Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

They were quiet for a time before Master Iwynd finally acknowledged Riam’s presence. “So this would be the lucky one they didn’t catch?” He spent a long uncomfortable moment examining Riam.

  “Neshian, from a small town near Cove. The Esharii almost had him, but the boy thinks quickly,” Gairen said. “Took down a pair of tribesmen with his horse.”

  Riam studied the saddle. He’d lost Nola. He didn’t deserve the praise.

  “Near Cove . . . I see.” There was a note of distaste in his words. “Your brother again.”

  Gairen changed to the puzzling language from the day prior. “Hesta arganel ev noran i yoral. Diyoruk ev kora kyol.”

  “Entum,” Master Iwynd replied. He turned to the guard and snapped his fingers. “Gairen needs to give me his report—in private. Take the boy to an empty room and get him fed, even if you have to wake Brin or Jon to get a plate.”

  “Be easy with him. He didn’t escape the tribesmen without injury,” Gairen added.

  The guard saluted and leaned his spear against the wall before moving to help Riam out of the saddle.

  “I’ll find you when I’m finished,” Gairen said over a shoulder as he and Master Iwynd moved toward the building.

  “Come.” The guard gestured for Riam to follow.

  Riam was stiff and sore, but he limped as best he could behind the man. He didn’t make it far before he was forced to stop and rest.

  “I’m sorry,” he told the guard.

  “There is no shame in being injured fighting an enemy.”

  “I wasn’t trying to fight them. I was merely trying to get away and had no choice but to charge two of them.”

  “You sell your actions short. Many would soil their breeches at the thought of charging the swaugs.”

  “Swaugs?”

  “It is what we call them in Thae. It’s . . . not a term for children to use. At any rate, it is my honor to wait for one who has faced the Esharii and survived to face them another day.”

  Riam examined the guard’s face for signs that he was only humoring him. There were none. Embarrassed, he forced himself to hobble on despite the pain.

  The guard led Riam to a small room. It was dark and contained only two woven mats stuffed with straw. Like everywhere else, it smelled of smoke.

  “I’ll be back with food. Wait here.”

  Since there was nowhere to sit, Riam eased himself down onto one of the mats to wait.

  * * *

  —

  “What’s your plan for the boy?” Master Iwynd said. He poured a dark liquid from a decanter into two glasses. The rich, sweet smell of liquor drifted through the room.

  Gairen faked surprise. “Plan?”

  Master Iwynd forced a smile. “You’re as transparent to me as the day I started training you . . . so, again, what’s the plan?”

  They were on the second floor of the building with the pennant above it, inside Master Iwynd’s modest personal quarters. A sturdy table with six chairs for dining sat at the room’s center, and a large hanging cupboard was pushed against the wall behind it. Two comfortable-looking chairs faced a rock chimney with a simple wooden mantel. On the mantel rested a single arrow. It was Esharii, as anyone who’d ever faced the bastards could tell by the bright red-and-yellow feathering, and it had a nasty-looking broadhead with one edge broken. Gairen knew the arrow well. It’d sat on Master Iwynd’s desk back on the island, but that had been a lifetime ago.

  Master Iwynd stood by the cupboard. Dim light from the firepots outside filtered in through the room’s two windows and danced on the ceiling.

  “You still have this thing?” Gairen ran his finger along the shaft of the arrow. It’d been snapped into two pieces and wired back together. The broken tip was rusted, and the feathering frayed away from the wood at the ends.

  “It keeps life in perspective.” He handed Gairen one of the glasses. “Besides, the missing piece is still in here somewhere.” He patted himself on the chest and took a sip from his glass. “Seems right to keep them near each other.”

  Gairen raised his glass to Master Iwynd. When the alcohol hit his lips, he closed his eyes, savoring the rich taste, and made an exaggerated sigh. The advantages of civilization. He’d risen through the ranks as a scout, but that didn’t mean he’d spent his whole life in the wilds. “Where’d you get Arillian brandy out here?”

  “Harol carried it all the way from Thae. It was a gift from him and his men when they arrived. You going to answer the question?” He said it good-naturedly, but there was a sober tone behind the words.

  Gairen moved to one of the chairs and plopped down. He stared into his drink and swirled the liquor around, forming a whirlpool that threatened to spill over the top of the glass. How much should I tell him? How much has he already guessed?

  Master Iwynd kept at him. “That’s Jonim’s boy. I can tell by looking at him. He has your father’s deep, probing eyes and sharp nose. It’s what you’ve been searching for these past two years and why you left your command, isn’t it?”

  Gairen stopped swirling the drink abruptly. So much for keeping anything from him. He took a deep breath, preparing for the argument to come. “It is.”

  “You think your father will change his mind if he knows his grandson is coming to the island? That’s your plan? He won’t, you know. He’s committed to his course of action. There’ll be no new Draegorans with the mark of the owl while your father is kyden of our regiment.” He tossed back the rest of his brandy. “By the Fallen, if it were up to him, none with the blood would ever be trained again . . . by any regiment.”

  My father is a fool. He barely kept himself from saying it out loud. There were lines Master Iwynd would not tolerate him crossing. He had to remain calm and courteous. “Our regiment is dying, Master Iwynd. If Father doesn’t take new trainees, we’ll die off one by one until our regiment is only a memory. And, while we’re dying, the Wolf Regiment grows stronger. None of the other regiments will stand up to them except for the Stonebreakers, but their kyden won’t lead the council forever. The Wolves can’t be allowed to wrest control from them. The whole continent would rebel at a return to their methods, not just Mirlond.” Why am I the only one who can see what’s happening?

  Master Iwynd ignored his explanation and moved to the cupboard to refill his glass. “He was here last season. Did you know that? I mentioned that it was time I returned to the island and started training new blood for the regiment. He wouldn’t hear of it—told me those days were over. When I mentioned your name, he stiffened up and refused to speak of you at all.”

  Of course. There’s no talking to Father. Ever since Jonim died and Father became kyden, the man refused to see reason. Their last conversation had turned to yells and insults. “I tried talking to him before I left, but he wouldn’t listen to me either. It’s more than my brother’s death and me resigning my command. There’s something he’s not telling us. Something he learned when he became kyden and joined the council. You were the arms-master for the regiment before he sent you here, and he’s never even told you why he stopped training replacements. Why? Why send his most trusted man away with no explanation?”

  “He doesn’t have to give me a reason. He’s my kyden.”

  “Even when he’s destroying us? My duty is to the regiment, not to him.”

  “Careful, Gairen. That’s a dangerous line of thinking. A kyden and his regiment are one and the same. I’ve known your father a long time, and I owe him my life from more than one occasion.” He pointed to the mantel. “When that arrow was sticking out of my chest, your father killed a dozen tribesmen and carried me twenty steads through enemy-filled wetlands to get me back to North Pass, all the while draining the life from himself with my blade to keep me alive.

  “At one point, we were surrounded, and there was no way out. The Esharii had us trapped, and they had at least two spirit-takers with them. I knew I
was dying. He knew I was dying. The arrow had punctured a lung, and I’d lost a lot of blood. I told your father to take my strength into his blade, to use it to escape, but instead he set me down in a clearing and drew his sword to protect me. I tried to get up and help but blacked out. When I woke up, we were halfway up the mountains to North Pass. I was in bad shape, but every time I grew close to dying, he’d put his hand on my blade, and I’d feel it draining him, giving me strength.

  “I don’t know what he’s doing now, or why, but I trust him. I’ve spent most of my life following his orders in one way or another, and although I haven’t always understood what he was doing or believed he would succeed, it’s always come out well in the end. You have to trust him.

  “Now, I understand, he’s your father, and that gives you some leeway to question him, but the rest of us don’t get to do that. If you were any other warden, I’d curse you out and tell you to get back to your duties. I probably should’ve done that a long time ago, but I’ve become soft in my age.”

  This was an old argument. Master Iwynd lets his loyalty blind him. Something is wrong with Father, and the arms-master refuses to see it. “I have to try something. That’s why I had to find Jonim’s son, and I have to make sure Father knows exactly who he is. It’s the only thing I can think of that will make him begin training again. It’ll be just like it was with Jonim and me. There’s no way he’ll allow his own blood to be trained in another regiment.”

  Master Iwynd held his glass out with one finger extended, pointing at Gairen. “And if he does abandon him? Did you think through what’ll happen if your father doesn’t resume training? What the other kydens will do when they find out who the boy is? Because they will figure it out, and they’ll use him any way they can for leverage. You’ll be throwing him into a boiling pot that he won’t be able to climb out of, because any regiment that places their glyph on his neck will either be trying to get at your father or won’t trust the boy because of your father. Either way, he’ll never complete the training in another regiment, and you know it. He’ll die, and it’ll be your fault.”

  Gairen stood up and put his glass down on the table hard enough that the remaining liquor sloshed over the edge. It doesn’t matter. What is risking one boy—even if he is my nephew—in comparison to losing the regiment? “That’s a chance I’m willing to take. There’s no other way.” I know Father will never abandon Jonim’s son.

  “There is another way. Trust your father. Believe in him as I do. Tell the boy to say he’s from Thae, and no one will put it together. Resume your command of the scouts at South Pass. That’s the only way the boy has a fair chance. I know your father. He won’t train any more of the blood, no matter who they are. A Draegoran has no family. He’s learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “No.” Gairen shook his head. “I’m sending a letter with the boy. If Father doesn’t train him, then so be it; the boy’s death will be on his head, just like Jonim’s.”

  “That’s going too far, Gairen. Your brother’s death wasn’t your father’s fault, and it hurt him as much as it did you. Trying to manipulate the man will only make it worse. Obey his orders. That’s the best way to serve the regiment.”

  Gairen looked down at the floor. If only Master Iwynd would help, then Father would listen, and the boy would be safe. He knew what the answer would be before he asked, but he had to try. “It would help if you wrote a letter to go with mine. He will listen if it comes from both of us.”

  “No.” Master Iwynd’s response was immediate and firm. “He’s given me my orders.” Master Iwynd reached into his shirt and withdrew a folded piece of paper with a wax seal. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I figured you needed time to come around on your own, but it isn’t working. You’re obsessed.” He held the paper out to Gairen. “These are orders for you to report to South Pass and take command of the scout company.”

  “Why? So I can personally watch as our regiment dies off? You know the Wolves give us missions that put us at risk. They’re taking every advantage they can to hurry us toward extinction.”

  Master Iwynd pushed the paper into his hand. The wax seal was black with the impression of the sun rising behind a single blade. “The order comes directly from the council, not your father. You have no choice. Your father tolerated your disobedience for the last two years, but it’s over, Warden.” He emphasized the rank. “You cannot disobey the council.”

  Gairen looked directly into Master Iwynd’s eyes. “Write a letter to go with mine and I’ll do it.” He tried not to sound as if he were begging.

  “No. You’ll do it or face your punishment from the council.”

  Faen take Master Iwynd and the council! “You’d hand me over to them?”

  “You were one of the best students I ever trained, but yes, I would. It’s the law. Without the law, the Covenant has no meaning.” He said it without a trace of emotion, and his expression gave away nothing. “But it’s not going to come to that. It’s over. You’ve found a child Jonim sired. Finding a second will make little difference. It’s time to return to your duties.”

  Gairen looked down at the paper. He pressed his lips together and breathed rapidly through flared nostrils, trying to calm down. He squeezed the order until the wax seal crumbled in his hand, but he didn’t put the order down or attempt to give it back. He couldn’t.

  “I can’t stop, not after everything I’ve done to find the boy.”

  “You’re as stubborn as your father. Go. Write your letter if you must, it’s within your right, even though I think you’re wrong. The day after tomorrow, however, as soon as the children head downriver, you ride for South Pass. If you don’t arrive there in a tenday, they won’t have to send any taulins out looking for you because I’ll find you myself and drag you there.”

  “But—”

  “That’s all. You’re dismissed.”

  Gairen’s whole body tensed like a coiled spring. Arguing with his old master was one thing, but he could not refuse the order. He stood there, unmoving for some time. Finally, his shoulders sagged. He bowed his head and raised his fingers to his shoulder in salute. “Yes, Master Iwynd.” I will send the letter. It will have to be enough.

  “Oh, and Gairen.” The words were softer. “Take the boy into town and get him cleaned up in the morning before he joins the others. While you are at it, draw enough coin to pay the tailor for all his services. He’s had a busy week outfitting the children for their journey. I’d planned on doing it myself, but it’ll save me the trip. I don’t like sending one of the regulars. People need to see that we do more than order others around and execute prisoners. Your father taught me that.”

  Chapter 7

  Riam woke from dreams of ash and fire. It took a moment for the memories of the escape from the Esharii and arriving at the outpost to separate themselves from the images of sleep. The smell of burnt wood still hung in the air, but above the pungent odor lurked the rich scent of roasting meat, making his mouth water. His stomach growled. He’d fallen asleep before the Thaen Regular returned with food, and he was starving. He smacked his lips at the thought of real food. Hopefully, the days of hard bread and dried meat were behind him. He rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out. A crust of dust, smoke, and tears clung to his eyelashes. He wiped the worst of it away and let his arms unfold into a stretch.

  Yesterday’s abuse from the saddle horn jabbed like a spear into his side. “Faen’s balls!” he said between clenched teeth. He hurriedly looked around to make sure no one heard him. He was alone in the room, which was a good thing. If any of the townsfolk back home had heard him say the Dark God’s name, they would’ve taken the hide from his rear end.

  Lifting his shirt, he whistled. Mottled purple-and-yellow bruises ran from his armpit to his hip. His hand wasn’t much better. A scabbed-over line crossed his palm where the skin had been burned away by the reins. He let his shirt fall and made a tentative circ
le with his arm, testing the pain. I survived worse at home with Grandfather. I’ll get through this.

  Pushing the pain away, he examined the room more closely. It was smaller than it’d appeared last night—much smaller. The walls and floor were solid and barren, made of rough wooden planks. The canvas pallets were dingy. It had to be a cell of some kind; otherwise there would have been more than the small window in the door. He’d been so tired when he came in that he hadn’t noticed. Standing slowly, he limped to the door and tested the handle. The latch clicked. At least it wasn’t a cell for him.

  Outside, it was still dark, and the dim shadows of the outpost’s walls masked what light came from the horizon. If they were roasting meat, however, it meant dawn was close. He wished he could’ve slept longer. He was still tired, but his grandfather had never let him sleep past sunrise, so he usually woke early out of habit. There were even times when he’d been up before Gairen on the long ride here.

  Riam yawned again and went looking for a place to relieve himself. He had no difficulty finding the privy. Even though it was early, he wasn’t the only one awake. Uniformed regulars scurried about the outpost in pursuit of their duties. They paid little attention to a boy hobbling through the compound.

  Gairen was standing in front of the cell when he returned. He smiled as Riam approached. If Gairen was a fearsome man to behold in daylight, the white of his teeth as he smiled in the dim light made him downright scary. If Riam hadn’t spent so much time with him, he’d have run for the gate. He took a deep breath and forced himself to walk calmly toward the man. Even after the fight with the Esharii, Gairen’s clothes were as fresh and crisp as the day he’d walked into Riam’s home. Riam’s own clothing was dirty and spattered with dried blood. The right knee on his trousers was torn, and the leather laces of his shoes had knots in them to keep them together. His left shoe had a large hole, big enough that his toes slipped out if he wasn’t careful.

  “You’re up early. I didn’t expect to find you awake.” There was a hint of approval in Gairen’s voice.