Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (15 page)

She went about her morning as if nothing had happened. Breakfast was served, the baby fed. Later Honer’s wife Eva arrived to care for Oganna. Her three children ran into the Warrioresses’ arms, peppering them with kisses before darting into the house. Seivar made a discreet getaway out a window.

The sisters had dressed in their familiar purple garments. They tied white sashes around their waists and marched eastward through the forest. A couple hours later they crested a hill and stood still. The trees here had been thinned, and a clearing half a mile wide and as great in length spread before them.

Caritha parted the fold in her skirt and drew her rusted sword from its sheath. Five hundred white tents had been pitched on the cleared ground and in the shelter of the bordering trees.

A horn sounded from the far side of the camp. The flaps of the arrayed tents flipped open and a thousand men marched forth. They filed into perfect lines and waited in disciplined silence as the Warrioresses descended the hill. Caritha could feel the anticipation rising in the men. Out of several thousand original volunteers to join the Lord Warrior’s army, these men had been selected for their aptitude for sword fighting and put under the Warrioresses’ supervision.

A heavy-set man barreled out of the largest tent. A breeze caught the bearskin cape on his back, and it billowed behind him as he stomped up to meet Caritha. With a quick bow and a smile, he chinked his sword against the chain mail covering his chest. “We are at your service, my lady!”

“Commander Veil, this armor.” She stared at the intricate chain mail adorning his chest. Never had she seen anything like it in the Hemmed Land. Back home in Emperia yes, but not in the Hemmed Land.

“A masterful piece, don’t you think?” Commander Veil again smote it with the pommel of his sword. “An enemy would need a spear to pierce that. I got it from this fellow down on the coast. He’s a new arrival; strange looking fellow with white hair … calls himself Linsair the sword smith. And the best part is I didn’t have to pay him anything for it. He just made me promise a donation to the monk’s parish.”

Caritha did not answer him. It seemed a strange thing for a craftsman to give such a beautiful gift in exchange for a charitable donation to a parish. She knew of only one parish on the coast. She’d visited it a couple times for prayer. The monk there was young but zealous. When first she’d met him, she had thought he could have passed for a jovial brother to Patient the shepherd. He was pious and wise despite his meager experience.

“I hope your donation was generous.” Rose’el stepped forward, looking down at the man’s mail. “It is a magnificent piece.”

“Oh, I was generous. Always try to be. They do serve God after all!” Commander Veil laughed. “Enough about me, the men are eager to begin again. Yesterday’s challenge is still ringing in their ears, I daresay.”

He led them down the line of men to the arena at the center of the clearing. One by one the men came forward and mockdueled with a Warrioress. Not a single blow could they land on the sisters. The Warrioresses evaded their attacks with the practiced ease of dancers and always touched their rusted blades lightly on some vital part of the warriors’ bodies to end the duels.

This went on for several hours until Veil ordered the Warrioresses to stand aside and let him take a turn in the arena. He did not move with the swiftness or lightness of foot that the sisters had. Instead of avoiding the sword thrusts, he struck back with his own, laying metal against metal until he wore down his opponent. Several times he welcomed two men to combine in their efforts to defeat him. Eventually a couple of them succeeded.

Veil bowed to each of them and yielded the arena. The pair of victors now faced their fellow trainees by pairs. The afternoon wore on in this manner, and the sweating swordsmen became an unpleasant aroma. Swords met blow for blow as they honed their skills. They were the Elite Thousand and, when the Warrioresses declared them ready, these men would look for the approval of their Lord Warrior.

Caritha stepped back into the arena with her sisters. The men about them effected deep bows and then angled their swords defensively. The sisters darted into their midst, working as one unit. Their swords struck swifter than arrows against the fifty warriors assailing them.

As the shadows under the trees lengthened and the sky paled, Ilfedo leaned against a tree. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and undid the sling supporting his arm. The soreness was tolerable enough now to do without it. Laughter rang from his home. The door slammed open and Honer’s son ran outside and around the house, then reentered.

The sisters of his wife filed into the clearing. From their slow walk he knew they must be tired from a long day with the trainees.

“Ilfedo, is that you?” Evela stepped toward him and laid a hand on his arm. His skin tingled where she’d touched him, like it used to for Dantress, and he pulled back. “You are injured,” she whispered.

“No. I
was
. It feels sore and a little stiff—but I have been healed. It’s a strange story actually.”

Rose’el grunted. “Strange?”

He looked into her eyes. “Ombre believes—that it was the hand of an angel.”

Caritha, Rose’el, Laura, and Levena strolled back to the house. Evela delayed for a long moment. She glanced up at him and smiled softly. “Anything is possible, even an angel from heaven. I think Dantress would have taken Ombre at his word. Now come!” She guided him to the house. “You must be tired.”

That evening his baby girl laughed in her crib, holding his pinky as he smiled down at her. The blackened wood in the fireplace crackled while the sisters sat around the hearth drinking tea. He ran his hand down the length of the Sword of the Dragon’s scabbard which lay across his knees. Such a magnificent weapon.

“The swordsmen are becoming more skilled with each day under Commander Veil.” Caritha sipped from a cup of tea and informed him what had happened in his absence.

“That is what I have been waiting to hear.” He glanced into the crib. “Ah, she is asleep.” He pulled his pinky out of the baby’s fist and drew the sword a few inches out of its scabbard. Flames coiled beneath the glassy surface of the blade. It seemed he could look through it at another world—a world of silver and blue, deep and vast.

Glancing up at the sisters he told them what had transpired in the north. They listened with rapt attention as he described his fight with the winged men and then of his defeat. “I recall losing consciousness and waking to find Ganning staring down at me.” He chuckled. “Ombre won’t let up about the incident. He has told everyone that he saw an angel appear over me to heal my wounds. He makes it a fascinating tale, and he seems convinced of the truth of it.”

He smiled. “Only God and Ombre know what really happened. I’m just fortunate to come back and see my child again.”

Ilfedo slid the sword back into the scabbard. “So,” he said, “what are your thoughts on this incident. I know that you have seen some stranger things than I have.”

The sisters’ mouths gaped and their eyes widened.

He held up his hand. “You are all a mystery to me; I am still in the dark about many things. But from time to time my wife did mention things from her past—a few strange things that did not make sense to me. Now if you know anything that might help in this strange situation I am asking you to share it.”

Caritha glanced at her sisters, and they put their heads together in whispered conference. What things were they hiding from him, and why? Someday, perhaps, whatever prevented them from sharing everything with him would be removed.

Finally, Rose’el grunted and the sisters faced him.

“These creatures you spoke of.” Caritha cleared her throat. “We have dealt with them before. They can be ruthless and vicious in an almost animal way. Our father told us that the winged men are called Art’en and the winged women are called It’ren.”

Ilfedo frowned. “The white dragon told you this?”

“You must be very careful, brother. The Art’en have been known to ally themselves with the vilest of men.” Laura folded her hands. “So long as their master is strong, they flock to him and do his bidding.”

“Do you know of any tactics that might prove useful against them?”

The sisters shook their heads. Their dark eyes bored into his as Caritha spoke for them. “Only a warrior with superior hand-to-hand combat training would be a match. Go for the wings before using that.” She pointed at his sword.

What memories or knowledge she had drawn on for this information, Ilfedo could not even guess. Nor did he ask her to explain. The sisters guarded their past with a veil of mystery impossibly thick. Perhaps someday he would discover their mysteries. But not tonight.

He thanked them for their insight and picked up the crib with Oganna nestled inside. It was just a little crib, small enough to set comfortably on the hearth stones.

Caritha grasped his shoulder. “One more thing, Ilfedo.”

“Yes, Commander Veil has a new piece of armor,” Laura said.

“Yeah,” Rose’el interrupted. “Some stranger is working as a sword smith on the coast and asking nothing in return for his labor. Well, almost nothing. His customers have to make a donation to the local parish.”

Caritha set down her tea. “I think it warrants investigating.”

Ilfedo lowered his voice and pulled the crib closer to his face. “What sort of armor are we talking about?”

“Chain mail—very finely constructed chain mail. I haven’t seen armor like that in a long while.”

Laura sipped at her tea. “We could use a skilled craftsman to equip the Elite Thousand.”

“I’ll look into it the day after tomorrow. For now, I need a little rest.” He wished them goodnight and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Gently he rested the cradle on the floor. Seivar and Hasselpatch flitted onto the bed and nuzzled him with their silver beaks. He kissed Hasselpatch on her soft head and stroked Seivar’s chest. The Nuvitors cooed in response.

Undressing, he opened the roof panels and lay in his bed. Home again! He hated popping in and out as he had been doing for the past few months, but things needed his supervision and he felt that his daughter’s future depended on his actions. He watched the stars twinkle for a long while, then closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath. The Nuvitors nestled under his arms and cooed him to sleep.

Three days later the coastal town that Ilfedo had first saved from the Sea Serpents welcomed him. He met with the mayor but when the opportunity presented itself, discreetly slipped into a black hooded cape and wandered through the town. No one recognized him.

He asked directions of a hulking fisherman at the market who reeked of the sea, and of several farmers carting heaps of corn through the town gates, but none could help him. Finally an elderly woman with a red shawl wrapped around her face stepped up with a grin that encompassed her entire face, and pointed him in the right direction. A fishing equipment shop stood to one side of the log chapel—Ilfedo’s destination—and a blacksmith’s shop on the other. He entered via a gate in the white-post fence and followed a long dirt path to the chapel’s double doors.

He entered a long room with benches flanking a narrow aisle up to a wooden altar. The floor and the benches had been painted white. The walls and doors remained brown except for the back wall that matched the floors. A round stained-glass window had been inserted near the top.

What really caught Ilfedo’s eye were the paintings. Colorful canvases hung from the high windowless walls—four on the left and four on the right. He stepped closer to the nearest one and studied the image of a dark-skinned woman in prayer, her eyes closed, a lifeless baby in her arms, and a tear rolling down her cheek. Above her, a white-robed man placed a baby full of life into an enormous hand reaching from a cloud.