Judgment

CHAPTER 14

"I killed her, Balthor. I killed my own sister," said Kamahl the next morning while sitting at the table, staring at the food Balthor had put in front of him. "She tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen. In my arrogance I killed her."

"It wasn't your fault, boy," said Balthor, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Ye thought she'd killed me, and ye acted without thinking."

"Acted without thinking," said Kamahl wistfully as he speared a falcon egg with his knife and pushed it around his plate. "The curse of the Mirari."

"Aye, ye've been acting on instinct, primal instinct, for weeks now," said Balthor. "It's just like Jeska said before she…"

Balthor stopped and glanced up at Kamahl, who finished the sentence for the dwarf. "Before I killed her," he said.

"Except that she's not dead, my friend," said Talon as he walked into the hearth room, closing the door to the room where they had laid Jeska's body the night before.

"What did you say?" asked Kamahl looking up from his plate for the first time since sitting down at the table.

"I said Jeska is not dead, so you did not kill her," said Talon smiling. He came over to the empty seat at the table and sat down between Kamahl and Balthor.

"That can't be," said Balthor. "I checked last night when we laid her on the furs. She had no breath. Her heart no longer beat. Me girl was dead."

Talon clapped his hand on Balthor's shoulder and said, "I'm happy to tell you that you're wrong for once, dear Balthor. 'Tis true that her breath is shallow, but air does pass her lips. And while her heart does not beat, blood does move through her body."

"I don't understand," said Kamahl. "That wound was deadly. Nobody could survive even a night after what I did to her body."

"I can't explain it either, my friend," said Talon. "There is a blue fire in her belly, and her whole body is hot to the touch. It's like she's burning up from the inside-as if that fire is keeping her alive while consuming her for fuel."

Kamahl buried his head in his hands and cried out. "Oh, Fiers!" he said. "I wanted her to burn for what she'd done to you, Balthor. I wanted her to burn in Fiers's forge until there was nothing left but ash, and the Mirari has made it happen."

The three warriors sat in silence as Kamahl stared at his plate, unable to eat, unable to look his friends in the eyes, unable to deal with all the pain he'd caused since his return. Balthor finally broke the silence.

"She's not dead, Kamahl," he said grabbing the barbarian's wrist. "Look at me, boy. She's not dead. Think about that and not about what ye've done. Think about helping your sister."

"She needs a healer," said Talon. "Perhaps one of the Order mages. I know nobody on the mountain who can cure a wound like that. It will take powerful healing magic."

Kamahl shook his head. "The Order will not help me. They believe I murdered their leader. And the Cabal now blames me for the death of Chainer, not that I would let one of their butchers near her."

"What about that druid ye met in the pits, boy?" asked Balthor.

"Yes," said Kamahl. "That's right. Seton. The centaur druid from the Krosan forest. He knows the healing arts as well as any Order priest."

"Can you trust this forest creature?" asked Talon. "We fought together in the pits. He has the honor of a Pardic warrior. I would trust Seton with my life. And for now, Jeska is my life!"

"Then I will go to the forest and bring this Seton here," said Talon, banging his fist on the table and standing up to leave.

"No," said Kamahl as he stood up and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Seton would not believe you. The forest people do not trust outsiders easily. This is my journey. I will take Jeska to the forest and find Seton."

"Then let me ride with you, my friend," offered Talon. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble along the way."

"That's me job," said Balthor. "I raised these two like they were me own children. If anyone's riding with Kamahl on this trip, it'll be me."

Kamahl nodded. "I need you here, Talon," he said. "That attack last night was only the beginning. The tribes are in danger, and only you can lead them. You proved that again last night, and now I'm finally listening."

Kamahl walked over to the hearth, pulled his sword off the mantle, and brought it back to the table. "Take the sword Talon. Take it, and lead our people to greatness. I pledge my life and my strong right arm to you."

"I will lead the tribes Kamahl, but only in your name… until you return," said Talon. "As for your father's sword, it belongs in your two hands, not my one."

"If that is your decision, I will respect it," said Kamahl. "But I will never wield this sword again. Not after what I did to my sister-and to you-with it."

"Then leave it here, and I will guard it until you return," said Talon. "But do the world a favor, and bury that orb in a deep hole."

"Done." Kamahl reached out with his right hand to shake on the deal, then hesitated when he remembered, but Talon clasped the offered hand with his left hand and nodded his acceptance to his friend.

"Mistress Braids," came the call, but Braids couldn't see anyone on the path. "Mistress Braids, over here! We have been waiting for you."

Braids grabbed a bit of the dementia cloud that swirled around her head and crept forward, prepared to call forth any number of horrors. From a small copse of trees jutting up from the lowland brush stepped a couple of low-level Cabal members and a jack named Griggs whom Braids vaguely recognized from the Aphetto pits.

"The Cabal is here, mistress," said Griggs.

"And everywhere… it would seem," said Braids. "You were expecting me?"

"Yes mistress," said the pit fighter. "Master Traybor sent us out to watch for you. He got word from the First about your descent from the mountain."

"Traybor? Here?" asked Braids as she released the dementia particles from her hand to rejoin the cloud. "Why?"

"Master Traybor will explain everything," said the jack. "Please come with us, mistress."

"Of course," said Braids. "Only do not call me 'mistress.' That is a name I should never like to hear again."

"Yes… ma'am."

The young jack led Braids to a Cabal encampment nestled in a secluded area of the foothills at the base of the Pardic Mountains. As she walked, Braids closed her eyes and saw the camp through her dementia cloud. It all seemed so familiar to her. There were at least fifty runners, pickpockets, and other minor Cabal members who had come to prove themselves and move up the ranks. They were the fodder, of course, and most would die. She had seen it all before during the Order wars. Or perhaps her dementia space was merely echoing this event into her memory. She could never be sure.

Past the low-level Cabalites were the jacks and dementia summoners. These two dozen warriors were the true power of the Cabal raiding party. Trained for battle in the pits, any one of them could take on an Order patrol, especially if the patrol didn't see them coming. Expanding her vision to the edges of the camp, Braids was both relieved and somewhat disappointed to find no snake guards on this expedition.

"Braids!" came the call from ahead. The dementia summoner brought her consciousness back into her body and opened her eyes to see a tent with Traybor standing outside waving her in. Traybor was the master of the games, or would be once the games began again after she retrieved the Mirari.

An accomplished dementia summoner, Traybor rarely used his gifts, which made him an even better leader and master of the games. Traybor had quite shrewdly kept both feet firmly planted in the Cabal, while keeping the power of dementia as his tool, both inside and outside the pit.

"Step inside, Braids," said Traybor. "Tell me of your exploits, and I will bring you up to date on Cabal matters."

"From what I hear, you already know the critical information," said Braids.

Expecting a lavishly appointed command center befitting someone of his high rank, Braids was pleasantly surprised to find that Traybor's tent was spartan and functional. A single table with the remains of his breakfast sitting atop the maps and battle plans, two chairs, and a pile of blankets in the comer were all that the tent contained.

"Yes, the First has been keeping tabs on your progress and informed us last night of the defeat of your… men," said Traybor as he led Braids to the table. "Very powerful, these barbarians. Perhaps we can persuade a few to come back to the pits."

"They don't persuade easily," said Braids.

"I suppose not," sard Traybor. He sat down, moved his breakfast plates to the floor, and grabbed a sheaf of paper and a pen. "Tell me about last night's battle. We should make plans for our next assault."

Braids wasn't listening. She had drifted back into her dementia space, her head lying on the back of her chair.

"Did you ever see Kamahl battle in the pits?" she asked.

"No."

"He was incredible, unbeatable," she said, reveling in the images of past battles playing themselves out for her enjoyment inside her mind.

Suddenly Braids snapped her head forward, opened her eyes, and glared at Traybor. "Now imagine fighting a dozen Kamahls… two dozen… a hundred, with no pit rules, no mercy, no chance of survival. Can you imagine it? No? Here let me show you!"

Braids grabbed a handful of her dementia cloud and threw it at Traybor. It expanded and enveloped his head, floating like motes of dust in the sunlight. Traybor's eyes rolled back into his head as the cloud projected images from the battle between the assassins and the Elite Eight.

When the show was over, Braids said, "You see? Planning is useless against their savage power."

Traybor dropped his pen and massaged his temples for a moment before speaking. "This is not good," he said.

"What?" asked Braids. "The games can go on without the Mirari. They just won't be as big."

"It's not that," said Traybor. "There's a massive Order army descending upon the Pardic Mountains. We barely got past them on the way here. If we leave, they'll attack. We don't stand a chance against them."

"Which would you rather face, Traybor, the entire Order army or that one-armed barbarian and his dwarf friend?"

Traybor didn't hesitate. "We'll break camp tonight."

"Report, Lieutenant," said Eesha, looking up from her maps as Dinell entered her command tent.

"The Cabal forces have holed up in the foothills, ma'am," said the lieutenant. "They may be planning an assault on the barbarians."

"What of the assassination squad?" asked the commander. "Any news since they slipped past you into the mountains?"

"N-no ma'am," said Dinell. "One of your aven units located three dead barbarians in the lower elevations that we believe were the handiwork of the squad."

"What makes you say that?"

"They were still walking about," said Dinell. "Zombies. In fact, they attacked the aven unit, which easily destroyed the monsters."

"Zombies!" spat Eesha. "The Cabal has no respect for the order of life." The commander sat down at her field desk and looked at the map of the Pardic Mountains. "Show me where the Cabal forces are, Lieutenant."

Dinell came up to the table and pointed at a secluded area in the foothills.

"You say their forces are planning an assault? What makes you think that?"

"They've had scouts in the lower elevations since last night, ma'am," replied Dinell. "My guess is they're awaiting word from their assassination squad before proceeding."

"Yes, that makes sense," said Eesha. "If their assassins retrieved the orb, they will leave with it. If not, they will ascend the mountain for a larger attack. Either way, we must stop them. Prepare your men to move out, Lieutenant. We attack tonight."

It took Balthor the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to rig harnesses that would allow two horses to carry Jeska's body, strapped to a litter, between them.

"I'll ride this one, so I can keep an eye on her," he told Kamahl. "Me legs are short enough that they won't get in the way of the litter."

"She'll have a rough ride in that, won't she?" asked Kamahl.

"It's the best I can do, especially for mountain travel," said Balthor as he tested the straps on the harnesses one last time. "Once we're in the plains, we'll borrow a wagon from some farmers."

"Well, pad the litter with firecat furs, and take it slow," said Kamahl. "And bring some gold to pay the farmers. I have enough plains folk mad at me as it is."

"I'll get them now," said Balthor as he turned to leave. "Come help me with your sister, boy."

"Not yet, old man," said Kamahl. "We'll leave at dusk. Believe me, it's better to travel at night in the plains."

Kamahl left to say his farewells to Talon and the Elite Eight while Balthor checked on Jeska, who still lay unconscious in her room, her brow damp with sweat from the fever. Her wound had been bandaged, but Balthor could still see the strange, blue glow coming through the cloth. The dwarf dabbed an extra bandage in the pot of water next to the pile of furs and patted her warm brow with it.

Then, checking to make sure Kamahl had not yet returned, Balthor grabbed Kamahl's sword from the chest in his room and slipped it into the specially made pocket he'd sewn into Jeska's litter.

"I hope ye don't mind sharing your bed with this thing, girl," said the dwarf, "but I can't let him leave without his sword." Balthor then pulled a few extra firecat furs out to cover the litter and his stowed cargo.