Chaosbound (45 page)

“Shall we kill them?” Warlord Hrath demanded.

Aaath Ulber merely smiled. “Kill them? I'm going to take endowments from them. The brawn of three wyrmlings is not easy to come by.”

25

There are paths that lead to happiness, but few people tread them. Instead, they hope to find shortcuts, or imagine that happiness can be found wherever they decide to squat. But true happiness comes when we attain worthwhile desires, not when we merely surrender desire
.

—Myrrima

A mile upriver from Ox Port, Myrrima climbed into a clear freshet and washed the weapons for the folks of the city. It was early morning still, just past dawn. She'd slept little during the night, yet somehow she felt renewed. The touch of water often lent her strength.

Birds were in the woods around her, flycatchers dipping to catch linnets that erupted like droplets of amber from a fallen alder across the river, and nuthatches and songbirds that chattered in mountain hawthorns.

The rune that she drew upon each club and blade was not one that had a name. She'd dreamt it once, long ago, in a nightmare where she battled a wight.

The dream had come on the heels of her own encounter with such a monster, an encounter that nearly left her dead.

The symbol that she drew was a rune for severing ties—ties to family, ties to friends, ties to the flesh, ties to the world.

Myrrima had never shown it to others. Things of such weight, she felt, were sacred. They came from the Power that she served, and were given only to her, to help her fulfill her purpose.

I am Water's Warrior, she told herself as she blessed the weapons, and I have been called to war.

She wondered what her part should be in the coming battles. Her own weapon of choice had been the yew bow, a good length of strong heartwood, mottled red and white, with a bit of cat gut for a string.

For her arrow, she preferred a medium-sized shaft, one thin enough to get good distance but light enough to travel far. If she wasn't fighting reavers, she'd want one with an iron tip that flared wide, a broad head that could sever arteries and slice through flesh.

She had not practiced her bow skills in weeks, not since the flood had taken her home. Indeed, she'd more or less given up on archery practice over the years.

She wondered now if she had done wrong.

Water had called her to war, but what part was she to play?

Perhaps all that I need to do is what I am doing now, she thought—blessing these weapons so that others may fight.

She'd dreamt that she had left war behind. She was at a point in life where her children were nearly out of the home. She'd hoped to plant herself in her little valley back in Sweetgrass and let the children grow around her, building their own cottages on the borders of her farm. She'd looked forward to playing with her grandbabies and passing down the lore of child-rearing to her children and their spouses.

But my life is at an end, she thought.

Borenson was gone, gone as completely as if he were dead. The last vestiges of him were hidden somewhere inside the giant Aaath Ulber, and by the end of the day, Aaath Ulber would take his death in endowments.

Twenty endowments of metabolism he required. With so many, he would live his remaining years in a flash. Two or three years he might survive, as measured by the seasons.

But during that time, he himself would move twenty times the pace of a normal man. Each day would seem stretched to him.

He's gone beyond my reach, she thought. What once remained of my husband has left me forever, traveling not across the far reaches of the land, but across time, where I cannot follow.

Such thoughts filled her mind as Myrrima washed each axe and spear,
dagger and sword, and then set them in the sun to dry, with the rune side up.

The sun needed to dry the weapons. The runes would be spoiled if wiped with a human hand.

When she finished, she stood with the sunlight at her back, and peered down at the mass of blades. Hundreds of them lay spread out upon the ground, all of the weapons in the village of Ox Port.

Among them were many fine bows, and whole quivers full of arrows.

Is this all that Water wants of me? Myrrima wondered. Or dare I go to war?

Already, Myrrima's magic had saved them twice on this journey. She wanted to go into the wyrmling lair, to fight by Aaath Ulber's side.

Yet she knew that she didn't have the physical strength or speed for such an ordeal.

A horse whickered, and she glanced up to the road. A pair of young men sat in a wagon, waiting for her to finish. They looked to be fifteen or sixteen, about Draken's age. Bright, young, full of hope. Their future stretched out before them.

She shouted up to the boys, “Almost done. When these weapons are dry, we'll be ready to load. When you pass them out, tell the owners not to wipe the blades before they go into battle—and not to wipe blood off of them in the thick of it.”

The young men nodded, and Myrrima went to a plain bow that looked to be fit for her size. She picked up an arrow from the ground, the gray goose feathers of its fletching still wet. She smoothed the fletching, nocked the arrow to the string, drew the bow to the full, and took aim at a knot on the tree.

The bow felt too strong for her. She could not aim it easily.

Or perhaps I am just too weak, Myrrima thought. A few days of practice, and my arm would grow used to it.

She let the arrow fly, and missed her knot by only an inch.

Myrrima looked up at the young men and thought of Sage, only fourteen years old.

If Myrrima was to go with Aaath Ulber that would mean she would leave Sage behind, a child abandoned by both of her parents. There was Draken and Rain, too, and Myrrima hoped to see Talon and Fallion, Jaz and Rhianna.

I am a mother, she realized. That is not a station that I dare abandon. I made a pact with my children before they were ever conceived, that I would be their champion, their bastion and hope. I promised to be their guide and companion.

Aaath Ulber was leaving, forging ahead down a path from which no man could ever return, and Myrrima decided to let him go.

He had not counseled with her or the children before taking his attributes. He had not explained his reasoning to her.

Perhaps he plans to say good-bye before he goes into the wyrmling fortress, Myrrima thought. He'd need to say his farewells to Draken and Sage and Rain.

Time to let him go forever, she thought, while tears streamed down her cheeks and she added her water to the ground.

26

Heroes are not found in dreams and legends, but can be discovered all around us, walking down the very lane that you live upon. Look at the old man who labors mightily to gather firewood to warm his wife on a cold winter night, or the young woman who faces death to bring a child into the world. Heroism is not an anomaly, but the normal state of mankind
.

—Gaborn Val Orden

The day seemed longer than normal to Draken. Young men went out in the morning, and by noon none had returned.

Then folks began to trickle into Ox Port. One old farmer carried a load of horse manure on a cart drawn by a reindeer, and when he gained the inn, he reached into the muck and brought out thirteen forcibles.

Not long afterward, other gifts began to arrive. A young woman came into town riding a donkey, her hooded green robe pulled low, looking tired and haggard. She had no sooner reached the inn than she threw off her robe and leapt from the donkey's back, vaulting high in the air.

She was a runelord who had taken endowments in secret, of course, come from some nearby city.

Other heroes from surrounding villages and cities began pouring in that evening.

None of them looked like the kind of men that Draken had expected. Each nearby town sent someone, but the warlords of Internook required only three things from their champions: First, the champions needed to be the most skilled warrior in his or her village. Among the runelords, great strength was not required, for with a single endowment of brawn a
man wanting for strength could be made strong. Similarly, a man who lacked for dexterity could take endowments of grace, and those who were slow might have metabolism bestowed upon them.