A Cliff-top Duel
IV
Lessons of Strength
(Shard VI)
(Shard VI)
“Well, none of the other wolves are pregnant right now, and I’m certainly not capable.” She gestured to her chest and cocked her head to the side. “So, I, uh-” She stammered over her words and then took in a sharp inhalation. “I kind of stole it from the brodenskappf.”
Ylethus seemed to deflate after hearing the words. He held the pup in one hand and began to pinch at the bridge of his nose with the other. “You did what?”
“Oh, come on!” Ghelta pointed at the bottles on the table. “It’s leftover milk used for spoiled infants. I’m only going to take a bit each day until the pup can be weaned. That old hag broden-mother probably just tosses it out every day, anyway.”
Ylethus shook his head and continued to pinch his nose. “You’re stealing food from the gods-damned brodenskappf. That milk is specially treated for the infants who are sick or those who belong to important families. They put all kinds of concoctions and alchemical crap into that stuff. Some merchants even pay a high price to get a vial of it.”
Ghelta scrunched her face and took a step back at the words. She remained quiet and let her features dance with confusion. She didn't know if Ylethus was making up what he said or if he was actually telling the truth.
“I’m not lying, you little git.” He lowered his hand from his face and began to shake his head slowly. His beard ruffled and moved along with his large head. “If a member of the broden catches you stealing that milk, you’re done for. I don’t mean execution, that would be too merciful.” He took a pause and made sure he had Ghelta’s attention. “Far worse, my dear. You’d be expected to spend the next decade or two as a broden-nurse. Would you like to have mewling little bastards suckling on you all hours of the day? Would you enjoy having to wipe shit-smeared arses? Do you really want to go back to that place?”
Ghelta’s eyes went wide and her jaw went slack. The mere thought of having to become a broden-nurse was the closest thing she could think to real horror. She would rather be gutted alive on the fields of battle, or slowly ripped apart by a horde of blood-thirsty monsters. Anything but having to spend time being responsible for someone else’s children.
“I see the horror in your eyes. I think the consequences of this are sinking in, right?” Ylethus gave a sardonic grin and then lowered his eyes back to the pup. “I understand what you have to do to keep this little one alive.” He lifted the pup from the towels and held it up to examine the little creature. “She’s your responsibility now. All I can say, is-” He paused for a moment and looked back to Ghelta. “Don’t get caught.”
Ghelta gave a single nod from across the table and took a seat in one of the chairs. Ylethus noticed the little pup gumming some strands of his beard and handed the little fur-ball back to Ghelta. She took up the pup in both hands and held it against her chest.
“So, have you figured out a name for her, yet?” Ylethus turned away to grab two wooden bowls in his hand. He snatched up the spoon and doled out a heaping serving of stew into the first bowl. He flourished the spoon like a chef might, taking amusement in his skill. He handed the first bowl across the table to Ghelta and lifted his eyebrows to emphasize his question.
“I was thinking-” Ghelta held the pup up to her eye-level and smiled. “Khollta.”
“Queen of the Wolves.” Ylethus spooned out another heap of food into his own bowl and let the spoon fall back into the pot. He lifted a leg and straddled one of the chairs and lowered himself down to the table. “A fitting name, if a bit uninspired.” He glowered at Ghelta for a moment and then softened his features into a sincere smile.
Ghelta set the pup back into her tunic and snatched up her bowl, lifting it slowly to her lips. She watched Ylethus face for a moment as he continued to beam from across the table. He gave a nod to her and she slurped up some of her stew.
“It’s a good name.” He lifted his own bowl to his lips and let his nostrils flare as he breathed in the smell of stewed meat and vegetables. “A Wolf-Queen for a Warrior-Queen.” He chuckled and filled his mouth with food.
“—Just as I told you that you must temper your strength, you must also show it openly.” Ylethus let his heavy foot slide across the rocky cliff-side as he readied his attacking stance. He brought his great-sword up to his eye level and stared over the blade at Ghelta. “It is from our strength at arms that the members of our tribe gain their security.” He strained the boulder-sized muscles of his upper body as he pulled the guard of his sword past his face and then plunged it forward.
Ghelta barely moved her head out of the way of the thrusting sword. The blade tore through the air in the space between Ghelta’s neck and shoulder. She only had a moment to realize how close Ylethus had come to severing the artery in her neck. With a single downward swing, he could decapitate her easily. She struck his blade hard with the edge of her klaive, drawing the metal upward. She used the strength in her arms to keep the weighty blade far enough away that she might pull her head around it.
“We, as members of the Vhulkhovyr caste, are responsible for the safety of our tribe. We are the sword-arm and the blade that oftentimes must be sent to cast down those that would kill or rape our own people.” Ylethus pressed the blade down against Ghelta’s for a mere moment and then relented. He drew his blade up and allowed the momentum to build into another swing. “Ours is to live by the blade, to fall by the blade, and to ensure that others cannot cut down the people we love with their own. Each of us is expected to pay the ultimate sacrifice so that the innocent may live in peace.”
He let his hands slip from the hilt of his sword as the momentum kept it aloft in the air. He snatched up the hilt with a different stance and brought the immense blade downward towards Ghelta’s head. His eyes flared open and his froth began to build up from the corners of his howling mouth.
Ghelta could see the light of the twin suns glint off of the blade as it came plummeting down upon her. Her instincts were to freeze up from fear but her training took over and without thinking her muscles were working hard to keep her alive. She swiveled her feet below her and let herself fall forward towards Ylethus’ feet. As soon as she reached his boots she let go of her klaive and closed her eyes while splaying open her legs as far as they could stretch.
Thunder echoed throughout the cliffs as Ylethus’ blade struck and cleaved into the rock between Ghelta’s legs. Following the thunder of splitting rock was a swell of wind that washed up Ghelta’s back and made every inch of her flesh well with goosebumps. She took a moment to try and cleanse her mind of shock so that she might see if she was in pain from the blade sundering her flesh.
The moments dragged on but Ghelta couldn't feel any pain rising up to her consciousness. She looked over her shoulder quickly and noticed Ylethus’ sword buried halfway into the rock. The edge of the blade was no more than a hair’s width from her crotch. She gave a relieved sigh and looked up to Ylethus who continued to stand above her.
“Many naive scholars I have talked with over the years have all told me that the world would be a better place if we all lived in peace.” He continued his lesson, oblivious of almost cutting his adopted daughter in twain. “Such a sentiment is something worth wishing for but is not practical at all. As long as violence lives in the hearts of men we must use that threat of violence to hold greater depravities at bay.” He began to pull on his hilt to free his blade.
Ghelta snatched up her klaive from between Ylethus’ giant boots and pushed back until she could feel the edge of his blade against her rump. She coiled her legs around the sword as the giant warrior pulled his blade from the ground. Using Ylethus’ strength to lift her up, she lowered her right leg down the blade to notch the top of her right boot into the sword’s tip. She lifted up with the blade and was held aloft in front of Ylethus.
He lifted her to his eye level and continued his monologue. “A society bereft of those that are willing to die or kill to protect it and its values is a society that will fade away beneath conquering flames.” He narrowed his eyes at Ghelta and cocked his head to the side, seeing the odd position he found her in. “Those same scholars, if they were as wise as the authors of the books they drown themselves in, would realize that the time for peace in this world is passed. All that exists in the heart of humanity is violence, now. It is our job to keep those violent wolves from our doorsteps so that the future generations may know some semblance of the peace they lost long ago.”
Ghelta felt her dry lips spread into a painful smile as she focused on Ylethus’ puzzled look. She struck out with her klaive, thrusting it over her arm to cut through Ylethus’ beard. She could feel the blade snag on some of his flesh by his neck. His eyes went wide with shock and rage as his mouth opened up with a silent yell.
Ylethus swept his sword hard to the right and then allowed it to carry over to the left. He let his hands go of the hilt, letting the weight of the blade and Ghelta attached to it, carry it toward the cliff-side. Ghelta let go of the blade with her legs and reached downward with her klaive to drag its tip across the ground.
Narrowly, she was able to slow herself and the sword down before she went sailing over the cliff. She felt her legs sweep over the edge as her klaive dug into a rock to hold her in place. She managed to scramble up to her feet and hold herself in a crouched stance on the very edge.
She looked around her and couldn't see Ylethus’ sword anywhere. She leaned over her shoulder to look down the cliff-side and saw the glinting blade falling to the rock-strewn sands far below. Her eyes shot back up to Ylethus and every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared for the giant warrior’s rage.
Ylethus lifted a hand from the side of his neck and displayed it out in front of him. There was only a small dribble of blood on his fingers. A cruel smile spread across his face and he lifted his chin in the air in defiance.
“I think you've gotten the point.” Ylethus took a single step toward Ghelta and pointed his bloody finger at her. He curled his outstretched hand into a fist. “Now for the next lesson. One you should be prepared to learn after striking your Vhollen. The lesson of courage.” Ylethus lowered his shoulders and began to kick at the ground. With a thunderous howl of rage, he tore forward into an unarmed charge straight at Ghelta upon the cliff’s edge.
Ylethus seemed to deflate after hearing the words. He held the pup in one hand and began to pinch at the bridge of his nose with the other. “You did what?”
“Oh, come on!” Ghelta pointed at the bottles on the table. “It’s leftover milk used for spoiled infants. I’m only going to take a bit each day until the pup can be weaned. That old hag broden-mother probably just tosses it out every day, anyway.”
Ylethus shook his head and continued to pinch his nose. “You’re stealing food from the gods-damned brodenskappf. That milk is specially treated for the infants who are sick or those who belong to important families. They put all kinds of concoctions and alchemical crap into that stuff. Some merchants even pay a high price to get a vial of it.”
Ghelta scrunched her face and took a step back at the words. She remained quiet and let her features dance with confusion. She didn't know if Ylethus was making up what he said or if he was actually telling the truth.
“I’m not lying, you little git.” He lowered his hand from his face and began to shake his head slowly. His beard ruffled and moved along with his large head. “If a member of the broden catches you stealing that milk, you’re done for. I don’t mean execution, that would be too merciful.” He took a pause and made sure he had Ghelta’s attention. “Far worse, my dear. You’d be expected to spend the next decade or two as a broden-nurse. Would you like to have mewling little bastards suckling on you all hours of the day? Would you enjoy having to wipe shit-smeared arses? Do you really want to go back to that place?”
Ghelta’s eyes went wide and her jaw went slack. The mere thought of having to become a broden-nurse was the closest thing she could think to real horror. She would rather be gutted alive on the fields of battle, or slowly ripped apart by a horde of blood-thirsty monsters. Anything but having to spend time being responsible for someone else’s children.
“I see the horror in your eyes. I think the consequences of this are sinking in, right?” Ylethus gave a sardonic grin and then lowered his eyes back to the pup. “I understand what you have to do to keep this little one alive.” He lifted the pup from the towels and held it up to examine the little creature. “She’s your responsibility now. All I can say, is-” He paused for a moment and looked back to Ghelta. “Don’t get caught.”
Ghelta gave a single nod from across the table and took a seat in one of the chairs. Ylethus noticed the little pup gumming some strands of his beard and handed the little fur-ball back to Ghelta. She took up the pup in both hands and held it against her chest.
“So, have you figured out a name for her, yet?” Ylethus turned away to grab two wooden bowls in his hand. He snatched up the spoon and doled out a heaping serving of stew into the first bowl. He flourished the spoon like a chef might, taking amusement in his skill. He handed the first bowl across the table to Ghelta and lifted his eyebrows to emphasize his question.
“I was thinking-” Ghelta held the pup up to her eye-level and smiled. “Khollta.”
“Queen of the Wolves.” Ylethus spooned out another heap of food into his own bowl and let the spoon fall back into the pot. He lifted a leg and straddled one of the chairs and lowered himself down to the table. “A fitting name, if a bit uninspired.” He glowered at Ghelta for a moment and then softened his features into a sincere smile.
Ghelta set the pup back into her tunic and snatched up her bowl, lifting it slowly to her lips. She watched Ylethus face for a moment as he continued to beam from across the table. He gave a nod to her and she slurped up some of her stew.
“It’s a good name.” He lifted his own bowl to his lips and let his nostrils flare as he breathed in the smell of stewed meat and vegetables. “A Wolf-Queen for a Warrior-Queen.” He chuckled and filled his mouth with food.
* * *
“—Just as I told you that you must temper your strength, you must also show it openly.” Ylethus let his heavy foot slide across the rocky cliff-side as he readied his attacking stance. He brought his great-sword up to his eye level and stared over the blade at Ghelta. “It is from our strength at arms that the members of our tribe gain their security.” He strained the boulder-sized muscles of his upper body as he pulled the guard of his sword past his face and then plunged it forward.
Ghelta barely moved her head out of the way of the thrusting sword. The blade tore through the air in the space between Ghelta’s neck and shoulder. She only had a moment to realize how close Ylethus had come to severing the artery in her neck. With a single downward swing, he could decapitate her easily. She struck his blade hard with the edge of her klaive, drawing the metal upward. She used the strength in her arms to keep the weighty blade far enough away that she might pull her head around it.
“We, as members of the Vhulkhovyr caste, are responsible for the safety of our tribe. We are the sword-arm and the blade that oftentimes must be sent to cast down those that would kill or rape our own people.” Ylethus pressed the blade down against Ghelta’s for a mere moment and then relented. He drew his blade up and allowed the momentum to build into another swing. “Ours is to live by the blade, to fall by the blade, and to ensure that others cannot cut down the people we love with their own. Each of us is expected to pay the ultimate sacrifice so that the innocent may live in peace.”
He let his hands slip from the hilt of his sword as the momentum kept it aloft in the air. He snatched up the hilt with a different stance and brought the immense blade downward towards Ghelta’s head. His eyes flared open and his froth began to build up from the corners of his howling mouth.
Ghelta could see the light of the twin suns glint off of the blade as it came plummeting down upon her. Her instincts were to freeze up from fear but her training took over and without thinking her muscles were working hard to keep her alive. She swiveled her feet below her and let herself fall forward towards Ylethus’ feet. As soon as she reached his boots she let go of her klaive and closed her eyes while splaying open her legs as far as they could stretch.
Thunder echoed throughout the cliffs as Ylethus’ blade struck and cleaved into the rock between Ghelta’s legs. Following the thunder of splitting rock was a swell of wind that washed up Ghelta’s back and made every inch of her flesh well with goosebumps. She took a moment to try and cleanse her mind of shock so that she might see if she was in pain from the blade sundering her flesh.
The moments dragged on but Ghelta couldn't feel any pain rising up to her consciousness. She looked over her shoulder quickly and noticed Ylethus’ sword buried halfway into the rock. The edge of the blade was no more than a hair’s width from her crotch. She gave a relieved sigh and looked up to Ylethus who continued to stand above her.
“Many naive scholars I have talked with over the years have all told me that the world would be a better place if we all lived in peace.” He continued his lesson, oblivious of almost cutting his adopted daughter in twain. “Such a sentiment is something worth wishing for but is not practical at all. As long as violence lives in the hearts of men we must use that threat of violence to hold greater depravities at bay.” He began to pull on his hilt to free his blade.
Ghelta snatched up her klaive from between Ylethus’ giant boots and pushed back until she could feel the edge of his blade against her rump. She coiled her legs around the sword as the giant warrior pulled his blade from the ground. Using Ylethus’ strength to lift her up, she lowered her right leg down the blade to notch the top of her right boot into the sword’s tip. She lifted up with the blade and was held aloft in front of Ylethus.
He lifted her to his eye level and continued his monologue. “A society bereft of those that are willing to die or kill to protect it and its values is a society that will fade away beneath conquering flames.” He narrowed his eyes at Ghelta and cocked his head to the side, seeing the odd position he found her in. “Those same scholars, if they were as wise as the authors of the books they drown themselves in, would realize that the time for peace in this world is passed. All that exists in the heart of humanity is violence, now. It is our job to keep those violent wolves from our doorsteps so that the future generations may know some semblance of the peace they lost long ago.”
Ghelta felt her dry lips spread into a painful smile as she focused on Ylethus’ puzzled look. She struck out with her klaive, thrusting it over her arm to cut through Ylethus’ beard. She could feel the blade snag on some of his flesh by his neck. His eyes went wide with shock and rage as his mouth opened up with a silent yell.
Ylethus swept his sword hard to the right and then allowed it to carry over to the left. He let his hands go of the hilt, letting the weight of the blade and Ghelta attached to it, carry it toward the cliff-side. Ghelta let go of the blade with her legs and reached downward with her klaive to drag its tip across the ground.
Narrowly, she was able to slow herself and the sword down before she went sailing over the cliff. She felt her legs sweep over the edge as her klaive dug into a rock to hold her in place. She managed to scramble up to her feet and hold herself in a crouched stance on the very edge.
She looked around her and couldn't see Ylethus’ sword anywhere. She leaned over her shoulder to look down the cliff-side and saw the glinting blade falling to the rock-strewn sands far below. Her eyes shot back up to Ylethus and every muscle in her body tensed as she prepared for the giant warrior’s rage.
Ylethus lifted a hand from the side of his neck and displayed it out in front of him. There was only a small dribble of blood on his fingers. A cruel smile spread across his face and he lifted his chin in the air in defiance.
“I think you've gotten the point.” Ylethus took a single step toward Ghelta and pointed his bloody finger at her. He curled his outstretched hand into a fist. “Now for the next lesson. One you should be prepared to learn after striking your Vhollen. The lesson of courage.” Ylethus lowered his shoulders and began to kick at the ground. With a thunderous howl of rage, he tore forward into an unarmed charge straight at Ghelta upon the cliff’s edge.
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