Strife & Valor: Book II of The Rorke Burningsoul Saga by Regina Watts (red queen ebook .TXT) 📕

in the distance and earned the attention of the first. With a flapping that whipped up a miniature gale, the bird upon Hildolfr’s shoulder rocketed into the air and flew to find its cohort. I let it go without looking away from my opponent, saying only, “I can’t stand here chatting all night, Hildolfr. There’s a madwoman about—”

“Gundrygia fears the very sight of me. She’ll be nowhere near here while my birds are about.”

“You always were very coy about your animal companion.”

“I was forthright…when you asked me about them, I told you they were out in the world, off doing my business for me. And they were.”

“I hope for their sake that they are talented fighters enough to survive Gundrygia’s magic. What business do you have knowing that baleful woman’s name?”

“What business do you have knowing that baleful woman?”

While I scoffed, somewhat shocked to be evidently reproached for something this man had neither business nor manner of learning, Hildolfr’s stoic lips turned up in a crooked smirk. It was a fond, grandfatherly expression that at that moment enraged me for what I perceived as mocking intent.

“You do remind me of myself, Rorke…when I look at you, I remember what it was to be young. Sometimes I even long for it again, but I admit that my spirit is more peaceful without the young man’s pursuits.”

“What would you know of me, Hildolfr? The past weeks have seen me so changed that I hardly know myself.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to understand that.”

My jaw tight, I brandished Strife and assured him, “Since you understand so much about me and my journey, perhaps you’ll manage to make me understand what drove you to such perverse lengths as absconding with the Scepter of Weltyr.”

“The Scepter is mine.”

“It is the All-Father’s property. It belongs in his house.”

“It belongs in whomever’s hands he sets it in, Burningsoul. For years, it has been trading owners. Awaiting a worthy champion of Weltyr.”

“It awaits its chance to return home to the Temple. You think you know the highest divine will?”

“No,” said Hildolfr quickly. “Not even I know those cold machinations without assistance. There are magics so deep and experiences so profound not even the most educated and ancient magician could experience them and live.”

I shook my head. “At least you’re not completely mad. Grimalkin said you were changed when the Scepter came into your hand…I didn’t want to believe it, but this conversation has given me the sense that he might be right.”

“Careful, boy.” Rising from his perch with his lance in one hand and his good eye upon me, Hildolfr advised, “You know I abide much, but such consistent disrespect is not something I will tolerate.”

“Then prepare to yield the Scepter.”

Strife’s blade gleamed in the light as I charged forward.

“Rorke—”

I had seen Hildolfr’s speed in battle, but I had not been faced with it myself. The lance seemed to jump up in his hand. With a grace that was truly second nature, Hildolfr bounced my blows aside and left me wondering what enchantment had been woven over the tight-lipped man’s weapon. Runes glowed around the shaft when it was in the midst of battle, but, as with many things, Hildolfr had always managed to change the subject when I inquired about it. He was as crafty with the dagger of his tongue as he was with the point of his spear, and while our weapons clashed, each glance of Strife reverberated through the quarry rocks and off into the distance.

“Give it up, Rorke,” said Hildolfr. “I didn’t come here to harm you, and I won’t—but what will happen instead will seem almost worse to you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, old man,” I told him, shifting away and swinging Strife in an arc against my opponent.

Hildolfr raised his lance to block the blow.

The top half of Strife glanced away, jarring my hands with the new and lighter weight they gripped.

Like that, I wielded only half my sword.

My stomach turned itself inside out. An infinite number of thoughts flew through my mind—the future duel, the ominous nature of such a sign, the immediate threat to my life in the context of this conflict. But, most of all, the teachings of my Church reared up to my consciousness and shook me from my naive slumber.

The enchantments fused into the metal of the blade were prayers so powerful that they could only be broken by Weltyr.

I could not admit it. It was too much to see him. If I had believed it fully while I stood there, I would have gone mad—terribly mad. I would have shaken with fear as I did later on when I considered what had happened, and what had been happening for the entirety of my journey. For the entirety of my life.

Feeling as if my own numb heart had been struck in two, I regarded the shattered edge of Strife’s blade as though from a distance, then tried looking up into Hildolfr’s face.

I could not make myself.

Slowly, silently, I genuflected upon the ground, first to lower the broken blade and then to clasp my hands together.

“I am so sorry,” I said softly.

“To whom do you owe your fealty?”

My heart hammered in my chest. Face flushed, I knelt there, frozen. Was this how the mouse felt before the cat? I closed my right hand into a fist to place it over my heart. How wet my palm felt with sweat! “To Weltyr, and Weltyr only—Weltyr above all the most coveted material bribes that Urde could dare offer me.”

“Your loyalty’s not to the Church? To the Order?”

Given pause, I searched for a trap. I glanced up into his face but found that I could not ever again directly behold the eye that was once so friendly to me. Fear filled me to even gaze near it. I had never known myself to be a coward, but I suppose now that only the greatest of fools would persist in bravado when faced with the truth that admonished me then. Glancing down