CHAPTER ELEVEN
Verdant missed the paladin. Dain had been a good companion, and he missed their discourse on the hospital porch. No one else in Galena seemed to know enough, or had seen enough of the world to hold a truly satisfying conversation. Whoever Dain was before he came to the valley, he had been well educated and had traveled much. Moreover, he had good advice. Advice that Verdant sorely needed now.
The priest sat at his desk, agonizing over the task before him. He looked down at the thin parchment he had written on last night. Words fumbled and stumbled across the page, flailing helplessly, trying to capture the lightless depths of his feelings. Over a week had passed since the destruction of Arctanon’s army, and still he could find no words adequate to inform his sister of her husband’s death.
Maib had been a good man, an excellent soldier, and a loving father. Neive would be devastated to learn of his fate. Verdant planned to ride to her himself with her husband’s remains after sending the letter ahead. That too had its challenges.
Last summer, one of the mines had attempted to use the caskets of dead miners to smuggle gold past the orcs. The first small shipment succeeded, managing to carry a few pounds of gold out. Elated, the mine owners tried a second time, with over a hundred pounds of gold spread out in multiple caskets, but the orcs had grown suspicious and captured the load. Since then, to spare having the remains of the deceased searched, all bodies were either buried in Galena’s frozen ground or cremated for transport.
With so many dead soldiers, the wait for cremation was long, but Neive would want her husband close by, Verdant knew. He had paid the local undertaker for an elegant, oval-shaped urn made of black walnut for Maib. And this afternoon he would pick up the ashes.
First though, he was to meet with a group of mine owners to discuss the offer from the golden elves, the third such meeting. Since the army had fared so poorly, their proposal to transport the gold seemed the only remaining option. Though he had little interest in their decision himself, the group had asked him to represent the town at their meetings.
Verdant left his office and descended the stairs, easing the door shut, and moving quickly. He hoped to avoid Shyla. She’d hounded him tirelessly in recent days and he didn’t feel able to withstand a confrontation with her today.
“Priest Verdant!”
The shrill call rang out, catching him at the final step. He sighed, his shoulders hunching in on themselves and his eyes falling closed. He tried to will himself away, but when he opened them again, Shyla stood before him, red-faced and scowling, hands on her hips.
“Priest Verdant, I must discuss the matter of that paladin’s insubordination. He failed to follow your own very specific orders and he then struck one of your order. One of our order!”
“Priestess Shyla,” Verdant began wearily, “as I’ve told you before, Dain appears to no longer be with us. No one has seen him in days and his horse is gone, as is his gear. He has departed. I do not know what else to say.”
This conversation had already taken place several times. Each time it played out in a similar manner.
“Perhaps the rumors were true then,” Shyla said. “He was a traitor, in league with those orcs who destroyed the army. In any event, I want it clear that if that…that animal returns, he will not be welcome here. I refuse to stay here with such a brute. If this Light-forsaken place were properly civilized he would have been imprisoned and given over to the questioners for striking me. In front of the entire town he humiliated me. Due to his actions, the people here have lost all respect for me and for our order. I demand you issue a public condemnation of that monster and notify Bishop Clease in Arctanon that he should be arrested on sight.”
This new accusation was too much for Verdant to stomach. His frustration over the letter to Neive and at Maib’s death and these unending conflicts with the priestess and the relentless demands of the hospital boiled over.
“Enough! Today, I have to cremate my sister’s husband. I am going to gather his ashes after the meeting with the mining interests. I have written to let her know that the father of her children, my nieces and nephews, was killed by orcs, and I can’t even ship her his body since they would desecrate it, searching for hidden gold. I do not have time for a sniveling, simpering priestess and her bruised pride. The people of Galena don’t respect you, Shyla, because of your actions and yours alone. Because of your condescension and disgust toward them and this place.”
Verdant felt his hands tighten and tried to control himself, but the dam was burst and more water remained. “Dain was correct, you know—we couldn’t save both of those men that night. He made the right choice. That choice included removing an obstacle that was preventing him from saving a life. You.”
Shyla’s mouth dropped open and all color drained from her face. Leaving the stunned woman behind, Verdant stormed off into town. He entered The Slide’s office just moments later, slamming the door behind him. The mine owners looked up from their conference, startled at the sound, and even more startled when they saw who had slammed it.
“My apologies for the tardiness,” Verdant snapped. He moved toward a seat near the warm hearth, and then decided on a different one. His temper, he suspected, would keep him warm enough.
“Of course, Priest. We were just outlining Elam’s proposal to clarify the matter,” Wheeler said. “You know each of these men, yes?”
“Yes, of course, please continue,” Verdant said. At his left sat Drogan Baylest. He hadn’t seen the man since Shyla and Dain had made the trip up to the Lucky Seven. It was Drogan who spoke next instead of Wheeler.
“Look, we all know the deal,” Baylest began. “The golden elves will transport our gold, using their mages, to the location of our choosing in exchange for a quarter of everything we ship. They will only take the deal if we all commit to it. I, for one, am in favor of it. I don’t like it, not a bit, but we’ve tried hiring our own guards, we’ve tried smuggling, and we’ve now tried using a trained army. All have failed. We still can’t get a shipment out. Each of us gathered here sits on vast fortunes, hoarding them away, but they aren’t doing us any good in Galena. So I am for the offer. Take the deal and get what we can. Keeping three-fourths of a shipment is better than nothing and maybe the damned elves will use the gold to kill the orcs for us,” he said.
“I think we present all want to take the deal,” Wheeler answered. “No one wants to see the orcs take their hard-earned gold or anyone else’s. But some of us have less freedom than you, Baylest. Some of us represent big mining companies and are not independent operators like yourself. We lack the authority to make this kind of decision without our company’s support. It will take weeks to get approvals from everyone.”
“Everyone better be real persuasive then. I am not losing the only remaining opportunity to get my gold out because some far-off and faceless men think they can get a better deal,” Drogan said.
“We all want the same as you, Drogan. We’ve worked just as hard, and lost just as much or more than you. We want this deal to work,” one of the other miners said.
“Should we take a vote on the elves’ offer then?” Verdant asked. “It will be largely symbolic, since several of you can’t commit on your company’s behalf, but each of you can then tell your superiors that the entire group endorsed this plan.”
“Show your hands,” Drogan said.
The vote was unanimous. As Verdant expected, all agreed in principle to accept Elam’s proposal, and the bigger mines committed to write letters to their superiors urging for its acceptance. Verdant departed the meeting, heading to the undertaker to receive Maib’s ashes. He ducked down a sidestreet and approached a squat building. A column of gray rose and billowed from the tall stack at the building’s rear.
“Just finishing up now,” the somber man, dressed all in black, said as the priest entered. “Let me show you to the back.”
He led Verdant to a large cast-iron furnace at the rear of the building, offering the priest his cho
sen urn, along with a small silver shovel, and then opening the heavy furnace door.
“Please, feel free to take your time, sir,” he said.
“Thank you. Light bless you,” Verdant offered in return.
The undertaker bowed and left him to his grim task.
Verdant prayed to the Light before sliding a waist-high tray out of the warm furnace. Reverently, he placed the urn on one corner, removed its lid, and began scooping Maib’s ashes inside. His eyes grew damp as he worked. Errant thoughts returned to the letter. How could he tell Neive the only man she ever loved was gone? Mere words seemed wholly inadequate.
The urn was half full when the shovel clinked against something hard and metallic.
Undertakers typically removed all metal before cremating a body as it could melt and damage the furnace. Perplexed, Verdant gently stirred the ashes trying to find the object. After hearing the sound again, he separated the metal from the ashes and gently plucked the object out with his hand. Despite being blackened by the furnace’s intense fire, he could tell it was one of the arrowheads that had ended Maib’s life. He felt a twinge of grief strike his chest anew. A spark of curiosity followed closely on its heels. Dain had mentioned something odd about the arrows. Something about the shafts being removed. He rubbed the arrowhead with his thumb to get a better look, and found that while it seemed smooth, there were some strange raised markings on the sides. Verdant held it up to the light for a closer inspection. Elvish scrollwork stood out clearly on either side.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
The golden elves claimed they had found the army escort wiped out and then tracked the orcs to recover half the gold. Why, then, would this arrowpoint at the original battlesite be elven? Why would orcs, trying to escape with all that gold, take time to remove the shafts from their own arrows? Two arrow wounds had been found on Maib. They had been the only wounds on his body. Both had the shafts missing.
The sick feeling in his gut spreading, Verdant continued to fill the urn, still sifting for the second point. He found it after a few minutes of searching. It matched the first.
Both couldn’t have been an accident.
Elven arrows had killed Maib.
The survivor still lay in the hospital. He hadn’t awakened in the days since Dain healed him. It would take a week for him to regain consciousness, if he ever did. Some additional healing might speed his recovery.
For the survivor’s sake and everyone else’s, Verdant hoped he woke soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two weeks had passed since his decision to leave, but circumstances conspired to keep Dain among the wood elves. Early in the morning on the day he’d chosen to depart, he’d made it a mile when Boon threw a shoe. They were all tight the night before; he had checked them himself.
He hadn’t told Sera of his plans, just said he was going riding. She’d been the one to tell him to leave, so he doubted she was ignorant of his intentions, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her face-to-face.
The second day, King Teldrain had thrown a vast banquet in his honor, and all of Teran celebrated Dain’s successful healing of their king. All of Teran save for Jace, of course.
The third day, Sera had asked him to watch Jin for her. The request confused him. Why would she urge him to leave so forcefully and then ask for his help again? Whatever the reason, he’d spent the day teaching Jin fighting skills and then working on her knowledge of Common. The eager girl continued to learn quickly, stunning him with her quick progress. At her current rate, he had no doubt that she would be fluent in a month.
Tarol had come to talk to him that evening. A tournament had been announced to find the greatest warrior in all of Teran. Dain hadn’t planned on entering, but the tournament’s reward would put him a long way toward his lands.
A few weeks of delay couldn’t hurt, he’d muttered to himself as he’d said yes to Tarol.
The remainder of the first week and all of the second he spent training. Each morning, he jogged two miles alongside the small stream and then sprinted back. He found some fallen logs and hitched them to a homemade harness and then lugged them back to the clearing. There, he flipped them over and over, marching them around the clearing like outsized Nemba stones, strengthening his upper body. In the evenings he sharpened his swordsmanship and practiced his footwork. Occasionally Jin would join him, and he would give her a few pointers. The use of spellcrafting didn’t violate the tournament’s rules so he practiced with his spellshield and at charging his weapons as well.
Sera discovered his intentions on competing early on. She did not beg him to leave again, and, to his surprise, offered to aid him as best she could. She cooked a strange elvish meal of bread and rice and meat each night that seemed to help him recover quicker from the strenuous training. During the day, she and Jin gathered a variety of herbs. In the quiet evenings, Sera brewed them together, bottling several in preparation.
She spoke to Dain rarely now, and the long silences pained him. But he couldn’t seem to bridge the distance between them. He didn’t understand. What had changed? Did his staying upset her, or was she pleased that he’d stayed and upset for another reason entirely? And what had Selasa told her? He suspected that, being the woman she was, Sera was aiding him out of simple goodness, but also that she was hoping the prize money would get him away from her people and out of her life.
The few words that did pass between them usually concerned Jin. The girl constantly surprised him with how quickly she picked up on things, and by the end of the second week, Jin was speaking simple sentences in Common. In swordsmanship, she could anticipate his next moves and was able to block or dodge most of his attacks. If she continued to improve at this rate, she would surpass her uncle Jace within a few months. Dain smiled at the thought.
Sera’s oldest brother hadn’t returned since their dueling session. Tarol, however, came by daily and, at times, watched him practice. Dain asked him about the other competitors.
“There are over thirty entrants this time. The last tournament’s champion, Cleeger, is the favorite, of course, although his closest rival, Siam, has a slim chance of beating him,” Tarol said.
“How often are these contests held?” Dain asked.
“Every six months or so. Cleeger has won four of the last six and Siam the other two. No other competitor has won in over four years now.”
Dain wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Tell me about them. Cleeger and Siam.”
“Cleeger commands powerful nature abilities. He shape-changes into various beasts. The tournament rules ban flying, so he must stay grounded. Last year he beat Siam after changing into a huge, direbear. Siam, on the other hand, is a more traditional warrior. He is incredibly fast, even for an elf, and fights with an enchanted ironwood staff. He can release spells through it for attacking or use it to block incoming spells. Only Cleeger has ever managed to defeat him,” Tarol answered.
“Will your brother enter?”
“No,” Tarol said. “He has entered before and even made it into the top four once. Siam defeated him, although the two remain close friends. But no, Jace hasn’t fought in years and won’t this time, either. As for myself, I will enter into the next tournament. I am still too young for this one.” He sighed, looking wistful and, Dain thought, still far too young to compete in a feat of arms, even six months from now.
“You said no flying beasts. Are there any other rules?”
“No flying, no archers, and no summoning creatures. The archers have their own tournaments, as do the summoners. Fights are to be single combat. First one to knock the other unconscious or force a yield wins.”
“The weapons are wrapped like you did with mine and Jace’s?” Dain asked.
“Yes, but with stronger bindings,” Tarol replied. “They simulate combat closer than the ones we used. They permit serious wounds but not fatal ones, and allow the channeling of magic through the weapons where mine would not. Sh
apeshifters like Cleeger wrap their hands to blunt their claws. The wraps also dampen spell attacks from casters.”
“No outsider has ever fought,” he added after a long pause. “Not in the more than five centuries since the tournament’s beginning. There was much debate about not letting you enter. Most of the elders were against it, but my father overruled all objections and commanded that you be allowed to participate. The others complained, relenting only after hearing about my mother’s visions that you are the savior of our people.”
“So they believe this vision nonsense as well?” Dain asked.
The elf’s expression darkened.
“No…in fact, most do not. Which is why they agreed. After you are defeated in the contest then you can’t possibly be our savior, can you.” With that, Tarol straightened and turned toward the path that led back to town.
Dain stared after him as he departed, considering the elf’s words. He held his sword aloft and looked thoughtfully at his own reflection in the long blade. The same man he was used to seeing looked back, as ever. Certainly no one’s savior. Tarol was right about that.
He left the practice field, pausing to clean himself before entering the small cabin. Sera was bottling up a final potion, an orange-colored one this time, and she placed it among some straw stuffing in a dark leather pouch with its fellows. It was quiet in the little cabin. He remembered Sera saying that Jin would be staying with her grandmother that evening.
“Do you believe I can win?” he asked.
“Yes,” Sera answered without pause.
“I am an outsider and a human. I have no miraculous power with which to defeat the others.”
“That doesn’t matter. Jin says you will win, and so you will.”
“That simple, hmm?” Dain asked with a small smile. He walked about the cabin, picking the books up off the table and setting them back down again restlessly.
“Did she see it in the future with her visions?” he asked, his voice serious once more.
Kingdom's Forge: Book 01 - Paladin's Redemption Page 15