Much of the decision to have me fostered out came as an attempt to hold me away from my father, as I had begun to question in the years of my tutelage by 'Darzog the teachings of Kordarkukbar at the Zamok, even his authority over me and the household. Over the two and a half years since I had begun my chain, I spent many days, even some evenings, in the Zala s Bodzhya, learning the true Zhakon, not the falsehoods and twists so often presented now by Kordar' in his blatant attempts at grabbing the power around the Tsar, and channeling it to his wants and needs. It earned him the title "Rasputnei" , or the licentious one.
By that time the young priest had so twisted the Sud, and most of the nobles at court, that I had no friends, or even allies within the palace. Many of the servants had also fallen to his horrid preaching. If not knowingly, then in sub-conscious defense against all that they suffered. I had come so to regard the home of my birth as a prison, not a privilege.
And, with me under the wing of 'Darzog, Kordar’ could do little to break me to the mold he desired, and often found things he was setting up being brought to light, or upset, even once directly thwarted by a zealot of another kind, one younger, more challenging, even worse, one now versed in the Zhakon, knowing what was truly zhakonno, not just taking his word on the Law and its intent. He could ill afford to have me still around, for I was beginning to reach father on these challenges, and often he sided with me. So to get me out from underfoot, I was to be fostered.
Oh, to be sure, the real reason was to get me away. Out of the eye of the Uchenei of the Zala, and to some place where I could be broken, twisted as my father had been since mother’s death. At least have my spirit broken, so I would let Kordar’ someday rule in my name. And their choice of fostering me was made with that in mind. It was to be at one of Kordar' s cronies' house in the mountains on the Raveinna border, far from the city of Ovozyest. He had a reputation for having many of his foster-sons injured, or killed even. He claimed the rigors of the frontier, but all in the Sud were aware of the rumors that he beat children, and had perhaps killed some o them with his heavy hand.
And so, I was bundled off one day, late in the afternoon, given barely time to pack my bags. That came only when 'Dagvar, still my bodyguard, demanded to be allowed time to settle his "debts" and gather his gear for the trip. The request was one often made by the guards, as many had vices of drink or sport that left such outstanding issues to be cleared up when they were transferred to other postings or jobs. If only they knew what the debt had been, then all may have been different indeed. Settling the debt would expose him to the fury of Kordar‘, and save me, as well as my people even.
***
The road east to the Raveinna is long, and often shadowed by the cliffs and mountains of the Chrebet, the spine of the Iron Mountains. It is also very dangerous both in weather and in bandits. Here the defenses were at their weakest, for the Raveinna is a land of other Karlykn, often called Tsuganie, or the Wanderers for their nomadic lifestyles. They are herders and traders, though some in the foothills still followed the traditional Karlykn ways. Many of the Noms had also migrated to the land, on the border of the Shadow Steppes, or the Eastern Deadlands as the humans called them. Farming here was not what was to the far west in the Sarn and Lyest areas that many more had gone to, but it was in sight of the Koltso, and like my own people, the Goryets, they held to the belief that one day the Hydrae within would be driven out, and we would reclaim the lands our ancestors had once held.
It was also a hard and bad road to travel. In the spring, during the rains the road was rutted by the wagons hauling the wool and ores, as well as other goods to the Raveinna, while they sent back the first harvests of spring crops, snow peas, spring wheat, and tubers. This left a mess when the summer drought set in, and the ruts became like granite channels in the dirt. We traveled at the end of summer, in the month of the falcon, Sokol. By then the ruts had worn down with the traffic of the summer, and as the harvests began now and in the weeks ahead, the road would deteriorate again as the rains returned and traffic became heavier. Raiders from the plains beyond, both bandits of the Yadneik and the Veleikan, the ogre-kin, often raided in these days, for all were concentrating on preparing for winter, not on war.
We had been on the road well into the night, about four or five hours, the time was not clear to me, as I had yet to learn to read the zvesdya, the lights of the heavens, in those days, and could only guess vaguely at the passage of the night. Ivanog, Kordar's pet in the guards, and the one charged with our "protection” became nervous when the sounds ahead of a fight came to us. Dagvar did not seem worried, instead he appeared relieved, as if some great weight or worry had lifted from him. He passed me his dagger and winked, then told me to be patient. I was excited, for here came the legacy of my clan, war, or at least a fight.
Ivan the Idiot kept us moving forward towards the conflict, rather than looking for a defensible spot to hole up in. Only because of Dagvar's smile, which stayed despite shaking his head over the poor choice of tactics by our leader, did I not panic. Even I knew that to continue on into a fight was foolish beyond belief. I could not resist, and opened my mouth to point out Ivanog' s mistakes.
"Shouldn't we have scouts out, Nachalnik Ivanog?" Mine was a voice that now carried well, despite the cracks and pops in it. And I had a tendency, that many of those years have of shouting, or at least speaking loud. Volume such as mine could probably be heard by even the participants in the fight up the road. "Silence boy! Do you want to spoil our chances of sneaking up on the bandits?!" Ivanog was probably the only karlyk I knew who actually sounded like a hissing snake no matter what he was saying, or how.
Now he faced criticism from another, far more experienced corner. "Perhaps you should have signaled such then, instead of just having us march on. Besides, only a fool goes into a fight that is not his without looking over the sides, ground, and cover. Also, only a complete idiot would take an untrained child into such, let alone his crown prince." Dagvar had such renown in the arts of war, even among the Boen clans, that even the fanatics picked by Kordar’ as our guards had their doubts stirred up. That skill and knowledge had earned him the position of being my bodyguard, not toadying and bribes as so many others of late had received theirs. Though they believed the tales and ways the priest expounded, all knew he was not a warrior. My guardian was more than that, he was once a champion of the land, and leader of the war bands. His words on things of war and conflict carried weight beyond the word of a priest, even one of the path of Clangor or Mahaabi of the Annadari.
Then the fight found us, or the rout did. Several well battered dwarves wearing the gerb of the clan of Prorok, from which Kordar himself came, rounded a bend above us, running ‘pell-mell' as the expression goes. Chasing them soon appeared a group that any dwarf in the northern lands knew, maybe even some of the far off lands as well. Such were the accoutrements of the Koval se Choelm, the warriors of the Koval s Serdtseh Ochag. Berserkers some said, inspired geniuses of the battle of the psyche before a battle others said. These wild Karlykn had obviously had the better of the deal, their clothes and armor showed few rents or scratches, and as no blood flowed from them, they were unhurt. The Proroki, on the other hand, were like bloody Swiss cheese and covered with mud as well.
The guards with us were stunned for a minute, failing even to try to prevent the tattered members of their cult from passing through our ranks. And as the Koval se Choelm continued to charge us, they began to lose their nerve as well, and broke into a retreat, following their kinsmen and kith down the trail and into the swamps to the road's south, seeking shelter and safety. Slime attracts slime, I guessed, though I would later learn that opposites also could be attracted to each other.
Behind the now slowing warriors of the hills, came now two figures on ponies, both seemed older than their vanguard now before us, and to my young and still sharp eyes, one was very familiar. I felt a lessening of tensions in my guardian's stance as well, as he too knew who commanded these wild ones. Only Ivanog, who was frozen in fear, whether of reporting failure to Kordar, or of the Kovalni, maybe even some of both. The three of us waited, me and Dagvar patiently, Ivanog, with increasing nervousness and fear. His poor sight prevented him from seeing who the riders were until it was too late for him to join his band, as the Kovalni surrounded us quickly, and silently, with skill that I found both fascinating and scary. Later the fear would leave me, but the admiration of the hill clan fighters and war bands that I have now came from that event initially. At last the idiot saw his doom and knew it for the danger it was.
"Uchenei! But you were supposed to be..."
"Gone, Ivanog Brodagovich?" Grimdarzog' s gravelly voice now held an edge of steel as dangerous in its way as the axes and spears of the Kovalni. His eyes were lit with the fire of the soul, but red with anger, not blue with mirth. "Yes, I had left the city, to arrange the very thing you force upon the boy, and now upon me, for I find I can no longer trust the education, nor the safety of the tsaryets to those in the gorod, but must take my own council with the gods. I hear many things, malchik, many things, even at times the voices of the gods, through the runes tones I cast or the winds on the high peaks. I wonder what the Fordai will have to say of you were I. to listen to them now, Ill things I would imagine, for a boy once so promising as you were."
Despite his fear of the old priest, Ivanog stood his ground, and even lost his temper a bit. "Fordai! Hah! They are weak you antique, weak and foolish! They let the Hydrae steal our homelands in the Kotloveina from us, and sacrificed our best to their queen's altars and let us starve outside the paradise that we once had! Damn them to ..."
"Enough! I will tolerate no more of this eryes! The gods saved what they could in those days, but fools like you fail to see that the reason we lost the Cauldera is that we were no longer taking care of it, or honoring the gods. We weakened them, not the other way around. WE failed Them, not they us, Fool! Life inside the Kotloveina was never the paradise you idiots think, but just like today in the rest of the world, fraught with danger and choices to be made. The Fordai made many hard choices in the Age of Conflict, not the least of which was saving which tribes, clans, even individuals would ensure the safety of the most karlykn, not the best or brightest, by either of those standards, your kind would have been sacrificed instead. But fools are easier to save than the wise, or so it seems."
Ivanog began to froth, much like the Voyaka before us were said to do in the legends of the days of yore. But I could see that these warriors, at least, were no rabid. The idiot choked out words that were unintelligible to us, as he lost himself in a rage. Then he wheeled his mule back down the trail, following his cronies back down the road to the swampy area of the podneik below, the source of the Lesser Ovyestna.
'Darzog watched them enter the wooded bogs of that space, never losing his grim visage. His companion watched as well, then glanced at me. He took a long, measured look, as if weighing my soul and future with his gaze. Then he smiled, and gave me a nod and wink. As if adding me to the grand conspiracy that he led. Then he turned to the Uchenie, trying to keep a straight face, and failing.
"Uchenie, you said we should have a fight, not an evening of clowns and jugglers." His voice held a mixture of mirth and accusation, more the former than the latter. It set all our rescuers off in gales of laughter, some even falling to the ground and rolling about there in their fit.
"Not my fault, old friend. Dagvar there told me they were seasoned warriors, I guess the entertainment troop is the best they can field in these pitiful days. The gorod is in sad shape if this is their best."
The old priest smiled his own humor as this response kindled another flare up of hoots and laughs from the fearsome fighters of the hills. The ruckus they made echoed off the hillsides and cliffs nearby. "I guess they were professional actors, to be capable of deceiving such a leader and judge of warriors, that or all these years of barracks life have blinded his eye for character and skill."
"Really?" was the strange elder's reply.
Dagvar kept his head high through this, smiling and chuckling at the banter of the two, who were quite obviously his friends.
"Had you finished reading my note, uchenie, you would have noticed that the word after 'professional' was 'incompetents'!"
This comment incited a new round of merriment in the Kovalni, but one that they took on while standing. I finally realized that Dagvar' s knife was still in my hand. Now that the threat was clearly not to me, I felt the need to return it. As our friend and his comrade approached us, I held out the weapon cautiously in my fingers, with the dull back edge in towards my palm, and the flat laid across my other forearm.
Dagvar glanced in my direction and noticed the blade, and how I held it. This was something I had watched many times at changing's of the guard ceremonies and other court events, such as swearing fealty to my father, and the such. I saw in his face a strange blend of astonishment, respect and pride, and knew somehow that what I was doing was not only correct in form, but in timing and intent. Now I tried hard to do as those I had observed before, quietly in the manner of a child, solemn, still, and sure. That had won them his respect, which I now found I desired, perhaps even more than his friendship. And, for once, as I looked into his eyes, I could discern nothing of what he thought, as if a veil had dropped over the initial reaction on his face, and hid all from my sight.
His gaze now bore into my inner being, as had the stranger with ‘Darzog but moments before. As the Uchenei so often did as well when teaching me of the lessons of import to our people and lands. While the others had searched for weakness or lack of understanding, it was something else my bodyguard was searching for in that deep gaze. He seemed to be weighing how much I could learn, not just what I had learned, and what I could or would do some day, not what I could do now. He turned as the riders at last came up to us, staid, but earnest in bearing, as if he held communion with the Fordai, and they were to speak to all through him.
"Uchenei, I find the youth before us worthy of the steel he now holds, and proclaim him capable and responsible enough to bear it openly. I say by my word and honor that he is ready for tutoring in its uses, for defense, as a tool, in peace and war, and all other ways. I ask that you and all the worthy Voyaka here witness such, and pledge to aid me in that endeavor, and in his future learning as well."
Dagvar' s voice carried to all the Kovalni who watched, even if their eyes still guarded against attackers or spies. The elders to heard, not just the words, but what lay beneath them, which I missed, being still young and naive.
They gazed at the toughened warrior who served as my protector from the harms of the physical assaults that those of noble rank were ever subject to, be they earned or spurious. The looked with that same vision, one that saw not what was, but what could be. Then the weight of those glares turned upon me, subjecting the youth I was then to the same test of potential loft use now.
Grirndarzog broke that stare first, and looked skyward, something I noticed only from the corner of my eye, as my gaze was still on Dagvar, as those of the ceremonies I based this upon and strived now to uphold the memory of had on those they presented their weapons to. At last the old priest broke the silence that had followed my champion's pronouncement.
"I hear your words, Dagenevar ot Gorya and speak as well. By what I know of this youth, as both his teacher and friend, I can attest to his character and my hopes of its future development. Hear us now, all around, and witness us to the Fordai themselves, before the remnants of the Throne of the Gods if need be. This I swear, by my blood, beard, bones and steel. This child is ready to learn the ways of the Karlykn, in more than just peace. He must learn the ways for making war, and defending that which is valuable. Join us in this oath, solemn as it is, if you please, but feel no pressure to answer to his rank or ours, for in this moment, none of us are but warriors and guardians of our people." The steadiness of his voice must have surprised some of the Voyaka, for several of them turned to look at him as he spoke, then upon me, again wit that penetrating gaze. I trembled under this scrutiny, but held my position as best I could.
Then the Kovalni each spoke, starting with the eldest, and working down in age to the youngest, in a rote form, “I," then the name and lineage of the karlyk in question, by peoples only, "witness this vow." All but the stranger with my teacher spoke, and during it all, his gaze never left me. I could feel it like the rays of the sun at poldehn, at its height. I was surprised to hear that many of the Kovalni were not of the hill folk, but mountain clans, and two of them were deep folk, and one a wanderer.
At last the litany of the Kovlani came to an end, and silence fell over the roadbed, broken by the shouts from below in the bogs. Though it lasted for but a moment, it carried the weight of all the solemnity of the oaths just given here, and perhaps some of the power and impact of all Karlykn ceremonies as well. It was the silence all our ceremonies and observances, save the boisterous feasts ended in.
And it was broken by the voice of the stranger, adding his own, very different oath to the others. "I, Jakindegvik Kuzneitsaslyubov, witness and accept this vow, that the Kovalni in my service have seen fit to recognize, the earth that I rule, and the Fordai, of whom I am a loyal servant and follower of the Zhakon they gave us. Let all here also know that by his father and confessor's hands, I was to be the one granted the privilege of training this Dyudzhei mal in the ways he shall prove most promising. And in the responsibilities of " rulership, the art of diplomacy, and the ways of our people, in our own lands, as well as without." The elder scanned the circle of Voyaka, gathering in even those more engaged in guarding us from attack for but a moment. Then he continued on with his statement, as if he knew the thinking of the warriors around him, which likely, as I was to learn, he did. " Should any of you here, now or at a later time, know of reasons why either I or this malei should not continue to share this training, through shortcomings of ours, or the availability of others of better skill and knowledge, I ask that you speak up, bearing in mind this oath, as well as your own."
This time a silence fell that was limited, not by our reverence, but by a racking cough from the Uhenie, one that sounded too much like the one my mother died of, that of the drowning disease. It worried me greatly, as it did Dagvar from his stance. But the elder, Yakim, laughed at it, and spoke from joviality not fear, to move us all to action.
"Come my old teacher, let us move on and return you to the tender mercies of your dzhena, my aunt. It seems you still have much more rest needed to overcome this illness which has afflicted you. And we have another long ride ahead of us to reach my hearth. And to give proper welcome to the boy."
He rode up to Dagvar and spoke with an air of authority that even I felt compelling. "I am the leader of the ochag chosen to foster your charge. Will you accept my authority and hospitality for the duration, until we can untangle this badly gnarled skein?"
My champion spoke with clarity, and with speed, answering him as a liegeman, not as an equal, to my surprise. "Bladuika, how could I, who recommended you to the Tsar, deny your taking custody of the boy. But after today, I fear that I shall have lost my position at the Zamok, and shall require new employ."
The snort that the Prince of the Hills gave said what he felt of that. But he gave voice to his opine anyway, like a courtier speaking to be on record in council. A tone I had heard many times in court and at the meetings father and 'Darzog oft took me to. "Your position can only be revoked by the vote of the Royal Council, by unanimous consent, and as long as Grimdarzog and I sit on that table, it shall never even last past the first breath of the fool who dares to broach the subject. As to being the arms-master, that position is not specific to any location, and the walls of no Zamok of our peoples are either immune to your authority, or inspection. Take residence where you will, but I think it best that you stay with the boy for now."
Then he turned to me. "As for you, malchik, by the hands of your elders and guardians you were to be placed with me, save for those fools we just routed. But, by our people’s traditions you may refuse to foster with an ochag. I ask you now formally, and beg your forgiveness over the place I must ask, due to our circumstances, will you accept the honor of my Ochag, and rest upon the Ochadzhnei Karnen of my bleizkeiye ei podnya?" His eyes were a gentle blue, more like the waters of a lake or blue quartz than harsh sapphire or the more common stony colors of the Goryets, my kin. And they held a warmth and mirth that appealed to me in that moment.
I spoke without turning my head from Dagvar, who had yet to take back the knife. Luckily, I had been, by then, on several trips with 'Darzog, and knew the proper response. But, it was the one of an adult, which I was then way short of in years, let alone maturity. Even among those of lesser lives and greater height.
"Preinyayu, but I ask that my guardian and confessor be allowed to still advise me in what other ways I must behave."
Both the Karlykn near me smiled, and at last Dagvar moved. But not to take the blade from me. He instead unhooked its scabbard from his belt, and held it out to me, near my free hand. "You are worthy to bear the steel. And, while this blade may be large for you now, I feel that you shall soon grow into it. Bear it with caution, for any weapon is like a snake in your hands, as capable of biting you rather than your intended target."
I took the sheath, and slid the blade into it, being careful of my fingers. Then I looked it over and found the hilt clasp, to lock it into place. Dagvar wears a larger belt, wider as well as longer, than I did then. So I began to adjust the belt loop for me to use it. As I did so, I looked over the
way my guardian wore his blades, and tried to figure out how to wear this one, and where. Dagvar noticed my interest, and spoke up to quell my consternation over his plethora of knives, at belt, boot, shoulder and arms.
"Malchik, place it where it feels comfortable, and you can get it into your hands easily and swiftly. It will take time for you to work this out, and as you grow, you will find it changing. I even shift mine around based upon what I am doing. Remember this, though, you will find out the hard way regardless, the hilt can harm you more when bending than the blade when misused." He chuckled as if remembering his own learning experiences, and gave me a wink."Don't worry, my little Keilroi, we all made the same mistakes you will, and we lived, even if bruised of body and ego."
I took his advice, and placed the blade on my belt, off to the left. I rarely leaned left, or so I thought then, even when riding. We all have our self-delusions, and at that time, such was mine. I believed that it was safest for me to have a rib-poker on that side. I had yet to learn that just wearing weapon changed the way one carried oneself. Sometimes, even all these years later, I can feel the pain of the hilt as it jammed into all sorts of awkward parts of my body, always unexpectedly.
"Come my friends, my erstwhile nephew has stashed more mounts in the woods above us for us to ride to his Zamok. The hour is late, but with luck and speed we may yet make our way to his ochag in time from the noontide meal. And then perhaps even a nap after." Grimdarzog' s voice, though still phlegmy from the cough held the humor it always had, and it caused chuckles and hoots of consent among the Voyaka,
We then moved as silently as we could, up to the small copse of trees indicated by the Uchenei below. Down by the swamp we could hear the yells and arguments of the guard.. But mostly it was the bellowing of Kordar' s pet, as he berated his pathetic troops for their cowardice, which he had also shared. Myself, I had finally found something to respect in the fools of the Prorok clan, a strong survival instinct.
The mules the Kovalni had brought were only enough for half the warriors, and this bothered me, and I mentioned the lack to Dagvar. My bodyguard merely smiled, and told me to watch and learn. Half the band then mounted and the remainder trotted along beside us. After a short time they switched around, without stopping, making moving dismounts and mounts, moves I still felt to be only done is stories, until that night.
As our band had mounted up, the noises from below began to fade, as if the Prorok clan and the others of the Zamok guard had decided to return to face Kordar's anger over their failure to secure me in a place that I could be tamed to their harness at. Even the Kovalni mentioned the likelihood of their returning to Ovozyest to lick their wounds, and rebuild their false pride. Yet none relaxed their vigilance on the trail. So we rode to the south, leaving the road for the lesser used, more treacherous trail that lead to Zamok ot Koval seSerdtsyeh, a trail that followed the ridgeline, at its crest.
In other words, we were sky lined, for all to see. Until we began the descent into the valley of the Zvonkost, the largest branch of the Ovozyest . itself. And as we rode from the moonlight of the Meneishei Lyuna into the shadows and darkness under the trees near the river, we were ambushed.
They rose out of the river itself, or so it seemed to me. Large creatures, nearly three times the height of the tallest of the Voyaka. They were our second greatest enemies, creatures who aided in the taking of the Kotloveina from us in the days long ago. Servants and allies of the GeidraKorolyeva, the Lyudoyed, or more formally, the Vyeleikan-Lyudoyed, what the Kensori call Ogres. They were huge and foul smelling, both of body and breath, and built like small giants, from what I had heard from the tales children are told of the far lands of Naugramdar, whence those beasts came. The skin of each was a different hue, most were of mustard or green shades, but one that was of greater size than the others had skin the hue of the eastern sky at dawn, a steely white-blue.
And around them were figures of lesser, more familiar stature, and recognizable faces. Eizmyennik, traitors, to race and nation both, as well as to the one they were sent to guard. Now I understand much. My true Uncle, Thivaim Schyelmolot, was to be made Tsar, or at least Tsaryets again. Only by being the heir-designate could he take the throne, at a later time, one well planned for by the Prorok and their allies would have moved on father, to take the throne. If we could but survive, and word be gotten to the court, all would be exposed, and dishonor cast aside. If we survived.
Until now, all I had heard of late at court were the skirmishes with the land of the Domovoi tot he south, and a few reports of Lyudoyed sightings from the Raveinna, the land of the wanderers to the east of the Spur. These beasts were a truly horrid sight to a boy who had only heard the tales of them eating small children in the past. Or destroying caravans to the Raveinna. Even I wound up fighting, with my back against a boulder, having dismounted unwillingly from a bucking mule. Dagvar leapt down beside me in but a moment, and we were soon joined by a bardiche wielding Yakin, Korol ot Choelm. My bodyguard had the front and right, whilst the Prince was to my left. Despite my bruises and sore ribs from the ride, the blade I had been given but a few hours before came easily to my hand, and felt almost alive, like the serpent the arms-master had likened it to at that time.
And with it came the knowledge that I must use it, and use it well, or die here, before even reaching my adulthood. Around us came the Prorok and the leader of the Lyudoyedui, flanked by two of the larger of his kind.
Dagvar's sword and knife, one each hand, were occupied mainly with keeping blows off of both of us, and Yakin with one of the great beasts. That left only me free to attack, and despite my lack of training, some survival skills are truly inborn among my kind, such as the ways of engaging enemies of more immense proportions. I darted forward, and struck a true blow to the Lyudyed on the right, slashing across its belly, which was all the higher I could reach, disemboweling it. It folded over swiftly, trying in vain to hold in its guts, and nearly tumbling upon me, to my great detriment.
I was saved from this fate by a stranger event than many I have ever seen. There was Darzog, standing blithely in the way of the creature, and yet, he was not there. His old gnarled hand reached out, and then, I was there, and not there as well. And around us, my foe fell.
"The object of battle is to kill and survive, my little Nom, not to kill and die. Move faster, and watch out for troubles around you, but back to the rock for now. I have others in need of me more, for the moment." It was perhaps the most abrupt the uchenei had ever been with me, yet I found myself understanding why, as I became again ‘real' after having stepped over to the boulder again. most of the traitors were dead, as many killed by their allies as by us. Now only the leader and Ivanog remained, or so I thought.
Yakin was on the ground, a terrible bruise on his forehead, his eyes glazed and defocused. My bodyguard still stood, but his armor was now rent in several places, and he had a cut on one cheek, just below the eye. He noted my return to the rock, and adjusted his position to better prevent his opponents from harming me.
The Lyudoyed moved first, swinging a great club over our heads, only because we had both dropped to the ground, myself flat, and my champion in a roll-out that allowed him to get a telling thrust into the beast's side, below the ribs. It became enraged, and flailed the ground with the club, knocking Dagvar to his knees by catching him a glancing blow that his knives could not deflect due to the weight and size of the weapon it wielded. Then a flash of steel blurred above the arms-master's own head, as the ogre bent over to bite him. The great axe, or berdysh, of Yakin slid neatly through its neck, and sent the head flying. The elder staggered back to the rock and fell, exhausted and wasted by the effort he had just made.
And in that moment, Brodagovich moved, to take some measure of joy from this loss. He stabbed forward to impale the King of the Hills, and found that the sovereign had an unlikely bodyguard, the Tsaryets himself, crown prince of the whole of Dom ot Ovozyest. My knife against the sword would be a poor match, but my arm could hit his elbow as it came even with me, raising it to make the blow miss.
It also would open the way for my knife, had I been faster. Instead the short sword of my guardian sliced into the opening, deep into the lung between the ribs on Ivanog' s right side. The traitor turned and tried a weak stab against Dagvar, which the latter blocked bare-handed, catching the flat of the blade with his palm, and pushing it aside. His own blade now was freed of the trap of the ribs by his foes twisting, and moved down then up, taking the hand that held the blade from its arm.
In the tales of warriors, many mentions are made of the "sixth" sense, that unknown ability to detect the hidden, from some clue the other senses cannot fathom. I know that it exists, for on that night, it served me, though poorly in my judgment. I have never known what left me alert then, for all the enemy were down, but something told me there was another yet to meet. And in that I was not alone, for the graybeard of the Kovalni, the wanderer of the Tsuiganei, shouted out warning. Just as I moved into action.
It was as if I could see the invisible blade, and perhaps I Could, but I could not get to Dagvar fast enough to do any good. All of two steps, which seemed to take an eternity to make. Then the blade was through him, and moving towards me. It came flat parallel to the earth; and my free left hand did a poor imitation of Dagvar's own move of moments before, not as skillfully, and with a small price.
Unlike Ivan' s, this blade was double edged, a true sword, and I lost a piece of my thumb to it, mostly skin and a bit of flesh. My block moved my bodyguard out of the way, and the thrust of my knife was true, despite the lack of a visible target. I felt the blade enter something that jetted fluid across my arm, as it sank in to the hilt guard. Then, impaled upon my blade in its eye socket, appeared a strangely twisted Domovoi, scaled blue and crooked of limbs and back. Hunched one might say, but rarely did the ones so inflicted twist to the side that way. It sighed and the other eye rolled up in its orbit, as the body of the servant of the Geidra-Korolyeva crumpled to the ground, taking my knife from my hand, stuck firm by the strength of my blow.
Taking Dagvar' down as well as its own hand lost the strength to hold the great sword it had pierced him through with. My guardian lay on the ground twitching in agony, and I could only watch as Grimdarzog suddenly appeared from his no where at our side, and tried his best, with the aid of' several of the Kovalni, who had great skill at battlefield surgery. They let me move in and hold his hand, as they slowly realized the wound was to great to save him.
I know that I was crying, openly, for he was my friend as well as protector, and as with mother, I had never said the words that mattered most, until then. He spoke first, calling for the one he had the most worries about.
"Keilroi?!?" His voice was weak, and filled with fluid, as mother's had been that last time.
I knew, as I took his hand, that this might be good-bye. "Dagvar, you are my friend, please get better, please!"
He coughed and choked on the blood filling his lungs, but managed one last jibe. "Be more careful, Keilroi, you almost lost the whole... thumb...my...little...friend..." His voice trailed off into a sickening gurgle, and I felt his hand get slack. He did not take another breath. I turned away, bawling like the child I still was, and beginning to realize just what I was kneeling in. Whether it was the gore, or that I was crying so hard, I lost my stomach, and became violently ill, coughing and choking on tears and vomit. Then I felt a hand touch my forehead, and remember no more.
***
When I came to, we had just ridden into the bailey of a zamok I was not familiar with. It was just after sun up, the clouds were still the pinks and oranges that only that time can make. but the sun had yet to reach the ground within the outer yard. I was slung over a mule sideways, like a bag of flour before Grimdarzog' s saddle. I knew this from his old. worn boots, which I was very acquainted with, as he often had me help him polish them when Kilelagozamida, his wife, got after him about not keeping the appearance of true high priest. And I knew again the sorrow, beginning to again sob out my grief.
Then we passed the inner gatehouse, and were in the private courtyard. Then hands grabbed me, pulling me down swiftly, setting me on the ground, where the women and surgeons could examine me and the other wounded. Grimdarzog was there nearly as fast, and held my face against his shoulder, explaining that I had lost a good friend in the scrape and had no serious injuries, only a minor cut already treated. From the other wailings I soon heard, I gathered the price of the battle had been very high, for soon the keening of whole families was to be heard. Not a sound I care to hear, ever again, but one all too common in this age of conflicts and troubles.
I heard the voice of the elder, weak and reedy, but still able to speak.
"Is he alright, Dyadya? Did he take any other harms?"
Grimdarzog's voice was also broken, but with grief not injury. "He is intact, but bereft of his oldest friend, who knew him best. Much like another young boy of my experience. He will recover, but it will take time. And love."
"He shall have them, As much of the latter as we can, but time is against us all, in the end." His voice faded through this, and at last my own anguish abated enough for me to push it aside, and look around. Yakin was being held up by a dwarf much like him in appearance, and a lady who wore a circlet of Volfram, obviously his wife. He was gray in appearance, not just from trail dust, and seemed to have gotten older overnight. A condition I have come to know quite intimately myself over the years.
"Were you Dagvar’s friend too?" My question was blunt as only a child's could be. But it was accepted, as I was a child, and due to the grief so many felt.
"Yes, I was, youngling. We learned our skills in weapons and court together, many years ago. He was my blood brother as well. And married to my sister. Now I have to tell her of this, for she is not here and thus must be in the gardens yet." He started to allow his family to take him away, but then stopped them. "This is not how I meant for you to enter these walls, and I shall make up this lack of grace to you. Tonight, as promised, you shall rest upon the Ochadzhnei Kamen of our clan, as one of us. Come, let us go up the stairs and prepare our friend for the trip he now makes in spirit to the Halls of Waiting."
He held out his hand, and I took it, for if he was Dagvar' s friend, then, by tradition, he was now mine as well.
***
I awoke in the middle of the night, lying on furs before the great fireplace in the main hall of the zamok. It was warm, for the flames still danced upon the huge log set in it, and the air moved in the right way within this chamber to make the air warm, and carry the heat of the fire safely through it. Darzog slept on a cot nearby, having refused to take to his chamber, and thus leave me alone in this strange hall on my first night. Zamida had given him a hard time, but gave up in the easy manner that had let even me know that she secretly approved of the old karlyk's actions.
I looked around and noticed that his pack was right by the fire, and next to the Zyelo-hearth sat Jakindegvik, Yakin for short. With him was a young girl who sat on his lap. She was a few years younger than me, and from the way she sat so trustingly on his leg, I could tell she was his daughter. I got up, and walked over, noticing that one of the four arms for Zvyelo smelting was in the flames, and from the still sharp shapes of the ingredients it was obvious that the moving of the arm into the hearth was what had wakened me.
I made one of those snap decisions and pulled out the other cup on my side, and filled it carefully with the ingredients I remembered from mother's link, and then swung it into the fire. Then I reached back to the Uchenei’s pack and pulled out the mold for a link core, and the sheathing mould. Then I gathered the tools of carving from the pack, the ones I had been given by Dagvar, for making jewelry with. Now they were to be used for a more somber and precise purpose. One I still felt he would appreciate. I looked over to Darzog, and found him sitting up, the fire reflecting wetly in his eyes.
"Zhakono." His soft utterance carried in the empty hall, bearing all the approval he could make it carry. And I knew my loss would never have to be forgotten.
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