Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1)

by Kameron A. Williams

“Aye, he did,” said Barek, “and the fight was over then.

  The soldiers that remained were without their captain and chose wisely to retreat. The young swordsman walked over to Harol’s corpse, untied his coin purse and gave it to me. I then gave the sword to him and he was happy to accept it. We’ve been friends ever since. And that’s it.”

  “What a story,” said Friida who was smiling radiantly.

  “I love hearing you tell them.”

  “That one I love to tell.”

  Friida closed her eyes and pulled herself closer to Barek, wrapping her thin arms around his large frame and resting her head beneath his chin. “Are all of the stories you tell me true?”

  Barek smiled before burying his face in her soft brown hair and giving her a kiss. “Every one.”

  3

  ZAR SAT MOUNTED ON ASHA as they marched down the road, his eyes ever wandering to the wagon where Shahla was seated quietly. He was still amazed at the woman she’d become, and he couldn’t help but smile as he watched her sitting there with one leg propped up over her knee, her bow and quiver resting on the bench beside her. She had grown taller, and her skin had darkened a bit to a golden color. Her hair, jet black and voluminous, hung just past her shoulders with a braid draping down one side. Her facial features had sharpened, showing prominent cheekbones under dark and piercing eyes. She was very beautiful, and Zar silently attempting to rationalize how the girl he had left years ago had grown into the woman that sat beside him now.

  “What is it?” said Shahla, grinning curiously at Zar. The wind sent locks of her hair dancing over her head.

  Zar had been watching her from the side, smiling in wonder at how much she’d changed when she suddenly took her eyes off the road and looked at him.

  “Huh, what is it?” said Zar.

  The young woman giggled. “I asked you. What is it?”

  “What? What is what?” Zar asked.

  Shahla squinted and shook her head playfully.

  Zar chuckled. “Fine. You look different than I remember.”

  “Truly?” said Shahla, waiting for her eyes to meet Zar’s before adding, “You look exactly as I remember.”

  Zar shrugged but was subtly intrigued, for the woman’s words and manner made his mind wander briefly over possible explanations. Some he entertained and others he threw aside.

  “I’ve never been on this road before,” said Shahla, looking west into the trees.

  “That’s Blackwood Forest.”

  “I know that,” Shahla replied, giggling. “I’ve seen it before, just never this close. Have you been inside?”

  “Aye, once or twice.”

  “And what’s in there?”

  Zar laughed at the woman’s curiosity, her expectant face—mouth ajar and eyes wide as she waited for an answer. “Trees.”

  “Oh, truly, Zar?” Shahla teased, her eyebrows rising facetiously.

  “Aye. Trees and trees and trees.” Zar chuckled. “No, there wasn’t much to see in Blackwood the last time Asha and I rode through. It’s very large, I daresay, and I’m certain there’s more to it then what I’ve seen.”

  “Let’s explore it!” The young woman called, and her eyes jumped and sparkled as a smile spread over her face.

  “What, now?”

  “Aye!”

  Zar laughed and shook his head, motioning back to the wagon behind her. “Have you forgotten about the goods we must deliver to Gara?”

  Shahla smiled. “On the way back?”

  Zar chuckled. “We’ll explore Blackwood together one day—I swear it—just not today.”

  Shahla showed Zar a sad face before giggling playfully.

  “So why didn’t the old man come along?”

  “You’re here are you not?” Shahla answered.

  “I suppose that’s one way of seeing it. I’ve returned just in time and now he can send me instead of going himself. Aye, it makes perfect sense.”

  “He’s made a new friend,” said Shahla, looking back to the road. She kept her eyes forward and wore a tight grin, looking as if she were trying as hard as she could to fight a smile.

  “Oh, you mean a woman?” Zar replied.

  Shahla gasped, turning quickly back to Zar. “How did you know that? Did he tell you?”

  for days at a time—”

  “So,” Shahla interrupted, “he could’ve been hunting.”

  “No man goes hunting and returns empty handed looking as happy as he did,” Zar replied. “And furthermore, if he was hunting he would’ve said he was hunting.”

  “Well, did you ask him where he was?”

  “No,” Zar replied, chuckling. “I already knew he was with a woman.”

  “You think you know too much.” Shahla pointed her finger at Zar. “What else do you know, most wise Zar?”

  Zar’s voice lowered to a mumble, and he rubbed his hand over Asha’s neck and coaxed her to settle down. The camel had begun to groan and twist her neck awkwardly. “I know, Asha, I know.”

  He wanted to tell Shahla that he knew they weren’t alone, and that in the next few moments raiders might come charging out of the wood, but he didn’t want to frighten her. She might make things worse being scared. Worse still, if she picked up her bow and drew a shaft while looking every which way she would be a target. So Zar said nothing, but he wasn’t at all surprised when a swift figure rushed out of the woods and scampered over to Shahla’s mare, Dalya.

  The stranger grabbed for Dalya’s reins as another figure appeared on the road in front of them with a bow drawn. Zar didn’t wait for more men to arrive. As the bowman on the road called, “Halt! Don’t move and you don’t die,” Zar hopped off Asha’s back, drew his sword and rolled on the ground towards the wagon where Dalya reared up at the strange man that tugged on her reins.

  An arrow whizzed past Zar’s ear and dug deep into the wagon’s wheel as he came back to his feet and struck Dalya’s rump hard with the flat of his blade. Dalya charged forward, hooves stomping, and the man who tried to control her lost grip of the reins.

  Two other figures scurried onto the road. Zar ignored them as he ran behind the moving wagon toward the bowman scrambling out of its way. The man, who’d just avoided being trampled by Dalya, slipped and was regaining his footing when Zar appeared with his sword raised over his shoulders. The man fumbled to knock another arrow as Zar came down with his blade, opening his throat.

  Zar smiled at the three men approaching tentatively. The bowman was dead, and Shahla was somewhere down the road, away from the fight. She was safe—and so was he by the looks of things. A man charged brashly, his shaggy brown locks flying through the air behind him. Zar met his blade and pulled back, causing the man to fall forward, and moved himself away from the wild swing of the man beside him.

  Zar’s sword caught the second attacker clean at the wrist. The man was too poor for gauntlets or gloves, and the blade sliced through his shirt and skin, straight to the bone. He yelled and scrambled away as blood sprayed, his wrist dangling with the bone splintering out.

  The first attacker swung again—too wide. Zar shoved his sword into the man’s chest as the third circled around to Zar’s rear. Zar spun around to swat away his blade. If only they could have known who he was before they attacked him. They were only thieves. While they were good at taking what didn’t belong to them, he was good at taking the one thing that belonged solely to a man. After knowing that, if they still wished to fight him, at least he could’ve called them brave before he killed them. He could’ve called them brave, or he could’ve called them foolish.

  Zar finished the man he was engaged with, pushing his blade underneath the man’s arm and into his ribs. An arrow flew past him and silenced the man whose hand he had nearly cut off.

  Zar glanced around into the trees, but the forest was quiet. He half thought the thieves had another bowman hidden in the woods, albeit, one with poor aim, but as he turned to movement on the road, Shahla approached, bow in hand, eyes wide and mouth open.
/>   “Come,” Zar called for her. “Are you hurt?” The girl’s black hair was frayed; her eyes were clear and wide. Zar could see she was still quite shocked by it all, but she was unharmed. “You didn’t have to fight,” he told her, taking her in his arms.

  “I wanted to,” Shahla answered. Her eyes were fixed intently on the dead man that bore her arrow. “I was … I was just so scared. My hands trembled as I drew my bow.”

  The girl’s voice sounded hoarse. Zar hadn’t been with her for years, but as he watched her standing there so still, with her eyes fixed on the corpse, he knew it was the first time she had killed a person.

  “Are you hurt?” Zar asked again, examining the woman from head to toe.

  “No.”

  “You’re brave,” said Zar, squatting over one of the bodies that lay across the road.

  “I didn’t want to be killed,” Shahla replied.

  “You were safe, away from the fight. I made sure of that. But you came back to fight.”

  “I didn’t want you to be killed.”

  Zar smiled as he looked over another still body. “A most noble act, I daresay, but it would take more than this rabble of thieves to do away with me.”

  “Were you not afraid?” Shahla asked, her eyes still fixed on the man she’d shot. Her gaze hadn’t left that body for one moment—even as she spoke to Zar.

  “I was sorely afraid,” Zar replied, “though not for my neck.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” said Shahla, raising her voice a bit.

  “Four gold pieces?” Zar called, “only four gold pieces among them? No wonder they tried to rob us.”

  “Did I do well?” Shahla asked. She had finally lifted her eyes from the corpse that her arrow had pierced just below the throat.

  Zar smiled. “You did.” He moved to her side and took her hand. “Let us go for the wagon. Come, Asha!”

  Asha, seated calmly by the edge of the trees, rose to follow after them. She had rushed off the road as soon as the fighting began and sat quietly until Zar finished his business, as she was accustomed to doing. The place where Shahla had stopped the wagon wasn’t far down the road, and after checking the mare for injuries and examining the wagon wheels for cracks, the two set themselves back on their journey to Gara. Zar had told Shahla that the man she shot would have died from the first wound Zar had given him regardless, and whether this was true or not he still felt guilty after thinking about what had happened. He had exposed her to this.

  Shahla never questioned his decision, but Zar knew that she and Barek usually took the main road along the mountainside to get to Gara—the safe road. Perhaps she knew that when it came between taking the long but safe route to a destination or the short and risky one, Zar would certainly choose the latter.

  There was no doubt that the forest road was considerably more dangerous, and Zar had taken that risk, believing he could protect her from any trouble they might get from thieves along the way. And he had protected her. He had protected her against bodily harm; he had made sure no one could physically harm her, and she had gotten through the ordeal without a single scratch. But instead of being happy she was safe he felt guilty—guilty he had exposed his tender, little sister to the wicked world that she would no doubt inevitably have to experience. He was solaced, however, by reminding himself that in the world outside her home she would have to face this, for one day, whether on her own adventure or with him on his, she would com e to realize what it was like outside the comfort of the meadow. Better sooner than later, he told himself; better now, with him, under his protection, than off somewhere else by herself.

  There was no denying that Fairview Meadow was uniquely paradisiacal—the tight knit village of hunters, smiths, and merchants who had lived there for years would take arms against a dragon before allowing their sanctuary to be desecrated. The only trouble that brewed in the meadow was between those who lived there, and the inhabitants revered the place all too much to let their land be tainted with even one drop of blood. The place was home to those who loved it, and unsuited for the likes of the men they had just encountered.

  “I get more trouble from the king’s men than from men like those,” said Zar They made camp for the evening far from the road, and Shahla stared into the fire, her legs crisscrossed, nibbling on a bit of roasted rabbit she had killed and prepared.

  “It’s usually the Snowguards,” Zar continued, “taking what they want. If people cannot call on their own king to protect them then who can they call on? And if they need protection from their own king, then what kind of kingdom is it?”

  “A kingdom that’s damned,” Shahla answered.

  “Aye,” Zar agreed.

  “And what of Cyana? Is Dandil no better than Tiomot?”

  “Anyone’s better than Tiomot.”

  “I never hear much about Dandil,” said Shahla. “It’s because I’ve never lived out of the meadow, I’m certain. Not like you—you’ve been everywhere.”

  “Not everywhere, I’m afraid. But I have been to a place or two.”

  “Every time I heard a stranger had entered the meadow, I would hop on Dalya and ride through the village hoping it was you,” said Shahla, pulling her eyes away from the fire and resting them on Zar. “This time you were gone for so long.”

  “Four years, was it?”

  “Nearly five,” Shahla answered. “I was always waiting for you to come back and take me away.”

  Zar was sure it was the fight earlier that had stirred up her emotions, and perhaps the fact that she was with him out of the meadow, on her very own adventure.

  “You’ve been with me for barely a day and you’ve been in a fight. That isn’t what I wanted.”

  “It was unavoidable,” said Shahla.

  “Was it? I could’ve taken the main road—we wouldn’t have had any trouble. I don’t want you fighting. Your father wouldn’t want you fighting.

  “You and Father still treat me like a child,” Shahla protested, “but I’m not. Would you rather I stay in the meadow my whole life and not see the world? You would protect me from every shadow and piece of dust that floats my way, and keep me trapped in the safe places of the world where nothing ever happens, like a baby in its cradle.”

  Zar was moved at the woman’s eloquence. “We know how the world is,” he said, “and yes, we wish to keep you safe from it. But, you make a valid point—you are no longer a little girl, and if you wish to explore the world you shall.” Zar gazed over the fire and into her eyes. “Trust me, you will have your day.”

  The two continued east in the morning towards Karthin, the next town on their way to Gara. It was nightfall when they made it into town, and Zar showed Shahla to an inn where they could have a hot meal, and paid for a room for her to sleep in.

  “As for me, I’ll be sleeping in the wagon,” Zar told her.

  “In the wagon?”

  “Aye. We can’t leave a wagon full of goods for the thieves to carry away,” Zar explained. “I’ve learned to be a very light sleeper.”

  Shahla chuckled and her eyes squinted in curiosity. “Father and I usually just bring the wares to the room with us.”

  “Do you want to carry all that steel?”

  Shahla shook her head and laughed.

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning. Get a good sleep. I’ll be right outside.”

  Zar scooted over the bundles of arrows and wrapped weapons and laid a blanket down in the wagon. It was the middle of the night when he awakened to the sound of footsteps. From what he could hear someone was standing outside the wagon, still, as if they had hesitated or were deep in contemplation. He laid there wearily for a while until the footsteps could be heard again, this time faintly diminishing until they deadened in the still of night. The fool thought better of it, Zar thought, dozing off and recommencing the light sleep he had been pulled from.

  They got back on the road in the morning. The woods dwindled to a sparse assortment of trees, littered sparingly across the sandy bro
wn plains of the east, where the forests had been cleared by the people of old exposing the fields to the sun. They looked to have been under the sun for so long that they were turning its color, baked year after year and turning lighter each time, with scarcely any grass remaining, but only an awkward combination of what looked to be dried dirt, weeds, and sand. They came to Gara just before the dusk, heading straightaway to the house of Timber, Barek’s old friend and selling consort, to complete the delivery before the night crept in.

  Timber had owned a shop in Gara’s market for years selling weapons and armor—weapons and armor that Barek delivered to him every year in the spring to make ready for the summer buyers. They had come to the arrangement years ago when Barek was still a young man, as he had told Zar. Timber had spent a summer reveling in Gara, and he happened upon the fact that the place was quite under stocked in quality arms despite being a merchant city. The arrangement had been far more profitable than either of them ever imagined.

  “A flask of wine,” said Zar, pointing to the top shelf behind a woman’s head. “Lolia Red.”

  She scurried back to the rack, rose up on the tips of her toes, slid the flask off the shelf, and uncorked it. Pouring a small bit into a wooden tasting cup, she handed it to Zar, smiling mischievously.

  Zar drank. “Aye, that’s it,” he said, smacking his lips at the taste. “Just this one.”

  “Anything else?” The woman asked, red lips puckering out as she leaned over the counter until her bosom did the same. “Anything else at all?”

  “Just the wine,” said Zar, eyeing Shahla from the side of his vision and wondering what she was thinking. Perhaps she wasn’t surprised. The name of the shop was “Wine and Women” and it was almost twice as big as the inn they had passed. Zar shook his head and laughed silently. Only in Gara does the one decent wine shop double as a whorehouse.

  “Tomorrow we take the main road home,” said Zar when they had made it back to the inn, taking a drink from the flask of Lolia Red in his hand.

  “I know,” Shahla replied.

  They sat in a room on a raised straw pallet, talking as they passed the flask of wine between them.