The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “Well I never. Of all the things to expect, this was the best. Welcome back, strangers. I see you have new company.”

  “What's all this commotion?” Called Mavra as she opened the door to her caravan. “You are disturbing Anita.”

  “Just thought we'd drop in.” Zya said with a smile, happy even to see Mavra.

  “Really.” Mavra was nonplussed. “So you burst into this camp and cause all this havoc. Welcome back, Zya. Get to work tidying the mess up.”

  “I don't believe it is your place to tell me what to do.” Zya drew herself up, indignation on her face. “If Anita wills it, then so shall it be.”

  “Anita isn't in much of a state to be doing anything right now. If you are in this camp, then you answer to me.”

  “Not very likely.”

  “But it is the case nonetheless,” said a voice from behind them. “Caught you in a quiet moment?” Asked Layric. He had jumped down from the wagon behind, and had crept up on them as they talked.

  Zya turned to see Layric standing there. He had changed since she had seen him last. She jumped to the ground and gave him a hug. Pushing him back to arm's length, Zya studied his face. “You wear many more cares than once you did, Layric Chemani.”

  “You too have grown, in many ways, Zya S'Vedai. But hearken unto the Mistress of the Caravan when she speaks to you.”

  Zya's eyes widened, and she turned back to Mavra.

  “I did not ask for this, Zya, but it is my burden to bear. I wish things were back to the way that they were. But it is no use wishing is it?”

  “Perhaps you should tell me everything that has happened since we left.”

  “Perhaps later. Suffice it to say that Venla, Gwyn, Jani and Ramaji have been taken, and that Anita lies within after O'Bellah nearly killed her.”

  “So you are going after them, abandoning everything we stand for?”

  Mavra rounded on her. “How dare you accuse us of doing that after you left us with not a word.”

  “I have to follow my own path, Mavra. It could not be helped.”

  “And look where that has led you, right back to where you belong. Zya, you will never begin to understand what you did by splitting the group like that. Family stays together. We are family and you took that from us when you went away. I will go to the next world with a clearer conscience than you because I know that I am following my heart. We are going to try and rescue the others because it is the right thing to do, even if it is not the proper course of action.”

  “You are doing the right thing,” Layric said reassuringly. One of his hounds came bounding up and he ruffled it behind its ears, sending the hound into an ecstatic frenzy of leaps and bounds. “Let me tell you what I think of all of this, mother. If my wife was with us, and one of you went missing, she would move heaven and earth to get you back. She would do this for two reasons. First because it was her responsibility as Mistress of the Caravan, and secondly because she cared, which is a trait that we have seen lacking in too many people of late. You do not lack that. You care more about our missing than anybody, and you are only just realising it. Zya, this has all been thrust upon her with such suddenness that adjusting to all the changes is bound to take time. Many would have carried on the caravan tradition and continued, or returned home. Mayhap we are living in momentous times, for surely something is up when mercenaries kidnap people who want no more than to make a simple living. You are right in what you have said in the past of course.”

  “About the Old Law?”

  Layric nodded. “Yes about the Law. It was there for as long as I can remember, but maybe it is not the way anymore.”

  Zya sat there stunned. “You are losing faith?”

  Layric sighed. The normally stolid man, husband to a completely unflappable woman was finally having doubts. This did not bode well. “How can I have faith in a code that decrees a way of total peace when we are the only ones following it? How can a family that is rent apart so violently rely on peace to bring them back together?”

  “Faith is the one thing that will keep us going.” Zya said soothingly.

  “Zya is right, Layric. Faith is the cornerstone of our society. Venla taught me that. I have faith that we will find them again, and you have to share in that. Zya, do you see how things have changed now? This situation could look strange to any passers-by. A man pouring his heart out to a girl a third his age. It is not how everybody in the copse sees it. Here is a member of the caravan talking to and being consoled by its leader, and age has no issue to bring to the table. There is always time for change. We have perhaps reached that point. I don't think that living by the way of the Old Law will see us through, do you?”

  “How can you say that? It has lasted countless generations.”

  “Yes Zya, but for countless generations our people did not have mercenaries dogging them, assassins trying to whittle them down, random members deciding that they had to leave with no explanation.”

  Mavra was clearly losing her temper. Zya did not want to goad her. “I left a note. Layric, you are her husband. Do you not have any sort of an opinion on this?”

  Layric chuckled, a slow rumble. “I think that if my wife had suggested all of these ideas, I would have told her that she was being stupid, we would have had an argument and she would have done it anyway. You are a fresh breath of air, Mavra, and I will support whatever you do.”

  “That is good.” Said a voice from behind Mavra, for you will have no choice. I will not take the position, the girl is doing too well.” Anita climbed out of the doors and stepped down with Layric's assistance, Mavra looking on all the while.

  “How do you feel, daughter?”

  “Considering this is the first time that I have been well enough to the point of getting up, I feel fine. There is only so much time a woman can spend cooped up in a wagon while the world goes by. I have missed the steady passing of the countryside. They should make better windows in these things.” Anita pointed at the wagon with a skeletal finger, and Zya was shocked to realise how much weight Anita had lost. As if sensing that thought, Anita curled her hand and looked at it, turning it around and then stretching her fingers out. “My, I do have some catching up to do on my food.”

  “It's nice to see you up and around.” Zya reached out to help Anita down from the wagon, but the older woman pulled her arm back.

  “I don't know you, girl.” Anita gave her a cold glance, as if all the history of their family meant nothing.

  “Go help Gren,” Mavra suggested. “We have more need of cooking skills than we do of sewing at the moment.”

  “Your will, mother,” Anita replied. “There is only so much sewing a woman can do without a break. I have done nearly a moon's passing worthwhile abed. If anybody needs anything, it is likely in my finished pile.” Anita headed slowly towards the wagon behind them.

  “Do you think she will recover?” Zya asked.

  Layric stared after Anita, watching her as she made her way carefully and deliberately towards the other wagon. “I think that it would be so much easier if Gwyn were here.”

  “We all miss her, Layric.” Mavra was doing her best to console, a difficult job for one so young, Zya guessed.

  She echoed the comments. “I know what you mean. There are times when I feel that I almost can't cope with all that I do, and I just want my mother back.”

  Layric smiled, reaching up and placing a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “Your mother would be proud of you. You have changed in such a little time, and have ever asked only those things of people that you would be prepared to do yourself. That is the mark of a caravan mistress if ever I saw one. But you must remember that Mavra here is in charge, and whatever pulled you away will never be enough to make up for the fact that you left.”

  “I don't know if I would make a good Caravan Mistress, Layric. I believe my path was always destined elsewhere. Mistress Mavra, you have my support for what it's worth.”

  “Well I hope that you approve of what I will be d
eciding next.” Mavra replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let us get set for the day and I will tell you all. For whatever reason you are here, you can help out.”

  “I know exactly what you are going to do.” Zya whispered. “It is why we are here.”

  “We?”

  “My father, Ju, and Lorn.”

  “Layric, if you would be so kind.” Mavra spoke in a tone that clearly said she wanted to be left alone.

  Intrigued but respectful of the traditions and who he was now talking to, Layric nodded, and walked away.

  “They still leave me to my chores. Granted they are no longer the traditional chores of a caravan mistress.” Mavra unhitched the draft horse and rubbed it down, barely able to reach its neck. Securing the placid animal in their makeshift pen, she left it to crop grass while she checked out the state of her wagon.

  Zya ran her fingers lightly along the woodwork, a place that had once been the core of her life. The once colourful vehicle had paint chipped off of it and where paint was visible it was faded. This was testament to the amount of time the original caravan had been away from their home to the East. It was a mark of respect for a caravan to return almost stripped. Some caravans were known to operate completely independently, faded with use and inhabited by people that followed the traditions but had never once been to their true home.

  “That's seen some days.” Zya observed.

  “And it will see many more before I give it up. Now what do you know of my plans, and how have you come by this information?”

  “One thing Venla always taught us was that actions speak louder than words. You have been making a bee-line for the mercenaries for at least a moon's worth of travel. There are those out there that know this.”

  “The mercenaries?”

  “No, I do not believe so. We had word from tribesmen, related to Lorn.”

  Mavra looked around the camp. “Where is this mysterious man of yours?”

  “No doubt keeping an eye out. He has been training Ju as a tracker, and has been doing a pretty good job of it too. It was apparent to just about everybody but me that you were following the mercenaries tracks, but you missed something. They turned off of the road you were following at least a day back. We have been hurrying to catch you.”

  “Truly? I should have words with Cahal about his tracking.”

  “Well better now than weeks away when you are wondering where they all went. We marked the place they turned.”

  “So much the better that we found this woodland then.”

  “You are going to need help when you go after them. We are here to help.”

  Mavra put down her horse brush, placing it on the wagon. “Zya, whoever said I was going to do that?”

  “Like I said, actions speak louder than words.”

  Walking back to the others, Mavra was silent for but a moment. “Our caravan has been on the road since just before I was born, getting on for a generation. Both my sister and I had never known a different life, nor indeed had you. Like an older sister to me you were. I always knew you were a free spirit, riding a horse and sleeping under the stars.”

  “We were always different. I just never realised how much.”

  Mavra snorted out a laugh. “You might consider what I am going to do ironic bearing in mind what I have always thought about that choice of lifestyle.”

  Zya looked around the copse. Gren had one of his cook fires going, the type that miraculously produced no smoke. Layric and Anita were getting water, while the guards kept an eye on the track. Strangely, Lorn stood with them.

  “Is that Lorn?” The tone Mavra used made Zya feel somehow uncomfortable. It was how she had always spoken whenever she wanted something.

  “It is,” Zya replied.

  “Well aren't you going to introduce me?” Mavra walked on ahead with a purpose, Zya hurried to keep up.

  As Mavra closed like a silent predator, Lorn turned to greet Zya, bypassing the Mistress completely. “They have passed or been passed by any number of strangers up until a fortnight ago, but since then they have been alone.”

  Mavra was prevented from saying anything by Cahal. “Making our way across central Ciaharr, it had been relatively easy to keep track of where the mercenary band passed, for they had been ungentle to just about every person they had met. Many were the tales told of random beatings, blatant pillaging and the occasional rape. Our tracking skills are passable, but we are warriors, not woodsmen.”

  “You are lucky that Lorn came along when he did.” Mavra now spoke, and everybody listened. “Those chance meetings have only served to strengthen my resolve. I will not allow the rest of the caravan to be tortured or worse by O'Bellah and that crowd of murderers. The time has come to make decisions, lest they become too distant.”

  And it was with this resolve that Mavra approached the cook fire, where everybody else was gathered.

  “Are the horses all okay?” She asked, as Gren handed her a bowl of stew, rich with the smell of herbs.

  “They are, and getting fitter with all these leagues you have got us doing.” Gren answered as he doled out more.

  “Fitter? Or leaner?”

  Gren looked over at the horses, contentedly cropping at the grass towards the front of the copse. “Perhaps both. But however hard we drive them, we will never catch up with your parents.” Gren had hit the point that everybody had been silently thinking about for days now. “The signs of the mercenaries' passing are growing fainter every day, and the memories of those they have passed will dwindle from righteous outrage to sullen anger.”

  Mavra nodded her head as she ate. “I know, Gren. That is why I have something to propose. You are not going to like it, which is why I am going to propose it rather than use my privilege as Mistress to command. I want all of your support for this. As you have rightly said Gren, they are getting further and further away, and the further afield they go, the greater the distance we have to cover, and the more time they have to do something terrible to one of our number. My proposal is that as soon as is possible, we lose the wagons and pursue them on horseback.”

  “No!” It was Anita that claimed the first outburst. “How can you even think of such a thing?”

  “I can think it for exactly the reasons that have just been explained, Anita.” She replied. “We need speed, not stealth. Only through quicker horses and less baggage can we hope to catch them.”

  Anita stood, placing her food to the ground. She paced back and forth, finally coming to stop in front of Mavra. She was growing, but Anita was still taller than her, and looked down as she frowned. “I will not agree to this.”

  “This is only an idea. But it is one we must consider. We all have lost somebody dear to us, but their memory cannot be complete while they are still out there. You must consider that as a reason for us to catch them.”

  “No.” Anita was adamant. “You may be the Caravan Mistress and I will neither dispute your title nor your authority, but you will listen to me. This is foolhardy. What happens if you do catch them? How can six of us take on an army of mercenaries? How do you expect to be able to rescue anybody from that mob?”

  From the corner of her eye, Zya could see Layric shifting in his place. When she glanced at him, she could see that he was cautioning Mavra to back down, at least for the moment. He was of course right. Anita was far from recovered, and the blow to her head could well have killed her. It was best to step lightly. “Anita may be right,” she conceded with as much humility as she could muster. “Perhaps it is too grand a scheme for six of you. There are those of us that would aid you in this. It was only an idea. Her confidant mien broke Anita's anger, sending it spreading to the four winds like dust. Instantly Anita was back with them, hugging Mavra as if their roles were reversed. Again she had completely ignored Zya.

  “Dear child, would that we could do what you ask,” she said, holding Mavra tightly. “We will see our loved ones again, I promise you.”

  While this scen
e unfolded, Ju had slipped up behind Zya. “There is a man at the border of this wood. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Take me to him. There is nothing to be done here.”

  Zya and Ju managed to slip away, but as Lorn followed them, Mavra called out. “Where are you going Lorn? We have to talk.”

  “There is time for talk later, girl,” he called back, and then caught up with Zya.

  “She likes you. It is easy to perceive.”

  “That girl is young, and doesn't know what she likes. There are more important issues than the fancies of a child playing follow the leader.”

  “I'll have you know that she is well entitled to lead that Caravan.” Anger made her voice hiss.

  “I don't doubt it, but the fact remains that they all wanted you to lead that Caravan. The girl is not ready to do so. Now as we are not here to debate the politics of your people, perhaps we should concentrate on the task at hand.”

  “They are also your people, son of Hern.” A man stepped out from the shadow of a large oak to greet them.

  “Judging by appearances I would say we are all related,” Lorn replied, studying the man.

  “You could almost be brothers.” Zya added, but then she noticed differences. The eyes were darker for one, shadowed by hair that was bound in a different style to Lorn. The man was shorter, but only slightly. He was also much thinner. He was as good a match as could be, despite this.

  “Peace be with you,” Lorn said, offering his hand in friendship.

  “And with you,” the stranger replied, taking his hand. “Let me introduce myself. I am called Handel, Handel Broadbough of the Merdonese Forest tribe. I know of your travels, Lorn, son of Hern. I had not thought you travelling this way.”