Farlander hotw-1

by Col Buchanan

  Serese lit another hazii stick, blew smoke into the fading light.

  'You did well,' she said 'Last night, I mean.'

  It was the one subject neither had yet mentioned.

  'You think so? I was so gripped by fear I was numb with it.'

  'So? You were hardly the only one. But you did what you had to do. You showed courage.'

  Nico looked long and hard at the girl by his side eyeing her properly, without shyness or agenda. At once he noticed something else behind the mask of spark and beauty. Serese was on edge, and badly in need of company.

  She took another deep puff of the stick, then passed it to him.

  'Courage?' Nico repeated, as though trying out the word for the first time. For an instant the face of the one he had slain rose before him; the man's determined glare even as Nico stabbed him, changing first to wonder and then, by degrees, to a terrible awareness of everything lost to him. 'No, it wasn't courage that prompted me to stick my blade into that man's belly last night. It was fear. I didn't want to die there. I didn't want him to kill me. So I killed him first.'

  He felt surprised at how he could speak so plainly about his deepest feelings. He wondered if something had changed in him, if he had grown a little older since last night. Perhaps it was simply the liberating effects of the hazii smoke.

  'It's funny,' he said, still thinking out aloud. 'Since leaving Khos, I've come to realize a few things. My father for instance. He was the bravest man that I knew, though at the time I hardly understood it. I think, deep down, I always feared that he was a coward after all – for running away from everything like he did. I had such notions, when I was younger, of bravery, courage under fire and all that. The stuff of stories, of course. But now I've caught a glimpse of what my father must have gone through every day there under the walls. I wonder now how he was able to live that way for so long, to rise each morning knowing what faced him. I can see now why he chose a different life, away from it all, wherever that may be. I only wish I possessed half his strength.'

  Nico looked again at the hazii stick in his hand: all but forgotten, it had gone out. He passed it back to her, his head swimming. 'Courage isn't something I know much about, Serese – not when it comes down to it. Whenever there's trouble, mostly all I feel is frightened.'

  Serese relit the roll-up, sat with a fist supporting her chin.

  'I understand,' she said quietly, exhaling. 'Last night was my first time, too. I don't think I'm taking it very well either.'

  Her eyes seemed suddenly wary. A passing shadow drew their attention to the sky. They both looked up in time to catch sight of a passing flyer, its black bat-like wing carrying it upwards on the thermals above the city. Serese shivered.

  'Are you all right?'

  'Yes,' she assured him, though her voice betrayed her.

  Take her mind off these things, his mind suggested.

  'Tell me something about yourself, Serese.'

  'What would you like to know?'

  'I'm not sure. Your mother – tell me of her.'

  It was a mistake, that question. He saw it instantly in her eyes.

  All the same, she tried to answer him. 'My mother passed away some years ago. That's how I met my father; it was only after she fell ill. He came to us in Minos, and when she had gone he took me back to Cheem. I stayed there until I was sixteen, up in the mountains among all those men training to kill.'

  'You never thought of following in your father's footsteps?'

  'Me a Rshun? No, I would hate such a life.'

  'How did you come here then?'

  She smiled, though it was a twisted smile without humour. 'I went a little crazy with the boredom of it all. Twice I tried to run away. Once, I fell in love and caused a great commotion. Then old Osh suggested I move to Q'os. The agent here had begun to lose her health, and needed someone to help her. I snatched up the chance. Mistress Sar passed away ealier this year, from the coughing sickness. I agreed to stay on here until they could find someone else to replace her.'

  Serese looked at the roll-up in her fingers, lifeless once more. She cast it away from her. 'And you, my inquisitor, how did you end up here, mixed up in all of this?'

  'Lately, I've been wondering that myself.'

  'You sound as though you regret it.'

  Nico stood up and wandered over to the running fountain, feigning to study its miniature relief close up. In truth, he saw nothing.

  'I didn't mean to pry,' she said to his back, reading something in his posture. 'I've just smoked too much weed.' She hesitated, seeking a better explanation. 'You have a way about you, Nico. It draws out words.'

  The fountain really did look like a miniature mountain pool. Nico almost expected to see miniature trout swimming around beneath its surface. 'You're right, though, I do have regrets. Since last night I've been wishing I'd never left Bar-Khos. I know now that this,' and he looked about him, without focus, 'this is hardly any way to live. As a killer in the making. You know, I'd almost forgotten what I was learning to be, back at the monastery. I was so occupied with doing well. Today though, it stares me right in the face.'

  Serese joined him, by his side. He could see her reflection in the water.

  Nico wiped a hand across his face, exhaled into his palm. 'Perhaps I'll be fine once we leave this city,' he said, looking at her, forcing lightness into his tone. 'Tell me. Will you stay here in Q'os, after this is done?'

  'No,' she responded. 'I'll have to move on, for my own safety.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'I was thinking, with the money I've saved… I think I'll travel for a while, and see Mercia again while it's still free. It's been some years since I left the islands and I hear it's safe enough for a woman to travel alone.' Her voice held a smile in it now. 'And I'll relax, and take life as it comes, and carry only those things that will fit into my pack. Simple and carefree. That sounds like a fine plan to me, just now.'

  'It does,' agreed Nico, and in his voice there was a tone of longing that surprised even himself. Yes, it sounded a wondrous thing to do, to hitch a pack and travel across the islands of the Free Ports.

  For a moment he enjoyed a fantasy of undertaking such a venture with this girl as his companion, living each fresh day without fear or threat to his life. He glowed with inner warmth at the thought of it, as unreal as it might be.

  'Then come with me,' she said, a grin on her face. He turned to her, without expression. 'We would be good travelling companions,' she went on, still playing with him. 'I can tell.'

  'We barely know each other.'

  'But we get along, don't we? You can tell these things in the first moment of meeting someone.'

  'Please,' he said, 'enough.'

  'Oh, you don't like the sound of it.' And she pulled a face.

  'I think, right now, I would give anything to be able to do just that.'

  The smile left her eyes. Nico felt the touch of her hand on his arm.

  'Then what keeps you here? You are an apprentice, not a slave.'

  'Because I owe Master Ash a great deal, that's why. We have… an arrangement, and I will not break it.'

  'You think he would not release you, if he knew your true wishes?'

  'I don't know what he would do,' replied Nico. 'He would feel wronged, at the very least.'

  'Nico…' She sighed. 'Ash is a good man. You underestimate him. I have watched him when he and you are together. He cares for you.'

  Nico stiffened, loosing her hand from his arm. 'I doubt that. He tolerates me, yes. Mostly though he avoids my company when he can.'

  Softly, she said, 'For one so canny, you have something of a blind spot.'

  He did not understand what she meant by that.

  'It's his way to be reserved. Even those who have known him for a long time he keeps at arm's length. He has suffered much, Nico. All the old farlanders have. I think, even though he would deny it, he fears the pain of further loss in his life.'

  Nico did not respond, and the sound of th
e splashing water filled the little garden instead. It had grown cool, meanwhile, so that he shivered, and realized that a dampness had taken to the air. Already, he could see hints of his own breath clouding before his eyes.

  'It's getting cold,' he said.

  'A fog comes,' she replied.

  'Fog? Now? This place has some strange weather.'

  'It's from the mountains on the mainland. We'd better head back if we do not wish to freeze.'

  Nico took one last lingering look at the roof garden, and then he turned his back on it, forcing a smile on to his face. He said: 'Master Ash has a story about freezing. I will tell you it on our way back.'

  *

  The room offered a bleak welcome when he at last returned to the hostalio. It had taken his last remaining coin to open the door, and Nico fumbled in darkness within the washbasin for any remaining quarters that might still be lying at the bottom of it. He found one, fortunately, and used it to turn on the gas lamp. He then settled down on the top bunk with the thin blanket wrapped about him, thinking of the past few hours while his body slowly warmed itself.

  Ash returned in the evening, seeming even more weary than before. The old man bumped against the washbasin as though he did not even see it.

  Another headache, thought Nico.

  Ash merely grunted at him as he lay himself upon the lower bunk. Nico wondered what he had been doing all day, and considered asking him outright, but Ash would most likely tell him to be quiet. Besides, he had other, more urgent, questions to press upon him.

  'It is a cold night,' the old man said at last.

  'Freezing.'

  'Have you eaten yet?'

  Nico realized he had not. 'No, but I'm not hungry. This place robs me of any desire for food.'

  With care the old man raised himself from the bed. He rifled through his pack and pulled out some oatcake wrapped in wax paper.

  'Master Ash…' Nico began, and waited for the old man to face him.

  Ash offered him the oatcake. 'Eat,' he commanded, though Nico only shook his head.

  'Master Ash, I wish to ask you something.'

  'Then ask it.'

  Nico took a deep breath, gathering his courage. 'I've been wondering. I'm not so certain I'm cut out for this – to be Rshun.'

  Ash blinked, as though he was having trouble focusing. He tore off the wrapping and bit off a chunk of the oatcake himself, still not taking his eyes from Nico.

  In a torrent, the words tumbled from Nico's lips. 'I don't know if I have it in me. This work… it's worse than I expected it to be. And last night…' He shook his head. 'To fight as a soldier, to defend my homeland, perhaps that's one thing, but I'm not so certain of this.'

  'Nico,' said the old man gently, his cheek stuffed with oatcake, 'if you do not wish to be my apprentice any longer, then tell me so, and I will settle things with you now so you may go home.'

  Nico jerked upright. 'But what of our bargain?'

  'You have seen it through as best you could. You have worked hard, and faced danger. Simply say the word. I will take you to the docks right now and find you a berth on a ship. You can stay onboard tonight, and by morning you can be sailing away from here. I will not hold it against you. I would do the same myself, if I could.'

  Serese had been right, he realized. This was a good man.

  Ash wrapped up the rest of the cake and turned away, fumbling to stow it back in his pack.

  'Do you wish to leave?' came the old man's words, absently, his back still to Nico.

  Nico gazed down at the farlander. The old man seemed almost frail tonight in his weariness. The way he stood, slightly slumped over the pack, not moving, not even breathing it seemed, as he waited for a reply.

  Ash's question hung in the air gathering in volume, creating a distance between them; they were strangers to each other in that moment, separated by diverging paths.

  It came to Nico in a flash. You're dying.

  He blinked at the old man, reflecting on the headaches, the constant use of the dulce leaves, the urge to take on an apprentice. Ash was ill, and knew it was only going to get worse for him.

  It was suddenly too much for Nico. He thought: I will never be able to live with myself, not for a second, if I leave this sick old farlander here, in this awful place, alone.

  'No master,' he heard himself say. 'I think this city is just getting to me, that's all.'

  Ash remained a moment with his back turned to him, his shoulders swelling as he took a fresh breath.

  When he turned around, the distance between them vanished; once again they were returned to their familiar roles of master and apprentice.

  'You should get some sleep,' suggested Ash. 'It will be a long day tomorrow. We can speak more in the morning, if you wish.'

  Nico lay down, his head propped on one arm. Ash assumed his meditation position on the floor. There he breathed silently, his eyes fixed on a particular spot on the door.

  Nico gazed at the ceiling, not more than two feet above his head. He studied the cracks in the plaster, the warm light flickering against them, the dark patches where damp had taken hold. He listened to the occasional clatter of coins as they tumbled within the walls, deposited in the floors above, and finding their long way down the collection chutes to some secure vault in the hostalio basement far below.

  He wondered how long the old man had left to him. It must be a disease of some kind, something terminal.

  Nico would stay with him, despite his own doubts. Even though he knew this was really, a decision based on loyalty and compassion, rather than any real desire to remain.

  When he fell asleep a short time later, he dreamed of burying the old man next to the grave he had made for Boon. Serese was there, too. She spoke some words over the grave. Nico himself was silent: in place of a speech he lay the old man's sword against the packed earth. When they turned and walked away from the site, he felt a mixture of sadness and relief. It was as though with every step the heaviness in his stomach lightened.

  He and Serese carried packs on their backs. For an eternal time after that, Nico dreamed that they were travelling together, carefree and in love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Ensnared The sun sank fast in these mountains. By late afternoon the shadows they cast were already pooling into a bleak onset of twilight.

  The column of Commandos made camp by a clear stream. They had been travelling hard for a full day now, on foot mostly, since they had left their zels in the coastal foothills along with a few of their men. Mules carried the heaviest of their baggage, more footsure in these mountains than the heavy thoroughbreds they had left behind. Purchased in Cheem Port with their imperial coin, men were unloading them now, mostly items of food and small disassembled pieces of artillery. Orders, when necessary, were given by silent hand gestures from the officers, who were distinguished only by the insignia of rank tattooed on their temples.

  One by one the last of the purdas returned. These were the elite scouts of the imperial army, named after the hooded cloaks they wore, which were camouflaged with breaks of colour and featherings of grass and foliage. Each was accompanied by a large wolfhound, bred for this work. The purdas reported the surrounding area to be clear.

  Regardless, a double ring of sentries was posted around the camp, squatting hidden from sight in their improvised hides. No fires were lit. The men's shelters were sheets of speckled canvas propped on sticks, each a lean-to just large enough for a man to crawl underneath and stay dry from any rainfall.

  The Commandos worked smoothly and with little supervision. Their colonel, chewing on a plug of tarweed as he watched from the centre of the camp, gave a satisfied grunt before he left his men to it.

  He headed away from the periphery of the camp towards the kneeling form of the Diplomat.

  'This is it, then?' he asked gruffly, as he knelt beside the berry bush the young man was scrutinizing so closely.

  Che continued to stare down at the bush. He was dressed in simple leather arm
our beneath a heavy cloak of dyed grey wool. He wrapped it tighter about himself, and replied, 'It is.'

  Cassus, the colonel, drew one of the black berries towards him, still on its branch. 'It looks remarkably like a skull,' he observed of the white markings upon it. 'I wouldn't wish to put such a thing in my mouth.'

  'I don't eat it. I prepare it correctly, and smear some of the juice on my forehead. It is lethal to use it any other way.'

  The colonel held the berry for a moment longer then released it, causing the small bush to quiver. Cassus stood and considered the man by his side. Che did not look up.

  'When will you take it?'

  Some faint expression flickered across Che's face, and was gone before it could be read. Again Cassus wondered what was troubling him.

  The colonel liked to think of himself as a perceptive man. He knew this guide of theirs was struggling with something, some concern that was only worsening as they grew nearer to their goal. He does not wish to be doing this, Cassus often found himself thinking.

  'In the morning,' announced Che. 'The men will meanwhile need their rest. There's no telling how fast I may travel, or over what kind of terrain.'

  'And you will be truly delirious the entire time?'

  Che's lips parted, showing teeth. 'Entirely out of my skull.'

  The colonel did not like that, and he said as much. But he had complained before about this aspect of their mission, and the Diplomat had no further reassurances for him now. The man offered nothing but silence: it was not his concern.

  Cassus turned and surveyed the camp, where the men had almost finished their preparations. Already, some were hunkering down beside their lean-tos to chew on their dried rations or talk quietly amongst themselves. Others had stripped off to bathe in the stream.

  They had numbered eighty-two when they had first set out from Q'os: the colonel and eight squads of ten men each, a full company in all; plus one more to their number, this strange Diplomat sent to them from High Command. Two of the men had fallen ill during the voyage and therefore had remained on the ship; two more had been left behind to look after the zels; another had wrenched his ankle on the hike up into the mountains. Such losses were less than the colonel might have expected. That left him with seventy-seven men in all: not quite four platoons.