A smile sprang to Alant’s face, and at first he did not understand. Thinking about it, he came to the realization that he did not see this man as a superior. Alant was not even sure if he saw the man as an equal. “And good morn to you, Witlan.” A momentary look of shock passed over Singe’s features when he realized he had not been addressed with any honorific. This made Alant smile all the more. “I hope you are well?”
The Sier cleared his throat and adjusted his robes. “Aye. Aye, I am well. And you?”
Movement past the Sier caught Alant’s eye and he noticed two Hobbswords standing a few paces away. Anger welled up in him at the thought of once again being forced into something, and he frowned at them. “I have been better. Or, mayhaps it is closer to the truth to say that I have never felt so good. I am undecided.” Returning his attention to his plate, he forked a slice of ham and shoveled it into his mouth while keeping an eye on the Hobbswords.
Shifting his feet, Sier Singe cleared his throat once more. “Aye. Well. I…I am glad to hear that.” He placed a hand upon Alant’s shoulder. “Now, son. The Grand Master wants to see you. There are a great many questions surrounding you. Not the least of which is how you came to be here so soon after word arrived from Mocley that you had died in Hath’oolan.”
The anger that Alant felt roared into an inferno at the man’s touch. Memories of two Gralets marching him down the hall at the behest of their master—marching him to his doom—fueled this fire. He would never again be someone’s puppet! Letting the Sight of the Essence fall upon him, he cut his eyes at Singe. “Remove. Your. Hand.” Each word was said individually through clenched teeth.
And remove it, the Sier did. Jerked it away would be a more precise description. The man stumbled back, a look of outright terror filling him, and he nearly fell over his own robes in his haste to distance himself from Alant. A gasp escaped one of the Hobbswords—the younger of the two, Alant assumed, since the man recoiled away toward the door. The older one stepped forward, drawing his sword.
Alant did not react, or at least he did not think of reacting. However, as he leapt to his feet, a thin, blue-white arc of lightning leapt from his hand and struck the sword of the Shaper’s Guard. The lightning did not hold a lot of energy—Alant had only a moment to pull any in—still, it was enough to cause the man to yelp out in pain, his sword clanging as it hit the wooden floor.
There was a moment of silence before the younger Hobbsword screamed at the top of his lungs and ran out the main door. This was followed by the screams of the young girls behind Alant—though their screams seemed very similar to that of the young Hobbsword. The clatter of feet and the door to the kitchen banging open quickly followed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw girls pushing and shoving each other in their haste to vacate the room.
He jabbed a finger at the remaining Hobbsword when the man made a move to retrieve his blade. “You will leave that where it is!” The man froze. Turning back to Singe, Alant let the Sight fall from him, though he knew his eyes would still glow for several moments. “I do not think I wish to speak with the Grand Master at this time. Or any Shaper. Now, go!”
“What…What has happened to you?” Fear lay thick on the Sier’s tongue. “How did you—”
“I said, GO!”
Neither man needed anymore encouragement. The Hobbsword waited just long enough at the door to allow the Sier to catch him up. Then both men were gone. A shuddering breath escaped Alant’s lungs and his shoulders drooped.
“That is not the manners I taught my boys.”
His mother’s voice made Alant flinch. It held the same tone it had when she caught him and Siln with the redberry pie behind the house when he was seven. Turning, he was relieved to find that she stood alone. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, unexpectedly, Alant began to cry. Before he could collapse back onto the bench, his mother embraced him. She held him close as he sobbed into her chest. “Shh. It will be all right.” She stroked his hair until he regained control of himself once more.
Pulling away to arms length, he gave her a weak smile. “I think I have to leave now. I cannot stay here any longer.”
She did not look convinced. “Where will you go?”
“Mocley. I need to see Sier Sarlimac, my old instructor.” He had not realized he had made the decision. Yet, it made sense. If he could trust anyone, it was Sarlimac. He could not stay here now, that was certain. Singe would tell the other Shapers what had happened and they would be back in greater numbers. They would force him to go with them and he was in no mood to be forced into anything ever again.
His mother eyed him for several more moments. “First one son, now the other. Your papa will not be pleased if you leave without saying goodbye. Stay for lastmeal. You can leave on the morrow.”
Letting his eyes wander to the sword that still lay on the floor, he shook his head. “Nix, Ma. I am afraid that if I do not leave now, I may not be able to leave at all.” He let out another long breath, though this one felt stronger. “I will go and grab a few things from my room. I can see Papa on my way out.”
His mother nodded before releasing him. “I will gather enough food to see you to Mocley. See me in the kitchen when you are ready.” With that, she turned and left.
With one last glance at the sword lying on the floor, Alant ran out of the dining hall and up the stairs to his bedroom. Throwing the lid of the chest open, he grabbed his old shoulder sack and thrust all his clothes into it. His hunting knife and waterskin followed, as well as an extra pair of work boots. Basically, everything he had left behind when he headed for Mocley the first time. On his initial trip, the Shaper’s Order had provided everything he needed, including new clothes in the form of Initiate robes. This trip would not start with as much fanfare as the last. He hoped he could get outside of the stead gates before they raised the alarm.
Throwing the pack over his shoulder, Alant glanced around the room. There was nothing else. He had lived in this room for seventeen winters and all he had to show for it was slung over his back.
It really is life one step above slavery.
A pang of guilt hit him at the thought of how his family lived. Yet, that was life on a stead. You grew up, worked your duty, lived out your final winters surrounded by your family and loved ones, then passed into the Aftermore. A small part of him wanted to walk such a simple path once more. Another part realized he would never have the opportunity again. He wished things were different.
If wishes were gold and rainbows could be sold, we would live like kings until we grew old!
He laughed out loud at the thought of the old children’s rhyme. Forcing himself to action, he stepped out of his tiny room and raced back to the kitchen.
His mother met him at the door, a large sack of her own in her hand. “I think it best if you leave by the side door. The girls are still a bit shaken after what they saw.” She held out the sack. “There should be enough food here to see you to Mocley. Or, at least it will if you do not dawdle along the way.”
With a grunt, he took the sack from his mother. It felt as if she had stuffed an entire sheep’s carcass into it. Adding it to the other over his shoulder, he turned and headed down the hall toward the side door.
“Alant Cor! You have lost all your manners if you think you are leaving here without so much as a word fare well.” Turning, he stared at his mother, hands on hips and foot tapping as if there was not a concern other than him behaving as he should.
“Ma.” The fact that the word came out more of a whine than a statement affirmed that events had unnerved him more than he was willing to admit. Setting down his packs, he crossed back to his mother and gave her a hug. “I am not sure how long I will be gone. Once I figure out what the Elmorians have done to me, and mayhaps how I can mend it, I will return.”
She cupped his chin in her hand and forced him to look her in the eye. “You have alw
ays been strong, Alant. And you have always made me proud. Whatever has happened to you, know you will always have a home here. Neither Shaper nor Elmorian can ever take that away from you.”
It is more than that, Ma. More than you can even know.
He could not voice to her what raced through his mind, so he gave her a smile he hoped looked convincing. “I love you, Ma.”
She embraced him once more. “I love you too, son.” After a brief, tight squeeze, she pushed him away and wiped a sleeve across her eyes. Reaching into her apron pocket, she withdrew two ta’narians. “Here.” She placed them into Alant’s hand.
He stared at them, astonished. Never had he seen so much coin. “Where…?” It must have been her and Papa’s life savings. He thrust the coins back. “Nix, Ma. I cannot take these.”
Shaking her head, she closed his fingers around the coin. “That is more than we could spend in a lifetime here. Your Papa told Arderi that when he gave it to us.”
This struck Alant harder than seeing the coins. “Arderi? He gave you these!”
Nodding, his mother giggled. “It seems that they are not as valuable in the city as they are here. You will need them more than us.” Her giggle turned into a laugh. “Besides, we cannot even find anyone who can give us change for them.” She smiled. “Now, go. If you feel the Shapers here will give you trouble, you need to be outside the walls before they know you have gone.”
Shoving the coins into his pocket, Alant returned to his packs and slung them back over his shoulder. “I will come back, Ma. I promise.” Lifting the handle on the door, he stepped out into the alleyway between the public houses and made his way to the fielder’s gate.
With a few odd looks from the guarders as he inquired after which field the men of his house were working, he passed out of his home stead. As happy as he was to be home, he had not realized that a knot had formed in his chest until it relaxed once the walls of the stead dropped out of sight behind him.
I could not have stayed. Even without the Shapers meddling. It is past time for me to figure out what has happened to me. And mayhaps find a way to help Shaith get off the isle of Elmorr’eth at the same time.
Walking down the main gravel road, Alant took one of the side trails about half an aurn distance from the stead. The sun sat high and a brisk cool breeze blew through the surrounding countryside. The small copses of trees, their leaves beginning to turn shades of orange and red and brown, swayed along with the remaining crops of wheat. They had turned yellow, indicating they were ready to harvest. Winter approached. Before it came, the last of the wheat fields would be harvested and made ready for the winter season. Topping a rise, he saw wagons sitting in an already harvested field and men working a field that was nearly bare of crop. Two mounted guarders came trotting up, and despite his best efforts, a lump of fear rose to Alant’s throat.
Be at ease, now. There is no way these guarders could have heard anything yet.
“Well met.” The guarder was young and Alant did not recognize him nor his companion.
“Well met. I am here to speak with my papa, Tanin Cor.”
A smile spread across the young guarder’s face. “Ah! You must be Alant, then. He has often spoken of you. I was gladdened to learn that no ill had befallen you.” Waving a hand to the far side of the field, he pointed. “Tanin is over there.”
Shifting his packs, Alant inclined his head. “My thanks to you.” He then headed in the direction indicated, though he did not go far before he saw his papa jogging over to meet him.
When they came together, Alant let his packs slip from his shoulder. A worried look from Tanin held his tongue, giving the older man the opportunity to speak first. “Is everything all right, son?”
Trying to form his words so as not to worry the man, Alant nodded. “Aye, Papa. Though I am afraid if I do not leave now, it may not be.”
Tanin glanced over Alant’s shoulder at the two guarders who still sat on their horses near the wagons. “Tell me.”
“A Shaper came to the house this morn and wanted me to attend the Grand Master. I—I chose not to go with him.”
A grim look warred with one of pain on his papa’s face and he eyed the packs at Alant’s feet. “Aye. It may be best that you leave, at that.” He pointed to the sacks on the ground. “Did your Ma make one of those?” At Alant’s nod, he continued. “Well, I guess she gave you the coin that your brother left then?”
“Aye, Papa. How did Arderi—”
A raised hand from Tanin silenced him. “It is not important at this time.” Glancing back to the guarders, he looked toward the direction of Hild’alan. “If the Shapers have taken an interest in you, my boy, they will not give up easily.” He reached down and picked up one of the packs. “Come. Let us walk and talk.” Heeding his own words, he headed for the trail.
Grabbing the other sack, Alant took a few quick steps to fall in beside his papa. He felt as if he had betrayed his family. As if his being here had brought them trouble, though he did not know what the Shapers would do. “Papa, I am sorry for bringing this upon you and Ma.”
Cutting his eyes at Alant, Tanin grunted. “Where else would you have gone, son?” Again, he raised a hand to forestall an answer. “Listen, you have not offered much of an explanation as to what brought you here, nor have I asked. I do not know what you are running from, and I am not sure if I could help you even if I did. You were meant for much greater things than I. I have always known my place on this Plane, and I am grateful to the gods for what they have given me.” It pained Alant to hear his papa speak so of himself. “I have always known that you—and Arderi, as well—were more. And I also give the gods thanks for that.” His papa fell silent, as if collecting his thoughts. “I just want you to know that your Ma and I are here for you. And we always will be.”
It felt good to hear his papa say that. They had always been close, though these last few winters of separation had brought many changes. “I know, Papa.”
They reached the trail that led back to the main road and Tanin pointed away from Hild’alan. “It will not take them long to figure out you have left the stead. On foot, you have near a tenday trek ahead of you to reach the city. Keep up a good pace until you hit the main roadway to Mocley. Then, keep close to cover if it is available and a good eye to the road behind. Most of the land between here and Mocley is flat, so you should be able to see any group coming long before they see a lone man on foot. Take cover when you do and let them pass.” He held out a hand.
Alant shook it, yet it was not enough. Stepping forward, he embraced his papa. “Thank Ma for me again.” His voice became husky and he cleared his throat. “And tell her not to worry. I will be fine once I can find some answers to what has happened to me.”
Tanin pushed Alant to arms reach. “You just take care of yourself, lad, and let us worry about what we want.” As bad as Alant felt, he was amazed that Tanin smiled. “I am proud of you, son. Truly proud.” Reaching out, he adjusted the packs on Alant’s shoulder. “I know it will be near impossible. Still, when you reach Mocley, see if you can find your brother. The two of you should be together during this. At least then you will both have someone you can trust.”
“I will, Papa.”
Grabbing Alant by the shoulders and turning him around, Tanin pushed him toward the main road. “Get going, you.”
Alant could not help except laugh. Looking over his shoulder, he gave his papa one last grin and started his feet walking.
I just hope the questions I need answers to have answers that I can find.
The tendays that followed kept the Vimith household a buzz of activity. Not a servant was spared in the preparations for the Expedition as many had taken to calling it. Rohann Vimith spent most of his time at his apartments in Mocley, procuring supplies for the several tenday-long journey. Wagonloads of goods and supplies had arrived at the villa for near a moon now. Boxes and crates a
nd jute sacks filled every room not otherwise occupied, even spilling out into the courtyard—those outside covered by large leather tarpaulins to protect them from the elements.
Extra wagons and horses littered the barns and stables out back. Two blacksmiths and a Shaper had taken up temporary residence in the villa while they worked to repair and ready everything for the long trek.
Klain spent most of this time caring for Charver Vimith, as he had since arriving at the villa near five moons gone. The boy-cub kept Klain on his hindpaws through much of the daylight aurns. Racing along on all fours as Charver rode his horse was one of Klain’s favorite pastimes, for it let him revel in the freedom he now enjoyed. Still, a game of Rillball out in the yard or exploring the wooded areas that surrounded the villa were also pleasurable. He even tolerated playing board games—stones and Barca being the two Charver asked for most.
The one thing Klain regretted was that he had not spoken with Timms yet. It was as if the Human was avoiding him. Well, avoiding him more than usual. Klain felt sure the man did not believe he had been forgiven for his past transgressions. Even Klain had to admit letting the Human off so easily for trying to sell him back into slavery surprised him. Still, in his mind, Timms had redeemed himself by risking his life for the boy-cub, and that was good enough for Klain.
This morn, however, his young charge was with his tutor, and Klain was determined to find Timms and have a few words with the man. Figuring that the old bodyguard would be behind the main barn practicing swords with his men, this is where Klain headed.
The ring of steel on steel reverberated through the air. Not the high-pitched ting of hammer striking anvil, as was so prominent this past tenday. It was the lower clang of steel dampened by hands gripping hilts. Rounding the corner of the barn, he saw a group of eight Humans standing around talking. Two more men were in the middle of the group holding blunt practice swords. Timms, his bald head dripping sweat, crouched in a defensive position, as Lith, a stout barrel of a man, rocked back and forth from foot to foot, spinning his practice sword like a baton.
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