“Where is Hath?” Nola said.
Gairen frowned, but he answered, “It’s a small town a little over a day to the west, upriver of Ibbal. There’s a Draegoran outpost near it that collects supplies for North Pass. It’s also where those with the blood from Nesh are being gathered. Once there, the remainder of your travels will be by boat.” Gairen kicked his horse before she had the chance to ask another question.
“Well, that was—”
“Yaw!” Riam snapped the reins. Nola grabbed his shirt to keep from falling off. It was too bad the silence wouldn’t last.
* * *
—
Riam stood next to the stream, keeping an eye on the horses while they drank. Even near water, little grew—mostly tufts of the tall, sharp grass. Nola was relieving herself behind a small hill, and Gairen knelt upstream, refilling their waterskins.
Riam mulled over the words of the landowners back at the inn while the horses drank. Gairen had killed again, although killed wasn’t exactly the right word. Riam understood that they were criminals and had done something to deserve their deaths, but he had no idea what type of crime merited death. It would have to be something really bad, or were they simply evil men? He supposed this meant that Father must have done something just as bad, or worse. Did that make Father evil? For certain, he was callous and bitter, and he could be harsh when his mood was foul, but Riam had never thought of him as evil. He was . . . well, he was just Father.
Every story his brother ever told him held that the Draegorans were the evil ones, but—so far—Gairen didn’t seem like a bad man. Quite the opposite, actually, and while the man wasn’t exactly kind, his firm-but-fair behavior was far better than the unreasonable fits of anger and punishment Riam was used to. He kept waiting for that to change, for Gairen to turn cruel and nasty, but it hadn’t happened.
By the Fallen, he needed Lemual. Without him here to explain things, that left only Gairen. Riam wanted to talk to the Draegoran. No, that wasn’t right. He needed to talk to him. But he was scared—scared of both the man and the answers. Riam stewed for a time chewing on his lip. Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Why’d you kill my father?” The question came tumbling out. It wasn’t what he’d intended to ask, but his tongue seemed to have a mind of its own.
Gairen paused from filling a waterskin. He scrutinized Riam, sizing him up while deciding what to say. It was obvious he’d been caught off guard by the question.
Riam’s confidence melted under the scrutiny, but he held his ground. He needed answers.
“I suppose you have a right to know,” he said. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll come right out with it. The man I killed wasn’t your father. He was your grandfather.”
Riam let it sink in. What did the man mean, grandfather? That couldn’t be right. Lemual would have said something. Not once had his brother ever hinted at it. Grandfather. The word didn’t feel right. How could my father be my grandfather?
“From what I felt, he killed your grandmother. He’d been drinking and it wasn’t his intent. A man, however, is responsible for his actions no matter his intentions.”
Riam had no words. His father . . . or grandfather was mean-spirited, but to kill his wife, Riam’s grandmother. How could that be? Riam remembered the vision of the unknown woman being beaten. He remembered the smacking sound, and his stomach turned.
Fallen! I watched it happen.
“Your mother—”
“What about my mother?” Riam said defensively. “She died from a fall while riding when I was a baby.” As soon as he said the words, he knew they weren’t true. In the vision she’d sat by the fire, her eyes empty. He’d seen the knife. Even with the heat of the Dry Plains, he was suddenly very cold.
“Best to hear it all and get it over with. Your mother killed herself not long after your grandmother was murdered. He deserved execution for that as well. A man is also responsible for the consequences of what he fails to do.”
Riam’s chest tightened. He could barely breathe. “Why would she do that? That doesn’t make sense. I still needed her.”
Gairen shrugged. “Who can tell? Maybe to punish your grandfather or to get away from him. Maybe because she couldn’t get over your grandmother’s murder. When it comes to love and family, it’s hard to understand what people do and things seldom make sense.” There was pain in Gairen’s voice—something deeper to his words.
Riam cared little about any deeper meaning. “But why would she leave me?” He concentrated on the stream and the way the water churned along the bank. If he faced Gairen or looked him in the eyes he wouldn’t be able to keep from sobbing. He bit down hard on his lip to keep it from quivering.
“There’s no way to ever know the why. The crystal lets me feel some of the memories—the really strong ones—but it can’t tell me what people think. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you and that she loved you. All you can do is try to understand it the best you can and make peace with what little understanding you come to.” Gairen capped the waterskin and stood up. “Then you move on.”
Somehow, there must be more. Gairen was holding things back, but everything the man said tore away the few memories he held true. If he knows more, do I really want to hear it? He couldn’t bring himself to ask anything about his mother. He thought of asking about Lemual, but no, that might also lead to something horrible if Gairen had hurt him. It was safer to ask about things he had no memory of. He grasped at the first thing that came to mind. “Who was my grandmother?”
“I don’t know. The magistrate said her name was Sen’lai. That’s an Esharii name. Which is odd, because she couldn’t have been Esharii, although I suppose it is possible that she was of mixed blood. Some Esharii captives escape and make their way back north, over the mountains. It’s rare, but it happens—even more rare for one to do so with a child, but not impossible. Whatever the circumstances, it had nothing to do with her death. Your grandfather told the magistrate that she died milk sick, but the magistrate always suspected it was a lie.”
“And my real father? I didn’t see him in the vision. Do you know who he is?”
“He drowned when his ship sank a short time after you were born.” Gairen looked away, out toward the horizon. “Best to leave it at that. Some things are better left alone, even when they’re the truth. That’s a hard lesson to learn, and even harder advice to follow.”
“But—”
“We leave shortly after dark, and it will be a long night. You should get some rest.” Gairen moved upstream, leaving Riam to his thoughts.
How could Gairen just leave it at that? Riam hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of his real father in the visions. Did Gairen learn more when he touched the sword to . . . to Grandfather? How did my real father drown? Had he even known about me, or had he known and left anyway? Did my real father know how bad it would be with Grandfather?
Riam knelt at the water’s edge. The ripples the horses made as they drank distorted his features. What made Father . . . Grandfather so angry? So hateful? In the span of a few moments, he’d been given glimpses of a grandmother he’d never known, a mother he barely remembered, and a dead father who’d abandoned him to a man who’d pretended to be his father. None of it made any sense.
Why hadn’t Lemual ever said anything? Oh, Fallen, no. Lemual. The implications of the Draegoran’s words cut him to his core. Lemual isn’t my brother! He lied to me, too.
The answers only made him more confused and hurt, with more questions than before. It had to be a lie, an excuse to kill his father and take him away. He stood, fists clenched, preparing to tell Gairen that all Draegorans lied and were evil, that the man who’d raised him couldn’t be his grandfather.
But he couldn’t do it. Not once in all the days they’d been together had Gairen lied. The man simply answered questions the way he handled everything else, directly and op
enly. The truth was, Riam wasn’t really angry with Gairen. That was the wrong person. It was his father . . . no, not his father. He would never think of him as Father again. But by any name, he was the man who deserved Riam’s anger.
“Grandfather.” He scrunched his nose at the distasteful word. That vile old man had destroyed his family. He’d even made Lemual, the only good thing he’d ever known, into a lie.
And now everything and everyone is gone. He picked up a rock. “I hate you. You ruined everything.” He threw the rock as hard as he could at the stream. It skipped off the water and crashed into the grass on the far side.
“What are you doing?” Nola said from behind him. She couldn’t see how red his face was or how close he was to tears.
He swung around. “Don’t you ever stop asking questions? All you do is talk all day long about your wonderful family, or about your big home with orchards and fishing, or about whatever enters your empty head. When you’re not doing that, you’re asking stupid questions or stating the obvious. Can’t you shut up for a change?” The wetness of his eyes made them feel larger. He was close to tears. He didn’t want her to see him like this.
Nola stood rigid. “I’m soooo sorrrrry.” She balled her hands into fists. “I was only trying to be nice and make friends with you, and I talk when I’m nervous! You don’t have to be so mean!” She stomped off downstream.
“I’m not the mean one!” Riam yelled at her back. I am nothing like my grandfather!
Chapter 5
Riam sobbed. He yelled. He threw rocks at an imaginary grandfather until his arm hurt, and then he flopped to a seat in the dirt by the stream. His anger spent, he watched the sun fall and let the tears roll down his cheeks. He was a hollow shell with little left inside, and he would never get to tell his grandfather how he felt or what he thought of him. In all likelihood, he would never see Lemual again either. Lemual might really be his uncle and not his brother—he wasn’t sure what he was—but he’d been something more than family. He’d been a friend. His betrayal hurt the most, but he could forgive Lemual.
Riam threw a last rock at the water. “But not you, Grandfather. You deserved more than a sword through the heart.”
He wasn’t sure what that was, but the death seemed far too simple and final. Through all of his life, the man had never shown any remorse or sorrow for his actions, only anger and blame. He should have given something back before he died—something to make up for his shortcomings. Instead, he’d been bitter to the end.
Riam was still sitting by the bank, well after dark, with tears long dried, when Gairen came and put a hand on his shoulder and told him softly it was time to ride.
He climbed into the saddle and put his hand down to help Nola. She ignored it and struggled to mount up behind him. After slipping several times, she managed to climb up using only the stirrup. She didn’t put her arm around his waist to hold on. Instead she sat behind him with her arms crossed, and her elbows dug into his back painfully whenever the horse lurched.
The riding was slow and rough. Riam could barely see anything, so he gave the horse its head, trusting it to follow Gairen’s mount. The unexpected dips and turns tossed them around in the saddle, threatening to throw them, and he could feel Nola stiffen the few times she was forced to hold on to him. Her elbows continued to dig into his back. He was sure she was doing it on purpose, but he didn’t say anything. What does she expect, that I should apologize? It isn’t my fault! He felt a pang of guilt at this. It isn’t hers either. He still said nothing, though. He didn’t know what to say, so they rode on in the heavy silence.
Sollus, the swift moon named for the last remaining God of Light, rose for its second trip across the sky. Almost full, it was bright enough to see by although it was still difficult to make out the ground in the shadows of the rolling hills. Sollus sped its way to the top of the sky as the ride went on. Riam hovered around the edge of sleep, and the night became a daze. Several times he fell asleep, and each time he would wake up when the horse lurched or when Nola hit him on the arm. Once, he dozed off and his head dropped backward, cracking Nola on the nose. He was sure it didn’t hurt half as much as she complained it did, but he took her anger without saying anything other than mumbling an apology. Later, she was the one who kept falling asleep, and he held her arms to keep her from sliding off.
It was near morning, the sky behind them filling with early morning twilight, when Gairen stopped. Sollus was down to the opposite horizon, and something large and dark loomed in the direction they were traveling. Gairen stood in his stirrups and looked around before sitting back down. He moved his horse beside theirs and leaned in close.
“There are Esharii nearby, on both sides. I can’t tell how many,” he whispered.
Riam checked left and right. All he saw were shadows that could be anything.
Nola was excited. “What, where—” Gairen flattened his hand over her mouth.
“Hush! They have an okulu’tan with them—you call them spirit-takers here in Nesh—and the bastards can sense a hummingbird dodging through a hailstorm. He’s using some trick I’ve never seen before to dull my sight, or I would’ve known they were there long before riding into an ambush.” He turned his attention to Riam. “With luck, we’ll slip by them, but if I tell you to ride, you ride as fast as you can. The forest isn’t far, and the river is only a stead or so beyond. Keep going in this direction and you’ll come to it. Once you get there, it’s a day’s ride downstream to the outpost. Don’t wait for me and don’t stop. I’ll catch up. Understand?” Gairen’s firm tone left no room for argument.
“Yes, sir. Ride hard for the river. Follow it downstream. Don’t wait for you.”
Gairen led them on as if nothing were out of the ordinary. They wound through the low ground around the hilltops to avoid being seen, but luck was not with them. The sunlight was just kissing the tops of the taller hills, lighting them up in gold, when there was a loud, high-pitched whistle behind them. Three riders came into view. One of the riders let out a loud, undulating yell, and all three drew long, curved blades and spurred their horses to full gallops.
“Go!” Gairen yelled. He drew one of his swords and turned to meet the oncoming Esharii.
Riam kicked his horse into a run, but at the top of the first rise he reined in to look behind them. Gairen rode straight for the oncoming tribesmen. The sun’s rays reflected off his sword, highlighting both man and beast.
The Esharii warriors that barreled toward Gairen wore painted faces of faded green-and-black lines that continued down their arms and chests, standing out sharply against the pale skin of their bodies where it was exposed, and the swords they held were wide and heavy—the kind of weapons that would break bones as well as cut. The tribesmen raised their swords high into the air, ready to tear Gairen from the saddle.
The gap between the Esharii and Gairen shrank.
“What are you doing? Go!” Nola yelled.
The distance closed—fifty paces, twenty, ten. Gairen dropped his reins and drew the second blade. The ringing of metal striking metal filled the air, and the riders were past each other. One of the big Esharii blades spun through the air, a severed, green-striped hand still holding it. Its owner tumbled out of the saddle. The other two kept riding, straight toward Riam and Nola.
Nola pounded furiously on his back. “Go, you idiot!”
Riam kicked the horse, and they bolted down the far side of the hill. The rhythmic pounding of the horse’s hooves and its labored breathing quickly drowned out the world around them. They went in a straight line, up and down the hills instead of around them. Riam could barely see the forest ahead.
They crested a rise, and an Esharii appeared on their right. He was close enough to see the white of his teeth against the green-and-black lines on his face, and Riam could almost count the rings woven into his narrow beard. Riam turned the horse to the left, angling to make it to the fore
st before the tribesman could cut them off. Once there, they might be able to lose the Esharii among the trees and vegetation.
Another Esharii with a wide black stripe across his eyes came into view on their left, and Riam turned the horse back to the right. He and Nola were now trapped, with tribesmen on both sides and pursuers behind. It was a flat-out race for the trees with the Esharii closing in.
“We’re not going to make it!” Nola yelled.
Riam wrapped the reins around one hand and kicked the horse over and over, urging it to go faster. He held on to the saddle horn with the other hand while Nola’s arms threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs as they galloped madly for the woods, trying to outrun the tribesmen.
They nearly made it. The forest was only a short distance ahead, when two more Esharii with swords drawn emerged from the tree line. The Esharii flanking them had driven them into these two, just like the wolves that hunted the farmlands back home. There was nowhere to go, except to try and race by them.
The gap closed. They would never make it by those blades, but the Esharii were riding side by side, and it gave Riam an idea. Riam nudged the horse to his right, the Esharii’s left, in an attempt to stay away from the blades they carried.
Instead of trying to race by, Riam pulled hard on the reins at the last instant and slapped the horse on the opposite side of the neck with all his strength. The horse shied from the blow, putting the two Esharii directly in front of them. The horse tried to stop, but it was too late. They slammed into the first Esharii’s horse at full speed, knocking it back into the second. Bones snapped and horses went down. Momentum threw Riam and Nola through the air, over the pile of animal screams and kicking legs. He landed hard, bouncing several times before sliding to a stop in the rough grass.
Lies of Descent Page 5