Vassal by Sterling D'Este (reading books for 7 year olds .txt) 📗

Perhaps the High Priestess had been wrong to trust her. Perhaps the true champion should have been someone even stronger.

Who was she to think herself worthy to carry the sword of the Goddess?

Still, there was nothing to be done, but to keep moving onward. Some mixture of virulent pride and sheer stubbornness kept her from turning away from her task. Delyth would go until she physically could not lift a foot to take a step, though eventually, the halfbreed had to concede to the sky. She was a strong and swift flier, but its power was proving too much. She didn’t descend so much as fall, opening her wings only at the last moment to avoid being thrown back into the sky.

It was afternoon, clear and windy at ground level. The weather this far south was warm, and around her, bushes and brambles sprouted from the forest floor, uninhibited by snow. The tops of the trees rustled in the same breeze that tugged at her hair. Songbirds twittered in the distance. Delyth took a few deep breaths, and though she was battered from the morning’s rough flight, she found a serenity in the calm surroundings that mimicked that of the cliffs above Glynfford.

It was a serenity, though, that could not last.

After her desperate descent, Delyth had little idea of where she was. She could have been blown well to the east or west, though she was reasonably sure she had managed to make more progress south towards the vassal, if less than she would have liked. She was going to have to let the sword direct her.

Delyth took another breath and wrapped her hand around the hilt.

The sudden shock of savage desire was becoming almost familiar, but for some reason Delyth couldn’t divine, she seemed to feel less of it. She could still sense the sword’s need to be reunited with Enyo just as strong as ever, but the effect on her own emotions was markedly less pronounced.

Gods, she wished she knew why. It’d be a blessing to be able to handle the weapon without the full brunt of its hunger beating down on her, but for the moment, Delyth focused on the direction of Calamity’s intent.

It pointed her west, even a bit north-west.

Delyth’s belly tightened with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. She must be close now if she had been traveling in a straight line towards the vassal only to pass them. She swallowed.

Shortly, Delyth would meet her Goddess as well as the person she had chosen as vassal. It was almost too big a concept to grasp. Would Enyo be kind? Cruel? Would she accept Delyth’s service? The priests had claimed that their Goddess was a wise protector of the land, but there was nothing in their teachings about how she would treat a halfbreed.

What would Delyth do if the Goddess preferred not to have her as champion? Where would she go?

She took another deep breath. There was nothing to do but continue on. She would not turn away so close to the end of this part of her journey. Without another moment of hesitation, Delyth drew Calamity and flung herself into the air above the treetops.

Afternoon had not yet passed into evening when Delyth found the road. It was little more than a dirt track carving a scar through the forest, but she was grateful to land and walk nonetheless. Though less severe than flying altitudes, the air above the treetops was still fraught with wind, and Calamity was not improving Delyth’s exhaustion. The malice of the sword had frayed at her earlier peace like a sharp knife on rope.

Still, she did not sheathe it.

She was close now, so close that Calamity could tell the vassalwould soon walk round the bend in the road ahead.

Delyth straightened her shoulders and strode forward to meet them.

✶

For Etienne, boredom was by far the worst part of their travels. He found that he did not mind walking, and the heat of the late spring days did little to bother him, especially given the wind that had picked up since that morning. Instead, he found the lack of anything to do or study or learn absolutely frustrating. It was as if existence had slowed around him.

To combat this, he told Alphonse about the cairns and ruins they passed, about the history of the area, and most recently about the changes in the territory of the two kingdoms after the Great War. Half to amuse himself and half to distract her. Allee seemed tired, her shoulders slumped, and her pace lagging.

“We’ve actually been in the territory originally governed by Rhosan for days,” he was explaining. “But after Rhosan’s defeat in the—”

“Etienne,” Alphonse murmured hastily from behind him. She must have slowed without his noticing. “Someone is coming.”

At her tense whisper, Etienne stopped abruptly, his pulse leaping. He hadn’t expected them to encounter anyone this soon. The roads leading between Ingola and the Wildlands were few, narrow, and poorly kept.

They should have been empty.

“We can either hide in the treeline or continue on as if nothing is amiss,” Etienne said finally, keeping his voice low. “I can’t hear them, so I doubt there are many people.”

Unknowingly, his pace had slowed, evidence of his uncertainty. He looked down at Alphonse and then back towards the bend. Perhaps they ought to do something, just in case. There was no telling what sort of people would be traveling on an old road leading deeper into the Wildlands.

Etienne pulled his bag off his shoulders and reached into it to grab his cache of supplies. There was so little time to prepare. What could he do to protect them? Put up a shield, summon a weapon, create an illusion?

The first option was probably the easiest, but even as Etienne began to assemble the supplies he would need, a figure appeared from around the bend.

The woman was something from a nurse maid’s tale, told to scare children into behaving.

❀

Her heart, which had