Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind Read online

  The lances he made had points like thorns; his blades were like razors. The graceful ornamentation he added also served a purpose. He had a gift for uniting function with elegance. He treated his weapons as if they were his children and loved them as such. He loved his work because it allowed him to express his creative gifts, which seemed unlimited. And he got a thrill out of testing his technical ability.

  Every new weapon was a challenge to his skill as a craftsman, and so it was his habit to undertake daring experiments involving new materials. He sought increasingly complex forms and combined them with ever-more complicated technical solutions.

  He was so renowned that he never lacked for work, and for as long as Nihal could remember, partly out of necessity and partly because they enjoyed it, he’d had her help him. He would impart pearls of warrior wisdom as she handed him a mallet or the bellows.

  “A weapon is no mere object,” he would tell her. “The warrior’s sword is like one of his limbs, his faithful and inseparable companion. He would never trade it for any other sword in the world. And for the armorer, a sword’s like a child. Just as nature gives life to the creatures of this world, an armorer forges the blade from fire and iron.”

  Was it any surprise that Nihal grew up to be such a rebel when she had a father who lived for his swords and associated with soldiers, knights, and adventurers? Nope.

  They were working on a sword when Nihal brought up a timeworn question. “Pop?”

  “Mmmm?” Livon brought his mallet down upon the blade.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you …”

  There was another blow from Livon’s mallet.

  “When are you going to give me a real sword?”

  Livon’s mallet stopped in midair. He sighed, and then resumed casting blows against the steel. “Hold those tongs still.”

  “Don’t change the subject,” Nihal replied.

  “You’re too young.”

  “Oh, really? But I’m not too young to start looking for a husband?”

  Livon set down the mallet and collapsed into a chair. “Nihal, we’ve already discussed this. Swords are not playthings!”

  “I know that, and I also know how to use one a heck of a lot better than the boys in this city.”

  Livon sighed. He had often thought about giving Nihal one of his swords, but the fear that she’d hurt herself had always held him back. Still, he knew Nihal could do amazing things with her wooden sword, and that she’d shown understanding of the potential danger.

  Sensing her father’s indecision, Nihal egged on. “So, Pop? What do you say?”

  Livon looked around. “Let’s see.” He stood and went toward the wall where he stored his best works, the ones he created for himself. He took down a dagger and showed it to Nihal. “I made this a couple of months ago.”

  It was a beautiful weapon. The hilt was forged in the shape of a tree trunk, with roots on one end and two twisted branches stretched toward the outside. The other branches wrapped themselves further along and then melded into the blade.

  Nihal’s eyes shone. “Is it mine?”

  “It’s yours if you can beat me. But if I win, you’ll do the cooking and cleaning up for a month.”

  “All right, but I’m still a little girl, aren’t I? You’re always saying so. So to make things fair, let’s say you can’t move more than an arm’s length to your left or right.”

  Livon chuckled. “That sounds fair.”

  “Then it’s a deal. Grab me a sword.”

  “Not on your life! We’ll both use wood.”

  They took up positions in the center of the room, Nihal with her wooden sword, Livon with a stick.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready!”

  The contest began.

  Nihal didn’t have a lot of endurance, and her technique was anything but flawless, but her intuition and imagination more than made up for it. She parried and sidestepped every thrust, choosing the best moments to attack and jumping to the left and right with great agility. Her advantage lay entirely in her ability to move quickly, and she knew it.

  Livon felt a sudden surge of pride for the tomboy with blue hair. The wooden pole slipped from his grasp and banged into a bunch of lances standing up in a corner.

  Nihal pointed her sword at his throat. “What are you doing, Pop? Forgetting the basics? Letting a little girl get the better of you like that …”

  Livon pushed aside the wooden sword, grabbed the dagger, and handed the new weapon to his daughter. “Here. You earned it.”

  Nihal turned the dagger over in her hands, weighing it and testing her finger against the blade, trying to hide the fact that she was overcome with joy. Her first weapon!

  “But remember, don’t ever lord it over a vanquished enemy. It’s in very poor taste.”

  Nihal looked at her father with knowing eyes. “Thanks, Pop.”

  She was shrewd enough to know when someone allowed her to win.

  2

  SENNAR

  Nihal had been hanging out with a gang of hooligan boys ever since she was little. True, the others had their misgivings at first, partly because she was a girl and partly because of her strange looks. But it didn’t take her long to win their acceptance.

  A couple of duels made it clear that no one in the group had anything to teach her about fighting, even if she was a girl.

  Once she became a full-fledged member, the boys grew to like her more and more. They idolized her after she beat their leader, Barod, in a sword fight. That was when she took over command.

  But though Nihal was rarely alone, there were times when she felt lonely. At those times, she’d climb to the top of Salazar and take in the view from the large rooftop terrace, where her eyes could roam over the endless fields. The only man-made structures visible were the Tyrant’s Fortress and the faint silhouettes of other cities.

  When she sat gazing at that spectacle, Nihal felt a calm descend upon her. For a moment, her warrior nature was still. It was strange—only when sky and fields were ablaze in the light of sunset could she quiet her mind, and in those moments she could hear murmurings come up from the depths of her soul, a whisper in a language she did not understand.

  The other kids admired Nihal even more after she won Livon’s dagger. She strode about with it hanging from her hip, feeling as strong as a knight. On more than one occasion, she offered it to anyone who could beat her. As it was, she could still boast that she’d never lost a battle.

  One morning during the fall of Nihal’s thirteenth year, Barod came looking for her because a kid had shown up, wanting to challenge her for the dagger. That was enough for Nihal. She headed to the roof of Salazar, where all the duels were held.

  When she saw the challenger, she almost burst out laughing. He was tall and thin, with long, disheveled red hair. He looked to be a couple years older than she was. She could see in a glance that strength was definitely not his trump card, and neither was agility, given the bulky tunic he wore. How could anyone fight in a getup like that?

  His intelligence might be his only secret weapon. Nihal caught a glimpse of it in his light-blue eyes, but it didn’t worry her. She’d beaten her fair share of crafty challengers.

  “Are you the one who sent for me?”

  “In the flesh.”

  “And you want to challenge me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a man of few words. I’ve never seen you here before. Where are you from?”

  “I came here from the edge of the Forest, but I’m from of the Land of the Sea. And to answer your next question, my name is Sennar.”

  Nihal couldn’t understand why this kid was so cocky. He knew her by reputation, or else he wouldn’t have come to challenge her. Was he underestimating her?

  “Who told you about me, and why do you want to challenge me?”

  “Everyone’s been talking about the unbeatable demon with pointed ears and blue hair. So, what happened? Did you forget you’re a girl?”

  Nihal c
lenched her fists. She knew it would be counterproductive to lose her temper before the duel, which was precisely what Sennar was aiming for with his mocking tone and that derisive smile on his face.

  “What I do is my business. You still haven’t answered me. Why do you want to challenge me?”

  “Look, I don’t care about all the honor and glory nonsense that fills the brains of the little kids you brawl with. I want your dagger because Livon made it and he’s the best armorer in the Overworld. If I have to play childish games with you to get it, fine.”

  Nihal wanted to have at him, but she resisted. She concentrated on establishing the terms of the duel. Once they got started, she could let him have it for all she was worth.

  They would fight with sticks. The first to be disarmed or fall to the ground would be the loser. She entrusted her dagger to the youngest member of the audience.

  “You’ll be taking off that tunic, I suppose.”

  “No, I’m used to it. I just hope you don’t mind being beaten by a guy dressed like this. …”

  Once again, Nihal refused to let him get a rise out of her. The duel began.

  Just as she’d imagined, Sennar was neither strong nor agile, and as far as technique was concerned, he was definitely less skilled than she was. And so what was it that made him so sure he would win?

  Nihal quickly seized the advantage, moving constantly to disorient her challenger. The kids around them cheered her on with yells and whistles. She felt herself becoming more and more excited; battle fever engulfed her. Her movements became even quicker as she parried, hit Sennar on his side and prepared to break his stick.

  I’ve got him, she thought triumphantly.

  Victory fled her grasp in an instant.

  Sennar looked into her eyes with an icy gaze, gave a faint smile, and murmured a few words that Nihal did not understand.

  Just as she was about to bring her stick down upon Sennar, Nihal felt it go limp in her hands. It became slimy and began to wriggle . Where her stick had been there was now a giant snake, hissing and twisting.

  Nihal yelled. Her grip slackened. It was just a second, but Sennar took advantage of it, tripping Nihal so she fell to the ground. It was the first time she had ever lost a challenge.

  “I think we have a winner.”

  Sennar took the dagger from the little kid holding it.

  For a moment, Nihal sat as still and as silent as a stone. Then she regained her senses and looked around. There was no sign of a snake anywhere.

  “Filthy rotten cheat! You’re a sorcerer! You didn’t tell me! You swindler! Give me back my dagger!”

  She jumped to her feet again and made to attack him, but Sennar held up a hand to stop her. “You should be thanking me for the lesson. Did you ask me if I was a sorcerer? No. Did you say, ‘I don’t duel with sorcerers’? No. Did you say that magic would not be allowed in the duel? No. You have no one to blame but yourself. Today you learned that before you fight, you need to make certain you really know your enemy. And strength is nothing without intelligence. So stop crying. Livon will surely make you another one.”

  As he was leaving, he added, “But you’re strong, that’s for sure.” And off he went, as calmly as he’d come.

  Nihal was frozen in place. Then Barod’s voice emerged from the audience’s embarrassed silence. “I’m sorry, Nihal, but that kid is right.”

  Nihal punched him in the nose and ran off in tears.

  She raced down the tower as fast as she could, bumping into passersby and knocking over an earthenware jar filled with oil in front of an inn. All she wanted was to take refuge in Livon’s comforting arms. He would understand and defend her. He would agree with her that the kid had acted like a coward. Then he’d give her a dagger a thousand times more beautiful than the one she’d lost.

  Livon listened to Nihal’s story in silence as she brought it out through tears and sobs. When she had finished, he surprised her by saying, “So?”

  It took Nihal a moment to react. “What do you mean, So? He tricked me!”

  “Hardly! He was clever and you were gullible.”

  Nihal’s eyes widened indignantly.

  “Today you learned two things. First of all, if you really care about something, you have to hold on to it tight.”

  “But …”

  “And secondly, you need to be sure that you really know your enemy before you fight.”

  That was exactly what Sennar had said, that coward.

  “Losing is part of life, Nihal. You’d better get used to it. It’s important to know how to accept defeat.”

  Nihal sat roughly on a chair, a sullen expression on her face. “You could at least give me a sword.”

  “A sword? It’s not my fault you lost the dagger I gave you. Next time you’ll be more careful.”

  “But I worked so hard to win it! And you have so many swords that …”

  Livon’s face was serious. “I don’t want to hear another word. Is that clear?”

  Nihal wrapped herself in silence as warm, angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

  She was up thinking all night long. The defeat burned away at her, but above all she couldn’t forgive herself for having burst into tears. She tossed and turned in her bed, wishing she hadn’t lost face that way. She would have liked to jump up out of bed and find that kid no matter where he was, even if it meant going to the end of the world.

  It was then, as she tormented herself with one plan for revenge after another, that she got a burst of inspiration. She realized that every warrior should learn magic. It was critical.

  Nihal had never felt any real interest in magic. The appeal of the sword was, to her mind, infinitely greater than the more ephemeral pleasure of a well-cast spell. Now, though, she realized that magic could serve a purpose. And besides, beating that cheat on his own terrain would be the ultimate satisfaction.

  She could already see the scene: Sennar, ensnared by a powerful spell—skillfully cast by Nihal herself—begging for mercy, pleading as he handed over the dagger.

  Yes, that’s what she would do. It might take years for her to learn magic, but what did that matter? Even if it took a century, she’d hunt Sennar down and bring him to his knees.

  All she had to do was find a sorcerer willing to teach her. She didn’t know any sorcerers herself, but with all the people who came in and out of the shop, Livon had to know one who’d be willing to take her on as a student.

  The next morning Nihal informed her father of her decision. He did not take it well.

  “Why are you making all this fuss about a game? I already told you, you have to learn how to lose. The sooner you do, the better.”

  “This isn’t a game!” responded Nihal, stung. “I really want to be a warrior, a great warrior, and I need to know magic to do it. What skin is it off your back to tell me the name of someone who could teach me?”

  “I don’t know anyone,” Livon yelled, completely fed up and hoping to end the conversation.

  But Nihal refused to give up. “That’s not true. I know full well that you sometimes sell enchanted weapons. There must be someone who casts the spells for you.”

  Confronted with this evidence, Livon grew even more irritated. He pounded his fist on his workbench. “Dammit! I don’t want you to learn magic!”

  “Why not?” she hollered back.

  “I’m under no obligation to explain myself to you.” Now it was Livon’s turn to take refuge in obstinate silence.

  “If you won’t help me, I’ll go find someone who will.”

  “There isn’t anyone who can help you in Salazar.”

  “Then I’ll go to another tower. I’m not afraid!”

  “Then do what you want and get out of here!” Livon said.

  Nihal felt tears sting her eyes. It wasn’t just because she and Livon were fighting for the first time ever. It was because all of a sudden she felt misunderstood by the one person who always understood her thoughts and feelings. He was treating her like a spoiled littl
e girl.

  She fought back her tears and looked at her father’s broad back, now turned firmly against her.

  “Fine,” she said angrily.

  But when she made to leave, Livon’s deep voice stopped her. “Wait,” the armorer grumbled, turning toward her. “Nihal, it’s just that I’m so scared, all right? There, I said it. I’m scared you’ll leave. For as long as you want to be a warrior, I’m here for you. But learning magic …”

  A lump in his throat kept him from saying any more.

  “Don’t be stupid, old man. Where would I go? You’re the only person I have in this world!” Nihal hugged him. “Pop, you’ll always be my home.”

  Livon was moved, but Nihal’s words weren’t enough to cheer him up. He returned Nihal’s hug, then released his hold. “There is a sorceress,” he said, hesitantly.

  “I knew there must be someone! Fantastic!” Nihal’s joy burst out of her every pore. “Where?”

  “At the edge of the Forest.”

  “Oh.”

  The Forest was the only woodland in the Land of the Wind; the rest was plains and fields of grass. The inhabitants of Salazar feared the Forest—Nihal was no exception.

  “At the edge of the Forest, there’s a house. That’s where your aunt lives.”

  Nihal was dumbfounded. In thirteen years she’d never heard mention of any relatives.

  “Her name is Soana and she’s my sister. She’s a very powerful sorceress.”

  “We’ve got a relative who’s this interesting and you’ve never said a thing about it? Why all the mystery?”

  Livon instinctively lowered his voice. “The Tyrant doesn’t like magic being practiced in his lands or in lands allied to his. Your aunt had to leave Salazar. Let’s just say … she’s a good friend of the enemies of the Tyrant.”

  Nihal felt herself shake with excitement. A conspirator! “Wow, Pop!”

  “It goes without saying that I’d prefer you don’t go around bragging about this to anyone. Is that clear?”

  “Me? Who do you think I am?”

  3

  SOANA