by Tim Mathias
The cleric produced a small, black pouch cinched shut with string and held it out to Osmun. “Take this… please.”
Osmun hesitated before taking the pouch from Egus’ open hand. “What is it?” he asked as he undid the string.
“Something to give you some peace. You deserve some peace, not the horrors that await you if you are captured.” Inside the pouch, in the light of the nearby candles, was a familiar-looking leaf.
Black thornleaf.
Osmun looked into Egus’s pleading eyes and saw them become glassy with tears.
“You think I’m this desperate?” Osmun muttered as he let the pouch drop to the floor. Egus’ opened his mouth to speak but he struggled to find words.
“You… you are this desperate! Can you not see it? You would see it if you could see yourself! You’re half-starved and half-mad, nearly crippled and wholly destitute.”
“You want me dead?”
“Osmun…” Egus slowly leaned forward, his bushy grey eyebrows arched in concern, and placed his hands around one of Osmun’s. “You are dead already, and you were the day that Vicar Eldon ordered the Ardent after you. You’ve been drawing your final breaths since that day. I only want you to realize it, and… and take some control of it. You have this one last thing in your grasp – your life – and they’re ready to snatch it away from you and squeeze it and smash it. Don’t let them have it. Don’t let them take this one last thing from you.”
Osmun slowly pulled his hand away from Egus’s. “Have you said all you’ve come to say?”
Egus nodded once.
“Then leave me alone.”
“I told you he was stubborn,” Oridus said as he walked back and helped Egus to his feet. “Too stubborn to see the plainness of his plight.”
“Wait, wait,” Egus said. “The, uh… what I brought. Leave it with him.”
Oridus nodded and produced a leather water skin and set it on the stool. “It’s wine. Thought you might need it given the state you’re in.”
“Thank you, Orry,” Osmun said.
“It’s the last thing you’ll have to be thankful for. I mean that.” They turned to leave and, as they neared the door, Osmun spoke again.
“Orry… the owner of this place… he hasn’t done anything wrong, and he’s not an enemy of the faith. He’s just offered me shelter. I had to beg him, and… I promised him he was in no danger.”
“If you mean to keep that promise,” Orry said, “then you should leave this place. One way or another.”
The voices returned as soon as they left – he didn’t even hear the door open or shut – and Osmun began to weep almost immediately. He wanted them to come back and talk. They could tell him how low he had become, and he would listen for hours only for the company. He looked down at the spilled pouch on the floor between his feet. Egus did care for him and was probably the last person he knew of that did. The cleric’s words echoed in his mind, nearly becoming lost and indistinguishable in the clamour, yet they remained, refusing to be lost; the words instead started to become more defined. Something gave them contour and definition, and Osmun realized it must be the truth that did so.
He wiped the tears from his eyes and reached for the water skin, removed the cork and smelled the contents. His mouth immediately began to water. How long had it been since he had tasted anything so sweet? The taste of it reminded him of the nights he would spend reading by candlelight or savouring his own accomplishments after cleansing the lands past the border provinces. He had been certain of himself then, assured that he had only just begun to grasp his potential, his true greatness. All of the clerics had known of him by reputation.
They did, still. Only now as a murderer and an enemy of the faith. And, if he did nothing, they would know that he died having his body smashed or torn apart, and the elders who observed his torture would tell of the things they saw and of the things they would make him say. They would make him confess to killing Nestor and for abandoning the faith… perhaps even that he discarded his vows in favour of lusting after an Ivesian shaman.
No. They would have none of that from him, and he would not give them the chance. Osmun picked up the pouch and carefully poured the remainder of its contents into the skin and squeezed it to combine the wine and the leaves.
“Xidius, I pray… I pray that I acted justly, that I acted in service of the truth; that I was not deceived or manipulated. I pray that I will be forgiven for whatever crimes I am truly guilty of, and that this world knows that I am innocent, that the church and the Empire remember me for the things I did in its name, and in its service.”
He raised the skin to his lips, drank until it was empty, then lay back on the cot. Osmun felt a weight lifting from his chest, felt his pain disappearing and felt the voices becoming quiet until they were completely silenced.
Egus was right. The peace in the last moment was the best thing he had ever known, a place he could linger forever; it was without pain, without need or desire. The perfect place for a serenity that was absolute, its only flaw being that it had to end.
And for Osmun, it ended.
Chapter 24
Zayd scanned the trees, trying to see if there were others. “I lost them,” he blurted out, not knowing what else to say. “I lost track of the Dramandi.”
Barrett approached, leaving his warhorse standing behind him, keeping his blade levelled. “Is that so?” he asked, just loud enough to be heard over the water at Zayd’s back. “My guess is you never had them.” The knight pointed to the wheel tracks in the soil. “What’s this?”
Zayd clenched his jaw. What could he say? He doubted Barrett knew exactly what had transpired, but he also knew there was no lie that could be told. Even now the knight looked at him the way he used to – with anger brimming, ready to boil over.
“Why did you go off on your own?” Barrett pressed, stepping closer still. The warrior stood only a few paces from being able to strike him with his sword, and Zayd would have no time to react. “Were you even on your own? None of your kin were missing from the fort. Was it one of them?” Barrett looked around to make sure they were indeed alone there on the precipice. Zayd acted, drawing his blade while the knight was looking away. Barrett saw and reacted just as quickly, raising his sword and taking a step back and adopting a defensive stance. He looked confused.
“Zayd! What… what is this? What are you doing?”
“You’re going to find out, Barrett, but you have to know that I had to… I had to do this. Do you understand?”
Barrett looked again at the tracks, his eyes following them over the edge of the gorge, and he realized. “But… the mariners took it. The mariners took it, didn’t they?”
“No, they didn’t. We couldn’t let anyone take it.”
“That was not your decision to make,” Barrett said, edging closer to Zayd. “And we… who is that? You and who else?”
Zayd backed up, closer to the gorge as Barrett closed distance. “I know what you’re going to think, but –”
“You… you god-cursed liar! It was her! That Dramandi witch, wasn’t it?”
“Listen to me!” Zayd yelled. “I didn’t take it for me or for anyone. I took it because there was evil... sowed within it somehow. She saw it, and so did I.”
“Is that so?” Barrett took another step. “More like she made you some empty promises. What did she say, Zayd? Or was it something she did, hmm?”
Zayd could not stop himself. The thought of Symm. He hurled his sword at Barrett with rage and abandon. The pommel struck Barrett in the head and sent a stream of red down his face instantly, and he sank to his knees, unbalanced.
“Always so ready to blame me just because I wasn’t born the same! I’m not Trueborn, you proud bastard, but if that means I’m not a man like Praene, then so be it! I did this for the Empire, because no one else saw the danger, all they saw was the treasure, and it blinded you –”
The blow took him by surprise. Barrett was on his feet faster than Zayd could r
eact and rammed his fist into Zayd’s sternum. Zayd toppled over, gasping for breath. Barrett wiped blood from his brow and stepped on Zayd’s chest, pinning him in place. “You expect me to believe that? Do you think I’m a fool?”
Zayd shook his head and spoke in between breaths. “Not a fool… it is… unbelievable. Why do you think the Dramandi never unearthed it? They were going to bury it again…… Why have men like Praene been coaxed into treason? Why would soldiers try to fight Talazz?”
“For the gold,” Barrett said. “For simple greed.”
“No… for whoever…whatever… really claims it. That is why…… something has its own design, its own will, and it was using us as servants for its scheme.”
“What scheme?” Barrett asked, pointing the end of his blade inches away from Zayd’s throat.
Zayd finally caught his breath. “Only it knows, Barrett, but… is it not enough for the faithful, for you and I, to know that Xidius commands this kind of darkness is expelled into the Beyond? If it wasn’t this, then it would have gone to Lycernum… and, maybe the clerics could have dealt with it… but I don’t think they would have. It would have used them like it used Vard and Bailern to do its wickedness. There was that chance, Barrett, and even just the chance of it is too much. Just the chance of it is not worth all of the gold that disguises the danger. I would not take that chance, knowing what I know. Would you, Barrett? Would you let abominations desecrate our holy places? The Great Cathedral? Would you allow it to happen and blaspheme in doing so? Tell me you would and kill me, or tell me you would not and let me up.”
Zayd felt the end of the blade on his chest, ready to cut through him with nothing more than Barrett shifting his weight to it...
But the weight lifted, and Barrett drove the end of the sword in the ground next to him and offered Zayd his hand. The knight lifted him to his feet as though he weighed nothing.
“The mariners took a carriage,” Barrett said. “What was it?”
“Unused timber, mostly. And stones to give it weight.”
“They’ll find out once they get to Lycernum, if not sooner. They’ll find out they’ve been deceived. What will you do then? Won’t it lead back to you?”
“It might lead back to Ten Tower, but I doubt it will lead to me.”
“Marinus’ mother,” Barrett said. He looked at his feet and then at the sky. “What am I to do with this? What am I to do with you? You’re a traitor in the eyes of the Empire.”
“The eyes of the Empire do not see what you and I see,” Zayd said. Barrett looked at him with disdain, at least for his reasoning, if not for him altogether, until he at last looked back to the sky.
“This problem is better suited for a general or a high marshal, one who is used to the grey. I am a man of two worlds, two sides: good and evil. This is both and neither.” He looked at Zayd. “I will say nothing and I will do nothing. I will let Xidius decide your fate, which He will. Once the mariners discover what you’ve given them, it will be up to the Beacon what will happen to you. His wisdom, His judgment.”
Zayd tried not to, but he smiled, and he couldn’t stop smiling. “I… I accept.”
“Of course you accept – it was never a choice.”
“Then… I applaud.”
“Yes. I suppose that is fitting.”
Barrett knelt, picked up Zayd’s short sword and handed it back to him.
“What now?” Zayd asked.
“Go back to the fort.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll return. Later. But not with you. You’ve built a house out of lies, and I will not enter into it. You can deal with Walrend yourself, but I won’t have him thinking I’m part of your deception. You tell them we never crossed paths, do you understand?”
Zayd nodded.
“Good. Because that is what I will tell Walrend. I’m not a part of this and I never was, and if you say any differently –”
“I understand,” Zayd said.
Barrett turned his back to Zayd and looked towards the gorge. “Then go. Go back to the fort. I need to pray in silence and solitude,” he said as he sat on the rocks.
Zayd began to leave, but he stopped himself. “Thank you, Barrett.”
The knight didn’t turn around; he just sat motionless. “Wasted words. I haven’t done anything for you.” Zayd walked slowly back the way he had come while looking over his shoulder to see that Barrett was still as he was, and before long he was running through the forest following the path made by the carriage. He couldn’t do anything but run; he had been so close to fighting Barrett and, likely, just as close to death.
It was the joy at new life that was infused in him, what gave him the fire to run as fast as he could. And he kept running, for how long – miles? – he wasn’t sure. He only knew he was not tiring, and maybe he never would. All he could hear was the breeze, his heart, and his steps as he went.
And it was why he was instantly face to face with Talazz without warning. The giant seemed almost as surprised as he was, but Talazz wasted no time in drawing his blade.
“Zayd Cothar…”
Zayd began to back away. “Talazz, no… you can’t… don’t…”
“By the laws of the Ryferian Empire and by the grace of the Holy Emperor Madriceth, you are found guilty of treason.”
“That’s not possible! Talazz, you know I wouldn’t –”
Talazz took slow, heavy strides towards Zayd. “Yet you did. The mariners returned. Walrend knows what you did.”
“What does he know, Talazz? He thinks he knows, thinks he understands but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what is going on!”
“The order has been given, that is the fact. Circumstance matters not. You betrayed your duty, so I do mine.” The giant stopped for a moment and Zayd felt the briefest spring of hope that he was having second thoughts. “You can surrender and plead your case to Walrend.”
“Talazz, you have to listen –”
“Don’t plead it to me. You are returning to the commander. Alive or dead is your choice. Make it.” Talazz tightened his grip on the handle of his menacing greatsword. The muscles in his arms tensed and flexed impossibly, suggesting limitless strength that was about to be unleashed upon Zayd. Countless times he had imagined what the enemy who faced an En Kazyr might feel, and now he knew, and it was more terrifying than he had thought. Talazz was still a full ten strides away but the greatsword looked ready to cut across that distance faster than Zayd could hope to evade it.
“Make your choice!” Talazz boomed, taking a step closer. Zayd jumped. There was no hope of convincing Walrend from beyond this world.
“I yield,” Zayd said as he held his arms out to his sides, his palms facing up. Talazz paused and looked at the Tauthri, either attempting to discern if the surrender was genuine, or contemplating whether the choice for him to return alive should have even been given. The giant grunted and lowered his sword somewhat. “Alright,” he said, his voice as low as distant thunder. “You walk ahead.” He pointed, and Zayd walked. He noticed as they went that the greatsword was still at the ready, its bloodthirsty tip only a foot, at most, from touching him. If he stopped walking suddenly Talazz could easily impale him.
The forest was different somehow than when he had ridden through it with Sera just hours before. It was menacing, Zayd thought, where before it had been hopeful. But that was just in his mind, and he told himself that the forest was not menacing, and had not been hopeful. It was indifferent. It had nothing wagered on him, and did not care if he lived or died. Was it the same everywhere? Surely not in Tauth, where their old gods had smiled on them through the stars and the trees. Before they gave them up. Home… now so far, so close not long ago.
He heard the kisolark’s song and shook his head to snap himself out of his daydream.
No… it wasn’t a daydream.
He heard the quick-breath sound of the arrow and the giant’s grunt almost at the same time, and, without thinking, ran off the path into the dense protect
ion of the trees.
“Are you hurt, vahr?” Tascell called out in Tauthral.
“Who speaks?” Talazz yelled. “Come out!” He began walking, surprisingly fast, after Zayd.
Zayd pressed his back to a large tree, hoping that Talazz had lost sight of him already. “I’m fine. What’s going on? Why are you here?”
“I came to warn you not to return to the fort, but I can see I’m late.” He heard another arrow take flight. The giant grunted again.
“I hope you have enough arrows to bring him down.”
“There isn’t a quiver large enough, but I have enough to distract him while you escape.”
Zayd looked from around the tree to see Talazz turn around and ran in the direction of where the last arrow had been loosed. It was his chance…
So he ran.
He heard a loud crash, as if a hundred trees were felling, and looked over his shoulder. Talazz had swung, was swinging again, and trees were falling all around him. Tascell emerged from the collapse, running as fast as he could, but the giant was close on his heels, not letting him gain any distance.
Zayd drew his blade and veered left to approach Talazz from the side, out of his peripheral view.
“Zayd, go! Get away!”
Talazz swung again as Zayd closed in and buried his blade in the giant’s leg behind the knee. The giant roared out, not in pain – in anger. He twisted and fell, and Zayd lost his grip on the blade, so he kept running, circling back to where he thought Tascell might be.
There was blood on the leaves everywhere. “Tascell!” Zayd hissed. He heard coughing and the sound of Talazz slowly getting back to his feet.
“Come out!” the giant yelled so loud it seemed to rattle the trees. Tascell was sitting, almost laying, behind a fallen tree trunk, his bow resting on his lap. Zayd knelt beside him.
“Were you struck?” Zayd whispered. Tascell was gripping his right side, and he gave Zayd a weak smile. “I think I was,” he said. He moved his hand and blood poured out everywhere. The cut must have cut clean through his ribs, and even as Zayd realized the extent of the injury, Tascell was becoming pale and short of breath.