Path of Tears (Saga of The Wolf Book 2)

by Kris A Hiatt

  Kiril had stopped looking at the fire and was now looking at him intently.

  “For three years Arden, now a man, brought Slither animals he had hunted from the forest or fish he caught from the river. The man was the only townsperson who now visited Draya, who was now a young woman. Slither would only allow him to stay for a few minutes before he’d hiss and send the man out. At first, Arden’s whole reasoning for visiting Draya was to ensure his plan was working. But the more and more he visited, the more he found he enjoyed speaking with her, even if it was for only a short amount of time,” Treace told them. He realized he must be a better story-teller than he thought because both of them were listening to him without moving a single muscle.

  “For those three years, when he wasn’t hunting or fishing, Arden was practicing with a sword. He knew he’d need to use it when the time came. When he was finally sure it was time to enact his plan, Arden went to visit Draya one last time, bringing with him the largest feast he’d brought the snake to date. After Slither gobbled down his meal, the snake closed his eyes and dozed off, just as Arden hoped he would. At first Draya was too afraid to try to sneak out, not wanting to become a meal herself. But Arden finally convinced her and she carefully crawled over the massive snake while it slept,” Treace continued. He paused long enough to point at the waterskin and hold his hand out for it. He knew he’d need a drink or two before he finished his tale.

  Moffred handed it to him without a word.

  Treace took a quick drink and went on with his tale. “But as soon as Draya slid down the side of the snake, Slither woke up. Arden grabbed Draya’s hand and they ran for the exit of the hole. Slither hissed his protest and gave chase. But the snake was no longer as fast as it used to be. Several years ago Slither would have caught them easily and gobbled them both before they made it out. But that was years ago and Slither was much slower and fatter than he was before. On the pair sprinted, rushing toward freedom. The giant snake slithered after them, intent on swallowing them whole. Just before Slither got to them, he could feel his sides scraping the walls of the hole and it slowed him down. He pushed on but was always just a little too far away to strike. Finally, the pair exited the hole into what they hoped was freedom. But Slither wasn’t done yet, the snake pushed himself as hard as he could and made it to the exit himself. He burst his head into the forest air that he hadn’t breathed in years. The man had brought him food so he never needed to leave. But that hole seemed much smaller now and in fact Slither couldn’t manage to get anything more than his head out of the hole. He hissed his curse words at the young man and snapped at them as best as he could. But try as he might, the gluttonous snake couldn’t reach them. Arden drew his sword and slashed the beast repeatedly. Blood poured from Slither’s wounds and the snake decided it would be best to retreat back into his hole. But it was too late for Slither. The boy who fed him had slashed him viciously and had done too much damage. Slither was too weak to push his massive body back into the hole that he once fit in. He was at least twice as big around as he used to be. Slither’s last thoughts were that he shouldn’t have eaten so much. Arden drove his sword through the beast’s chin and through his head. Slither was dead.”

  “Down with Slither!” Moffred burst out.

  “Shut up,” Treace told him. “I’m not done.”

  Kiril gave Moff a disapproving look before focusing back on Treace.

  “Arden returned Draya to her father. The man was so pleased with Arden that he named him the new leader of their town. The townsfolk called Arden a hero, and more importantly to him, so did Draya. They went back to the snake’s lair and recovered many years’ worth of baubles, now a fair fortune. Arden and Draya married after a short courtship and lived happily in their town together for years before having two children of their own. Later on they enjoyed many grandchildren and great-grandchildren and watched their town prosper under Arden’s leadership. They died many years later after leading a full and happy life,” Treace told them, finishing his tale.

  “The snake got what he deserved,” Moffred said.

  “There’s more to it than simple revenge,” Treace argued.

  “It’s a charming tale,” Kiril told him. “Offering many things to think about.”

  “I think about it often and put myself in the shoes of the various characters to see how they must have felt.”

  “It’s just a child’s tale,” Moff informed them.

  “No, it’s not,” Kiril argued. “It may be a child’s tale, but it’s not just a tale. There are many good lessons to be learned from the story.”

  “It all depends on your perspective,” Treace added, glad Kiril understood the deeper meaning behind the story.

  “It warns you of gluttony,” Kiril began. “It tells you that not everyone that feeds you is your friend. It tells you that love can bloom, no matter the circumstances.”

  Moff only nodded his head.

  “For me, there’s more than that,” Treace offered. “It’s a story of what’s precious to some isn’t to others. The snake didn’t value the baubles. It valued food much more. Yes it’s a story warning you against gluttony, it’s what eventually causes the snake to die. But it is also a story of determination. Arden was determined to save Draya. He wouldn’t give up, even though the rest of the town did. It’s a story of how to better yourself every day. Arden knew the better he got at hunting and fishing the faster the snake would fatten. He knew he needed to learn the skill of swordsmanship to finish the snake off. It’s a story of having a plan and sticking with it, no matter the odds. You’ll be rewarded for it in the end. In this case the reward was the fortune they had given the snake. And yes, Kiril, it is about love. Arden was rewarded with Draya’s love. Look at what you can accomplish when you’re determined and doing something for someone you love.”

  “That’s why you learned to swordfight, isn’t it?” Moff asked. “So you could be like Arden?”

  “I’m not going to sit here and say it didn’t play a part,” Treace admitted. He wasn’t surprised Moffred picked up on that, nor was he surprised that seemed to be the only aspect of the story his friend connected with.

  “Well, I liked the story. I can see why you enjoy it,” Kiril told him.

  “Thanks,” Treace replied. He knew there were many aspects about the story that didn’t make sense. The story never says anything about Draya eating. How did she survive without food and water? Where did she go to the bathroom? Where did Slither go to the bathroom for that matter? Why did her father give up so easily? Who trained Arden to swordfight or did he figure it out on his own? Those were only a few of the questions he had.

  “On that note,” Moff said. “This guy is going to sleep to dream of killing Slither.”

  Kiril sighed. “Third person.”

  “Night, Moff,” he told his friend. He pulled his new bedroll Moff bought him closer to the waning fire.

  “Night hero,” Moff replied.

  “Good night, Moff,” Kiril said.

  She had turned her back to the fire and was looking up into the night sky. Treace could still feel her sadness, but it was no longer overwhelming. He hoped by telling his story it would give her something else to think about besides the loss of her father, but he completely understood why her thoughts continued to go there. It was new and fresh and it would hurt for a long time.

  He went to her then and placed his hand on her shoulder, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth. “In time, it will get easier.”

  “I hope so.”

  Treace didn’t need to see her face to know there were tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  “No,” she told him, looking back over her shoulder. “Sit with me? You don’t have to say anything. Just, you know, sit?”

  He did know what she meant. When he lost his father it helped just to sit next to his mother and snuggle into her side. They didn’t say anything. They just sat there in silence and silently grieved. Treace knew he could at least do that muc
h.

  He went to the opposite side of her so he could lean back against a small tree. It wasn’t very large, but it held his weight. It was still small enough that he could feel some heat from the fire behind him. Even in the late summer, it felt good on his back. He sat down next to her silently, hoping it would offer her some comfort.

  Sometime later he fell asleep, her leaning on his shoulder.

  Chapter 12

  Brental walked down the hallway with Disdane in tow. Joran and Destin were just brought in by a handful of Disdane’s lower ranking guards and were being held in the palace jail.

  “Scare them into submission, not beat them,” Brental told the massive man.

  “What’s the fun in that?” Disdane asked.

  “Your size gives you many advantages,” Brental explained. “One of which is that you don’t always have to fight to get what you want. You can simply intimidate them.”

  “But I enjoy fighting,” Disdane protested.

  “They are two old men. It wouldn’t be a fight. It’d be a massacre,” Brental said.

  “Fine,” Disdane relented. “But if they annoy me, I can’t promise that I won’t hurt them.”

  Brental couldn’t ask for much more than that. He got the sense that the man did truly enjoy inflicting pain. He wondered what had happened to the man during his life to enjoy hurting people like he did. Brental wasn’t opposed to hurting people, but when he did it, it was out of necessity, not enjoyment.

  Brental walked through the door to the jail first and turned around before he was fully through. Luckily for him Disdane was nimble for a man of his size or else Brental would have been bowled over. “Remember, intimidate.”

  “Intimidate, not eradicate,” Disdane said, offering a smile that looked foreign on his face.

  Brental thought that must be Disdane’s humorous smile instead of his usual wry one. He smiled back at the man and nodded. Not because he found it funny, rhyming was for children, but because he thought it best to keep his relationship with the man trending in the correct direction. “Indeed,” Brental replied, continuing through the door.

  “Open them,” Brental commanded, speaking of the doors. He hoped he didn’t have to explain further and was happy when the jailor popped out of his chair and began fumbling with his keys.

  “Here we go,” the man said, selecting a key from the handful on a ring.

  Brental looked around, having never been in the jail before he was curious of what it would look like. He had imagined it would be dark, dank, and eerie. It was nothing like what he thought it would be. The room was well lit from the natural light that spilled from several windows and the jail was quite clean.

  There were a handful of cells, only three of which were occupied. One held a man, sleeping on a simple cot and snoring loudly. Another contained a lady dressed far too nicely to be here in the palace jail, though now that Brental thought about it, everyone at the palace was dressed nicely. Brental thought he very well may be the worst dressed person on the grounds. Another reminder to him that he belonged in Kilindric at his College, not here.

  “She deserves to be here, don’t you doubt,” the jailor said.

  “If you say so,” Brental told the man.

  “It’s just that you grimaced when you looked at her,” the jailor explained. “I just thought you didn’t approve. Never mind.”

  Brental guessed he grimaced when he thought about being here instead of the College. It certainly wasn’t due to the lady in the cell.

  “Here we are,” said the jailor, inserting the key into and turning the lock. “I’ll leave you to it. Uh, well, to them.”

  The man cleared his throat as he walked and Brental wondered why he was forced to suffer such idiots.

  “We told you we didn’t do anything wrong,” Joran told him.

  “Disdane,” Brental said, turning to face the man. “What was the phrase you used just a moment ago?”

  “Intimidate, not eradicate?” Disdane asked more than answered.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Brental confirmed, glad he didn’t have to explain it and ruin his desired outcome. “Intimidate and not eradicate. Which do you prefer to do?”

  “Eradicate,” the man said simply.

  “So you see, gentlemen,” Brental told them, turning back to face the two old men again. “Don’t force my hand. You won’t like the outcome. And I’d watch your tongue. If you believe his previous warning to you that is.” Disdane basically told them he’d cut them down if they spoke to him in a manner in which he didn’t like.

  “Threatening two old men,” Destin said. “Pathetic.”

  “It’s not a threat,” Brental clarified. “It’s a warning. You’re friend Kint is a traitor. Well, he was a traitor. Now he’s dead or at least soon will be. The question is, are you a traitor too?”

  “Either he’s dead or he’s not. Which is it?” Joran asked.

  “Both really,” Brental answered.

  “He’s stone-faced,” Destin said. “And you did it to him.”

  Brental was glad one of the two figured out his meaning. Kint stone-faced himself, but Brental wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass. If they thought he did it, then all the better. “As it turns out, I believe you. Nimbril did kill Truntil. He admitted it in his journals. Do you know what else was in those journals?”

  “The instructions on how to stone-face someone,” Destin replied. “I knew it.”

  “Poor Kint, he deserved better,” Joran stated, as much to himself as anyone.

  He hadn’t actually found anything in any of the journals giving instructions how to stone-face someone, but he wasn’t going to tell them that. He wanted them to believe that he could. They’d be more apt to tell him what he wanted to know if they believed it. “And I know Kint trained his daughter how to use magic. Who have you trained?”

  “No one, we swear!” Joran promised.

  “What did you mean when you said he was a traitor?” Destin asked.

  “I caught him plotting with Liernin’s spies,” Disdane explained.

  “Kint? No,” Joran said. “He held no love for Haven or her people. He wouldn’t risk his daughter for them.”

  “And yet he did,” Brental argued.

  “I don’t believe it,” Destin told him. “Not Kint.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Disdane asked, pulling himself to his full height.

  “Belief,” Brental began, gesturing for the captain to settle down. “It’s a funny thing, really. Not too long ago I didn’t believe Nimbril killed Truntil. It turns out that my belief was wrong. Until just now, you couldn’t believe that Kint was a traitor. That belief is also wrong.”

  “And I believe they better watch what they say,” Disdane warned.

  “What I need to believe now, and wholeheartedly so, is that neither of you are traitors.”

  “We’re not,” Joran told him.

  “In order for me to believe you,” Brental replied. “I’ll need to know who you’ve taught, and what you’ve taught them.”

  “We haven’t taught anyone!” Joran said emphatically.

  “In thirty years you haven’t taught a soul? A teacher that doesn’t teach. How novel,” Brental mused.

  “I have,” Destin admitted.

  “Well look here Disdane! We have some truth after all,” Brental said. “Joran, would you care to tell the truth now?”

  “He is,” Destin replied. “The old fool was always too straight to go against Nimbril.”

  “And you expect me to believe that?” Brental asked doubtfully.

  “I do,” Destin said. “You know it’s true. Joran’s a good man, a good friend, and a good teacher, but he’s also weak. He never had the balls to ignore the commands of those above him.”

  “Some friend you are,” Joran said, obviously wounded.

  “Just being honest,” Destin replied nonchalantly.

  “You two may have the time to argue later,” Brental told them. “But Destin, now is the time for you to t
ell me everything. How many people have you taught and what have you taught them?”

  “I’ve taught just one person.”

  Brental thought he detected a hint of sadness in the man’s voice. “And what did you teach that person?”

  “Everything I know.”

  “What exactly is it that you taught them?” Brental asked.

  “Probably the same as you know.”

  “Humor me and spell it out,” Brental told him.

  “All the Paths,” Destin said. “Every one of the damned Paths.”

  “So you made them a magister?” Brental asked.

  “Had we still been members of the College,” Destin explained. “Yeah, I suppose he would have been a magister.”

  “Who is this person?” Brental asked.

  “My son.”

  “Wynde?” Joran asked. “You taught Wynde?”

  “Where is your son now?” Brental asked.

  “Dead,” Destin said plainly.

  “Sorry to hear,” Brental told him. He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, but he knew it was the right thing to say.

  “He went ill about ten years ago,” Joran explained. “Not even healing magic would work. Destin tried. He died a few weeks later.”

  “Must have been tough,” Brental told him. He didn’t have any children, but the look on Destin’s face was one he imagined would be on the face of any parent if they had to bury their child. There was just one problem with that. Path of Heart cured all diseases that Brental knew of, except those of the mind. Destin was a good actor. “Especially knowing your magic wouldn’t heal him.”

  “I tried many times,” Destin said. “All to no avail.”

  “I am sorry,” Brental replied. He didn’t believe the story at all. The healing magic would have worked on a simple disease. That meant they were lying. Joran came up with the story at first, and Destin went along with it. Brental thought they were trying to protect Destin’s son by concocting the story. He didn’t blame them for trying, but neither would he tolerate it. “I’m truly sorry that I don’t believe you.”