Marked (16 page)

Komir contemplated the absurd scene before him. The lone survivor in white and gray stood in the middle of the clearing, still blinded. He fruitlessly slashed left and right in a vain attempt to kill an enemy that was no longer there.  

“You can stop stabbing the air; he’s gone. There is no danger now,” said Komir.

When the soldier heard his voice, he stopped thrusting and lowered his sword. Panting and thoroughly exhausted, he leaned forward, supporting himself on his weapon. A few seconds later he dropped his sword and fell to his knees, his quick and heavy breathing loud enough to be heard from under his helmet.

Komir looked at Hartz and saw he was still lying on the ground, writhing in pain. “Are you all right? Say something, friend! Hasn’t the pain stopped?” he questioned very concerned.

Unable to speak a single word, Hartz just looked at his friend and shook his head as he groaned in pain and clutched at his chest. He could not understand where the pain was coming from. It could not have a physical origin; he had not been wounded by any weapon. Yet he was experiencing an unbearable anguish. He had certainly been dealt plenty of blows in fights, training, and duels and had suffered some extremely painful injuries. But none of that was even remotely close to the agony he was feeling at that moment. The pain was so intense he could barely think—and could not command his body to move in the slightest.

He racked his brain to come up with an explanation for his situation.
This makes no sense. The pain cannot be real; it’s just an illusion, a diabolical spell. Why won’t it stop? I can’t break free from it. When I catch up with that damned Mage I will cut off his balls! Calm down... you know this isn’t real... it’s a hallucination, a nightmare... Shake it off!
Hartz tried to convince himself it was only in his mind, but his body did not comply.

He looked at Komir, still trying unsuccessfully to move his legs. It was as if they weighed as much as a grindstone. Even when Komir grabbed them and tried with all his might to lift them with both hands, his poor friend could barely move a half step.

Suddenly and without warning, the pain in his chest disappeared, as quickly as it had begun.

It completely vanished.

An enormous sense of relief washed over him, like a dip in a refreshing lake on a hot summer day. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. He stood up slowly, afraid the agonizing torture might return if he moved too much. Thankfully, it did not so he stretched, then vigorously shook his arms, releasing the last remnants of the pain.

“It’s gone! I feel fine now,” he announced to Komir.

Frustration mounting, Komir replied, “I still can’t move my legs. Damn it!”

Once the sense of relief set in, Hartz became enraged. “For the love of Iram! What happened?” he bellowed in anger. “Who was that guy and what the hell did he do to us?”

“I have no idea, but if I see him again you can be sure I won’t give him time to cast another one of his spells. Not a chance! I’ll put an arrow in him before he can say a single word,” ranted Komir.

“We agree on that,” Hartz replied as he picked up his sword and walked over to Komir. “Hang on—I bet the effects will wear off soon like they did for me,” reassured Hartz—though he was not completely convinced.

“Let’s hope so. It would be awful to be like this much longer. You’d have to carry me around like a sack of potatoes,” joked Komir, trying to lighten the mood.

“No way! I don’t think anyone could handle having someone as ‘patient’ as you on their back,” cackled Hartz.

An unfamiliar voice with a marked guttural accent interrupted their bantering.

“The effects are temporary... They depend on the kind of enchantment it was and the power of the one who placed the spell.”

Surprised, the two friends spun around to face the soldier kneeling a few steps from them.

“And how do you know that?” asked Hartz.

“In my land we have seen evidence of those kinds of mages. They are known as Dominators and are characterized by the ability to cast spells and enchantments that affect their enemies’ minds. They are fast—extremely fast—and lethal,” explained the soldier, trying to soften his strong accent. 

“Dark magic, eh? I’ve never believed in such things. Where we come from, it is considered nothing more than myth and tall tales with no basis in fact... though it does make me wary... And I suppose we do have witches... ,” Hartz replied, feeling uncomfortable.

“Maybe in your land the existence of these men is not common, but I assure you they are real. What you yourselves are experiencing proves it. In our libraries of knowledge there is an ancient tome and parchments of unknown origin that make reference to secret orders of these Sorcerers.”

“How is it possible that these Sorcerers exist and no one knows of them, especially if they are so dangerous?” asked Komir, somewhat incredulous.

“The Mages exist. There are not many of them and they specialize in different arts, or schools, as they refer to them. What they all have in common is that they are especially careful and reserved; they try to keep their art and their persona a secret. Because of that, it is believed in many kingdoms that they are merely legends or myths. But I can assure you that the royal houses and nobility are well informed about their existence. Moreover, they consider them vital and take great care to strengthen ties with them. There is no kingdom that does not have a Mage at their service.”

“But, why so secretive? What are they afraid of?” asked Hartz.

“We humans have the tendency to fear and distrust that with which we are unfamiliar... Being that they are a very small minority, they are afraid of being persecuted. The peasants can be terribly blind and violent when faced with their fears and superstitions. It would not be the first time nor the last that witches have been burned at the stake or that innocent pagans have been hunted down and killed.”

“Seeing it that way, I suppose it makes sense,” said Hartz, considering the battered soldier’s words and remembering his own fear and disdain toward Amtoko’s power and her strange arts. The witch, who had always helped the Norriel and was highly respected by Auburu, made his hair stand on end—and he knew he wasn’t the only one that felt that way about the unusual hermit.

Komir suddenly broke in on the conversation. “Hey! I can move normally again!” He let out a whistle of relief. “It’s about time—I was starting to get worried.” He jumped a couple of times, stretched his legs, and then kicked energetically. “Much better! Yes, sir; much, much better!” he joyfully declared after verifying he had apparently not suffered any permanent damage.

He turned to face the stranger. “Who are you, soldier, and what happened here today? Why did that... Dominator... and his henchmen ambush you?”

The soldier started taking off the helmet that was completely covering his head. Only his eyes had been visible through the slits in the visor. When his face was revealed, Hartz’s mouth dropped open and Komir gasped in astonishment.

The soldier in white heavy armor was actually a woman!

Her long, curly hair was an intense red that, in the midday sun, seemed to burn like a bonfire, filling everything around her with color and life. Her face was not that of a classic beauty, but the reddish brown freckles that sprinkled her pale complexion along with her small but vivacious green eyes gave her a singular loveliness. She must have been about the same age as the two Norriel but, encased in armor as she was, she seemed older than they were. She was tall and strong, with a physique similar to Komir’s. What was this young girl doing crammed into a suit of armor? The combination was shocking.

The two friends stared at her, speechless. She could not help but notice the impact she had had on the warriors.

“This is not the first time you’ve seen a woman in armor, right?”

“It’s the first time we’ve seen someone with hair the color of fire and a face covered with kisses from the Goddess Ikzuge,” stated Hartz, still staring at her slack-jawed.

“Don’t you have any red-haired people?” she asked, surprised at the Norriel’s comment.

“Honestly, we don’t. We have never before seen anyone quite like you,” answered Komir, looking at her carefully.

“Really? Well, that’s certainly strange. There are redheaded people in many kingdoms. It’s odd you haven’t ever met one before. You don’t travel much then, right?”

“No, not too much. This is the first time we have been far from our own land.”

“So, where are you two from? From some little lost village in the middle of the mountains?”

As soon as she’d asked that, the two friends looked at each other a moment.

And then they burst out laughing.

They laughed hysterically. All the tension and nerves had vanished, erased by the best medicinal salve ever: laughter.

“I’m glad to have entertained you so much. I see that, aside from exceptional combat abilities, you also have a very good sense of humor,” said the redhead.

“Please don’t be offended. My name is Komir, and this giant here is my good friend Hartz. And, yes, we are actually from a remote mountain village,” he explained with a smile.

“Oh, I see. It was definitely not my intention to insult you. It’s just that your comment about never seeing a redhead surprised me. My name is Kayti, Initiated Soldier of the Custodial Brotherhood, at your service,” she said, bowing.

“The pleasure is all ours,” said Hartz, going to her and offering her his hand. She took his hand and shook it firmly.

Komir nodded a greeting and she returned the nod.

“It is an honor to know you,” continued the young soldier. “I owe you my life and that is something I will never forget.”

“It was nothing. Actually, it was quite entertaining. We sort of felt like crushing a few skulls,” said Hartz enthusiastically.

“I promise to pay back the debt of life I owe to you. However long it takes. You have my word.”

“Don’t worry; it’s not necessary. You don’t owe us anything. It was pure chance that had us passing by here at just the right moment,” said Komir, trying to play down what had happened.

“Some things in life are not necessarily a coincidence...” she replied, suddenly introspective. “Perhaps the gods have guided our paths to this crossroads... Perhaps it was not mere luck...”

Hartz shrugged. “I’m leaning toward simple luck, nothing more. The goddesses are always too busy to pay attention to our insignificant lives. So, where are you from? And what are you doing here?”

“We are from a faraway kingdom in the lands of the East: the kingdom of Irinel. It is very far from here—almost on the other side of the continent. You probably have never even heard of it.”

“So that’s where your accent is from...” noted Komir.

“Yes, I can’t disguise it. My language is quite different from yours. Fortunately as part of my instruction I was trained in the Unified Language of the West.”

“I see. What we are speaking is not our native language, either. We are Norriel, from the tribes that dwell in the mountains of the highlands, north of the border with the territory of Rogdon. We speak our own ancestral language, though we are taught the Unified Language of the West so we are able to communicate with the Rogdonians and the other castes from that part of the continent.”

“Norriel, eh?”

“And very proud of it,” responded Hartz, puffing out his chest.

“I’ve heard things about your tribes, and it’s not all great...”

“Oh! So they’ve told you the truth, then!” howled Hartz, swelling even more with pride.

“Ha ha ha! I just hope my command of the Unified Language is good enough for us to understand one another,” laughed Kayti.

“If you could ease up a bit on that accent I don’t think we’ll have any problem communicating,” teased Komir.

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Hartz studied the redhead’s heavy armor.

“You’re soldiers?”

“No. We belong to the Custodial Brotherhood and we were accompanying our Master on an assignment.”

“I’ve never heard of your kingdom or of this Brotherhood of yours. Are you religious? And why are you wearing armor? That’s kind of strange, isn’t it?”

Kayti smiled. “No, we’re not a religious order like the Order of the Temple of Light or other ones like it made up by priests and men of faith. The Custodial Brotherhood is an armed order whose ultimate objective is the search for and protection of Objects of Power.”

“Objects of Power?” inquired Komir, even more interested.

“Yes. We seek out and protect Objects of Power... things you would call
magical.
These objects in the hands of the wicked can wreak havoc... from acts of absolute evil that can affect just a few people or even hundreds to provoking wars among the various kingdoms of the continent—including a complete destruction of the delicate balance between good and evil. Our mission is to keep that from happening. We dedicate our lives to that end, following a strict code of conduct imposed by the Grand Master of the Brotherhood.”

Hartz observed her, still a bit confused. “Let me see if I understand... So you are like monastic warriors that look for magical artifacts to keep them away from people so they can’t be hurt by them or hurt others with them... is that right?”