Sean T. M. Stiennon

         Drace shivered underneath his heavy woolen cloak.  Late fall was a wretched time to travel, particularly through the mountains, with clouds the color of tarnished iron covering the sky from horizon to horizon.  But, when Shabak had decided to visit an old officer of his in the Knurl Range, nothing but a full blizzard could have swayed him.  Drace certainly couldn't.  The three-day journey to Odigar's home had been cold and miserable, but at least there had been a warm fire, fresh meat, and hearty ale at the end of it.  Long hours had been taken up with lengthy conversation between Shabak and Odigar.  Those had been occasionally interesting, when they touched on the battles of the war against Valedarius, but more often they had been tedious and impossible for Drace to follow.  Odigar's sons had departed to farm their own land, except his eldest, who Drace had found even more boring than his father.

         Now, on the road home, Drace had nothing to look forward to but a cold winter and hard work at their crude home on Talon Point.  They walked amongst towering mountains with dense evergreen forests crowded around their feet.  A rough slope lay to Drace's right and a steep climb to his left as the road wandered along the side of one great mountain.

         Shabak had walked a little ahead for the past hour, but now he dropped back beside Drace.  Shabak was the only father Drace had ever known.  He stood a little over five feet and was sheathed in a mossy green exoskeleton.  His legs were short but strong, and in addition to two thick arms, a third appendage tipped with a pincer rose from his left shoulder.  Shabak's hard black eyes were deep-set in his boxy head.  His stubby tail flapped slowly behind him.

         "We'll need to work hard at getting crabs," said Shabak. "We need food for the winter—some days will be too stormy to check the traps or fish."

         Drace sighed. "More work, more cold, more wet, and nothing to show for it but another season passed."

         Shabak clacked his fangs twice. "And what makes you so grim today?"

         "At least Odigar has red meat and mead, not soggy fish and seaweed ale."

         Shabak smiled. "Yes."

         "And he also doesn't spend every spare hour repairing nets, butchering crabs, or making trinkets to sell for enough money to buy what we can't catch."

         "He does have to plough, seed, nurture, and harvest a field of crops that might be ruined by pestilence or weather.  He also must live in constant fear of bandits and raiders from rival lords, not to mention wolves and bears.  Work is the lot of every good man.  Even a king, if he is a just one, must labor for hours each day in the service of his people.  You're better off than most—you can defend yourself, and you rarely know true hunger."

         Drace frowned.  Even in the worst times Shabak could usually bring home enough crabs, mussels, and fish to keep the two of them from starving.  Still, it was a hard, lonely way to live.

         "I'm not going to stay there forever, you know," said Drace.

         "True," answered Shabak.  Drace glanced at him and caught a faint smile on his chitinous features.

         "I'd like to find a wife someday.  A pretty one."

         Shabak nodded. "A worthy goal."

         "How would you know?  You never had one, did you?" snapped Drace.

         "No.  But I still understand your desire."

         Drace gritted his teeth.  He almost never spoke to girls, even when Shabak took him into Stamfir for market days.  They all feared him, or were disgusted with him, or something else Drace couldn't fathom.  All because he had a two hundred year-old kabrisk for a father and a cave on a rocky coast for a home.  Drace could hardly blame them.  What girl would want to live in a cave?

         Shabak seemed to read his thoughts. "You will find a wife someday, Drace, if you seek one.  You have much to offer a woman."

         Drace didn't carry the conversation further.  It wouldn't do him any good, and it would only leave him feeling more miserable about his prospects of any life beyond Talon Point.

         Ahead, the road twisted around a bluff of gray stone.  Drace saw a lone figure come around the bend, jogging with an uneven gait.  He stopped suddenly.  No mistaking those skirts—a girl.  But her long hair was disheveled, and mud and rips mottled her clothing.

         "What would a girl her age be doing on this road, alone?" Shabak rumbled softly.

         Drace wondered where she could have come from.  On one side of the mountains lay Lord Grimstel's domain—where Shabak's friend lived—and a few hours journey on the other side brought one to the holdings of Lord Traver, who counted Shabak and Drace among his subjects.  A few minor hill lords lived in the foothills of the mountains, but between them little could be found besides rocks and trees.

         The girl kept her eyes on her feet, as if she feared they would vanish beneath her.  Drace ran to meet her.

         She glanced up at the noise of their footsteps and stood like a frightened rabbit for a moment, eyes wide.  Her mouth, stained with dry blood, let out a terrified gasp.  She spun and began to lope back the other way, panting with the exertion.

         Shabak dashed after her.  His legs were short, but he could run like a wolf. "Wait, girl!  I'm no enemy of yours!"

         "Leave me alone!  Get away!" she called back, voice thin with fear.

         She tripped suddenly on her stained gray skirt and fell to the dusty road in a tangle of clothing and hair.  Before she could rise, Shabak stood before her, arms outspread in a gesture of peace.  "Please, tell me your trouble, and I may be able to help you."

         She stared at him from the ground.  Drace crouched down at her side and said, "He's a kabrisk.  Haven't you ever seen one?"

         She shook her head and turned towards him.  The dirt of a hard journey caked her face, but Drace saw beauty nonetheless.  Her eyes glowed with the warm brown of squirrel fur.

         "Who are you?" she gasped, eyes flickering down to Drace's sword.

         "I'm called Drace.  My father is Shabak of Talon Point, the Stone of Masmok Hill."

         She looked up at Shabak with awe in her voice. "I've heard of you—Lord Traver speaks of you often.  But...father?"

         She glanced uneasily between Shabak and Drace.  It wore on Drace's temper how often he had to explain their relationship.

         "Adoptive father," he said.

         She nodded slowly. "I see.  Perhaps you can help me, then...Shabak.  And Drace."

         She held the words in her mouth as if tasting them for poison.  She seemed to find none, for she said, "I must get to Lord Grimstel, my father.  I'm being pursued.  There are men trying to take me."

         Shabak offered his hand and drew her to her feet.  Drace cursed himself for not thinking to do that himself—her hands were so purely white....

         "You're Ophila?" asked Shabak.

         She nodded, mildly surprised that he knew her name.

         "Whose men are they?"

         She looked over her shoulder, back the way she had come, and shivered. "Lord Saugin's.  He owns land on the other side of the mountains, really just one village.  I must continue—his men aren't more than an hour behind me."

         "Do they have horses?" Shabak asked.

         "Some do."

         Shabak's ground his teeth in irritation. "Then what were you doing on the road?"

         The hint of anger in his voice made the girl's face blanch whiter.  Drace put a comforting hand on her arm. "My father's right.  You shouldn't have been out in the open where they can ride you down."

         "I was in the woods before, but I was so tired, and I thought I could just walk on the road for a little while," she said, addressing him rather than Shabak.

         "You were mistaken," said the kabrisk, clearing the irritation from his tone. "We should leave the road immediately."

         She glanced at Shabak, but her smile was aimed at Drace. "Then you'll help me?"

         "Yes," said Shabak. "With the condition that you tell us more about your predicament as we walk.  Bring her, Drace."

         With that, Shabak went to the edge of the road and began to clamber down the steep slope of broken rock and ragged shrubs towards the trees in the valley below.  The kabrisk kept his balance despite the heavy pack over his shoulders.

         "Can you climb?" asked Drace.

         "I've been doing it for the past two days," she said.

         The two set off behind Shabak.  As Drace helped her climb, occasionally lowering her down the steeper drops, he admired her beauty and found that his mood had improved immensely.

         A minute after they had reached the trees in the valley, Shabak held up a hand for silence and gazed intently back up at the road.  Drace heard it himself in a few seconds: hoofbeats.  Ophila clutched Drace's arm nervously.

         A company of ten or twelve men came thundering into view.  Five rode sturdy horses and wore mail hauberks with lances in their hands and red shields on their arms.  The others jogged on foot and carried a mixed set of axes, swords, and flails.  All possessed lean muscles and the simple clothing of soldiers.

         When they had passed on, Shabak said, "They'd have you now if you hadn't met us."

         Then he turned and pointed with his pincer to the northeast.  "Two or three days straight in that direction will bring us to Grimstel's hold if we move quickly.  We'll have to go over the eastern shoulder of Rudderford and then over Krafting Pass."

         He began to march.  Drace followed, leading Ophila by gripping her arm.

         The trees here grew thick and dark, with gnarled hides that looked as if they had endured hundreds of years of wind, rain, and snow.  A thick carpet of needles and dry leaves covered the floor, muffling sound and concealing roots.  Gray light penetrated through the canopy in slanted columns.  Shabak's gray-green exoskeleton blended in with the woodland as he led them on.

         "Would you like to tell us what happened?" asked Drace once they had penetrated a little deeper into the woods.

         "It's...I don't like to think too much about it," she said.

         Drace felt her arm shudder softly in his grip.  "Tell me whenever you're ready," he said.

         "No," said Shabak. "Now."

         Drace glared at the kabrisk's back, but Shabak kept his eyes ahead. "She's already had a rough time, Shabak.  We should leave her alone."

         "I need to know whatever I can about those soldiers.  Tell me, girl," he said, clambering over a fallen tree trunk.

         She glanced at Drace, then at Shabak, and began to speak. "I went to Saugin's land to visit a friend, his daughter Vamissa, about a week ago.  Three guards went with me, all honorable men greatly trusted by my father.  There was Heafstad, Ulder, and...Yergi, that's right.  He always liked to complain about the cold."

         She bit her lip.  Drace saw the first shimmer of moisture in her eyes.  Shabak shot a glance over his shoulder. "Continue, please."

         "Lord Saugin welcomed us with an open larder.  My men feasted and drank while I talked with my friend about...well, women's matters that wouldn't interest you two, I'm sure."

         Shabak grunted.  Drace would have liked it hear it.  The only female voices he heard regularly were the bellows of fishwives.  Girls in Stamfir always sank into whispers when he came near.

         "Saugin and his men were also there, pressing more drink upon my father's men.  He offered me mead, but I refused.

         "I was escorted to my room by my men, who were all drunk.  In the middle of the night, one of Saugin's guards woke me and took me to the great hall, where Saugin himself sat.  I saw Yergi being held against one wall by two of Saugin's soldiers, with manacles around his wrists.  I asked the lord what was going on, and he told me that he...he wanted me for wife.  He said that I would have everything I wanted in his domain.  I was terrified.  He's a loose, wild man, and more than twice my age.  I told him no and asked why Yergi was chained.  He didn't answer.  He just waved his hand and Greddel—his guard captain—came up and he...and he cut Yergi's throat.  Right there in front of me.  They held him up and let the blood flow until it stopped.  I cried.

         "Then Saugin told me that he had my other two men captive and that he would kill them if I didn't marry him.  He had his guards take me back to my room for the night."

         Drace saw a tear trickle down her cheek.

         "Vamissa let me loose and gave me a horse," she said. "I rode for it, out of his town, and into the mountains.  My horse broke her leg the first day and I've been on foot ever since.  If Greddel catches me, he'll take me back to Saugin...."

         Her eyes wept freely now, silently pouring water across her white cheeks.

         Shabak grunted. "Saugin had more in mind than a new wife.  With you in his power, he would have had a great advantage over your father, and might have been able to get a substantial dowry."

         Ophila sobbed faintly. "Would...if I had married him, would I still be his wife, even if my father had rescued me?"

         Shabak shook his head. "The All-Father does not honor such marriages.  The question is whether your father would have been able to redeem you at all—if Saugin had simply threatened to slit your throat, or to torture you, your father would have been helpless."

         She shivered again.  Drace hesitated for a moment, then patted her gently on the back.  "You've nothing to fear with Shabak and me."

         She nodded. "I know."

         Suddenly, Shabak stopped.  "Silence," he growled.

         Drace stared at his back for a long moment. "Why?"

         Shabak unslung his heavy mace from his belt and slipped the cover off its steel head.  "Stay quiet," Drace whispered to Ophila.  Then he drew his own sword.

         Shabak looked back and signaled for him to stay with the girl.  Drace frowned.  Sometimes, it seemed as though Shabak didn't trust his swordsmanship, although the kabrisk had trained him himself.

         Shabak crouched down against the ground and crept away into the woods.  Drace quickly lost sight of him.  He pulled Ophila over to a nearby tree, to have his back protected, and turned her so that she was shielded by his body.

         A throaty kabrisk roar shattered the silence of the forest, followed by the whine of clashing steel and a human scream.  Drace jumped, but Ophila didn't make a sound.  Pounding footsteps rushed towards them from within the trees.  Drace moved to intercept—the stride didn't sound like Shabak's.

         A bearded man carrying a red shield and a hand-axe rushed out from around a tree.  He didn't pause even when his eyes made contact with Drace's.  The axe came back and swept in at the boy's belly.  Drace back-stepped out of reach and brought his sword up in time to block the axe as it came up in a smooth curve at his neck.  The hand-axe was a lighter and faster weapon than Drace's sword, but its course was easier to predict.  Drace caught the axe blade on his sword, pushed it back, and pressed his body against that of the swordsman.  Before the man could react, Drace kneed him in the groin.  A thrust to the throat killed him a second after he dropped the ground with a gasp of pain.

         Shabak emerged from the trees as Drace stood up from wiping the blood off his sword. "You only saw one?" the kabrisk asked.

         "Yes, and I killed him."

         "Then we need to move.  Quickly."

         Drace sheathed his sword and smiled. "Why?  I heard you crushing at least one skull back there."

         "There were three men, and one escaped."

         "How could he escape you?" Drace said, smile fading to a frown.

         "I'm not omnipotent," Shabak said. "And I doubt we'd be able to track him down before he reports to his captain."

         The three moved off into the woods.  Drace and Ophila struggled to keep up with Shabak's pace.

         Rudderford stood tall above the woodlands, but the journey around it would have lost valuable time, and the eastern shoulder was not impossibly rough.  Thunder rumbled above as the three began their ascent.  Shabak frowned, but continued up the rough talus that spread like a skirt around the mountain's base.

         Drace stayed by Ophila, helping her climb.  They exchanged a few words, and Ophila often pointed out a path which had escaped Drace.  When he made jokes, even poor ones, she smiled, and those smiles made her face even more beautiful.  She was prettier than any girl in Stamfir.

         They had ascended perhaps a hundred feet when rain splashed down in heavy curtain.  Drace swept his cloak off and spread it over Ophila's shoulders before her dress could be soaked, and they continued climbing.  Lightning tore the sky and was reflected by the wet rocks.

         Shabak appeared in front of them, hunched on a flat rock like a gargoyle.  His black eyes flashed in the light of another thunderbolt. "We must stop.  The rocks grow steeper ahead, and this rain makes them too slick for climbing."

         "And do you want us to stop and pick flowers on the other side of these rocks?" Drace asked.

         Shabak frowned. "Now is not the time for impudence.  Getting a few miles on Saugin's men isn't worth smashing our brains out in a fall."

         "I've been climbing the rocks on Talon Point all my life, and they're never dry.  You should know that," Drace snapped back.

         "But she hasn't," answered Shabak, nodding to the girl.

         Drace opened his mouth to say something, but Ophila said, "Please, Drace, I trust your father.  Listen to what he says."

         Drace met her gaze. "I won't see you violated by those dogs," he whispered.

         Then, without another glance at Shabak, he continued climbing, pulling himself up over a boulder the size of a catapult stone.

         "Drace," Shabak said, his voice firm, "We will wait out the worst of the rain."

         "Come, Ophila," Drace called back. "The sooner we get over these rocks, the sooner you'll be safe in your father's stronghold."

         He heard a growl from Shabak but didn't turn his head.  His tunic and hair were soaked and the rocks had grown cold with the water, but he stood up on the boulder and reached for a handhold that would bring him further up.  Shabak's heavy footsteps sounded beside him.  He wrapped his hand around the edge of a rock slab and began to scramble up.

         Shabak clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Drace.  Stop."

         "Get away from me!" Drace snarled.

         He kicked Shabak hard in the chest with his dangling leg.  The kabrisk let out a bark of surprise, and a moment later Drace heard the crack of his father's exoskeleton hitting rock.  He dropped down and turned, feeling a jolt of horror.

         Shabak had lost his balance.  He teetered on the edge of a drop-off for a moment, scrabbling for a handhold, but the rock was too slick.  He fell with a roar.  Only a second passed before Drace heard a nauseating crunch from below.

         A lightning bolt split the sky, and by its light Drace saw Shabak at the base of the twelve-foot drop-off in the talus.  The kabrisk twitched faintly and groaned.  Drace could see dark blood mixing with the rain on the rocks around him.

         "Father!" he shouted.

         Shabak didn't respond.

         Drace scrambled down the rocks, scraping his hands bloody on the rough stones. Ophila came after him, eyes wide with horror.

         He knelt by Shabak's side.  The kabrisk twitched and moaned.  There was so much blood—thick, dark liquid that stuck to the rocks despite the rain.  Drace knew a good deal of field medicine.  The first thing was to locate the wounds.  He probed his father's carapace with hands that trembled from more than cold.  Shabak's pack had cushioned his torso, but his head rested on stone.

         To Drace's horror, he found that a stone had gouged a ragged hole in the carapace around Shabak's skull.  He gently reached his fingers in through the flowing blood.  If he felt brain, his father was dead.

         No.  The skull beneath Shabak's exoskeleton remained intact.  Drace felt along its smooth surface.  A crack split the bone. 

         Drace felt a warm touch on his shoulder.  "Is he alive?" asked Ophila, softly.

         Drace bent his face to the kabrisk's mouth and felt warm air gust between Shabak's fangs.

         "Yes," he said, "But he's badly wounded."

         Ophila squeezed his shoulder harder.  "There's an alcove.  The three of us might fit."

         Drace looked up.  Several feet above, an overhang of jagged rock sheltered a patch of smooth rock from the wind and rain.

         Shabak stood over a head shorter than Drace, but he had the heft of stone.  Only with Ophila's help did Drace heave him to shelter, careful not to abrade his wounds against the rock.  Shabak's body left a trail of blood from the wound on his head and other injuries on his shoulders and arms.

         Once out of the pounding rain, Drace removed his mail and the thick tunic beneath it, leaving only his loincloth.  He placed the tunic beneath Shabak's head to staunch the flow of blood.  Ophila offered both their cloaks, and Drace used his—the heavier of them—to cover Shabak and set the other aside for bandages.

         His pack contained a few blocks of compacted peat for fire when wood grew scarce.  He stacked them together and lit them with sparks from his sword.  The peat crackled into flame, and by its light, Drace bandaged his father.  Ophila sat with her back against the stone, shivering and watching Drace's work.

         Drace poured ale down Shabak's throat, then offered strips of crabmeat and a chunk of thick bread to Ophila.  His own stomach ached too much for food.  If not for Drace's careless anger, Shabak would be unharmed.

         Together, they sat in the warmth of the fire and waited out the storm, with Shabak's feeble breathing a constant reminder of their misfortune.

         Drace opened his eyes as realized that, sometime during the night, sleep had come to him like a thief and stolen some of his exhaustion.  He saw that Shabak's eyes were also open, and that the kabrisk's breathing had strengthened.

         "Drace," whispered Shabak.

         The boy crouched by his side.  Shabak coughed, then winced.  Drace didn't like to imagine how much his head hurt. "How long has it been?" the kabrisk asked.

         Outside the cave, light was showing through a faint mist of water. "Early morning, I think."

         The kabrisk grunted. "Is the girl all right?"

         Drace glanced back.  Ophila slept quietly. "I gave her some food last night," he said.

         "Get me some too," growled Shabak. "I'll need it if I'm to go anywhere."

         Drace fed him crabmeat and cheese in small chunks, which he swallowed whole.  "Wake her," Shabak said. "I'll walk."

         "We'll make quite a parade, won't we?  A cripple, a girl, and a fool.  You can't walk, Shabak.  We'll just have to hope Saugin's men are blind."

         "I can walk.  Wake the girl."

         Drace didn't argue further.  His gut still knotted when he thought of his anger last night.

         He shook Ophila's shoulder gently. "We're moving on," he whispered.

         She came awake instantly and saw Shabak awake and moving.  A smile lit her face.  "Good morning," Shabak rumbled, then said to Drace, "Help me up."

         Drace took Shabak's hand and began to pull him up, keeping his other arm free to catch the kabrisk if he fell.  There was just enough room for Shabak to stand beneath the overhang.

         To Drace's surprise, his father stayed on his feet without support.  Shabak growled and clutched his forehead. "You gave me quite a fall, boy," he growled. "There must be a few rocks left in my head."

         "I'm sorry, father," Drace whispered.

         "You'll be sorrier," Shabak growled. "I would beat you, but that wouldn't help us now."

         Shabak stepped into the cold sunlight of the morning, leaving his pack on the floor of the cave.  Drace had already emptied it of everything important and given a few things to Ophila.

         Drace felt a soft touch on his arm. "Don't worry.  Your father is strong.  I can see that his reputation and that of his people is well earned."

         "I know that," said Drace. "But even he's not invincible—he'll be a cripple for weeks."

         "I trust you, Drace," she said.

         No girl had ever said anything like that to him.  Drace felt an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth in his gut that almost made him forget his guilt.  He wished he could have spent the rest of the day talking with her, looking into her eyes.

         He put his tunic, still soaked with kabrisk blood, back on, then put his mail over that.  Then he shouldered his pack and stepped out into the sunlight.  The rocks were still damp, but the dangerous slickness had faded in the cold wind of the dawn.  They had made good time the previous day—only a few hundred feet separated them from the summit of the talus pile.

         Then he spotted specks of red moving at the foot of the rocks, just beyond the shelter of the trees.  The crimson shields of Saugin's men.

         Ophila saw them too.  "I'll help your father," she said. "Scout for us and help at the worst spots."

         They began to scramble up the mountain, certainly visible to the soldiers below.  Drace felt hard determination push his guilt and his growing affection for Ophila out of his mind.  Now was the time for strength.

         They crested the peak of Rudderfold's shoulder and descended to the forested valley on the other side.  Drace saw how bad Shabak's wounds were—often, the kabrisk stopped and clenched his head against the pain, or almost collapsed when the injuries in his legs were stretched.  Even with Ophila and Drace helping him, there was pain in every movement.

         Saugin's men gained ground.  Sometimes they shouted out to their prey, and Ophila shivered at the things she heard in their rough voices.  Every coarse word made Drace want to turn back and cut their tongues out.

         They reached the woods an hour past noon, and there, Drace cut a walking stick from a tough old maple tree.  With Ophila supporting him on one side and the staff on the other, Shabak was able to keep up with his son.  Drace even heard him speaking to Ophila, as a distraction from the pain.  Once, after a few minutes in the woods, Drace caught a trickle of blood flowing down over Shabak's back from the wound in his head.  He stopped his father, smeared a new layer of salve around the edges of the weeping cut, and gave him a fresh bandage.

         The red shields entered the woods and continued their pursuit.  When Drace put his ear to the ground, he could hear their footsteps pounding behind, gaining distance with every second that passed.

         As they reached the foot of the Krafting Pass, Drace saw that Ophila's dainty shoes were hanging from her feet in bloody shreds.  "Take mine," he said, removing his boots.

         "You need them, don't you?" she asked.

         "I walk on the rocks of Talon Point without them.  My feet are like barnacles themselves."

         Shabak grunted something incoherent.  As she put the boots on, she gave Drace a smile that would make him forget every sharp rock that gouged his bare feet.

         Another trickle of blood flowed down Shabak's back.  When Drace moved to wipe it away, Shabak held up a hand and moved his pincer over the wound.  "No.  I can walk."

         "Certainly.  But will you die on your feet?"

         "Drace, this is no time for argument.  I've lived through worse wounds.  After Masmok Hill, the surgeons could see my heart beating through broken ribs."

         "You were younger in those days," answered Drace.

         "Not much younger."

         High walls of stone rose on either side of Krafting Pass' more navigable slope, which included a narrow footpath with more twists than a centipede.  Drace heard the sounds of pursuit in the forest behind him as he began his ascent.  The gray sky had begun to darken.

         Matters became even worse when, a few feet up the stony paths Ophila collapsed and nearly pulled Shabak down with her.  The kabrisk reeled but caught himself on a boulder.

         Drace dropped into a crouch at her side and offered his hand. "Are you all right?"

         "Yes," she said allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

         "And I'm a bird," said Drace sardonically. "I'll have no trouble flying over these rocks."

         "I can make it," she said firmly.

         "Not without a rest that we can't afford."

         Drace crouched down with his back towards her. "Get on."

         "What?"

         "I'll carry you."

         A moment later, Drace felt her arms slip around his neck and her warm weight settle over his pack. "Just until I'm rested enough to walk," she said.

         Drace walked beside Shabak now, carrying the girl as the old kabrisk staggered forward on his stick, face locked in a perpetual wince.  Neither of them spoke.  Ophila clung to Drace like a crab to its rock.  Her hold tightened when the first of Saugin's men emerged from the woods below and bellowed a ribald challenge up to them.  Drace glanced back—the space separating them was no more than two hundred feet—and saw a huge man with long black hair and a massive sword.  A cleft split halfway through his crimson shield.

         "That's Greddel," whispered Ophila, voice horse, "I'd sooner kill myself than be in his possession for an hour."

         "He won't take you," Drace growled.

         Shabak stopped suddenly and turned around.  Drace kept moving.  The kabrisk looked down for a moment, then said, "They're going to catch up with us within minutes.  Those men are strong, well fed, and determined."

         "Keep walking," Drace growled. "You can't fight."

         A deeply sorrowful expression knotted Shabak's face. "I know."

         His deep black eyes turned up to Ophila. "I'm sorry, girl.  My son and I have failed you.  I can only beg you never to kill yourself, no matter what afflicts you.  The All-Father smiles on the suffering."

         Drace felt her shiver on his back.  He looked back at the red shields rushing ever closer to him, still visible in the dying light.  Shabak was right.  The jingle of their mail and the rattle of their scabbards had grown loud enough to reach Drace's ears.  He could imagine what was passing through their heads—the rewards they would be given by their lord, the thrill of slaughtering a kabrisk, and perhaps even what they planned to do with Ophila before delivering her to Saugin.  Drace bit his tongue.  That was too horrible to consider.

         Ophila didn't deserve this cruelty.  Curse Saugin to the Abyss for bringing it upon her.  She deserved a comfortable home and a husband who loved her.  An image flashed through Drace's mind of himself coming to her father, wearing his best clothing, and asking him for her hand....  Grimstel respected Shabak.  Would he want Drace for a son-in-law?  Would Ophila want him for a husband?

         "Ophila," Drace said, "can you walk now?"

         Rather than answer, she removed her arms from his neck and dropped to the ground.  Drace met her curious gaze and said, briskly, "My father's right.  We can't outdistance them.  That's why I'm going to fight them."

         "Alone?" asked Shabak, hunched over his stick.

         "I have my bow and my sword.  Can you lead Ophila yourself?"

         Shabak smiled wearily. "Drace, do you remember when I freed Ard Oddorin from Black Bran's dungeons?  You were ten years old then, and when I left you with that farmer, you asked if I could really kill Bran's soldiers.  I brought you back one of their helmets."

         Despite the burdens that crushed him, Drace smiled.  He still had that helmet in his room on Talon Point.

         Ophila paled. "They'll kill you, Drace."

         "Better that I should die than all of us.  I might be able to keep them back long enough for you to get over the pass."

         Shabak nodded, winced, and asked Ophila, "There is a guard post at the foot of the pass, isn't there?"

         She nodded.

         Shabak glanced at Drace, then back at her. "My son is a warrior, girl.  I'm glad to put my life in his hands.  Darkness is coming, and he might well be able to evade Saugin's men after slowing them."

         Those words were aimed as much at Drace as at Ophila.

         "We can't afford more delay," said Drace.

         He clambered up onto a smooth boulder with a good view of the winding path that the soldiers were using.  He set his pack down, took his short bow off the back of it, and strung it despite his aching limbs.  He also withdrew a quiver containing sixteen steel-tipped arrows flighted with seagull primaries. Three arrows went on the rock at his side, and Drace slung the others over his back.

         He looked back to his father. "Go."

         For a few moments, all sign of pain left Shabak's expression.  He met Drace's eyes and gave his son a slow nod that turned into a bow.  Then the kabrisk began to march steadily up the path, and Ophila followed. "You'll always be welcome at my father's hold!" she called back.

         Drace smiled at her for a moment before returning his attention to the red shields below.  They neared with every second.  Drace nocked one arrow to his ash bow and drew it, sighting for a lean man using his spear as a walking stick.  He loosed the shaft.  A moment later, the white fletches appeared just above the man's collarbone.  A good shot.

         The other soldiers saw their comrade fall, and when Drace released his next arrow, it struck only rock.  Saugin's men came on more slowly now, staying concealed behind boulders and jagged stones.  Drace nocked another arrow and waited for a clear target.

         He found himself oddly calm.  Fear should have filled him—his death was more than likely, with over a dozen trained soldiers assaulting him—but Shabak and Ophila would have a chance to reach safety.  That thought filled Drace's mind.

         Drace loosed his arrow.  It punched through mail and dropped another soldier.

         Something clashed against the rock a hand's breadth away, and Drace jumped to see the shards of a broken arrow fall away.  Some of those men had bows, and his position was dangerously exposed to their missiles.

         He shot the enemy archer as the man stood for another try.  Until they got closer, he had to keep them moving slowly.  Shabak and Ophila needed every scrap of time he could give them.

         The soldiers came on cautiously.  Drace fought to stay alert, bow half-drawn.  Wind licked his shoulders with tongues of frost, and for a moment, the thought of a warm fire filled his mind, and a chair with cushions, perhaps a warm tankard of mead, and Ophila at his side....

         Saugin's men gained ground foot by foot, intent on their prey despite Drace's arrows.  Every minute sapped more light away, and soon Drace couldn't distinguish the boundaries between slabs of rock.  He shot arrows whenever he saw traces of movement.  An arrow slashed past his face as Saugin's men approached yet closer.  He dropped into cover then, tucked his bow and few remaining arrows into a niche, and drew his sword.  He wished fervently for the shield he had left in his room on Talon Point, but filled his left hand with a hand-axe instead.  Then he crept away from rock and took up a position between two boulders ten feet away.  The sounds of labored breathing and weary footsteps grew closer.

         "Damn," growled one man. "Where's the lad gone?"

         "Can't be far.  Let's find him and see how he likes a spear through his guts."

         "Shut your mouths," said a voice that rumbled like an earthquake. "We want the girl."

         A dark figure capped with a steel helmet walked into Drace's view.  Drace ran in a crouch, as Shabak had taught him, and pounced upon the soldier.  The man parried his sword, but Drace's axe hacked into his spine.  The soldier toppled with little more than a gurgle.

         "Come to me, dogs!" Drace shouted. "Come to Drace Shabakson!"

         The first attacker heralded himself with a bestial howl as he came running across the rocks, spear leveled at Drace's gut.  Drace stepped around the thrust and swung his axe and sword in a crosscut at the man's breastbone.  The man swung a red-painted buckler up, managing to turn the axe, but Drace's sword sliced into him.

         The soldiers were spread out—Drace had more than enough time to prepare himself for the next swordsman.  Once, twice their swords clashed, and the man's hauberk absorbed a chop from Drace's axe.  The soldier's sword rebounded from his mailed shoulder a moment later, but the force of the blow made Drace stumble backwards.  He transformed the motion into a quick retreat, swung over a boulder, and shouted into the dark, "Miserable snakes!  Can't fight one boy?"

         Pain flared on Drace's left arm—a near shave from an arrow.  He sighted the bowman, perched on a rock fifteen or twenty feet away, and hurled his axe.  The man wore no armor, and although Drace couldn't tell whether the blade hit, the axe was enough to knock the archer down.

         Drace's head was nearly taken off by a sword stroke that came unannounced from above.  He saw the sword's flash and got his own blade up just in time to deflect the blow over his head.  Even so, the shock of the clash rattled him.

         Drace spun to face this new attacker, smoothly rotating his sword into a defensive position.  The second blow came fast and hard, driving for Drace's throat without flourish.  The impact numbed his hands as he deflected it.

         "Where's your lady?" snarled the massive shape looming before Drace.  White eyes glistened above a cloud of darkness that could only be Greddel's beard.

         Here was an opponent who would have challenged even Shabak.  Drace parried another blow, but Greddel possessed titanic strength, and Drace was too stunned to prepare any counter-attack.  He tried to escape downslope, perhaps fight his way through the soldiers in that direction, but Greddel steered him back against a tall slab of rock with slashes like the nips of a sheep dog.

         "You're good for a boy, Drace Shabakson."

         Another thrust, barely avoided. "I've got to respect you for that."

         Drace's arm went numb as he blocked Greddel's next slash.  He felt the man's blade slice through his mail shirt and cut into his ribs a moment later.  Pain tore across him like the wind of a winter gale.

         Drace threw himself forward and hit Greddel's legs with all his weight.  The move was unexpected—he felt the man's knees buckle.  Despite the pain in his chest, Drace rolled away across the hard stone and scrambled up onto all fours.  His sword had fallen from his grip and he felt his blood on the stone beneath his hands.  He tumbled down onto another chunk of rock, scraping his knees, and rolled.  Agony clouded his mind.  Now, he thought he heard a thundering noise like surf on the rocks of Talon Point.

         "Come back here, boy!" roared Greddel's voice.

         Drace scrambled forward and felt himself fall again.  His head struck a rock.  Now, he heard many voices shouting, and the thundering was louder—what was that screeching?  Swords clashed against each other.  Drace thought he heard Greddel roar.

         Torchlight fell across Drace's face, blinding after the darkness.  "What's the name, boy?"

         "Drace," he gasped, automatically.

         "Ah, he's the one," said the man with the torch. "Help me get a wrapping around that wound."

         Drace passed out seconds later as pain raged anew in his chest and head.

         He woke on horseback with cool night wind blowing across his face, but fell asleep seconds later.

         When he opened his eyes again, he lay on a straw mattress with sunshine glaring in his eyes.  A wool blanket covered him, and the warmth enfolded him so comfortably that it was a long time before he looked around.

         He turned his head to the side to see another bed, separated from him by a crude wooden table, with Shabak lying in it.  Fresh white bandages were knotted around the kabrisk's head.

         "Father?" Drace said.

         "I'm awake," Shabak answered. "And we're in Grimstel's castle, servant's quarters.  The Lord is a good man, but I suppose we don't rate his more lavish guest quarters."

         Drace frowned. "Do you know how I got here?"

         "I was asleep, but I'd assume it was Grimstel's riders.  The girl and I encountered them on the other side of the pass, just about to depart on a search for her, and sent them to retrieve you.  Ophila insisted on that.  And I'm glad to see you alive, although I see that you've gained fresh scars."

         Drace swallowed.  His throat felt as though it was lined with crab shell.

         "Is there anything to drink?"

         "The servant brought ale in earlier, but they took it away after I drunk my fill.  I tried to convince her to leave some for you, but she proved stingy."

         Shabak smiled at Drace's expression. "She'll be back eventually."

         Drace sighed and put his head back on the flannel covered pillow.  Thoughts of Ophila filled his mind as he drifted off to sleep again.

         On the third day, Drace demanded clean clothes from the hawk-eyed nurse, and she grudgingly returned with a plain gray tunic and leggings.  Once dressed, Drace asked where he might find Ophila.

         "I hardly think she'd want to meet with a peasant boy," the servant answered.

         "Don't you know who he is?" growled Drace, stabbing a finger at Shabak.

         The servant frowned. "A kabrisk.  What of it?  I've seen their kind before."

         "He's the Stone of Masmok Hill!"

         "He might be and he might not.  But who are you?"

         "Someone Ophila would want to speak with.  If you haven't been told, I saved her life.  Ask her if you doubt me."

         "By the Granite Throne, woman," said Shabak. "Take the boy to her.  She visited him once already when the soldiers brought him in."

         "Did she now?" asked the woman, arching her eyebrows.

         She glared at Drace, but relented. "Very well.  You could use a bath, but at least they burned those bloody rags of yours."

         Drace's chest wound still hurt, but that pain paled in comparison to the agony that twisted his gut.  Ophila had come to visit him—good.  But did they have anything to say to each other?  She wasn't much older than he, and she had smiled at him often enough.

         The servant led him to a courtyard within the castle's inner wall.  Small trees and shrubs, bare due to the lateness of the season, lay speckled around an expanse of brown grass.  Still, it was beautiful to Drace—Ophila sat on a wooden bench set back against the wall of the keep, black hair shimmering in the morning sunlight.  She wore a frock of pale blue with a silver band encircling her hair.

         But there was a man sitting by her.  A young man, wearing the clothes of a nobleman, with his arm around her waist.  Ophila leaned her head towards him.

         The servant grunted. "Ah, she's with him.  Come now, boy, she'll have no time for you now."

         Drace almost allowed himself to be led away, back to his bed and to Shabak.  They would both be well enough to travel in another few days, a week perhaps.

         But instead, he stepped forward into the sunlight and called, "Ophila!"

         She looked up, and a smile showed on her face that rivaled the sun for warmth. "Drace!  Are you well?"

         Drace's legs moved by themselves. "Considering that Greddel nearly cut my heart open, yes."

         She and her companion both stood.  She glanced at him, and then, still smiling, said, "Drace, this is Rodric Karstad, my betrothed."

         Drace felt hot bile in his throat, but he stretched his lips into the most honest smile he could manage.  Rodric, firm-chinned and chestnut-haired, clasped Drace's hand warmly. "My lady has told me about you.  I commend you for your courage, Drace, and for your good fortune in parentage."

         Good fortune?  With another father, a human and a lord, girls would fight each other for the privilege of marrying him.  But a ragged savage, the adopted son of a kabrisk?

         Drace bowed stiffly.  "I should rest.  My wounds are still sore, and I wouldn't want to interrupt you," he said, fighting the urge to growl.

         Then he turned and walked back to where the servant waited, a frown carved into her lined face.

         Ophila caught up with him halfway across the courtyard.  He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned.  Rodric waited back at the bench, watching with a faint frown of his own.

         Her face was serious now.  "Please don't think me ungrateful.  But for you I'd be dead, or perhaps worse.  Tell me if there's anything I can do for you, please."

         For a moment, Drace considered seizing her and pressing his lips to hers.  But, instead, he bowed and said, "No reward.  Any honorable man would have done the same."

         She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him gently on the cheek.  The servant gasped.  "You will always be welcome here."

         Then she returned to Rodric, who didn't look pleased.  Drace allowed himself to be led away by the grim servant.  When Shabak greeted him, he only walked to his bed, fell on it, and lay silent until the sun set beyond the hills.

         They remained in the castle for another week.  Drace saw Ophila twice more, but they exchanged only pleasantries, and Rodric hovered at her shoulder constantly.

         Grimstel met with them for a few minutes and thanked them in his own gruff manner.  He replaced Drace's lost weapons with ones more than their equal, and also provided both of them with food, a sackful of the finest coal, and a pair of excellent stallions.  Shabak refused any gold or silver—he wasn't a mercenary.  He did, however, offer advice to Grimstel for his impending assault on Lord Saugin's land.

         The clouds returned, and a faint drizzle filled the air as Shabak and Drace set off through the mountains several days after they should have been home on Talon Point.  Drace rode with his head down, one hand holding his reins and the other gripping the hilt of his new sword so hard his knuckles turned white.

         "Something troubles you," said Shabak once the castle was out of sight.

         "You haven't noticed until now?"

         "I have.  She's a fine girl, Drace, but she has a man already."

         "Shut your mouth," Drace snarled.

         "Drace!  Show respect," said Shabak, gently cuffing the boy on the head with his pincer.

         They rode on in silence for seconds that stretched into minutes.  Then, as softly as his kabrisk voice would allow, Shabak said, "You have great courage, Drace.  You are becoming a good man."

         Drace shook his head. "I lost my temper and pushed you.  We wouldn't have had so much trouble if not for that."

         "Does that worry you?  You've paid for it in blood, and I forgave you before my head struck the rocks."

         Shabak sighed and shook the damp off his head. "I know that you will find a girl you love who loves you in return, someday, and then you will leave Talon Point and go to live with her.  I've known it since I first held you in my arms and gave you milk from the bottle.  Wherever that path leads you, Drace, know that I will always be your father, and I will always love you as my son and, one day, your wife as my daughter."

         Drace felt a warm tear roll down his face, but he made no move to wipe it away.

         Shabak cleared his throat. "Now, then, we'll have to take a longer route to circumvent Saugin's lands.  Grimstel offered me a place in his army, but he doesn't need my help, and I'd prefer to leave the matter alone.  The crabs on Talon Point will grow complacent if I stay away too long."

         Together, father and son, the two rode off towards their home.

 

 

Copyright 2006, Sean T. M. Stiennon

Sean T. M. Stiennon is a student in Madison, Wisconsin.  Previously, his writing has been published in Deep Magic, Amazing Journeys Magazine, and The Sword Review, and he recently won second place in the 2004 SFReader.com Short Story Contest.  His short story collection Six with Flinteye is out from Silver Lake Publishing, and his heroic fantasy has been published in the anthology Sages and Swords and is upcoming in Lords of Swords II from the same company, Pitch-Black Books.  For more information, visit his author page at < www.sfreader.com/authors/seanstiennon >.

 

 

 

Cover: "Discover" 

Copyright 2006, Teresa Tunaley

Originating from the UK but now residing in the Canary Islands, freelance artist Teresa Tunaley finds more time to devote to her love of art and painting. For years she has been doodling traditionally with pencils and dabbling with watercolors. More recently she uses a more modern technique and creates with her electronic tablet and pen in software such as PhotoShop, Corel Draw, and Paint Shop Pro.

Along with published stories and poetry, she can be credited with award-winning cover art and illustrations for author stories. Her work can be seen online and in print across the UK, US, Canada, Denmark and Europe.

"I like to think that I am very versatile in my choice of subject matter – my new surroundings provide the inspiration for me to paint on a daily basis and the fact that others may enjoy my work gives me the confidence to continue."