Amaroq met his gaze. “I want to remove the shackle.”
Shandar considered it. “I’m not sure how, Wolf.”
“We’ll find a way – break the lock with something.”
“Your father could open locks with his power.” Shandar gave a grim laugh, wiping the back of his hand over his sweating brow. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
“That’s not within my ability.”
“No, I guess not.”
Amaroq went to their saddlebags and searched through them until he found a small hatchet. Carrying the hatchet back to the body, he used the blunt end of it to strike the lock over and over again. The shackles were rusty and it didn’t take much before the lock broke and they were able to release the woman from her bonds.
Shandar retrieved a blanket from one of the horses and they wrapped the corpse in it, straightening out her arms and legs, giving her hands a pose of rest against her breast. In the meantime, Nakoda found a flat rock and a better place to dig, in the shelter of a stunted tree.
Working together, Nakoda and Amaroq managed to dig a proper grave. Their hands were bloody and blistered, their backs strained, but they completed it. They laid the woman in the grave and Amaroq offered a blessing, then they filled it in, covering the new mound with some of the rocks that had been used to bury her before.
Finally they collapsed in the shade of the tree.
Shandar brought them food and water, taking a seat next to them while they ate. Amaroq wanted a bath more than anything, but they hadn’t seen any water for more than a day. There was nothing in their canteens to spare either.
“We need water,” he said, staring at the fresh grave.
“We’re near the Ethicon River. We should be at its bank before nightfall. I thought we’d camp there,” said Shandar.
Amaroq nodded.
Shandar nudged him with his shoulder. “You okay, Wolf?”
Amaroq shook his head. “I thought for a moment that I’d find Naia in that grave.”
Nakoda grunted and went back to chewing.
“I know,” said Shandar. “I thought so too.”
“I’ve never left Tirsbor my entire life, and the first time I do, it’s for this. What sort of world does everyone else inhabit, Shandar? The one I’m looking at is cruel and brutal. People prey on each other, and for what? For pieces of metal with made-up value. I don’t understand it. I don’t think this is the world for me.”
Shandar gave a grim laugh. “You are your father’s son.”
Amaroq looked over at him. “He felt this way?”
“Always. He was tormented by it.”
“And you’re not?”
Shandar shifted, so he could look at him. “Most people, Wolf, learn to compartmentalize the bad, shove it away.”
“Ignore it.”
“Sometimes, yes. It’s survival.” He sighed. “But there are other people who can’t do that, who can never look away. Those people either go mad or they direct that passion. They lead a war-torn people to Terra Antiguo. They end the reign of an evil despot with one thrust of a sword. They become King of two lands, bringing prosperity to both.” He paused, giving Amaroq a sad smile. “Or they spend an afternoon giving a woman a proper burial, then hunt down the slavers who killed her.” He shrugged. “There’s the rest of us, Wolf, and then there’s an Eldralin.”
* * *
The Ethicon River flowed out of the mountains ringing in Terra Antiguo, reaching the ocean just east of Chernow. At its upper end, it was volatile – whitewater bounding through rocky crags, over sheared-off cliffs, flowing swift and cold with the run-off from the winter’s snow. Where it reached the ocean it grew broad and lazy, cutting an easier path through sand and limestone.
Amaroq and his companions stood on the banks of the Upper Ethicon, watching it crash and tumble through the breaks in the mountain, cascading past them in a frothing white plume of spray. There was certainly no bathing in this. They were barely able to refill their waterskins and give the horses a drink.
Amaroq’s mare was limping badly now, so he’d taken to walking beside her, trying to spare her any more pain. Leading her to a shallow hollow where the water didn’t rush past so violently, he soaked her sore hoof in the cold water, hoping to bring her some relief.
“She can’t keep going on this way!” he shouted over the roar of the cataract.
Shandar nodded.
Nakoda approached and lifted her foreleg, inspecting the hoof. “She stepped on a rock or something. She needs rest.”
“We could camp here!” shouted Shandar in return.
“And be deaf by morning!”
“What?”
Amaroq shook his head. He pointed behind Shandar where the mountain pass opened into a meadow. “We’ll camp up there!”
Shandar turned and looked, then nodded at Amaroq. They walked the horses up the gradual incline, stopping frequently to give Amaroq’s horse a rest, and came to the meadow less than half an hour later. The sun was dropping and long shadows heralded the beginning of nightfall. The meadow was broad and small streams ran through it. They could see for quite a distance around them and there was plenty of kindling to start a fire.
Nakoda offered to take care of Amaroq’s horse and as he had more experience with them than Amaroq did, he agreed. While Nakoda made the animal comfortable, using Stamerian to soothe the pain, Amaroq went in search of firewood.
Stepping into a small copse of trees, Amaroq gathered dead branches, but as he searched, he became aware of smoke, wafting to him on the late afternoon breeze. He sniffed, trying to pinpoint the direction. Carrying the sticks back to camp, he settled them beside the river rocks Shandar was gathering to make a fire-ring.
“I smell smoke.”
“Forest fire?”
“No, cooking smoke.” He pointed back into the copse. “In that direction.”
Shandar reached for his weapons and began strapping them back on. “Let’s go have a look.” He rose and affixed everything to his belt.
Amaroq carried a knife he used for many things. He’d been trained to fight, all Nazarien were, but beyond defending himself in a pinch, he didn’t like to carry weapons. He felt it invited trouble.
“Nakoda,” Shandar called and the huge Stravad came over, also strapping on his gear.
Amaroq tried not to appear annoyed. The area felt calm, sedate. He didn’t get a sense of anything malign anywhere near them, but then Shandar had more experience out in the world than he did.
“Should we leave the horses?” asked Nakoda.
“I don’t want to move my mare unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll just check out the smoke and come back here. The horses won’t go anywhere.”
A few moments later, they set out. Amaroq’s thoughts were preoccupied with the woman they’d found in the grave earlier. They hadn’t been able to identify her. Somewhere, someone was waiting for her to come home and they’d never know what happened to her. Would the same happen for Naia? Would he never know what happened to his sister?
The copse was small and they were quickly through. A larger stream ran toward the meadow on their left side. Beyond the copse was another clearing and tended fields. Shandar reached out and caught Amaroq’s arm, stopping him.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
“Shandar, I don’t sense anything.”
“That said, I want you to stay back. Let Nakoda and me go first.”
Amaroq sighed in frustration, but he let the older man and his friend take the lead. He realized he’d always received special treatment from the people around him. They always worried about him, watched over him. It had never bothered him before.
Someone had planted crops in the field. Amaroq bent down and fingered a leaf just beginning to turn red. Stamerian. He glanced up at his companions, but they were easing down the rows, their hands on their weapons. Clearly the fields were tended by Stravad, probably Nazarien. Stamerian was a well kept secret among his people.
He rose and
followed them. The fields ended at a homestead – single story cabin with a wide front porch, barn to the left, well in the center. The area before the cabin was swept clear of debris, tended, the barn in good repair.
Shandar waved Amaroq back, but Amaroq still sensed nothing of concern in the area. By now, he was close enough to see the smoke rising lazily from the chimney. Just as the two men were about to approach the stairs, the door opened and a man stepped out.
He was large and broad shouldered, close to Shandar in age. His long grey hair was pulled back in a horse’s tail and his dark skin coloring marked him as Stravad. He surveyed the two men closest to him and held out his open hands.
“Welcome,” he said, “I don’t get many visitors way out here. Where are you coming from?” His gaze shifted to Amaroq and his face blanched. Swaying, he reached behind him for a chair.
Nakoda bounded up the steps and helped the man sit, while Shandar went to the well after water. Amaroq approached the porch slowly, meeting the man’s searching gaze.
Lifting a trembling hand to his forehead, the man massaged his temple, shaking his head in disbelief. Shandar brought the man a tin cup filled with cool water and pressed it into his hand.
“We didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, urging the man to drink.
Taking a sip, the man lowered the cup, his gaze still roving over Amaroq’s features.
“My name’s Amaroq. My father was the man you knew.”
The man gave a slow nod. “I’m Erjen. I rode with your father once.” He shook his head. “You look just like him.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Shandar and Nakoda visibly relaxed at their exchange.
Amaroq motioned to Shandar. “This is Talar’s brother, Shandar.”
“And where is your father?”
“Dead many years now.”
Erjen’s gaze dropped and his mouth worked. “I’m sorry for that,” he said, brushing his fingers over his upper lip. He pushed himself to his feet. Nakoda reached out to steady him, but he waved him off. “I’m recovered.” He nodded at Shandar. “Thank you for the drink.”
“You’re welcome. If I may ask, how did you know my brother?” asked Shandar.
Erjen considered that a moment, fingering the cup. “That is a long story and one that requires sustenance to be told.” Motioning to the cabin, he reached for the screen door. “Please have supper with me. I can offer you lodgings in the barn, if you’re so inclined.”
“Thank you,” said Shandar. “But we’ll need to retrieve our horses and gear. We set up camp in the meadow beyond your homestead.”
“I’ll get them,” said Nakoda, and he started off.
“Do you want help?” called Amaroq.
Nakoda waved him off and broke into a jog.
Erjen pulled open the screen door. “Please come inside. It isn’t much, but it’s been my home for many years now.”
Amaroq and Shandar followed the man inside. The cabin contained one room, a kitchen combined with a living room. A curtain shut off the bedroom on the far left wall. A rough hewn table, mismatched chairs, and a few armchairs were the only furnishings besides the large bed and a stove. An iron pot sat on the stove and a pleasant aroma filled the room.
Erjen drew back the curtains over the windows beside the door and urged them to take seats at the table, then he pulled out a jug of something from beneath the sink boards and poured out four glasses, distributing them around.
Amaroq took a sip of the woodsy ale and grimaced at the bitter bite, but Shandar tossed back the entire glass and smacked his lips in pleasure.
“Excellent,” he said.
Erjen refilled him. “A man after my own heart.” He left the jug in the middle of the table and went to the stove, stirring the contents of the pot. He eased it off the burner just a bit and covered it with a lid.
“We’ll wait to eat until the other young man returns.”
Coming back to the table, he took a seat, pouring himself another drink, then he stared at Amaroq with unabashed curiosity. “I really thought you were him for a moment.”
Amaroq nodded. “People have told me I bear a close resemblance to him.”
“You do.”
“You said you rode with him?”
Erjen gave a mirthless laugh. “I was assigned to babysit him. Your father wasn’t the most dedicated Nazarien I’ve ever seen.”
Shandar snorted agreement, lifting his cup to his lips.
“I’m not certain I follow. What exactly were you supposed to do?” asked Amaroq.
Erjen fingered the mouth of his cup. “Your father was seeing a Nazarien woman named Adalia. She lived in this very cabin.”
Shandar shifted uncomfortably in his seat and made a sound of recognition.
“Adalia was originally from Tirsbor, but she left the order, lived here alone. Your father visited her regularly. On one particular visit, the Council of Elders despaired of him ever returning. When he did, they forbade him to leave again. Problem was your father didn’t agree. Adalia was pregnant and your father promised to return for the birth of his child.”
Shandar bowed his head, lowering the glass. Amaroq glanced at him. He could feel a mix of emotions coming off the man.
“You know this story?” Amaroq asked him.
“I know it well,” said Shandar. “I lived the aftermath for years.”
Erjen sighed. “We all did.”
“Go on,” urged Amaroq.
“The Council agreed to let him return only if he had an escort – me. However, when we arrived here, Adalia was already in labor. Too early. Your father did everything he could to save her and his daughters…”
“Daughters?”
“Twins. Tiny little things.” Erjen shook his head, his eyes growing watery. “They didn’t stand a chance. They died before their mother.”
“Adalia died too?”
Erjen nodded. Shandar kept his head bowed.
Amaroq looked away. The desolation, the despair, he could still feel it as if it had seeped into the wood of the cabin walls. “What happened then?”
Erjen shrugged. “I don’t know. He left after we buried them. I tried to make him return to Chernow, but he refused. I didn’t go back either.”
“Why?”
“I’d failed in every way. I’d failed your father, I failed the council, and I’d failed my order. Didn’t seem to be much point in returning, so I stayed here.” He filled his and Shandar’s glass again. “How did your father die?”
“That’s a long story too,” said Shandar.
“What happened to him after he left here?”
“He went to Loden to see his mother. My mother. And it nearly killed him.”
Nakoda returned at that moment with their horses and gear. Amaroq rose to help him settle the animals in the barn and use the well to wash the dirt away, while Shandar and Erjen talked and drank and prepared supper.
When they returned, a meal had been laid out for them – stew, rye bread, and fresh butter. They ate heartily. Amaroq realized he was already tired of eating beans, so he welcomed the vegetables in the stew.
After it was over, he and Nakoda washed everything, while Shandar and Erjen continued their discussion of Talar’s life after he met Shara. He’d heard this story many times and it held nothing new for him. It was tragic, but an abstraction. He’d never seen the places Shandar talked about, but this...this was real. He was standing in the spot where his father had stood. Maybe he’d even eaten from this very table.
Finally, Shandar fell silent and sipped at his ale. No one else said anything, just sat and listened to the chirp of crickets and watched a moth flutter around the lamp positioned in the middle of the table.
Nakoda stirred restlessly. “Are you going to continue the story about Kaelene?” he asked Shandar.
Shandar blinked at him. “I didn’t even know you’d been listening to it.”
“I listen.”
Amaroq smiled, exchanging a look with Shandar.
>
“Okay, but I don't’ remember where I left off.”
“Dryden, the Cult commander, had told Kaelene he’d protect her and her babe, but for a price,” said Nakoda.
“Right.” Shandar leaned back, his face bathed in lantern light. “Of course, Kaelene was afraid of what that price might be, but she had little choice. The Front Guard were not going to stop harassing her and her baby needed stability.”
* * *
They gave her a bare cell with a cot and a washstand, a pitcher and a bowl for bathing her face and hands. She was given a rough towel to dry, a bar of soap, a pair of soft-soled shoes and two sack-cloth dresses that reached all the way to her ankles. The cell had a shelf for her to keep her personal belonging. Not that she’d had much, but there was a bracelet Talar had given her, made of shells, back at Mistress Alloway’s house and a hairbrush. They hadn’t thought to bring her anything for her hair.
A woman about the same age as Kaelene’s mother delivered the things, helped her make up the cot, and brought her supper. Kaelene wasn’t allowed to eat with the men. The woman, Brisane, promised to speak with Dryden about allowing her to help in the kitchens. They’d be able to eat there together as well. Brisane was a petite, brown haired woman with a wholesome plain face and pale blue eyes, but she treated Kaelene with kindness, something Kaelene needed at the moment.
Kaelene wanted to ask about the other women of the Cult, but Brisane seemed nervous about staying and hurried off, leaving Kaelene to her own thoughts. She regretted coming to the Nazarien, but she didn’t know what else she could have done.
Her hands curved over her still-flat belly. There was no outward sign of her pregnancy, but she felt the change, knew there was life growing inside of her. Talar’s babe. Talar’s child. He needed to know. He had a right to be told he was going to be a father, but Dryden made it very clear. If she wanted the protection of the Nazarien, Talar was never to know about his child.
He’d given Kaelene the night to think it over, then come morning, if she didn’t give him the answer he wanted, he was turning her into the street. Kaelene went over and over it in her mind. It was wrong to keep this from Talar. Wrong to deny him the right to claim the child as his own. But what then? How would Kaelene protect the child, provide for it? Talar couldn’t stay in Kazden. He wasn’t able to stay anywhere for very long.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 112