Sennar's Mission (6 page)

Its landscape was monotonous—when Nihal crossed the border, after two days of travel, the forest continued to be a dense maze. The air, though, had changed, laced now with the smell of salt.

Nihal had never seen the ocean. Just the smell of it made her want to press onward until she reached the coast. She was reminded of stories Sennar had told her about his land. The Small Sea, only a short distance from the border of the Land of Water. The Dessa Lighthouse, the last vestige of the Overworld’s bounty. The vastness of the ocean.
And perhaps, farther still, the Underworld.
She felt a pang of nostalgia.

Throughout the journey, she kept up her guard, especially at night. The Great Land, an undisputed territory of the Tyrant, bordered the woods, and they were overrun with spies. Human spies, for the most part—the Fammin were in no way fit for such delicate work. Slaughter was their specialty, thanks to their long, powerful arms, ideal for crushing, not to mention the sharply clawed hands and feet they used to slash their victims and their malevolent snouts with mouthfuls of flesh-tearing teeth. Massive, completely covered in a hideous, reddish, frizzy fur, they were suited only for inflicting horror.

The Tyrant preferred to employ humans and dwarves when it came to surveillance of the Great Land’s borders. They gathered information regarding the offensive strategies of the Army of the Free Lands and murdered anyone who dared cross the line. Nihal herself never saw any of them, but more than once she felt their vigilant eyes upon her. The journey, nonetheless, was brief and solitary. Within four days, she’d arrived at her destination.

The guards were taken aback—coming toward them was a woman with blue hair and pointed ears, dressed as a soldier.

“I’m a knight’s apprentice,” Nihal introduced herself. She blushed. “I’m here to deliver a message to your base command.”

The camp was set up like her own. An ample, fortified citadel, it served as a home not only to warriors, but to women and children as well. Here, however, things seemed to be going somewhat better than in the Land of the Sun. The borders of the Land of the Sea were secure—only to the south, where the Great Land loomed, was it exposed to a potential attack. The Tyrant’s Fortress rose darkly between the trees, larger than anything Nihal had ever seen.

But apart from the tower’s menacing shadow, the atmosphere was pleasant and provisions were abundant. Lunch was lavish and delicious. Nihal ate in the main mess hall, where children scampered around and the men joked with their wives. It felt almost like peacetime. As she cut into her meat, Nihal smiled to herself, though when she lifted her eyes from the plate, her fork froze in mid-air.

Parsel had been her first sword instructor at the Academy and, in a certain sense, her only friend for months. Their bond was peculiar, composed of few words and arduous training duals.

Nihal was happy to see him again and he hugged her like an old comrade. He was a tall, solid man, with dark skin and eyes an unusual shade of grey-green. His cropped black hair was beginning to grey at the temples.

“What are you doing here?” asked Nihal.

“On leave. Before I became an instructor at the Academy, when I was still an active warrior, I lived here. Whenever possible, I try to visit.” Parsel winked. “If only to keep myself from forgetting the smell of the battlefield. And you? I see you’re looking well.”

“I’m getting by,” she replied.

“Well, we’ll have to celebrate this fortunate occasion. What would you say to a duel, like old times?”

He didn’t have to ask her twice.

For Nihal, this run-in with the past was an unexpected pleasure. Not that she’d forgotten the misery and solitude of her first year at the Academy, but some good had come of it nonetheless. And Parsel reminded her of that with every jab. It was just the way it used to be, except that she had grown more skillful. In only a few lunges and without much difficulty, Nihal breeched his guard.

“You’ve gotten really good,” said Parsel, as he wiped his forehead.

“That’s partly thanks to you.”

They spent the rest of the day together. Parsel told her about his new students and Nihal was struck again with nostalgia.
Time changes the face of things, even of memories.

“You’ll never guess who I saw recently,” he said out of nowhere. “That friend of yours from the Academy, the small blond one … Laio, that’s his name.”

A wave of memories swept over Nihal. Laio the frail, baby-faced boy, the weakest student at the Academy. They’d spent a great deal of time together. He’d worshipped her like a hero. Laio, her one true friend in those solitary days. …

Nihal’s ears pricked up. “Did you really?”

“Yes. He lives here, in the forest. He’s given up on becoming a warrior, he told me. He didn’t seem to be doing all that well.”

Nihal tried to squeeze every detail out of him. Parsel had little more to share, but he described the place where he’d last run into Laio.

That evening, in the tent they’d assigned her, Nihal couldn’t sleep. She’d heard nothing of Laio since the night of her first trial combat. The night of Fen’s death. An eternity ago. Suddenly, she felt anxious to see him again.

The next morning, she received a response to the message she’d brought from her base. They’d be contributing an army of three hundred men to the attack. As Nihal was making ready for her return, the base commander warned her to keep up her guard. “We have notice of troops moving along the border. Stay alert.”

Nihal paid him little heed. Up until then, it had been too dull of a trip for her tastes.

While returning along the same road she’d come by, Nihal followed Parsel’s directions and turned north. The change of course left her slogging a good ways through the Inner Forest. She’d always loved the woods. The memory of her first encounter with magic was still strong in her, and she’d enjoyed being in nature ever since.

As evening fell, the weather worsened. Nihal heard the grim rumble of approaching thunder. A flash of lightning ripped the sky. It was then that she saw the outline of a small cottage in the distance. A tumbledown house with a straw roof and smoke-blackened walls, it matched Parsel’s description perfectly. Still, Nihal hadn’t imagined Laio would be living in such poor conditions. The roof had collapsed in several places, and fallen clumps of thatch lay decaying on the ground. The windowpanes, devoid of glass, glowed with a pale, sinister light. Someone must be inside.

Nihal dismounted her horse and walked cautiously toward the building. She was, after all, near the border, and she wasn’t yet certain that this was Laio’s home.

Furtively, she approached a wall and unsheathed her sword. There were several gaps between the stones of the wall, and Nihal glanced rapidly inside. She glimpsed a flash of fire and someone seated with his back to her. She could see only the head, blond and curly. Her heart skipped a beat. She made for the door and knocked.

“Who’s there?” someone shrieked from inside.

“It’s me, Nihal,” she answered, letting herself in and pulling the door shut behind her.

A boy was huddled against the wall, worn and sickly, a rusty sword trembling in his hands. Nihal recognized the innocent grey eyes and blond curls at once. His cheeks, though, which she remembered as flushed and full, had grown thin and were smudged with soot. He wore a brown cassock that had seen better days and a pair of faded pants, covered in dust. Laio stared at her for a moment in disbelief, then dropped his sword and ran to her.

Outside, the storm arrived.

They remained in the one room with a solid roof, though even there the occasional fat drop of rain dripped through to the floor. The fire crackled sharply. Nihal unpacked some of her provisions and, combining them with Laio’s, they prepared themselves a sizeable feast.

Nihal filled him in on everything she’d done in the months they’d spent apart. She spoke openly of the reckless behavior that had taken hold of her when she began training with Ido, of how she’d put her life in jeopardy just to prove her independence. With a touch of nostalgia, she went on about the days she’d spent in the company of Eluesi, the farmer, and her son, Jona—those days when she’d deluded herself into thinking she might lead a normal life, far from the battlefields.

“Good grief!” the boy let out.

Nihal smiled. “Yes. Life can be funny that way.” She bit into a piece of roasted meat. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

Laio looked down and an awkward silence filled the room. The only noises were the rumble of thunder and the creaking of wood.

“What? You swallow your tongue?” Nihal pressed him.

He remained silent for some time, then took a deep breath and spoke.

Just after missing the cut for training as a Dragon Knight, during the battle of Therorn, he’d left the Academy. He’d had enough. It was time to march home and tell his father the truth, that he wanted nothing to do with battle, that he’d decided to become a squire. But the closer the came to his father’s presence, the more he felt his courage dwindling.

“For as far back as I know, the men in my family have been knights. All of them, do you understand? And all of them brave. My father had my future as a hero planned out before I was even born. How could I tell him that I’d failed at the very first and easiest stage, the trial—that I hadn’t even fought? That I’m no good with a sword, that I have no interest in hearing about soldiers or about death? It felt like he was already right there in front of me, scolding me. He’d never have accepted my decision.” Laio glanced timidly at Nihal. “I was afraid of him. I was worried that, with the weight he pulls in the Order, he’d have forced Raven to let me back into the Academy.”

He told how, midway to his father’s house, he’d changed course. He didn’t know where to go, or how he’d make his living. When the bit of money he had for the journey home was all spent, he tried earning his keep as a minstrel.

“I’m a pretty good singer, you know? I know a ton of stories and songs. And, who knows, maybe I’m good at softening people’s hearts in some way. In any case, I was making pretty good money.”

Nihal looked him up and down. No, he had certainly not been making good money. He was as thin and worn as a beggar.

In the end, Laio confessed, he’d chosen to take refuge in the forest. He thought he’d live a vagrant’s life, in close contact with nature, far from the warring of men. He got by picking wild fruit and digging up edible roots. Every now and then he’d fish, but with little success.

“I did have some luck a few times, though. The fish were pretty small, but they were tasty,” he said with a shy smile.

At first, he’d slept out in the open, beneath the trees, but he quickly realized that he’d need to find better shelter. So he’d set out in search of a hunter’s hut, a cavern, or an abandoned hideout. Instead, he’d found this small cottage.

“It’s safe here. No one will ever come looking for me. Plus, I have my sword,” he added. “When I finally get sick of eating roots, I’ll put my Academy training to use and go hunting.”

“You don’t hunt with a sword,” Nihal pointed out.

Laio blushed. “Well maybe one of these days I’ll find a bow. The war’s not that far off.”

Nihal shook her head. “And for now, what will you do?”

“I’ll stay here a little longer, I think.” Laio could barely muster the courage to look her in the eye. “I’ve grown up a lot these last few months, you know. I’ve seen a few things. I know I can make it on my own,” he concluded, hardly convinced.

“So that’s your highest ambition?” Nihal prodded him. “To hole up in the woods for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Have you looked at yourself?” Nihal urged. “You’re thin, tired, dirty—is this the life you dreamed of?”

Laio’s eyes filled with tears. “No, it isn’t. No.”

“Running away accomplishes nothing, Laio,” Nihal said quietly. “Your problems will follow you to the edge of the earth.”

Silence filled the room. Outside, the storm had calmed. No more booming thunder, only the rain, beating steadily on the walls and on the roof.

Nihal looked into the fire. “Why don’t you come with me?” she asked.

Laio turned to her, incredulous. “With you?”

“Yes. The base is a great place to be. Anyway, didn’t you say you wanted to be a squire? You could learn the trade, make yourself useful.”

Laio shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be for forever,” Nihal went on. “Just time enough for you to get your bearings again, to figure out what you want. Besides, don’t you want to spend some time with me? The way we used to?

Laio smiled. “Let me think about it.”

Stretched out on a makeshift straw mattress, Nihal woke with a start. She threw off the cloak blanketing her and reached for her sword. It was still raining. Mixed with the sound of raindrops splashing on walls, she could hear footsteps squishing through the mud. It seemed as though someone were stalking about the house. Nihal remained still, her senses alert, trying to assess how many of them there were. She stood silently, ran to her friend, and shook him awake.

“What time is it?” Laio grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Nihal gestured for him to lower his voice. “Grab your sword and get behind me,” she whispered.

He roused himself immediately. “What’s going on?”

“We’re under attack. We’re surrounded,” Nihal said under her breath. She crept up to the door and listened. “As soon as the coast is clear, we run. Got it?”

Laio nodded.

The footsteps were even closer now. Two of them, just outside the house. And at least fifteen others, Nihal sensed, though she couldn’t make out their exact positions..
There are tons of them. Too many.

Just then, the door crashed in.

Laio cried out in surprise. Nihal was on her guard. The first intruder, bulky, big as a mountain, and armed with a short dagger, was hardly through the door when she stabbed him and sent him to the floor. A moment later, a horrifying, sinewy man, completely bald, came in brandishing an axe. There were others behind him. She could hear their wild grunting. Fammin.

“It’s all over, little girl,” the man with the axe growled.