Beyond The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  As their bodies pressed together, Drake swore a silent oath: He would find a way to survive. He would make it through and see Lenora wear the crown. He now understood what he was meant to do; why he had been able to endure his exile. And though the world might object… he also knew that the moment their flesh and spirits touched, they would be together until his final breath.

  Chapter Four

  When Drake awoke, he saw Lenora was sitting up hugging her knees, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was looking down at him with a sorrowful expression.

  He leaned up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve wasted so much time,” she said, in a half whisper. “And now you’re leaving again.” Drake shifted up and pulled her close. “I’m coming back. And when this is all over, we…” She kissed him, cutting his words short. When their lips parted, she touched his cheek.

  “Please. Don’t tell me that everything will work out for us.” “You don’t believe that?”

  “I don’t know what I believe. But I’m sure that whatever happens, things will never be the same. Not for us. Not for Vale. Not for anyone.”

  “But that’s a good thing, right? Vale is dying. And now that we know why, you can heal

  it.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I’ve always loved that about you. The way you’re so certain that everything ends up turning out for the best. But there is a hard truth coming. To save my home, I might be forced to destroy it. How will people live? Life in the provinces is bad enough as it is.” “The Nelwyn seem to do just fine,” he pointed out. “I think the people of Vale can learn to

  live without certain comforts for a while.” “Perhaps.”

  Drake lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “What’s really bothering you?”

  “I don’t know. I just have this feeling. Like something is coming. Something terrible. And there is no escape.” She chuckled softly. “I’m just being silly, I suppose. With you gone, I’ll be on

  my own for the first time in my life. The Nelwyn are putting their faith in me – not to mention the fate of their entire race. I guess I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

  Drake laughed, though without a hint of scorn or derision. “If that’s what’s bothering you, you have nothing to worry about. I’d put my faith in you above anyone I’ve ever known. If there is anyone in the world who can save these people, it’s you.”

  “I wish I had your confidence.” “Drake.”

  Krigar’s voice was an unwanted intrusion. Drake wanted to tell him to leave, that they needed more time. He was just about to say so when Lenora kissed his cheek and gathered her clothes.

  “He’ll be out in a moment,” she called back, and then smiled at Drake. “I know. I want him to go away too.”

  Drake stood and began to dress. When Lenora did not move to follow him, he paused. “I can’t watch you leave,” she explained. “Not this time.”

  Drake stepped close and embraced her tightly. “I will be back. You have my word.” “And I’ll be waiting,” she said.

  Outside he found Krigar munching on a piece of fruit, Drake’s sword and pack lying at his feet. Around him the camp was already being dismantled, the Nelwyn taking no notice of their departure.

  “Where is everyone going?” asked Drake.

  “To Illio,” he replied. “It’s our largest village.” Seeing Drake’s concern, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll explain how to find it before you reach the Bomar. It’s safer for Lenora to teach my people there.”

  Drake was irritated that no one had mentioned the move previously, but there was nothing to be done.

  They started out at a quick pace, the frigid air blowing from the mountain chasing them the entire way back to the thick of the forest.

  “The Bomar send scouts from time to time,” said Krigar. “The clothing in your pack was taken from a scout, so it should be easy enough for you to pass yourself off as one.”

  The thick wool shirt and pants were coarse, threadbare, and patched together in several places. The leather belt was worn and stained, as were the fingerless gloves. The cloth hat was too small, but Krigar said that not all Bomar wore them, so the lack of it would not make him stand out.

  Lastly there was a small pouch of strange coins, each stamped with a crude likeness of a bald, hook-nosed man in profile.

  “They exchange these for goods,” said Krigar. “Though I’m not sure as to the value of

  each.”

  Three were made from copper, five from steel, and one gold. It didn’t seem like very much, but it would have to do.

  “If asked, you should tell people that you are scouting for the Imperium.” “The Imperium?”

  “That’s who commands their soldiers. They hire scouts to gather information, but the scouts themselves are not soldiers. No one pays much attention to them. If you’re asked, you should say that you have been tracking a group of Nelwyn for a few weeks, but lost their trail.”

  Krigar went on to explain the layout of the mining town and to describe the machine that he would need to board. It sounded like some sort of train, though rather than being run on mana, Krigar said that it was powered by fire and smoke.

  By the second day, it was decided that Drake should don his Bomar clothing. Krigar was looking increasingly troubled, stopping frequently to listen for signs of anyone about. They did chance upon one Bomar patrol, but it was far enough away that they were easily able to avoid it.

  “You should turn back,” Drake suggested. “I should be able to find it from here.” They were only a day away from where Krigar was meant to leave him, and the Nelwyn’s rising anxiety was becoming ever more noticeable.

  “No. I will not leave until I must.”

  “To be honest, I would rather you watched over Lenora. We’re close enough as it is.” He could not help but admire Krigar. For all his hatred of the Bomar, he was afraid of them. Had he asked it of him, Drake was sure that Krigar would have continued right up to the edge of the camp. “Really. You should go. Besides, if we’re spotted, I don’t want to have to explain why we’re together.”

  Krigar lowered his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “You could be right. My presence would cause difficulties.” He grasped Drake by the shoulder. “I will watch over Lenora in your stead. May the Mother guide and protect you.”

  Without another word, Krigar turned and started out northwest, in the direction he had told Drake the Nelwyn village was located. He felt an odd kinship with the man. His deficiency in the use of mana set him apart from the others. He loved his people and yet seemed not to truly belong.

  There was only one place Drake had ever felt at home. Well…not a place. When he was with Lenora, that awkward discomfort that had plagued him since he was a boy dissipated. And

  all he needed to do was peer into her eyes to know she felt the same way. He had never fit in anywhere, not entirely, and neither had she. Except with each other.

  It had occurred to him on more than one occasion since leaving Vale to simply abandon it once the Bomar were defeated. But he knew this was not really an option. Not for him and certainly not for Lenora. Even should she be willing to renounce the throne, she could not leave the people of Vale to be slaughtered by her brother. There was only one love in her heart that he knew she could not ignore. As much as he wanted to think it was her love for him, it wasn’t. But that was what he loved most about her.

  Late in the afternoon, he found a spot in a small clearing to camp. He missed Krigar’s company, even if the conversation was often stale. He hadn’t been alone since before leaving Vale. It’s peculiar how you change, he thought. After his exile, he had spent countless nights in the dark with naught but painful memories to dwell upon. At least now his thoughts were of Lenora and their time together in the Nelwyn camp. He almost hated feeling sleep call him down and hoped dearly that the dreams would match his waking reflections.

  The following morning was dull and gray, the sky swollen with clouds begging to
burst forth and make Drake’s trek through the wilderness more grueling than it already was. He set off at a quick pace, skipping breakfast, hoping to beat the rain. But after half an hour, the first drops began to fall. He had estimated he’d reach the Bomar by midday, but the ground began sloping sharply upward, and as the rain increased, he was forced to slow to keep sure footing on the wet turf.

  It was well into the afternoon before the weather broke and the sun began baking the world dry. Drake’s legs were burning with fatigue, and as a reminder of a meal missed, his stomach was

  growling. He still had a bit of meat Krigar had packed away, but instead chose to slake his hunger with a handful of berries and a small bag of nuts he had packed away.

  The ground had leveled off somewhat but was still treacherous. He had slipped three times, sliding several yards and covering his clothes with muck and leaves. At least it would be believable if he had to tell someone he’d been in the forest for weeks, he thought, doing his best to make light of his misery.

  Barely had he swallowed a mouthful of berries when he heard voices coming from the east. He leapt to his feet, tossed his pack aside, and drew his blade. A few moments later, two figures appeared from behind a patch of sapling pines. One was a child, perhaps eight from the look of him, the other an adult roughly Drake’s age. They were wearing course wool tunics and pants, similar to Drake’s, though rather than blue, they were crimson and black and badly stained. Aside from a knife on the man’s belt, they did not appear to be armed. Drake considered grabbing his pack and trying to hide, but the boy spotted him before he could move.

  “Father!” he shouted, pointing at Drake.

  The man halted, immediately pushing the boy behind him. His hand shot to his knife, but in a flash of recognition, he let out a relieved sigh.

  “It’s all right, son. Nothing to worry about.” He raised an arm. “Ho there, friend. Get caught in the rain?”

  As with the Bomar he had fought, their accents were peculiar, with rolling r’s and softer vowels. Though at the time he hadn’t given it much notice. He did his best to match their speech. “Yes.” Keep it short, he thought, until you can learn to speak like they do. Drake was actually quite adept at this, having had to blend into the populations of the outer provinces, each of which had their own particular way of speech.

  “What you doing so far from the camp?” the man pressed, though he did not seem to think Drake’s presence to be suspicious.

  “Scout.”

  The man frowned. “A scout, you say? I thought you lot were done around here.”

  “Most are.” He hoped this lie would work. The thought of killing a man and his boy was not something he cared for. He had never harmed a child and was not about to start.

  “Special mission then?” Drake nodded.

  “Bloody hell. I guess we’ll be needing to get ready for another raid then.” Drake shrugged.

  “I know. They don’t tell you lot nothing. But you’d think they were tired of hunting those bloody savages by now.” He let out a sigh. “Well, anyway. We’re on our way back if you care to join us.”

  “Thank you.” Drake slung his pack and put away his weapon.

  “Nice sword that,” said the man as he and the boy drew near. “Must have cost a hefty sum,

  I bet.”

  Drake smiled. “Yes.” “Don’t talk much do you?” “I’m tired.”

  The man nodded. “I would think so. You scouts live a tough life. Well, I’m Guery and this is my boy Lyal.”

  “Drake.”

  “Did you find any Nelwyn?” asked the boy, timidly.

  Drake shook his head.

  The boy looked incredulous. “Really? I heard they’re planning to attack the camp.” “Don’t be silly,” said Guery. “The soldiers ran them off months ago. They wouldn’t dare

  come here.” He looked over to Drake. “My son thinks the Nelwyn will attack any day now. Could you please tell him that his friends don’t know what they’re talking about?”

  “The Nelwyn are not coming,” said Drake. If they noticed his accent, neither showed it. “You see? And he’s a scout. So enough with the nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense,” he protested. “Captain Vyren says we should all be ready.”

  “That’s his job,” said Guery. “To see that people are ready. Drake, do you have children?” “No.”

  “Well, if you ever do, you had better hope for a girl. Boys gossip more than anything.

  Drives me crazy.”

  Drake listened as he continued about what it was like to raise a young boy. Everything from foul odor to ravenous appetite was mentioned, to the chagrin and embarrassment of Lyal. Drake remembered how his own father would talk about him around other people. But unlike Guery, who tempered his slights with praise, the words were invariably spoken with a sense of disappointment. He had hoped Drake would inherit his love of science and invention. But by the time Drake was in his early teens, it was clear he hadn’t. Not to say he wasn’t a good student. But science bored him to tears.

  It was when Drake had told his father that he had ambitions to join the royal guard that things came to a head.

  “Just because you’re friends with Prince Salazar doesn’t mean you have to throw away your life.” His father had been sitting at his desk, running over some schematics, when Drake told

  him. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes was enough to convey his…feelings? Though Drake often wondered if the man possessed any.

  “That’s not the reason,” Drake insisted. “Why then?”

  “I…just want to.”

  His father looked over the top of his glasses, the way he always did when he thought what someone had said was entirely stupid. Drake had been on the receiving end of that look many times. “So you say you don’t know why? And yet you are willing to gamble that you’ll discover it is your calling? What happens when you find out you hate it? Quit? Then what? Live in the provinces and starve to death?”

  “I won’t hate it,” he insisted, doing his best to sound confident. “Salazar already let me ride with the guard on a patrol.”

  “And from one day, you are ready to make a lifetime commitment?” He shook his head. “That’s short sighted and ill-thought, son.”

  “I don’t want to do what you do,” said Drake. He was trying not to shout. His father did not respect anyone who raised their voice to make a point. “I hate science. I…I’m not as smart as you.”

  His father gave him a rare and highly uncharacteristic smile. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t expect you to be like me. You couldn’t, even should that be your ambition. You’re not dim, son. But you lack the disciplined mind of a scientist.”

  This had hurt Drake’s feelings in a way he had not expected. It was one thing to tell it to himself, another for him to hear it. “Then what do you think I should do?”

  “Work with me, of course.”

  “But you just said…I mean…”

  “I said you could never be like me. Not that you couldn’t contribute. You are more than competent to become my assistant.”

  It was in that moment that Drake understood his father’s motives. And they infuriated him. “You don’t think I have what it takes to make it on my own.”

  “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to.”

  His father removed his glasses and tossed them on the desk. “So you would rather struggle for the rest of your life? Look around you, son. Look how we live. Do you know how much work went into elevating us to this level? You think you can have this working as a royal guard?”

  Drake straightened his back. “You know what, Father? I don’t care what you have. Or what you think I can accomplish. I’d rather end up in the provinces because I failed than live in your shadow, knowing I don’t belong.” As hard as it was, he managed to keep his eyes locked on his father’s. “I’m joining as soon as I’m accepted.” He turned to the door before his courage could fail him.


  “I could stop you,” his father called, just as Drake was leaving. “Just because you’re friends with the prince, don’t think I can’t. I can see to it that you are not accepted with one call.”

  Drake turned his head. “If you do that, I’ll leave. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. You may be able to stop me from joining, but you won’t be able to stop me from living my own life. If you think I won’t, try me.”

  Things were never the same between them. His father died a few months later, neither having said they were sorry.

  “Are you all right?”

  Drake looked up at Guery, who was staring at him with concern. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought. What were you saying?”

  “Nothing interesting, I suppose.”

  A rustle of footfalls from off to their right caught Drake’s attention. Guery heard it as well and pulled his son close. From behind a patch of thick brush two men stepped out. One was wearing a long red tunic, brown pants, and heavy leather boots, and the second, a black jacket, a light green shirt, and black trousers made from a dense material that to Drake looked like it would be extremely uncomfortable. On their chests were pinned a metal triangle with a single flame etched on its face.

  “I thought I’d find you out here,” said the man with the jacket.

  “What do you want, Manny?” said Guery, his eyes darting over to his son. “I think you know,” he replied, grinning.