Gairen said nothing more than to point out areas to scrub harder for the remainder of the bath.
Even hurrying, Riam was shivering by the time he climbed out. A breeze blew in under the canvas, making it even colder. He certainly didn’t feel “reborn,” and he had the impression that there was a lot more blood and sweat ahead of him than behind. He stood by the tub, exposed and freezing, waiting for the water to dry and his new trousers to arrive. Thank the Fallen it wasn’t winter.
Chapter 10
The outpost was busier when they returned near midday. The regulars under Harol’s command, along with a good number of townsfolk, were digging out the burned section of the wall. A single harnessed maston pulled the charred stumps free of the earth. Nearby, a second work detail dug a trench and set stakes into the ground in front of the damaged area. The thunk of axes filled the air as men hacked away at the old timbers, either making stakes for the palisade or cutting what wasn’t useful into firewood. Farther out, a second trench was dug in front of the line of pickets.
“Straight out of Nevil’s On Defense,” Gairen said. “Perfect for stopping a mounted formation. It needs to be done, but it’s a waste of time. If the tribesmen return, they won’t come against that. When you’re fighting the Esharii, always assume they’ll attack where you least expect. You’ll be right nine outta ten times.”
Gairen pointed to a small building. “The other children sleep there. You can join them later, but first, find the stable and check on my horse. Clean out his stall if it isn’t done already, and when you’ve finished that, comb him down and give him an extra bucket of grain. He’ll need it after the last few days. Join the others at the evening meal when you’re done.”
“Yes . . . Warden.” Riam tested the word. It didn’t feel right, but it seemed better than saying sir or using Gairen’s name.
“I’ll be at Master Iwynd’s quarters. I need to let him know about the timber yard, and I have reports to write.” As an afterthought, he added, “Come find me if the new boots don’t arrive before dark. You’ll be leaving at sunrise, and you’ll need the boots.”
The stable was between the warehouse and the privy. A Thaen Regular was cleaning the stalls out, but he hadn’t reached the one that held Gairen’s horse.
“Glad for the help, even if it’s only for the one stall.” He sucked at a tooth, making a sharp smacking noise. “It’s a good day to clean ’em out. The taulin’s horses and most of the drafts are out with the supply delivery, and most of the spares are bein’ used for cleanin’ up the wall.” He handed Riam a flat-tipped shovel. “Only have the one ’barrow, but I’ll work on the stalls closest to you and we can share it. Horse shit goes down the trail out the small gate at the back of the outpost. Fresh straw’s over there.”
It took Riam the rest of the afternoon to clean out the stall. It should’ve taken less than a glass, but the regular decided that since there was only one wheelbarrow and dumping it was the easy part, Riam should be the one to take care of that.
Every time he returned through the small rear gate, the regular was waiting, smile on his face, with a pile ready to be shoveled into the wheelbarrow. Riam was only able to get a few shovelfuls out of his stall before it was time to dump it again. He gave the soldier angry stares whenever the man wasn’t looking.
With each trip, the regular’s smile got larger, exposing the long, yellow teeth he kept sucking at. Somehow, the rest of the stalls were complete by the time Riam finished the single stall he’d been told to clean.
“Thanks for the help, boy,” the regular said. He hung up his shovel and left the stable whistling a tune.
This wasn’t the first time the regular had pulled the trick. It was too smooth and practiced. Riam picked up a dried horse dropping and started to throw it at the soldier, then thought better of it. The man had seemed pleasant and friendly, but like as not, he would cuff Riam upside the head if he threw it. With a sigh he tossed it away and went back to work.
He laid new straw in the stall and brushed the horse down with a hard-bristled comb he found hanging on the wall. There was no stool, so after wiping the wheelbarrow out with straw to keep his new sandals clean—or at least as clean as they could be after all the work he’d already done—he stood on top of it to reach the horse’s back. Last, he brought the grain like he’d been told and used a small pick to clean out each of the horse’s hooves. It wasn’t difficult. He’d done it hundreds of times back home. When he finished, he put everything back and went to eat after washing his hands and face in a water trough.
The hall was nearly full when Riam arrived, and there were two tables filled with children his age dressed in the same gray shirts and breeches. Riam looked for Gairen, but the warden wasn’t among the crowd. He closed his eyes. The blade was to his right; he could feel it in the direction Gairen had gone after sending him to the stable. He’d hoped to ask more questions.
He thought about waiting, but his stomach growled and made the decision for him. He went and stood in the line of people waiting to be served. The two cooks were busy, with no time for the morning’s banter, although Jon gave him a wink when he dumped two ribs from the morning’s pig on his plate and handed him a chunk of bread.
Riam didn’t want to sit with the other children. The truth was, he didn’t have much experience with others his own age except for Nola, and that hadn’t turned out so well. Plus, he honestly didn’t know what to say. He took his plate and sat alone at an empty bench in the corner with his back to the wall. The food was as good as it’d been earlier that morning. He tore the bread partway through, opened it, and placed chunks of rib meat inside to make a crude meatroll.
A girl with red hair dark enough that it could be mistaken for brown came in. Her lips were narrow, and her mouth was so straight and thin the feature stood out, neither turning up nor down at the edges. She wore the same gray outfit he and the other children wore, and judging by the Thaen Regulars around her, she was taller than he was. She turned in his direction, and he pretended to watch the cooks.
When she received her food, she moved in a straight line for his table. He looked left then right. She’s going to sit with me. He groaned. What do I say? He looked down at his plate to avoid eye contact in the hope she would move on and sit somewhere else.
Her plate clacked down across from him.
He tore off a piece of bread from the meatroll and chewed slowly, giving him a reason not to speak.
After he’d taken two long, slow, bites, the girl spoke up. “I’m Loral.” She looked at him questioningly.
“Riam,” he mumbled with his mouth full.
“I’m from Galtare.”
He had no idea where that was. It must have been obvious.
“It’s a port city on the Neshian side of the river from Thae. What about you?”
“I’m . . .” He searched his memory but came up blank. He didn’t know the name of the town he was from. Grandfather and Lemual had always just said they were going to town, never a name. Surely somebody must have mentioned it, but if they had, he couldn’t remember it to save his life. His mind was blank. He chuckled.
“Are you laughing at me?” Loral’s mouth pressed into an even narrower line. She started to stand.
“No. Wait,” he said. “I don’t know the name of the town I’m from. I thought it was funny that until a few days ago, the world was so small that there was no need for it to have a name. I know it’s somewhere near Cove, but more inland, on the edge of the plains.”
“That’s a lot farther north than where I’m from, but I think we might have traveled through the area on the way here. It’s so flat and empty. All that emptiness scares me. It’s too quiet. I like the noise of the city.”
“I’ve never been to a city. Hath is the largest place I’ve ever seen.”
The ends of her mouth turned upward for the first time, and she giggled. “Hath is tiny. Wait till
we get to a real city.”
Her laugh grated along Riam’s back. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born on a farm and never gone anywhere. “I don’t know. I like the open land. I like the farms.” He didn’t know why he said that. It certainly wasn’t true.
“Is that what your family does? Farm?”
“They did. They’re all dead,” he blurted out, wanting her to feel bad for laughing.
Her mouth went back to a narrow line. “I’m sorry.”
They were both quiet after that. She looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t look at him as they ate. The silence was awkward and heavy.
I shouldn’t have said it that way. He’d been unfair to Nola at the stream, and she was gone before he could apologize. He took a deep breath. “Me, too. I shouldn’t have put it like that.”
Her mouth remained flat.
“How many of us are there?” He knew the answer from the money Gairen paid the tailor, but it was all he could think to ask. I wish she’d smile again. She looks far too serious when she’s not smiling. He waited anxiously while she finished chewing.
“You make ten. I heard there was supposed to be one more, but something happened to her. They don’t tell us much.” She looked at him, expecting him to fill her in on the story.
Riam didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to talk about losing Nola to the Esharii. He shrugged his shoulders instead, hoping it was enough of a response.
“Anyway, we’re all supposed to leave in the morning. You’re lucky you arrived when you did. They’ve had us working around the outpost, cleaning the plates and pots, pulling weeds, mucking out the stable for that idiot, Maber . . . whatever the soldiers can think of to keep us busy. The old Draegoran is the worst. If he sees you doing nothing, he snaps his fingers and a regular comes running to put you to work.”
“You mean Master Iwynd? He’s the only Draegoran here, right? I mean besides Warden Gairen.”
“Warden Gairen?”
“That’s the Draegoran who brought me here. His rank is warden. The older one is Master Iwynd. At least that’s what Gairen calls him. Anyway, just be glad he’s an Owl.”
“An owl?”
“Yes, but not the bird. That’s the name of their regiment. It’s like a clan or a school. There are six of them, and we will all be placed in one for training eventually. Anyway, if he were from the Wolf Regiment, it would have been much worse from what Gairen says.”
Loral’s brow furrowed and her narrow mouth formed a quiet, “Oh.” She looked at him as if he were an Esharii. “How do you know all this?”
“From Warden Gairen. Didn’t the Draegoran who brought you here tell you anything?”
“It was a group of six that brought me, Tannon, and the twins.” She pointed at a pair of boys at one of the tables that were obviously twins—they both had the same flat nose and wavy brown hair—though one seemed twice the size of the other. Between them sat a blond-haired boy with his arm in a sling. “The twins are Karyl and Marcus. The smaller one is Marcus. That is Vashi with the sling between them. He’s nice, but he talks a lot. They’re from small towns like you, but Tannon,” she pointed to a boy who sat at another table with several other children, “is from Galtare like I am.”
“If it was a group of six that brought you here, then it was a taulin—five armsmen and a taulin leader. That’s what they call their patrols.”
She held her palms up. “Now I’m the one who feels like she’s from a farm and doesn’t know anything.” The corners of her mouth turned up again. “Guess we’re even.”
“Sure.” He hadn’t been trying to show her up. By the Fallen, he hadn’t even told her all the ranks he’d learned, or about how every Draegoran was linked with the crystal in their sword. She’d probably think he was crazy if he told her they all carried the Fallen’s blood. She was smiling, however, and for some strange reason, that was suddenly all that mattered.
“Anyway, the Draegorans . . . the taulin,” she paused, and he nodded, confirming she’d said the name right, “left the next morning after bringing us here. That was more than a tenday ago.” She took another bite of food, then spoke while chewing, “I was glad to get away from them. They let Tannon do what he wanted so long as we were ready each morning. Stay away from him as much as you can, by the way. He’s dangerous. I’ve known lots of boys like him in Galtare—ones who like hurting people. He and I were the only two taken from the entire city, and I had to put up with him by myself until they found the twins up the coast. Thank Sollus that Karyl is bigger than Tannon.”
Riam almost laughed at that. If he could survive his grandfather, the Esharii, and the wasps, he was fairly certain that there wasn’t much worse the other boy could do to him.
“There are a couple of other ‘young landowners’ among us,” she said sarcastically.
Riam knew she didn’t mean that literally. Even where he was from, it was a common description for children who threw fits when things didn’t go their way.
“Sitting with Tannon are Dunval, Ania, Sabat, and Jerald. Ania, she’s their harmless pet, so don’t worry about her. Sabat and Jerald aren’t so bad one-on-one, but they follow Tannon’s lead whenever they are with him.” Loral hunched closer and lowered her voice. “Dunval, that’s the one with short, dark hair and the narrow nose, he likes to fight, but only if the odds are two or three to one. He and Tannon caught Vashi in the dark one night near the privy. They beat him up pretty bad because he wouldn’t trade work details with Tannon. That’s why his arm is in a sling. One of the regulars questioned us about it, but no one said anything.”
Riam looked again at the tables where the others sat as Loral continued to give him a rundown of the children. He could see the split between the groups now that she pointed it out. Tannon’s group was loud and boisterous while the other table was subdued, as if they didn’t want to be noticed.
Tannon caught Riam’s attention. The boy was staring at him, a thoughtful look on his face behind eyes that were too narrow. Riam returned the stare and held it, refusing to look away. Tannon smiled, a big wide grin like he’d been given a new toy to play with.
* * *
—
On the other side of the outpost, Gairen sat staring at his sword.
It was a simple piece, with only the slightest curvature to it, but there was a grace to the modest, slow curve and to the faint scrollwork that turned with it below the narrow groove of the fuller. The guard was a single oval disk with smooth, rounded edges that was wide enough to prevent another weapon from sliding into the wielder’s hand, but not so large as to impair movement. The blade collar was the color of soft gold and rose no more than a thumb’s width from the guard, enfolding the blue-steel blade with only the slightest hint of a seam. A hilt of polished ironwood encapsulated the tang, and the mastonhide-wrapped grip was stained dark with years of use. The pommel that held the crystal balanced the weapon perfectly.
The blade at his side was the sword’s twin. They were a flawless matched set and irreplaceable, made by the best swordsmith the island of Draegora had known in the last five hundred years, Master Sorrant, the former kyden of Ironstriker Regiment. These were the last blades the master-swordsmith completed before dying, and they were one of only two matching sets he’d ever made. The other set was at the bottom of the ocean with Jonim, Gairen’s brother.
Gairen looked at his reflection in the blade. His eyes were drawn and red, and the skin around them dark. Losing the link to the sword on the table had torn away half of the connection he held to his brother, not to mention giving him a pounding headache that wouldn’t subside.
He ran a finger along the back of the blade. It was almost painful as the power of the weapon pulled at him, and he was forced to shield himself. The crystal had tasted his blood many times when he was wounded over the years, and now that it was no longer linked with him, it tried to steal away his life whenever he touched it. T
he weapon was foreign to him now, even though he’d carried it for years, and he didn’t understand how the boy was able to take it. The crystals could be bonded to another if the owner was killed, but it was difficult and required several masters to accomplish. As far as he knew, what the boy had done was impossible.
Pulling his hand away from the blade, he leaned back in the chair. He was in Master Iwynd’s quarters. The same room he’d been in the evening prior. Beside the sword, his report and a letter lay on the table. The letter explained who the boy was and what he’d done to the sword. It was sealed with wax and addressed to his father, Kyden Thalle, commander of Owl Regiment. The official report next to it detailed the attack in the timber yard. It left out the part about the sword.
There was no doubt that Jonim’s boy had potential, even if what he’d done was a fluke. He might carry six, maybe even seven of the bloodlines if his grandmother had Esharii blood like her name implied. Maybe it was the Esharii blood that allowed him to take the sword. He didn’t know of any other Draegoran who carried it. It might make him stronger than even Kyden Verros one day, the commander of Wolf Regiment. Verros wouldn’t like that at all. If he finds out, will he try and recruit him or kill him? Neither answer would be good for the Owls, which explained why he’d left it out of the official report.
Gairen could imagine the infighting and maneuvering among the kydens to add the boy to their regiments if word got out about what he’d done. He could also imagine the boy living a very short life, killed by one of the other regiments who didn’t get him. Add to this the knowledge of the boy’s lineage, and the items in front of Gairen might very well be a death sentence, even if Father decided to train him.
No. He could send Riam to the island with the report, but if he sent the letter to his father, he doubted the boy had much of a chance.
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