Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

“Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry. What makes you say I’m angry?” Raithe jerked the mouth of the bag closed by pulling on the drawstring so hard that it broke. He looked at the torn bit of leather in his hand and frowned. “I just…” He sighed. “I was trying to save her life. There’s no winning against the Fhrey, and she won’t listen to reason. Everyone here is going to die.”

He looked at the boy. “Sorry, kid, but it’s true. Persephone believes determination is all that’s required. That’s the difference between Rhen and Dureyan thinking.” Raithe toggled his finger back and forth between himself and the boy. “We know better. Believing in something isn’t enough, and luck is never on your side. The only luck is bad luck. And while disasters happen all the time, there’s no such thing as miracles. You wanna know why? It’s because the gods hate us, and they take every opportunity to prove it.”

“So you’re just going to leave?” Malcolm asked.

“That’s the plan.” Raithe hoisted the strap of the bag over his shoulder and adjusted it. “If you’re coming, grab your spear. You’re gonna need it. I suppose the kid can come too, as long as he doesn’t whine or anything.”

“You’re a coward,” the boy said.

He fixed the kid with a cold stare. “What’d you call me?”

If Persephone, or even Malcolm, had made the remark, Raithe would have ignored it, but the boy was Dureyan and knew the consequences of his words. In the parched desolation that was their shared homeland, there was no greater insult. Blood always followed that accusation. The kid knew that, and he held his knife at the ready.

“Your mouth is making promises your body can’t keep, boy.”

The other Dureyan didn’t back down. He rose on the balls of his feet and shifted his right foot back slightly. He knew how to fight—not unusual for a Dureyan. Such an education came right along with walking and talking.

“You’re running from the Fhrey who killed our people. What else do you call that? I’m not a chieftain, and I don’t even have a sword, but I’m going to kill them,” the kid said in cold measure. “All of them. Every last one, just like they did to us. I owe that to my parents, to my clan. You do, too.”

“My people are dead and so are yours.”

“That’s right,” the kid said. “Don’t you hear ’em? How can you ignore their cries from the pits of Phyre? Are you that deaf?” The boy had the courage to take a step forward. “I watched them kill my father, and when my mother was weeping over his body, one of them…one of them…” He squeezed his lips together, and clamped his jaw for a moment, sucking air through his nose so that the nostrils flared with his short puffs. “I’m going to kill every last one.”

No tears, and the kid’s voice was steady.

Raithe smiled. Dureyans weren’t the smartest, or prettiest, and they certainly weren’t the richest, but his people were a breed above when it came to grit. They were the granite amid sandstone. Still, the kid was being stupid. “If you try to fight, they’ll kill you. You’ll be slaughtered like everyone else.”

The kid shook his head. “I’ll sneak up at night and—”

“Won’t help. Their pointed ears hear everything. You won’t catch them off guard. And they see much better than you do in the dark. And they’re more skilled in combat than any human.”

“Not you. You’re the God Killer.” He pointed at Malcolm. “That’s what he said.”

“I was lucky.”

“Only real luck is bad. You just said so.”

If nothing else, the boy paid attention. He was starting to like the kid.

“You could teach me,” the boy said. “Train me to kill Fhrey like you have.”

Raithe shook his head. “I’m leaving, and you seem to want to stick around for the war.”

“You have to train me.”

“I don’t have to do anything, not anymore.”

“The clan chieftain is responsible for teaching young men to fight. That’s Dureyan law.”

“I’m not the chieftain.” Raithe paused to think. “I never said I was the chieftain, did I?” He looked at Malcolm, who shrugged.

“Who is then?” the boy asked. “In the meeting tomorrow, who will speak for Dureya?”

“There is no Dureya.”

The look on the kid’s face was a potent mix of shock and disappointment. He pointed at Malcolm. “He told me you were the God Killer and that you could teach me.” He shook his head in disgust. “Only things I’ve learned are you run from a fight, ignore the cries of your clan, and break our laws.” The kid frowned. “Who knows. Maybe God Killer is an undeserved title, but I’m certain of one thing. You aren’t Dureyan.”

Raithe hated his people. They were vicious, crude, and cruel. Elan would be a finer place without Dureyans. Despite this, the kid’s words hurt. Raithe didn’t know why. It made as much sense as his father sacrificing his life for a copper sword.

Pride. The idea spilled in as he looked at the kid. How many boys his age could have lost their family—their whole village—and still challenge the God Killer. That took guts, stupidity too, but guts nonetheless. Where did that strength come from? Raithe was proud of the kid, and couldn’t help but feel pride in the clan who bore and raised someone like him. Dignity was the one gift his father—his people—had bestowed, and this boy was stripping it away. As foolish as it was, Raithe couldn’t deny such things still mattered. What good is surviving, if I have to give up everything I am to live?

The irony was so complete it stung.

Raithe picked up the broken copper sword. The moment he did, the kid shuffled back and lowered his crouch. Raithe shook his head. “Relax. I already lost this fight, and it wasn’t with you.” He looked at the copper, sighed, and then returned the blade to its place on his back.

“Where’d you find him?” Raithe asked Malcolm.

“Out in the field. He was watching a Galantian training session. He’s so thin that I was afraid he wouldn’t last the night. And seeing as how you and I are kinda misfits, I thought he’d feel right at home.”

“When was the last time you ate, kid?” Raithe asked.

The boy didn’t answer.

Raithe laughed. “You can remember everything I say, but you can’t remember the last time you ate. Either you’re being stubborn, or it’s been quite a while. I’m guessing both.”

“I have some leftover seed cake,” Malcolm said, and dug through the pile of supplies near the wall.

“Leftover?” Raithe asked.

“Meaning I didn’t finish it all.”

Raithe stared at the man, confounded. “Since when has that ever happened?”

“I lived a long time in a place without want, but being with you has made me pick up bad habits. I now save food for lean times.” Malcolm pulled out a thin cloth which was wrapped around torn chunks of the caraway-flavored cake. He held them out to the boy.

The kid didn’t move. He hardly breathed as he stared at Malcolm’s outstretched hand.

“Go on, take it,” Malcolm said.

“What for?” the boy asked.