber combat.
And it was real! No cheap cast-steel blade, not this. It had been forged by a man who made real swords, for a martial arts supply company. It had been prohibitively expensive, or would have been, had it not been for the money Kale had earned for Soul Edge. The blade had cost $5000, almost, and was Kale’s favorite possession. It had been made in the way katanas were made – the metal folded, and beaten, and folded, and beaten, the process repeated literally hundreds of times, before it was beaten into it’s final shape, and an edge put to it.
“Since I have a real sword, this will naturally be a gun-toting society, rather than medieval.” Kale sighed.
No. Ax
wouldn’t do that. He seemed like
a genuinely nice guy.
Again, he listened for the sound of the stream, and went that way, walking carefully, not quite sneaking, but at least being quiet. Soon, he found the stream, which had steep banks, here, and was perhaps 25 feet wide. There was a path, alongside the banks, through the light woods, here, and Kale turned onto it, moving downstream.
“Follow water, to find civilization. Thank the Force I’m not on Tattooine!”
He walked for an hour, as the stream’s banks slowly sank, then, when it was easy to get to the stream, moved down, and filled his sports bottle with water. He drank thirstily, and found the water to be delightful – crisp, clean, slightly sweet. He refilled the bottle again, before moving on.
It was definitely afternoon, as the sun was sinking. Deciding that where the sun sank was west, that meant that Kale was moving north-northeast.
It was probably about three o’clock, by the sun, when Kale saw the first real sign that he wasn’t on Earth.
The path, and the stream, went through a clearing, maybe 70 feet across, and at the edge, Kale stopped, and stared.
There, at the edge of the extreme left edge of the clearing, from where Kale stood, on the banks of the stream, was a wolf. But a wolf the likes of which Kale had never imagined!
It was standing, head lowered to drink – and its shoulder was higher than Kale’s head! It looked up, as Kale stopped to stare at it, and locked it’s eyes, gold, and alarmingly intelligent, on him.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, with a single low, rumbling growl, the wolf gathered its legs underneath it, and leaped over the stream, casually, and with room to spare, though it was at least 30 feet wide, here.
“Damn!” Kale breathed, when it was gone. He moved over to where it had been, and saw the tracks that confirmed that it really had been there. They were huge, and clear. No doubt, he’d really seen it.
“Oh, man – I hope the people are on a scale closer to me than to him!”
He moved on, then, walking quickly, for a while. He began to realize that he was hungry, and that it was getting cooler.
“No food. No shelter. Couldn’t Ax have let me out near a sporting goods store?”
Not that it was really necessary. Kale knew how to build a lean-to, and there were plenty of dead leaves to use as cover. Food . . . he spotted some wild berries, saw birds eating them, and plucked a handful. They looked like cherries, save that they were a very bright purple, and, when he bit into one experimentally, Kale found that they were explosively sweet, with a tangy undertaste. For all the world, they tasted like someone had crossed a Bing Cherry with a peach . . . . The two handfuls he plucked and ate were enough to take the edge off of his hunger, but only the edge.
An hour later, at maybe four-thirty, local time, Kale heard a woman scream – and was off like a shot, charging down the path, determined to stop whatever was causing the woman to scream, and maybe find out something about this place – but, mostly, to make sure the woman was all right.
He ran for a good hundred yards, before bursting into another small clearing, this one with four figures in its center, a small, delicate woman and three men – or something like men.
The “men” were taller than Kale’s own six feet, by at least a couple of inches, and that was with their slightly hunched postures. They were all broad-shouldered, and bowlegged, and very hairy – and their skin was gray! All had black, filthy hair. One was facing Kale, and his – its! – face was hideous, with a pronounced jaw, and protruding, muzzle-like nose and mouth. Its eyes were set close together, and black as pitch, under a heavy brow, and it’s ears were big – and they were pointed! In addition, all three wore ratty-looking leather armor.
And each was holding a sword in its hand, two long swords, and one, the leader, by the look of things, a broadsword.
And the woman . . . she sat on the ground, her face badly bruised, her white-gold hair disheveled, hanging around her face, obviously having been knocked to the ground by a blow to the face, from one of the creatures.
One of the long sword wielders came around the party, to come at Kale, raising his sword back over his shoulder.
Kale smiled, then – this thing didn’t know jack about using a sword! – dropped his sports bag, and drew his own blade, spinning it once, as he brought it up to a high guard position.
The monster-man attacked, bringing its sword down at Kale’s head, almost like it was swinging an axe. Kale blocked easily, shoved the attacker’s sword higher, then spun, and slashed the thing across the belly.
The leather armor parted like cheap cloth, as did the flesh beneath it, and the thing’s guts fell out on it’s feet. It looked up at Kale, confused, then fell sideways, shrieking and roaring in its pain.
Kale turned away, and vomited.
He’d never struck anyone with a real sword, before, and while he knew it was necessary, knew that the monster-man was going to bleed, and die – there was a vast difference between “knowing,” and “seeing.” The seeing – it made him sick.
There isn’t time for this, Connor! he thought, and turned back to the other two monster-men, wishing he at least had time to rinse his mouth.
The other long sword-wielder was headed at him, moving more cautiously, growling in anger over its screaming-but-already-as-good-as-dead comrade. It came in with a head cut, and Kale parried, and riposted, his own counter-cut barely missing the thing’s throat, as it jerked back. It came in again, with a low cut aimed to gut Kale, and he parried, spun, and was surprised to see that it was already moving to parry his own riposte.
Fine, Kale thought.
I’ll knock the sword out of line, then go for the heart.
His arms flexed, as Kale tried to power the monster-man’s sword aside – and the blades met with a clang, and a snapping noise –
– and both Kale and his opponent stared at the thing’s shattered sword, which was broken off only a few inches above the hilt.
Kale only stared for a second – then, he lunged, driving his sword into the monster-man’s chest, and jerking his blade out, as it fell in a heap.
The last of the monster-men snarled something, then, that might have been a word, and came at Kale, running, and howling, sword drawn back to strike.
Well, it worked on accident – let’s see if it works on purpose! Kale thought.
As the monster-man closed, and started to swing, Kale spun, both body and sword, snapping his sword up into his opponent’s much heavier blade – and feeling a savage sort of satisfaction, as the broadsword, made of a local, poor-grade steel, virtually shattered, against Kale’s own 21st century carbon-steel, fold-forged – and much thinner – blade.
The monster-man stared, confused, for a moment – then snarled, and reached for Kale’s throat, dropping the useless hilt it held.
Kale wasn’t going to be throttled, not by a thing like this. He stepped back, two rapid steps, and simply held his sword slightly away from his body, at roughly a 60 degree angle. He would give this thing a chance to back off . . . .
It didn’t take it. Instead, it pulled a huge dagger – almost a short sword – from behind its back, and lunged at Kale.
Kale spun neatly out of it’s way, and brought his sword around, and down, chopping through the thing’s neck from behind. The blood gushed immediately, spraying away from Kale, as the headless corpse fell.
Again, Kale turned away, and vomited.
Get a grip, Connor! he thought to himself. New world, new rules – and these things were trying to kill you!
Then the woman spoke to him, though he couldn’t hear the words clearly, and Kale held up a hand, index finger raised, in her direction. He went to his sports bag, opened it, took out his bottle of water, and rinsed his mouth several times, before capping the bottle, and putting it back in the bag. Then, the woman spoke again, from closer, and Kale understood her words, though her accent was very odd.
“Are you injured, or ill, warrior?”
The voice was high, but pretty, sounding like that of a teen-aged girl, but the accent . . . it sounded for all the world like the girl had been raised by an Irish father, and a French mother, who had raised her speaking English. The words rolled, and lilted, as an Irish person’s would – but, at the same time, had that slippery, sliding quality that Kale associated with the few French people he’d known, who spoke English.
“Neither one, really, Miss,” Kale said, as he turned towards her, finally. “It’s just – whoa!”
He stared. Openly, and completely unable to help himself.
Partly it was the short sword, hanging on a sword-belt, that she had picked up from the ground, and was re-fastening about her hips. Partly it was the bow slung across her shoulders, and the quiver of arrows on the right side of her sword-belt.
But, mostly, it was that she wasn’t human!
Standing, in brown, soft-soled boots, the girl was a couple of inches below five feet. Her body was slender, under the snug green tunic, and black leather pants that she wore. Her waist, though, was so tiny that it made her look more like an adult woman, accentuating her slender hips and small breasts. But these weren’t what caused him to think she wasn’t human.
Her face . . . it was her face. Oval, in shape, with high cheekbones (one badly bruised, from a blow – had Kale known which of the monster-men had done it, he’d have kicked the corpse), a small, smiling mouth, and a nose that would have looked narrow, were it on a larger face. But her eyes . . . her eyes were large, and gold, her pale eyebrows sharply upswept . . . and that incredible mane of white-gold hair, which came to her waist, was pushed back, now, behind her delicate and very pointed, ears!
“You . . . you look as though you’ve never seen an elf before, warrior,” the girl said, smiling a little less, and looking slightly worried.
Kale caught the hesitation in her voice, and the slight lessening of her smile – and gathered himself, letting the courtesy his parents had raised him with take over.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” Kale said, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t mean to stare, or to alarm you – but, to tell you the truth – I never have seen an elf, before!”
“Really?” she said, the worry leaving her face. “You must come from a very isolated place, then, warrior! Or are you a knight? You dress oddly, but your skill with a blade . . . ?”
“I am no knight, Miss,” Kale said. “Just . . . just a swordsman. And I did come from very far away.
“My name is Kale Connor, Miss. Are you all right, now?”
She laughed, then, a high, silvery thing, that caused Kale to smile with wonder, and covered her mouth guiltily.
“I’m sorry, Swordsman,” she said, making a title of his self-description. “I know it is rude to laugh, but . . . Your family name – or is ‘Connor’ your first name?”
“Connor is my family name,” Kale said.
“Your family name, Swordsman, sounds very much like ‘conyer’ – the word for ‘jester’ in my native language!” the elven girl said, fighting a giggle – at least, fighting it until Kale burst into good-humored laughter, at which point she joined him.
“I am Vallesennsarillian,” the girl said, as her laughter trailed off, “of the Senvaril Elves of Falammenn Forest. Most humans prefer to call me ‘Valless’ – it’s much easier for you to pronounce, I think.”
“Yes, it is, thank you, Valless,” Kale said, still chuckling. “ ‘Jester,’ huh? We can’t have that! I think you had better call me Kale, Valless.”
“My thanks, Kale, for your timely aid,” Valless said, eyes still crinkled with mirth. “And, should I need to call you more than just ‘Kale,’ I think . . . I think I shall call you Kale Sword-breaker! I’ve never seen anything like that, before, Kale! It was marvelous. Is your blade magical?”
“ ‘Kale Sword-breaker,’ ” Kale repeated. “I like that. Thank you, Valless. My blade isn’t magical, no. And . . . to tell the truth, that’s never happened to me, before.
“But then . . . I’ve never actually attacked anyone, for real, either.”
“Really?” Valless said, her eyes wide. “Then you must be from a royal family! To have been trained so, but never have actually fought?”
“No, no royalty,” Kale said. “But . . . where I come from, there is – I think, anyway – much less violence.”
“Where do you come from, if I may ask?” Valless asked, obviously intrigued.
“I . . . come from another world, Valless,” Kale said, hesitantly. But, he had to tell someone, to be able to ask all the things he would need to know.
“An Outworlder!?” Valless said, sounding suddenly very excited. “You’re really an Outworlder, Kale Sword-breaker?”
“I really am from another world,” Kale said, not sure if they meant the same thing.
“Gods of the forest!” Valless said. “An Outworlder! I never thought – I never thought to meet one!
“Kale, which way do you travel?”
“I’m following the stream,” Kale said. “Downstream. Looking for a town, or a city, I guess.”
“I am going to the city of Khorlan,” Valless said. “I carry messages, for my living. I’m a . . . ‘courier,’ I think, in your language?” Kale nodded, and she went on. “It is some five days travel to Khorlan, from here, the way I go – eight, if you follow the path.
“You have saved my life, Kale Sword-breaker, and perhaps others, by saving the messages I carry. I would welcome your company, if you would come along?”
Kale sighed in relief, and said, “I would be honored, Valless – though I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer, as far as a partnership goes. I’m kind of a ‘babe in the woods,’ here. I wasn’t expecting this, so I am no kind of well-equipped, no tent, no food, nothing.”
“That, we may be able to fix,” Valless said. “First . . . the kills were yours, Kale. Any goods the Orcs had – ”
“Orcs?” Kale said. “Holy – Orcs? No, wait – I’m talking to an elf – why are Orcs surprising me?”
“You have no Orcs, in your world?” Valless asked, surprised. “Or elves?”
“None, Valless,” Kale said. “Only humans, as far as intelligent races went.”
Valless shook her head, in surprise, more than disbelief, and said, “Only humans? You will have much to learn, then!”
“That’s okay,” Kale said, smiling. “I always did like school.”
Valless laughed, and then helped Kale search the bodies of the Orcs he’d killed. There were money pouches on all, and soon, Valless had explained the money system to him.
“These,” the elven girl said, holding up a copper coin about the size of a nickel, “are signets. Ten signets make – ” She held up a silver coin, about the size of a dime. “ – A scepter. And ten scepters make – ” She held up a gold coin, again, about the size of a dime, or a little smaller, maybe. “ – A crown. Ten crowns make a royal – though they don’t have any. Do you know the metal platinum?”
“I know it,” Kale said. “Though I doubt I’d recognize it.”
“It’s easy to spot,” Valless said. “See, here? The signet has a signet ring stamped on one face. The scepter has a scepter, the crown a crown, and the royal all three – and it’s maybe halfway between the size of a signet and a scepter.”
“What’s on the backs?” Kale asked.
Valless flipped the coins in her hand, neatly, all at once, and showed him that all bore the same design on the back – a tower, of some sort, with a crenellated top, like a castle tower, from the days of medieval England.
“All right,” Kale said. The math was easy, thankfully. “That being the case, I’ve got . . . two royals, eight crowns, four scepters, and eight signets.”
“Good!” Valless said. “Now, we find their camp.”
“On the way to finding their camp,” Kale said, “perhaps you could tell me what that money translates to, in the way of goods?”
“Oh, that would be helpful, wouldn’t it?” Valless asked. “Gods, but it is hard to remember all that you don’t know!
“That money . . . you could live on it for a month, at an inexpensive – but clean, and decent – inn. Or, you could dine like a king, three times, perhaps four. Or, you could buy a fine long-sword, or a cheap short-bow. A suit of decent leather armor, even. Not great, but decent. Arrows, mostly, are a crown for twenty.
“Bread, a loaf for two signets. Ale, a mug for two, perhaps three signets. A decent wine, three scepters, two, in the smaller towns, for a big bottle, or a pitcher.”
“And a tent?” Kale asked. “A sleeping b— a bedroll?”
“A tent – hopefully, the Orcs had one that will serve, and a bedroll, to boot,” Valless said. “If not . . . a tent would cost five or six crowns, as high as ten, if you bought good, waterproofed materials. A bed roll, a scepter, perhaps two, for water proofing. As much as a crown, if it’s been made proof against bugs, and lice.”
“I can work with that,” Kale said, thinking. He could almost grasp the system, and he felt he knew it well enough, from her wandering lecture, to avoid being cheated – often, at least.
They found the camp of the Orcs, then, and there were two tents. One was mud-stained, and torn, and filthy, even from the outside. The other . . . it didn’t look bad. It was cleaner, and there were no tears. Inside, it didn’t even stink, much. And the bedroll was solid, and not dirty.
“Wonder who they killed that they took this from?” Valless said to the air, an undercurrent of hatred in her voice. Then she continued, more relaxed, “Well, they’ve been avenged. And I’m sure they’d want you to have the tent.” So saying, she began taking it down, after taking out the bedroll, and the blankets. “We’ll smoke the bedroll and blankets, to get rid of any fleas and lice.”
“Good deal,” Kale said. “Hey, they had a kill here – I wonder if it’s fresh enough to eat?”
There was a small deer, maybe – hard to tell, it had been killed and gutted, and there were plants hanging around it – hanging from a nearby tree.
Valless finished rolling the tent, and came over. She looked at it, and said, “Yes, it was killed early this morning, probably, and they hung Krell branches on it, to keep the bugs off. It will be fine. And toy deer is good, tender meat.”
Without a word, Kale took the large dagger he’d taken from the Orc leader, and cut a long tree branch with it. He cut down the toy deer carcass, and hung it from the branch. Valless obviously didn’t want to stay here, so he’d need to carry it. He saw that she had arranged the tent and bedroll into a small pack, too, and shouldered it, before grabbing for the deer carcass.
“Not too much to carry?” Valless asked, looking at the pack, sports bag, and carcass.
“Not if we aren’t going too far,” Kale answered.
“Two miles, a little more,” Valless said. “I know a place where we can camp.”
“I’ll be fine, then,” Kale said. “Lead on, Valless!”
A half an hour later, they stopped in a small, almost hidden clearing, well off the trail, and Kale set the forty pound deer carcass gratefully. Valless was already gathering fallen branches for a fire, as he unrolled the tent, examining it, to see how it went together. It was easy, actually, and he had it up, before she had a fire fully built.
When the fire was going, Valless vanished into the woods, for a few minutes, while Kale prepared the deer for cooking. He intended to cook it all – cooked meat didn’t spoil, so fast.
Valless returned, just after he had successfully rigged a spit for the deer, carrying a huge armload of greenery, mostly vines, though with some leaves mixed in. She quickly wove a net of some of the heavier vines, and used it to suspend Kale’s new bedroll over the fire, high enough that it wouldn’t be in danger of catching fire, but low enough that it was engulfed in smoke.
The rest of the vines, all much smaller, she set aside, with a pile of broad, flat leaves. Kale looked at her questioningly, and Valless explained that the leaves were for wrapping the meat they didn’t eat, and the vines for tying the leaves to it.
“Relgar leaves keep meat from spoiling, much longer than you might think.” Valless frowned a bit. “Though they don’t work on fruits or vegetables at all.”
“Good deal,” Kale said. “I don’t know much about hunting, so I hope this will last us to the city . . . Khorlan, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Khorlan,” Valless said, with a small frown. “It should last us that long, easily.
“Kale . . . in your world, were there . . . troubles? Things that weren’t right, that no one seemed to be able to stop?”
“Yes, of course,” Kale said. “I don’t think it was all that bad, but . . . yes, there were things wrong in the world. Lots of things, really, I guess.”
“It is so, here, as well,” Valless said. “The Dark Gods . . . their Temples have largely taken over many cities, and worship of the bright gods . . . it is frowned on. In the larger cities, where the Dark Temples have better control, it is often even forbidden, and people are punished, if they are caught.”
“Religion,” Kale said, with a deep sigh. “Man, I can’t get away from it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never been religious, is all,” Kale said. “I don’t believe in gods.”
Valless’s jaw dropped, and she stared in unaffected shock.
“But . . . Kale, if you do not believe in Gods, then who do you think grant the clerics their spells?”
“Spells?!” Kale said, looking up at her sharply. “As in magic?!”
“Well of course magic!” Valless said. “Different from Wizard magic, of course, but magic, yes!”
“Magic,” Kale said. “Magic.
“Well, Ax, you did say that the laws of physics would be different!”
“You didn’t have magic, in your world?!” Valless cried.
“No, we didn’t,” Kale said. “We used science. No magic.”
“A world of sages?” Valless said. “I think I would go mad!”
“I hope I won’t, in a world where magic works,” Kale said.
“Not to believe in Gods,” Valless said. “That is . . . sad, Kale Sword-breaker.”
“To you, perhaps,” Kale said. Oddly, he wasn’t getting angry, as he inevitably did, when he discussed religion with his mother. “To me . . . it’s just sensible.
“The gods on my world, if they existed, never proved their existence. There were no rewards, to the faithful, no magic spells given to the clerics . . . only faith, and conflicting stories and beliefs.”
“I . . . Kale, here, it is different. I cannot imagine not knowing the Gods exist . . . I have seen the proofs, since I was a child, and I’m almost 120, now – ”
“How old?!” Kale asked.
“I’ll be 120, on Summerseve.” Valless lifted her chin a little, and looked slightly defiant. “I know, it’s young, for my responsibilities – but, I am an adult, Kale Sword-breaker!”
“Good grief!” Kale said. “You’re 120 years old – and only barely an adult?!”
“What? Well, the age of passage is 110, but – oh! You don’t have elves!”
“Wow,” Kale said. “To live to 120, and be a teen-ager, still!”
“I suppose, yes,” Valless said. “Father says that in human reckoning, I would be not yet twenty.
“I’m sorry, Kale. I didn’t mean to shock you!”
“No, it’s okay,” Kale said. “I guess . . . maybe I needed to be shocked, Valless. TO be forced to see the differences, you know? I mean . . . if you are 120, almost, and look about 15 or 16, to me . . . well, I guess I can accept magic. And maybe even Gods, if they prove themselves, as you say. I don’t know if I will ever worship one, but . . . I can maybe accept them.”
“I can tell you something of the Gods of the humans,”
Valless said, almost timidly. “If
you’d like to hear? It may help
you, later. To know who you should
avoid, I mean.”
Valless began to speak, then, telling Kale of the eighteen Gods of the world she
now told him was called Quelannas.
“I have a friend who is a cleric,” Valless began. “She has explained the Gods of the humans, and their natures, to me, to help me understand the conflict that my people are caught up in.
“Of the Dark Gods, there are only three . . . but, they are powerful, Kale, and terrifying, in their power.
“Sebek is the God of Greed, or, to his followers, the God of Wealth. They will do much – perhaps anything! – for the sake of money, if there is enough. They traffic in slaves, where the Dark Gods rule unchallenged.
“Khartak is the God of Chaos
and Conflict. He is unlike his brother, Davanek, who believes that
conflict should accomplish something, something honorable. His ways are those of the one who kills for pleasure.
“And
worst of all the Dark Ones is Jaranaset, the God of Darkness.
He is . . . evil given form, darkness that hates the light.
The worst abominations committed in the places the Dark Ones rule –
they are committed by His priests, on his wishes.
Sacrifices, in masses. Rape
of the clerics of the Light Ones. Torture,
as a sport . . . his clerics are killed on sight, by my people!”
“Good!”
Kale growled. “I may need to be
adopted by your people, then – to have an excuse!”
Valless smiled, and said, “That
you would do so makes you one if us, Kale, if only in spirit.”
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the creaking of wood, as Kale
turned the spit the deer roasted on. Finally,
Valless began speaking again.
“Next, there are the Gray Ones,
sometimes called the Twilight ones. They
do not involve themselves in the conflicts, or favor their followers who become
involved.
“Coskanik
, God of the Gray. His neutrality
is the central part of his being. He
has many arms, does Coskanik, and they touch many subjects.
But, they do not cross the lines between good and evil.
“Kathos it the God of the Wild.
He rules the woods, the wild places . . . and what does he care of the
things in the city? Nothing, I
believe.
“Sefalar,
God of Death, the Judge. He determines the fate of the just-dead.
He is not evil, not at all – but, he may sway to the side of the good,
Kayleen – my friend the cleric? – she feels, as he detests undead – and
the Priests of Jaranaset raise the undead almost casually, for soldiers, and
terror-troops.
“Lharasa, Goddess of Love and Marriage . . . . One might expect her to be involved, to fall on the side of good – but, she is not. So long as those in love still worship her, she stays away from the conflict.
“Lehela, Goddess of the Sun,
does not care for conflict – so long as the sun still shines, all is right
with her, and her followers.
“Rowaane, the Goddess of the
Moon, and of Women. She is barely
neutral, now, and may well come to the side of the light, for the wrongs that
are done her priestesses, and her followers.
We can hope she will, at least.
“Saldorn
is the God of Magic. He cares not for darkness or light – only for
devotion to the arcane arts.
“Fareel is the God of Mischief. And, as such, he is not suited to a war for Good. Though, there is little mischief, where there is little happiness – and the Dark Ones are hard on those thieves who worship Fareel – as some do – as they kill thieves, on catching them.
“Wykarrain, God of the Sea, cares not. The battles take place on land – and he cares nothing for the land-dwellers, really. Those who live by the sea, of the sea – they are his children.
"Takresh, the God of the Storm,
and of Change. In some ways, this conflict is good for him.
Changes are happening fast, in the world.
And what is war, but a storm of men?
“Garen, God of Knowledge, does
not care. He cannot, some say –
he feels nothing, only knows things. Many
of his followers seem to be the same way – without passion, save for a love of
learning.”
Valless hesitated, for a long
moment, staring into the fire, then said, very quietly, “My brother,
Ginvarelessionava, he . . . he follows Garen.
Once, I was proud of him, pleased that he had put his mind to such sharp
work. But now, I . . . .
Our father asked for his help, you see.
To help us devise a code, so that any dispatches that might have been
captured would not be read.
“And Ginvar . . . he refused.
“To deny help to one’s own
people . . . he has been declared outcast.”
“I’m sorry, Valless,” Kale
said, feeling lame that this was all he could offer.
Again, Valless was silent, for a
time, staring seemingly raptly at the fire.
Then, she began to speak again.
“And finally,” Valless said, returning to the subject, “the Gods of Light.
“Kayleen, my cleric friend, who taught me of the Human Gods . . . she follows Arteneh, the God of Good – sometimes called the God of the Greater Good. They are among the most powerful of clerics, but their disciplines are hard, so they are smaller in number, than those of other gods.”
“Powerful?” Kale asked, sounding doubtful. “All right, but do they use that power? Or are they so concerned with ‘good’ that they tend to let the power lie?”
“Oh, no!” Valless said, sounding surprised, and . . . blushing? “No, Kale – they are very active, in the fight against the Dark Ones. They lead the fight, even.
“I once thought as you did, Kale, I have to admit. Then, Kayleen . . . she saved my life, much as you did.
“I had gone to White Rock, a large town far south of here, to deliver messages for my father. After I left – when I was almost to White Rock – a messenger arrived, and informed my people that we were no longer allowed in White Rock. No one was, save humans.
“And I had entered the city.
“I was being arrested, and had been beaten, because I resisted, when Kayleen came to my aid. She was just . . . there, suddenly, wearing a pale blue robe, with Arteneh’s symbol on the breast . . . and she came in fighting, Kale Sword-breaker. She swung a staff with the skill I would have expected of a Wild-runner, of my people, and when she had disarrayed those who would have captured, perhaps killed me – she threw me over her shoulder, and ran, tossing a spell off to slow them further – the spell of the White Blade. It . . . creates a magical blade, that has no wielder – but attacks anything that moves, of those the cleric who casts it targets.
“I found out later that only one of the eight who had attacked me survived – he was unconscious, and thus unmoving, until after the White Blade faded away.
“I asked Kayleen about this, when I heard it, thinking, as you did, that those who worship a God of Good would be more . . . unwilling to kill. And she corrected me.
“ ‘Good can be an implacable force,’ she told me. ‘It can be as deadly, to those who are evil, as evil can be to all. Sometimes, Good may even seem cruel, in the demands it places on those of us who would act on its behalf.’
“I have never forgotten that, Kale, or the way she looked, when she said it. Kayleen is beautiful, Kale . . . but for that moment, her beauty was harsh, and almost cold – and a little sad.”
“All right,” Kale said. “That . . . makes sense.”
“Good,” Valless said. “Now, of Arteneh’s allies . . . .
“Mysarra, the Goddess of Passion and Pleasure, has allied herself with those of the Light. After all, pleasure implies happiness. And the Dark Ones close Mysarra’s Temples, when they take over a city.
“I am not sure how much help Her clerics will be . . . they are masters and mistresses of pleasure, you see. They are not terribly militant, you see, though they are excellent healers . . . .”
“And I would imagine that they are very popular, among the general population, aren’t they?” Kale asked, with a mischievous grin.
“Yes, they are,” Valless agreed, matching that grin. “Very popular indeed!
“Davanek, the God of Warriors, has allied himself with the Light ones – though that surprises no one, really. Those who worship him are bound by a strong code of honor, and fight only when there is honor in the cause. They are marvelous warriors, his clerics, as well as skilled in the things that keep an army going, between wars. They know armoring, weapon-smithing, and the rules of health and supply that keep an army strong and healthy. They have men who know horses, and leather work, saddle-making, and shoeing horses. They are, really, far more than just warriors, Davanek’s clerics!
“And finally, among the Gods of Light, Alethanna, the Goddess of Justice. She is weak, in these times, but still worshipped. There is little justice to be had, in these days, and that weakens the worship of Alethanna, which weakens the Goddess.
“But, her clerics – even her followers – aid us as they can, without hesitation. And there are prophecies . . . .”
“Prophecies?” Kale asked, intrigued despite himself.
“I haven’t heard much of them,” Valless admitted. “But, Kayleen mentioned that her Order knows of them, and is trying to help prepare the way for them, as best they can.
“Apparently, a worshipper of Alethanna is supposed to be a key figure, in the coming conflict. Very important, I suppose. Important enough that clerics of all the faiths of Light are watching for signs of him, and trying their best to help the followers of Alethanna, wherever they can.”
“Wow,” Kale said, softly, taking the meat off of the fire, and laying it on a bed of leaves to carve. “Gods – and Goddesses – who prove themselves, who reward the ones who follow them . . . Hell, I might even end up following one of the Gods of Light, I suppose. Not Mysarra, I don’t think, but all of the others have . . . some appeal.
“I guess I’ll just have to wait, and see what happens.”
“That, my friend,” Valless said, smiling at him, as he handed her a slab of meat on a leaf, “is all that we can ever do.”