by J. C. Staudt
“The one beside your right foot.”
Alynor looked down as if just noticing it. “Is that what this is? I was wondering—”
“Do not think to play me for a fool, Mistress Mirrowell. I have seen your father standing by his window at the Greenkeep, searching the western horizon for signs of you. He may have refused to provide you shelter—and just as well he should have—but his love for you was no less a betrayal of your whereabouts. You are his daughter; there’s no use denying it. I see his face in yours.”
“Fine. Take it,” Alynor said, picking up the scroll and handing it to the woman.
Elara tucked it into a saddlebag. “There. That wasn’t so hard. I was afraid you might try something rash. And now, I believe I’m in possession of something which belongs to you.” She removed a small round object from a pouch on her belt and tossed it to Alynor.
Alynor caught the object and examined it. A leather string with a smooth circular token dangling from one end. Sir Jalleth’s ivory pendant. “Where did you find this?”
“In the Wildwood. Just after that old Warcaster of yours eluded us.”
“I’ll be sure to give it back if I ever see him again,” Alynor said, slipping the pendant around her neck. “Thank you for the trade. Now, if you’ll kindly let us on our way, my son and I were just heading down to the river to have a drink and fill our skins.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t time for that,” Elara said. “The king has asked after you specifically. I do intend on taking the scroll back to Maergath, but I’ll be bringing you and your son with it.”
“Please,” Alynor said. “You can’t do that.”
“Finding you has been my sole errand for the last four years,” Elara said. “It is the purpose for which the king commissioned me. You are a sly devil, Mistress Mirrowell. Oh, yes. We have chased you far and wide across the realms. Followed every hint and rumor given to us. Useless. All of them. It wasn’t until we heard of the young washerwoman and the strange old man she was trying to pass off as a husband that I knew we’d found you.”
“You have the scroll,” Alynor said. “What does Olyvard King want with me?”
“That is not a question I’ve ever been insolent enough to ask. You might ask him yourself when we get there.”
“You’re taking us all the way back to Maergath? You would make a woman and her child walk while you ride?”
“Oh, you’ll ride. Not to worry. We’ve a stop to make before Maergath, though. I’ve heard news of a disturbance in Westenreach, which Feldyrn King of Tetheril is apparently loath to investigate. We were just on our way to Briarcrest to meet with the other half of my host, whom I sent south to Linderton after your… husband. Now that we have you, I don’t see as it matters much.”
“Westenreach is damned,” Alynor said. “Cursed. Overrun with brain eaters.”
Elara glanced at her riders. “Then I expect we’ll have ourselves a go at fixing the problem.”
“What about my husband? Couldn’t your men have turned him up in Linderton?”
“The king does not want Sir Jalleth Highbridge. His only use was to lead us to you. My orders are to kill him on sight.”
Alynor glanced skyward in spite of herself.
“Yes, I know he has the ability to change shape. I know he is near, and I know he will follow us when we take you.” Elara looked up. “Flaigus.”
“Aye, marm,” said a muscled man with a long brown beard speckled in gray.
“There’s a bird up there who needs a few more feathers. Should the opportunity arise, see he gets them.”
“Marm.” Flaigus touched the shortbow on his back and nodded.
“Enough chatter. Bind them. We ride west.”
Six riders dismounted. Alynor held Draithon close, knowing there was nothing more she could do.
Chapter 22
Darion and Jeebo were galloping north on the Hightrade Road when a small brown shape streaked through the morning sunlight and settled into an easy glide, wings outstretched no more than three fathoms above them.
“It’s Hyrana,” Jeebo shouted. “She’s come back to us.”
“About time she did,” Darion called back. “I don’t doubt she’s been enjoying her freedom.”
“Not too much, I hope.”
“She would not have returned, were that the case.”
They rode on, and the lady hawk followed.
Days passed.
The road ran first down a narrow lane between river and forest, then opened up on either side as the Towershield Mountains rose in the west. It was a straight, simple path to Trebelow, but a long one; just under four days on horseback. They galloped in short spurts to preserve the strength of their new horses. Jeebo, too, was in need of rest, but he never complained of the wounds he’d received during the fight with Brock Einrich and his household guard.
It turned out Jeebo’s thick leather armor had saved him from a more serious injury. The blow that caught him across the back had split the armor clear through, and although the resulting gash caused him great pain as they rode, the wound was little more than skin deep.
Darion often wondered in those days as they camped, rode, and camped again, whether they might be riding past the cave or gulley where Alynor and the child were hiding out. Only when he reached Trebelow would he learn which direction the Dathiri Pathfinders were headed, and whether they had caught Alynor or were still searching for her.
On the third day they met with a sudden influx of travelers on the road. The change was dramatic; until then they’d encountered no greater number of merchants, traders, and peasants than was to be expected. Now, instead of the odd lone peddler in a horse-drawn cart, there began to appear from the north a number of small groups on foot, simple craftsmen and farmers who might’ve been carrying everything they owned on their backs. Families, too; women and young children.
Curious about the reason for this surge in traffic, Darion suggested to Jeebo that when they stopped for the night they might offer to share their fire with another group.
“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Jeebo asked. “After what happened in Briarcrest, I would think we ought to keep our hoods up and our lips sealed.”
“How do you ever keep your lips sealed with teeth like that?” Darion said, indicating Jeebo’s orcish canines.
Jeebo looked first stricken, then hurt. “It was only a suggestion, my lord. You may, of course, do as you wish.”
“Oh, now don’t let’s be sore. I was only jesting.”
“I’ll build us a fire,” Jeebo said, dismounting beside the road.
“Come, Jeebo. Please. I didn’t mean to—” When Jeebo didn’t stop, Darion got off his horse and followed the falconer into the brush. “Jeebo, wait. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Jeebo turned around. “Perhaps you are only worried for your wife, as I am, and were seeking a mark to make light of. I am certainly worthy of the charge.”
“No,” Darion said. “That isn’t true. The remark was untoward. It was insensitive of me.”
“A lord needn’t be sensitive to his servants. I know I am ugly. I have always known it. Through my veins course the blood of half a hundred clans. My relations are spread across the realms and beyond like salt in the sea.”
“That may be true, but I will not allow you to speak of yourself in such a manner. I ought to know better. For all my years, I often find my tongue has failed to catch up. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Jeebo said, scanning the dark ground for firewood.
Darion sighed. “No need for that. We won’t be building a fire tonight. I understand your concern over showing our faces to other travelers, but since we’re heading north, we’d best learn why so many people are going south.”
“As you say. Ought we avoid names in case Lord Einrich has sent riders after us?”
“I am Enon Gerrard, remember? And you… you shall be… Master Wendall Lims, the finest falconer no one has ever heard of.”
Jeebo allowed himself a smile, then quashed it when he felt his long bottom canines sliding into view.
“Do not think less of yourself on my account,” Darion said, cuffing him on the shoulder. “You are the truest friend I could ask for, and that alone is worth more than all the pure, noble blood in the world. And while we’re on the subject, I am no vision of beauty either.”
Jeebo chuckled. “I will not argue with you on that score, Master Gerrard. Let’s go see what we can find out, shall we?”
Darion nodded.
They led the horses to a nearby campfire, where they found a mixed company of humans, elf-kind, and littlefolk dressed in well-worn traveling clothes. There were five of them altogether. It was not a neat camp by any stretch; their weapons and armor lay strewn about their bedrolls, where cookpots and other belongings spilled from overflowing packs.
Road-savvy, these fellows. And adequately provisioned, Darion thought. “Well met, gentle masters,” he said, stepping into the warm orange glow. “My companion and I thought we might share your fire, if such an arrangement would be agreeable to you.”
“Our fire is your fire,” said a broad-shouldered elf with hair the color of dark ale, the best-dressed of them all.
Darion thanked him, then introduced himself as Enon Gerrard, Jeebo as Wendall Lims, and Hyrana as Hyrana. The five travelers introduced themselves in return.
“Strange we should all be found in this part of the world at a time like this,” said a white-bearded holy man who had introduced himself as Velden Moongleam. “With so much foul sorcery about, I see only trouble ahead.”
“Indeed,” said Darion. “The road south has been packed with travelers today. And not the usual merchants bringing goods to port.”
“Haven’t you heard?” asked Jyrr Argentum, a slender blond man with a silvery sheen on his skin and a look of mischief in his eye.
Darion shook his head.
Elduin Grovetender, a pale elf clothed in simple woodland garb, spoke up. “It’s Westenreach. Like many Tetheri settlements over the last thousand years, the town has fallen victim to wild mischief. These travelers you’ve been seeing today are the only survivors, turned away from Trebelow by order of Lord Goldane. There will be more in the days to come, though I dare say, not many.”
“Survivors of what?” Jeebo asked.
“Burrowing mites.”
“Never heard of them,” said Jeebo.
“I have,” said Darion. “They make men go mad. Parasites, they are. Left unchecked, they spread faster than lice.”
“Madness is but another form of enlightenment,” said the bare-chested halfling reclined against a large rock by the fire.
“You’ll have to excuse Gelrandi,” said Elduin. “He tends to take things lightly, even when they’re heavy.”
“Say, little fellow,” Darion said. “What sort of enlightenment do you think those people found when the mites began to devour the contents of their skulls? Eh?”
The finely-dressed elf with the dark amber hair, whose name Darion now knew was Farius, shot to his feet. “Allow me to make a slight alteration to what I said earlier. Our fire is your fire… so long as you repay our generosity with respect.”
“Are you from Westenreach?” Darion asked, hoping to diffuse the tension.
“Do I look like I belong in some mud hut on the Tetheri frontier?”
Darion smiled. “Well, you’re certainly overdressed for it.”
“My father owns half of Falcon Falls, I’ll have you know.”
“Good for him. May he live long, so as not to deliver his half into less capable hands.”
Farius went red in the face. “Now, you—” he said, making his way round the fire.
“Hold it, hold it,” said Velden, jumping up to stand in the way. “That’s enough. He meant nothing by it.”
Farius snorted; a long, wet sound. Then he puffed out his cheeks and spat something thick at Darion’s feet. “If you say anything else like that to me or my friends, I won’t let him stop me the next time.” He gave Velden a soft shove and returned to his seat.
“By all means,” Darion said, “come right this way. I’m always game for fisticuffs before bed.”
The five travelers glared at Darion, but no one gave him the satisfaction of a response.
“Surely you understand I meant it only in jest,” Darion said after a moment.
They were unconvinced.
Darion changed the subject. “Tell me more about Westenreach. How bad is it?”
“Bad,” said Jyrr. “Everyone is… slowing. You’re familiar with burrowing mites, so you may know already.”
“It starts with a rage and ends with a ramble. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“They sound a bit like the undead,” Jeebo said.
Darion shook his head. “These are not zombies, though they may exhibit similar behavior. A person infected with burrowing mites is decidedly alive—and that’s the way the mites want it. They feed in such a way as to keep their host alive as long as possible. One live host is apt to carry them to another, and so forth.”
“Do they bite like zombies do?” Jeebo asked.
“Yes. And rather often, but that’s only a side effect of having one’s mind slurped up like pudding.”
Jeebo shuddered.
“The bite isn’t what spreads it, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Jyrr. “All you have to do is get close enough. They jump like fleas and cling like ticks.”
“That’s right,” said Darion. “Now, you said the infecteds in Westenreach are slowing. It’s been going on a while then, has it?”
“A week, maybe two.”
Darion frowned. “Are you sure? Burrowing mites often require a month or more to incapacitate their hosts.”
“Depending on the point of entry,” blurted Gelrandi.
Velden threw him a look. “It’s fast, I’ll agree. No one knows when or where the infestation started.”
“Or how,” said Elduin.
“Haven’t any of your tree powers been sufficient to divine that information, druid?” Darion asked, catching a cold stare from the still-vexed Farius.
“How did you know I was a druid?” Elduin asked.
“I’ve a nose for wild-singers. Not to mention the way you’re dressed. Also, I know the name Grovetender. I’ve heard it before. I’ve visited every corner of the Sparleaf at one time or another. That is where you’re from, is it not?”
“It is,” said Elduin, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “You are a well-traveled man, then. By the gait of your horses and the color in your garb, I would not have guessed it. One thing I can guess is that you are a caster.”
Darion gave him half a shrug. “I used to know a few spells. Now tell me… could you not discern the source of the infestation in Westenreach?”
“I could not. Never got the chance. We weren’t there long enough.”
“We showed up a few days after the rains stopped,” said Velden. “When the fires began.”
“Fires?”
“Nearly the whole village is burned. No one knows how that happened, either. Though we’ve heard a rumor.”
“What rumor is that?”
“Dragonfire.”
“Come, now,” Darion said. “Any time there’s a fire big enough to start a rumor, dragons are always the culprit.”
“No, it’s true,” Jyrr said. “They say there was a black shape in the sky that night. It breathed a sickly green flame.”
“So the fires had nothing to do with the infestation.”
“Who knows?”
“Everything is connected,” said Gelrandi, still stretched out by the fire. “We’re all part of one destiny; the world is a beating heart, pumping love and goodness through the fabric of every moment in time. And we, its messengers, slipping through the ages on currents of raw emotion.”
“Is he always like this?” Darion asked.
“Yes,” said Jyrr and Elduin in unison.
“He spent many years in a monastery,” said Farius. “Learning how to be incomprehensible.”
“It worked,” said Darion. “And you, Master Argentum. Are you from the town with which you share a name?”
Jyrr nodded. “The sparkle in my skin hasn’t quite worn off yet, has it?”
“I noticed it as soon as I came near your fire,” said Darion.
“Have you ever worked in the silver mines?” Jeebo wanted to know.
“Worked in them? I own them. That is to say, my father does. A few of them, leastwise.”
“Your line has taken a hand in the king’s mining enterprise for generations,” Darion said. “Look at all of you. A privileged bunch, if ever I’ve met one. I never did ask—how do you all know one another?”
“We first traveled together during the northern invasion,” Jyrr said. “We were at the Dathiri Ford when the Korengadi broke through. Sad day, that was. Fortunately, we survived.”
“Been together ever since,” Gelrandi added.
“And what is it you do together? Travel?”
“Mostly. Help those in need. You know… heroic things.”
“I see. And since Westenreach is in need of help, may I ask why you are headed away from it?”
“We did our best,” said Velden. “Alas, the hour of our arrival was late. The people of Westenreach are beyond saving now.”
Darion nodded. “As you say.” He’d have to see for himself whether that was true.
When everyone had retreated to their respective sleeping areas, Jeebo cornered Darion. “Why are you raising a rabble?”
“I’m working under the assumption that the less they like us, the more they’ll try to forget us.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Perhaps not. Though a memorable impression may be just what we need. Why are we chasing the Dathiri Pathfinders instead of drawing them to us? The sooner they receive word and come running, the better.”
“You want them coming after us?”
“If they have Alynor, they’ll bring her. If not, we’ll keep them off her trail.”
Jeebo waggled his head. “Though I hesitate to admit it, yours may be worth the gamble.”
“The rest of the way to Trebelow, we ought not use our fabricated names. Anyone who might report us will have more to go on that way.”