Trial and Glory (7 page)

* * *

Mawkuk read the contents of the message once more for show before he shared the news with those he had called to the meeting. “The Blue Island Clan’s fleet has been destroyed.”

A roar of cheers sounded from his captains as well as the Yellow Plain Clan leaders crammed inside his tent. Only one man failed to participate in the celebration.

“What were our losses?” asked Larnak. The lithe Yellow Clan leader had been nervous about Mawkuk’s plan.

“Minimal. Less than fifty men,” said Mawkuk. “Those left behind to guard the ships had apparently not been part of the army, only sailors.”

Larnak nodded. “Congratulations. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Mawkuk waved the man off. “We achieved an important victory. But it is also a small one.” He paused. Larnak had not been the only one to doubt his plan, just the most vocal. Most of the Yellow Clan captains had not yet warmed to taking orders from him. “Let’s hold off on congratulations until Juanoq is ours and Tobin’s head is mounted on the city’s gates.”

Larnak showed the hints of a smile. “What’s our next step?”

“We continue along our current path.” Mawkuk pointed to the open map in front of him. “We’re still weeks away from meeting with Durahn and the forces he’s managed to assimilate among the remaining Orange Desert Clan.”

“And what about the men you bade stay behind in order to destroy the Blue Clan’s ships? Are they to rejoin the main host?” asked Larnak.

“No. They have orders to fall back into the marshes. Once Walor hears of what happened to the fleet, I’m sure he’ll expect the worst and immediately pull out of the Red Mountains. He’ll have to return home by land. His only path is through the Gray Marsh.”

“We didn’t leave behind enough men to hold off an army the size Walor commands.”

Already the doubt comes back.

Mawkuk kept calm. “Not indefinitely. However, a bigger force will be less effective in this case. The smaller army will be able to better use the marsh to their advantage. Walor won’t be held off forever, but when he finally emerges, his army will be much the worse for it.”

Larnak huffed. “It appears that you have everything under control.”

Mawkuk shook his head. “Nothing is ever completely under control.”

“What do you need from our clan then?”

“For now, nothing. Just make sure your men enjoy the small victory. After the last couple of years, both of our people have had little opportunity to celebrate.”

Larnak nodded. “Then by your leave.”

Mawkuk gave a slight bow. Larnak and the Yellow Plain captains filed out of the command tent.

Mawkuk addressed one of his men. “Captain.”

“Yes.”

“See that our men enjoy their own celebration. Just make sure that they understand it will be the last time we celebrate anything until we’re dancing on the ashes of Juanoq.”

The officer bowed. “Will you join us as well? It would mean a lot to the men.”

“Perhaps. There is still much that I have to do.”

“Very well,” said the captain before he led the others from the tent.

Mawkuk leaned over the map. He used a finger to trace the rest of their route through the Yellow Plain where his army would join forces with Durahn at the Panan Canal.

And then we’ll be outside the gates of Juanoq within a matter of days.

* * *

Durahn rubbed his massive hands, cursing the bite of the cold desert night seeping into his bones. Ducking, he walked to a small brazier burning in the opposite corner of his tent. With the foul smelling dung nearly choking him, he stepped away from the worst of the smoke and settled into warming his hands.

Sweltering in the day. Freezing at night. Is there anything worse?

Tobin had sent him to Nubinya well over a year before, and he had been miserable every day since. He still could not shake the frustration of being passed over as warleader again. Though he had hated Kaz, his selection as warleader at least made sense. Kaz had won the Testing, and though Durahn hated to admit it, had done well leading the Kifzo after his appointment.

Even if he never had the guts to face me. But Tobin? A cripple with no backbone.

Durahn shook his bullish head, recalling the reports of what Tobin had accomplished in the last campaign against the Red Mountain and Green Forest clans, including the methods he had used. He didn’t believe a word of it.

Stories that Nachun probably made up to bolster Tobin’s reputation. Just like Tobin killing his father. Ufer likely did it for him. I don’t care if Tobin’s ankle is healed. Once a pathetic coward, always one. And now that the shaman stabbed him in the back and left, his real power is gone.

Durahn had his fill of the sand and blackened rock dominating the Burnt Sands Desert. He couldn’t wait to return to the tropical climate of the Blue Islands.

And take what should have been mine years ago.

The tent flap burst open and a Kifzo walked in—one that had accompanied him to Nubinya to squash the pathetic attempt at rebellion long ago. The warrior had been one of the first he had won over to his side.

“The watch has been set for the night. All is in order, Warleader.”

“Warleader?”

“A title you deserve.” The warrior paused, tilting his head to the side. “Am I overstepping myself?”

Durahn grinned. “Not at all.”

Chapter 6

Seven opponents of various sizes entered the ring. Each held a practice sword and wore light armor. They encircled Tobin. He met each of their stares while quickly assessing the way they carried themselves, noting the slightest signs of weakness.

“Begin!” came a shout.

He sprinted toward a man to his right that favored his left leg. Tobin feinted twice to chest and head, before sweeping the man’s leg. He touched the man’s neck and quickly pivoted to deflect a strike.

A quick shout of “dead” confirmed that only six opponents remained.

They attacked him with vigor.

Tobin lost himself in the fight as he had done every day since returning to Juanoq several months before. He allowed the anger that weighed him down to come out with each strike of the practice blades. The anger flowed unabashed as he sought his revenge on the images that most often haunted his dreams.

Kaz screamed in agony as Tobin stomped on his brother’s instep. The bone cracked, and Tobin raked his weapon over Kaz’s chest as he crumpled.

I’d kill you again if I could brother.

Bazraki came at him next. Tobin thrust upward while slipping under his father’s attack. He pulled his father close to finish him. He imagined watching the life drain away from his father’s face once more.

And like the first time, I feel nothing.

Someone announced two more deaths. Tobin knew that he fought in a training circle, yet it did not change the appearance of his foes.

Tobin slashed at Soyjid’s head. The boy brought his sword up in time, but the force of Tobin’s blow carried his attack through until it cracked against Soyjid’s jaw. He fell.

His next opponent had become Odala. Tobin hesitated. Odala’s fist struck him in the chin, staggering him. Anger wiped away any residual sorrow. He recovered quickly, killing the woman he had once loved.

Again.

Nachun faced Tobin next. He ducked under the shaman’s strike before countering with a downward cut on the man’s collarbone. The man Tobin had once considered his best friend, howled in pain.

Nothing like the pain your lies caused me,
friend
.

Lost in thought, the last opponent took Tobin off guard. Lucia knocked his practice sword out of his hand with a quick swipe. Reacting on instinct, Tobin managed to sidestep the follow-up strike. He targeted the temple of his opponent with a closed fist as his body swung around. But Lucia looked at him with sad eyes, and his nerve faltered.

As much as Lucia had hurt him, as angry as it made him that she had turned him down after accepting him for one night, Tobin could not strike her. He opened his fist, latched onto Lucia’s shoulder, and spun her around while bringing up his other hand to her wrist. He disarmed her and pushed her to the ground. She stared at the sword Tobin held, waiting for him to kill her.

He dropped the weapon.

“Match over!” came a shout.

Tobin blinked and the haunts of his past disappeared. Six Kifzo lay groaning or unconscious in the practice circle. The only one who remained unharmed was the one he fought last.

The head trainer called for others to carry away the wounded.

“Warleader, do you wish to spar another round?”

Tobin scanned the sea of onlookers—Kifzo who regarded him with awe, fear, and respect. None of those faces haunted his dreams.

A Kifzo needs to know when not to attack as much as he needs to know when to attack.

Tobin could still hear the voice of his Uncle Cef. “No. I’m done for the day.”

He walked off.

* * *

Tobin poured the water down Odala’s throat. Seconds later the dagger plunged into her gut. He raked the blade upward, and her insides spilled to the ground. He looked down at his bloody hands. . . .

Tobin stood atop a rise on the battlefield shouting defiantly at Charu. He held his enemy’s lover, Melat, by her arm. He pulled the woman in close, kissed her roughly, and plunged a knife into her chest. The echoing sound of battle faded. . . .

Looking down, a young woman lay still on the stone floor. Her neck appeared bent. A sickening knot formed in his gut. He knew the woman. . . .

* * *

“Mother!”

Tobin woke screaming in his room. He sat up, chest heaving, panic-stricken.

His head fell into his hands. Fingers rubbed at his tired eyes. They came away wet with tears.

Tobin slammed his fists onto the bed in frustration. He walked across the room to the window. Sheets of rain cascaded over Juanoq in an otherwise dead night. He breathed a sigh, thankful that the storm had masked his scream.

Not like it matters. Not like anyone who can hear me hasn’t heard me on any of the other nights when rain did not fall.

Nightmares had plagued Tobin for as far back as he could remember. The guilt over his actions in the last campaign weighed on him unlike any of the harsh memories he bore while under the command of his brother.

Because I cannot blame my actions on Kaz. And though Nachun said that Soyjid affected my mind, it would be too easy to put the blame entirely on him.

He chuckled bitterly.

Can I really trust anything Nachun ever told me? For all I know, every bad decision I’ve made, every regret I have, has been mine alone. Is that why you haunt me Odala? You knew I really was an awful person after all. And Melat? Do you enter my dreams to rub in the fact that I will never be the leader I felt I could be.

Tobin sunk to his knees at the thought, clinging to the windowsill as he did. The tips of his fingers dug into the stone until his knuckles ached. And then he relaxed.

But what does any of that have to do with you, mother? Why do you come to me? Over two decades have passed since your death, and only now can I see your face. Yet it tells me nothing.

He rose to his feet. He had to learn the truth.

The subject of his mother, especially those events surrounding her death had been topics that no one had dared discuss as he grew. Tobin knew his father had loved her, but Bazraki never spoke her name, lashing out at anyone who did. Kaz hadn’t been any better.

Tobin recalled a time as boys when he had asked Kaz about their mother.

His only answer had been his fists.

Over time, he learned to accept that his mother would always be a mystery to him for everyone feared what Bazraki would do if his father discovered their whisperings.

But Father and Kaz are dead. No one can stop me from pursuing the truth now.

Starting tomorrow morning, he would learn who his mother had been and why she haunted his dreams.

Tobin dressed and left his room. When his nightmares were at their worst, he took to walking the palace.

Cooks, aides, servants, and the like slept. The only sound came from the occasional guard patrolling the palace’s perimeter, armor clinking as footsteps met cobbled stone.

Tobin wandered around the expansive hallways and winding corridors for over an hour. He had almost managed to clear his head when he came to a halt. He had drifted to a part of the palace he had not visited in some time.

Not since the night Kaz disappeared.

As if his body acted on its own, he descended the staircase, drifting over to a nearby room where he had killed two men and wrestled with a third.

All in an attempt to save Kaz.

Tobin chuckled at the irony.

It all began that night. I placed the friendship of a man I barely knew over my clan, my fellow Kifzo, and my family.

And I lied to Lucia.

He left the room, walking back to his quarters.

It’s no wonder that she wants nothing to do with me.

Tobin had tried to speak with Lucia several times since she had turned him down, but she found excuses to turn him away. Knowing his efforts were futile, Tobin stopped trying to meet with her.

For one night she was mine. One night I truly had everything I ever wanted.

* * *

To his surprise, Tobin managed to fall asleep again. The rain stopped while he slept, and he awoke to the beginnings of a humid day.

He formulated a plan as he quickly dressed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. Pots bubbled and pans sizzled. The smells of pastries baking sent his stomach rolling.

A plate of eggs and fresh bread waited for him. He gobbled the meal down without speaking, focusing instead on scribbling half a dozen names he managed to recall.

He studied the names. Men he had not seen since his youth.

At least it’s a starting point.