The Never King by James Abbott

Author:James Abbott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Books

Dawn

The former commander of the Solar Cohort went through his morning ritual: stretches, exercising, rehearsing the forms of complex swordplay. The sunlight was warm on his face and a few birds skittered overhead on dawn missions, but other than that and the occasional splash of water, there remained no sounds save those of his exertion.

The sun banked higher. In the distance he could see the little trail of smoke from the campfire as the others readied themselves for breakfast.

‘Birgitta told me to say something to you.’

Xavir turned to see Elysia – his daughter – walking towards him from out of the long grass. Placing his blades back over his shoulder, he wondered if she had used some kind of witch trickery to conceal herself.

‘Well, you’ve now said something.’ Xavir watched her, curiously. The same raven-black hair as Lysha. Those blue eyes were just as disarming, though for completely different reasons now.

She stood before him, the young witch, just a head shorter than himself. Tall for a woman, he thought. Her bow was in her hand and a quiver half-full of arrows slung across her shoulder. She was dressed in browns and greens, with a decorative leather cuirass.

‘I don’t know what to say to you.’ Her voice was absent of emotion.

‘That makes two of us,’ Xavir replied. ‘This is unexpected, to say the least. I had no plans apart from those concerning where my comrades and I were going.’

‘Where is that?’

‘Dangerous places, is all. I may be killed, and I intend to kill many in the process.’

Elysia shrugged. ‘I’ve only killed deer so far. Birgitta taught me that. We fed villagers with the carcasses, though.’

‘It doesn’t bother you?’

‘Why should it?’

Another silence fell between them, though it was not uncomfortable.

‘You shoot them with this bow?’ Xavir asked, holding his hand out to take a look at the weapon.

She handed it to him.

Xavir marvelled at the craftsmanship, the way the dark polished wood appeared to shimmer, the balance and tension of it. He noted the witchstone fixed near the grip.

Xavir handed it back, impressed. ‘Dellius Compol knew how to make weapons. I used to know a man who lived on the borders of Stravimon who said he had rediscovered Compol’s techniques, but they were not even comparable.’

‘I’m good with it too.’

‘I’ve never really known of a warrior witch in the Ninth Age. Not one that uses weapons other than witchstones directly.’

‘The sisterhood doesn’t encourage such things,’ Elysia replied.

‘The sisterhood does not encourage much,’ Xavir said.

‘You knew my mother,’ Elysia said.

‘Evidently,’ Xavir added, gesturing back to Elysia with his left hand.

His daughter smiled awkwardly. ‘What was she like?’

‘Proud. Stubborn. Keen to try new magic. Paid little attention to rules, though neither did I at the time. She was sarcastic and had a temper about her. But, we loved each other.’

Elysia sat on the grass and shaded her eyes as she stared out across the water. Xavir, uncertain at first, followed suit and crouched down beside her.

‘You look very much like your mother,’ Xavir said. ‘Yesterday I thought it was her that I saw.

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