by Ross Kitson
Chapter 1The Farm
Blossomstide 1924
Hunor felt as if he sat atop the world. Behind him the foothills rolled westward towards the white-capped south Khullian Mountains that separated Thetoria from Artoria. To the north were the Silver Mountains, the range that ran between the pious Goldorians and their neighbours of Thetoria. Three nations with incongruous natures, fenced in by walls of rock with lofty passes and endless trails.
He watched his friend amble up the hillside toward the rocks. Hunor sat two hundred yards above a ramshackle stone farmhouse. A tendril of peat smoke wormed into the clear sky.
“Thought you’d be hungry,” his friend said. He tossed Hunor a cloth bag full of seed.
“Do I look like a squirrel?” Hunor asked. He poured the seeds into his hand.
“Only one that’s been mangled by a hound. Your posh lass is keeping the boy enthralled down there.”
“Oh aye? She’s full of surprises.”
“I’ll confess I was a bit worried when I saw a woman with a sword but she seems to know her business.”
Hunor laughed then tossed a seed into his mouth.
“Onor’s spit! They’re hot!” he said, coughing. “Been away from home too long when I wolf down arynx seed like that. You’d be right about her knowing her business, Jaan. Eerian lasses are a different breed. Same with Emelia.”
“The islander?”
“Aye. It’s difficult to explain but she’s got this aptitude at whatever she attempts. In four years she’s picked up Wild-magic and can wield a blade like a veteran. It’s strange. Physically she’s amazing.”
“You’ve got that right,” Jaan said.
“Not like that, mate! Anyway you’ve got your own ball and chain now, what with the wife and the kids.”
Jaan nodded, munching on a mouthful of seeds. The pair drifted into silence for a minute, soaking in the view.
“I’ve never regretted coming up here from the Barrowlands,” Jaan said. “The times when I get a hankering for a scrap with the baron’s lads from the fort, I just come up to this rock and stare. Humbles me, this view does. On a fine spring day, the light of Mortis illuminates the grassland all the way to Evik’s Pass. Nolir, Torik, Shurk and Asha have done a grand job with the lands. Like a bunch of master craftsmen.”
Hunor shrugged. “Fair enough. Never been one for religion myself. I see what it has done north of the border, especially to my mate Jem. I reckon you make your own fortune in this world. The gods aren’t bothered about a rough little cutpurse like me.”
“Your old man was religious though.”
“Aye, you remember right, Jaan. All it got him was a sharp ending on the end of a royalist lance. He tried to instill some faith in my wayward mind. It’s fair to say that the Nine Sacred Scrolls of Trimena were far less appealing than stories of adventurers and pirates.”
“And knights?”
“Don’t get me started. It’s like been lumbered with a whining bloody child. Every step we took from Blackstone she’d harp on about how we should go to the king and tell him ‘what really happened.’ She’s no idea how duplicitous Dulkar is.”
“What really happened?”
The thief looked at his friend. They had been close, as children, and Jaan had saved Hunor from many a sticky spot in their antics together in the Barrowlands.
“It’s best if I don’t tell you, Jaan. I think the knowledge would put you in danger. Something really dark went on with the baron and I don’t expect he’d hesitate to kill you.”
Jaan stared away from Hunor.
“No offence then, mate, but I need you to get going. I appreciate the visit and I appreciate the money even more. But, well, I’ve moved on from all that trouble. Maybe you need to too.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“No, I mean move on from Hü-Jen. You can’t let it keep driving you into more and more recklessness.”
Hunor flushed, his jaw clenching. “With respect, Jaan, you weren’t even there that night. Don’t you worry—we’ll be gone by dusk.”
The thief slid off the rock and began striding down the hill. Jaan sighed and followed.
“Hunor, don’t leave in a rage. We’ve known each other too long for that.”
Hunor turned and glared. His red face was calming.
“You’re right, mate. Sorry. Just worried about Emelia and what we’ve got ourselves into. Anyhow we’re supposed to be reckless. We’re Thetorians!”
The pair laughed and slapped each other’s back. Hunor descended the slope towards the farmhouse.