Wildling

by Curtis, Greg

  “But -.”

  Never mind.” Dorn shook his head, annoyed. But he knew there was no point in continuing the conversation. “Mount up and I'll lead you to the trail.” He shifted before they could argue, not wanting to continue the discussion. The whole thing was still painful to him. And they also had to move, before anyone came across them.

  But still as he led them out he thought on what the boy had said. Not about what was wanted of the wildlings, but rather on those few words; no one left behind. He didn't know what it meant. But it made him worry. As if the wildlings were going somewhere. And as if his family if they were still out there somewhere, would also need to go with them.

  He had very little time left to find them. And then if by some blessing of Eldas he did find them he might have to escort them to the temple himself. That would be hard. He didn't want to have to face the glowing woman again. And when he got there he didn't want to have to leave his family behind.

  Chapter Twenty.

  Weeks went by after the attack and life in the fort grew easier for Dorn. Things began to relax. The land around Little Rock had emptied out once more. Peace was returning. No dusky elves patrolled the nearby lands hunting down wildlings and looking to capture towns. Not around Little Rock anyway.

  No soldiers travelled the lands either. Those still in Little Rock spent their days their drinking and didn't leave the town ever. Especially not those who had attacked his fort and eventually made it back to the town. They stuck to the town and drank the alehouse dry as they tried to forget what had happened. But best of all the black priests' shrine in the inn had been abandoned and burnt. The soldiers themselves had burnt it. They were still angry at the Dicans' failure to protect them at his fort and if they didn't have any black priests to take their anger out on, they would strike at whatever else they could find.

  All that remained of the soldiers in Little Rock were a dozen men at arms. Some had been abandoned by their companions because they were wounded and would slow them down. That spoke of panic as they'd left the region in a rush. Others had returned to the town after they'd gone. Mostly they were those who had been lost in the forests after attacking his fort and who had finally found their way back. They wouldn't wander any further than the main street.

  He wasn't sure if the soldiers had left because of him and what he'd done or simply because the invaders had grown tired of Little Rock and had set their sights on other more profitable parts of the wastes. Places where the risks were less and the rewards greater. He was sure though that he didn't care. It was peaceful once more and he liked that.

  But there were other changes in the land.

  Now that they'd left, and perhaps in part because of it, wildlings were travelling through the land. They were moving northward in numbers through the wastes on their way to the temple of Balen Rale, and people were commenting on it. Commenting because no one had ever seen so many with the gift travelling before. Travelling openly. Beast tongues travelling with their companions. Shifters walking openly in their animal forms. Spellswords marching proudly, many carrying the enchanted weapons that made them even more dangerous.

  They weren't just on their own or in pairs either. Now there were whole bands of wildlings travelling, and in those numbers they weren't so afraid. Especially not if they had a single wildcast of lightning or fire among them. Or a spellsword or a shifter. In those numbers it wouldn't be they who were attacked by the dusky elves or the Dicans. It would often be the other way around. In some cases it had been.

  Both times he'd returned to Little Rock he'd spent a little time in the Griffin's Nest drinking ale and listening to the stories being bandied about. Now that the remaining soldiers were leaderless and most importantly the Dicans had fled, he felt safe there once more. And he was curious about what was being said. There were stories that while bound to be exaggerated, still suggested that the world was changing. Changing for the better. He liked that. He liked that for once it seemed his people were standing up for themselves instead of being hunted.

  But there were also stories that spoke of darker things happening. Of long bridled rage being unleashed. Of the soldiers being hunted down for their crimes. Of Dicans being bound to stakes and burned alive. There was a reason that the remaining soldiers were staying in the town. Between the elves and the resurgent numbers of wildlings travelling through the wastes they no longer felt safe. He understood that. And he understood that there would be those among the wildlings who would thirst for revenge against the elves and the Dicans.

  He felt the same way, especially about Dicans. So he could not condemn anyone who had chosen such a path. Not if they had once been the slaves of the elves or had lost family and friends to the black priests. But it still made him nervous. Violence begot violence. It was the way of the world. And the glowing people didn't seem to like that world.

  He hoped that not too many more would be turned away by them. What they did at that ancient temple he didn't know. But he was certain that whatever it was it had to be good. For wildlings anyway. If nothing else it seemed like a safe place for them, and there weren't so many of those left in the world these days.

  Whenever he came across any parties of wildlings marching north he asked after his family, hopeful that some of them knew something. But none of them did. Which could only mean that wherever his family were they were beyond the knowledge of the wildlings marching north from Lampton Heights. Or – though he hated to think of it – that they were dead. That the Dicans had caught them and killed them all those years ago. Still he asked knowing it was the only hope he had of finding them. And he listened to the tales of those who had heard things, needing the comfort they sometimes brought.

  Among all the tall tales he'd listened to there was one that he particularly enjoyed hearing, though the soldiers hated it. It was a tale that most of the people of Little Rock also enjoyed hearing since it concerned them. It was of course, the tale of the soldiers who had decided to attack the ancient fort in the forest. And every time he heard the story it grew wilder. Apparently there had been beasts and monsters without number tearing the heads off those who had violated the shrine. Soldiers also without number had been burnt to ash. The goddess Xeria herself had appeared and struck down the Dicans where they stood.

  None of it was true of course, but he still loved hearing it. Especially when he had to gaze day after day upon the blackened remains of his courtyard and smell the soot. The fire had burnt somewhat larger than he had intended, and if not for the courtyard's high walls it might even have spread further. In time though it would heal. The plants would regrow. The rain would wash away the stain on the rock walls and the blackened shrine. He might repair the gate. Someone might even come and build a new altar and offering table. A priest perhaps. But it would take time.

  Perhaps in part because of the battle the faith in the old gods had returned a little bit, and some of the altars and shrines in the region were being repaired. Especially the ones the Dicans had destroyed. He'd spotted fresh offerings on many of them as well, and Tiblissi in particular seemed to be doing well. But then this was a province that relied on its farming and crops. The Goddess of the Harvest was always going to do well.

  Meanwhile, now that Dorn had the time available he spent it working on his rooftop home. He was also increasing the size of his garden, adding more pipes and water barrels to catch the rain, and building a small chicken coop. If there was one thing he had learned from the past few months it was that life had become more dangerous of late. The elves might return as might the Dicans. He had no idea at all how far away they might be. There might come a time when he had to shelter up there for weeks or months. He needed to be prepared for that.

  So he spent most of his time toiling away in the late spring sun, instead of simply lazing around reading his poetry as he would have preferred. But hard work as his mother had always said, was a gift. It was its own reward, while laziness was a sin. Of course she wasn't a cat. Cats didn't just like their slee
p, they needed it. He had tried to explain that to her many times as a boy and she had never understood. Still, he would have loved nothing more than the chance to try and explain it to her again.

  It was as he was daydreaming that he heard the distant clip clop of horses' hooves and knew that someone was on the trail. That was enough to bring him back to the world in a hurry. And when the noise of the horses stopped, he was suddenly wide awake. If the sounds had stopped then the horses had stopped. And since there was nothing at all nearby save his fort, he knew that it could only mean that there were people in the forest. On foot. And they were heading his way.

  Dorn grabbed his longbow to him, notched an arrow and peeked over the nib wall at the forest beyond, waiting to see who would emerge from it. He was sure it wasn't soldiers; they would ride through the trees. And for the same reason he was sure it was neither dusky elves nor brigands. But they weren't all the dangers a man had to face in the wastes. He was also worried that because they had decided to approach on foot, that they might be trying to remain unnoticed. Thieves perhaps, here to steal. Assassins maybe. The Dicans ran a thriving trade in murder, another reason they held such power, and if they had finally worked out that there was someone living in the fort, they would happily send their black hearted agents to do their handiwork. Maybe it was just scouts, looking to find out just what had happened at the fort. Whoever they were though, he didn't want to see them. And more importantly he didn't want them to see him.

  Dorn had to lie there in wait a good long time. Whoever his visitors were it seemed that they were in no hurry. He could have walked the two hundred yards or so from the trail in under a minute, even through the trees. For them it seemed to take at least five.

  But then when they finally emerged from the trees and he saw the sunlight glint off their white blonde hair he relaxed. He knew who they were if not their names or why they were here. Wayfarers. They were no threat to him. No threat to anyone. Even if it was a strange place for them to be.

  So he eased off the tension in the bow string and simply waited patiently as the pair approached the gate. He kept low and silent and hoped that they would do whatever it was they had come to do and then leave. But despite the fact that he was certain they couldn't see him, they evidently knew he was there and a few moments later they crawled their way through the gate to stand in his courtyard and start calling for him.

  “Dorn Clearwater of Lampton Heights, we seek an audience.”

  The man called to him by name which was unexpected. But more than that he called up to him, suggesting that he knew that Dorn was on the roof when he couldn't be seen there. How could he know those things about him? But even as he wondered he knew the answer. The glowing woman. These wayfarers had come from the ancient temple.

  “What do you want?” Dorn sat up and called down to the wayfarers. He saw no reason to pretend that he wasn't there. After all they seemed to be there peacefully and they knew enough to call him by name. And they probably wouldn't have believed him anyway. Besides wayfarers weren't particularly dangerous people. Some claimed they were thieves, and perhaps they were. Perhaps as they wandered the lands in their wagons they did help themselves to a few things. But he had little worth stealing. On the other hand he was sure that they had come from Balen Rale. That was where their people seemed to be congregating for whatever reason. He didn't like that.

  “To speak. May we come up?”

  “We can speak from here.”

  It wasn't that he wanted to be rude or that he didn't trust them particularly. It was just that Dorn had had enough unfortunate experiences with visitors of late. One had brought a harpy with her. Another a patrol of dusky elves. And then some more had come to destroy the shrine. He didn't need any more. Especially not visitors from the ancient temple.

  “Really!”

  The woman seemed unimpressed as she huffed at him. She even put her hands on her hips like an upset maiden aunt, and he had to resist a smile. She looked surprisingly cute when she did it. But that was not a thing to be thinking at a time like this. “Is this truly the way you wish to treat your guests?”

  “You're not my guests and you are free to leave whenever you choose.”

  It was rude and his mother would have told him off for it at length, but he didn't care. He had been through too much of late to care about manners and hurt feelings. He should have told them to leave already save that they knew his name and where he lived. Of course he'd offended them, and maybe he felt a little guilty for that as they stared at him, accusingly.

  “Clearly common decency and manners were not taught you as a child. But no matter. We will work with what we have.” The man was clearly annoyed but Dorn didn't care. He just wanted them to say whatever they had come to say and then leave. Even if the woman was fetching.

  “I am Eris Erilis of The Golden Path” the man continued, “and this is my sister Sena. We come because the Lady Sylfene of the Light bid us bring you word.”

  “Shite!”

  It was exactly what he'd feared. Dorn remembered the glowing woman and her charges only too well. And he didn't want to think what other crimes she was about to accuse him of. He was just glad she hadn't come in person. She frightened him. The wayfarers ignored his curse.

  “She has said that you have set about the task of redeeming yourself these past months. That your deeds have not gone unseen. She says that if you seek clemency it is not beyond hope.”

  “What?!”

  For a moment Dorn was completely shocked by their words. Not even sure he had actually heard them. And then he realised that he had. That the wayfarer had actually said them.

  “Clemency!”

  Dorn lost all sense of reason as fiery hot anger suddenly burned in his chest. Burned hotter than anything he had ever known. “I do not seek clemency! I admit no crime and therefore need none! Not from her!”

  “I do what I do because I choose to. Tell her that. And tell her this also. She has shunned me. So be it. But as she shuns me so too do I shun her. And there will be no clemency for her until she apologises.”

  He'd gone too far. He knew that as he stared at his guests' stunned faces and watched them almost step backward in shock. And yet he didn't care. Not while the anger was still burning away in his chest, eating a hole in his stomach.

  “But -.”

  “No!” Dorn would have no more of them. “You've spoken, said what you were bid to say. Now you can leave.”

  The two wayfarers stood there staring at him. And then they turned to one another in disbelief and confusion. Doubtless they had never expected his answer. He also doubted that they would ever be able to report what he'd said to their mistress. Not word for word anyway. And just then none of that mattered to him. He had said what he had to.

  “But -.” The man tried again.

  “No! Leave!”

  If he had been yelling before this time it was worse. Unbidden the roar of the panther echoed around the fort in his words. And it seemed to explain his anger to them as nothing else could. At least it caused them to turn and face one another in question. But they weren't finished.

  “Dorn Clearwater, this is childish!” The woman called up to him, and her hands were once more on her hips. She was speaking as if she truly thought him a little boy throwing a tantrum. “Do you have no connection to Warreth the White at all?”

  “Do you?!” She raised her voice as she levelled the question at him once more, and he was certain she was angry.

  Dorn was staggered by her charge. “Me? You walked into my home, the home of a man you think to be a killer of wildlings, and insult me with this pathetic offer of clemency! How unwise is that?!”

  His words seemed to stop her for a moment, and she stood there staring up at him, clearly taking the time to think of an answer. It took a fair few heartbeats.

  “You're a wildling. You belong with others of your own kind. This you know as all our people do. And yet you would let your anger blind you to what matters? Shame on yo
u!”

  She chided him and for a moment he wondered if he was losing his wits. No one chided him. Not even his parents. And yet she was. In fact he thought she was one step away from wagging her finger at him like his old writing master had whenever he'd told him off.

  For a while Dorn didn't know what to say. How to answer her. And he wasn't alone as the silence dragged between them. The wayfarer though, couldn't allow the silence to continue forever.

  “Still, the words have been spoken and the offer made. You know that it's within your power to join us. If you put aside your anger and forget your foolish pride. When you are ready to ask for forgiveness and atone for your mistakes.”

  She was very certain on that point he noticed. Convinced that he had made mistakes. Even though she hadn't been there to know what mistakes he had or had not made.

  “I pray that you'll spend some time thinking about that, especially here in the shrine of the Mother. The one place where home and family should be everything.”

  They turned and left, apparently realising that there was nothing more that could be said. Not just then at least. And Dorn watched them leave, his eyes on them for every step as they walked to the gate, wriggled their way around it and then marched off into the forest beyond. He kept watching the forest long after, just in case they returned.

  For some reason the woman didn't seem that pretty to him any longer.

  Chapter Twenty One.

  There is an old adage in war; never leave an enemy standing. Dorn had heard the saying before, usually from old soldiers in their cups in the various alehouses he had occasionally frequented. But it had never meant anything to him. Not until he was woken by the first explosion. Then when he looked over the side of the roof and saw the flames leaping into the air from a mound of burning stone in the grass to the side of the fort he understood.