"The barbarian and that dwarf will suffer for what they did to you, boys," she said. "They will suffer."
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.