The House of Yeel (22 page)

Time for the secondary plan.

“Do your people still worship
Gragmaresh?”

“Yes, among others.”

“Well, I have called him
here.”

“You?! You call for your doom?”

“Perhaps. We’ll see what he
says.”

“He won’t answer you. We
sacrifice our hungry children to him. We send out our warriors to
smash our enemies in his name. Who are you to call upon
him?”

“Well, I called him here
because there’s about to be a huge battle, of course. He may wish
to watch our conflict in person.”

“Then if he appeared, he would see King
Methric earn his new land by martial force. He would be
pleased.”

Yeel bowed.

“You may be right. I thank you for the
parlay.”

“Tell your king my offer is
good. Give us the city, and we won’t pursue Rikenese any further
south with this massive army. I’ll settle these lands and be
content.”

Yeel left the tent and
switched his appearance back. The herald stood and stared at his
back as he slid away. Yeel returned to the wall. The rope
contraption was already being lowered, so he didn’t have to signal.
Once back in the tower, Yeel met the curious eyes of Jymoor and
Aruscetar.

“That did not go at all as I had planned,”
Yeel said.

“What? What went wrong? Does he have a
powerful mage on his side?” asked Jymoor.

“I was rather hoping he
would be an unreasoning tyrant. I hoped to use his own rage and
fear against him. But he’s actually quite an agreeable
fellow.”

“Yeel!”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, I mean,
it’s just that he’s so…reasonable. And intelligent!”

“Are you going to save us or not?” demanded
Aruscetar.

“Well actually, you are,” Yeel said, pointing
at Jymoor.

“What?”

“Assuming that Gragmaresh
has not changed a great deal from my memory of him so many years
ago, Methric will never believe that Gragmaresh has come to spare
the city and sue for peace. But he might believe the god wants the
confrontation resolved by a battle of champions.”

“But—”

“And Riken’s champion is
you. And I don’t know who the other side’s might be. Doubtless
Methric will choose their most powerful and bloodthirsty warrior.
Someone with some experience at slaying Rikenese.”

“Yeel! I’ve only been
studying the sword and the mace for a short time. I
can’t—”

“But surely you have a higher chance of
success of beating one of them than the Rikenese army has of
holding off the hordes.”

That silenced her. Finally she said, “That
may be.”

“Don’t underestimate your
power. I know you’re a very determined individual. Remember how you
told me the power flowed from the armor in your last
battle.”

“You mean my first battle. This is a physical
contest, Yeel. My determination can only do so much.”

***

Later in the afternoon, a
hugely muscled ogre of a creature, standing easily half again
higher than the greatest human warrior, strode out into the field
around the wall. It bellowed loudly and displayed massive fangs. In
one hand it carried a huge club fashioned from an uprooted tree, in
the other it clenched a great two-bladed axe which, though large
for any human, looked a bit too small in its grasp.

It was Gragmaresh, the Baltamic god of
war.

Or so it seemed to every
sentient creature within visual distance outside the wall of
Maristaple. Yeel concentrated on his appearance. The strain was
great enough to force him to allow the Rikenese to see him as he
truly was.

All they need to know
is
,
I’m some kind
of monster-god. Let them think my true appearance is the
sham.

The herald of Methric trembled in fear. The
man almost turned and ran, but he had to stand before the army,
even if it meant his death, in order to retain his status.

The herald tried to speak, but could not find
his voice.

“Methrrrriiiiiiickkk!”
slavered the god. It was loud enough the herald didn’t have to send
anyone. Within a minute the leader of the barbarians had emerged
uncertainly from his tent. He hesitated, ordering a shaman or
priest to accompany him.

No doubt an expert on
sacrifices to Gragmaresh
,
Yeel thought.

The herald glanced at Gragmaresh, fearful to
make eye contact. It seemed the man, so brave the day before,
simply wanted to dig a hole and hide.

Methric walked out before his army,
practically dragging the shaman with him. As they arrived next to
the herald, all three fell to their knees. The shaman put a wooden
bowl before them filled with blood. Yeel saw a human heart inside
the bowl, no doubt freshly drawn from a northerner.

“Your army is massive,” Gragmaresh rumbled.
“Too large. I no longer know if your warriors are brave. I no
longer know if they are strong. You must be tested, before you can
taste victory.”

“I stand ready for your test, mighty
Gragmaresh,” Methric said.

He is fairly brave. A
remarkable leader... ah but back to it.

“Select your champion. Bring him here to do
battle. I have ordered Aruscetar to do the same. If your warrior is
superior, then I urge you, continue to spill blood. But if the
Rikenese strength and bravery proves itself better than yours, then
I send you back to the north where I sent you long ago. There, you
will grow stronger, to await the next opportunity to prove
yourselves.”

“As you command,” Methric said. He yelled at
the herald. “Go. Bring me Fenuil. Go now!”

“Now, I will fetch the Rikenese champion, or
smite them if they refuse,” Gragmaresh growled. To the Baltamic
tribes, his voice seemed to shake the ground under their feet.

Gragmaresh walked back toward the city. This
time as he arrived, the front gate opened to his mighty roar. He
stomped into the city.

A couple of minutes later, the Rikenese
champion appeared. Hundreds of heads appeared at the battlements of
the wall to witness the fight. Rikenese began to cheer. No one
noticed the tall man standing next to the champion in full
armor.

“Remember, you must do well, or else this
city will probably fall much sooner than it would otherwise.”

“You’re reminding me to do
well in a fight to the death?” asked Jymoor. “Then telling me the
city will probably fall later anyway.”

“Oh. You’re right. I forgot
your memory is so good. You know all about the plight of the
city.”

“I meant, you’re telling me
to worry about the city, when my own life is in danger! It’s hardly
necessary.”

“Ah, you refer to your
overriding instincts of self-preservation! You’re right, of course.
I should appeal to you on a baser level. You must win, or else you
will feel great pain, be humiliated, die lacking
progeny…”

“You are so terrible at
this! You’re supposed to
build
my confidence,” Jymoor hissed.

“I motivated you as you suggested—”

“By pointing out I will probably die instead
of feeding me some hope!”

Yeel stared for a moment, then looked up over
the army before them.

“You see that?”

“See what?” asked Jymoor, peering in the
direction Yeel stared. Then she caught sight of it. Though faint,
it was clear the moon was in the sky.

“The moon!”

“Yes. You see? You will
fight under its light. Even though it’s day, and we can’t see it as
brightly, it is there, and your armor will collect power from it.
Just as much as it does when you patrol under it at
night.”

“You knew this all along?
It’s almost full! This is a good sign!” Jymoor said. “Thank you,
Yeel!”

“I must admit it was not I who placed the
satellite thus—”

“Shut up. I’m ready to fight
now.”

“Good! I was beginning to
wonder if you’d ever get around to it.”

Jymoor growled in frustration and stomped
forward.

***

The Baltamic champion stood
a head taller than Jymoor. A massive black morning star dangled
from a strap around his right wrist. He wore hardened leather on
his torso, adorned with the black feathers of vultures. A small
round buckler shield of iron was strapped onto his left
arm.

Good…his armor is light. My
decision to forego the mace has worked out this time.

Her opponent stared at her. His face held a
frown. She noticed the man had no left ear. No doubt it had been
chopped off in some contest of arms.

The only reason I don’t
feel terror is the armor.

The warrior crashed his
weapon against his shield fiercely, showing his readiness. Jymoor
lowered the point of her fenlar to aim at the foe’s heart. At this,
Fenuil charged forward.

Jymoor jabbed with her
fenlar as he came into range. Her attack caught him on the side of
the neck, a grazing blow. Fenuil knocked the fenlar shaft aside
with his buckler and swung his morning star with the
other…

CLANG!

The weapon struck Jymoor’s
shoulder guard and the helmet. She staggered. Even the
moon-enhanced casing of metal couldn’t completely deflect the
gigantic blow. Jymoor staggered to one side. Vaguely, she heard the
roar of onlookers.

I got him with the fenlar. But did it inject
its poison?

Jymoor quickly moved back to avoid another
swing from the morning star. Her right hand drew her short sword
almost by itself.

Thrust. Thrust.
Thrust.

Jymoor thrust. The tip of
her weapon found only the metal of Fenuil’s buckler. She moved to
one side and tried again. Fenuil easily blocked her thrust
again.

Jymoor’s problem was
completely different than she’d envisioned. She thought she would
need great strength to fight. But the moon armor provided her that
strength, and what she now lacked was speed and timing.

Not enough
training!!!

CLANG!

Fenuil’s morning star
smashed into her left arm. First sharp pain shot through it,
followed by a dull ache that almost made her moan. A wave of power
from the armor washed the ache away, but it was slower this
time.

She saw a massive red boil
rising on her opponent’s throat where she had grazed him with the
fenlar. His face betrayed no pain, though. Only a mad battle
lust.

Still, the poison has to
have given me some advantage
...

CLANG!

The blow struck her side.
Jymoor wobbled. She couldn’t seem to move. Her breath came in
painful gasps. Her sword point dropped, digging its tip into the
ground.

Must be broken
ribs,
she thought.
I must try to thrust again…

The man rose his arm in victory. The
barbarian horde cheered him. Then he staggered to one side. He
caught his balance, but looked shaken.

The poison.

Jymoor saw her chance. She
stepped forward, reaching. One knee hit the ground in the lunge.
Her sword thrust into the man’s lower torso.

The champion fell to his
knees. The cheers diminished. Jymoor struggled to stand. She didn’t
have the strength to pull the blade free, so instead she simply
drew her gauntleted hand back, then smashed it into her opponent’s
face.

The Baltamic warrior fell back, unconscious
or dead. The sword stuck straight up out of him, which made him
look a bit more the latter.

***

As the Crescent Knight
dispatched her foe, the Rikenese soldiers on the wall went wild.
Yeel kept a clearer focus.

She doesn’t look
good.

He watched her stagger back
from the contest. Her stride became increasingly erratic. She fell
to one knee, then lurched back up. A group of soldiers came out to
help her back. Yeel appeared at her side, then grasped her in a
tentacle, shooing the others away.

“She needs medical
attention. Back please, plenty of time to congratulate her
later!”

Yeel led her to a tent set up inside the
walls for tending wounded. A Rikenese healer was inside. He looked
up, quite surprised by the appearance of Yeel carrying Jymoor in
full armor.

Yes, she is heavy, but I’m
a bit stronger than you are.

A Rikenese soldier came in behind.

“What wounds?” he asked.

“Leave us,” Yeel said.

The soldier and the field surgeon obeyed.
Yeel and Jymoor were alone in the tent. Yeel removed her helm.

“Jymoor. Look at me, please.”

The scout’s eyes fluttered,
but opened. She gazed up. Yeel thought about his appearance. He let
the illusion fall from his mind.

Jymoor’s eyes grew
wide.

“Why do you look like…your
servant creature?” she moaned.

“I’m so very sorry,
Jymoor. But you see…what you
now
see…is my true form. You know of my powers? I
make myself look like one of you, so that I may walk among you. To
help you. I’m very sorry this deception was necessary.”

“Ah. I…see,” Jymoor
whispered. “That…makes sense.” Then she expired.

Yeel replaced the helmet on her head,
covering her face. Aruscetar entered the tent.

“How is she?” he demanded.

“Her wounds are dire. I’ll
have to take her to my house immediately.”