Apok nodded slowly. Then, “There is still the pact.”
“Yes,” said Ditra. “I am Lord Ditra of the family Telfer, Rangatira of Tokana, and descendant of the first Albern of the family Telfer. My ancestor forged the pact with your people. But it has been neglected for so long that it has grown rusted and damaged, like a blade unused. It must be reforged. You and I can do so, as our predecessors did long ago.”
That produced a long moment of silence. At first I thought Apok might not have understood. But then she snorted in what seemed like amusement.
“Tomorrow, then,” she said. “We do not love many words, as humans do. But you and I will use as many words as we have to, in order to return peace to the mountains.”
Ditra seemed taken aback. But at last she smiled. “Tomorrow, then.”
Apok turned to her pack. “Leave,” she said. “Back to the mountains, and away from the city.”
The trolls did not make a sound, but turned as one to obey her. We stood there, all of us, and watched their giant, lumbering forms stalk away into the night. No one moved until the last one was gone. When the hall had settled to silence once again, I turned to Mag. She was staring out into the darkness—out the shattered door through which Kaita had escaped.
I let go her arm and gripped her shoulder. “We will find her.”
Mag smiled—but it was a smile of such sadness, and such bone-deep weariness, that I felt my eyes sting.
“I know,” she whispered. “I know we will.”
There was still much to be done that night. Ditra sent the fastest messengers she had left to find the refugees on the road and order their return. She then sent a small contingent of soldiers to meet them on the road and provide protection from ambush. The Shades had vanished after the small part they played in the battle, and Ditra feared further mischief from them.
After that she retired at last, ordering us to do the same. Mag and I collapsed in our beds the moment we saw them. We slept well past midday and rose to find Kahaunga had begun the long process of rebuilding itself. We helped where we could, and spent our time in rest when we could not.
True to her word, Apok returned the next day, and she met with Ditra on the slopes north of Kahaunga. They discussed the pact again, redrew the boundaries, and pledged that their descendants, and those they commanded, would swear by the new pact from that day forth. Then the humans and the trolls joined each other in rebuilding their lives, with the trolls helping Telfer subjects reclaim and rebuild their homes in the mountains, and the Telfers providing the trolls with great stores of bread and crops, which were gratefully (if messily) devoured.
Early on the third day, Dryleaf and Oku returned to us, along with the rest of the refugees. Oku barked madly as he leaped around us, and Dryleaf beamed.
“I knew somehow that you two would come out all right,” he said, “yet I am glad to see myself proven correct.”
“I think you had an almost foolish confidence in our success, then,” I told him.
“Someone had to.”
“Albern may speak for himself, but not for me,” said Mag, in a light mood that I doubted was genuine. “If our foes wish to rid themselves of me, they shall have to do better than trolls.”
“And speaking of your foes,” said Dryleaf, “what of Kaita?”
Mag’s false cheer vanished.
“She escaped,” I said. “She was last seen fleeing southwest, as fast as her raven wings would carry her.”
Dryleaf gave a tired sigh. “I suppose you wish to strike out upon the road as soon as may be, without even giving an old man a night to rest?”
Mag paused for a long moment. Her mouth worked, her lips twisting around each other, as though words were fighting to escape.
At last she simply said, “No.”
I gaped at her. “No?”
“No.” Mag shook her head. “Kaita led us here step by step. Always she left us a clue, pulling us along until we reached Tokana, where she hoped to have done with us. That game has finished, and she has lost. Now we have no more clues, no signs by which to pursue her. So why should we hurry back to the road? Besides”—and she gave me a gentle smile—“you have returned home after far too long. You have reunited with your family. You should take the time to enjoy that.”
“I will,” I said. “But my aims have not changed. In Northwood, you and I said we would make Kaita pay. I said I was with you. That promise still stands.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Mag, and I could hear how deeply she meant it. “Then enjoy your return to your homeland. Kaita will still be out there when you are done, and we will find her together.”
“I, too, am still with you,” muttered Dryleaf from his chair. “Though I suppose it sounds less heroically inspiring coming from me.”
The rest of our Yearsend was rather pleasant. Ditra’s rangers were kept very busy hunting down the Shades in the mountains. When Kaita abandoned them, they melted into the wilderness, trying to hide from all sight and retribution. Most did not succeed. Ditra’s forces hunted the Shades down in every hole where they tried to hide. And those who passed farther into the mountains, and were discovered by trolls … well, I did not like to imagine their fate then, and I still do not.
We stayed in Kahaunga for more than a week. When Ditra was not too busy rebuilding her city, I spent most of my days with her, and when she was, I would visit Vera instead. Sometimes I would take her riding beyond the walls of the stronghold, and I discovered to my great delight that she seemed to love the mountain wilderness almost as much as I had when I was her age.
My time spent with Ditra was mostly pleasant. In the very first days, we were so thrilled at Kahaunga’s salvation that we thought of little else. After that, our conversations turned back to our past and our family. We still had some angry words to say to each other then, things we had not had time to say before the trolls attacked. But I will not repeat it all here, for it worked itself out in the end—the way it usually does, with family. One’s true family, at any rate. We found peace with each other, and I took every meal with her and Vera, with Mag and Dryleaf joining us more often than not. Ditra had, you remember, been rather cool towards Mag when she thought she was a sellsword. That was no longer the case, and they grew to like each other greatly in a very short time. Ditra found great amusement in Mag’s frequent jokes at my expense, and sometimes the two of them would join forces against me, doing their utmost to make me blush, and falling into peals of laughter when I retreated, muttering, into my wine. On one such occasion, Dryleaf gave a sudden, barking laugh.
“Sky above, I have just realized it.” He reached over and patted Mag’s arm. “Mag has become your new Ditra.”
That sobered both women up rather sharply, and they glared at him. “I certainly have not,” said Mag.
“She certainly has not,” said Ditra, at the exact same time.
This, of course, sent both Dryleaf and me into hysterics, and Vera giggled at her mother’s side. When I had recovered enough to talk, I patted Mag’s hand.
“I think he is wiser than either of us, my friend.”
It was Mag’s turn to retreat to her cup of wine.
Ditra and Vera got to hear Dryleaf sing often during that time. We would sit in her chamber, Vera on my lap or her mother’s, Mag by the window with Oku curled at her feet, and listen as Dryleaf shared songs we had never heard before. I never failed to marvel at how many he seemed to know. I thought I could learn a new one every week for the rest of my life and still not match him. The years seemed to fall away from him when he performed; his face shone in the firelight, his stance was firm, his shoulders straight. And as I watched him, and listened, I reflected on a conversation that he and I had had more than once in the last few months.
One day, nearly a week after the battle with the trolls, I saw him alone in his chamber after the others had gone to bed. I had just helped Ditra put Vera to bed; she had fallen asleep on her mother’s lap, and I carried her to her room while Ditra t
ucked the blankets in around her.
“What is it, my boy?” said Dryleaf, brows raised in curiosity.
“I … I wanted to share something with you, if you do not mind staying up a while longer.”
Dryleaf frowned. “Of course. Is everything all right?”
I took a deep breath. “It is. I have … this is still dear to me, and I am reluctant … it is the song. Jordel’s song.”
Dryleaf understood at once, and he nodded solemnly. “Ah.”
“I told you of my journey with Loren in the Greatrocks. I spoke more of her than of Jordel, but Jordel was dearer to me, and I promised that I would make a song for him. I … I would be honored if you were the first to hear it.”
I did not look up at him, even though he could not see me, for I suddenly felt like a very foolish child. But Dryleaf reached over and took up my hand and squeezed it between his leathery fingers. I looked up to find him smiling gently, his gaze seemingly just over my left shoulder.
“The honor would be mine,” he said.
And so, in hesitant, stumbling tones, I sang him the song I had spent the last few months writing.
What sorrow feel we
Who mourning raise our hands
To farewell bid to he
Who watchfully guarded the nine lands
Stranger, will not you weep
Do you know he who fell from high
In a bed of stones and there to sleep
And ages will pass him by
Do you know Jordel of Adair
Who walked miles long
His mighty arm, his silver hair
His shining blade, his armor strong
For none could meet one so bold
Or kindness in such measure great
Without weeping when he lay there cold
The master of his own fate
He saw along his own trail
And knew the fate that loomed
With his head high, in shining mail
Jordel rode forth to meet his doom
Our tears we must bring to close
And bitter our grief we must allay
Jordel his own resting place chose
To bring us all through night to day
My voice faded in the chamber, and Dryleaf sat nodding in the firelight, his head bobbing in time with the pace at which I had sung. I could not even look at him, such was my embarrassment.
“You can tell me,” I said. “It is not very good.”
“I can hear the heart of it. You have done a rare thing. A fine thing.”
“How very diplomatic of you,” I said, with an embarrassed snort. My face was beet-red. “But those are fair words holding little substance. You are trying to try to make me feel better.”
“Stop it, boy,” said Dryleaf. It was one of the only times he ever spoke sharply to me. “You think it will make you feel better to hear it, so let me make it plain that you are wrong: No, your song is not very good. Of course it is not. You said you have never written one before, and you have been trying to do it all on your own. And it is not even finished.”
“No, just a great deal of time wasted, it seems.” I already knew the song was poor, but hearing it from the old man, who was always so kind, was like a knife in the gut.
“Wasted?” said Dryleaf incredulously. “No. You could have brought it to me sooner, and then things might have gone a bit faster. But no work upon a song is wasted. You have done the important work, my boy, you have the most important piece. You have the heart of it. Your language is off, the poetry lacks, and your rhythm … well. But these are dressings. These are the niceties you drape atop the soul of the song itself. If the soul is weak, all the dressings in the world will yield you nothing. You have spent your time wrestling with the hardest task, the part that too many bards eschew. But your work has borne fruit. Now it is ready to be honed, like a blade on a whetstone.”
“I will work on it more, then,” I said. “Thank you for your advice.” I made to rise, but Dryleaf reached out suddenly and seized my hand.
“Sit down, boy, sit down,” he said. “You have struggled too long at this alone.”
“It is mine.” I could hardly understand the sense of jealousy and selfishness rising up in me, and I did not enjoy it, but neither could I rid myself of it. “I have to do this on my own. It is important to me.”
He released my hand and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I am sure it is. It is clear you loved him.”
My anger abated somewhat, and I spoke softly. “I did.”
“Then do him justice, and let the song become something great. You feel you must do this yourself, because you think it would be weak to beg help from another. Forgive me, but it is very like Mag.”
I scoffed. “Mag? Mag has no interest in songs.”
Dryleaf shook his head. “Not in songs. But in other things. She is the greatest warrior of her age. Everyone knows it. She feels the weight of it. It makes her feel that she must always take on more, and do it alone.”
“She fought beside us against the trolls.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, “that if she thought you would have stayed behind and let her face them alone, she would have. And she took it upon herself to slay the pack leader, and to subdue Kaita.”
I looked down at my hands in my lap. “She asked me to come with her, when she left Northwood.”
“Did she?” said Dryleaf. “That, then, was a rare moment of wisdom. I think that, if you do not want both your roads to end in tragedy, you must teach her to show such wisdom more often. You should not learn her way of doing things, but persuade her to a wiser course instead. She needs your help if she is to accomplish her aims. If she tries to do it alone, she will fail, Uncut Lady or not.” He took a deep breath. “It is a lesson many never learn. Your sister thought she could succeed on her own. But look how she fared here, before you came. In the end, only you and Mag brought even the faintest hope of success.”
We fell silent. I thought upon what Dryleaf had said, and I saw, swimming before me, the face of Maia. She needs you to save her, he had said to me.
After a little while, I stood and made for the door. But I stopped by Dryleaf’s chair and reached down for his hand. He squeezed my fingers again, gently.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “It is late now. But we will speak of the song again soon.”
“I cannot wait,” he murmured.
After a week and a half of rest, we left Kahaunga at last.
When Mag and I told Ditra of our intention to leave, she went very quiet. We were in her chamber eating our evening meal, along with Dryleaf, but I had made sure that Vera was not in the room. As the silence stretched on after I had finished speaking, I looked uncertainly at Mag, but she never took her gaze from Ditra.
“I had meant to discuss matters with you before now,” said Ditra softly. “I thought to ask you to be my new lead ranger. I can think of no one else more suited to take Maia’s place at my side.”
“And I expected you to say so,” I said. “But I have been away from Calentin a long time, and I am happier wandering the nine lands than I ever was here.” She began to object, but I raised a hand to forestall her. “It was not only Mother who made me unhappy here. It is the life I was expected to lead. The one you want me to lead now. I am not suited to a noble’s life, Ditra. I never was.”
She sighed and shook her head. “No. I suppose you are not. I will not pretend I am happy with your answer, but neither can I say truthfully that you are wrong. Mayhap that is why I waited so long to raise the subject.” To my surprise, she turned to Dryleaf. “And what of you, Grandfather? You have ridden a long road to reach us, and a longer one stretches before you still, unless I miss my guess. Would you rather remain? I would treasure your presence as an advisor, not to mention your singing voice.”
Dryleaf bowed in his seat. “You are very kind, Rangatira. But my road does stretch on a long way, as you said, and there is an old friend at the end of it, unless I miss my guess.”
He grinned and turned, so that his blind eyes seemed to gaze somewhere between Mag and me. “And besides, what hope do you truly think these young ones have without me at their side?”
That made us all laugh, and our talk turned to other things. With the matter settled, over the next few days Ditra commanded her servants to help us ready for travel. They provisioned us well, and groomed and re-shod our horses. And in those two days, we spent more time with Ditra and Vera than ever, and our meals were all the sweeter for our knowledge that our time together would soon end. Kaita had been seen flying away southwest, and there were some vague reports of strange things happening in that direction. Mag, Dryleaf, and I spent many days holed up in council with Ditra, poring over maps and determining our best course south. She sent word to the Calentin king, to be sent to all their Rangatira, that a rogue weremage allied with the Shades was passing through the kingdom, and that they should be on watch for her. At last we settled on a road that would bring us back to Opara by much the same route we had taken to get to Kahaunga, but with frequent stops along the way to search for any rumors of Kaita’s passing. Ditra gave us a new writ, of course, granting us broad, sweeping powers to aid us in our search.
At last, our time came to depart. We rose before dawn on the thirteenth of Martis to find our horses ready by the stables. Ditra was there to bid us farewell, and she had brought Vera with her. The poor girl was still blinking sleep from her eyes. But she came alert and ran forwards as soon as she saw me.
“Tell me you are not really leaving,” she pleaded.
“I am,” I said, ruffling her hair. “But not forever. We will meet again. And in the meantime, I have taught you much of the wilderness. I will expect you to know much more when I return. I think your mother needs another ranger, if you are willing to be one.”
The Tales of the Wanderer Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 4) Page 57