“A troubled mind, or one that despairs, can usually find solace in wisdom. Mayhaps you should seek out Saphanthia and see what mysteries she may unravel in your life?”
Arderi paused. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the priest pointed to an archway leading off to the right. Arderi nodded. Taking the hallway indicated, the scent of fresh cut flowers greeted his nose. The short hall led to a sanctuary with a deep green carpet running down its center. Tapestries hung from the walls depicted everything from forests and meadow scenes to the crowded streets of some unknown city.
The sanctuary itself was a small, comfortable room. Several cushioned benches sat layered before a simple statue of an elderly woman who stood looking down at them. Not knowing what to do, Arderi walked into the chamber and sat on the back row. Time passed without meaning as he contemplated all that had taken place this day. On more than a few occasions, he would tilt his head up to stare into the face of the Goddess. He searched for answers in the chiseled features of her wise old face, and found none. He sat there in silence for well over an aurn. When he started to leave, a voice from behind him made him jump.
“May the enlightenment of the enlightened Twelve be with you, my son.”
He turned and saw an elderly woman standing next to the statue. Her long white hair flowed past her shoulders, cascading down either side of her neck to rest on the front of her dark green robe. A warm, grandmotherly smile graced her lips as she glided over to him.
Arderi was sure that she had not been in the small chapel before he turned to leave, and he could see no other doors in the room. “Well met, Mis’am.” He could not help his stammer.
“Well met to you, as well. How may I guide?” Her young, strong voice belied her older visage.
“Begging pardon, Mis’am, I am just a simple fielder, and not sure how all this works.” His face reddened, and he cursed himself for being a country lout.
“I think you will find that all men are more than just the job or title they hold.” Her smile grew even larger, and Arderi thought she was amused at his expense. “How can any mere mortal know how to approach a God? Please, sit and we shall converse.” Taking his hand, she sat with the grace of a queen upon the bench, pulling him down next to her. “There, that is better. You seem so young to have such worry in your heart.”
Arderi looked sheepishly into his lap. “I am a fool.”
She placed a finger under his chin, raised his head up, and looked deep into his eyes. “It is the wise man who has the hard road to travel to reach enlightenment. For the foolish man, however, that same path is wide and easily navigated.” At his puzzled look, she giggled. Taking his hand into hers, she continued to gaze into his eyes. “We are all fools in life, for none of us know the direction we will be taken. We could choose a path, knowing it to be true and just in our hearts, only to have it lead us to ruin. Whereas, an uncontrollable event—one caused through no action on our part—could lead us to greatness. True wisdom can only be gained when one looks back on one’s life, for the future is the fool’s playground.” Standing, she glided to the exit. The old lady glanced over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face. “And you have a lot of playground yet to explore.” Passing through the arch, she disappeared from Arderi’s sight.
Sitting there, Arderi rolled her words over in his mind. None of them made any sense to him, yet he had to admit he felt better. Time stretched on as he sat there in silence. Finally, he pushed himself off the bench and headed out of the small sanctuary. As he left, he paused and looked back to the statue.
I never even learned that woman’s name.
The jingle of tackle and equipment, the stomp of shod hoof, the crunch of iron-reinforced felloes of the wagon wheels as they rolled over crushed stone, all combined to make a sound not wholly unpleasant to the ear. The sun shone down on Clytus Rillion and his caravan as they meandered up the wide state road that ran between lush, hilly grasslands sparsely peppered here and there with dense copses of hardwood trees.
Say what you may about taxes, traveling well-maintained roadways across country is a luxury I do so enjoy.
They had passed the last of the inner villages over an aurn ago. There was still an aurn’s ride ahead of them before they would see the first of the true walled steads that lay on the fringes of Mocley’s protective influence. His stomach grumbled, informing him that halfmeal would be due soon. Letting his destrier, Starborn, slow its pace, he dropped back to ride even with the lead wagon. Ignoring the young Shaper, Jintrill, who sat with a gloomy expression plastered on his face, Clytus nodded to Trilim, and adjusted his saddle pack into a more comfortable position. “About time for halfmeal?” Clytus asked the driver.
“Aye, we—”
Clytus cut him off with a raised hand, his other dropping to the hilt of his sword. Scanning the distance, he searched for the origin of the sounds that had penetrated his senses. Two riders crested a small hill from the eastern side of the road at a full gallop. He let his thumb flick off the leather thong that locked his sword into its scabbard, while motioning for the wagons to come to a stop. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Trilim reaching for the crossbow that rested on the floorboard of the wagon. The ratchet made a steady clank-clunk-clank sound as Trilim bent the prod to load the weapon. Soon, similar sounds joined in from the other wagons as their drivers did the same.
I have not heard of any bandits this close to Mocley. Still, one can never be too cautious when traveling.
At a quarter of a league distance, the two riders slowed to a canter and then to a steady trot as they approached the group. “It is Alimia, stand down.” He smiled to himself as he saw Jintrill visibly relax. Clytus turned Starborn off the road and into the meadow. He spurned the destrier into a canter, riding out to meet his people.
“Stand down!” He heard Trilim yell out to the others. Clytus thumbed the thong back over his sword hilt so he would not have to worry with it as he rode. Enjoying the ride in the warm spring afternoon, he kept this pace through the field of tall grass. As the two riders approached, he slowed to a trot and the three horses came together.
“Hail, sir.” Alimia Felts was a tall, lean woman—arms strong as hemp from the sword work she had done in her life. Her long, dirty blond hair was pulled back into a braid that left her hawk-like face and penetrating green eyes exposed. She wore light armor—a thin chain byrnies under a thick studded leather jerkin covered her upper half, steel splinted greaves strapped over the leather breeches of her lower legs—as was her companion, a man unfamiliar to Clytus.
“Hail, report.” Clytus eyed the other rider. He was a small man, a good half head shorter than his female leftenant. The man was equipped as a scout—light leather armor, short bow, and shortsword, which looked more like a long dirk.
“We made camp some ten leagues off road. Jam’ees here,”—she waved a hand at the other rider—“was stationed as lookout and fetched me when you were still some ways down road.”
“Everyone show?” Clytus asked.
“All out of Orlis except Hindar’s elite group. They sent word they would meet us in Stillwater. None out of Komar, I am afraid. No word from them either.”
“Aye, tis to be expected. When I sent Mallin and his men up that way, I warned him the Priests of Fatint are a shifty lot. Alas, he feared for his uncle’s safety, so he took the job posting. Might be he is just locked into something he cannot break from.” He gave her his best hopeful grin and nodded sagely.
Of course, if that were so, he would still have sent a messenger.
Alimia seemed satisfied, however. “Aye, tis probably so. Not counting Hindar and his, we have thirty-seven. Hindar has about six in his ‘elite’ employ. Them, and the crew from Mocley should put us over the fifty you requested, sir.” She glanced over his shoulder at the wagon train. “I see old man Grith in the lead, yet the rest have the look of commoners. Where are the Mocley men, if I may ask, sir
?”
“In Mocley. I left them with Ragnor to look after things there.”
“Ragnor is not with you?” She looked stunned, a sight Clytus had never seen on her.
“Nix, you will be handling leftenant duties on this one, if you feel you are up to it, that is.” He grinned as the other man lowered his head slightly, looking as if he had eaten something that disagreed with him.
He may be new, yet he has been with the troop long enough to have formed an opinion of Alimia Felts, it would seem.
“Aye, sir. I feel I am up to it.” Alimia sat straighter in her saddle. Her large black mare cocked her head as the beast sensed her master’s excitement.
“Aye, and I, as well, feel you are ready. Besides, Ragnor is getting too old to be wandering about in the mountains. What were your orders before you left the men?”
Alimia beamed at this first test of her leadership. “They will have broken camp by this point, sir. I told them to meet up with us at Wartin’alan stead. I estimate we should arrive at the same time as them, sir.”
“Well done.” Clytus reined his horse around, and the trio headed back to the wagons.
“I see you have procured us a Shaper, sir. I am surprised that any of those soft bellies would consent to going into the Nektine.”
Clytus shot her a disgusted look. “Procured is not the word I would use.” When he did not respond to her questioning look, she let the subject drop. He turned to the other man. “Who are you under?”
“Under Master Hindar o de scouts, Master Rillion, sir.” The man’s thick accent and olive skin meant he was one of the Komar Islander folk. “Been wit him in Orlis mos de turn o de season, sir.”
“Ah, scouting bandits for the Prince. How does Orlis fare against the Komar Isles of your birth?”
“I do be missin de sea n all, tho life do tend ta be longer, the further one do drift from de Isles. If ya get me meanin, sir?”
“Aye, I have been to Komar a few times now. Not the best working conditions with every new pirate lord trying to lay claim to the place, not to mention the Priests.” Clytus reined Starborn in next to Trilim’s wagon. “Since we are stopped, pass out halfmeal to the dayhires. We can eat while we travel.”
Once the food was handed out—fresh flatbread and dried meat—Clytus motioned for Trilim to follow as the three rode down the crushed stone of the road.
“Onward!” The old man flicked the reins and his wagon lurched down the roadway. The young Shaper rocked in the seat next to him.
“Jam’ees, fall back and take rear guard.” Alimia never had to repeat an order. She then fell in beside Clytus, and the two rode in silence as the grassland slipped passed.
A gentle breeze had followed them from the coast of the Glonlore Bay and the city of Mocley, the ting of salt still evident in it even this far north. The tall wild grasses covering much of the rolling hills around them swayed as the wind brushed over the land. A stray cloud raced along high overhead. Lost in thought, Clytus was startled when Alimia finally spoke. “Following Maja’Kasta now, I see?”
He glanced over at her with a questioning look. To this, she pointed at his chest. Looking down, he saw the small wooden trinket dangling from its leather cord, and pain laced through his heart. Reaching up, he tucked the amulet his wife, Lilaith, had given him inside his jerkin. “It is a woman thing.” He grinned over at her. “You would not understand.”
She barked out a laugh. “Are you saying I do not understand women, or that I do not understand why you would be acting like one?” When Clytus did not return her mirth, she cleared her throat. “Sir.” Nervousness laced the honorific.
Clytus softened his face. “I mean only that I wear this for a woman.” He turned his head to the sky. “And that you cannot possibly understand why men do the things we do for them.”
“I always assumed it was to get into our pants, sir.” The uncertainness still in her tone pleased Clytus.
She may one day become a good friend. Still, she will have to learn on her own how informal she can be with me.
“Aye, for some men tis true.” Clytus let the silence stretch on until it felt uncomfortable. Finally, he smiled over at his new leftenant. “Maja’Kasta, he would be the God of…?”
“I do not follow the Twelve myself all that well, yet Maja’Kasta grants protection and peace, it is said.”
If wearing a trinket of wood could grant me peace, I would strap an entire tree to my back and never complain once!
Clytus squinted up at the sun to estimate the time they had traveled since Alimia’s arrival. “We should be less than a quarter aurn from Wartin’alan. Ride on ahead. If the troop is there, I do not wish to waste any time. Have them ready to move when the wagons arrive. I need only enough time to water the horses and release the dayhires.”
“And if they have not yet arrived, sir?”
“Then you will wait and catch me up when they do, and the dayhires will ride with me a bit further. We have some five aurns of daylight left and I plan to make the most of it.”
“Aye, sir.” She dug her heels into the mare’s sides and it burst into a gallop. Clytus admired the way the animal’s muscles rippled as it tore into the distance. He had always had an eye for good horseflesh, and she had picked hers well.
“Trouble?” Jintrill called out nervously from behind.
Clytus turned in his saddle, noting that Trilim shook his head, a big grin on his face. “Believe me, boy, when trouble comes to find us, you will have no need to ask.”
Two sailors, their skin as dark as tar, pulled the gangplank from the dock once Alant Cor had both feet upon the deck of the Mistbreeze Trader. The hustle and bustle of the crew—those without the dark skin were deeply tanned, all were barefoot and most shirtless—exploded around him. People yelled, pulled, lifted, climbed, and ran in every direction. The big black Captain stood upon a raised platform at the back of the ship. His muscular arms waved or pointed to punctuate the orders he shouted at the men scurrying about. Everyone seemed to ignore Alant standing amongst the chaos of the ship. Striding to the front, stumbling slightly when the ship lurched forward, he leaned out over the railing and peered down into the water some ten paces below. Directly under him, attached to the front of the ship, a wooden beam jutted out away from the boat. An assortment of pulleys littered the beam, and four heavy hemp ropes jutted out from the inside of the boat at an angle to disappear into the murky, blue-green water of the harbor. All of a sudden the ropes stretched taut. The boat slid forward several paces, then all four ropes turned to his right in unison, as if they were fishing lines attached to some monstrous fish that was trying to get free. The deck tilted sharply in their direction, forcing Alant to grip the handrail as the ship slipped away from the dock and out into the center of the harbor, being pulled by whatever was on the other end of the ropes.
“Mermidians.” Alant jumped at the squeaky voice that sounded next to him. Standing just behind him was a young black boy of about thirteen. His long, dark hair—a tangle of curls that looked like it would be more at home on a mop head—billowed in the breeze that blew in from the bay. The boy looked much like any of the rest of the crew in his loose fitting pants and nothing else, save for the fact of his young age and the broad, bright smile that spread across his face. “There be Mermidians at the ends of the guide ropes.” Placing his right hand against his stomach, he bowed his head. “Krin Garson, cabin boy here on the Mistbreeze Trader. I be at your service, Sier.”
A pang jolted Alant. “Nix!” His voice rang out louder than he had intended. “I am no Sier, just an Initiate. I am heading to Hath’oolan to finish my training.” It was the first time anyone had addressed Alant as Sier, and it made him feel odd.
The boy’s smile grew larger. “Aye, mayhaps. Still, to us common folk, an Initiate be more than we shall ever be, Sier. I do think you will find it be the same with the rest of the crew as well.” Kr
in put both hands on the railing, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. “I do love the sea air. It be much better than that stink of the crowd on dock. Do you no agree, Sier?”
In spite of himself, Alant smiled. The boy spoke in the same thick accent as Captain Garson. Although he could not tell from what region, he knew the boy was from Silaway—and not just due to the color of his skin—far across the Great Ocean. Returning his attention to the ropes pulling the ship, Alant wagged a finger at them. “You say there are Mermidians at the ends of those ropes?”
“Aye, Sier, that there be. Four or five to a line, I should expect.” The young boy pointed toward the mouth of the harbor. “They will pull us out into the Glonlore Bay a piece before they do let us go.”
“I have never seen a Mermidian before. Will they come to the surface?”
“Nay, Sier, it no be likely. They stay to the depths, they do. I did see one of the beasties myself, once. When I did be dockside with the Captain.”
Alant peered in vain at the murky-green waters, eager to catch a glimpse of movement. “What do they look like?”
The boy laughed aloud. “Like a man who did eat one too many fish!” He shook his head, causing a curly lock of black hair to fall across his face. He flicked it aside with a finger. His natural smile slipped from his face as he looked up into Alant’s eyes. “Actually, they do look much like you or I, Sier. Their skin be greenish and thick as that of the great whales who do live out in the deep oceans. And their hands and feet be more suited for swimming than walking. Still, the strangest thing about them be the slits on their necks. The Captain did say it be how they do breathe, yet they did look ghastly to me—all gaping wide, like someone did take a knife to their throats.” The boy gave a shudder. Then his big smile returned as if it had never left.
Leaning back on the railings, the two young men stood in silence as the city of Mocley slipped by. The Mistbreeze Trader had been moored deep inside the harbor, and Alant enjoyed the view of the city while it silently slipped past as the unseen Mermidians pulled them out to sea.
Farmers & Mercenaries Page 15