A. Searle - The King's sword

“An illusion. Very clever,” Ula said without rising. She turned the meat over the fire that Ronan could see was started just in front of the door of one of the huts. Tribe’s people were gathered all around them.

“We must protect our village as best as we can,” Yarro explained as he released Ronan’s hand. “This way, no one can form a plan of attack against us without us knowing full in advance.”

“How many in your tribe?” Ula asked.

“Only a few hundred,” Yarro answered.

“Yore, build us some more fires. I will have to come up with something more than rabbits tonight.” Ula lifted her hands and Ronan stepped back watching them glow with a blue light. Ronan smiled as a skinned and prepared Elk began to appear on the ground.

“My sorceress will feed your people tonight.” Ronan turned from her as she continued manifesting food for the village. Yarro’s eyes were wide as he continued to watch the woman.

“Before we feast, you must be made one of the Johran,” Yarro said as he tore his eyes from the magic that moved around them. “One of your companions must offer you some of their flesh.”

Before any of the others could move, Fiona had drawn her sword. Black tipped spearheads pointed at her from every direction. Ronan realized the obsidian tips of the spears were poison.

Fiona didn’t even flinch. She placed her hand on a nearby stump, lifted the blade of her sword and brought it down swiftly. The fine metal made a clean cut, slicing off two of her fingers. She closed her eyes to the pain and the tip of her sword hit the ground. She leaned against the hilt, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Is that enough for the ritual?”

“It is.” Yarro nodded. Ronan could only stare for a moment, and then he was rushing forward, ripping material from his shirt to wrap her hand with, to stop the flow of blood that poured onto the stump.

“Dragon’s Blood! Fiona, what have you done?” He slipped an arm beneath hers as she swayed.

“I’m a Serpentine. It’s a small wound. They will grow back in a few days.” She murmured as her lips paled. “I wanted you to know I was not the one who betrayed you. I would not.”

“Ula!” Ronan cried out and the woman moved forward quickly.

“I could not betray you.” She fainted dead away in Ronan’s arms.

“Give her some of that broth you gave me. She should not feel the pain of what she has done.” Ronan scooped Fiona up and passed her to Bryan.

“You may take her to that hut.” Yarro directed the centaur and sorceress to one of the small buildings. “There is more than enough food here and we have women that can cook it for us. Tend to your woman. She was very brave.”

Ronan watched Bryan carry Fiona away with Ula following before lowering his eyes to the two fingers left on the stump.

“I’m going to be sick,” Arien said, turning and pushing through the crowd of tribesmen, clutching his stomach. Keegan and Mikel the Hort just stood staring as if disbelieving what they had just witnessed.

“I’d have had to have someone else do it for me,” Keegan finally said.

“Bring me the flesh,” Yarro called. “The ritual must be completed.”

Ronan carefully picked up the slender fingers and turned to step toward Yarro. The leader took one from him and began to smear marks of blood from it on Ronan’s face and then on his own.

He spoke beneath his breath in a dialect that was unfamiliar but Ronan barely heard him anyway. Fiona had made the sacrifice without hesitation. She’d said she loved him.

“We must both eat of the flesh.” Yarro reached forward and ripped the nail off the finger.

“Without cooking it?” Mikel the Hort looked horrified but Ronan felt numb to everything. He’d never had anyone shed blood on his behalf. Fiona had done it without him having to ask her. He looked down at the finger he still held. If he did not eat it, Fiona’s bloodshed would be for nothing.

His stomach clenched but he brought the pink flesh to his lips. Closing his eyes, he stifled the feeling of nausea that threatened and bit into the meat. He imagined a tough piece of gristle on one of the fowls Ula had cooked days ago, imagined that was what he ate. The taste was salty and a bit sweet but he kept his mind locked on the taste of the bird. He did not stop until there was no meat left on the small bone.

“You only needed to take a bite but you show your devotion by ingesting it all,” Yarro said when Ronan held out the bone for his inspection. He felt lightheaded but pushed the dizziness aside.

“You are cleansed. We welcome you Stone Wizard Ronan of the Johran.” Yarro smiled and took the bone from Ronan. He tossed it along with his into the fire as if to seal the union. Cheers rose up from the crowd and the tribesmen rushed forward, each wanting to embrace the newest member of their family.

Ronan sat by Fiona’s cot, staring down at the delicate features of her face until she stirred from sleep. “Well hello there,” he said when her lids flicked open and she smiled up at his face. “If you wanted to rest, you could have just told me so. No need to chop off your arm to get my attention.”

Fiona’s smile widened and she lifted her wrapped hand. “Funny. I don’t really feel any pain.”

“Ula’s magic broth,” Ronan told her and she let her hand fall back to her side. “Good for stab wounds and missing fingers.”

“Are you Johran now?” she asked as she moved to sit up. Ronan leaned away from her, sliding the candle on the floor closer. He nearly laughed when he realized it was stupid to do. She could see as well in the dark as in the light.

“I am. A cannibal stone wizard by night, blacksmith by day.” He slanted a smile of good humor and she chuckled.

“Why stone wizard? What made Keegan come up with something like that?” Fiona swung her feet to the earthen floor. Ronan spotted a pebble in the corner, lifted it with his will and twirled it in the air in front of Fiona.

“He caught me tossing stones in the lake at Jobi. It was just his way of poking fun at me,” Ronan admitted letting the pebble drop. “It’s the only thing I know how to do right now.”

“Cute and it’s a clever name.” Fiona glanced around the sod hut. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“Only a few days. It was Yarro’s request and in return he will give us a guide through the hills to the moors. I guess there are greater dangers here than the being eaten.” Ronan stood when she rose to her feet. “That was very brave thing you did, Fiona. I’m not sure what to say about it.”

“Thank you?” she suggested with a grin.

He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. “Thank you. But you must promise me never to do anything like that again,” he murmured, “I’ll not have you returning to Merisgale in pieces.”

Fiona giggled. “Not to worry. I do not plan on having any other parts of myself removed.”

“Good. It would be a waste.” Ronan leaned away from her. “No need to rise. The others are all still asleep.”

“Except for you.” Fiona pointed out watching him glance around the small hut.

“Yes, well, too much excitement in the day and I can’t settle my mind enough to rest.” Ronan shrugged as he reached for her injured hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed the bandage.

“They will grow back. It is not a limb so it’s not permanent. In two weeks I’ll have two new fingers, good as the others.” Fiona bit her lip when he didn’t release her hand. “How did I taste?” She smiled crookedly when he raised his gaze to her face.

“Good.”

“They say once you eat of flesh…”

“I thought of that water fowl that Ula served us as I was eating. She’d spiced it enough that it was easy to recall the taste and texture,” he interrupted then grinned almost evilly. “Afraid I enjoyed it and think to have another bite?”