The Sellsword SciFi & Fantasy

There are times I wonder who of my companions, lovers, and acquaintances made it into the historical record. As with everything, the number of them bleed out over time. Someday, perhaps, there will be none. Even I will be forgotten when the next strata of the world is born.

I do not believe I have read every chronicle of the Heacharid conquest of Axichis. In the ones I have read, none mention Dromesia by name. Phaeliope appears in a few, but none detail our friendship. The only figure that consistently appears is Melodora Bardane, for reasons that should be obvious for any who know of me.

The women in this volume are all important to me in their way, but to a historian, they are but footnotes. Dromesia, if she is mentioned at all, it is as an unspecified healer who nursed me through my first encounter with Lysethe. Einoë and Kallea are far more infamous in their current incarnations than as my largely unnamed hetairoi. And none of them mention my week with the sellsword Talynore Tazo.

In the scheme of the war itself, it had no import. It provided another ship to the amazons, a few stormwights, but that was all. And all it cost me was my faithful ironwood staff. As for Talynore and me, it explains our later association, but that would come in time.

This interlude began with an ambush. One, I’m afraid, I was on the wrong side of. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. While the Axichan archipelago had but six major islands, it was filled with smaller spits of land, some barely more than a few saltscoured rocks. Plenty of places for ships to hide. Easy to forget in my arrogance and rage.

We caught a Heacharid ship in an inlet of one of these islands, in a section of the sea littered with spits of land that only had names to the most experienced of Axichan mariners. The Heacharid ship was a nice fat prize that the crew of Naeri’s Revenge couldn’t turn down. My storm had the Heacharids pinned against the shore and I was about to commence with the process of killing when three more ships came around the windward side of the island.

Kallea kissed my cheek and settled her helmet into place, ready to repel boarders. The leaden clouds were thick over the area, and as the three Heacharid ships sailed hard for us, their catapults flinging the first volley of stone, an idea sparked into my mind. The ships left the bright and shining day for the false night of my storm. This was the answer.

“Hold fast,” I murmured.

“Hold fast!” Einoë called to the crew.

Kucyone bellowed orders over the deck, the ship wheeling for open water. We would not make it before the catapults chewed us apart. If I knew it, everyone on the ship knew it.

I was deep in my spell, the magical energy wreathing me, flowing through my will, sharpened by my words, shaped by my hands, and overlaid on the world. I felt it all around me, surging in my blood, thundering with my heart. I dove into ocean of magic and made it dance.

The spell felt like one of the great sea monsters that lurk in the deep waters at the edge of the world, old and powerful beyond reckoning. It thrashed in my grip, its strength incredible and growing with every shuddering heartbeat. I don’t know if I ever thought I could control it. If even that was my intent. I only know that when it twisted its way free, I found myself hurled into the gunwale.

My senses returned to me, the starry field of magic leaving my sight in favor of the heaving sea. The storm battered us. Sheets of rain slicked the decks. Gales tore at us with talons of ice. Lightning raked the seas and thunder shook the skies. The Heacharid ships were scarcely visible through the driving rain. The deck pitched and rolled beneath my feet, the ship seemingly desperate to fling me from its back. Waves crashed over the deck, soaking me to my skin.

“Tent brother!” Einoë bellowed, clutching the mast. “Your spell will kill us!”

“End it!” Kallea shouted, her knuckles white as she gripped the rigging.

I raised my arms, summoning my will, ready to focus it through my voice. I would hold this convulsing maelstrom of a spell. I would force it to bend to my desires. I would fling it behind Naeri’s Revenge, into the teeth of the Heacharids. I saw the way though, shining brightly through the chaos of the spell. I saw how to take it and wrestle it to my will.

The wave hit me full in the chest right as the deck fell from beneath my feet. I felt myself hurtling through the air. My ironwood staff, Spire, flew from my hands. That would be the last time I ever saw it. Oddrin clutched my robes, his glow rendering what I could see strange and eerie.

And then I hit the sea. The water surged up, trying to drown me. Perhaps it would have succeeded, but my elven garment was light. The robe held none of the water. I could see only the wooden behemoth of my ship, bucking up and down as though trying to stamp the life from me, rain and seawater obscuring the rest. I struck out to where I thought the shore might be. Get to safety, then arrange rescue.

A current caught me, pulling me somewhere. Shadows loomed from the dark. Lightning lanced from the heavens, splitting one of the Heacharid ships in two. I allowed myself a small moment of pleasure as the current pulled me past the burning and sinking wreckage, screaming sailors falling into the surging sea.

Rain tried to drown me from above and the sea from below. I stopped trying to swim altogether and concentrated only on staying afloat. Distantly, I could see daylight, but it was a long way off. My spell had spread, perhaps joining the fabric of a storm already brewing.

The sea fueled by my own storm, tore at me. I pushed myself past exhaustion merely keeping my head above water. Oddrin perched there, his claws drawing stinging rivulets of blood. I do not know how long I stayed in the water, but I do know that it was dark under clear skies when I saw that little spit of rock that would be my home for the next week. I summoned every last ounce of will I had left and struck out hard for it. The current nearly swept me past, but I managed to haul myself into the shallows.

I put my feet beneath me and staggered onto shore, ready to die. The water spilled from my elven robes. Two things hung from my belt, secured so well that even the storm could not tear them from me. My sweetwater goblet, the gift from Thalalei on my right hip, Ellisyr’s sword on my left. A tool and a trophy. Life and death.

The shore was rocky, punctuated by deep pools teeming with life. I staggered up past the waves, to the edge of a small expanse of sand and collapsed. I lay there, in the air, chill with evening wind, sucking air into aching lungs. Every muscle in my body felt loose, a faint burn at the edge of feeling.

I do not know how long I lay there. It is possible I lost consciousness, sleep claiming me for scattered moments. Oddrin’s hiss brought me to awareness. I sat up only with difficulty. A shape floundered in the shallows. I forced myself to my feet, my exhausted mind too addled to think clearly. I shambled into the surging waves. The shape was female, though as she got to her feet, I saw that she was no amazon.

Her armor was a patchwork of leather and plate. Enough to keep her limber, extra protection on the parts of her most vulnerable in a fight. It struck me as the armor of someone who knew exactly what she would need. One who knew her own strengths and weaknesses from a lifetime of use. She wore a blade on each hip, one long, the other short, both with a slight curve.

She stood up straight, her eyes meeting mine.

She was beautiful but it was the beauty of the perfect killing stroke. She was tall and lithe, more lovely in motion than she ever was at rest. Her hair was auburn, lightly streaked with gold, bound into a high braid that went to the middle of her back. Her slanted eyes were a shocking shade of magenta. Her bronze skin was tinged with gray. Her face was angular, with a strong, stubborn jaw. Her canine teeth and her ears came to delicate points. This was Talynore Tazo, of course, but I did not yet know her name.

“You!” she said. Both blades whispered into her hands. “Time to die.” Her accent was from somewhere in Aucor, but differed from the Heacharid accents I’d heard.

I drew Ellisyr’s sword. I’d been practicing with my hetairoi and now was the time to put that training to use. I was better with a staff or even a spear, but I didn’t have one of those.

She lunged. Talynore is a terrifying opponent, as swift as a viper and precise as an iasos, but no one is swift or precise after the best part of a day spent not drowning. Her attacks were clumsy, and I gave her ground, parrying what I could and dodging the rest. I focused my will and spat sparks, trying to build a spell that would slay her. She cursed at me in Eomet.

Our battle was neither epic nor elegant. We flailed drunkenly, far too spent to make a good accounting of ourselves. My muscled burned. Her breath was ragged, the blades of her longsword dragging in the sand. If we were not so set on killing the other, it might have been funny.

“This is foolish,” I said in Rhandic.

“Of course it is,” she said in the same tongue. “We’re in a war.” She did not attack, but she remained in her fighting posture, halfcrouched, but both her weapons dipped.

“You are not a Heacharid.”

“They paid me good coin to be here. Point of professional pride they get their money’s worth.” She settled back, no longer in any posture to attack. “But perhaps a momentary cessation of hostilities…”

“Is advisable?”

“I can always kill you on the morrow,” she mused. She did not seem entirely serious, nor entirely unserious. That was Talynore’s way.

“Many have tried.”

She sheathed her swords and I followed suit with mine. She looked me over. “Have you scouted this island?”

“No. I do not know if I’ve the strength.”

“We need water,” she said.

“Then let’s look.” I didn’t tell her about the goblet on my belt. I was not yet sure what I would do.

It did not take long to walk the island. We walked side by side, warily keeping track of the other. She did not reach for her blades and I did not begin a spell. Oddrin’s glow gave some small illumination, and he gave small hisses whenever she strayed close.

The island was little more than a rocky peak poking up over the waves. Pools and a few strips of sand appeared at low tide. At high tide, it was scarcely an island at all. The only shelter was a small cave near the pinnacle, just out of reach of the tides. There wasn’t anything even close to a water source. We found our way back to the beach where we’d washed up.

“We won’t starve at least,” she said, peering into the tidepools. “So long as you don’t mind eating sea snot.”

I untied the goblet from my belt and dipped it into the pool. She watched as I brought it to my lips. The water was sweet, putting strength back into my limbs. I dipped it back into the water and held it out to her.

“Some wizard’s trick?” she asked. “Poison?”

“No poison. A gift from a paramour. An elvish trinket, I believe.”

“Why not,” she muttered. “Who wants to live forever?” She accepted the cup, sipping cautiously at first, and then slurping when the taste hit her. She quaffed another cupful and looked at the goblet. “Some trinket. That is quite the paramour.”

“I thought so.”

She handed it back. “The cave then? Any lower and we’re liable to be washed out to sea in the night.”

“I was thinking that myself.”

We climbed up to the cliff, settling down at either end. She winced, shifting in her armor. “I could use a fire,” she said.

“Tomorrow we’ll look for driftwood. Tonight? I believe I can give us something. It will not last long, but I don’t think there is too much night left ahead of us.”

“I’m going to take this armor off. I’ll freeze if this wet stuff is on my skin all night.” She paused, giving me a speculative glance. “You’re welcome to watch.”

“I am?”

“You’re going to look anyway.” She flashed me a grin. I saw through it. She was trying to put me at ease. I would be easier prey.

“True,” I said.

“Are you not going to do the same?”

“Elven robes. They’re quite dry.” True, although the wet loincloth was beginning to trouble me.

The armor came off swiftly. I focused on my spell, summoning a ball of warmth. It would not do much against the wind, but it was something, and perhaps this shallow cave would capture a bit of the warmth. It was funny. I was so used to the breeze off the Turquoise Sea, but now, exhausted and wet, it was bonechilling.

I slipped off my loincloth beneath the robes, putting that by the warmth of the spell. Her clothing lined up by it, and soon she was huddled on the other side of the cave, nude, knees against her chest. Her blades sat next to her. She was lean, her body a fetching collection of muscle. Not a few scars ran over her limbs. Her breasts were small, but I could not see their shape in her present position.

“I am” I started.

“The Dreadstorm,” she said.

“Dreadstorm?” It was the first time I heard the name that would become one of my most oftrepeated epithets. It sat strangely on my mind. What modest reputation I’d had so far was as an explorer. This was the first that carried fear.

“The amazons’ necromancer. There’s quite a bounty on your head.”

“Is there?”

“Oh yes. Five thousand crowns and a parcel of land in Arcanoir. The only bigger bounties are on the generals.”

“You are looking to collect.”

“Of course. That kind of money? And land I could tax? That would set me up for life.”

“I should sleep with one eye open.”

“I would were I you.”

“I am Belromanazar of Thunderhead.” I wanted her to use my name, not the epithet. While I might like the idea of Heacharids using it, having it spoken to me, and so casually, chilled me.

“Talynore Tazo,” she said.

“Was that your ship I split in half?”

“It was the ship I was on. I was in the middle of hacking apart a bosun you’d turned to a wight when you hurled me into the drink. I don’t think anyone else from that ship will be washing up either.”

“Good. Let the sharks feast.” I settled back, folding my arms. “Sleep well.”

I drifted off, the exhaustion claiming me. In the middle of the night, a hiss woke me. I opened my eyes to find Talynore halfway across the cave, her shortsword in hand. Oddrin stood on my chest, hissing at her.

“I wouldn’t,” I warned.

She broke into a grin, relaxing. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

When I woke again the following morning, I found Talynore sleeping, her back turned to me. A few scars crossed her back, down to a shapely buttocks. I thought then that I would be killing her later, but there was still enough foolish honor clinging to my heart that I wouldn’t do it while she was helpless.

I girded the hem of my robe, and pinned the sleeves to my shoulders. The island was even smaller in the daylight. That was when I realized it was high tide, and it was literally smaller. The horizon was clear of ships. In the distance off to the east, I could see smoke, and in another, the dim line of another shore. Impossible to tell which island, or who owned it.

I could only hope that it would be Axichans who found us. If what Talynore said was true, then every Heacharid in the war wanted my head. I could not expect mercy from them, and I was important enough that they would give away a king’s ransom for my death.

A collection of wood had accumulated in the shallows where both Talynore and I had washed up. It had to be ship wreckage from the battle. I could only hope none of it was from Naeri’s Revenge. I went about gathering it and carrying it up to the cave.

When I arrived with the first load, Talynore had awakened. She had donned a loincloth, but nothing else. Her abdomen was sleekly muscled, her breasts fuller than I had initially thought, topped with nipples the color of slate. She’d belted on her shortsword, but left the longsword with her armor and the bulk of her clothing on the cave’s floor.

“Like how they look?” she asked.

I met her eyes. “They’re not unattractive.”

“They are better than that.” She said, holding her breasts for a moment.

“I’ll be sure to mourn them after I kill you.”

She smirked. “Did you see ships?”

“None yet. I can’t imagine it will take them long to find us. Either your side or mine.”

“You should hope it’s yours.”

“Now that you’re awake, help me gather wood before the current takes it out.”

She sighed and followed me down. Soon we were ferrying up every scrap of wood we could get our hands on.

Talynore was weak, breathing heavily, a slight shiver in her skin, even in the sunlight. She had spent a far more miserable night than I, and I don’t think she was looking forward to another. My spell of warmth was not the equal of the terrain, and would not last the night. We would need a fire. I was already thinking in terms of we, rather than I, even though I knew she was ready to kill me. There was a difference between her, a sellsword working for coin, and a Heacharid fanatic. Some would say she was worse. For me, in that situation, it eased my mind. A person motivated by coin can be treated with. A person motivated by a deity cannot.

Oddrin trusted her far less than I. He watched her, uttering hisses whenever she got close. I patted the little night eft on his head. He’d saved my life in the night. Wasn’t a doubt in my mind she would have cut my throat if not for my familiar.

Our bellies were moaning by the time we’d scavenged every scrap of wood in the shallows. We began to forage. Fish were everywhere about the island, some trapped in tidepools. Catching one with my bare hands was going to be impossible. I was beginning to look at the brightlycolored snails that slithered to and fro over the rocks, and wished Xeiliope had told me which were poisonous. Our best outdoorswoman had always been Velena, and her area of expertise had been forests. Esmian forests specifically, though she’d managed to stretch her knowledge in the years we’d wandered Chassudor. She’d taught the rest of us the rudiments and I was grateful to her every night I’ve spent under the stars.

“Dreadstorm,” Talynore called. She was kneedeep in a tidepool. She was still clad only in her loincloth, and her nudity, though undeniably alluring, had become so factual I was no longer distracted by it. “Catch us some fish.”

“I am no fisherman.” In my mind, I imagined the people of Burley Shoal mocking me. Here I was, the mighty adventurer, and I had not the skill they acquired as children.

“Use your…” she wiggled her fingers.

The silvery forms darted through the water, and my stomach took the chance to tell me that this was an excellent idea. “You want to try to eat an undead fish?”

“Just get them out of the water. I can do the rest.”

“You can cook and clean a fish?”

“I was not always a sellsword. Now can you do this or no?”

I nodded. I was not good with manipulations such as these. I knew how of course. A cousin of flight that I had yet to master. Rhadoviel would never have let me leave his tutelage had I not the basics. I focused the magic through my will, trying to grip water. I will never know why this is difficult for me, but it is. After all I can hold air, sculpt it to my purpose, make it dance to my whims. I can move water with ease, so long as it resides in a cloud. But water in a pool will always be difficult.

It took a longer time than I would have liked. Eventually, I managed to sculpt a tendril of water, enticing a fish to swim free of the pool. Then I cut the tip from the pool itself and hurled the rest to shore. The bubble exploded, leaving the fish flopping on the black volcanic rock. Talynore sprang upon it, slicing its head off with a single sure stroke.

“Go on, get another,” she said.

“No,” I said. “One at a time. If you want to eat, my throat will remain uncut.”

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