As the party left the front gate of Brookhaven, the guard, Thaq, bowed and bade them good riding, and the party of merchants ventured out onto the open southern road to Symbor.
For the rest of the day, events unfolded as expected. Dorenn considered jumping down to gather some of the blooming wild flowers for Tatrice but discarded the idea when he realized she would probably reject them since she was still mad at him. Tatrice served lunch, and Rennon watered the horses. After he had eaten, Trendan busied himself with scouting out about a league or two ahead to clear any obstacles from the path and to watch for any suspicious travelers from Symbor. Tatrice still kept her distance throughout lunch, and Dorenn wondered how she could still be mad at him now that she was coming along on the trip. He vowed to ask her when the travelers stopped to make camp for the night.
The evening sun had barely made its way across the western horizon and the Jagged Mountains still loomed in the distance far behind them when Trendan spotted a suitable camp sight about two leagues farther. It was close enough to the road to afford them shelter under a nice gathering of budding trees and far enough from the road to hide them from passersby.
As they entered the small clearing, they dismounted and began to make camp. Rennon unhitched the wagon team, and the horses began to graze on the tall green prairie grass from a nearby field.
The camp setup went smoothly enough; Tatrice and Shey built a small fire for cooking while Rodraq established a perimeter for night watch. Vesperin and the two guards pitched four cloth lean-to tents to sleep under: one for the women, one for Rodraq and the guards, and two for the boys.
Tatrice and Lady Shey prepared a beef and vegetable stew while the elf maiden made skillet biscuits. Dorenn was surprised that Lady Shey was so eager to help. She did not act like any royalty he had ever seen or read about in stories. She moved with grace but also was not afraid to work.
“Lady Shey?” Dorenn asked after the party had eaten the hearty beef stew and biscuits.
“Yes, Dorenn?”
“I know it isn’t proper to ask, but I was wondering, are you actually of noble birth?”
“Nobility, Aye, I am.” Lady Shey looked at the elf maiden sitting beside her, and the two of them suddenly burst out into laughter.
“Did I say something amusing?” Dorenn asked, feeling a little foolish.
She caught her breath and inhaled. “I suppose now is as good a time as any. I was once married to a nobleman,” she said, “I also come from noble linage, one might say.” She paused to catch her breath again. “I was not raised as a noble, if that’s what you are getting at.”
“Aye, you are like no other noblewoman I have seen.”
“And you have seen so many, no doubt.” She snickered.
“It seems you have a devious nature about you, Lady Shey,” Rennon stated bluntly.
“Oh, how so?” Lady Shey asked.
“You are nobility but now pose as a merchant, and you poke fun at my friend. What other deceptions have you to tell us?”
“The truth is that I am full of deceptions, a woman of contradictions and secrets, but your knowledge of my secrets might jeopardize centuries of planning. So keep to yourself, apothecary’s apprentice!”
“Centuries?” Vesperin said surprised.
Lady Shey winked. “Aye, cleric, centuries.”
Rennon stood from his seat on a fallen log and tossed his empty plate and bowl into the cauldron of water Tatrice had prepared for the dishes. “I will not sit here and listen to this nonsense. If the Enforcers were around to hear you speak this way, they would take all our heads. Filthy wielders, every one of you!” And he stormed out into the field.
“You didn’t have to be so harsh to him.” Dorenn said.
A somber look replaced the amusement on Lady Shey’s face. “You would think after this long I would take this outlawing of magic more seriously, Sylvalora.”
“I had hoped you would, Lady Shey. You have always had a quick tongue, dear, and sometimes it is quicker than your brain.” Sylvalora said.
Lady Shey flinched like a child just scolded by her mother. A hush came over the camp.
After Tatrice and Lady Shey washed the dishes and put them away, Dorenn found Tatrice drying her hands near the wagon. He swallowed hard and approached her, hoping to make up. “Beautiful night out tonight,” he said.
Tatrice glanced up at the sky. “I suppose.”
Dorenn searched for a way to get back in Tatrice’s good graces. “Look at the stars; they sure are clear and bright; how about taking a walk with me?” It was the best he could come up with.
“It’s bedtime,” she answered without looking at him.
“Are you sure? We could talk about how I made you angry and…”
Dorenn stopped cold as Tatrice shot him an even angrier look. “Don’t start with me, Dorenn Adair. If you still have not figured it out by now, you never will.” She handed him the drying cloth and stomped away. Reluctantly, he followed her until Sylvalora appeared from behind the wagon.
“Let her go, lad.”
Dorenn leaned against the wagon and tossed the drying cloth over the rear wheel. “Am I that thick in the head? I have no idea why she is so angry.”
Sylvalora chuckled. “Even the wisest men are confounded on such matters, especially the behavior of women. It is best if you let her come to you when she is ready. And when she does come to you, you must apologize even if you don’t understand why she is angry.”
“If you say so,” Dorenn said, his mind shifting to Sylvalora. “May I ask you a personal question?”
Sylvalora sat down before him, patting the ground in a gesture for him to join her. “Come sit and we will talk.”
He sat on the ground next to her.
“Are you Arillian?”
Sylvalora smiled gently. “Not exactly, but that’s close enough.”
“Have you lived as long as the elves then? I do not mean to offend,” he added, “but Trendan is half-elven and he is forty-two seasons old. By elven standards, he is still considered young.”
“Does all that really matter to you, Dorenn?” Sylvalora asked, and Dorenn wondered if his question had gone too far.
“No, I guess not. I was just curious.”
Sylvalora’s tone softened even more as she spoke. “I am not older than the elves, although I am somewhat older than Lady Shey, if you must know. In fact, I watched her grow from a child. I stayed with her while she apprenticed to Morgoran, and I was there at her wedding.”
Dorenn gasped. “Lady Shey is remarried? She was Morgoran Cleareyes’ apprentice!”
Sylvalora laughed. “No, she has not remarried, and yes, she apprenticed to Morgoran. It was a long time ago, before he became known as Cleareyes.”
“Where is her husband?” Dorenn asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Sylvalora’s expression became somber. “He was not a wielder nor was he an elf, and he passed from this world long ago.”
“How long do wielders live?”
Sylvalora shrugged. “As long as they want to. They do age, of course, although very slowly. The essence that fuels all things is timeless.”
“Lady Shey couldn’t teach her husband to wield so he could live as long as her?”
“Not everyone can touch the essence residing in all things, and fewer still can draw upon it to wield.” She shook her head. “No, Lady Shey’s husband could not be taught to wield.” Sylvalora put her hand on Dorenn’s leg and smiled at him. “Enough questions.” She kissed Dorenn lightly on the cheek, and afterward, she rubbed it in with her hand. Gradually she pulled herself up and strolled off toward her lean-to, leaving Dorenn to contemplate her words.
Dorenn sat beside the wagon for a moment before deciding he was not tired despite his long day. He had too much to think about and he wanted to talk to Vesperin or Rennon. After a quick search of the camp, he found Rennon sitting under a tall oak, gazing at the stars and smoking a long-stemmed clay pipe.
“Rennon
, there you are.”
“Aye, here I am. You have found me,” Rennon said sarcastically.
Dorenn grimaced even though Rennon could not see him do so. “I have known you too long for Lady Shey’s comments to bother you like this. What’s the matter?”
“It isn’t any of your concern, Dorenn. You could not possibly understand.”
Dorenn noticed Rennon move the bag of Sanmir’s bittering tea out of his sight. “Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?”
Rennon coughed uneasily. “Because you can’t keep a secret. I remember when I told you a secret when we were younger and you told Trendan, Tatrice, and who knows all.”
“We were only four seasons old, Rennon, and you told me you were turning into a wolf. You scared me half to death with that beaver fur you put on your arms. I thought you were going to eat me alive.” Dorenn laughed.
Rennon chuckled in spite of himself. “No, not that time. The time I told you I saw my dead grandmother sitting at the end of my bed at night.”
“I didn’t think you were serious.”
“I still see her, Dorenn,” Rennon said somberly.
“Okay, Rennon, I made a mistake when we were six. I think I can keep it to myself now,” he paused. “Why do you think you still see her?”
Rennon stood and brushed the dead leaves and twigs from his backside. “Another time perhaps, right now I just need to sleep.”
“Rennon, you can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Leave me in the dark like this.”
“I am truly sorry, Dorenn, but I can’t tell you, not yet anyway. Just let me come to you on my own,” Rennon said, and then he walked back to camp.
“I have been hearing that a lot lately,” Dorenn muttered to himself.
The next morning, after a breakfast of dried beef and bread, the party packed up and moved back onto the southern road. The guards and Rodraq cleared the campsite so well that it was difficult to see any signs that anyone had made camp there at all. Trendan hoped they would reach the first village from Brookhaven at around midday, and indeed, as the midday summer sun beat relentlessly on their backs, the party reached Soldier’s Bluff, which meant they were making good time.
Up until the last four leagues or so, the terrain had been mostly flat with occasional rolling hills topped with green and golden grasslands. Now the hills became much steeper and trees became more prevalent. Sharp stones began to appear on the road, and despite Rennon’s excellent inspection of the horse’s hooves before they had left Brookhaven, some of the rocky terrain had damaged one of the mount’s shoes. The damage was not severe, but it did require a blacksmith. Dorenn knew that Rof’s blacksmith shop was not far off the main road, just beyond the guardhouse. He had not been to Soldier’s Bluff in quite some time, but he was sure nothing had changed much. The village was not large, just a collection of two or three shops and a handful of houses, but it was a clean and pleasant place. As the party approached the guardhouse, a stout man in rusty chain mail called a halt, and Rennon complied.
“What business do you have in Soldier’s Bluff?” the pig-faced guard asked in a gruff voice.
“We are merchants bound for Symbor from the village of Brookhaven,” Rennon replied.
The guard studied Dorenn for a moment, and then he saw Tatrice step out from behind the wagon. “It’s okay, Feyon; this is Master Lourn’s son and a summons group from Brookhaven.”
The stout man perked up immediately. “Mistress Tatrice. It is good to see your fair face again. Are you well?”
“I am well, Feyon, but I am in a bit of a rush as one of our mounts is in danger of losing a shoe. We need to get to Rof’s shop.”
The stout man stood aside. “Aye, Mistress Tatrice, you may pass at once, and welcome to Soldier’s Bluff.”
“Thank you, Master Feyon,” Tatrice said, bowing slightly and stepping back onto the wagon.
As the wagon lurched past the guard, Tatrice blew him a kiss and he blushed furiously.
Rennon drove the wagon around the first corner, there, to Dorenn surprise, was Fadral’s wagon unhitched and stowed away neatly, as if it had not been used for quite some time. “Rennon, is that Master Fadral’s wagon?” he asked.
“It certainly appears to be,” Rennon replied.
Trendan rode up next to Rennon. “Isn’t that—?”
“We think so,” Dorenn said before Trendan could finish his sentence.
Rennon halted the wagon next to the shop not far from Fadral’s wagon. A dark-skinned man came out of the shop, rubbing his hands with a cloth. He instinctively circled round to the injured mount. “Horse thrown a shoe?” he asked.
“Aye,” replied the disguised guard. “Well, it isn’t thrown yet but it is damaged.”
“Thought so. I could see the limp all the way down the road.” The dark-skinned man’s huge arms were the size of an average person’s leg. “Name's Rof,” he said as he held out his massive hand to the guard. “Hop down and I will repair it for you.”
The guard dismounted and the smithy led the horse to an anvil near the shop.
“Master Rof,” Dorenn began, “is that Master Fadral’s wagon?”
The blacksmith lowered his head. “Aye, such a tragedy. I liked the old peddler.”
Rennon and Dorenn looked at each other. “What happened? Is he here?” Dorenn asked.
“Aye, he is. The poor man died near a month ago. He came into Soldier’s Bluff at full speed claiming that some animals attacked him. His horses were lathered up, and he was badly injured. He died before the next morning. I expect he would have lived if we had a cleric about.”
“That is impossible. He was in Brookhaven not two days ago. I saw him myself,” Dorenn said. “And he drove that wagon!”
“And so did I,” added Trendan.
“And me,” Tatrice said, again walking out from behind the wagon.
“Nay, that would be impossible. I tell you he died here near a month ago. I carried his casket to be buried and attended the funeral myself. That wagon has not moved since that terrible night.”
“I rode on it!” Dorenn said.
Lady Shey came out from around the wagon now. She went directly to Rodraq and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and rode off. Lady Shey continued around to stand beside the wagon on Rennon’s side.
“Did he speak of what kind of animal he ran into, good smithy?” she asked.
The blacksmith’s forehead furrowed, and he brought his hand up to cup his chin. “Not that I recall offhand. The claw marks looked like wolf work. The strange thing I remember was the bites on his arms and legs. They seemed to melt away like he was burned by fire.” He shook his head. “Hard to explain but that is all I remember.” He turned and led the mount to the anvil.
“What is it, Lady Shey?” Tatrice asked.
Lady Shey did not immediately answer. “We should move along as soon as possible. After Rof repairs the shoe on the mount, we will push on to the village of Cedar Falls. I hope to make it there by nightfall. I cannot justify camping out in the open so near a village if there may be danger.”
“What about Rodraq? Where did you send him?” asked Tatrice.
Lady Shey made a face as if she were searching her mind for an answer, and then she abruptly ignored the question. “Let’s get loaded up; Rodraq will catch up to us in Cedar Falls.” Sylvalora glanced curiously at Lady Shey before she climbed into the rear of the empty wagon, joined shortly by Lady Shey and Tatrice. Trendan paid the smithy, and Rof began to work on the damaged shoe.
The smithy finished his repairs quickly and the guard remounted. Soon the party was slowly moving back to the main roadway and onward to Cedar Falls.
“What was all of that about back there, Rennon?” Dorenn asked him as they left Soldier’s Bluff. Rennon did not answer, so Dorenn clarified his question. “I mean, where did Lady Shey send Rodraq?”
“Who knows, women are always mysterious.” He flicked the reins to spur along the horses. “I want
to know what happened to Fadral.”
“Aye, me too. Did you see Fadral in Brookhaven too?”
“I didn’t see him. I was in Sanmir’s shop,” Rennon answered.
“I tell you, Fadral was as real as you are sitting next to me now.” As an afterthought, Dorenn reached out and pinched Rennon smartly on the shoulder.
“OUCH! Are you crazy? I almost pulled on the reins,” Rennon yelped.
“Sorry, I was just making sure.”
“Well, go make sure with someone else,” Rennon chided.
“I said I was sorry.”
Rennon glared at him and then turned back to watching the road. “I did see Fadral’s wagon pull up to the inn, yesterday. It kept flickering to my eyes, like it wasn’t what it appeared to be.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I’m still not sure what I was seeing, Dorenn. it was near dark and the light from the fires in the braziers were playing tricks, that’s all. It had to be that, what else could it have been?”
Trendan found a place to camp for the night and was directing them toward it when Rodraq rode in from the road ahead. By Trendan’s estimation, they were only half a day from Cedar Falls, but Lady Shey insisted on stopping for the night instead of traveling a few more hours after sunset. Dorenn was confused since she had seemed so intent on reaching the village earlier, but he decided to say nothing. Trendan argued that the road was clear and only a few more hours travel in the dark would not matter, but Lady Shey would not hear it. After she talked briefly with Rodraq, she absolutely insisted on camping for the night. Dorenn vowed to find out why she was so adamant on making camp. He thought it would be more dangerous to make camp than to continue to travel. After supper, he would take her aside for a talk.
The camp was set up in much the same way as the night before; Trendan had again found a small group of trees to conceal the camp. The only difference was Lady Shey had the guards patrol the surrounding area just outside the perimeter of the camp, and she had them guard longer than the night before. It was obvious to Dorenn that the story of Fadral’s death had spooked her. Dorenn approached Lady Shey after a supper of dried beef with thick gravy and biscuits to talk to her. She was preparing a large glass jar with tealeaves and water to put on top of the wagon to brew in the sun while they traveled the following day.
Dawn of the Sacred Land Page 13