The Vengeful Malice, page 25
part #2 of Hungering Series
"With only fifteen Knights remaining, Lucidil's forces are severely weakened." Malice said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon us shortly after we'd left Weaver's war pavilion. She was attempting to draw our thoughts to our more immediate problems.
"The illusion of our immortality becomes more fragile by the day." I replied, willing to allow myself the distraction, if it could ease the pain of having Kay so close, yet still beyond my reach. "I never thought there would be a day when so few Knights still lived."
"We are diminished, but far from weakened. The strongest, and most able of us, are still alive." A female voice said from behind us. Malice and I turned to face the new speaker, though the voice was instantly familiar to me. It was one I had not anticipated ever hearing again. Pale skin and a Knight's dark eyes sparkled in the dim evening light.
"Snow. . ." I heard Malice say, even as her eyes met those of the newcomer.
"Malice," Snow replied, bowing deeply to the green-eyed warrior, "it is my pleasure to finally meet you. I did not have the honor of training under your sword as did so many of my brethren, but I was fortunate enough to be given your position after. . ." The white furred Knight of Ethan seemed to consider her words for a moment, and then said, "...after you left."
Malice nodded. "I've heard much of you, through reputation alone. They said that you were a prodigy of the blade, and of close combat. I'd thought at some point I would get to teach you myself."
Snow smiled, and the expression seemed honest. "The Knights sent me to study with many different masters because they believed the more styles I learned, the better I would become. Hopefully that is true, because if I've ever needed to be skilled with a blade, it is now."
Her eyes passed to me, and I suddenly found myself very uncomfortable, for all I could think of was our single night together not so long ago. She had not relished the task, but she had given herself to me, and I had, in turn, insulted her honor. She had been forced into the task, I learned later, and I still regretted calling her a whore. It had been an uncharacteristically brash action on my part.
I had not known then that she was a weapons master. It was often difficult to remember, when looking at the face of a female Knight, that though they appeared like a maiden of sixteen or seventeen years of age, trapped eternally at the apex of their beauty, those women were also dangerous mechanisms of war. As part of their conditioning, the surgeons cut out the internal parts necessary for reproduction. It kept them from getting with child, which might interfere with their ability to fight, and eliminated the monthly difficulties women generally experienced. While they were still women, the female Knights were warriors first.
"Lowin, it is good to see you again." She said, offering a small bow of her head. I felt my cheeks flush. For some reason, as I stood next to Malice, I felt as though I had betrayed my green-eyed friend, and that I still betrayed her by remembering my time spent with Snow. It was foolish, because Malice and I had never been anything more than friends.
"Snow." I greeted my old acquaintance awkwardly, bowing my own head in a show of respect, for I did respect the white-furred Knight. If Malice respected her as a fighter, then I did as well, and I already held her in high esteem for treating me as an equal, when everyone else had already condemned me as a criminal. She had been a small source of kindness in a world that had seemed devoid of all hope.
Her eyes lingered on mine for a time, as though she was remembering something as well, and then she looked at Malice again, and her eyes first hardened, and then softened once more. She seemed confused, but the expression cleared away quickly. I wondered what passed through her mind.
"You're right though. There are far too few of us remaining. We lost half our number escaping the capital, including some of the legends of our time. Ravage, Juggernaut, Mountain, and Tempest." Snow's voice had taken on an airy quality. She seemed far away at that moment, lost on a different battlefield, no doubt.
That last name struck poignantly. Tempest had been the first Knight I'd known, the one who had come to retrieve me when I had been first drafted, and the one who I'd always first thought of when someone would say "Knights of Ethan." In the end, while I was imprisoned at the castle, he had hated me. That had hurt, but it had been expected. To know that he had fallen, that was hard to accept. The Knights of Ethan were supposed to be nearly indestructible. They had been the king's invincible army.
"So long as we continue to fight, there is still hope." I heard Malice say, and her voice sounded every bit as sad as Snow's. Of course, I should have known that Malice would know more of those names than did I. She had probably trained some of them, as she had been the weapons master for a long time. I felt out of place. I had not been a Knight for very long before Lucidil had taken me away from it all. I knew little of the ways of the Knights of Ethan.
Snow smiled. "The others will be glad to know that there are two more Knights in service to the king, even if it is the two of you." She said the last part with a chuckle, taking the sting out of words that might have otherwise been offensive. "I'm sure I will see you both again."
"I don't plan on dying any time soon." Malice answered.
"I've survived this long. I suppose it wouldn't be prudent to quit now." I added. Snow disappeared back amongst the tents from which she'd come, and Malice and I walked in silence for a while longer.
"When did you meet Snow?" Malice asked after a time, and I felt a pressure rise in my chest. The truth, however, was for some reason difficult to force out. Still, I owed Malice an honest answer. She had stood with me for too long not to give her the truth. Besides, I reminded myself once more, Malice and I were just friends. We had been lovers, but that had been an extension of our friendship. I cleared my throat.
"While I was imprisoned, they sent her to me as company. They wanted to recreate what had happened to you, with the changing of your eyes, so they . . . they forced her to offer her body to me." I said, feeling embarrassed, and nervous about telling Malice what had happened.
Malice was quiet for a moment, and then said. "Oh . . . did you take her?"
I nodded. "I had been alone for a long time, and I didn't know she had been forced into making the offer. Later, when I learned the truth, I felt terrible about it."
"So then it's not simply the physical act that caused the changes." Malice said, pulling her inference from the fact that Snow still had black eyes. The green-eyed Knight was thoughtful, but she didn't seem angry. There had been some reaction to my words, something I couldn't place, but it passed too quickly for me to truly make sense of it.
"We should head for Lucidil's tent. It's nearly dinner time." Malice suggested after we'd walked a little further.
That proclamation scared me, as well as excited me. I would get to see my daughter again, but once more I would have to pretend that I didn't know her, and that it didn't bother me every time she called Weaver "daddy." I cursed the new king under my breath once more. I just wanted to hold my daughter in my arms and tell her how much I loved her, and how I'd thought of her every day for the last four years. That would never happen. Weaver had taken that ambition away from me. The most I could hope for was that someday I might be a favorite uncle, but even that would take time and patience.
"It will be good to see Kay again." I said aloud, smiling at Malice, who had been watching my face since she'd suggested finding Lucidil's tent. I didn't want her to know how terrible I felt.
"Yes." She replied, and she smiled as well. The expression did not quite reach her eyes. In that moment I knew that she felt much as I did. I felt very close to Malice just then.
We began our trek back to Lucidil's tent, guided by a few well-placed questions amidst the group of soldiers and servitors living in the small camp. One of those we asked even suggested that we stop by the provisions tent on our way to the king's pavilion, and find some new clothing to replace my torn and blood stained shirt. I had almost entirely forgotten about the damage wrought upon me by the Hungering who attacked us in the woods. Though I had gotten my cloak back, the parts of my shirt exposed were red and tattered. In truth, there was little left of the shirt beneath. It wouldn't do to visit my daughter dressed as though I'd just returned from war, even if that was essentially the truth.
"I wonder if I can get a new sword." Malice commented, pulling the broken weapon she now carried from her scabbard. The blade was half of its original length. I guessed the remainder of the steel still protruded from the tree in which it had been lodged.
"If not, you can carry mine. It would serve your hands better than my own." I answered. I was not simply depreciating myself, only stating an obvious fact. If it came to a fight, both Malice and I would be better served by her having a whole sword. My skills with the blade, while not terrible, were inferior to her prowess.
Malice shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. As I've known since you first started training, you have the potential to be great. You could surpass me, Lowin. You can probably even surpass Ethaniel and Lucidil. It is just a matter of breaking the boundaries that are standing in your way. You must overcome your own self-imposed limitations." She swung her halved sword before her once, and then returning it to her scabbard.
"Your form is perfect, but you're simply too rigid. Your instinct has fallen second to your training. That is a wall you have to break down before you can grow as a swordsman, or as a fighter. Experience can do it . . . if you can survive long enough to gain the experience. Don't forget, I've had 200 years to work on my technique." She said, smiling at the last. "Don't get discouraged."
There it was again. Malice was hundreds of years old. It was difficult to remember that. I wondered, and not for the first time, why it was that she bothered with me. We came from entirely different times in the world, yet she was the only close friend I retained. What did she see in me, the young, foolish boy that seemed only to bound from one disaster to the next? Certainly her association with me hadn't made her life any easier.
We reached the provisions tent. Two of the Black Patch Brigade stood guard, watching us with their dark, intense eyes, full of that mixed feral hatred and subdued human intelligence I'd grown to distrust. They were truly a terrifying mix of human and Fell Beast. As I only too well knew, they were a dangerous combination. What made them most frightening was that barely restrained look of hunger hiding beneath their human eyes. I wondered how powerful the spells were that bound beast and man together, and what would happen if that binding were to come unhinged. .
I truly understood little of the magic of the world. It was a dark force that was often confusing, and never without sacrifice. To obtain power, some cost must always be paid out. It was like building a fire in order to stay warm. To make a great fire, a tree must give something of itself to the cause. To do great magic, some life must be lost. I had yet to encounter a magic that did not involve a degree of questionable cost.
"The king says you are to be provisioned as needed, Oath Breaker." One of the black cloaks said. His voice was a near growl, his mouth packed full of vicious teeth. Oath Breaker was a name the black cloaks seemed to have tacked onto me. How they all knew it, and knew who I was, I did not know. "What would you have?"
"I need a shirt," I said, and then another thought occurred to me. "One of the new Lucidil cloaks as well."
"A shirt. . ." The black cloak who had spoken first nodded. "Yes. The cloaks . . . they are no longer made." The second black cloak walked into the provisions tent.
"Why are they no longer making the cloaks?" I asked, curious, since the new cloaks were a significant improvement over the old.
"That is not for us to know, Oath Breaker. That is the king's business. What else do you want?" The black cloak responded, and I did not believe he was lying. He would blindly follow whatever order the king gave, and I doubted Lucidil kept them informed of any of the minor details of his choices. Still, the fact that the new cloaks were no longer being produced sat strangely with me.
"I need a new sword." Malice said, drawing forth her broken blade. The black cloak stared at her for a moment, and then looked at me. He looked back at her broken sword, and once more back at me. It dawned on me then, that Lucidil had given the black cloaks orders to allow me provisions, but not Malice.
"My friend needs a sword, please provide her with one." I said, and immediately the black cloak reacted. He leaned into the tent and called to the other, ordering him to bring out a sword as well.
"King's steel." I added, and the figure called into the tent and corrected my request to his fellow. It seemed the creatures of the king were inflexible on their orders, and only went as far in their commands as they had to. For all that they were probably stronger and more fearsome than a human, they were also much more inherently dangerous. Their inability to react and make judgments on their own severely limited their usefulness, and their underlying brutality would lead to a disaster if they ever slipped their collar of magical restriction.
I thought of Wisp, and anger welled up inside of me.
Clawed feet tearing through snow. . .
The taste of blood on my tongue. . .
The exhilaration of the chase. . .
The exultation of a prey's fear. . .
My vision blurred for a moment, and I had to force those feelings, those raw instinctual lusts, back down into my subconscious. For a few breaths' time, they had threatened to overwhelm me. I filled my lungs with air and let it out slowly, forcing myself to relax. I am Lowin Fenly. I repeated those words in my mind. They were like an anchor, giving me something to latch onto.
"Lowin?" I heard Malice's voice, she sounded concerned. I turned to her, and her green eyes were watching me, though her face was impassive.
"I am just tired. It has been a long few days. After we've seen Kay, we'll get some rest. I'll be better then." I hoped the words were true even as I spoke them, but I was afraid of that dark lust that had been haunting my subconscious, rising with my anger.
The black cloak returned from inside the provisions tent, a sword and shirt in tow. The sword, I saw, had been removed from its own scabbard. It did not matter, since it was a standard issue king's steel blade, it would fit into Malice's scabbard. I took the items from him, and handed the sword to Malice. We walked away from the grim faced pair of guards, eager to get as much distance as possible between ourselves and the foul Black Patch Brigade guards.
Malice swapped her broken sword for the whole one, discarding the split blade. I stripped off my cloak and took off my tattered shirt. There was little remaining of the front of it. The flesh beneath, however, had finished healing. There was not so much as single scar remaining on my torso, despite the vicious wounding I'd taken. Malice moved in close and ran her hand across my stomach and chest, her eyes seeming to take in every detail. Even she marveled at my body's ability to heal itself. Her touch was soft and delicate, and it sent a spark of heat through my body that I pointedly attempted to ignore.
"Every time you're injured, I'm always sure that you can't possibly recover, but. . ." Her words trailed off, and she stepped back. "You are remarkable, Lowin Fenly."
I shrugged, and then drew on my new shirt. "If I was remarkable, you'd think I could keep myself out of situations that involved me needing miraculous healing."
"I think it is your nature that drives you into such situations. You fight as though you believe that if you push yourself hard enough, no one else might have to lift a sword. You fight as though you don't matter, Lowin, but you certainly do." Malice's voice was strong, edged with a little anger, and something else I didn't recognize, though the last four words were uttered as little more than a whisper. Her eyes looked as though they were coated in glass in the dim light of the failing day. She turned her back to me. "We should go to dinner. Lucidil will likely not wait long for us."
"Yes." I said, my mind trapped in her words. You fight as though you don't matter. . . What had she meant by that? I fought hard, certainly, but was I fighting without concern for my own life? I could not be sure. I was fighting to protect those around me. In my mind that was the most important goal, and I could truly see no other.
Lucidil's pavilion had been erected near the center of the camp, and as we approached the smell of roasting meat wafted through the air. I found my mouth watering despite myself. I could not remember the last time I'd eaten, and certainly could not remember the last time I'd eaten a freshly cooked meal. I knew that it had been years since the latter. I stopped as we approached the tent, becoming suddenly nervous. I looked down at myself, dressed in my shifting cloak, and I attempted to smooth the fabric. My hair, I guessed, looked terrible as well, for I had long been on the road.
"You don't look so bad." Malice offered, immediately noticing my discomfort.
"I don't want to frighten her." I replied uneasily, feeling very self-conscious.
"She has been raised by Lucidil and Ferocity for the last four years. She has lived amidst the Black Patch Brigade and the Knights, all the while in this time of war. I don't think your appearance will trouble her." My green-eyed companion reminded me.
"Of course. Let us go." I said, but I did not feel any better about myself. The guards, two humans, stepped out of our way as we approached, allowing us entrance to the tent. Inside, lights had been erected -- a sort of candle, magical metal contraptions that burned with a strange white light - the trappings of a high ranking official's tent. I had seen their like before. The metal contraptions were magic lanterns, and could burn for years without ever needing fuel or replacement. The light and the smell of the cooking meal made the inside of the tent feel bright and cheery, despite the otherwise dreary surroundings.
