“You too.” He took a last look at the home of his childhood and then spurred his horse forward, towards the home of his adolescence. He wondered where the home of his adulthood would be.
He followed the column of Westlanders until they turned onto the road that led west to continue their interrupted journey. Coran left the road behind, he traversed the foothills by way of a trail he knew well from hunting with his father when he was a boy. It took until the next day for him to reach the lower lands to the south and the beginning of the Sun Plain. Farms began to appear and villages came more frequently. He met the road to Whent that afternoon, the miles passed more quickly after that.
Coran felt invigorated as the land changed the further he rode. Oaks and maples replaced the evergreens of the higher elevations and brown grass became a healthy green. The air smelled of warmth and life. The world’s transformation wasn’t the only reason for his lightheartedness. There was an enormous sense of freedom that came with being on the open road and having no urgent need to be anywhere.
Three days later he saw the walled city of Whent. At least four times as large as Tyelin, it still could not compare with Summerhall. There was still a lot of daylight left so he decided to bypass the place rather than ride through.
He stopped for the night at a solidly built, two story inn, in a good sized village called Wyndham. There was maybe an hour of daylight left, but he was tired and wanted a decent meal for a change. Although his skill at cooking was not bad, there was a limited variety of food for traveling.
He gave his horse over to a squat faced boy by the stable at the side of the building. Coran tossed a silver piece to the boy who snatched it out of the air, then held it up in the light and stared at it in wonder. Coran doubted that the kid had ever been given a whole silver before for taking care of one horse.
“Take good care of him for me,” he told the boy after he slid from the saddle. He unstrapped the saddlebags and tossed them over his shoulder. “Have him ready for me in the morning. By dawn.”
“Yes sir,” the boy answered excitedly as he started to lead the horse away. “I’ll give him the stall at the end. It’s the best.” .
“I would appreciate that.” Coran turned on his heel and walked to the front of the inn. A sign hung above the door with the picture of a man carrying a pack. Below that were the words ‘Traveler’s Inn’.
The dim common room was about half full of a variety of people. Several plain dressed men surrounded one rectangular table eating and talking raucously. Another table held a man and a woman, both well dressed, she in silk which could only be found in certain places in the east. At a third table sat one man richly dressed with ornate rings on his fingers and a plumpness to him that indicated soft living. With him were two well-armed, menacing men who were obviously hired guards. Coran caught sight of one of their sword hilts and the white piece of cord tied to it. The man was a free sword, and a good one by the color of the ribbon. Coran took a seat at one of the empty tables and motioned to a young, thin serving girl with dark hair and eyes.
“What can I get for you, sir?” she asked him respectfully, taking in his clothes.
He noted that the plump man was eating what looked like pheasant while the men who guarded his life ate a plain brown stew. Either the man was cheap or they preferred simpler food. Coran found that the first reason usually proved to be true.
“I will have the stew.”
If a man dressed as well as he was ordering something so common surprised her it didn’t show except for a slight pause before she spoke. “Anything to drink?”
“Ale will be fine.” He actually preferred wine, but he already started with the simple food so why not the poorer drink?
She scurried away with his order. While he waited two newcomers took a table across the room. One was tall with short, pale yellow hair that was almost white, the other man was shorter but more thickly muscled and a patch covered his left eye. They surveyed the others in the room until the white haired man’s eyes stopped on Coran. They were thoughtful as they studied him, then recognition took over and the man smirked shrewdly. Coran had a sudden feeling of dread. He was sure he had never met either of them before and wondered why a total stranger would seem to know him.
Thunk. Thunk. The sounds announced the arrival of his dinner. Pieces of beef, carrots and potatoes were mixed up in a brown sauce. He took a spoonful and was pleasantly surprised. It was expertly spiced. For modest fare it was delicious. The ale had a fruity taste to it, maybe apple, and he found it quite good. He knew a man in Tyelin who brewed his own Ale and dropped apple slices in the barrels for the taste. Perhaps the rich man was not as stingy as he had thought.
A commotion made everyone look up from their plates. The serving girl hurried away from the two laughing men who had taken such an interest in him. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, and on the verge of tears.
A moment later a man with gray hair on the sides of his head and bald on the top came from the kitchen wearing a spotted apron and waving a thick finger at the two men. “Get out!” the man shouted at the them. “This is a respectable establishment. We don’t put up with that kind of behavior here.” When the rude men made no sign of leaving he raised a fist threateningly. “Go on or I’ll call the town watch.”
They stood slowly and the one with a patch put a hand on the hilt of his sword. The threat of violence hung suspended in the air. Coran shifted his position on the chair in preparation to stand if it became necessary. White hair whispered to his companion and the man removed his hand from his sword. They smiled at Coran as they passed him on the way to the door.
The innkeeper watched them leave with narrowed eyes. He turned to the patrons still sitting, his expression changed from angry to servile. “Accept my apology good sirs. This is a respectable place I run it is. There will be no more interruptions I assure you.” He waited to see if anyone cared to disagree, but with the situation back to normal the patrons returned to eating. Wiping his hands on the white apron tied around his waist he returned to the back where the kitchen had to be.
The girl reappeared by his table. “That will be eight. Six for the stew and two for the ale.” Eight coppers was a steal for a meal of that quality. Coran handed her two silvers. He liked to pay what things were worth when he could. She stared at the coins in her hand for a moment before placing them in a pocket of her apron. She smiled at him gratefully.
“Anything else I can get for you?”
“Your name would be nice.”
She pushed a stray hair back behind her ear. “Callie.”
“Actually, I could use a room for the night, Callie.”
“Have you been traveling long?” she asked him, obviously curious.
“Only a few days,” he answered. “About that room?”
“Of course,” she said, a bit flustered. “I just like to hear about other places. I’ve never been anywhere else.” Then her face appeared worried. “I hope that I haven't offended you, Sir?”
“No.” He tried to make his voice as reassuring as possible. “It is just that I am tired.”
She nodded and told him that when he was done eating someone would show him to a room. True enough, after he cleaned his plate and downed the last of the ale, the girl led him up some stairs to the first door on the right of the second floor hallway. She left him alone in the modest room that contained only a bed and a washstand. He cleaned his face and hands with water from a pitcher on the stand. Then he removed his clothes, blew out the lantern beside the bed and crawled between the sheets. He drifted off thinking of a man with nearly white hair and a familiar image of a woman’s face he couldn’t make out clearly.
Chapter 2
A Blue Scarf
A sea of grass ran off to the north and south as far as the eye could see. This was the portion of the Sun Plain where cattle grazed under the watchful eyes of mounted herdsmen. It took him two days to cross the unbroken landscape and reach the hills that bordered the Greenriver
like a rumpled carpet. The noontime sun was warm enough for Coran to remove his heavy cloak and stuff it into one of the leather packs tied behind his saddle.
He spotted a pond by the side of the road and decided to stop. He couldn’t resist the placid water that reflected nearby trees with budding leaves and a puffy white cloud that transgressed the sapphire sky above. Birds, oblivious to his presence, chirped freely and swirled about one another in a ritual of spring as old as life itself. The place was so alive with wildlife and foliage, yet so calming, he had to dismount and stay for a while.
He watered his horse at the pool then let the animal wander a little ways to find fresh grass while he sat with his back resting against the trunk of a tree. The sun was warm on his face. The wind, warm compared to what it was like further north, ruffled his short hair. He closed his eyes and tried to sense what was around him.
Master Gelarus taught that there was power in nature, a power that was a part of everything. The wind, the earth, life, water, people, even a grain of sand was part of that power. It was further taught that some people could use that power, some more, some less. In every town you could find someone with an uncanny ability to predict the weather, or a healer who made near miraculous cures at one time or another. Gelarus said that they were the people who didn’t believe, themselves, that they had any power. They would never learn the full extent of who they were. Then there were those who believed. Far fewer in number, they were trained by someone skilled in the arts of using Naturus. That’s what Gelarus called the power. Those people usually went to Herrinhall, a city far to the north, where the wizards studied. Gelarus told him that wizard wasn’t the proper term since he considered himself a student of nature and far from wise, but nobody was fooled by the man’s modesty. Gelarus seemed to know something about everything.
Coran sat under the tree’s limbs and tried to touch that power, to sense something beyond what his normal senses could perceive. He could feel a rabbit test the air for danger with its nose and he knew a mosquito hovered above the surface of the pond. A hawk flew high above, its wings spread as it rode the winds searching for any movement on the ground with its keen eyesight. He realized those things were there and what they did, but that was as far as he usually got. He could sense nothing beyond a certain point, maybe ten yards or so. Gelarus informed him that very few people could sense that much, and insisted that Coran could learn more no matter how many times he had failed. For the first time he did see something else. It was elusive but he got the impression of a woman’s face. It wasn’t the woman who occupied his dreams though, this one was different. Then it was gone.
He opened his eyes. One look to the sky told him that more time had passed than he thought. He rose to his feet and brushed himself off before retrieving his mount. He led the animal to the pool for a last drink before leaving. As the horse drank he thought of the two faces in his mind. The one that had been in his dreams was a faceless shape. He knew it was a woman, but that was all. Whenever he tried to look at it more closely the dream ended and he woke. The face he saw today was clear, yet the image had been brief. Too brief to remember anything besides the fact that he didn’t recognize her. The horse’s whicker brought him out of his thoughts.
He rode until the last light of the sun faded from the sky, then made a simple camp under the stars. He thought he should reach Summerhall by midmorning. Because of his eagerness it was quite a while before he was able to sleep.
Katelyn Sundarrion dressed for the day in a simple blue dress. It was long sleeved and had a high neckline in the conservative fashion of Midia. She held back her black hair with her left hand and picked up a blue silk scarf from her dresser top with the right. She used the scarf to tie back her hair as she had done countless times before. If it wasn’t in her hair it was up her sleeve or in a pocket. She had kept it with her every day since it was given to her as a going away present. It was a reminder of the young man who had been such a part of her life, and as long as she had it with her, she believed that someday he would return. It was a child’s foolishness she knew, but she needed something to believe in.
She had changed quite a bit in the last year and more. That much was obvious by the stares of young men who now showered her with their attentions. She wasn’t the same gawky girl who preferred swords and horses over dresses because she believed that she could never equal her sister in grace or beauty. It was her sister who had proved her wrong. Margery had taken her aside after he left and pointedly informed her that it was time she grew up. So she had placed herself in her mother’s delighted hands and with Margery’s help learned how to be a lady. Not that she gave up sparring with Hormil, the arms master, or her father when she could steal one of them away for a time.
A knock on the door preceded a beautiful young woman in a yellow dress, her golden hair hung loosely about her shoulders. “Did you hear?” Margery asked.
“Hear what?” Katelyn replied, unsurprised at her sister’s entry. They routinely walked in on each other as sisters who were close normally did.
Margery was looking at her dress. “Blue? I haven’t seen you in anything blue except that scarf in months.” She was prying for an answer, otherwise, she would not have asked. They both knew why she didn’t wear that color.
Katelyn shrugged. “It felt right.” She couldn’t explain why, but when she woke up the dress seemed the only choice. “What is it I should have heard?”
“Torvilin arrived last night. He is here for your birthday. Or so he says.”
Dresses and the reason for what color they were flew from her thoughts immediately. “But that’s not for another two weeks.” She tried to think of why he would be here now. She had been taught how to read people’s expressions and actions, and the reasons for them. Only one idea came to mind. “He is here to speak with father, isn’t he?”
Her sister nodded. “This morning he sent a message to father requesting an audience.”
Katelyn never thought anything could come of Torvilin’s spurious announcement, but the Prince of Voltia was taking it seriously. Surely her father would never force her into such an unwanted situation.
Margery put a comforting arm around her slender shoulders. The older sibling stood a few inches taller. “Do not worry too much about it. Father will take care of everything. No matter how much Torvilin pushes, any decision can be put off until you are eighteen.”
“Of course,” Katelyn agreed. Her sister always knew the right thing to say. It was too bad that she knew the truth of the situation. A decision could be held off, but only until Margery turned eighteen, not her. That would be the middle of this summer.
The older sister waited a moment before speaking. “Did you speak with father last night?” When Katelyn nodded she continued. “When did he say you are to leave for Westland?”
“He didn’t say for certain. Only that it would be within a week after my birthday.”
“Did he say anything about...you know?”
“Father said that Lord Oran said he would send a messenger tomorrow. The roads should be clear by now in the mountains.”
“That is good news, is it not?”
“Yes,” Katelyn said unconvincingly. A message leaving tomorrow meant it would take at the very least ten days to get there and for him to return. That was about the earliest assessment, but if snow was still in the foothills or on the roads it could take longer. Maybe as much as a week each way. Her birthday was two weeks away.
The blond princess took in her sister’s ambiguous mood. “Let’s take a walk in the garden. We could both use some fresh air and it is a beautiful day.”
“All right.” Katelyn smiled weakly.
Stemis Sundarrion, High King of Summerhall, Lord of the Sun Plain, and leader of the Midian Alliance sat casually in his cushioned chair behind his paper laden desk. Lord Oran of Tyelin stood before him wearing his habitual black and silver. Oran was slightly above average in height. His face was narrow and his dark, short cut hair and beard were meticulous
ly maintained. Besides them the King’s study contained a few chairs and several book-filled shelves along the walls.
“You don’t think they would really start a war over this?” Oran was saying. “Just because of some perceived threat of a power shift?”
“No, I do not,” Stemis replied. He put a hand to the paunch of his belly. His eyes narrowed on his round face. “It could fracture us though, and that is the last thing we need right now.”
Any sign of an objection left Oran’s face. “Do you mean the unrest in the East? Did Gelarus tell you anything?”
Stemis nodded. “He says trouble is coming. That this time it will be no simple war.” At least once every generation there was unrest in the East and many times it had led to war with the Midians. But what Gelarus hinted at was something much more serious. “He said he needed to confer with someone from Herrinhall.” Of course he never gave a name. The man couldn’t even trust his own King with that much. But am I his King? He wondered. As far as he could remember Gelarus had never sworn loyalty to him.
Oran looked stunned; as well he might since Gelarus never needed such a thing before. “How bad will it be?”
“I do not know, but he was worried.” They were both silent as they considered the implications of having a wizard who was worried.
Oran broke the silence after several minutes. “We don’t have two years to consider, do we?”
“No,” Stemis shook his large head. They had much less than that, but Oran could not know how much.
“If there is fighting the other kingdoms will support you,” Oran put in confidently. “Only the Voltians would use such a flimsy excuse not to fight.”
Stemis had considered that and believed it as well. The problem was that Gelarus was worried. That is what it came down to for him. It was a bad sign and any disunity was a call for worry. Perhaps Oran was right; perhaps he should not worry about it. “Maybe you are right,” he told his oldest friend and most trusted adviser. “Surely the Creator would not let the Alliance fail.”
Fire And Ice (Book 1) Page 3