by Dan Brigman
Loken gathered the sparse assortment of items. He dumped the remainder of the water into his cup and brushed dirt onto the fire. Loken moved to the stranger and noticed that he had not stirred since he had drunk the tea. His thirst must have been quenched, Loken pondered. He gently shook the man’s shoulders and forcefully told him to wake up. The man’s head lolled around on his shoulders without any response. Before standing, Loken gently laid the man back down on the ground. Loken heard Melek putting the saddles on the horses and called out that the stranger did not stir.
“Probably better that way. I don’t know if I’d like what he’d have to say,” Melek replied.
“Aye, I’d have to agree with you. But what about Bregoth? If the stranger hasn’t awoken yet, then what’ll we tell him? I have a few ideas, but the truth will be the best story in this situation. Besides, we are bringing a trespasser for questioning anyway. We’ve treated this man with more respect than he is entitled to, considering we know next to nothing about him.”
A single grunt of agreement is all Loken received in response. He knelt back down to the man and with little effort to lift him over his shoulder. Loken turned on his heel, walked to the Hustian steed, and flipped the man over the stallion’s back. The horse nickered at Loken in seeming annoyance at being burdened with the limp human. Loken grabbed a short length of rope hanging from Loken’s saddle horn to tie the man’s hands and legs together. He ensured the knot’s firmness and even jostled the man roughly to test the security of the ropes. They will hold.
Loken moved to the side of the horse’s head and began whispering in its ear. “You’ll be gentle with your master on your back, now won’t you,” stated Loken. The horse’s ears stood up on end and twitched nervously as if he understood Loken. “Good, I thought you’d have it my way,” Loken muttered before chuckling.
A gentle clearing of a throat brought a shade of red to Loken’s cheeks as he realized Melek had been watching the entire exchange. Loken flashed a look at Melek as he leapt atop Sa’un.
“What?” Loken asked innocently atop his mount. “Are you the only one gets to talk to horses?”
“No. But I tend to not make a fool out of myself when I do it. Maybe, in time, you can learn to speak with some intelligence to the beasts,” Melek replied in a tone which reminded Loken of the way the elders spoke to children.
Without warning a shadow crossed Loken’s vision and he nearly fell from the saddle. With his left hand he grabbed the saddle horn while struggling to regain his fading vision. Gritting his teeth in pain, Loken felt as if his brain were swelling inside his skull. The pain overwhelmed his body and his thoughts focused wholly inward. A breath later a great ripping noise echoed through his mind; the sound of flesh torn from muscle pushed beads of sweat to his forehead. In the corner of his mind’s eye Loken glimpsed the shadowy creature moving out of the emptiness of its prison. He gripped his forehead in an effort to alleviate some pain.
“Ah, no!” Loken cried out.
“What’s the matter with you?” Melek asked with a slight frown.
Melek watched Loken’s demeanor change before his eyes. After a few moments Loken gradually slumped over in his saddle. Melek had readied himself to catch the rider in case he fell. Within a breath, Loken’s hand holding himself up tore loose from the saddle horn. Both hands grasped his head and he seemed to not know his surroundings.
Melek cried out, “Get ahold of yourself!”
Melek’s hands slipped as he grabbed Loken and he came close to falling. A slick sheen of sweat covered every inch of Loken’s exposed flesh. Without waiting for his friend to regain his wits, Melek gently laid his friend down on the ground. Sa’un snorted in annoyance and pawed the ground with impatience.
“I know, I know. We’ll be on our way shortly,” Melek soothed before exhaling sharply. He sighed and gathered all three horses’ reins. Even the Hustian stallion did not mind the proximity of the other horses, and all three chewed at tall wisps of brown grass. Melek sat back on his haunches with his arms on his thighs, staring at Loken. Loken still grasped his forehead with no lessening of sweat pouring down his brow and cheeks. Melek heard a slight moan issuing from between Loken’s clenched teeth. The sound reminded Melek of a frightened pup that knew no escape from the danger which nipped at its heels.
After a few moments, Melek noticed Loken’s grip grew tighter around his forehead as his knuckles slowly turned white with the force. Melek pushed forward onto his knees and grabbed his friend’s shoulders. The touch ended Loken’s struggling. He lowered his hands to his sides and opened his eyes. Melek saw something he could not recall ever witnessing. His mind could only call it pure force of will. Loken’s face had taken on a hard edge, brooking no nonsense. His eyes showed nothing but pure determination as they looked upward at the steely gray sky.
“A storm is nigh,” Loken stated nonchalantly. He looked at Melek’s dumbfounded stare and let a slight laugh escape his lips. “Come on, Melek. I must have had a bad bit of ale for breakfast. That was, by far, the worst headache that’s ever hit me. Thank the gods, it was also the quickest. Pain like that is worse than any battle wound; I’d rather take three feet of steel rammed through my belly before a headache like that again.” As Loken spoke, his eyes took their place staring upward and the distant look of forced willpower remained without diminishment. Another laugh came again—Melek’s ears caught more bitterness than humor. “Pain like that will drive a man to do many things he never thought possible.”
Loken stood, extended a hand to his friend, and waited for him to grasp it with a grin touching just his mouth. Melek grabbed it and stood without difficulty. Once at his mount, Sa’un, Loken vaulted on top of it. As usual, Melek shook his head in wonderment at his friend’s nimbleness.
“What say you, Melek? My spirits have lifted even though the weather is determined to depress them into submission. We should be on our way.” He lifted his right palm and Melek heard a wet smacking noise a blink later. “As I was saying,” Loken turned to Melek and that fierce determination had grown even stronger in the passing moments.
As Melek mounted, a slight drizzle came down upon the travelers. “Loken, did you cover that extra blanket in wax?” Melek noticed Loken nodding in assertion and added, “Then would you feel kind enough to put it on our friend?”
Without remark, Loken unrolled the blanket behind him and moved Sa’un close to the unconscious man draped over the Hustian stallion. Laying it across the majority of the man’s body, Loken moved to the front of the small group and gently kicked his horse’s flank.
Melek watched Loken move forward through the drizzle. He grabbed the Hustian’s reins and followed without delay.
They traveled many hours through the rain and stopped only to allow the horses enough time to drink from clear puddles and chew on patches of winter grasses. The men ate and drank atop their saddles, wasting no time to dismount. They noticed very little movement while they trekked cautiously through the countryside and closer to their clan’s home. Melek repeatedly checked the status of the stranger, and the blanket remained useful for nearly the entire trip. Only when Melek finally noticed the man shivering from the dampness upon the Hustian’s hide did he call out to Loken to stop for the day.
“Only one more mile, my friend,” Loken stated without turning his head. “I think the rain has addled your sense of geography,” Loken stated with laughter in his voice.
Loken noticed Melek glance up from the man and a renewed sense of urgency flashed in Melek’s eyes.
“Where has my mind been?” Melek asked, more to himself than to Loken. “We can finally pass this burden to the rune-scriber,” Melek stated matter-of-factly. His eyes stared fixedly toward home. “I’m more fatigued due to the last few days than ever before. My bones feel brittle and my eyes feel as though I’ve never slept,” Melek continued. As he finished, he noticed Loken’s eyebrows had risen and a look of surprise lined Loken’s face. “Yes, I grow weak in my will, too,” Melek breathed with ex
asperation.
The horses continued the steadfast pace, and soon they were on the perimeter of the clan’s territory. Rain pounded upon the men as two sentries approached the Horselords. The sentries stood at least as tall as Loken, and their shoulders showed strength gained with much toil. They wore simple, yet protective sets of brown leather armor allowing them to easily blend into the Molston Hills. Each man casually held a bastard sword in their right hands with a shortsword sheathed at their sides. The metal helmet each sentry wore slanted outward allowing the rain, pinging off the metal, to sheen outward and off their shoulders. Both clean-shaven men had their long brown hair pulled back and tied with a short length of hempen rope.
At Loken’s first glance, they appeared to be twins, but Loken had known them since he had heard their first breaths. Their suspicious demeanors showed they did not recognize the two men on horses. Loken slowly raised his right hand upward then smiled.
“How goes your day, Halon?”
The man named Halon peered upward, causing the rain to funnel down his back. Grimacing, he glanced back at Loken. With a grim smile, showing white teeth, he replied, “It goes well. Who might you be? You obviously know my name, yet your face doesn’t recollect in my mind. We don’t like strangers, especially ones that bring the dead with them. The spirits don’t like their bodies to be taken far from the death spot. What say you?”
“Halon,” replied Loken, his voice laced with surprise and humor. “You should know me well considering we nursed at nearly the same time. Soon thereafter we were swinging swords at each other’s heads. I am sorry you are stuck here posing as a guard while I risk my neck guarding the outlands. I suppose our master knows who is superior.” As Loken spoke, he noticed a smirk escalated into a full smile on Halon’s face. Halon’s quick laugh brought a smile to Loken’s lips. Halon whipped water off his blade, then sheathed his weapon in the space of a breath. He stepped forward to the side of Loken’s horse and pulled Loken from his saddle. Loken yelped at the unceremonious fall.
“You damn fools,” muttered Melek. “We’ve more important matters to take care of than fighting on the ground.” Melek shook his head as the two men continued to wrestle in the mud and rain without heeding his words. Without hesitating any longer, Melek moved the Hustian stallion and his horse around the struggling friends, then nodded at the sentry who had not moved.
“Justus, I hope that you don’t mind if I pass by?” Melek requested.
Justus took his gaze from the grappling men and noncommittally waved his right hand. His deep voice rumbled a few words between several baritone chuckles. Melek thought he heard, “Yea, go,” so he kicked his horse forward and pulled the stallion with him. His clan’s laws did not allow even him passage before the sentry’s permission. A sudden low groan came from the still-unconscious stranger. Melek turned inquisitively toward him and sighed in frustration. The man had not awoken. He’s testing my patience, Melek thought despondently.
Melek peered through the unceasing rain for the clan leader’s home and guided the horses in that direction. The camp’s unpaved roads had become muddy lanes and Melek noticed mud covered his people’s feet and legs while staining their white shirts a blackish brown. Fortunately, the camp founders had the foresight to have dug ditches, so rainwater pooled toward, then ran along, the sides of the road. While riding through camp, Melek vaguely heard the horses’ hooves sucking in the mud. Barely looking askance at the campsite’s inhabitants, he kept his focus on the home of Bregoth.
The clan leader, Bregoth, had one of the few permanent structures in the camp. Its once-brown wooden walls had faded many years ago to a dull gray. Numerous squat wooden buildings sat in well-situated locations around the camp. No clansman had fully mastered wood smithing, so most repairs had to be completed by outsiders. The building had sat empty for many years before the arrival of Bregoth and his clan, the Olst. Leading the clan south through the hills, he had claimed the Molston Hills for the Olst. The structure served the clan’s utilitarian needs. Not only was it Bregoth’s home, it also allowed meetings to be held out of inclement weather. When trade resumed in the spring, Bregoth hired skilled Lyrstrian carpenters to repair any damage caused during the preceding seasons. The arrangement had benefited both communities for years.
As Melek rode closer to the building, thoughts of relief flashed through his mind. I’ll not have to deal with this stranger anymore. He’s nothing but a plague on my thoughts. Moments later, he reached the building’s entry. He dismounted slowly and carefully; his body felt wholly responsive to his mind’s directions. His movements would have appeared full of weariness, to an observer. Melek tied the horses to the wooden hitching post in front of the building without bothering to see if anyone watched. Everyone held thievery in such contempt that a stolen horse rarely even crossed Melek’s mind. Drastic measures had been taken in the past to stop thievery.
Melek moved to the Hustian horse and methodically untied the stranger. Once untied, Melek pulled the man off the horse, and with a grunt of surprise at the stranger’s weight, he lifted the man onto his right shoulder. He stumbled while situating him on his shoulder. The weight nearly brought Melek to his knees, and without warning, his vision blacked out. The feeling disoriented him as he gritted his teeth from the pain mixed with the rain battering his head. His brain felt loose like a hand in an ill-fitting glove. He stood for moment to regain his bearings and sighed. The disorientation finally lessened enough for him to glance around.
Melek noticed the few passers-by seemed to pay him no attention in their own rush to get out the rain. He sighed in relief and walked toward the doorway. His weary eyes remained fixed on the muddy ground before him and allowing him to focus completely on moving one foot in front of the other. His mind or body would not allow any other thoughts. On top of his tiredness, the rain forced his head down.
“Hello, Melek!” boomed a voice directly in front of Melek.
Startled, Melek cursed slightly and nearly fell backward into the mud. Something grabbed Melek’s shoulder and managed to keep him on his feet. Melek sighed, then glanced upward at the familiar voice’s origin point. A welcome, yet imposing man stood in the doorway leaning slightly against the right side of the frame. He stood nearly to the frame’s lintel piece. His right hand held a long wooden pipe to his mouth, as he chewed on its tip. His light brown trousers had been freshly cleaned and his boots carried no mud. A well-worn leather vest slightly covered some of his massive chest. As he held the pipe, his bicep bulged with layers of muscle. Not one bit of fat appeared upon the man who led the clan.
“Hello, Bregoth,” Melek mumbled. “Can you help me with this load?”
With a chuckle, Bregoth set the pipe between his teeth. Letting go of Melek’s shoulder after ensuring his stability, Bregoth reached for the man on Melek’s other shoulder. Grunting in effort, Bregoth placed the unconscious man over his shoulder. A thick sliver of a vein bulged on Bregoth’s forehead with the effort. His teeth clicked as he spoke with the pipe still clenched in his mouth.
Despite being difficult to understand at times, Bregoth led the clan with confidence and through strength of arms. No one had ever defeated Bregoth in a duel. Nor had anyone tried to test his skill, in any real sense except on the battlefield, in years. Melek could not recall the last time Bregoth had even broken a sweat during a sparring match before he defeated his partner.
“I’ve barely eaten a thing in the past few days,” Melek responded bitterly.
He glanced across at the man lying on Bregoth’s shoulder and sighed. Standing to his full height, Melek closed his eyes to regain his composure. Only one thought went through his mind: stand long enough to get this man inside. When Melek opened his eyes Bregoth’s eyebrows raised in a questioning manner as he stared at the worn Horselord’s face.
“I don’t think that you could look any worse, Melek.” Bregoth’s lined face glanced sidelong at the stranger. “By the look of this man, he appears to be in better shape than yourself.” He c
licked his teeth and exhaled a long stream of smoke from his nose while slowly examining the man in front of him. Melek noticed Bregoth’s bright brown eyes scrutinize every inch of his person. Growing weaker by the moment, Melek still spoke surely and yet with trepidation.
“I know you don’t like your people to enter your home in such a state as myself. But I ask your pardon this one time, sir. May I enter to deliver my account? I do believe that our clan’s future may rest with the man you carry.”
The falling rain continued with no sign of abating. Through the plastering rain, Melek stared into Bregoth’s eyes and caught a careful consideration, brooking no nonsense from anyone, including mud-laden men whom he had not seen in weeks. Melek felt his body shivering, and for the first time he realized how cold he had become in the past few hours.
“Aye, you know I’ll not allow anyone to enter my home looking as if he had bathed in mud. Nor do I allow anyone to bring in a bedraggled man who is cleaner than the person carrying him, but I suppose in your case, an exception is in order.” With a smirk, he quickly stepped aside back from the doorway and motioned Melek into the hall. Melek stepped forward into the doorway while Bregoth laid the stranger down upon the tiled vestibule. Immediately, Melek knelt next to him and checked his breathing. Satisfied that the stranger was still alive, Melek removed his pack and set it within arm’s reach.
Without looking at Bregoth, Melek asked, “Pardon me again, sir. I must ask to have a fresh blanket. He will not make it through the night without warmth.” As he spoke, Melek began removing the man’s clothing. After removing the boots, Melek felt his shoulder being squeezed in a forceful grip and turned his head, his eyes glazed over with irritation.
“What do you want?” Melek snapped. He instantly regretted his harsh tone with the man standing behind him.
“Melek, all of the amenities you will need are going to be available. Just mention them and the majordomo, Malkari, will ensure that everything is at hand.” The words had come with such sincerity that Melek turned his attention from his task and glanced over his shoulder at Bregoth. Bregoth stood staring at the outsider with a look of concern Melek had rarely witnessed.