by Travis Peck
“Indeed. I guess being the richest man in the empire has its advantages, eh?” Hossen said as he too was drinking in the sight. “Evin told me about this valley, but words don’t do it justice.”
“Have you noticed how perfect everything is?” Lerius asked. From the tools the workers used, to the sheds and other outbuildings, to the fences— even the clothes and shoes of the workers—all these things were well cared for and seemed to be of a quality that he had not seen before. There was some wear to be sure but it was from years of use and everything was lovingly maintained. It said a lot for the man who owned all of this to inspire such love of workmanship and pride in every detail that his workers and tenants displayed. No wonder he is rich, he thought, with not a little envy. If all this was the result of his touch then he deserves it.
Lerius had grown up in a medium-sized town in Kharisk called Wylton. The river Ilia coursed along its northern border and provided residents with an abundance of healthy fish, and clean, fresh water. He had always believed that Wylton was a fine town, one that the people could be proud to call home. He had been proud of it too. The streets were clean, the people friendly and welcoming, and the town thrived as a result. But nothing compared to this. Even the man slogging through the pig pen as he cleaned the enclosure looked content. And since that man woke up here each morning, Lerius knew why.
At last they reined their horses to a halt on the finely graveled and raked drive that circled the front of the manor’s main entrance. The manor gleamed white in the bright sun, making it almost painful to gaze upon. Lerius knew that bringing so much styricite this far from Styr would have been enough to beggar towns, but it was truly magnificent. Tall trees, manicured and trimmed into pleasing shapes, lined the circular drive at regular intervals. The lawn that encompassed the manor and the drive was bordered with fine-edged stones that fit together with barely discernible seams. In short, it was as perfect as the rest of the valley. The manor had three floors with large windows that were all opened wide to take advantage of such a lovely day.
Lerius dismounted and stifled a groan as his whole body seemed to be composed of one large cramp. He leaned his head against his mount’s and scratched its ears while murmuring a heartfelt thanks to the stalwart horse. It had saved him from Deepbrooke’s fall and had brought him all the way to this idyllic estate—through the Taker’s Pit and back.
“Greetings, sirs, to the Geryn estate.” A small boy welcomed them politely and properly. The page was outfitted in a fine wool tunic and breeches, and Lerius could tell from his earnest face that he had great pride in his job—a job he likely did not perform often at such a secluded estate.
Lerius made a smart and proper bow, no doubt at odds with his abused appearance. “And greetings to you, young sir. May I present my companion, Hossen, an innkeeper late of Deepbrooke. And I am Lerius, a healer.”
The boy bowed low as if he were greeting a legate or one of the four governors of the empire. Lerius stilled his face before it broke out into an amused smile. He did not want to offend the young page. The lad remained stiff and proper and took a deep breath and spoke as if he were reciting from memory. “The Geryn estate welcomes you. Please follow me inside.” The boy turned sharply and strode confidently to the main door which he then held open for the visitors. Lerius hesitated to follow, but then he saw two men approaching from the stables and knew that their mounts would be well cared for.
Once the men were inside, the page closed the door and said, “I shall inform his Lordship of your arrival. Please have a seat.” The boy bowed and went off through double doors that led off down a hallway to the right.
Lerius and Hossen remained standing despite the invitation. Neither man felt right about dirtying the finely upholstered armchairs that lined the wall of the entry hall. Lerius studied the interior of the manor. The floor was made of polished wood planks that fit together perfectly and reflected the sunlight coming through the open windows in the wall above each armchair. A brilliantly gleaming chandelier hung from the ceiling and reflected more light; it cast intricate designs on the floor and high walls as it spun slowly from the breeze gently coursing through the open windows.
Footfalls echoed down the hallway that the page had used, and Hossen and Lerius performed some last minute straightening of their collars and smoothing out of their wrinkled clothing that likely had no affect on their disheveled appearance. At least they could both manage to stand up straight and hold their heads high. A slender old man came through the hallway, the page boy at his heels kept a respectful distance behind.
“Hossen!” the old man greeted warmly. “Do my old eyes deceive me, my friend?”
“Evin! It has been too long,” Hossen said and the two men embraced each other.
“I see you have had a hard road,” Evin said, squinting his eyes to study the two men before him. His next words were spoken quietly. “We have heard sad tales concerning Deepbrooke, and I see from you standing here in such a state, that it must be true.” Evin bowed his head respectfully to the poor souls lost or turned from Hossen’s village.
“It is so, and worse than you know, I expect,” Hossen said, his throat forcing the words out as he choked up with emotion for a moment. “Forgive me, friend. This, as your page likely told you, is Lerius, a healer who was with me through it all.”
“Well met, Lerius.” Evin shook the healer’s hand in a grip that was strong despite his advanced age.
“I fear we may have brought trouble behind us, Evin,” Hossen informed with regret. “We could think of nowhere else to turn.”
Evin’s gray eyebrows scrunched up at the news then the elderly steward turned to the page. “Lev, bring Daeris to Lord Geryn’s study at once, and tell him to sound the warning bell before he comes.”
The page boy’s eyes went wide at his orders, but he hastily bowed and ran out of the main doors as fast as he could.
“Daeris will see to our safety—and don’t look so guilty, old friend,” Evin said with a sad smile. “We are not defenseless here, and you were right to seek shelter at Lord Geryn’s estate. He would not turn away a traveler in need or begrudge them sanctuary from ravinors or any other troubles.”
Hossen grasped gratefully at Evin’s shoulder and thanked him sincerely. Lerius murmured his own heartfelt thanks, but could not help feeling like a harbinger of doom when he heard the loud alarm bell ring out.
“The bell,” Evin explained, “will bring all the workers in to safety and also rouse the guards. We will not be taken unawares.” The steward escorted them through a series of long hallways and spacious rooms with massive woven rugs in foreign designs. He saw the two men studying them. “Those are from Rhyllia, and that one there is actually from Zhurak.” The steward pointed out a particular deep rich burgundy rug with strange symbols woven into it. Lerius raised an eyebrow and the steward answered before he had a chance to ask his question. “Yes—it is contraband…technically. But allowances are sometimes made, and it’s only a rug after all.” Evin smiled.
Lerius and Hossen grinned back. None of them could imagine a legate throwing a fit over a contraband rug from Zhurak in the estate of the wealthiest man in the empire. The Styric Empire and the sultanate to the south had been at war on and off again for centuries, and there was a long standing enmity between the two peoples that had never cooled, even during relatively peaceful times. And the present time was not a peaceful time between them, though they were not involved in a full-scale war yet.
Lerius certainly was not kept abreast of all the goings on in the empire, but he had heard that Zhurak was threatening the islands of Rhyllia because of their amicable relationship with Styr, her bitter rival. Of course, there was always some heated dispute going on between the two great nations. He remembered his father and grandfather frightening him with horror stories about marauding herds of bloodthirsty izhaki that crushed any foe who dared to stand before them. He had heard many such tales as he grew up, and nothing had changed in the years since. Both lan
ds still viewed the other with great suspicion and contempt.
They passed through one room with a high wall that soared all the way up to the ceiling and was filled from top to bottom with shelves lined with books. Lerius let out a low whistle at the sight.
“Lord Geryn is an avid reader and a great believer in the pursuit of knowledge and has spared no expense in his collection,” the steward explained. As they continued through the estate, Lerius found himself losing his sense of direction with all the turns they made and all the interesting items that drew his eyes.
The manor was like a museum he had seen once in Aerilyn; paintings lined the walls, sconces and niches displayed busts of famous figures—only a few of which he recognized—other cases showed assortments of trinkets and other collectibles from all over the world. Lerius could spend days searching the estate and still not come close to examining everything it had to offer. The library alone would take a man more than one lifetime to go through.
At last the steward led them to two closed dark-stained doors with silver wolf’s-head handles. Evin knocked firmly on the door, and they all heard a muffled ‘enter’ from within.
Lerius was anxious, and a little nervous, to meet this man. He had been around wealthy people before, but typically his interactions with them were due to his profession, and none of those had been the wealthiest man in the empire who happened to live in the most perfect place he had ever seen. And, oh yes, help us please. And by the way, ravinors are following us, please take care of that for us, too. And when you’re done, vouch for us to Mon Lyzink.
“My Lord, this is Hossen Vyman, an old friend, and Lerius the healer, come from Deepbrooke,” the steward said by way of introduction.
The man before them sat at an oversized desk that was covered with stacks of ledgers, ink jars, and quills. Lord Geryn was not what he had expected. The man was large, he must be taller than Hossen, and thick-boned. His black beard, spotted with gray, was in need of a trim and was in contrast to everything neat and tidy they had seen leading up to this meeting. The man’s eyes were steel, but tempered with courtesy and kindness—a combination that surprised the healer.
“I am Lord Geryn,” the large man said as he stood to his feet, confirming to the healer that he was indeed a hand taller than the lanky innkeeper. “You are both welcome here. I am deeply sorry for your loss, gentlemen, and I can see that you have been through the Taker’s gauntlet, to be sure.”
Lerius and Hossen exchanged greetings with the lord of the valley.
“My captain should be here in a moment, as should some small fare to refresh yourselves with while we talk. I’m sure you are anxious to get cleaned up, but let us first get some details from you.” Lord Geryn gestured and the newcomers both sat down; Evin took the seat just to the right of the desk.
Before they had a chance to say anything else, the door opened. A trim man with short-cropped brown hair and several days’ growth of stubble walked in. The man was as tall as Hossen, but he looked to be well muscled and around a dozen years older than Lerius. He wore a uniform with Lord Geryn’s sigil on it, a stylized “G.” A simple and unassuming emblem for such an important man. A hardened leather breastplate, that had rectangular sheets of steel riveted over it into a protective array, jangled together as he moved. The hilt of a sword stuck out from behind his left shoulder, and a shortsword at his hip projected readiness, as did his serious demeanor. He gave a brief nod to his lord and took his seat opposite the steward on the other side of the desk.
“I have sent more patrols out to the northern border and have men posted in every watchtower who are ready to signal should they see any ravinors,” the captain reported succinctly.
Lord Geryn nodded. “Well done, Daeris. Hopefully your preparations will not be needed. So, gentlemen, tell me your tale.”
Between the two of them, Lerius and Hossen gave a full accounting of their troubles, beginning when Lerius first set foot into Hossen’s inn, all the way to their arrival at the manor. They were interrupted in their story twice. The first time was the page bringing in food and drink. A most welcome food tray was piled high with sandwiches, and the young lad brought in several pitchers of water so the storytellers could quench their thirst. He and Hossen devoured the sandwiches and gulped down their water as they each took turns telling parts of the tale while the other one tucked into the food.
The second interruption was just a flash of a young lady with a scarred face who poked her head into the den as she excitedly shouted for her father. She let out a mortified yelp as she realized that there were guests in with Lord Geryn. She disappeared as quickly as she had burst her head into the room, and the door slammed shut behind her.
“Excuse me, sirs,” Lord Geryn said, apologizing for the interruption. “My daughter, Moira—she is shy around guests. And I’m sure I will get an earful from her later that I didn’t warn her that we had guests.”
Both men waved it off politely. Lerius, ever the healer, identified her ailment as a birth defect and felt for the young lady, but he had noticed her two startling pretty eyes, though one had also been afflicted. He dismissed the intrusion from his mind as Hossen took over the story, and he was free to finish off the remaining sandwiches on the tray.
Once their recounting was complete, Lord Geryn gestured to Daeris. The guard captain got up and walked over to a row of decanters filled with fine spirits and poured each of them a drink—save for himself. Lerius commended him silently for choosing to stay clear-headed, but he supposed the captain’s abstaining from a drink might suggest that there was little chance of avoiding any more confrontations with ravinors in the near future.
“Well, you two have been busy,” Lord Geryn said, “and, of course, you are welcome to stay here and recover before going off to find Mon Lyzink. I’m in contact with the scholar from time and time, and I will send a bird to his tower this very night to warn him of the dire portents that you have discovered. But be warned that he is often away from his tower, and he is likely out in the field at the moment.” The lord took a sip of his drink and swirled it in his glass.
“Regardless of the whereabouts of Mon Lyzink, news of your findings must be spread. Let me think on this for a time while you avail yourselves to a bath. You are welcome to join us for dinner. Daeris, on your way out, send our young page in to see these gentlemen to their quarters, would you?” Lord Geryn said, bringing their meeting to a close.
Daeris left the room quickly. The page must have been ready for orders as he was back in the room in a flash and was already ushering Hossen and Lerius out of the den to give the lord time to consider the tidings they had brought.
Lerius followed the page, Hossen a pace behind him. The older man seemed even more exhausted than the healer felt, and he was only a few days removed from a miraculous recovery from the ravinor infection—a fact that hadn’t fully dawned on him yet.
Once they managed to groan and complain their way up the stairs, Lerius noticed that the second floor had a more functional arrangement. There were still paintings along the walls and heavy tapestries depicting scenes from the history of the empire, but this area had a more comfortable and casual feel to it.
As he followed the page, Lerius was on the verge of collapse. His stomach was full for the first time in days, and he was having great difficulty keeping his eyes open. But he managed to follow the boy up to where his and Hossen’s adjacent rooms were located. The page indicated where the bathing area was located. He also laid out fresh towels, and even a change of clothes, that appeared to be perfectly sized for each man.
Lerius hardly studied his room at all, only sparing it a cursory glance before grabbing the towels, robe, and shaving kit. He felt more alert now that he was faced with the prospect of taking a hot bath. The days spent traveling during the incessant downpour had chilled him to the bone—a chill that still clung to him.
Closing the door behind him, he saw Hossen leaving his own room and also bound for the baths. He grinned at his compatriot.
Finally, there seemed to be a reprieve for the two men that had not been forthcoming ever since poor Marelle had been infected. That seemed like ages ago, and Lerius could hardly believe it had only been a few days over a week.
Two large copper tubs steamed invitingly as they entered the baths. Lerius let out a shudder as he submerged into his own hot bath; his sore and knotted muscles began to loosen immediately. He heard Hossen let out an ecstatic sigh in the next tub, and he knew that the innkeeper was enjoying the soak as much as he was.
“This feels better,” Lerius said with a sleepy grin.
Hossen laughed and mumbled agreement; the innkeeper was nodding off in the tub already. Lerius was having a difficult time staying awake now, too. A full belly, coupled with his exhaustion and a hot soak, were all pushing him toward sleep. If he fell asleep now, he knew he would wake up in a cold tub of water, so he began to vigorously scrub away the week’s worth of dirt, sweat, and grime from his tired body.
It felt good to be clean once more. As a healer, it was only sensible for him to keep clean, not only for himself, but for the sick and wounded he tended. This was the longest he had gone without bathing since he was a child. He remembered his mother chasing him around their home trying to get him into the bath. He had been naked and shrieking. He smiled at this childhood memory, but that made him think of his sister, and that set him to worrying again over her journey to Aerilyn. Lerius would continue to fret about his little sister until he laid eyes on her in the capital of Kharisk.