There seemed little else to say after that. I might have bartered for more time, but I had the feeling it would just have weakened my argument. Whether I liked it or not, I had just put us on a timer.
I stayed to watch the fight even though it hurt me. It sounds strange to say it hurt me. I'll wager it hurt Isen much more. As fast and strong as he was, he didn't stand a chance against Yorin.
Hardt didn't show up, so I watched alone, silent amidst the hoard of screaming scabs and foremen.
By the time it was over, Isen was a bloody mess, still struggling to stand despite the beating. He didn't land a single solid blow. The crowd shouted, roared. They knew what was coming next. A lot of scabs shunned the arena, those who didn't like watching people die for sport, but those who turned up to watch wanted to see the death. I robbed them of that pleasure that night.
As far as I am aware, Isen was the only person ever to fight Yorin and live. I suppose that might have been a grand accolade to some, but he still marked it as a loss. Even worse, he knew the only reason he was alive was because I had convinced Yorin not to kill him. Everyone knew that was the only reason Isen survived his fight. For all the damage it might have done to our friendship, it did so much more for my reputation down in the Pit.
Chapter 21
I was just four years old when the Orran-Terrelan war broke out. I've read around the subject and I now know the truth, as told by both sides. The Orrans started the war, but it was already coming long before the first troops crossed the border.
The Orran lands were craggy, full or rocks and forests and the indomitable Kinei range of mountains. Where the land started to turn flat and arable was where the Terrelans staked their borders. Our little continent of Isha has always been lush, rich in valuable minerals and farmland. They had the land, we had the mines. But that wasn't why the war started.
For almost a century before I was born, both Orran and Terrelan had been gobbling up smaller kingdoms until only the two remained on Isha. They drew up lines in the dirt and our soldiers stared at theirs, who stared right back. The history books call that time peace, but I'd wager it was anything but peaceful. Sanctioned raids on border towns saw families on both sides caught up in the conflict before it even officially began. Josef was one of those. He was an orphan even before the war started, yet he still blamed Orran for making the first official declaration.
At the time, I didn't even know what a war was, let alone that I was part of the Orran Empire and they were fighting one. My little forest village was far from the front. I think the closest Keshin ever came to the war was when the recruiters took me from my parents.
Years later, after a decade of training in the academy, Josef and I were sent to the front lines. By then, the Orran Empire was losing. So many Sourcerers were dead already. Not to mention the soldiers tasked with waging the front lines of the battles. So many lives lost over lines on a map.
Our tutors argued we weren't ready. Those in charge argued that readiness no longer mattered. The Terrelans were just a few day's march from the capital and if they reached it, the war was all but lost. Looking over reports and maps of the time, I could have told them the war was already lost, and two young Sourcerers couldn't have made a difference. All we managed to do was slow down the advancing tide of flesh and metal and magic. But, like the tide, the Terrelan advance was unstoppable.
They sent us out with the best scouts the Orran army had left. I remember a woman by the name of Aranet; she was tall and lithe and had face like old leather, all tough and wrinkled. Aranet didn't care that we were Sourcerers. She didn't care that we held the effective rank of a captain and therefore outranked her. Aranet kept us alive as we moved through the besieged Orran lands, harrying the advancing Terrelan army. Without her, I have no doubt we'd have been captured or killed long before the final battle.
Under the watchful eyes of the scouts we snuck into the Terrelan camps. Josef used Biomancy to spoil food supplies, speeding decay and planting illness. I used Impomancy to summon monsters from the Other World to savage the horses. We caused as much chaos as we could and vanished before the soldiers thought to look for us. It was like a game to us. I thought myself untouchable in those days.
We never saw the carnage we caused. Aranet was quick to pull us away once the job was done. We never saw the illness or starvation Josef caused. Never saw the mutilated corpses of so many horses. It's quite surprising how much damage a small pack of khark hounds can do in a short time, and they were a favourite summon of mine. Nearly mindless and easy to control, I could happily summon five or six of the beasts and barely break a sweat. It turns out, the stronger willed the creature summoned, the harder it is to control. They don't want to be commanded. The lesser monsters fight it because it goes against the freedom they're so used to. The greater horrors fight it because it is slavery. Ssserakis eventually taught me that. It had a rage that almost rivalled my own.
We slept irregularly and for only a few hours at a time. Grabbing some shuteye is somewhat different for a Sourcerer than it is a soldier. The scouts had the luxury of leaning back, closing their eyes, and drifting off. I admit, it may not have been quite that easy given all the things they had seen, but some of them seemed able to find sleep within moments. For Josef and I, things were a little more difficult. We each kept five Sources in our stomachs, a heavy load no matter how small the Sources might be. Josef couldn't sleep with an Empamancy Source inside and I couldn't with an Impomancy Source, lest our magic go out of control and lay waste to those around us. Each time we tried to steal even a little sleep we would have to suck on Spiceweed and vomit up everything in our stomachs. Life for a Sourcerer can be quite wretched at times. Even so, I wouldn't trade my magic for all the meals and sleep in the world. I love the power far too much.
The Terrelans caught up to us in a barn outside the village of Cartswold. I think they were scouts, tracking us as we harried the main force. They were inside the building, killing us before I had chance to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Josef was faster to grasp the situation than I, he was already swallowing down Sources while I was still trying to stretch out a yawn.
It is not easy to swallow down a Source. A sad fact of Sourcery is the larger the Source, the more powerful it is. Some are the size of a marble and can be forced down with a little effort and little more pain. Some are the size of a grape. Some are the size of a small orange and take considerable force to ingest, they are even worse on the way up, coated in bile. Some are even larger still. I have seen Sources as large as a fist and I have seen Sourcerers able to somehow swallow them. I will admit I have always wondered how such a thing is even possible. The largest Source I have ever seen was the size of a melon. I've always been fascinated by what sort of power a Source so large might grant, but alas, even a garn couldn't swallow such a thing, and those monstrous slugs have no Sourcerers so no reason to try. It is probably the most powerful Source in the world, and the last time I saw it, it was being used as a doorstop.
We were on the balcony in the barn and the fighting was taking place below us. I could hear metal clashing against metal, the screams of the injured, and sickening thuds I didn't understand at the time. Now I know all too well the sound of a sword or axe sinking into flesh. It is no less sickening, nor is the sucking squelch flesh makes as metal is pulled free.