She drifted towards the campfire until she came to a line of chalk and salted earth: a circle of protection.
Beyond it, wearing a stained nightshirt and clutching a wooden doll and a dull-looking dagger, the auburn-haired child, who looked no more than five summers, paced between the three men — Roark, Eohan and an unknown man — who encircled the fire, speaking excitedly to each other.
Dear Goddess, does House Eyreid still stand? If so, why wasn’t the child raised within the safe walls of House Eyreid until she was of apprentice age?
The men did not notice Alana, but the girl looked directly at her. She grasped Roark’s arm and pointed.
Roark glanced over his shoulder. He had grown into a fine-looking man. His figure was trim and complexion bright, his auburn hair trimmed short, just long enough that it curled a bit. Battles had not scarred any exposed skin. Even the scowl he wore did not diminish his beauty. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Why don’t you see?” The child dropped her doll and stepped in a perfect second guard stance, pointing her dagger out and upwards. Even though they kept her weapon dulled, she already had received some weapon’s training. “Someone’s there! It’s my ghost! Will she get in?”
“Alana Mira, if you can’t play quietly, go to bed!” Roark pointed at the bedroll on the other side of where he sat.
Stamping her foot, the girl cried.
Alana’s heart sank, but she watched the unknown man stop scribbling in his journal and stare with deadly fury toward the child. “It’s Lady Alana?”
He was smaller, more wiry built and commonplace-looking than either Roark or Eohan, but he did share a few features with the massive warrior: hazel eyes, the shape of their brows and cheekbone height. Was this the lost brother? “Lady Alana is here?”
The child didn’t answer.
Roark pulled the child in front of him a bit too roughly for Alana’s taste. “Kian asked you a question.” Yes, it is.
“She’s here somewhere. So are they…”
“Where?” He scanned the wood.
“Beyond the circle. She watches us. I remember this.” The girl stamped her feet in rapid succession.
“Open the circle and let her in,” Roark ordered.
The child’s voice grew shrill. “But I don’t want the shells to get in! Don’t make me. I see them!”
Alana had no idea what she was referring to. Nothing of immediate danger seemed to be in the wood. Perhaps the child was born with active mental abilities, that might explain why she was wandering at a tender age. Too young to parse her visions into actionable data, she was no doubt a certain amount of trouble for her guardians — as Alana had once been. Roark’s quiescent mental gifts lurked below his analytical mind, but his training gave him, at least, a semblance of understanding. He took a deep breath, and hiding annoyance said, “Calm yourself, or it’s your bedtime.”
The girl’s shoulders trembled, but she clamped her mouth shut.
Eohan held out his muscled arm. “Mouskin, sit with me awhile. Leave your father be.” He, too, had grown impressively. His granite jawline and broad shoulders spoke of strength and gave him rugged understated handsomeness. His black hair was clipped short as common in Guild War Enders.
The child glanced at Roark, Eohan, and Kian, and back to Roark.
“Go.”
Alana Mira the Second scooped up her doll, scabbarded her small dagger, ran towards Eohan’s outstretched arms, and cuddled upon his lap. “You’ll help keep guard?”
“We will keep guard.” He wrapped her in his jacket.
“Cordelia, Eohan’s helping us keep guard,” the girl repeated to her doll.
“You need to sit quietly and let us work,” Eohan said.
“Sit quietly and let us work,” the girl repeated.
Roark stared coldly into the wood. Eventually, he turned, shook out a woolen blanket and set it over Eohan and Alana Mira the Second.
“Kian, if you please…”
“We don’t have any,” Kian replied.
“I didn’t finish my sentence,” Roark said.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll need to find a town tomorrow or cook some of the horse’s oats for Mira. Can we get back to this? I noticed that the digestive tract of the shells…”
Alana smiled. She did not know what “shells” were being referred to but felt relieved. This was just a failed job or an escape gone awry. No one was injured, and the horses looked healthy. They had food for the horses, and while the adults might go hungry for a day or two, the men would ensure the child would be fed.
Alana Mira the Second’s eyes drooped, Eohan passed her to Roark who placed her on the bedroll. Frustration gone, Roark tucked her under the blankets with her doll and dagger. She mumbled, but he ran his fingers through her hair before covering her head.
“Tomorrow, we’ll have even more problems settling Mira if we don’t find someplace warmer,” Eohan said.
Roark opened his mouth, but Kian raised his hand. “Don’t quarrel; you’ll just wake her again. Now, in your observations, did you feel they gained strength in their state or did we witness primitive instinct?”
“I believe we were witnessing a primitive survival instinct. Attack or Eat,” Roark said.
Alana perceived the molecules crashing behind her spirit. The future was written. She broke her reverie and allowed her body to drift off to sleep, happy in the knowledge a child, who looked so much like her nephew, would bear her name.
*
Chapter 3
Village of Taenhel in the Realm Daouail
“Aunt Alana says we must have porridge for breakfast,” Roark said as he shook Eohan awake. “Don’t want to upset your tummy.”
Eohan rubbed his eyes and looked over at the other, now empty bed. “Where is she?”
“Buying you a horse.”
“But…”
“Jaci can’t be expected to carry two men for days on end. Come on, let’s eat. I received a gull this morning.”
Roark thought Eohan might be impressed, but instead, his eyebrows raised in a look of utter confusion.
“A gull? A horse?”
Not bothering to answer, Roark sighed, traversed the room of cots, went downstairs, and signaled the maid. Roark might not have Alana’s gifts, but he foresaw until they reached the Guild house, cheap, bland food was in his future.
No matter what Alana had said, having another apprentice around would be worse than going home. His mother ruled their holdings and trained the firstborn to follow her. She never had time for Roark (or any of her younger children), but Alana treated him as if he were special. Now she would treat this common sausagemaker’s son the same. She was buying a horse simply upon the evidence of a rather idiotic vision. Eohan was worse than an infant lost in the Realms.
The maid set down two large bowls of oat porridge with a few blueberries and a dab of butter on top. Roark paid with the coin Alana gave him and thanked her.
Eohan stumbled in, trying to hide his rags with Alana’s cloak.
“In truth? A horse? How will I ever pay her back?”
“You work as every apprentice does. She’ll pay for your lodgings, food, and some comforts. The Guild is no different in that respect. As I said, I received a gull. We must move faster than we did last night.”
“What if I fall off?”
“You’ll die, and we’ll sell the horse in the next town or use it as a pack horse or eat it. I bet it’d taste better than sarding porridge.” He shoved his spoon into the bowl and took a bite. The blueberries were rather nice, but he tired of bland food for his bland companion. Realizing his words, he met Eohan’s eyes. “Don’t tell my aunt I swore. She doesn’t like it.”
“I won’t swear in front of her either,” Eohan said.
Roark wanted to tell Eohan it didn’t matter if he swore since he was a commoner, but decided against it. He didn’t know his aunt’s wishes on the matter. Though he didn’t care if Eohan was dismissed, Alana would know if he caused trouble for the ot
her apprentice. You couldn’t put anything past a mind reader.
*
Listening to the direction, Eohan first feared the difficulty of preparing the blankets and saddling Cloudy, a chestnut mare with a bald face and full white stockings and patch of white on her rump. He feared her flat teeth might bite him if he pulled a strap too hard or pinched her skin. Or her large hooves might stomp his bare feet.
However, once he adjusted the straps correctly, he realized mounting the horse was even more challenging. “She’s so tall,” he said to the stableman.
“This mare will serve your needs for decades. As I told milady, Cloudy is gentle in the saddle, but daring enough for life on the road.” The stableman laced his fingers and gave Eohan a leg-up with a solid push.
From the saddle, the ground seemed far away. As instructed, Eohan pressed her with his calves. She didn’t move.
Roark clucked his tongue. Jaci immediately trotted down the street. His high step careful not to step in mud. With a bit of prodding, Cloudy followed.
Eohan clutched the reins as they rode slowly out of town. He wished commoners would stop inclining their heads so close to Cloudy’s massive stride — though he had grown up doing the same thing. Alana drew Talia behind Cloudy.
Out of town, the pace quickened. Though he occasionally pulled back on the reins, Eohan got the distinct feeling Cloudy ignored him as she trotted in step with Jaci or turned her head to look back at Talia.
“Don’t slouch,” Alana said. “Shoulders should be even and straight. Lift from the sternum. Open space in your ribs.”
Eohan tried not to be frustrated at the directions which came in a non-stop torrent.
“You’re overarching your lower back. Relax the reins. Let Cloudy take a sip of water as you pass the creek; she can get thirsty.”
Every adjustment meant another. He had always been proud of his strong physique, but now every muscle seemed clumsy and wrong.
The road was wide, and a gentle grade for walking, but Cloudy galloped up the hill and down the other side at Jaci’s pace. Green brush spun beside the clay road. Icy mud flicked on his bare feet and legs. Cold air cut through the old cloak and dug into his skin.
Finally, Alana called for a stop.
Eohan had never been so glad to touch the ground. His knees quivered, muscles ached. He wanted to collapse.
“We’ve only been riding an hour,” his master said, her voice firm.
“Yes, my lady,” He straightened his posture.
“Unsaddle all three horses. You will saddle them for practice after we rest.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As the horses grazed, Alana brought out a scratched leather-bound parchment journal and a wax tablet. She tried to hand the book to him. “Read from this aloud.”
He hesitated to touch it.
“I need to see how much you know.” Alana signaled her nephew.
“I shall set snares,” Roark said before he left.
Eohan gingerly opened the journal. The swirling scrawls were gibberish, though the maps and drawn images were beautiful. “I don’t know this.”
“Did your mother write out her recipes?” Alana asked, her voice kind.
“She knew them.”
“What about market lists? Or if she needed something from one of your fathers?”
The word “fathers” pierced his heart a tiny bit.
“With pictures — but, my lady, Smith never named me.”
“I hope I did not open a wound?” Her eyes seemed like she cared.
Eohan thought about Roark’s words from the previous night and shrugged. “I feel more angry than sad. I don’t know what happened to either of them. I called Foll Baker my Pa — even though he was only Kian’s real Pa. I didn’t see either of them on the ship ...” An unbidden sob came from his throat.
“Then the smith was a fool and Foll Baker worthy of your grief, as is your fine mother. Show me one of your mother’s lists.” Alana took the journal and handed him a wax tablet and stylus.
Eohan drew out a list, but his line drawings didn’t compare to the crisp ink work he had observed in her journal.
Beside each picture he had drawn, she wrote each word:
Pig/Pork, Bread, Basil, Thyme.
They went over the steps to make a sausage. Using these directions, Alana taught him how to create sentences.
Grind pork shoulder three times.
Grind in pork belly during third mix.
Mix in bread and herbs.
Stuff casings
Too soon, Roark returned with a scrawny rabbit — already field dressed — and a few wild parsnips. He started a low fire and stewed the meat and parsnips in a small iron pot without any instruction from his aunt.
After lunch, under Alana’s guidance, Eohan saddled all three horses. He noted how Roark went behind him and rechecked the horse’s straps. It bothered Eohan that Roark was younger than he but much more capable in the world.
Another ride. This one faster than before. Eohan’s inner thighs began to burn, then chafe. Soreness moved up his spine and into his shoulders. His stomach muscles spasmed.
Eohan feared falling beneath the galloping hooves, but the writing lesson had widened the hole in his heart for his family, especially his little brother. He missed the knowledge of his place in the world. Though he wanted to trust his strange companions’ outward affability, the wild coldness behind their icy blue eyes frightened him.
*
Listening to his aunt’s torrent of instruction, Roark wondered if he had been as clumsy and naive as Eohan when he began his training. He doubted the other apprentice had any idea the scope of their work. Would Eohan go back to sausage making, once he discovered it? It would be nice to prove the Great War Ender Lady Alana wrong, just once.
As they grew nearer to the village of Taenhel, Roark forced Jaci to slow to Cloudy’s pace.
“The hamlet’s main industry is leather. They sell in the county seat on market day,” Roark said. “The villagers have no money to pay a constable full time, so they offered a small stipend for one assassin-in-training.”
“You’re killing someone?”
“Four someones.”
Eohan’s mouth hung open.
“Maybe five someones or six, who knows?” Roark said, feeling a bit wicked, but enjoying the shock on Eohan’s face.
“This is Roark’s first solo multiple kill,” Alana said. Her feelings of pride of his deeds enclosed his heart like a soft blanket.
A mile outside of the village, Roark rechecked his directions. He left the main road, dismounted, and followed a trail to a hunter’s shack. Alana said nothing, but the approval on her face spoke for her.
An elderly hunter met them at the door. “The Guild scroll said you would arrive an hour before dusk and here you are.”
“We are Guild, yes, but we ride to protect those who can’t protect themselves,” Roark said with a bow. “This is my master, the War Ender, and this is Eohan, her other apprentice. I am Roark, your assassin this night.”
“I made a venison pottage and warmed mead, milords, milady. I hope it pleases you,” the hunter said.
“Indeed, it shall, thank you,” Alana said. “Roark, would you prefer to sup now or after?”
“After. I’m too excited to eat.”
Roark removed his traveling clothing, dressed in the weave, ensuring every inch of his ivory skin and auburn curls were covered. He painted coal under his eyes and the bridge of his nose and carefully adjusted his scabbards. His saber on his right hip, his dagger on his left. Two knives on his left thigh. On his right, a small ration of hardtack, a needle and thread, and coin.
Alana did not recheck his gear this night. She said nothing, except to direct Eohan. “Don’t speak until I tell you. Move as quietly as possible.”
They left the horses to graze in a quiet glen next to the shack before making their way to a small hamlet of blood and urine-infused masonry buildings. Alana hid in the shadow of a pear tree near the c
enter of town. Eohan sat on the ground beside her and leaned his back against the trunk. Roark crept toward the wooden racks covered in drying deer skins. Above darkened streets, windows were still alight.
He perched on top of a salting shed until his marks approached. Roark scanned the emotions wafting over the village. Their need for vengeance. They want to watch, he thought.
He did not want to be afraid. He knew if he faltered in the slightest, Alana would step in. Her patience was legendary, but the warm pride she felt earlier would be washed away with disappointment. She wouldn’t show it, but he would feel it.
As the dossier claimed, four sweaty, unwashed Daosith entered the village from the forest. Careful not to step in the light from the windows, they slid towards the large racks of animal skins drying on the wooden racks.
Be quick. Don’t tire. Don’t let them surround me. Roark repeated Alana’s many lessons in his mind.
When the four men were in position, Roark leapt from the shed with his saber in his right hand, the dagger in his left. He stabbed the neck of the closest highwayman who was pulling on a mostly dried deer skin. Clutching on the spurting wound, the man fell forward in pain.
The other men spun around, yelling in confusion.
Roark made a simple thrust into the second man’s chest, careful to turn his blade when he felt a rib. Roark withdrew his sword and stabbed the first highwayman again. This time a killing blow. His blade sliced through the third man’s flesh in his arm. The fourth turned in time to back away from his swing and arm himself.
The fourth parried and stabbed wildly. Roark disarmed him on the first strike. The fourth turned to run. Roark stabbed him in the back, hitting the kidney. Then struck a final time.
The man with the wounded arm dashed away. Roark raced after him. He quickly paced his mark and dove, tackling him. The momentum knocked them both into a wall of a hut. Straw fell from the roof.
Roark grunted in pain. Dazed, he swung his saber towards the other man. The man screamed as the apprentice felt the give of flesh. He shook his head to clear it as he scrambled to his feet. Maybe it wasn’t as clean or quiet as Alana could do it, but he vanquished four opponents on his own.
The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1) Page 3