by Spoor, Garry
“It’s okay, he’s agreed to behave.” She said as she wiped the pie crumbs and horse saliva off her hand. “You can feed him and water him, just don’t try to groom him.”
She moved passed them to the edge of the makeshift paddock where the other horses were now vying for her attention. She tried to make it appoint to stroke each noise that was pushed in her direction, feeling the ever present stares of the boys behind her.
It was getting late as she walked across the compound toward the Great Hall. She had spent a little more time than she had intended at the paddock, speaking with each of the horses, apologizing for what she had done to them. Fortunately most of them didn’t really understand what had happened, or even remembered. She did relay their personal little grievances to the three boys that were attending them, and although she didn’t tell them how she knew, or where she was getting the information from, she thought they might have suspected, even if they couldn’t believe it. The oldest boy had even offered to put a good word in with Mr. Rever. It appears that he was often looking for stable hands and since she was so good with the horses, he might even hire her in spite of the fact that she was a girl. She gave him a half hearted thanks and walked away.
She wasn’t looking forward to seeing the damage done to the great hall, even though the fire was kept under control, it wasn’t so much the structural damage as it was the loss of history. The stables were difficult to look at from her personal point of view, it was where she felt the most at home, but in the end it was just a building. The Great hall went deeper than that.
She was a little surprised that the cleanup had started so quickly, but then she had also been away for the last ten days. The walls had survived, although they were stained with black soot, and the great doors had been removed as well as the glass from the windows. Kile walked up the short flight of stairs as she peered into the gallery. It was worse than she had feared.
The place was nearly gutted. The last of the displays that had somehow survived the fire had been carted away and placed into storage and all that remained of those that weren’t so lucky, was a pile of debris in the center of the floor. The portraits were now gone, only a few still hung, and most of those were too badly damaged to make out who they were. The rafter had burned through and there was no longer a roof to speak of, even the stairs had not survived the fire, only the catwalk ending in midair gave any evidence that there had been a flight of stairs there to begin with, but worse of all, the small room under those stairs was no more.
Kicking aside a stay roof tile she watched it skid across the marble floor. It was all gone, she thought. What would the next group of hunters look to for inspiration or the ones after that? They could rebuild the rooms, but they would never replace the artifacts. She stepped over a fallen beam and walked to where the secret little gallery would have been… if it was still there. The door was gone; the room was empty, the contents having found their way to the large pile in the center of the great hall. A charred piece of wood that had once framed the portrait of Risa Ta’re was all that remained of the sad maiden. She picked it up and beneath it found the small brass key to the door. It had been bent out of shape from the heat of the fire, but there wasn’t a lock for it to fit anyway. Mathew Latherby had entrusted the key to her, and this was how she repaid him. She clutched the key tightly in her hand, then turned to leave, but didn’t get very far.
He was standing in the gallery, staring up at the place that his portrait had once hung. It was the first place that she had spoken to him, nearly three years ago. She thought about slipping away quietly, leaving him to his ghosts, but she owed him more than that. She stood behind him, not knowing what to say, but she didn’t have to say anything.
“I thought I’d find you here eventually.” The Guild Master said.
He did not sound angry, or sad, or like the fool that he usually sounded like when he spoke with the staff, if anything, he sounded tired. He turned around when she didn’t answer, and a wisp of a smile crossed his lips.
“What do you have there?” He asked.
She looked down at her hands. She hadn’t realized she was still holding the charred piece of frame, or the small brass key, she held them both out for him to see.
“It's funny isn’t it.” He said as he took the charred piece of wood and turned it over in his hands. “We see it, and we never really notice it, until it no longer there. I must have looked at this frame a million times, and I never really saw it.”
“I’m sorry sir.” She said, trying to hold back the tears.
“Sorry, for what?”
“It’s my fault, if I wasn’t here that night, this would never have happened.”
“Am I to expel you for an accident? Would that make you feel better? Well, I’m not going to. You were one link in a chain of events. You had no control over this, and from what I heard from the others, you handled yourself quite well under the situation, the way a Hunter should.”
“But sir… it’s all gone.”
“So.” Mathew grinned, and then kicked a scorched helmet across the room. It bounced off one of the walls skidded across the charred marbled floor and came to rest at the base of the pile. “Not bad for an old man.” He said.
“I don’t understand.”
“No, probably not.” Mathew sighed, “But you will, you will. You see Kile I’ve been a hunter a lot longer than you could probably imagine. This…” He said as he raised his arm encompassing the room. “This is nothing. Do you know why hunters dress like vagabonds, like ruffians, why the best don’t look as if they slept for days or taken a bath in weeks. It’s because they put little stock in the comforts of life. Oh sure, they’ll treat themselves to a good meal after a successful mission, or they might splurge on a well crafted saddle, but the luxurious trapping of day to day life is just not for the hunter.
“What a hunter has, what he owns, is what fits on his horse. He doesn’t need paintings or works of art, or artifacts or overstuffed mattresses, they’re fine for most people, but can you imagine carrying that stuff around with you every day. I’m not saying it's true for all hunters, there are some that indulge themselves, they actually purchase houses within the city limits and stuff them with the finer things of life, but they spend their entire career fearing and longing for their possessions.
“The true hunter is constantly moving from place to place, going where he’s needed. He doesn’t have time to fear for treasures that he had no use for or long for his home, if he does that, then he’s not doing what he is suppose to be doing, and that is helping the people.
“That’s all this was.” Mathew said as he walked around the empty gallery, pointing out the pictures that were no longer there. “These were frivolous trappings of egotistical hunters who forgot what being a hunter really meant, and I have to include myself among them.”
“But sir, you’re the…”
“The Guild master, the head honcho, the Grand Hunter. Titles Kile, just empty words. I’m guilty of trying to capture the ghosts of my past in small wooden prisons.” He said as he held up the charred piece of frame.
“What are the four things a hunter really needs?”
The sudden question stumped her, she was sure she had not heard it before in any of her classes and therefore couldn’t give him an answer.
“Forget about everything you’ve read, forget about everything you’ve learned at this academy. What are the four key things that every hunter needs?”
“I’m not sure.” She responded.
“First they need a good horse, second they need a good weapon, third they need a good heart and fourth they need a good head on their shoulders. When I started out as a hunter that was all I had and that was all I needed. I’m not sure when it all changed, when we started requiring all these rules and regulations. I think if I tried to become a hunter today I would probably fail the tests.”
“But didn’t the history, the artifacts mean anything?”
“Maybe a handful of artifact ha
d any real value, and I’m sure there will be a lot of hunters lamenting over the loss of portraits and displays, and as for history, well, history is written by the victors. You think the legend of these hunters were all true? No, history is ever changing and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Someone will find something which will change the idea of something else and before you know the things that you thought you knew are no longer the things that you know.”
That's one she would have to think on when she had more time, as she followed Mathew around the remains of the gallery.
“Maybe it’s time to renovate.” He said as he ran a finger over the soot stained plaster. “Maybe it’s time to clean out a few cobwebs, remove a few displays and replace them with new ones. There’s a whole new set of hunter out there now, maybe it’s time for you guys to rewrite the history, restock the gallery with your own adventures, your own artifacts, you own grotesquely out of proportioned portraits. Maybe this was all a blessing in disguise, a wake up call, to tell us we’re getting too complacent in our beliefs, that we’re getting too far ahead of ourselves. We have to get back to what we were Kile before we can really know what we are suppose to be.”
Stopped at the pile of debris in the center of the gallery he held the charred piece of wood gently in his hands. “You were right my love, you always were. You warned me this would happen one day, and I didn’t listen. We have forgotten where we came from, I suppose this really is goodbye.”
Kile was getting a little uncomfortable, she didn’t like to be referred to as my love, but then she realized that Master Latherby wasn’t talking to her, he was talking to the charred remains of Risa Ta’re’s frame that he held in his hand. He kissed it once and tossed it onto the pile then whispered something in a language that she couldn’t understand and stood there in silence staring at the pile before suddenly turning and sprinting across the gallery in long legged strides.
“You see this place here.” He shouted and smacked the wall. A large section of the plaster fell at his feet. “My picture hung here for countless years, it also hung over there… and… over there.” He said, pointing across the room. “But that's an entirely different story. Your portrait is going to hang here… after we patch the wall of course.”
“My portrait?”
“Well, not yet, you still have a long way to go, but I think your portraits will hang here soon enough. You Kile have almost everything that is required to be a great hunter.”
“Me sir? I’m barely passing the courses as it is.”
“Oh, forget about the courses, forget about the academy. I’ve seen my share of hunters, pretty much all of them, and I can tell the good ones from the bad ones before they ever set foot within the academy, and you are going to be one of the good ones.”
“Well… thank you sir… I guess.” She said, not knowing what else to say.
“But not so fast, as I said, you almost have everything you need.” He said, scratching his chin. “What are the four key things that every hunter needs?”
“A good horse, a good weapon, a good heart and a good head on their shoulders.” She replied.
“There, you see, you’ve passed the most important test as far as I’m concerned. Now, lets me see.”
He held up four fingers and ticked them off as he started to explain
“You have a good heart, you’ve proven that. Nobody but a complete fool or a good hearted person would run into a burning building to save horses or go out of their way to save a yarrow’s life. You have a good head on your shoulders, even though you’ve almost had it knocked off a few times, but you’ve managed to keep it when it counts. You have a good horse. Grim will make you an excellent companion, just listen to what he has to tell you, but don’t agree with everything he has to say. Now, there’s one more thing that you still need… what was that?”
“A good weapon?”
He turned and picked up a bundled wrapped in cloth that had been sitting next to the wall. Kile had mistaken it as just more debris, until he handed it to her. She was a bit hesitant to take it, but instantly recognized the feel and weight as she held it in her hands. She untied the cloth, knowing what was inside, and pulled it back to reveille the worn wooden handles of a pair of Lann.
“Sir, I can’t accept this.”
“Why not?” Mathew asked, but he wasn’t disappointed at her refusal, in fact it appeared that he almost expected it.
“Sir these belong to Risa Ta’re.”
“Yes, and she doesn’t need them anymore.”
“But sir…”
“Why can’t you take them Kile, why do you feel you don’t deserve them?”
“Because sir…”
“Because why, because you’re a girl, because you’re a Vir, because you have Orseen blood, because you have red hair, because you can talk to animals, because you’re a farmer’s daughter, because you hale from Riverport, why don’t you feel you deserve them Kile?” He asked, or more like pressured until the only answer she could think of was the one she blurted out.
“Because I’m useless.”
The words echoed off the empty gallery walls until they came back to her time and time again, repeating what it was that her father had always said. She couldn’t look at the Lann, she couldn’t look at Mathew, she just cast her eyes to the floor as she handed the blades back to the Guild Master, but he never took them.
“Do you really feel useless?” He asked her.
She couldn’t answer.
“A useless person wouldn’t stand up to a bully to protect a kid she didn’t know, make a deal with a horse so he wouldn’t be sent back to the work yard, give a cadet a second and a third chance to prove himself, save a yarrow from the mouth of a cat, cry for the life of a rabbit. Help a friend pass a survival test with the aid of squirrels, do I have to go on, because I can.
“You look at these things as being trivial, possible even childish acts, I see these things as who you are, and they don’t describe a useless person. Now, if you want to give them back, I will take them, but they will always be yours.”
She slowly brought the Lann to her chest and clutched them tightly. “Thank you sir.” She whispered.
“Good, now that we got that settled, there is some Guild business that needs my attention. They say it can’t wait, but they always say it can’t wait. One would wonder how anything gets done if I’m not around.” Mathew said as he started for the door.
“Sir wait.” Kile called out.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small blue and white stone.
“I don’t know if this is important, but this was what Eric was trying to steal the night of the fire.” She said, handing it to him.
When she dropped it in his outstretched hand, she could have sworn it actually glowed if just for a second before returning to its dull colors. It could have been a trick of the light she thought, without a ceiling on the building; it was a good enough explanation.
“Are you sure this was what he wanted?” Mathew asked, and all the levity in his voice was gone as he closed his hand around the small stone.
“There were two of them, I’m sure of that, but I only mangled to retrieve the one, he got away with the other.”
“I see.”
“Is it… important?” She asked.
The smile returned to the Guild Master’s face, but she couldn’t help but noticed that this one appeared a little forced.
“No, I don’t think so. He probably thought it was some gem or something. Figured he could sell it for a few coins. I wouldn’t worry.” Mathew replied as he slipped it into his pocket. Although he had told her not to worry, it was clear that he was.
***~~~***
19
Things had changed at the academy since the day of the fire, but Kile couldn’t tell if it was for the better or the worse. For her part the days seemed to move slower, dragging on longer, but there wasn’t as much tension as when Eric was around. His actions and ultimately his escape were a popular subject
of the cadets, even the first years now knew his name and spoke of him. The Problem was, that some cadets talked about his actions with such awe and respect, that he became something of a folk idol to some of the younger students. It made her physically ill to hear them talk about his deeds as if he was some courageous hero that had been persecuted by the establishment, and she actually fears for the future of the Hunter’s Guild. When these kids suffered through their three years at the academy and their one year probation, what path would they be walking? Was this the beginning of the end for the guild that Oblum spoke of? Of course there was some glimmer of hope, although she hated to admit it. For every cadet that spoke with reverence toward Eric Rimes, there was another that spoke of the deeds of Kile Veller.
It was embarrassing for her to walk into the dinning hall and hear the whispers and feel the stares. She was able to accept it when the remarks were all derogatory, but now the younger cadets whisper their admiration and stare in awe as she passed. It got to a point that she once again dreaded going into the Dinning Hall and thought about having her meal delivered to her room, if that was even possible.
For the most part the academy was healing itself slowly. Work had begun on the reconstruction of the stables and the rebuilding of the Great Hall, although it was forced to stop during the colder winter months, as soon as the spring rolled around the construction started again. Workers from the city arrived early in the morning and left by the evening light, disrupting just about every class that they could. Instructors had to double up in the few rooms that were still safe to occupy, and a few were even moved to the storage areas and the Dinning Hall. The third year horses had been transferred from their temporary enclosure to the city stables to make room for the second year’s horses that had only just arrived. Although it had been interrupted, life at the academy limped on through the winter as best as it could, and when spring finally came it was a welcome relief for both students and faculty.