The Magehound - Elaine Cunningham [61]
Most ambitious jordaini would be sorely tempted by offers from such patrons. I feared that you might find such an uncertain undertaking less attractive if you knew what glories were available for the taking."
Andris scratched at the unfamiliar stubble on his chin. "But I am jordain. I serve the truth and the land."
"And what of yourself, Andris?" she said softly. "What do you want for yourself?"
The question seemed to puzzle the young man. Kiva tried again. "How content are you with the life that lies before you? You will advise, wizards will command, and others will do. Is that what you want? Correct me if I have read you falsely, but I think you were born to command."
Andris was silent for a long moment. "It is not the tradition of this land."
"Nor is it tradition to mount a campaign without magic. Yet you have devised just such a campaign, and you long to command it. Is this not truth?"
There was mockery in her voice, but the young jordain's face remained thoughtful. "Who commissioned my services?"
"I cannot say. This land is ruled by wizards, but none have been able to contain the undead monsters of Kilmaruu. Let's just say that it would be… awkward if someone so highly placed were to seek a nonmagical solution to this problem."
Andris's face suffused with wonder as the alchemy of hope transformed her lie into his greatest hidden dreams. Every wizard, every fighter in the land aspired to serving the great Zalathorm. This, then, was what Kiva seemed to offer. His own command, at the king's bequest!
The young jordain rose and fell to one knee before her. "Since you speak for the wizard who commissioned my service, you are my patron. Tell me what you desire me to accomplish, and I will find a way to do so," he said earnestly.
The elf woman patted his arm. "You have made a fine start, Andris. Far better than you know."
The next day Mbatu stood at the edge of the camp, watching as Kiva's recruits trained. Though he could find no fault in the warriors' efforts, neither did he take any pleasure in watching them.
Yesterday he had been the battlemaster, today all that remained for him to do was watch as the tall, red-haired man put the fighters through their paces.
To his amazement, the men were no longer Kiva's captives and mercenaries, but an army. The wemic didn't know what Eva had told the young jordain, but something had set him aflame. His passion had spread like wildfire to every man in his command.
The men were armed with rattan swords, so they could get used to the unfamiliar weight and length of them before using steel. Andris chose five men and bade them to swarm him. They charged in, whistling their practice blades through the air.
Mbatu chuckled, expecting the tall man to be facedown in muck before he could lift his sword.
He should have remembered his own encounter with a jordain. Within moments, all five of the fighters had been sent reeling back to nurse their bruises.
"Iago," Andris called, pointing to a slim, dark blade of a man. "You play the role of the out-numbered fighter."
"An honor," the man said dryly. "It will be excellent practice for playing the role of the corpse."
Andris joined in the laughter this comment elicited, then his face turned serious. "Remember that we will not be fighting honorable duels. We need to work together if any of us are to survive. Imagine that Iago is surrounded by undead. I'll show you how to work the perimeter and finish off the attackers as he pushes them back. You three-you can be the first wave of undead."
The men lifted their swords and rushed in for the attack. Andris fell back, so that for a moment, Iago was standing alone. The smaller man parried the first thrusting attack.