Sunset came, and soon the last sliver of sun fell behind the western mountains. Loren thought that surely they would stop, but Albern nudged his horse to confer with Jordel. Then the bowyer turned toward them.
“We will ride on through the night, but slower. I wish to give the satyrs no chance to track us. It might be safe here, but I will feel more secure after a few more hours.”
“Through the night?” said Annis, exhaustion plain in the slump of her shoulders. “I am ready to fall from this saddle.”
“I do not recommend it,” said Albern. “Keep the horses at a brisk walk. Pinch yourself if you must, but stay awake.”
Silver moonslight bathed them through the night, for the satellites rose toward the north and set in the south this time of month. Though it was still a bit dim, Loren found that she had grown accustomed to traveling by moonslight over the past many weeks, and could see almost as well as during the day. Midnight seemed at ease as well, for she followed briskly behind Jordel’s charger. The plowhorse, however, was unused to such stretches, and stumbled as it walked.
Soon its meandering grew too much, and Loren shouted up to their guide. “Albern, I fear for the children’s horse. It looks tired enough to pitch them over the edge.”
Albern glanced back to see. “Tis only a few hours until dawn. That horse is not well-used to such journeys, but it will not fail us. Keep on, and Annis — give him a switch of the reins every now and then.”
“But who will switch me? I’m as tired, though I do not carry so heavy a burden,” grumbled Annis, who looked ready to fall from her saddle. Gem’s head was dug into the back of her shoulders, and Loren guessed the boy was asleep.
Dawn finally found them, exhausted but safe. The path had begun to descend, and Loren could see by the sun’s earliest rays that it leveled off mayhap fifty feet above the valley floor, then ran at that height until she could no longer see it. Albern found an alcove and ordered a halt, then Loren dismounted alongside the children. Gem flung himself on the rocky soil and fell asleep immediately. Annis curled up beside him for warmth and followed his slumber, without bothering to secure the steed. Loren desperately wanted to join them, but forced herself to hobble Midnight and the plowhorse. Then she got her bedroll and fell asleep while Albern tindered a fire.
She woke near midday. Annis was up and sitting by the fire, while Gem still loudly snored. Jordel sat against the alcove wall, keen blue eyes fixed unerringly upon the flames. Loren wondered if he had slept. The wizard was trussed up not far away, his back to them all.
“Welcome back,” said Albern. “We will rest here today and through the night, then continue in the morrow. It would be tempting to press on now after sleeping, but it is not wise to stumble exhausted through the Greatrocks. Our limbs and bones need time to recover.”
“You need not tell me twice,” said Annis. “Rarely have I ached so badly, and in so many places.”
Loren smirked as she sat beside them near the fire. No rain fell, but the day was cold and grey. She relished the flames as they bathed her face in heat.
Loren studied Annis from under her drawn hood. The girl did not shy away, nor did her eyes hold their previous anger. Either she had forgotten their argument in the danger, or had chosen to let the matter go. Loren hoped it was the latter. Annis was a dear friend, and one of her few in the world. Without her, and Gem and even Jordel — and, she was slowly starting to believe, Albern — who would she have?
Loren noticed something else: Annis was no longer the plump young merchant’s daughter she once had been. Though it had been scarcely a few months since they met, she seemed to have … grown. Loren supposed it was not impossible that the girl was now taller. After all, children her age often went through such spurts. But the change was not only in her height, in the fresh slimness of her waist, nor even cheeks that were no longer as full. Her eyes held a curious maturity, like a woman grown.
She is no longer a child.
Of course in her youth she had been forced to see things no child should see. But when first they met, Annis had held on to so many youthful ideas. Now they seemed gone. While her eyes could still light at a simple thing such as a beautiful dress, Annis had grown much during their time on the road.
Gem, too, was growing. He still bore the marks of a hard life, with his twiggy limbs and wide hungry eyes. But his arms were not nearly so thin as they once were, and Loren could see his muscles starting to grow. And though Annis’s growth might have been Loren’s imagination, Gem was certainly taller — once he had barely reached her chest, now she would need a stretch to put her chin atop his head.
Loren wondered with a start if she, too, looked different. She had never owned a mirror, rarely looked at her reflection in a still pool’s water, and saw nothing remarkable when she did; everyone commented on her green eyes, but beyond that she thought herself plain. What did she look like now? Mayhap finer in her noble’s cloak, but surely shabbier as well. She felt worn — thinner, and sharper, as though the edges of her had been honed like the tip of a wooden spear.
With a start and a final snort, Gem finally woke. He looked around as though uncertain of his surroundings, then approached the fire to sit on Loren’s other side. Together they ate a silent lunch, while Jordel stared into the fire and Albern held watch at the alcove’s mouth.
Once Gem had devoured his last morsel, Jordel stood. He went to his horse and dug through the saddlebags. His hands emerged with a short, narrow blade — hardly larger than a dirk.
“Gem, of the family Noctis,” said Jordel. “Yesterday you asked for a blade, and I scorned you for being unable to use one. I was wrong to do so, and ask your forgiveness. I was worried at the threat to our lives.”
Gem bowed his head, like a king accepting a boon from a servant. But his eyes burned with an eager light as he stood looking up at Jordel. “I took no offense.”
“Then let me make you a gift,” said Jordel. “Take this weapon and call it your own. And as for learning how to use it — I will teach you, if you wish.”
Loren thought he might weep. Gem reached for the sword with trembling hands. The blade rattled in its scabbard. “I thank you,” he said, his voice filled with more emotion than she had ever heard from him before.
“Fancy a lesson now?” Jordel smiled. “I think we all could use a distraction.”
“Of course!” Gem struggled to fasten his swordbelt, but could not work the buckle — he had worn only a simple belt of rope, tied at the waist, since Loren had met him. Jordel knelt as if he were the boy’s squire, and helped him secure his sword.
Jordel stood, giving Annis a curious look. “You, too, are welcome to learn.”
Annis looked at them both, bashful and eager. “I would not presume to trouble you. I have had no experience with weapons, for it was not thought proper by my mother. She taught me to battle with words.”
“I have trained many much older than you,” said Jordel. “Students who had never so much as fondled a blade. Say the word, and my instruction is yours.”
Annis lowered her eyes. “Not just now, I think. Let me watch a while, then we shall see if I can muster the courage.”
“Come and join us, Loren!” said Gem. “Surely you would make a fine fighter!”
Loren shook her head. “A blade is a weapon for killing men. I will not spend my time learning to do so, even if the knowledge is never used.”
Gem rolled his eyes and shrugged. “You are a fair and beautiful flower, Loren — and one day this world will crush you under its boot. But have it your way.”
Jordel had Gem draw, and started instruction with stances. Loren wandered away, to the alcove’s mouth where Albern stood looking out in silence. He did not so much as flinch at her approach. But after she had stayed silent beside him for a while, the bowyer finally turned.
“You have never killed a man before?”
“Nor a woman,” said Loren. “And nor will I.”
“A curious rule. Not one often found in those tra
veling the nine lands.”
“Yet it is mine, and I will not break it.”
“You loosed arrows at the satyrs easily enough, when they threatened us.”
“Those were beasts. Not men.”
Albern fixed her with a hard glare. “They speak in their own tongue, and in the tongue of men. Have you learned their language? For Tiglak took the time to learn yours. They craft tools and weapons of war, no different from us.”
“But … but they are not human,” said Loren, confused. “They are goat-men.”
Albern shook his head. “Many evil men have left scores of dead in their wake, and roused great armies to slaughter countless more, all by saying their foes were less than human. Tis a dangerous attitude, no matter your foe.”
“You are joking,” said Loren. “Do you not kill animals for your meals? I see little difference.”
“The day my cattle can plead for mercy, I will stay my blade from their throats. You may think on this further, or not, as you wish. But you did not come here to argue your conscience with me, I suppose.”
“I … did not,” said Loren, though in truth Albern’s words troubled her greatly. She had not thought to look at the satyrs in such a way, and now her heart was troubled that she did. “I saw you fighting yesterday, with your bow. I have never seen someone shoot in such a way.”
Albern smiled and looked down at his boots. “Aye, those in Selvan often say I have skill with a bow, though in my homeland I am no great marksman.”
“You do not come from Selvan, then? Whence do you hail?”
“I am a man of Calentin, as your Mystic companion could probably tell you. There we learn the bow from a young age, for our land is hard and alive with danger. We do not use them to slay our enemies from across the battlefield, firing long shafts from on high with longbows. There you must learn to protect yourself from a few feet away, and in the blink of an eye.”
“Would you teach me?” Loren had not meant to state it so plainly, but could not stop herself from blurting the words. “I want to shoot like that.”
Albern frowned. “A poor skill it seems, for one determined not to kill.”
“More than humans may pose a danger. And I do not mean the satyrs. There are bears and lions in the world, and tales tell of other animals far more dangerous. Besides, often I hunt. Being able to shoot so quickly would be a powerful skill when searching for food, especially if the prey spots me and bolts.”
“That is why you wish to shoot, then?” said Albern, smirking. “To fetch your dinner?”
Loren’s cheeks burned. “If you do not wish to teach me, you may simply say so.”
Albern resumed his watch, surveying the mountains. “I am hired as a guide, Loren, not an instructor. I have concerns aplenty without spending time to show you my warcraft.”
There came a soft plink, plink, upon the ground. Loren’s eyes fell toward the sound. Albern, too, looked down, to see three gold weights at his feet. They raised their eyes to find Jordel standing nearby, two fingers still buried in his purse.
“I can pay more, if you think it fair. Not often will she have the chance to learn from one of the famed archers of Calentin.”
Loren flushed and nodded her gratitude. She had not thought the Mystic was listening, but had to remind herself that Jordel often saw and heard far more than he let on.
Albern stooped to gather the coins, then stuffed them into his cloak pocket. “Tis a fair enough payment, though I cannot watch and teach at once.”
Jordel fixed Loren with a strange look. “I will take the watch. For I would much like to see Loren learn this skill. And besides, I have exhausted my own student for now.”
Loren looked past Jordel. She had failed to hold her attention on the Mystic’s training, and now saw that Gem lay on his back in the alcove, sword laying loose on the ground beside him, chest rising and falling heavily with every ragged breath. A small welt had raised on his arm, no doubt from a sharp lesson. She snickered.
Albern gave Loren a long look and nodded. “Very well, daughter of the family Nelda. Let us teach you the true nature of a tool you have long misused.”
twelve
ALBERN SHOWED LOREN THE CALENTIN craft of archery throughout the day’s remainder. First he told her to take the quiver from her back.
“In most lands, archers wear the quiver as you do. They think of movement, rather than shooting. A quiver on the waist may be cumbersome at first, and you will often spill your arrows. But it is like a muscle. The more you travel thus, the more natural it will come, until you move with the quiver at your side like another leg.”
Gem snickered and raised his head from the ground. “Poorly chosen words, bowyer.”
“Still your childish tongue, little master,” replied Albern, but there was little malice in the words. “Now, move your quiver’s belt to your waist.”
Loren tried firing with the arrows on her waist, but it was difficult. She was so used to drawing arrows from her back that this new motion came strangely. But she grit her teeth and tried again and again, never loosing an arrow, merely trying to perfect her draw. She tried placing the arrow to the left of her bow, like she always had. Albern stopped her.
“That, too, is wrong. People in the southern lands think that lends you more accuracy. But only practice guides your arrows true. Spend enough time with the arrow on the right, and you will shoot as fine as you ever did the other way.”
Loren tried, but the arrow bounced from the bow’s right side. “How do I hold it steady?”
Albern raised his eyebrow. “You have answered your own question. By holding it steady.”
She twisted the nock until the arrowhead came back against the bow. It strained her cramping hand and she winced with the pain. She glanced over at Albern’s hands, and saw for the first time how thickly muscled they were.
Something else I will gain only with practice.
Loren held the arrow steady, but could not draw while maintaining its position. The arrow drifted.
“Try holding it with your left thumb. That is a terrible way to shoot, and it will send your arrow wide more often than not. But it can help ease the strain on your right hand and arm while you are learning.”
She tried again and again and again. The rest of that day until sundown, Loren drew and drew, never loosing a shaft. Her arm burned, but she kept going. The motion felt unnatural no matter her repetition, but still she pressed on.
When the sun finally set and they prepared for rest, Albern gave Loren a nod of approval. “You have grit. I have tried teaching this to archers before. Most surrender.”
“It took me more than a day to learn the wrong way. I will not be surprised if it takes twice as long to learn it right.”
“And mayhap more than that,” said Albern. “Your muscles will remember the wrong way for a long while yet. Refuse to listen. Your mind must rule them until at last they learn the way.”
They slept well through the night. Jordel and Albern split the watch, for neither man was especially tired despite the previous day’s difficult ride. Loren woke to a grey dawn, yet it seemed brighter and more hopeful than many of their days in the Greatrocks thus far. Loren quickly ate then grabbed her quiver to practice. Albern watched in admiration.
“Good,” he said. “Already you’re quicker than yesterday.”
“Yesterday I was ready to faint from fatigue.”
“If ever you wish it, once your skills are about you, I could speak to many sellsword captains across the nine lands on your behalf. They all want good fighters, but an archer who knows the Calentin craft is prized above many.”
“I thank you, but the life of a mercenary holds little appeal to me.”
“Your pardon. I had forgotten your vow. I shall banish the matter from my mind.”
They mounted once Gem had finished his meal — which, Loren swore, was bigger than anyone else’s, though she did not know how that could be when Jordel was rationing them so carefully.
Upon the
mountain pass, Loren’s fine mood dampened. The alcove had offered a sense of safety. Now, upon the road, it was easier to recall the satyr attack, the looks on their savage faces as they charged with their spears, and the terrible bleating that poured from their throats. Loren found herself looking up the mountainside, always fearing to see the goat-men perched above, watching, waiting for their chance to strike.
But the day passed quickly and quietly. Just after midday the sun finally broke through the clouds and they basked in its warmth.
Despite the fine day, Loren often caught Annis looking solemn, or mayhap worried. Loren had taken Midnight to the rear after the satyr attack, to guard against any strikes from the back. But that put Annis directly behind Jordel and Xain, and the girl let the plowhorse drift as though she were afraid to draw close. Loren could see the fear in her eyes, and the worry whenever she looked at Xain.
They stopped for a midday meal, and Jordel took Albern on a bit farther to scout the coming turns. Gem ran behind, like a puppy following its master. They left Xain bound on the ground, and though he slept, Annis still sat as far from the wizard as she could, even leaning to the side so there was no chance of touching him.
Loren sat beside her. “What troubles you today? There is worry in your eyes, or mayhap fear.”
Annis looked down at her bread and mumbled, “Tis nothing.”
With a hand on the girl’s shoulder, Loren leaned closer. “Annis, I want to help.”
She looked over at Xain, then back at Loren. “You know I do not like that Jordel brought the wizard with us. I hate what he did to us in Wellmont, and what he did to me. Yet … yet after the satyrs attacked us, the way that Jordel … ”
Loren thought she understood. Jordel’s wrath had been terrible. The Mystic stood in serenity’s mold, and she had been amazed how even-tempered he was even in the face of Xain’s obstinate rebellion. It was not only the wizard; when the rest of them had hated Vivien and mistrusted her, Jordel had shown her courtesy and respect. Even when she sought to expose him for helping Xain, who had consumed magestone despite the King’s law, Jordel had looked upon her with understanding.
Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Page 8