With a grimace on his pale face, Arderi shook his head.
Approaching the campfire, Clytus retrieved two bowls and held them out as Trilim filled each. The cook questioned him with a look that Clytus could only answer with a shrug of his shoulders. With bowls in hand, he led the way out of the camp. Cresting a small hill, they arrived at the boulder Clytus had leaned against prior to the attack.
Has it really only been a few aurns since I sat here?
Motioning for the boy to join him, Clytus lowered himself onto the large rock. Once comfortable, he held out the bowl of grits for Arderi, who hesitated before he took it. “So. Tell me your tale, Arderi Cor.”
“What do you mean, sir?” The boy did not take his eyes from his bowl.
“Well… let us start with where you come from.”
Arderi glared up at him. “I have no wish to return.”
“Look, lad. This is not a contest, nor am I interrogating you. We are a hundred leagues from civilization. Even if I wanted to send you somewhere, there is nowhere for you to go.” Snorting, Clytus glanced back in the direction of the camp. “I certainly cannot afford to spare anyone to see you back. I need you to trust me if we are to accomplish anything here.” He stared at the boy with a look he used on Sindian when his son would not admit to something he had done wrong.
Mayhaps I will give him over to the Shaper’s care. Kill two fowl with one arrow.
“I am from the Hild’alan stead.” Arderi spoke the words in a rush before shoveling a spoonful of grits into his mouth.
That is another good start.
Nodding, a small smile coming to him, Clytus kept his voice at an even level. “So, the eve we camped in that stead, you hid in one of my wagons?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Why?” The image of a boy slipping into his wagons late in the eve amused him. Still, Clytus could not quell the frustration that crept into the word.
“I want to join your troop. I want to be a mercenary.”
Laughing aloud, Clytus shook his head and set his bowl down. “Most join a merc troop through the recommendation of another. You are the first one I know of who joined by hitching a ride. Do you even know what we do?” He gestured around the area. “Do you even know where you are?”
“I thought you were on your way to Mocley.”
“Nix, lad! Far from it.” Clytus stopped and took a bite of his grits.
As if this trip has not been wrought with enough disasters—like some force is against me. Now I have some farm whelp that has gotten it into his head that he…
Clytus looked at Arderi for several moments, trying to some to terms with the boy’s power over Sujen. “Tell me, Arderi. When you saw me during the fight with the O’Arkin, what exactly did you see?”
The boy’s face went pale and he stared at Clytus like a rabbit facing a wolf. “It was… I was frozen. Yet, I could look around. Everything was frozen, yet my mind seemed free—as if I lay trapped inside my own body.”
“Aye, as I suspected when I saw your eyes looking at me.” Clytus put his empty bowl on the ground and sat looking off at the horizon. The sun broke over the far hills, displaying a marvelous rainbow arching off into the distance.
Everything moves on. The boy has the gift, that is for certain. Though I do not think he knows. Yet, what am I to do about it? I have not the time to take him anywhere for training, and this trip is hardly the place for a farmboy.
“Sir?” The boy’s voice drew Clytus back to where he was. “What did you do?”
He looked at Arderi for several long moments, thinking. Hoping to come up with a viable option.
By all Nine Hells, any option! I cannot train a boy now. Yet, I cannot allow one with the talent of Sujen to be lost to the Order, either!
Heaving a sigh, Clytus decided he needed to control this situation for now. He would figure out a permanent solution later if he could. “What you have seen we will not discuss at this time. Nor are you to mention anything you saw to anyone. I will choose the time we shall discuss it. Do not tempt my anger in this. I am deadly serious. Know that if you do not do as I say in this matter, I will cast you out and you will have to find your own way home.” He gave the boy a stern eye. “Do we have an understanding about this?”
Swallowing hard, Arderi bobbed his head. “Aye, sir.” He glanced around. “What of me, sir? I am handy with a bow and I have always done well during the monthly militia drills at home. Though, I am afraid I have no weapons with me.”
Clytus laughed out loud. “The only weapons you will need shall be a scrub brush, lad. During your time here you will remain under the watch of Mir’am Grith, the camp’s cook.” The farmboy looked abashed, yet resigned to his fate. “If you do well by him, mayhaps I can have one of the men spar with you if there is a chance.” He stood, scooping up the two empty bowls. “Come, there is nothing more that can be done about this by either of us.”
Clytus led the way back to camp, and was pleased to see much of it packed up and returned to the wagons. He led Arderi toward Trilim, who watched them approach.
The old man grunted and shook his head. “Now why did I figure that a rogue boy found wandering the camp one eve, leagues from nowhere, would end up as my responsibility, huh?”
Smiling at the look on the old man’s face, Clytus dropped his head. “Aye, still, what else am I to do with him? Besides, I figured an old man like you could use someone to help lug things around.”
Trilim gawfed. “Mayhaps so. Mayhaps so.” He turned to the boy. “Well, you ever worked around a kitchen before?”
“My Ma leads our public house kitchen. She has shown me a thing or two.” Arderi cut his eyes to Clytus.
“Hmm.” Trilim made it sound as if he was truly impressed. “And what is your name, son?”
“Arderi Cor, sir.”
Reaching out, Clytus plucked at the rip in the boy’s shirt. “Before you start working the boy to death, Mir’am Grith, have Sier Deln take a look at his side. Arderi will do you no good if his wound becomes infected.”
“So it is Sier Deln now, is it?” The look of amusement upon Trilim’s face did little to improve Clytus’ mood.
“Oh, aye. Enjoy your merriment, yet the young Shaper does have the knack for healing. And this little trip of ours will have much need for such.” Turning, Clytus headed toward the center of camp, then paused. Looking back to Trilim, he wagged a finger threateningly at the cook. “If you tell the Shaper I complimented him, you and I shall have words about it.” With a grin, he continued on his way.
When he spied his scoutmaster picking through the remains of a shattered tent, he headed his way. “Master Hindar, what are your plans for finding me my base camp?”
Hindar looked up, the scar running down his left cheek stretched taut by the scowl he wore. “I had me a look at this area before you arrived last eve, and I can tell you this range runs like a wall for many leagues east and west. I do not think I could get our horses very deep into the Nektine from here, much less the wagons.” He spat on the ground.
Rubbing his chin and gazing up at the cliff they were camped against, Clytus’ mood darkened. “Well, this is unmapped territory. Still, I know it has been traversed. To the west it gets worse, of that I am certain, and beyond that there is only the sea. It has been my plan all along to travel in an eastronly direction, so that is what I suggest you do. Have your scouts head out and start searching every valley and hollow. The troop will follow, staying to the foothills. When a suitable location is found, come find me.”
The grizzly old scout bobbed his head. “Aye, sounds like the best we can do for now.” He started to turn away when Clytus caught his arm and spun him back.
“I expect you and your men to report back every eve, these mountains are not to be taken lightly.” They locked eyes for a moment before both men gave a nod.
Turning again, Hindar’
s yell sounded loud and clear as it echoed off the cliff’s face. “Scouts! To me!” He walked off toward the line of picketed horses.
“You heard the Commander.” The cook, Master Trilim Grith nodded toward the Shaper who was still tending to the injured woman.
“Aye, sir.” Arderi Cor crossed the camp to the makeshift infirmary. A handful of men sat around a small fire, each with a bandage covering different parts of their bodies.
A squat little man came up to Arderi when he approached the group. “Aye, lad. Sit here and let me have a look.” He motioned for Arderi to take a seat on a stool. Arderi sat and the man helped him to remove his shirt. Raising his arm over his head caused Arderi to wince. Probing the injury, the man spoke without looking up. “I have not seen you around. How is it you come by us?” With the shirt removed, blood flowed again from Arderi’s side. The man spread the wound, pulling out bits of torn cloth and clotted blood, increasing the blood flow in doing so.
Arderi clenched his teeth from the pain. “I hid in one of the wagons, sir.” He managed to say this once the man finally stopped his ministrations.
“Is that so?” The man looked genuinely shocked. Covering the wound with a clean bandage, he reached to the side and picked up a strip of cloth. “Hold this here. I do not think anything is broken, yet there is a large patch of skin torn. The Shaper should mend this so as to protect against infection.” He tied the strip of cloth around Arderi’s chest to hold the bandage in place, then stood. “Fighting O’Arkins at your age? You may do all right with us, lad.”
“I was stepped on, sir.”
“What?”
Arderi felt his face flush. “I was not in the fight, sir. One of the—O’Arkins stepped on me. That is how I was injured, sir.”
Laughter burst forth from the little man. “Ah, well then, lad, it is still a worthy tale. Many a man did not live through their first bout with the nasty beasties. Count yourself lucky.” He held out his hand to Arderi. “I am known as Sarnet, the troop’s medic… well, at least I was before we got us a Shaper.”
Arderi took the offered hand and shook it. “Arderi Cor, sir. Well met.”
“Well met, indeed. Your injury is not too bad. The Shaper still has a few aurns of Melding to do on others who need it more. Go, do what you need to for now—yet nothing overly taxing, mind. Return after halfmeal. The Shaper should be free by then.” The medic went to attend someone else.
Returning to the cook fire, Arderi spent the rest of the afternoon busy with the work set forth by Master Grith. He was thankful the cook kept his assignments light since his side burned and throbbed anytime he tried to use his right arm too rigorously. Once they finished serving halfmeal, the camp had regained some semblance of order.
Helping Master Grith gather the last of the wooden bowls, Arderi followed the old man to the edge of camp where a small brook ran. “How long have you been with the Commander, sir?”
“Master Rillion? Hmm, must be near twenty seasons by now.” The old man kneeled down and placed the dirty bowls on the ground. “Why?”
“No reason, sir. He seems…” Arderi could not think of a way to proceed and still keep his vow.
Trilim laughed. “Aye, he is at that. And more.” He stood up and held Arderi in his gaze. “I will guarantee you this, lad. Master Rillion will always do right by those who do likewise. A man could travel his whole life, span the entire Plane from one edge to the other, and not find anyone as honest nor good as Clytus Rillion.” He wore a grandfatherly smile. “Now, when you finish washing these bowls, bring them back so they can be put away. Then you may go see the Shaper about your side.”
“Aye, Master Grith.” Arderi bent down, picked up a bowl, and dunked it into the freezing water.
When he finished and had returned the dishes to the crate Master Grith kept them in, Arderi walked over to the makeshift infirmary area. The injured that had been there earlier were all gone and so was the medic, Sarnet. The Shaper, Sier Jintrill Deln, lay on his back in the center of the area, staring into the sky. “Sier, sir?”
The young Sier sat up. The haggard look on his face made Arderi stop in his tracks. Letting out a deep breath, the Shaper bowed his head, then struggled to his feet. “What is your name?”
“Arderi Cor, Sier.” Wringing his hands together, he was in no hurry to have a Shaper work on him after the incident with the Test.
“Well, come on, Mir’am Cor. Let us have a look at you, shall we?” The Shaper kneaded the small of his back with a fist and walked over to a small group of stools sitting in a circle. “My duties may then allow me to have some rest. I am Jintrill Deln. You may call me Sier if you are more comfortable with that. Most here seem to be.” Sier Deln sat on a stool and pointed to a second. “Pull that over here and show me your grievous battle wounds.”
Retrieving the stool, Arderi sat down next to the Shaper and removed his shirt. Blood had soaked through and dried into the bandage. When they removed it, the wound bled freely once more.
“This is not too awful, only the skin is damaged. It should not take more than half an aurn to Meld it. The Shaper placed one hand onto Arderi’s chest and stared at his side. A vacant, far off look fell into the Sier’s eyes. The same look Arderi had seen in the Grand Master Shaper’s the day of his Testing. Sitting there, staring at someone who gazed through him, made Arderi feel uncomfortable. He shifted on the stool to ease the numbness creeping over his backside.
“Be still, boy!” Arderi jumped at the words of the Shaper. “This will go quicker if you sit still.”
“I did not know you could speak when you were… were… doing this.”
“Of course I can speak.” The monotone way in which Sier Deln spoke dampened any harshness of his words. “I am not in a trance, you country fool. I am simply Melding the Essence that is in you so I may return your side to the state it was in before you were injured.”
A mild tingle radiated from Arderi’s side. If the open wound did not pain him so, it would feel like being tickled. Looking down, he saw no change to his side. Blood still seeped out and the torn skin looked ghastly. A stray thought took Arderi back to the strange event he had witnessed during the fight. “I know you can use the Essence to heal, can you also use it to stop time?”
“Ha! The Essence is in things, boy, things. You, me, the stool on which you sit are real. Time is not a thing. It is like the air between us—they exist, just not in a manner we can touch. How can you Meld with something that is not there?” Jintrill shook his head. “Working with the Essence is not like some fairytale magic, you know. It may seem so to a country lout, yet it is real—tangible. It is slow and methodical work. Just mending your little cut here will take the better part of half an aurn.” He let out a grunt. “Why am I even trying to explain this to you?” After a moment, he reached out and pulled the torn skin closed, causing Arderi to gasp. “Sorry, this may hurt a bit.” He held the flap of skin in place with his hand. “Where are you from?”
With the pressure Sier Deln applied to his side, the pain intensified, forcing Arderi to speak through clenched teeth. “Hild’alan stead, Sier.”
“Hild’alan. Why is that name familiar to me?” The Shaper paused, tilting his unseeing eyes to the sky. “I think I schooled with a boy from there.” He returned to his work on Arderi. “Yes, Alant was from there. He was an underling Initiate, yet quite the talk of the Chandril’elian over the past few turns of the seasons.”
“Aye, he is my brother, Sier.”
Sier Deln shifted and locked eyes with Arderi. Raw pain flooded back into his side as the tingling fled. Arderi yelped in agony.
“Sorry.” The Shaper’s eyes resumed their distant visage, and in only moments the tingle returned, chasing the worst of the pain from Arderi’s side. “That should not have happened.”
“What should not have happened?” Arderi felt himself relax as the tingling grew more intense.
&nb
sp; “I lost the Sight of the Essence. You shocked me by, well, by being who you are.”
A flood of emotions washed through Arderi. “Who I am, Sier? What do you mean?”
A half smile crept across Jintrill’s face. “Well, let us just say that until your brother arrived I was the star student. And now here I sit, out in this Gods forsaken land, doing menial healing on the new star’s little brother.”
“You sound as if he wronged you in some way.” Arderi flinched as a bolt of pain shot up his side. When Jintrill did not answer, he felt it best to keep silent.
Arderi’s mind wandered while he sat there with nothing to do. After about half aurn and more sharp pangs of pain than Arderi thought were absolutely necessary, the Shaper sat up and stretched. Examining his side, Arderi was pleased to find no trace of the injury remained. He rubbed his hand over the area, his fingers passed over smooth skin.
Not even a scar.
“Have you been Tested yet?” The Shaper rubbed the back of his neck, weariness thick in his voice.
Arderi’s face paled and his pulse quickened. Without taking his eyes from his healed side, he heard himself mumble. “Nix, Sier.”
“Well, you should. I think you may have the gift.”
Glancing up into Sier Deln’s eyes, Arderi could not tell if the man knew something more. “Why do you say that? I thought that no one could tell except by way of the Test.”
The Shaper’s face contorted into a puzzled look. “I am not sure. When I Melded to your Essence to heal you, I just felt… something. It was very odd. As if the Essence in you is—”
“Might I borrow the lad from you, Jintrill?” Both young men jumped back when they realized Clytus had appeared in between them. Without waiting on an answer, he snagged Arderi by the arm and hauled him to his feet. “Get your shirt! I have a task for you.” His voice was as gruff as his actions. Releasing Arderi’s arm, the man stormed away.
Farmers & Mercenaries Page 24