Bruce Cordell: Lady of Poison

‹§›SSS S amp;

Back in Fullpoint, Hemish proved difficult to persuade.

“Are you joking, man? Leave my daughter in your care? I thank you for returning her, but after all, you are a stranger to me and her!” yelled Hemish.

Marrec, sitting across the table from Hemish, studied the dancing flame of the single lamp hanging above the table. He and Hemish had gone back and forth for some time, but it didn’t feel like he was getting through to the man. The child Ash sat in a small chair nearby, her legs dangling above the floor, a stuffed toy languishing in her lap as she stared straight ahead at a sight only she could see.

Marrec leaned toward the peasant and said, “Listen. Can’t you see that this is not a singular occurrence? If it happened once, it could happen again, and we won’t be here next time to save her.”

Hemish glowered and muttered, “How many times can a man’s child be taken? The odds were long to begin with. Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”

The cleric sighed, shaking his head. “Trueif this were only a random occurrence. Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? I believe these tree people were specially seeking Ash. They didn’t succeed. That means they’ll try again. And again and again until they finally get what they’re after. My friends and I cannot stay here to guard here night and daywe have business in Two Stars. If you truly care for the safety of your daughter, you’d wipe the sentiment from your eyes and see the truth. Allow me to protect her. I swear I’ll guard her as my own.”

Hemish took one of the girl’s unresponsive arms in his own. He looked into Ash’s eyes, and said, “Is that all right with you, baby? Do you want to go with this man? You’ll be safe. Tell me what you want.”

The girl intoned, “Ash.”

Hemish’s eyes brimmed. He patted the girl’s hand then caught Marrec’s eyes with his own. “You swear on your service to your goddess that you will keep Ash safe from all harm?”

Marrec rose, drew Justlance and held it before him. He said, “I swear, upon Lurue’s name, that I shall guard Ash with all my ability, keeping her safe from harm. She will be more dear to me than my own life. I so swear.”

Hemish sighed. After a minute of silence he said, “Very well, cleric. I must trust you, it seems.”

Marrec reached out and clasped Hemish’s hand. He said, “You are making the right choice. Don’t worry.”

Really, there could be no other outcome.

They spent the night in Fullpoint. In the morning, Marrec, Gunggari, Elowen, and Ash departed. Much of the village was gathered to see off the heroes who had defended the town from the “raiding tree people.” Many did not understand why Ash was departing, too. Few seemed unduly upset by it save, of course, for a tearful Hemish.

When all the goodbyes were said, they headed out. Elowen led the group northeast. Their destination was Two Stars. Marrec’s single hope was that Elowen’s friend might shed light on the question of Ash’s identity. What was the significance of the Child of Light, and how had the volodnis fallen into the clasp of evil?

Joining the militia seemed to be one of the best moves of Marrec’s young life. He reveled in the weapon drills, the warrior’s training, and the endless mock duels with the other young men of the village with similar hearts.

Not so Emmon. Though quick enough with his wits, Marrec’s stepbrother wasn’t too swift when it came to arms and armor. The drilling required of all those in the militia made little dent in Emmon’s inability to properly wield a sword. Emmon and Marrec were thick; Marrec helped Emmon perfect his skills, while Emmon was happy just to be around Marrec. They were friends.

When not training in the militia, Marrec and Emmon enjoyed taking short walks outside of the village, to the edges of the forest and sometimes past. The two boys made a contest of who would be the first to sight some small game animal, tree, or other interesting feature of the Wild. They had a favorite haunt near the edge of the river, where a small cave provided the perfect hide-out from adults and the responsibilities expected of those coming of age.

The raids started around that time.

Horrible creatures out of the wild found the village, and for reasons of their own, they decided it would make an ideal target of terrorism and piracy. The raiders were a tribe of brutish, manlike ogres who called themselves the Durang, after their leader. Not interested in concessions, the Durang launched a career of attacks on the town. At first just outlying farms were hit, but it was clear that the Durang were intent on striking to the very heart of the village, and soon.

So it was time for the militia to do the job it had trained for. Defend the village. Marrec looked forward to the coming encounter with a strange, tight feeling in his stomach. He looked forward to being tested in actual battle, yet he was nervous. He didn’t let that show to his comrades, who were all outwardly afraid. Emmon put on a brave face, but Marrec knew his brother well enough to know that on the inside, Emmon was just this side of fleeing for all he was worth.

The crash on the hastily-constructed palisade wall signaled that the time for wondering was past. It was time to fight.

Another crash, and the Durang were through. Some of his fellow militiamen were stunned, thinking that the barrier should have lasted longer. No time for that. Yellow-skinned brutes with thick, warty skin boiled in through the breach. Marrec was among the few brave enough to meet the initial onslaught. He had chosen a spear, which he judged he could use more profitably against the eight-foot-tall Durang. Plus, ever since the incident with bear in the woods, Marrec simply preferred the spear.

A particularly ill-kempt brute with greasy hair charged him, brandishing a great club of splintered wood. Marrec felt fear melt away before the immediacy of his predicament. Fear would only get in the way of the actions he must take in order to survive.

He ducked under the monster’s first swing, jumped up instantly and drove his spear into the Durang’s temple. Just like that, the creature was vanquished. Marrec yelled in jubilation, wrenching his spear free from the carcass.

“Who’s next? he wondered.

Things weren’t going nearly so well for the rest of the militiamen. Even one Durang was a match for two or three humans, and there were at least eight ogres by Marrec’s count. Over to his left, the drillmaster Rimmard stood his ground well enough, but everywhere else the Durang encroached. Not a single militiaman was uninjured, except for himself and maybe Rimmard.

His eyes found Emmon. His half-brother lay twisted, unmoving, his broken sword several feet from his splayed grip. “Emmon?” Marrec rushed to the body of his stepbrother.

Emmon was dead.

Rage took Marrec. The boy felt his own humanity splinter and fall away, as if it were snake skin. His eyes had started burning the moment the attack began. Seeing his dead brother, it felt as if the very orbs were afire. Marrec screamed, clutching his head with both hands. His head felt molten, and his eyes brimmed with the blaze inside.

Why not let the anger out? something whispered. Why not?

Marrec allowed his hands to fall away from his head. Despite the pain, his gaze was infused with a deadly clarity. As if burrowing a channel in the air with his gaze, he unleashed the fury within at the ogre nearest the fallen body of Emmon, but the ogre was not burned.

It was turned to stone.

A great hush extended from the first unmoving ogre, growing in radius like a rock dimples a pond, ever-widening as defenders and ogres alike paused to see what had occurred. A long sigh was heard, or maybe it was a collective gasp of fear from villagers and attackers, as startled eyes alighted on Marrec then flinched quickly away.