Barbarian
Tales
Episode
1
Mistress
of the Sword
by
L'Espion
Chapter
20: Vengeance
The camp was awake long
before morning and Shailaja with it.
She was denied her morning public bath, but Velag had his body slaves
washed her down and then dressed her.
She was allowed to eat and then turned out in the camp, escorted by
two guards.
As usual chains augmented
the guards assigned to watch her.
Her wrists were linked by a short length of chain that was padlocked
to another that was placed about her
waist. It allowed limited movement
of her hands, but little else. Her
feet were free, but as she was surrounded by dozens of soldiers any attempt
to break free would be wasted. She
waited, wondering what her captors had planned on this
day.
The guards took her to where
Velag with his hundred warriors waited.
They seemed to be expecting battle as each man stood near his mount,
but Shailaja had no idea what threat they might face as they were gathered
in an area that was screened from the town by a thick grove of
trees. It took her little time
to understand that once again the three allies hoped to lure the Uvarians
from the town, and she wondered what torment they were subjecting Hestia
to this time.
She discovered what a few
heartbeats later as she was led to where Gorvag
stood. Bekor was also there,
standing in front of the gates of the city taunting the men on the
walls. She saw no sign of his
troops and guessed that they were probably posted elsewhere either in ambush
or perhaps as a diversion. She
found out shortly that they were actually on the other side of the city being
used for exactly that purpose.
She had no trouble finding
Hestia. She had been tied to
a heavy wooden frame that had been put together in the shape of an
X. It had been raised into an
upright position with the hapless queen facing the city gates and her outraged
people. From Shailaja’s
viewpoint, which was slightly to one side, the queen appeared barely conscious;
the succession of ordeals to which she had been subjected having apparently
worn her down. Nude and helpless,
she was once again being offered to the people of Uvar to either surrender
or stage a desperate attempt to save her.
This time the stratagem
worked, but not quite in the way that the attackers had
hoped. It seemed that Gorvag
and his allies were not the only commanders capable of intelligent
thought. There was a sudden rumble
and the gates were thrown open. But
this was no sudden cavalry charge; instead a formation of pikemen emerged
from the gate. The marched in
good order, deploying from a double line to either side of the gate and forming
up in ranks four deep. There
were only about eighty of them, but they presented a formidable defensive
formation. Behind them came men
and a few women that were not as well trained or as well
armed. Numbering about a hundred,
these citizens carried a variety of weapons from swords to axes and
spears.
It was not the most formidable
force Shailaja have ever seen assembled, and she wondered what such a small
and poorly trained force could do against the much larger force arrayed against
it, but as she was to quickly learn, the Uvarians were not without their
skills in battle.
It appeared that Bekor’s
cruel tactic had worked. The
gates of Uvar were open, although not in the undisciplined manner that Bekor
had hoped for. Several of
Gorvag’s mob surged toward them, ready to engage in battle, but
Gorvag’s shout immediately called them
back. From the discussions in
Velag’s pavilion Shailaja knew that the plan was to draw the Uvarians
from their walls and then break them with Velag’s
cavalry.
However, the close order
formation the Uvarians had formed left little hope of that until they were
farther from the wall where the exposed flanks of their tiny force could
be attacked.
There was, of course, another
way that the Uvarians could be broken and that was with massed arrow volleys,
but Bekor’s crossbowmen were on the other side of the city and although
every one of Velag’s riders had a bow, they were too far back as yet
to be within range.
In spite of the fact that
the Uvarians seemed to have gotten away with opening their gates it seemed
to leave them no closer to rescuing their
queen. Hestia was still tied
to the cross and was surrounded by Gorvag’s
men. It seemed they had exposed
themselves to attack for no purpose.
However, within a few heartbeats they began to move and when they
did the other part of their plan was
revealed. Through the gates filed
several dozen crossbowmen, and suddenly Gorvag was yelling at
Bekor. “We need your
men. Get them here as quickly
as possible.” As Bekor rode
off he turned to one of his men.
“Tell Velag to bring his men up
fast.” Looking toward Hestia
he spoke again. “Get her
down and out of the way.”
But it was already too
late. In spite of the seeming
clumsiness of the Uvarian’s rescue attempt it was well
planned. The pikemen slowly marched
several yards from the wall, maintaining their tight formation with the more
lightly armed troops following, and behind them came the
crossbowmen. The front rank stopped
about fifty paces from where their queen hung on the cross and then the Uvarian
crossbowmen brought up their weapons.
Gorvag suddenly realized
his danger and headed for cover, wheeling his horse toward the place where
Velag and his men were waiting. His
retreat had an unfortunate affect on his men, who seeing their leader fleeing
decided to follow him. They were
helped in this decision by a sudden shower of quarrels as the Uvarian crossbowmen
released their weapons.
Gorvag’s rabble once again broke and ran.
As they retreated a party
of Uvarians dashed through the ranks of the pikemen and headed for
Hestia. Gorvag swung his horse
around. “Kill her,”
he shouted.
His command was almost
meaningless, all of his men having decided to follow him to safety rather
than stay to fight off the Uvarian sally.
Hestia was left alone, still tied to the cross and barely
conscious.
At that moment, however,
Velag, who had apparently stayed in touch with developments near the city
gates, arrived with the vanguard of his
men. This suddenly changed the
complexion of the battle. Whatever
else might be said against Belusendrans, they make good
warriors. Each of Velag’s
men was armed with a powerful bow and they could use it almost as well on
horseback as they could on the ground.
They loosed a volley of arrows into the Uvarians that devastated the
lightly armoured men who were rushing to the aid of their
queen. They followed it up with
a second volley, this time targeting the
pikemen. Even though they were
more heavily armoured than their fellows, many of the arrows struck home,
however, the soldiers of Uvar displayed the same courage that they had when
they had fought to the last in a vain attempt to defend Hestia and stood
their ground. At the same time
a cascade of arrows flew from the walls of Uvar, the archers and crossbowmen
stationed there making use of their higher elevation to rain missiles down
on Velag’s men. In conjunction
with this attack the soldiers standing behind the pikemen let loose a barrage
of small missiles that landed among the horsemen.
This seemingly feeble assault
had the remarkable affect of causing many of the horses to scream in
pain. Shailaja realized that
the objects thrown had been caltrops, sharp pointed objects intended to painfully
wound the feet of any man or animal that stepped on
them. They were ugly devices
intended to maim and cripple, but they evened up the odds for Uvar’s
infantry against Velag’s mounted warriors.
So far the battle had gone
well for the Uvarians, but in spite of the setbacks they had suffered
Velag’s warriors were men that had trained all of their lives for battle.
It took them only a few heartbeats
to react. Retreating from the
massed pikemen they began to loose their arrows from a distance, while a
number broke off in an attempt to come at the Uvarians from the
flanks.
Velag’s mounted archers
could get off five arrows for every one the crossbowmen
fired. The ranks of the pikemen
and the soldiers behind them began to waver, even with the help of the men
on the walls of the city. At
the same Bekor and the members of his bodyguard arrived, coming at the massed
Uvarians from the right flank.
It was to the credit of
the Uvarian militia that they did not
break. Outnumbered, and facing
highly trained warriors, at least so far as Velag’s men were concerned,
they held their ground and attempted to fight their way toward their
queen.
But it was clear to Shailaja
that in spite of their bravery they could not
win. The rest of Bekor’s
men were rushing toward the fray and when they arrived the battle would end
quickly.
Her guards had halted just
into the trees and paused to watch the remainder of the battle, but they
kept an eye on her as well. Much
as she burned to join the battle, there was nothing she could do except watch
and hope that somehow Uvar’s outmatched forces might
prevail. Matters, however, were
to take a sudden and unexpected turn.
There was a sudden grunt
from the guard to her right, but that was the only sound he made before he
slowly toppled forward. The second
guard made only a surprised gasp and then he too dropped to the
ground. Shailaja turned quickly,
ready to defend herself as best she could, although she could have done little
with her wrists chained. However,
there was no threat to her. Siva
stood there, bloody knife in her right
hand. In her other hand was a
key.
“I’ve been waiting
for this chance,” Siva said.
“Up until now you were too closely guarded, but now I can release
you.” She fitted the key
to the padlock and the shackles fell from Shailaja’s
wrists.
Her rescue was so unexpected
that for a few heartbeats Shailaja simply stood where she was, but it did
not take her long to recover.
“Go now,” Siva
continued. “You can escape
in the confusion of the battle.”
Shailaja took one of the
fallen guard’s swords and then that of the
other. “No,” she said,
quietly. “Now I take my
vengeance.”
Strangely, she felt no anger,
just an icy calm. Less than a
hundred yards away were the three men she had come to hate most in the
world. For more than a moon she
had dreamed of what she would do to them if she ever got a sword in her hand
again, and now that moment had come.
However, now her anger was replaced by a steely
determination. Several riderless
horses wheeled about and she fixed on the closest and ran toward
it. She was aware of Siva running
beside her, her sword at the ready, but she focused on her
goal.
Their attention fixed on
their battle with the Uvarians, no one realized she was behind them until
the last instant. At that that
point one of Gorvag’s rabble glanced back over his
shoulder. By happy chance the
man was Walnuf. He had just time
to raise his sword before her blade gutted
him. His scream was lost in the
shouts of battle, but Shailaja was already moving on to the next man and
then the next.
She moved methodically through
the rear of Gorvag’s men, each step taking her closer to their leader
and the murderer of her lover. She
made good use of the two-handed technique Den had taught her and it seemed
fitting somehow that she employ it.
Slightly behind her, Siva acted as her flank guard, watching for anyone
who might attempt to cut in from behind.
She cut down man after man
before any of Gorvag’s men realized that something was wrong, but it
was too late; she had already reached one of the free
horses. Even as a shout of alarm
went up she grabbed the rein, gained the stirrup and vaulted into the
saddle. Trained for battle, the
warhorse responded immediately to her touch and surged
forward. Rising in the saddle
Shailaja was able to strike down with the full force of either arm and she
cut a swathe toward Velag’s cavalry.
Circling the Uvarians and
intent on decimating the infantry with their deadly bows, the Belusendrans
hardly noticed her arrival until she was among the first of
them. She slashed left and right,
each blow taking a man from the saddle, but her rampage could not continue
unopposed forever. A cry went
up from Gorvag’s and Velag’s men and suddenly she was the centre
of attention.
The horsemen wheeled toward
her and the foot soldiers stabbed at her with pike and
spear. However, she was well
into her attack, hacking and cutting at anyone who opposed her, as she fought
her way toward Velag and Gorvag.
In battle all is confusion,
so much so that it often becomes difficult to tell friend from
foe. Shailaja had no such problem,
having only Siva as an ally. She
cut down anyone who dared come near her or who got in her way as she fought
toward the two mercenary leaders.
The chaos of battle is difficult
to describe, but Shailaja’s reaction to the disorder generated by conflict
was unique. For her everything
seemed to slow and she became conscious of the place and actions of everyone
around her. It was very much
like being in a boat in the midst of a raging river with rocks thrusting
up on all sides. As the boat
twists and turns in the current the paddle is used to move the boat away
from danger and into the more open water.
It was like that for her, except that she used swords instead of paddles,
finding the seams in the enemy ranks and cutting her way through
them.
Her swords bathed in blood,
so much so that she was covered in gore from head to foot, but she noticed
nothing except those who stood in her
way. Rider after rider fell before
her as did those on foot who were not quick enough to get out of her
way. Mirana followed her
throughout the battle, guiding her hands and alerting her to every danger
until suddenly the one she sought appeared in front of her and she found
herself facing Velag.
He was fully armoured, but
Shailaja had already killed every man like him who had dared crossed blades
with her and she hesitated not a
heartbeat. Kicking her horse
forward she engaged him blade on blade.
Velag fought furiously and
with the boldness Shailaja expected of a Belusendran warrior, but she knew
from the first instant their blades touched that she had
him. It took a little longer
for Velag to realize that, and when he did he fought even harder, but now
Shailaja sensed the fear in him as he realized that he surely faced
death. Many men would have wheeled
their horse out of the battle and sought escape, but Velag had some
honour. He attacked in desperation,
seeking to find some weakness in her
defence. Like all good horsemen
he attempted to bring his horse into the battle, using it to offset her
superiority as a warrior. Here
he had an advantage as Kaltarans are not renowned horsemen, but Shailaja
had greatly improved her skills in her two years of riding with the Ravens,
and Velag’s desperate tactic did not work.
All of this action took
much more time to describe than it took to
happen. Velag and Shailaja were
together for probably only a few dozen heartbeats and then she broke through
his guard. Her right hand blade
reached over his shield and pierced his
shoulder. As his shield dropped
it was followed an instant later by the left hand blade which drove over
his guard and took him in the eye.
He died almost instantly and made not a sound as he fell from his
saddle. Shailaja would have enjoyed
the victory more if she had made him suffer a little, but in battle she knew
that it was best to take what is offered and so she had part of her vengeance,
although it was not as satisfying as she would have
wished.
Shailaja’s eyes next
looked for Gorvag and she found him surrounded by his bodyguard and desperately
trying to rally his men. In the
short time it had taken her to fight her way through to Velag several things
had changed. Bekor’s infantry
had begun to arrive, a factor that should have tipped the battle strongly
in favour of the besiegers. But
the Uvarians had countered with reinforcements of their
own. From the gates charged a
motley assortment of cavalry. To
the trained eye it appeared that the inhabitants of the city had put anyone
who was capable of holding a saddle and sent him out to do
battle. However, it was unexpected
and it came at the perfect moment.
Bekor’s men had just
entered the fray and were pressing into the right flank of the Uvarian
pikemen. The sudden appearance
of horsemen on their own flank sent this attack into
disarray. In spite of the importance
of this development, Shailaja paid it little
attention. She had her eyes fixed
on Gorvag and drove toward him.
During all of this Siva
fought by her side. Although
she had not Shailaja’s size and strength, she was a skilled rider and
handled a sword about as well as anyone Shailaja had seen, with the exception
of herself and Den. As she swung
her mount toward Gorvag and his bodyguard Siva followed and together they
battled their way toward the mercenary leader.
Gorvag was a skilled
warrior. He had to be in order
to seize the leadership of the Ravens, but he had never been in a battle
he might lose. Although there
were only two of them, Siva and Shailaja had shattered Velag’s
horsemen. They had not killed
them all, far from it, but they had attacked them from a direction that was
not expected and had cut down a number of them before they even knew they
were there. With Velag’s
death and the losses they had already suffered at the hands of the Uvarians,
they decided that they had fought long enough and retired from the
battle.
The affect on most of
Gorvag’s men was catastrophic.
Seeing the most disciplined element of the army retire sent most of
Gorvag’s rabble fleeing from the
battlefield. Many, in fact, headed
for their own baggage train which they sought to loot before fleeing
further. This left just Gorvag
and Bekor and while the Uvarians dealt with the latter Shailaja dealt with
the man who had been her nemesis.
Gorvag waited with the dozen
men who made up his bodyguard. He
should have been safe, but Shailaja saw fear in his eyes as he looked toward
her. Above the sounds of the
battle she heard his voice.
“Kill the barbarian bitch.”
To Shailaja the odds mattered
not at all. She spurred her tired
horse forward and rode straight at
Gorvag. He rode to meet her,
but so did his bodyguard and they met with a clash of steel and
horseflesh.
By sheer weight of numbers
her horse as well as Siva’s was caught up and driven
backward. Shailaja felt her horse
going down and leaped clear, landing on her feet with both swords in her
hands. However, she was at a
serious disadvantage among her mounted
adversaries. They came at her,
attempting to ride her down.
Shailaja managed to save herself by the simple act of raising her
blades and screaming as the closest horse thundered toward
her.
As mentioned, horses have
a natural aversion to being ridden into anything whether it be a tree or
a fence or a large group of men. In
Shailaja’s case, it was a screaming warrior armed with two flashing
and menacing blades. The horse
shied and swerved to one side and was slammed into by the horse right behind
it.
The result was a chaotic
mass of tangled horses and Shailaja took full advantage of it, rushing toward
the one closest to her. The rider
saw her coming, but had no chance.
She took off his leg just above the knee and then heaved him out of
the saddle and replaced him. In
an instant she was charging back into the battle.
By some miracle, or perhaps
a superb feat of horsemanship, Siva had not been unhorsed, but she now fought
desperately against three men.
Shailaja charged into them, a sweep of one sword taking off a man’s
head and a sweep of the other a man’s arm.
Leaving Siva to deal with the
remaining rider she turned and once again looked for
Gorvag.
He was there, just a dozen
yards away with what was left of his
bodyguard. There were not so
many now; just eight out of the twelve Gorvag had started with.
Nine to one seemed like reasonable
odds to Shailaja and she spurred her new mount toward
them.
Two of them immediately
turned and fled, and two others held
back. The other four moved to
meet her. The joy of battle surged
through her and laughing Shailaja shouted her battle cry as she swept toward
them.
For those who had never
experienced such a feeling it is difficult to describe; but suffice to say
that it was something akin to that which many experience during the most
intense moments of union between a man and a
woman. It was a feeling so intense
that it banished all fear of death and Shailaja spurred forward with only
one thing in her mind; to see Gorvag’s head on the ground.
With a clash of steel she
crashed into Gorvag’s bodyguards, her blades striking like
lightning. By happy chance the
first man she met was Mogan. He
loomed over her, but within a heartbeat was suddenly a head
shorter. He toppled from his
horse and within two more heartbeats four men lay dead, their riderless horses
scattering across the battleground.
Gorvag’s remaining
men fled and she faced only the man who had shamed her and killed her
lover. To his credit Gorvag did
not flee with them; instead he sat his horse and faced her, sword and shield
at the ready. Raising his helm
he spat in her direction. “So
it is down to us, girl. You will
find that your tricks will not save you this time.”
“As usual, you prefer
words to actions,” Shailaja replied.
“Now use your sword or surrender.”
In truth she did not wish
for Gorvag to surrender. She
wanted him to taste the bitterness of complete defeat at her hands before
she killed him. However, he almost
caught her off guard by what he did next.
Drawing back his sword arm he hurled his blade in her direction and
then reached down and retrieved a war axe from his
saddle.
Gorvag was a powerfully
built man and he threw the sword with all of his considerable strength, but
the cowardly attack was not directed at her, but at her
horse. With a scream of pain
and terror her horse reared back and then toppled sideways, Gorvag’s
blade protruding from its throat.
As her horse fell Shailaja
slid off its rump, landing on her feet just in time to meet Gorvag’s
attack. He first tried to ride
her down, but she slipped to one side and avoided the trampling hooves of
his horse. Rising in his stirrups
he towered over her and swung the war axe with a blow that would have split
her from crown to crotch had it landed.
Once again, however, she moved away from his attack, using her agility
to avoid death.
However, Gorvag was a skilled
horseman. He spun his mount before
she had time to recover and was on her again, the axe swinging in a diagonal
stroke aimed at her neck.
This time Shailaja was forced
to dive to the ground to avoid his deadly blade, however, as he passed one
of her blades snaked out and caught his horse just above its
fetlock. She felt no pleasure
in striking the animal there, but in war harsh choices must be made, and
she was fighting for her life.
Gorvag’s horse screamed
as hers had done and staggered sideways as Gorvag attempted to wheel it about
once more. With a curse he swung
out of the saddle and moved to face her.
It was a confrontation Shailaja had long imagined, but she waited
for him to come to her.
To an outside observer it
probably appeared to be a mismatch.
Gorvag was almost as tall as Shailaja and weighed considerably
more. He was also heavily armoured
in the Belusendran style, wearing lamellar armour that was light, but strong,
offering the best combination of protection, yet allowing ease of
movement. He also carried a shield
and he swung the heavy war axe as if it were a willow
wand.
Shailaja faced him without
armour of any sort and with just a pair of swords to hold off his attack,
but she had not the slightest doubt as to the outcome of the
battle. She had beaten him once
before in pretend combat and she would beat him again
now.
Gorvag wasted no more breath
on insults. He came at her in
a rush, seeking to use his strength and heavier weapon to overwhelm
her. It appeared that he had
forgotten how poorly that tactic had worked the last time he faced
her.
She danced away from him,
letting him waste his strength on empty
space. Gorvag growled in anger,
and came at her again with the same
result. This time, however, she
let him know just how overmatched he was.
Her right blade lanced out and sliced into the arm wielding the axe
just above the armoured gauntlet he wore.
He grunted in pain, but rather than teach him caution, it seemed to
enrage him. Slipping his arm
farther through the loops that bound the shield to his arm, he used both
hands to grip the axe and swung it wildly, seeking to cut her in
half.
It was a stupid and pointless
attack against a warrior with Shailaja’s skills and she made him pay,
cutting him again and again until he was bleeding from a dozen painful
wounds. She could have finished
him at any time, but she wanted to draw out the fight; wanted Gorvag to know
that he had lost; wanted to watch his face when he realized he was going
to die.
“You bitch,” he
panted as he lunged uselessly at her for the twentieth
time. “Stand and
fight.” He stood gasping,
barely able to raise his shield.
Shailaja decided the time had come to finish him, but she did not
make it easy.
As he lunged toward in one
more desperate attempt to strike a blow she let the blow sweep past her and
then struck at his wrist. Gorvag
screamed horribly as she took off his
hand. Falling to his knees he
tossed his shield aside and used his left hand to grip his wrist in an attempt
to stem the flow of blood.
“You barbarian
whore,” he gasped between clenched
teeth. He glared up at her, his
face a mask of rage and pain.
It would have been but the
work of a moment to kill him, but Shailaja stood over him, her lips twisting
in disdain. “You brought
this upon yourself. Your cowardice
and treachery has now been rewarded.”
“Not yet,” he
growled. From his belt he pulled
a dagger and jabbed it toward her groin.
Her quickness saved her;
that and the fact that she trusted Gorvag the way she would a
scorpion. Even as he struck her
sword descended. He gave a hoarse
cry as she removed his other hand, collapsing into a ball on the ground,
his handless arms clutched to his middle.
Shailaja stooped and picked
up the dagger, recognizing it immediately as the gift her mother had given
her. Gorvag had very nearly killed
her with her own weapon. She
stood over him for a moment and then raised her sword to finish him
off. Then she heard a movement
behind her. She turned, staying
her hand as she beheld Siva riding toward
her. Siva looked at the maimed
leader of the Ravens, but said nothing.
Shailaja began to turn back
toward Gorvag and then stopped.
“Leave him,” she said
contemptuously. “Let us
see to the remainder of the battle.”
There was little to see
to. With the defeat of their
leaders Velag’s and Gorvag’s men had fled, leaving Bekor to fight
alone. It had not gone well for
the Cebarian prince; his men had routed and he had been taken
prisoner. By now Hestia had also
been freed, and was being sheltered between two of her rescuers, one of whom
had given her his cloak. Bekor
was on his knees, his arms tightly bound.
As Siva and Shailaja approached
the soldiers of Uvar raised their crossbows and other
arms. Hestia raised her
hand. “Let them come,”
she said. “They are friends
of Uvar.”
Grudgingly the soldiers
gave way, all of them eyeing the two warriors with
suspicion. Shailaja supposed
they must have been a fearful sight, especially
her. Although she had sustained
no serious hurt in the battle, a circumstance she could only attribute to
Marana’s blessing, she was covered with blood from the crown of her
head to her feet and carried two bloody
swords. Siva’s appearance
was hardly less warlike, and she wore full armour in addition to her weapons,
but Hestia Shook her head at her guards as they approached and waved them
forward.
Too weak to stand, Hestia
sat on the timbers of the cross to which she had been
bound. It was not much of a throne,
but she received them with the queenly grace Shailaja had noted
earlier. She stood before the
queen waiting for her words.
“She does not kneel?”
one of the soldiers standing to one side muttered
angrily. “She insults the
queen.”
Shailaja turned her eyes
on the fool who had spoken.
“I am Shailaja of the Kaltara, and I bow to no
one. If you wish, perhaps you
would like to force me to my knees.”
The man blanched and took
a step back, his hand moving quickly away from his
sword. However, he was spared
further shame by Hestia’s words.
“It is I who should bow before her,
Balthus. Had it not been for
her bravery I would be dead and Uvar would be in the hands of its
enemies.”
“I spoke foolishly,”
Balthus said quickly. “Please
accept my apologies.”
“No insult has been
taken,” Shailaja replied coldly.
“I thank you for my
life,” Hestia continued.
“Had it not been for your timely attack all would have been
lost. I see now why you were
kept chained.”
This reminder of the shame
of her captivity was painful.
Shailaja had been avenged, but the lives of Velag and Gorvag could
not atone for the months of shame she had suffered and the loss of her lover,
but she said nothing, realizing that Hestia’s shame had been as great
and perhaps even greater due to the differences in their
cultures. She inclined her head
in acknowledgement and then nodded her head toward
Siva. “It is Siva you should
thank,” Shailaja said.
“It was she who freed me from my guards.”
“There are two
others,” Siva said quickly.
“The healer, Selvan-mal-Tir, was the one who mixed the potion
that released Shailaja from the prison of the drug she was forced to drink;
and Ulriggan, the smith was the one who gave me the key to her chains.
”
This was a surprise to Shailaja,
but it explained why her passion had diminished during the last half
moon. It appeared that she had
more friends among the Ravens that she had
thought.
“Have them brought
to me,” Hestia ordered Balthus.
“And do not harm them.”
By this time Hestia was
showing signs of complete exhaustion; not surprising for one who had hung
from a cross for most of the day.
“Take me to the palace,” she ordered, “and treat Shailaja
and Siva as honoured guests.”
It was done as she
ordered. Shailaja and her companions
entered the city and took up residence in the
palace. She stayed for a full
moon, finding it difficult to refuse the queen’s
hospitality. By good fortune
she was able to retrieve most of what had been taken from her by Gorvag,
including her armour and weapons, and also the medallion given to her by
her father, which was found to be in Bekor’s
possession.
As for the prince of Cebar,
Shailaja expected him to be most painfully executed, but was surprised to
discover that he was to be ransomed
instead. It seemed he had promised
Hestia his weight in silver as well as submitting to her
rule. It was a contract the queen
preferred to vengeance.
Shailaja did not comment
on the agreement. The customs
of Arkana were not hers and it seemed that perhaps enough blood had been
shed. The day after Bekor was
allowed to leave she followed.
Siva, Selvan, and Ulriggan had taken positions in the queen’s
household, but she found herself unable to do the
same. She had few fond memories
of Arkana and some that were bitter in the
extreme. And there was another
place that once again came to her mind.
As a result she took her leave from Hestia much to the queen’s
regret.
“If you will not stay,
then at least let me reward you suitably,” Hestia
said. The Queen of Uvar was seated
in the throne room surrounded by members of her court and several of the
high ranking townspeople. She
motioned for her treasurer to bring forward a large wooden box, which he
set at Shailaja’s feet. At
Hestia’s command it was opened revealing a fortune in
silver.
“This is a part of
the silver promised by Bekor,” Hestia
explained. “It is only proper
that you share in it.”
Shailaja bowed her
acknowledgement of the queen’s
generosity. “I thank you
for this,” she answered, “but I would prefer that it be distributed
as far as it will go among those of you people who suffered when Gorvag invaded
your realm.”
Hestia seemed not the least
surprised by Shailaja’s request.
“That is most generous of you, but it is an act I would expect
of a Kaltaran warrior. It shall
be done as you say. Is there
not anything that we may give you to show our
friendship?”
“You have already given
me more than I have a right to expect,” Shailaja
answered. “I leave with
fond memories of Uvar’s brave queen and am honoured to be considered
her friend”
“That you are,”
Hestia smiled. She rose from
her throne, an act that must have taken some effort considering the abuse
she had suffered. Allowing Balthus
to support her she crossed to where Shailaja stood and
embraced. “Let it be known
that Shailaja of the Kaltara is now and forever a friend of
Uvar. And since you will not
accept a reward perhaps I can give you something else
instead.” She reached up
and placing her right hand on Shailaja’s shoulder she turned to her
court. “Let it be known
throughout Uvar and beyond that Shailaja of Kaltara is hereby proclaimed
Mistress of the Sword and is to be accorded the highest rank in the
land.”
The queen’s action
no doubt surprised her subjects, but it was something Shailaja had come to
expect in the woman whose life she had
saved. She returned the embrace
and then as Hestia returned to her throne she took her leave of the city
of
She took the same road Bekor
had taken, riding toward Arkana’s Cebar and the woodland where Sturm
waited for her. As she thought
of the giant woodsman her heart quickened and a smile played about her
lips. Mistress of the
Sword she thought.
Sturm will laugh when he hears
that.
Her mood did not change
as she passed the cross to which Hestia had been
bound. The victorious Uvarians
had put it to another use. Upon
it was nailed the rotting corpse of Gorvag who the vengeful soldiers had
found lying where she had left him.
He had apparently been still alive when they drove the nails into
his arms and feet, but he was certainly dead
now. She spared him just a glance
as she rode away toward the dawn.
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