Child of the Sword, Book 1 of The Gods Within (15 page)

Valso’s face twisted into a mask of rage.
“Go,” he snarled.

Morgin nodded to MichaelOff. The Inetkas and
Elhiynes backed slowly out of the room, ever conscious of the Kulls
with their drawn blades. But JohnEngine stopped beside Morgin and
whispered, “We don’t leave without you, brother.”

Again the action had caught up with Morgin’s
plans. Again he didn’t know what to do, and during his moment of
indecision Valso smiled sweetly. “Well, Elhiyne. What will you do
now? The instant you take you blade from my throat, you’ll die.”
The Kulls muttered expectantly, like a pack of dogs given the scent
of their prey.

“Then I won’t take my blade from you
throat,” Morgin said. “As a common courtesy, you’ll accompany us to
the door, won’t you, Your Highness?”

The rage and the hatred returned to Valso’s
face.

Morgin used the tip of his blade to force
Valso’s chin toward the ceiling, until his back arched
uncomfortably. “Let us walk carefully,” Morgin said.

They moved slowly, JohnEngine leading the
way, Morgin back-stepping behind him, the prince following with his
chin forced high in the air. The Kulls closed in behind Valso,
ready to take advantage of any chance misstep.

When they reached the door Morgin paused,
his back to the street. He had to think of some way to exit
quickly, and so without warning he raised his boot and kicked Valso
in the chest, using the momentum of the kick to push himself out
into the street. JohnEngine slammed the door in front of him, and
the last thing Morgin saw was Valso sprawling into the waiting arms
of his Kulls.

They ran, he and JohnEngine and the others.
They ran following MichaelOff, dodging through alleys and back
streets. At first they could hear Valso screaming at his Kulls to
catch them, but soon Valso’s cries were lost in the distance and
the night.

Morgin rounded a corner at full speed and
plowed headlong into someone. He went sprawling into the street,
rolled quickly to one side and came up sword drawn. At his feet lay
SandoFall. About them both stood their kinsmen, breathing heavily
and listening silently. And but for the sounds of a nearby inn, the
night was still. No Valso. No Kulls.

“We’ve lost them,” MichaelOff said.

SandoFall stood, brushing dust from his
clothes. “I’m not sure which is more dangerous, Valso and his
Kulls, or this charging bull of a cousin of yours.” He nodded to
Morgin.

MichaelOff laughed. “But you owe him your
skin. The least you can do is let him knock you down a few
times.”

JohnEngine laughed uncontrollably. “We all
owe him our skins.”

“Right you are,” someone bellowed and
slapped Morgin on the back. Suddenly they were all laughing,
shaking his hand and congratulating him for so deftly humiliating
the Decouix. Even DaNoel was for once friendly.

“Hah!” JohnEngine shouted. “The evening is
still young. Morgin can join us.”

“Aye,” SandoFall yelled. “And he’ll not buy
his own drinks.”

They swept Morgin along as they moved to
another inn. He had suddenly become one of them, he realized, a
witchman. Perhaps he would always be something of an outsider, but
he understood now that he was a clansman. He could not have
abandoned them in that inn any more than they could have abandoned
him. They were his kin, even if not by blood; his family, even if
not by birth. He would have to trust them, whether Olivia trusted
him or not.

Olivia! Morgin had a horrible thought. He
grabbed MichaelOff’s sleeve and pulled him close. “What’s
grandmother going to say?”

MichaelOff looked as if his drink had just
gone sour in his mouth. “Oh Morgin! Let’s not think of unpleasant
things tonight. We’ll face grandmother when the time comes.”

~~~

“You put steel to the Decouix?” Olivia
demanded angrily, her voice rising to a shout.

Morgin, kneeling with his brothers and
cousins at her feet, decided to assume that she meant the
collective you. She hadn’t specifically addressed him, and
MichaelOff had done all of the talking so far, so why not let him
answer?

“Morgin. I’m speaking to you. Answer
me.”

“Yes, grandmother.”

“Do you mean, ‘Yes you put steel to the
Decouix’?”

“Yes, grandmother. But I—”

“You drew his blood, and then you asked his
permission to leave?”

Morgin cringed. “Yes, grandmother.” He knew
the symptoms well. The old witch was building to a monumental
explosion.

“Ah ha!” Olivia cawed, throwing her head
back and laughing like a young girl at a dance. “How exquisite! How
utterly exquisite! Such irony I had never hoped to see. The
Decouix, publicly humbled, and by his own foolishness.”

Morgin glanced up to sneak a quick look at
the old woman. She literally shook with mirth, but it died as
quickly as it was born, and her gaze returned to him. Her eyes
narrowed. Morgin snapped his head back down.

“How came you to be in that inn?”

“I was staying there, grandmother.”

“So! You find their accommodations better
than ours?”

“No, grandmother. I just needed a place to
be alone and think.”

“And what made you choose that particular
inn?”

“I didn’t choose it. France did.”

“And who is this France?”

“A swordsman, grandmother. He saved my
life.”

“He saved your life, eh?”

“Yes, grandmother.”

She pondered that for a moment. “It seems
you have a story to tell. But first I think you owe me an
apology.”

“I’m sorry, grandmother.”

“That’s better,” she said, softening a
little. “You are forgiven this time. Especially since you redeemed
yourself by humbling the Decouix. But don’t ever walk out on me
like that again.”

“Yes, grandmother.”

“Good.” Suddenly she was all smiles. She sat
down on her couch. “Come, grandson. Sit beside me and tell me of
this adventure of yours. Leave nothing out. I must hear it
all.”

She was positively merry as Morgin told his
story, laughing at times like a young girl. He told her of France
and the fight in the street. When he told her of the man he had
killed she bragged that he was now a blooded warrior. JohnEngine
and DaNoel both looked envious, and AnnaRail looked sad. He left
out France’s comments about witches, and there was no need to
mention things like the barmaid who propositioned him. When he told
of buying the sword she asked to see it. She looked it over
mechanically, commenting only that it appeared rather crude. But
when Malka examined it he pronounced it
“. . . functional, well balanced; a good weapon.
This France fellow knows his steel.” Morgin didn’t tell them it was
a Benesh’ere blade.

The story ended almost festively, with all
of the young men contributing bits and pieces to the final scene in
the inn with Valso. Olivia hung on every word, asking for
embellishments on this and that, especially concerning Valso’s red
and angry face. When she dismissed them it was with smiles and
compliments for all concerned.

Morgin wasted no time cornering MichaelOff
who was relaxing in his room. When Morgin asked him why Olivia was
so happy about the confrontation with Valso, MichaelOff ran his
fingers through his hair and showed little enthusiasm for the
telling of a long tale. But Morgin pestered him until he agreed to
its telling.

“Long ago,” MichaelOff said, “Olivia’s
father, Bertak, led Elhiyne with his wife Hillell. Since they had
no sons Olivia, as the oldest daughter, was heir to Elhiyne. When
she married Karlane he became consort and Elhiyne, instead of
following the usual custom whereby the bride is adopted into the
groom’s clan. Olivia bore three sons and a daughter, the youngest
of which was Malka.”

Morgin was wide-eyed with disbelief. “Three
sons? And a daughter? But why have I never heard this before?”

“Because your grandmother does not like it
spoken of. And you will be wise not repeat it lightly.”

Morgin nodded. “Whatever you say.”

“Good,” MichaelOff said. “Now back to my
story. At that time Elhiyne was located across the mountains and
far to the north in Yestmark. With Bertak’s leadership Clan Elhiyne
grew strong, and the other Lesser Clans looked more and more to us
for leadership. But House Decouix became fearful of our growing
strength, and decided to crush us before we might challenge them.
They attacked Elhiyne without warning. They butchered our retainers
and servants and killed many clansmen. They murdered Bertak,
Hillell, Karlane, and Malka’s older brothers and sister. Illalla,
Valso’s father, was then a young prince of House Decouix. He raped
Hellis, Olivia’s younger sister, and Tulellcoe was conceived. Malka
was no more than a babe, and Roland was as yet growing in Olivia’s
belly, so your grandmother used her considerable magic to escape
with Malka and Hellis, and together the two women, both with child,
went into hiding. They hid for months with the other Lesser Clans
and never returned to Yestmark. Eglahan rules there now, but he is
sworn to Olivia and Clan Elhiyne. He is our first defense against
Decouix attack.”

“But what about Olivia and Hellis?” Morgin
asked.

“Be patient,” MichaelOff said. “They hid.
And while they hid Roland and Tulellcoe were born. But by that time
Hellis had gone mad. She took her own life, and only Olivia managed
to prevent her from killing Tulellcoe as well. After that it was
many years before Olivia came out of hiding, but when she did she
rebuilt Elhiyne where it now stands: in the southern shadow of
Attunhigh, on top of the ancient ruins of Elhiyne, ruins that date
back to before the Great Clan Wars. You know them well, I’m sure,
since you play in them regularly.”

Morgin started to protest, to feign
ignorance of the walled-off old castle.

“Don’t bother to deny it,” MichaelOff said.
“I know where you and JohnEngine play. I played in those same ruins
myself. And before me I’m quite sure that Malka, Roland, and
Tulellcoe explored them well.”

MichaelOff continued. “So our grandmother
survived the Decouix attack. And since then she has lived for two
things: to rebuild House Elhiyne, and to hate Decouix. She dare not
defy them openly, but every move she makes is calculated to
strengthen us against them.”

“Will there someday be war?” Morgin
asked.

Now MichaelOff shrugged. “Probably. But all
there is now is hate. And you, cousin, have stepped unknowingly
into the middle of that hate. You’ve made a mortal enemy this
night. Valso is known for his vindictiveness, and I fear that
someday he will strike back at you.”

Morgin was skeptical. “It can’t be all that
bad. He’ll forget all about it, with enough time.”

MichaelOff frowned. “Beware of him, Morgin.
It is said he murdered his own brothers to be sure he’d have no
rivals in his quest for the Decouix throne. He his ruthless. He
will not forget that you made him look foolish in a public
inn.”

“Hurry up, Morgin,” JohnEngine shouted. “The
wedding’s about to begin.”

“Go on without me,” Morgin growled,
struggling into his breeches.

“If you’re late,” JohnEngine shouted over
his shoulder as he ran out of the room, “Grandmother’ll be mad as
netherhell.”

Morgin scrambled into his tunic, pulled on
his boots, and skipping every other loop laced them frantically.
Then he jumped to his feet and shot out of his room into the
upstairs hall, tucking his tunic into his breeches as he ran. But
Annaline called out as he ran past her suite and he screeched to a
halt.

“I have to hurry, Annaline,” he said,
turning toward her. “If I’m late,
grandmother’ll . . .” But as he saw her, for the
first time words suddenly escaped him.

She was standing in the doorway to her room,
dressed in Elhiyne red, smiling happily and radiating gladness like
a bright lamp in the night, her eyes filled with joy. “They won’t
start the wedding without me, little brother.”

For the first time Morgin saw more than just
a bothersome older sister. “Annaline,” he said. “You’re beautiful.
And you look so happy.”

“I am happy because of you, Morgin.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I am told you delivered my SandoFall from
what would have surely been great harm.”

“Oh!” Morgin said. “You mean Valso. But that
was nothing. I just made him let us go.”

“And you prevented him from harming my
SandoFall, from turning this into a day of sorrow instead of joy.”
She smiled, leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek. Then she
curtsied to him as if he were a great lord. “I thank you, my
brother, my lord. Today you are my hero as no other could ever
be.”

~~~

The wedding ceremony was long and tedious,
but Annaline was joyful throughout. Morgin, flushed with pride, was
not in the least bored. Once, during one of the more elaborate
motions of the ceremony, she and SandoFall turned to face the
audience. For just an instant her eyes met Morgin’s, she smiled
warmly, then winked surreptitiously. He winked back, and his pride
swelled even further.

He tried to seek her out during the grand
ball that followed, but was intercepted almost immediately by a
dowager of Clan Penda. She chattered incessantly, while pushing her
daughter on him and insisting they dance.

JohnEngine had warned him about falling prey
to the designs of women. “Be careful, Morgin,” he’d said. “You’re
not just any Elhiyne. You’re one of
the
Elhiynes, and
there’s not a mother in the Lesser Clans who wouldn’t bed with
demons to see her daughter married to you. Or me, for that
matter.”

The daughter was a miniature copy of her
mother. She even chattered like her mother, when she wasn’t
giggling. There wasn’t a moment during which her lips weren’t
making some sort of noise.