Age of Myth (The Legends of the First Empire #1)

“Is that so?” He looked around at the other men, most of whom were putting down their bowls or turning in their seats. Eyes shifted and necks strained.

“The pattern of your leigh mor and the bedding you’re sitting on…is that the design of Clan Dureya?”

“That’s right. What of it?” Raithe had expected this. “Go ahead, say it. You got something stuck in your teeth, some plague you want to blame on me? Go on and ask what you really want to know.”

The man’s face tightened. “All right. There’s a rumor that a god was slain.”

Of all things, Raithe hadn’t expected that.

“Gods are immortal,” he replied, pleased with how clever his response was. He picked up his empty bowl and pretended he was still eating.

“We thought so, too.”

Raithe ran his finger around the inside of the empty bowl the way Malcolm had. “A rumor, then, some guy boasting.”

Faces in the hall looked at one another.

“Weren’t no man who said it. Word is the Fhrey themselves came down from Alon Rhist. They’re looking for a Rhune who killed one of their own. They say it was a man from Dureya who used a copper sword. Not many of those around. Funny you have one. Also said the weapon broke in the fight. Apparently, it happened a week ago on the other side of the Bern.” The man looked hard at Raithe. “Where exactly are you coming from?”

“Of course, of course. Makes sense, doesn’t it?” Raithe was nodding. “Menahan is known for wool and pretty daughters. Everyone knows the best poets and musicians come from Melen. Nadak provides the finest furs, but what is Dureya known for? Causing trouble, right? That’s what you’re thinking. If a loaf of bread goes missing, a brawl starts, or an unwed daughter ends up with child, Dureyans are to blame. And when the gods come looking for a troublemaker, who’s it gonna be?”

“Then how did your blade break? And come to think of it, that’s a pretty specific detail, isn’t it? Kinda strange that was mentioned and now you’re here. You know what I think? I reckon a god was killed, and it was you who done it,” Justen said.

He was standing as firmly as he could, making a fine show, but Raithe could knock him down easily enough. Justen should have known that, too. Fighting was the other thing the men of Dureya were known for. Living on rocks and stone made hard men, and Dureyan boys learned to swing early. That was the way of it—the only way for them at least.

“You’re right!” Malcolm shouted as he stood up. All eyes shifted, including Raithe’s. “He was the one who killed Shegon of the Asendwayr.”

Raithe wanted to throttle the skinny, weasel-faced man, but it was out there now. The question was what to do about it. Raithe was never one for lying. That was what others did, not Dureyans. “Yeah, I did it.”

“Why?” Justen asked.

“He killed my father. Right in front of me, with my father’s blade. This one here.” Raithe patted the scabbard still strapped to his back.

“But how is that possible?” a younger man asked. He sat bundled on a blanket, part of it over his shoulders like a woman’s shawl. He might have been Kane, son of Hale, but Raithe didn’t have a head for faces and names. “They can’t die.”

Now you say that? Where was your tongue a minute ago, Kane? Raithe thought, but all he said was, “Apparently, they can.”

“But how did you do it?” This time it was Justen again.

“I took the sword from my father’s body and swung as hard as I could. The Fhrey had a weapon that sliced right through it. Cut it clean in half. I was dead. I knew it, and the Fhrey knew it. That’s when—”

“That’s when Raithe, son of Herkimer, the hero of Dureya, did something amazing,” Malcolm interrupted. The thin man moved to the center of the roundhouse. He crouched slightly, fanning his fingers. He spoke in a loud, clear voice that carried across the hall and demanded attention. “You see, Shegon was a master of the hunt. All members of the Asendwayr are. I should know. I lived with him in Alon Rhist.” He pointed to the metal collar around his neck. “His slave and personal valet. He was the worst possible sort of Fhrey, a cul if ever there was one. I’ve seen him and his kind raid Rhu—ah, our—villages and capture women. They don’t rape them. Oh, no! Fhrey won’t defile themselves with our women. Do you know what they do with them?”

“What?” several men in the hall asked together.

“They feed them to their hounds, because their beasts like soft meat.”

Gasps and grumbles escaped lips.

“But as I said, Shegon was the worst of all. He and his band of butchers traveled the lands beyond the Bern, a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. I once saw him test a blade’s sharpness by cutting off a child’s hand. Severed it with two hacks. Unsatisfied, he commanded his smith to sharpen the blade further, then tried it once more. The child’s other hand came free with a single slice. Shegon was a fiend—a vile monster—and a Fhrey, which meant he was arrogant. His overconfidence proved to be his undoing. Shegon saw no threat in Raithe or any man. A Rhune—that’s what they call us, and that’s all they see—couldn’t possibly inflict any harm. But never before had a Rhune fought back. No one had the courage, and none possessed the skill. The Fhrey have ruled the world for eons. They vanquished the Dherg, routed the giants, and chased the goblins into the sea. They have no equal, no fear of any living thing—until now.”

Malcolm paused and scanned the room, and seeing he had everyone’s attention, he continued. “So casual, so callous, was Shegon’s attack that Raithe dodged it with a skillful leap. Shegon, who was so certain of an easy victory, stood in shock when Raithe slipped through his grasp. How dare he! I saw that thought painted on his face. How dare Raithe not die! In that moment of disbelief, Raithe acted brilliantly. For what Shegon couldn’t know was that this was no ordinary Rhune before him. Raithe is a master of combat the likes of which this world has yet to see. The metal of his blade had broken, but the mettle of the man rang true. Using only the broken hilt of his sword, Raithe slashed at the villain’s exposed wrist. So unaccustomed to pain, so shocked and dismayed, Shegon dropped his sword. Before it hit the ground, Raithe, son of Herkimer, caught it and stabbed upward, driving the blade home—right through the monster’s throat!”

Every mouth in the hall hung agape, and each man leaned forward to hear better.

“Shegon—vile lord of the Fhrey—fell dead before Raithe. So shocked were the dozen other Fhrey—murderers and oppressors of men—that they ran in fear. As they took flight, he shouted after them that mankind would no longer bow to false gods!”

Malcolm straightened the folds of his stained and torn robes. “It was then that the great Raithe of Clan Dureya took the time to cleave my bonds of servitude. Come with me! he said. Come with me and breathe the air of freedom. We journeyed together through the terrible Crescent Forest, but I traveled unafraid, for Raithe the God Killer was by my side. Not even when leshies confounded our path, leaving us lost for days and nearing starvation, did I despair. You see, the spirits of the forest delighted in having so great a champion as the God Killer within its eaves. They confused us to keep him within their realm. After many days, he knew he wouldn’t escape unless he could outwit the forest. Raithe cleverly posed a riddle. Four brothers visit this wood, he said. The first is greeted with great joy; the second is beloved; the third always brings sad tidings; and the last is feared. They visit each year, but never together. What are their names? While the forest was trying to solve the riddle, Raithe and I made our escape and only now emerged, starved and exhausted. And that is how we came to sit with you this night in this honored hall.”

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