Book of Kayal: Strength of Unity Read online

  Sigurd responded with a low-pitched grunt. He then unsheathed his hunting dagger and hastily skinned the deer. Sigurd’s way of skinning was incomparable to that of Thalia’s. He abused the carcass and tore its hide while splitting it from the meat beneath it.

  “May I?” Ganis pointed to the deer and the produced a skinning knife from her boot.

  The rugged Turian dug his dagger into the carcass and left it for Ganis. Before skinning the beast, Ganis dug her teeth into the animal’s neck and forced the clotting blood into her mouth. Sigurd was the only one who did not object to the act; instead he curiously observed in his usual silence.

  Once fed, Ganis continued to delicately skin the beast, trying to fix the damage Sigurd had caused with his earlier attempt.

  “It will take us time to cook this with the fire we have,” Pertinax noted.

  Ganis then cut a few small chunks and impaled them on a wooden skewer. “You have not prepared the fire for cooking. Perhaps you expect me to hold this till it roasts.”

  Pertinax pulled two pairs of tied sticks and placed them opposing to one another atop the fire. “Actually I have.”

  While they patiently waited for their meal, Ganis seized the opportunity to speak her mind. “You must have many questions.”

  Monolos vigilantly asked, “Do your feeding habits not disgust you? Do you not feel an urge to turn on us? Do you not suffer from continuous insatiable hunger?”

  “No, no and no.”

  “Do you view us as food?” Pertinax asked with no intention of masking his suspicions.

  “It is not the same as with your food. I have never thought of you as such.”

  “Do you feel pain?” Sigurd asked.

  “Yes, but I have grown accustomed to it. Besides, when you know that you regenerate completely, the thought, at least, stops hurting.”

  “Is it true that you heal remarkably fast?” Monolos asked.

  “Yes I do, if I am well fed. I am also fairly resistant to poisons and diseases.”

  “And the sun?”

  “Lord Asclepius made certain that it wouldn’t be a hindrance.”

  The Parthans continued to ask Ganis their questions, Monolos taking more than his fare share. During the conversation, Monolos mentioned that Ninazu had accidentally discovered a potion that stopped blood from clotting. They started to accept, she thought.

  When the meat was cooked, it was Ganis’ turn to stand watch. She ventured into the dark woods. A few moments later, she heard a familiar whisper. It was the same voice that directed her to the blade she found. This time, however, there was no one nearby to speak to her.

  The voice echoed from within the forest. Following it, Ganis found that she had treaded too far from her comrades.

  Suddenly it spoke once more. I have been with you for some time now, Ganis, moroi from Nosgard.

  “Show yourself!” she commanded, scanning her environment.

  I never hid. You simply did not want to see me, young one, the voice spoke yet again. I am close enough to be touching you.

  Infuriated, Ganis unsheathed her sword. Looking down at it, she noticed the blade glow and Ganis reflexively dropped it, “What is the meaning of this?”

  It is as it seems. I am the voice of your blade. I have waited for nearly a century to find one worthy of wielding me, the blade projected into Ganis’ thoughts.

  “Have I grown mad?”

  No. You are as sane as you ever were. The blade was silent for a moment, and then it added, My name is Eos, and I was once a leader of men. It was selfish of me to assume your consent for my aid. Do you accept it?

  Shocked, Ganis found herself speechless. A moment of silence passed before she broke it, “At what cost?”

  At the cost of mutual aid. I seek a hero to save my people from extinction, and I know that you seek a way to defeat Naa’tas. Neither of us would be able to accomplish his goal without the other. It is a fair arrangement, I believe.

  “I will need to consult my captain before making such a promise.” Ganis struggled to determine if Eos was a blessing or a curse.

  The time is not yet right for you to reveal me to the others. I will let you know when it is. The blade, Ganis knew, at the very least was wise.

  “Know, though, that I will not aid you unless your presence is revealed.”

  Then we have an agreement. Eos spoke no more.

  After the brief conversation was concluded, Ganis picked up Eos and returned it in the sheath Thalia made for her. It was time for her to return to her duties.

  4

  The list led the Parthans north of Hearthdale. Their next target, a pair of twins who killed and terrorized merchants and travelers heading out from Hearthdale, had left a trail of conspicuous leads to their whereabouts. They seemed to be provoking the authorities to pursue them, leaving various taunts and indications about what they did and what they intended to do. It was surprising to the Parthans that their victims did not avoid them.

  A dark tavern amidst the lonely traveling cobble-stone path met the Parthans. It stood alone where the roads crisscrossed, a shabby wooden structure in dire need of maintenance labeled by a sign naming it ‘The Wandering Trader’.

  The four hooded warriors crossed through the iron-reinforced wooden door, and into the tavern. Although Ganis thought that she and her crew would stand out, their rugged and dirty appearance matched that of the other shady patrons. They calmly moved towards the first available table they saw. It was at the far end corner of the candle-lit interior.

  Looking at his three companions, Pertinax decided it would be best if he himself fetched the drinks, for none of the Parthans accompanying him were subtle enough to ensure them remaining unnoticeable - Ganis was a creature he still knew little of, Monolos was a madman with a hawk, and Sigurd was violently blunt. I did not plan this at all, he thought on his way back, almost spilling the contents of the wooden mugs as he walked. He reached the table without incident.

  While Ganis prepared the pipe Commodore Habitus had given her, the one she had forgotten about for a time, the other three slowly sipped at their mead, scanning the room for their targets. They knew nothing of them other than being twins.

  Thus they hoped to find two identical faces, or at least resembling ones.

  Everything they do there reeks of incompetence, Ganis thought, eyeing the broken tables and loose screws.

  “Found them!” staring at two massive men, Ganis whispered. She puffed a short stream of smoke from her slender ironwood pipe. “What are your orders, captain?”

  Pertinax’s grease-covered hair gleamed in the dancing candle-light as he turned to where the moroi stared. “These ones are Sigurd’s. When it comes to big fellows, he will not have it any other way.”

  Chugging his large pint of mead, at least twice as large as the other two, Sigurd directed a stare, with intent to kill, at his targets. The Turian then stood up and removed his brown hooded cloak, allowing it to drop on the ground, revealing his two rusted blades which had been unsheathed in the process – Thalia’s iron still needed work.

  With no warning, Sigurd unleashed a staggering roar to warn his targets.

  Once the twins heard their foe, they turned around and steeled themselves, one with a spiked wooden club and the other with a large rusted great sword.

  “Your lives are forfeit!” Sigurd grunted.

  The twins laughed as they looked at each other and exchanged incomprehensible speech to the Parthans. The two words Ganis understood were ‘fool’ and ‘dummy’. Aroused by the commotion, a few other patrons armed themselves in hopes of participating in the brawl.

  From atop the Parthan’s table, Sigurd jumped down and started his dash towards the two outlaws. Taking the blunt of the club’s blow delivered by one of the twins on his chest, the Turian rammed his shoulder into the weapon’s wielder, disarming him. Ganis was amazed at the thickness of Sigurd’s unscathed skin - he was truly worth of the title Ironskin, she thought. He set his eyes on his second target.
r />   While her comrade engaged in his brawl with the twins, Ganis put aside her pipe in the corner of one of the windows, to keep it safe, and prepared herself. Unlike Sigurd, the others did not remove their cloaks before engaging their assailants, for they were taken by surprise. A female customer charged at Ganis’ back with a drawn dagger, but was easily countered by Eos, the sentient blade, which split her in two, separating the torso from her hips.

  Monolos and Pertinax fought side by side as three ruffians charged at them. The Parthans blocked and parried with incredible coordination, making way for an attack with each fluid motion. Within a few moments they stood while their opponents did not. Knowing that the strangers were far beyond their skill, the other patrons sheathed their weapons and refrained from joining in.

  After having driven the standing twin to a corner, Sigurd disarmed his adversary and drew his iron blades into the ruffian’s chest. He then picked up his rusted great sword and fiercely decapitated the cornered twin. Enraged by the death of his brother, the remaining twin charged at Sigurd’s back, smashing him into the wooden wall; a loud cracking sound indicated it was near to breaking. During the mindless attack, Sigurd’s foe found his opponent’s muscular right arm wrapped around his unprotected neck. Sigurd squeezed the life out of the man.

  Having achieved their goal, the Parthans calmly eased into their booth while their Turian companion took the tokens of their deed. Another free round of mead was offered to the warriors by the bartender, in hopes that it would keep them from causing any more harm.

  “I think I will be taking my meal with me,” while staring at one of the female corpses, Ganis declared.

  “You might as well. Your feeding habits are starting to feel natural, which disturbs me more than the feeding itself,” Monolos murmured.

  Ganis remembered her exchange with Eos, and she thoughtfully started preparing her pipe with some of the limited stock she had been keeping in a small purse tucked in her right boot. The pattern of her inhalation and gusting indicated to Pertinax her preoccupation.

  Slowly sipping the last of their mead, the Parthans stood up and headed out of the tavern, leaving the mugs by the bar with three loud thumps. On her way out Ganis grabbed the foot of the carcass she had mentioned earlier and dragged it behind her.

  “You should be more respectful to the dead,” Pertinax noted.

  Ganis then lifted the corpse to her shoulder and carried it, sulking.

  5

  The Parthans headed west towards their third and final goal. There were no dense woods to hide their presence in the grasslands that lay ahead of them, only hills that betrayed the presence of those who were sought.

  With some raw meat remaining from Sigurd’s enormous catch and a fresh corpse for Ganis, the four Parthans had no need to search for food.

  Without warning, Ganis dug her elongated white fangs into the neck of the once-woman, in spite of her foul odor.

  “At least notify us before doing that,” Monolos complained. He eyed the bleeding neck of the corpse intently, grinning.

  Driven by hunger, Ganis ignored the comment and continued to feed. The others waited for her to finish before they prepared their meal, fearing that it would chase away their appetite.

  Another small campfire was prepared. Recalling one of her earliest conversations with Monolos about his concoctions, Ganis said, “You said that Ninazu can craft a potion to preserve blood. Correct?”

  “Yes, and I believe he has the required ingredients ready,” Monolos replied, inspecting his hawk for any scratches or scabs, as he usually did. Screo’s grey eyes wandered as Monolos lifted his wings and separated his feathers. Whenever Monolos’ hand had withdrawn far enough from Screo, the hawk would quickly shake his head and puff his feathers, returning each feather where it belonged.

  Ganis pondered the idea. She knew that a small amount of blood would not last her long. Asclepius had sentenced her to a difficult fate. “Is there any way to thicken blood?”

  “You will have to ask Ninazu.”

  “Do all Turians excel at their craft?” It was an abrupt question, guided by nothing more than her curiosity.

  “From a young age we are taught to seek excellence regardless of consequences,” Sigurd replied. He then rested on the ground, laying perfectly still.

  Ganis had always been intrigued by Sigurd’s avoidance of unnecessary motion, and was equally reluctant to inquire about it. Sitting by the warm fire, she had just begun to relax when her new friend, the sentient blade, addressed her.

  It is time for us to get acquainted, Eos projected into Ganis’ thoughts.

  Ganis attempted to think her words instead of speaking them. I have so many questions.

  It worked!

  Ask and I will reply.

  Who are you?

  In life, I was Eos Teeban, the Progenitor. I led a group of men into a new way of thought that continue to guide their kin till this day. I convinced my people that it was necessary for us to choose those with strength and constitution to breed and continue the line. I myself lived through three generations since the conception of this philosophy and witnessed my people rise above all others.

  Yet like all things living, I died. Ever since, this has been my form. I continued to watch over them as my successors wielded me. The eldest of my living people witnessed the days when I had advised their leaders, but the new generations would not recognize me anymore.

  As the years passed, and my teachings developed, the Highborn - my kin - began driving themselves into extinction. Only then was it clear to me that I was gravely mistaken and my teachings were all wrong, or at least an anachronism. The Highborn grew arrogant and held extreme prejudice against those weaker than them.

  Ganis’ thoughts deepened. Throughout all these centuries, you found none more suitable than us?

  No. You are stronger and faster than any of the Highborn. If you challenge their leader and defeat him, you will gain considerable influence. I am not certain if they would allow you to lead them though, or if you would want to, but I know that with the aid of your allies you might be able to convince them to abandon their prejudice ways. To stand against Naa’tas, the peoples will need to unite.

  Unite, Ganis thought, has been a word far too common these days. How can we achieve this?

  You are the key to the success of such plan. If you manage to show the Highborn that collective strength multiplies that of the individual, you will make a powerful case. I have never seen anyone fight as fluidly in unison as your group.

  At the mark of Eos’ conclusion, flashes of his own memory were projected into Ganis’ head. She experienced the making of the blade, the heat of fire and hammering of steel, and the means by which Eos’ soul had been transported into it, a ripping of the very fabric of being.

  It was the art of the Unnamed Blade; a craft developed by the Elder themselves, the long-gone creators of all things mystical, to preserve life, in a twisted and unnatural way. Ganis thought that perhaps Thalia would be able to craft such tools and gain the power to bestow immortality, as Eos had been blessed.

  6

  As Pertinax had anticipated, the four companions arrived at the final destination too late. Their targets had moved. Screo confirmed Pertinax’s suspicions once it returned after scouted the area. With no trail to lead them, the Parthans had no choice but to return to Hearthdale.

  The town of Hearthdale had not changed much since the Parthans’ departure, except for a few nearly-completed buildings which had been mere scaffolds when Ganis had last seen them. As soon as they spotted two guards leaving the tavern, Ganis and the others noticed the new armor and weaponry they wore.

  Instead of the ragged cloth and torn leather that once provided them with little protection, they wore masterwork leather armaments reinforced with steel, and held blades resting uniformly in their sheaths. Finally, their brown cloaks elegantly matched their uniform; Thalia had to add her touch of aesthetics.

  “I think they might have gotten more invol
ved than they ought to,” Ganis said, eyes continuing to scan the locals.

  “Indeed we have,” Pertinax responded, stressing the ‘we’. “I should have been more elaborate when explaining to Thalia her duties.”

  “You were quite clear, captain,” Monolos noted. “Thalia couldn’t produce anything less.”

  They continued into the inn.

  Once inside, Percival and Dindrane rushed towards them. A loud cheer roared from the other patrons as the twins greeted the travelers.

  “Finally! A fitting welcome.” Pertinax casually waved at the crowd, smiling left and right to the strangers while keeping his head motion to a minimal, in an attempt to preserve his hair’s fashion.

  “Pertinax the Second, ladies and gentlemen,” Dindrane announced. “Never to turn down an opportunity to bask in praise.” The inn echoed with laughter.

  The crowd cheered and clapped even harder, some tapping their mugs on the wooden tables.

  “These people barely know you, and you them. Don’t you find it odd that they greet you as such?” Ganis asked.

  “On the contrary, I found it suspicious that they did not do so when we first came.”

  “Enough play. We need to turn in the bounty,” Sigurd impatiently interrupted Pertinax’s delight. The Turian had no tact.

  “I would also like to be relieved to check on the pups,” Monolos requested.

  “The three of you go ahead. Finish you duties and gather the others. I will make certain our rooms are prepared.”

  They scattered.

  After inquiring about Eirene, Monolos headed to the orphanage to check on the pups and summon the priestess. Sigurd took the head bag, as he called it, and proceeded to collect the bounty. Ganis headed to the local blacksmith to summon Thalia and help her carry the tools she had prepared for her them. On her way back, she called Ninazu from the local alchemist and asked about Hephaestion, who was reported to be in his room at the inn.