Sennar's Mission (34 page)

It was Dola who came to meet his brother and transport him to the great hall. Ido hardly recognized him. Dola was no longer the puny, fragile boy he’d once been. He seemed to have grown, to have become arrogant. He wore the clothes of a warrior.

The Tyrant concealed himself, as always, behind a heavy black curtain. His voice boomed throughout the great hall as if it were emanating from beyond.

“It’s time your father paid his debt. From now on, you and your brother will fight for me,” said the Tyrant.

Ido tried to protest, but the Tyrant interrupted him immediately. “That’s my decision. And your father’s, as well, for our wills are one and the same, Ido. Never forget that.”

And so Ido joined forces with the Tyrant. A declaration of allegiance was carved into his armor and into the handle of his sword. At first, the Tyrant lacked a proper army, and only a few men were under Ido’s command. Then the deposed kings, ousted by the decree of Nammen, began to furnish the Tyrant with men and arms.

Ido was dispatched to fight on the front in the Land of Night. There he received his true schooling in the art of combat. The Tyrant made a warrior of him. And the more time passed, the deeper the spirit of war crept into his soul. He came to love battle as much as he loved himself. He craved the smell of dried blood on his skin in the evenings. He reveled in the fear of his enemies as he approached.

The Tyrant gave Ido’s life a purpose: to kill. The more he killed, the more he was feared, and the more he was feared, the more invincible he felt. Once he set foot on the battlefield, his sword would not rest until every enemy had been destroyed. He was indifferent to pain, fearless of death. If he wasn’t on the battlefield, he didn’t feel alive.

Only rarely did he return to Assa. The lazy palace life he had once loved now made him sick to his stomach. His father, too, seemed different—older, his eyes filled with misery, always anxious about the fate of his sons and of his kingdom, over which he had less and less power each day. Whenever Ido visited, Moli did nothing but whine and complain, of the exorbitant taxes imposed by the Tyrant, of the men he was constantly sacrificing to the Tyrant’s army. The Tyrant was breathing down his neck, he lamented, and he begged Ido to guard their Land from his grasp.

Dola, on the other hand, he saw frequently, and each time they met he seemed less and less familiar to Ido. Dola began to make a name for himself as a warrior, with numerous soldiers under his command. His troops feared and respected him, and soon his fame overshadowed his brother’s.

Jealousy festered in Ido.

The Tyrant summoned him, claiming he had a gift for him. It was then that Ido was assigned to lead an army of Fammin. From that day on, for ten years, he did nothing but fight.

To Dola, the Tyrant had bequeathed a black dragon, a horrendous beast that seemed to have risen from the bowels of the earth. On the back of that creature, Dola’s ascent as a warrior appeared to have reached its peak. Ido looked on enviously at his brother’s new prize. Vesa could hardly compare.

“I want to put you to the test, Ido,” the Tyrant said. “If you can successfully carry out this mission, you too will have a black dragon and a new army to command. Do for me this service, and I will increase your power.”

The Land of Night had been conquered more than a year before, but several rebel groups were still stationed along its borders. Ido received a force of two hundred Fammin and a single command: annihilation.

In the distance, the citadel came into view, submerged in the Land of Night’s perennial darkness. It was tiny, thirty or so wooden cottages protected by a sturdy wooden fence, and not a single soldier guarding the entrance.

Ido had expected the rebels to be a bit more vigilant, but he didn’t trouble himself over it. No, in fact it cheered him. Now they’d have the advantage of surprise. He ordered his Fammin to attack and took off on Vesa to shower the huts in flames from above.

It took him a few minutes to understand what was going on. The Fammin were attacking unopposed. The only shouting was that of women and children. The Tyrant had sent him to exterminate a village of half-elves. They’d taken up residence there after fleeing from the Land of Days. Even in that early stage of the war, only a few of their people remained.

Ido had fought many battles in those ten years. He’d killed without a second thought, had plunged his sword into men as they begged for mercy. He was without morals, indifferent to good or evil, unconcerned with the fate of others.

But this time, looking on as his troops cut down fleeing victims, tore the wounded to death in their teeth, flung themselves on lifeless corpses, something inside him protested. These enemies were not soldiers. They were unarmed civilians, wanting only to live in peace.

He landed with Vesa in the midst of the horror and ordered a retreat, but the Fammin would not obey. He shouted the command again, louder this time, but nothing. Then he set about slaughtering his own soldiers, hacking them down one after another, but it was no use. The Fammin turned on him and wounded him severely. If it hadn’t been for Vesa, he’d never have made it out alive. He took refuge on the peak of a nearby mountain and observed the massacre from above.

When it was all over, he descended the hill, dismounted Vesa, and crossed the village on foot. He felt himself on the verge of insanity. It was too much. Even for him, it was too much. Never again would he fight for that man, never.

He decided to return to Assa, traveling only on back roads. He was injured, but worse, he was a traitor. Ido didn’t know why he was going to see his father, didn’t know what kept him going anymore at all. He knew nothing. It was a miserable journey, and when he arrived in the Land of Fire, the reality of the situation revealed itself in all its horror. The entire population had been enslaved. The air was thick with despair. The women were forced to work the land alone, the children were thin and ragged, and the men labored day in and day out in the volcanic welding ovens, forging weapons for the Tyrant’s armies.

As Ido approached the royal palace, he noticed that the building was circled by the Tyrant’s guards. They forced him to halt and brought him in chains to the hall of the throne.

Seated in the sovereign chair was not Moli, but Dola, by now unrecognizable. On his head rested the crown of their father. Curled up at his feet lay the immense black dragon, its burning red eyes fixed on Ido, taunting him.

“My brother,” Dola began, his tone condescending. “The Tyrant’s not very happy with you, I hope you know.”

“Where is our father?” Ido asked, wearily.

Dola shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately he died some weeks ago. I’m sorry, I didn’t want you to have to find out this way. …”

“You swine! You murdered him!” Ido shouted, but the guards knocked him to the ground.

“It was your own stupidity that did him in,” Dola replied. “Why pretend such ignorance, Ido? Why refuse Our Lord’s protection? Look at how powerful the Tyrant has made me. He’s rendered my body invincible and given me unparalleled strength.”

But Ido didn’t understand, couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “You’ve gone insane …”

Dola burst into laughter. “You’re the one who’s insane, Ido, to turn this down. What does the life of our father count for, or the lives of any of these worms, so pitiful in the face of Power? We’ll be capable of anything and everything, Ido, because the Tyrant is capable of everything. We’ll take part in the creation of a new order. Think about it, Ido. Return to him and bow down at his feet. He’ll forgive you.”

Ido exploded with anger. “You sold your soul, Dola! You murdered our father and sold your soul!” he shouted as the guards dragged him away.

“You have until tomorrow to decide, my brother. You can serve the Tyrant, or pay with your life for your insolence,” Dola concluded.

Ido was locked up in a fortress adjacent to the palace where once his father’s personal guards had resided.

He was devastated by the death of Moli, overcome by the weight of a decade of mindless obedience. He’d allowed the Tyrant to carry out the most atrocious deeds, helped him to increase his power. He’d allowed his father to be killed and the lives of his subjects to be destroyed.

It was Vesa, in the end, who saved him. Ten men tried to hold the dragon back, a sorcerer among them, but the creature’s force was indomitable. Anyone who stepped in Vesa’s way was burned to ashes. The dragon barreled through the wall of the stables to escape. He circled above the fortress where Ido was being held captive, growling at the heavens, indifferent to the barrage of arrows pelting his skin. Then he took a sharp nosedive, blasted through the fortress walls, and swept his owner to safety beyond the battle lines.

Ido took refuge in the Land of the Wind. He was without a home, without a reason to live. That was when he decided to turn himself in to the army there. He thought it just that the very people he’d fought against would be the ones to put him to death. He walked into an encampment, tossed his sword to the ground, and asked to be arrested. When the soldiers recognized him, filthy, ragged, wounded, they were dumbstruck. No enemy had ever turned himself in so casually. The general of the encampment turned Ido over to the judgment of the Council of Sorcerers.

The days preceding his trial before the Council were the worst of his life. He was haunted by memories of the village he’d destroyed, by the certainty that those women and children would never again see the light of day.

Ido was brought before the councilors in chains. He told them everything he knew about the Tyrant’s army and of his future plans. He recounted every deed he’d done. Before he was brought back to his cell, he begged for execution.

That night a councilor came to pay him a visit. His name was Dagon.

“With your death you gain nothing, Ido. Death will not wash away your sins. It won’t make you a better man,” he told him. “But if you live, something truly good may come of your suffering.”

His words were unclear to Ido.

“The pain of your former actions will be with you always. To atone is to remember,” Dagon continued. He looked Ido in the eye. “You are a powerful warrior, Ido. I’ve come to ask you to fight with us against the Tyrant, to put a stop to his conquest of our remaining Lands. I have proposed this to the Council. If it’s death you want, the Council will not deny your wish. You will be executed. But if instead you wish to fight with the Army of the Free Lands, I’ll do everything in my power to secure a place for you among the ranks. The choice is yours.”

Ido thought long and hard. Was it really possible to start over? Could he truly become a new person? He’d never even considered the possibility of fighting for someone: not for power, not for a crown, not to kill—but for a person.

When he presented himself before the Council the following week, Ido accepted the proposal. Obviously, not all of the councilors and military leaders were in agreement. Raven, the Supreme General, was among Ido’s most vehement detractors.

Dagon, nonetheless, assumed full responsibility for the dwarf’s actions.

And so Ido was made an infantryman.

On Ido’s first day of battle, Dagon brought him his sword. The dwarf shied away in horror. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch it. “There’s a declaration of allegiance to the Tyrant carved into the handle,” he murmured. “I can’t—”

The councilor silenced him with a brusque gesture and showed him the handle. The letters of the declaration had been scratched away. In their place was only a wide gash.

“Don’t pretend you can rebuild your life without using some of the rubble from your past, Ido,” Dagon said. “The pain will vanish, but not the memory. This weapon is proof of who you once were and a reminder to never become that way again.”

The dwarf stopped speaking. He rose to his feet and took a long gulp of water from a carafe. He offered it to Nihal, too, but she didn’t dare move a muscle.

Ido put the carafe down and returned to his seat on the cot. “From that day on, I’ve never once abandoned my sword. I’ve made other incisions, I’ve carved in the names of comrades fallen in battle, but the most important mark will always be that erasure.” Calmly, he lit his pipe, puffing in until the tobacco was lit. “After that battle came many, many more. Raven did all he could to trip me up. Even accused me of treachery. He rounded up two hopeless souls willing to testify that they’d seen me plotting with a Fammin. Nothing came of it. But needless to say, since then Raven hasn’t been one of my favorite people. I’ve been in this army for twenty years, I’ve fought hundreds of battles, I’ve become a new person. I haven’t forgotten my past, but I know that every inch of ground I gain, every battle I win, is a step toward redemption. The road to deliverance is eternal, Nihal. I’ll never settle my debts in this life. But I’m at least willing to believe that what little I’ve done counts for something.”

Ido stopped speaking again and a heavy leaden silence fell in the tent.

Nihal was still seated on the cot, motionless. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t think. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she whispered.

Ido raised his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

“I’m the one asking you!” said Nihal, her voice louder. She was furious, her eyes welling with tears of anger. “I shared everything with you. My past, my nightmares, things I’d never told anyone before! And I did it because I believed in you, because you showed me how to live. I put my trust in you, Ido, and this whole time you’ve been denying me yours.”

The dwarf stood and began pacing up and down in the tent. He, too, raised his voice. “What did you want me to do? When you showed up at the base, with those ears, with that hair, my past came tumbling down on me. I knew it was Raven who’d sent you, knew it was just another one of his ploys. It plagued me to be around you, Nihal. But then I realized I could train you, show you what it means to fight, teach you how to live. I saw it as a way to pay back my debt to your people.”