Rather than feed on Sorin’s anger, Thomas became solemn. “You know nothing of what you speak. If you are patient, and care about how you are told, you will undoubtedly come to the resolution you so desperately seek.” Thomas reached across the gulf between them and squeezed Sorin’s shoulder. “Only there will you find what you need.”
Thomas was so forthright the righteous anger pent inside Sorin fizzled and deserted him. Sorin wished he could know what was to come; to guess was an error only the foolhardy made. Perhaps by asking Thomas, Sorin had proven himself to be that fool.
“We shall drop into the plain below,” Relnyn broke in quiety. “But we shall remain on its outermost fringe where it meets the forest. From the old maps I perused in Lockwood, I’m assuming we’ll take the northern Lost Pass?” Thomas nodded. “Good. Before a week is out, if we drive hard, we should make Aris Shae.”
The Giant began his descent on the root-strewn path, his careful, long strides as quick as a trotting horse. Thomas lightly kicked his mount in the flanks and followed, ignoring Sorin.
It was a few moments before Sorin clicked Creek into movement as well.
* * * * *
That evening, with a small campfire stealing light from the shimmering stars, Sorin poked a stick into the fire and watched its end sizzle, smoke, and char into a glowing coal. Thomas lay in his bedroll, exhausted from the ride, his front turned away from the warmth and Sorin’s vantage. Even though the old man had healed and rested at Lockwood, he still was not completely well, and the long day had sapped his strength as easily as any fever could. After a quick dinner of hard bread, cheese, and foraged berries, Thomas had went to bed.
Relnyn had gone out beyond the firelight, a dark hulking shadow sitting on a downed tree, facing the darkness alone.
Sorin shifted uncomfortably on his makeshift wooden seat—trapped between his two companions, caught between the light and the darkness. They had ridden hard the entire day, the landscape shifting incrementally with every hill, mountain, and river they crossed. It had been humid and sticky, the musky scent of both Creek’s and Sorin’s sweat adding to the swelter that had ensconced them, the plain always shifting on his left. The broken boulders, the twisted trees and the mountain range nesting Lockwood were behind them.
Now the grassy expanse of the Waverly Plains was visible, the path the contingent of warden had made a trampled mess through its center. Although Relnyn wanted to leave Lockwood’s mountain range and its cool, night air behind, Thomas argued it was best to leave the mountains in the early morning light and protect their location from possible eyes in the Plains. The Giant had only relented to the old man’s decision when he saw how tired Thomas was, and Sorin noted the companionship the three had once shared was now gone, replaced by a disquieted unrest. They all had demons to deal with, it seemed.
A small crimson coal streaked like a flaming star at his feet. If Sorin could find a way to alleviate the stress his companions felt, he would do so. Relnyn and Thomas were all he had. To lose them would leave Sorin utterly alone. With Thomas already asleep and snoring softly, Sorin rose and sought out Relnyn.
The Giant was a dozen kingsyards away in a tiny clearing on the outskirts of the forest that looked upon the expansive Waverly Plains beyond. Sorin made no attempt to mask his approach; Relnyn had been on edge all day and Sorin did not want to surprise him.
“How are you faring after your little outburst today?” Relnyn asked as Sorin stepped around the side of the log to sit down.
Unhappy this was their first topic, Sorin sighed. “I hate having things withheld from me like I am some incompetent child. I am ashamed to be dragged along without explanation. To be honest, after today, I am somewhat relieved.”
“Relieved that you finally got your word in?”
Sorin nodded, unsure if the Giant could see him or not in the shadows.
“Patience is a difficult thing to come by,” Relnyn said, his form unmoving in the pale light. “Even for those who are wise with age.”
“We’ve gotten to be friends over the last week, right?” Sorin asked.
“Yes, I suppose we are.”
“You’ve been silent since we left Lockwood. Why? Is it Thomas?”
Relnyn released a low chuckle into the darkness. “No, it is not Thomas. He is a stubborn man, unable to see past his own nose. It is not his fault, or, at least, it is not because of anything he has control over. And although I don’t think he trusts me entirely after what happened with Oryn, he still respects me, and that could make all the difference. So no, my silence today was not due to Thomas.”
“Then what is it?” Sorin prodded.
Relnyn ran his fingers lightly over the wood of his staff, his face lost in shadow. “I suppose it takes time to come to terms with the trials life throws one’s way.”
“And what would those be?”
“I don’t know if you’ll understand, Sorin.” It was several moments before Relnyn continued. The night dragged on, and the waning moon moved through the branches of the fir and hemlock that hung over them. Frogs croaked in the distance, a melding of many to form one soothing melody. “If I asked you for the one trait that defines the Ashnyll, what would you say it is?”
Sorin thought about it. “I’d have to say the emphasis you put on preserving life.”
Relnyn looked up into the night sky. “As we already discussed, it has been our philosophy since the War of the Kingdoms to embrace all life, to treat every nuance of nature’s gifts with respect—a respect of admiration and service. An Ashnyll lives this philosophy from the moment of birth, and over the years learns a great deal about nature and our place in it. We are taught to heal and commune with it; we embrace it as it holds us close. It can be coaxed into a union that benefits both itself and Lockwood. To harm any animal, plant, or person is unthinkable—to do so would be like harming oneself. But through it all, the respect is always present, and few Ashnyll have slipped to the barbaric tendencies of my ancient ancestors.
“The Darkrell,” Sorin said. The Giant nodded.
“Before we left Lockwood, Oryn and I had a long discussion. He cares a great deal about you, but he strongly believes now is the time for the Ashnyll to reenter the world. It will not be easy; no matter the culture or the race, change is always a difficult thing to embrace. Oryn is strong and sure of his conviction and the people trust his wisdom. In time, even if it takes decades of slow, methodical exchanges between our races, the Ashnyll will massage old prejudices away. It will take a great deal of effort, but as a beginning Oryn asked me to diplomatically bring this decision to the High King. It is important for him to know of our peaceful intentions. Oryn has sent me because he can trust me.”
Relnyn was leaving something unsaid. “But that’s not the only reason,” Sorin replied.
“No, it isn’t,” Relnyn whispered, looking down at the staff in his hands. “Have you ever done something you know you shouldn’t have yet couldn’t resist it?”
Sorin averted his eyes. “The day my parents died, I promised my father I would come home to help him with a project. Instead, I denied his wishes to stay in town longer with a friend. She wanted me to stay, and even though I knew I needed to go home, I stayed with her. By the time I finally arrived, my parents were dead.”
“I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories,” Relnyn said. “That was not my intention.”
Sorin shrugged. “I haven’t spoken of it to you. It’s still too fresh.”
It was a long time before Relnyn continued. Sorin sat patiently, listening to the crickets sing in the distance. “Remember when I killed the dragon and later when I wounded the crag cat?” he said finally.
“Yes. You were quite upset about it.” Sorin said.
“Oryn sent me with you because he can trust me, true, but there is another reason. When you returned from the Dym, Oryn and I spoke at length. He told me what you read and shared his own thoughts on the matter. It was at that time he asked me to venture with you into the
world, to protect you as well as to bring our message to the Kingdom. At first, I was happy to be asked—it is always an honor for those given the chance to see the world beyond Lockwood. I was excited to leave again, to help my people and be the harbinger of a possible new relationship between the Kingdom and Lockwood.
“There are better choices in Lockwood to be made—Ashnyll with stronger diplomatic and communication skills, Ashnyll with a stronger knowledge of our history and how we might proceed in a new world. Other than the fact that you and I have already shared a small amount of time together, it should have been another in my place, one more qualified.”
“What was his answer?” Sorin asked, deeply interested.
“When I pressed him, Oryn looked at me gravely and told me the truth. He is not one given to deceit or lies, and he wanted me to leave Lockwood knowing full well why I was chosen. It is important to him to be upstanding and fair.”
“Yes?” Sorin gently prompted.
“Events have come to us, events that might end in battle, even bloodshed. We’ve already seen it. What I learned at A’lum about the uprising in La Zandia might have ramifications far beyond the south, and the threat of Grymshade to your life almost guarantees an attack will happen again.” Relnyn’s voice dropped until it was barely audible. “Oryn didn’t pick me because of our connection or because I am the best for it—he picked me because I’ve already tasted anger and used it, and he didn’t want to corrupt anyone else.”
Sorin heard the pain in Relnyn’s voice, a pain that went deep into the Giant’s heart. To have his beliefs—his cultural identity—questioned by his good friend and leader must have been a difficult thing for him to take, to be told he was like the Darkrell. It was a pain born of the acknowledgment Relnyn was like his ancestors who attempted to enslave the entire world in darkness. Sorin knew Relnyn was devastated from the admonishment.
“That isn’t terrible, Relnyn,” Sorin noted softly. “You are more than that.”
The Giant shook his head. “It is. As Ashnyll, we take great pride in our pacifistic life. We work hard at preserving all forms of life. It is so ingrained in us that it is hard to believe anything else is possible. But I killed a dragon, Sorin, and I essentially killed the crag cat. Oryn read it on me as easily as you can see that fire behind us. I ache inside at the knowledge that I might not be any better than those enslaved by the Wrathful—not better than the Darkrell who stain our lives.”
“But both times you helped others to live, Relnyn. There was no other way. It was your help that prevented deaths. You can’t deny that.”
“I don’t, Sorin. I do not regret how the events transpired.”
“Then why are you letting it weigh you down?”
Relnyn turned to look at Sorin, his eyes glimmering saucers. “Because, Sorin, I liked it.”
Both grew quiet. They sat together in the silent darkness for a long time before either of them went to bed.
Chapter 20
When Relnyn began his final descent from Lost Pass to the bottom of the Chilbrook Mountains, Sorin was overcome with conflicting feelings of wonder coupled with vertigo. They had begun their climb the previous day, leaving the far-reaching Waverly Plains behind, and Sorin found himself holding his breath more than once. At times, the pass trail was so thin a horse could barely make its way. Whether reeling from the sheer, plummeting drops or his racing heart, panic became Sorin’s new companion. Creek seemed to not notice the precarious situation they were in, slowly plodding after Relnyn. Like Creek, Thomas did not seem to notice either, as if he had done it before and knew it to be perfectly safe. All Sorin could do was hold onto his horse’s reins and hope for the best.
The weather remained sunny although the air cooled to a comfortable level the higher they traveled. On either side of the trail, unassailable mountain peaks with jagged edges rose in the distance, mottled with patches of blinding whiteness. The snow was a glacier like those in the Krykendaals, the Chilbrook’s beauty softening his discomfort.
Their passage through the Waverly Plains had been uneventful. They mostly followed the trail of the Aris Shae group, the swath of downed grass a sure sign Relnyn was heading in the right direction. Some small birds, a menagerie of snakes, and an occasional badger were the only eyes privy to their passage.
Before Relnyn lead them into the Chilbrooks and through Lost Pass, Thomas halted their steady progression for information in a small town named Brownsmead. It subsisted on the needs of pass-travelers, harboring several dozen people who excelled in gathering information as they did supplies. When Thomas had returned from the town, he confirmed the riders they had seen were indeed Aris Shae and Godwyn Keep warden sent to a fracturing La Zandia.
“They were pressed for time,” Relnyn said once Thomas was done.
“It is the only explanation,” Thomas replied, looking back the way they had come. “Only significant and dire events could force a guard leader to move with haste across Lost Pass.”
Sorin did not understand. “Why do you say that?”
“Lost Pass is a single-horse pass,” the old man answered, squinting into the rising mountains as if somehow confirming it. “It is a treacherous way to get through, but it cuts two weeks off any journey into the heart of the Kingdom. Staken Pass is leagues to the south and although safer, takes longer.”
“Did the person you spoke to know what was happening?” Relnyn asked.
“He didn’t know particulars, but apparently the rumor is some ancient figurehead has risen in La Zandia, using dark magic to sway the populace and build an army of his own to rival the Kingdom. The soldiers were on the move to bolster the High King’s presence there.”
“Do you think that’s true?” Sorin asked.
“I don’t believe the part about magic; soldiers are a superstitious lot to begin with and aren’t privy to the actual truth. But there is definitely something stirring there. As you said, Relnyn, to brave Lost Pass with a contingent that large, it must be something serious indeed.”
Now, Sorin understood why moving that many warriors through the pass was a bold move to make even during the summer. As soon as they reached the summit of Lost Pass, they spent half a day traveling along sheer cliffs—sometimes on both sides—dropping into the depths of shadows and darkness. It was a difficult trek for a lone rider, let alone a hurried group. But thankfully the group of riders had just recently traversed the pass—there was no debris, fallen trees, or boulders blocking their path as a result. Nothing gave Relnyn cause to turn around. The way had been fairly easy for the three companions, but Sorin would never want to attempt the pass in the fall or winter.
With the worst behind him now, Sorin relaxed as he rode Creek and saw dark green forests and rolling hills that spread from the base of the Chilbrook Mountains toward the west like a lush blanket. In the far distance, a pinprick of white flashed at them, shimmering in the day’s heat.
“Aris Shae,” Thomas said to Sorin as if reading his mind. “The palace is built from mostly white granite, a gift from the Feyr after the War of the Kingdoms ended. The rest of the city was built up around the palace in those following centuries, until most of the northern hillside became covered. Now Aris Shae is one of the largest cities in the Kingdom.”
Sorin still could not see anything other than the alabaster gleam. He was suddenly reminded of a time sitting on another hill that overlooked the lands, this one near Thistledon. He sat with Brys Oldten, enjoying her company even as his family was murdered. It was there, on that hillside, she had said she wanted to travel, to see the world, to discover the things she had only read about in books. Sorin remembered thinking he had no such aspirations—his life was in Thistledon with his parents. With that life taken from him, Sorin had done the very thing Brys had wanted to do, and he was sad she was not there to share it with him.
A pang of regret filled him. Pastor Hadlin was dead, and Brys was one more casualty of the madness that swirled around Sorin. He hoped one day to see her again and absolve the
guilt he felt at Hadlin’s death.
“What darkens your mood, Sorin?” Relnyn asked. The Giant was looking at him.
“Pastor Hadlin,” he said simply.
“His death was not your fault, Sorin,” Thomas grumbled. “He was weak to be overcome by the jerich’s evil.”
“I just wish…” Sorin began.
“You could have saved him?” Thomas said. “Wishes are like the breeze—they come and go.”
The sun stared them straight in the face as it set, and Sorin shielded his eyes to protect his passage. The group continued their descent, the danger not yet over. Thomas and Sorin moved their mounts slowly to prevent injury by misstep. Cliffs fell off to their left, the grade so steep nothing would prevent a person from falling to their death. Short, twisted trees clung to vertical slabs of rock, burrowing in until their roots shattered their foundation. Despite the fear of falling that accosted him, the knowledge Sorin was nearing the end of this journey steadied him.
The trail started to broaden and lose its deadly pitfalls as Aris Shae slowly vanished into the horizon, a victim to the group entering a heavily wooded forest of hemlock, alder, and oak. The stagnant heat had returned but it was losing its tenacity as the vital sun slid into the west. Sorin was unaccustomed to the continuous humid heat; the summers in Thistledon were warm but not uncomfortable, the land’s altitude and proximity to the snowy Krykendaals the reason the air stayed cool and enjoyable even at the pinnacle of summer.
Sorin turned to Thomas. “How long will it take us to reach Aris Shae?”
“If we push hard into the evening tonight and rise at first light, we will arrive late tomorrow afternoon,” Thomas said, his tone flat and devoid of feeling. He went back to ignoring everything around him.
Sorin wondered what was happening in Thomas’s mind. He had been quiet coming over the pass, giving no advice to Relnyn at all as had become customary. Thomas was a prisoner of his own design, imprisoned by memories and thoughts Sorin could not comprehend. He wondered if he would ever know the true story behind the internal destruction of his friend; he wondered if Thomas even cared who he was anymore.
Song of the Fell Hammer Page 26