“Nix, there are no servants here if we are not present.” Tapping his little foot on the floor, Charver pointed down the hall. “Now go! Daylight is wasting.”
After he cleaned the vomit and urine from his fur, Klain felt like the events of the past day had not happened, as if he had simply been told of them. Following Charver downstairs, they entered a small front room with a few plush chairs scattered about. Before they had reached the bottom stair, Klain’s heart leapt into his throat. The blade the Honored One had given him, sheathed in its scabbard, lay on a small round table in the center of the room. “My sword!”
The boy ran forward and snatched it up before Klain could reach it. “Oh, Aye! I found it outside the warehouse where they held you in that awful cage.” The boy presented it with a flourish. “Are you happy to see it?”
Clinching his jaws, Klain fought back the urge to weep. “I thought it gone. Aye, I am happy to see it. I am grateful.” He crossed the small room and picked the boy up into the air. “My thanks for this, and for coming to my rescue!”
He set the boy down and they left the shop. Klain was pleased to see the sun still lay closer to the dawn than midday. “We will easily reach the villa before halfmeal.”
Closing the door behind them, the boy reached into a pouch and pulled out a tiny purple stone. Pressing it flat against a silver plate just above the door handle, Klain heard the sound of a bolt clicking into place. “What is that?”
“This?” The boy rolled the stone over his palm for a moment before slipping it back into his pouch. “Have you never seen a lockingstone before?” Klain shook his head. “Most of the shops here in the Merchantillian have them.” He patted the wall of the shop. “Shapers Meld the Essence of a building, creating a sort of bubble around them. Once the stone activates it, nothing can enter.”
Reaching out, Klain dragged a paw down the door. His claws stopped just short of touching the wood, and did not mar its white-painted surface. “That is amazing! Why do not more have this lockingstone?”
“My father says it is very expensive to have a Shaper create one. He told me it takes a team of them working day and eve for many moons just to get it ready.”
The wagon they had used earlier stood waiting for them outside. Telling Klain to wait, Charver ran down the street. When he returned a few moments later, he led a young Human pulling a horse behind him. Once the young man hitched the horse to the buggy, Charver handed him a coin, and the two climbed into the front seat. Taking the reins, the boy drove the wagon out of the city.
Although it annoyed Klain to have people gawk and stare at them, which did not end until they were well out of the city and surrounding buildings, no one made any attempt to hinder their progress. For the most part, Klain traveled in silence. Much to his chagrin, Charver did not. The boy chatted away the aurn it took to reach the villa, speaking about Mocley and all of the places he had been while there. Klain was not happy to hear that the boy had gone alone into the city while he had been incapacitated. He spoke of his favorite bakery in Gatetown and all the wonderful sweets they carried. He talked of many other things that Klain let slip past his troubled thoughts without comment. Yet, when the boy’s topic turned to Master Timms and what he thought should be done, Klain cut him off in mid-sentence.
“I have not yet decided.”
The fact that Klain said more than a one-word answer or a grunt stunned Charver into silence. It did not last long, however. “What do you mean? He sold you into slavery!”
“Aye, he did. And for that I should feast on the marrow in his bones.”
“Should!” Giving Klain an incredulous stare, Charver snorted.
A long moment passed between them with only the crunching of the wagon wheels grinding the crushed stone of the highway to fill the void.
“Well, I know what my father will do when he learns of it. He will—”
A vicious growl erupted, and Charver jumped, nearly slipping from the wagon bench. Klain almost felt remorseful and sat trying to regain control of his emotions. “I said I have not yet decided.”
It surprised Klain that the young boy rode the rest of the way to the villa in relative silence. This was fine with him, for he found himself lost in his own troubled thoughts. The sun had reached its zenith in the sky by the time the horse-drawn wagon made the turn from the main road and headed down the skinnier dirt path leading to the villa. Once the horse’s hooves echoed off the paving stones covering the entrance courtyard, a large lump formed in the pit of Klain’s stomach.
Ascending the stairs and passing through the double-doors of the manor, the two walked into a bee’s nest of activity. Upon seeing them, one of the servant girls—Klain knew she worked in the kitchen and thought her name was Tisna—let out a scream and ran for the boy. Immediately, the staff of the household surrounded the two with a dozen questions flung at them all at once.
“What is the meaning—” Master Vimith burst into the room from his study, and noticing his son, ran over to scoop him into his arms. “I have been so worried!” Rohann glared at Klain. “Where have you been?” His words were harsh, yet Klain did not begrudge the man.
“Father!” Charver gave him a hug. “When did you return?”
“Only just, and found that no one had seen you since two days prior!” Rohann’s smile dropped when he shot another glare at Klain. “Well, you have some explaining to do, Master Klain.”
Squirming from his father’s arms, Charver jumped down to the marble-tiled floor. “It all started with Master Timms!”
“Oh? What does he have to do with this?” Taking the boy by the hand, Rohann headed back into his study. Padding along behind, Klain saw several of the bodyguards who had stayed behind and probably knew what had transpired.
Neither Timms nor Narn are anywhere to be seen!
“He sent Klain into town!” Charver made that phrase sound as if it was a horrible punishment. “That is where—” The boy fell silent in mid sentence, prompting Klain to speed into the study.
Standing in the middle of the room, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else, stood Satner Timms.
Rohann stopped next to his son. “That is where what, Charver?”
Satner stood with his feet slightly apart. Although his hand did not directly rest on the hilt of his sword, it lay close enough for it not to matter. He watched Klain with an intensity that Klain knew all too well. Charver seemed uncertain as to what to do. It was obvious the boy did not want to enter the room, yet with Klain in the doorway, he could not withdraw either. Klain simply stood fixated upon the other man’s eyes.
Now is the time having an Elmorr’Antien’s power would serve me well.
As if he did not notice the tension in the room, Rohann crossed the study to the small table that held a decanter of brandy. Picking up the crystal vial, he poured himself a small amount in a glass, turned, and held it up in offering. “Would anyone care to join me in a drink? I think there are explanations to be heard.”
“Nix, Master Vimith.” Satner did not take his eyes from Klain’s.
Setting the decanter back on its silver tray, he sat down. “Master Timms? Master Klain? There seems to be an issue here.”
Several moments elapsed as the two continued to stare at each other, waiting for the other to move first. It was Satner who finally broke eye contact and looked at the carpet. Shoulders slumping, he drew in a deep breath. “The Young Master is correct. I did send Master Klain into town. He was to be—”
“Enough!” Klain practically roared the word out. Turning to Master Vimith, Klain thrust a thumb to his chest. “I became lost in the city.” Returning his attention to Satner, Klain was pleased to see the look of surprise on the man’s face. “I am sorry, Master Timms, I was unable to retrieve that which you sent me for.”
“Hey, wait!” Charver’s voice, high pitched normally, rose several octaves.
Gla
ring at the boy, Klain exposed his front fangs for a split moment. “Aye. I will not forget you, Young Master.” Focusing on Master Vimith once more, Klain laid a paw upon the boy’s shoulder. “If it had not been for the Young Master here, I may never have found my way back.”
Sipping his brandy, Rohann looked first at one, then the other of his two employees. He studied them for long moments, and whatever conclusion he reached, Klain was sure he had not believed the story. “Very well.” He stood. “If there is nothing else to tell, it seems that all has worked itself out. Charver, go and find out what Cook is preparing for halfmeal. Mayhaps we can go riding if there is time before then.”
“Aye, father.” Eyeing both Klain and Satner with the same look of irritation, the boy scuttled off.
With Charver gone, Rohann set his glass onto his desk and stepped between Klain and Timms. “I understand then, there will be no more issues with this matter?”
“Aye, sir.” Satner’s answer was quick, causing Rohann to raise an eyebrow.
Satner cleared his throat. “There will be no more instances. By the Twelve, I do swear.”
Turning his gaze to Klain, the merchant gave him a quizzical look. Nodding once, Klain spun on his hindpaw to stalk from the room, yet stopped when Rohann grabbed his arm.
“Master Klain, if you ever make a decision that puts Charver in danger again, I do swear that I will find a way to kill you.”
Clinching his jaws, Klain knew the man spoke true. A smile exposed his front fangs and he turned his gaze to Satner. “Aye. And if I ever make such a poor judgment call again, I just might let you.”
Crossing the entrance hall, he bounded up the stairs closest to him and headed down the hall to his room.
“Master Klain!” Klain had known Satner trailed him by the man’s unique smell. “Wait a moment.” Turning, Klain watched the bodyguard ascend the last few stairs and close the distance between them. “I do not see you as someone who forgives a debt so easily.”
This caused Klain to laugh aloud. “Nix, I am not.”
“Then why?”
“If you had not intervened, Charver would most likely be dead.”
“Aye. Still, if not for me Charver would have never been in danger.”
Shifting one hindpaw to the side, Klain took up what he knew Satner would recognize as a fighting stance. “Are you trying to change my mind? I have no issue with killing you if that is your desire.”
Raising both hands before him, Satner took a few steps back. “Nix, that is not my intention.”
“Regardless of how he got there, you were not willing to let harm come to the boy. You took the full brunt of the painstick, allowing me a moment more to free myself. Had you not, Charver would be dead. That is payment enough for me.” Stretching to his full height, Klain glared down at the man. “However, should you be foolish enough to repeat this incident, I will not be so kind.” At the look on Satner’s face, Klain grunted once, then continued toward his room. He noted that Satner did not move from their meeting spot.
As Klain reached for the handle to his door, Satner whistled to catch his attention. “I can think of no better protection for the boy than you, Kithian. You will have no more issues from me, nor any of mine.”
Without looking back at the Human, Klain entered his room. Closing the door, he caught the whiff of Charver. “I know you are here, Young Master.”
The boy slunk out from behind the large curtain that hid the only window in the room. “Master Klain, why did you let Master Timms get away with doing what he did?”
Crossing the room, Klain sat on the bed in front of Charver. “I do not know much of Humans. Truth be told, I do not know much of any race. I know only what is in here.” He touched his chest. “In here, I feel that Timms was punished for his deed. That is enough for me.”
A warm breeze blew gently over his face, carrying with it the fresh scent of maple. How he missed the scent of the maple trees that surrounded his home stead in the summer. The scent of maple, the smell of fresh tilled earth, the warm smile of his Ma, the firm clasp of his Papa on his shoulder—so reassuring. He missed them all. They had protected him, guided him, loved him.
Floating inside nothingness, he felt weightless. He let his mind reach out toward the rest of his body, yet he did not have the energy to open his eyes. The warm breeze softly tickled his face once more. He was at peace.
Over time, sensations crept back into his awareness. He felt the gentle caress of grass on the back of his neck, the weight of his body pressed onto the ground, a pebble resting uncomfortably under his right elbow, and the gentle waft of the breeze ruffling the hem of his collar, its thin material grazing against one cheek.
Opening his eyes, he looked up into a bright blue sky. He followed the lazy gait of a cloud crossing overhead. His eyes closed and he bound his mind to that cloud. Joining it. They drifted together through the heavens. He reveled in the feeling of gliding away, and slipped off into a dream of flight.
Alant Cor awoke with a shiver. A thin sheen of dew covered him, soaking through his robes. The dampness gave the slight wind a colder feel than it deserved. A hoot from a small copse of trees in the distance announced to all that an owl had recently acquired its supper. Sitting up, he gazed out over a field of half-grown wheat stalks. A full moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over everything.
Wheat? There are no wheat fields on Elmorr’eth.
Scanning his surroundings, Alant recognized the low grassy hills that spread out into the distance. The stars overhead twinkled down upon a scene he thought he would never again see. Turning around, a smile crept over his face and a joy filled him to the brim. The tears that welled in his eyes blurred the distant glow emanating over the walls of the Hild’alan stead.
I am home! How?
Threading his way between the short rows of wheat, he stepped out onto the gravel road he knew all too well. Standing in the middle of the road, he spun in a circle, unable to accept what he saw. The place looked as if nothing had changed. The gravel road, rutted with wagon tracks, snaked off into the distance, plowed fields lining it on both sides. Closer to the stead walls, the low fences of the stock pastures were visible in the dim light of the moon. It was as if he had never left.
“Oiy!”
Alant jumped, catching the hem of his robe under the heel of his slipper. He fell hard, gravel skinning his palms as he reached out to catch himself.
“Begging pardon, Sier. I did not expect to see anyone out and on the road this late in the eve.”
Looking up, Alant saw a large man dressed in the boiled leather of a guarder standing in the road a few paces from him. The guarder held a torch high over his head.
The man rushed over and held out a hand. “Here, Sier. Let me—By all Twelve Gods!” Horror filled the man’s face and he backed away. Dropping his torch to the road, he pawed at the hilt of the shortsword hanging from his side. Steel rasped over leather, and the guarder held the sword out in front of him with hands that shook like a tree in a windstorm. “Mercy! Have mercy on me!” Spinning, the man flung his sword onto the road and sped back toward the main gate of Hild’alan.
Alant regained his footing and stood staring after the man. Reaching up a hand, he felt across his features expecting to find some horrid deformity.
It feels normal.
Striding up to the man’s discarded sword, Alant bent and retrieved the blade. Using the flat side like a mirror, Alant gasped. Staring back at him was his own reflection, one he had seen his entire life.
Yet, those eyes! They are not mine!
The eyes that looked back at him were horrifying to behold. His pupils had stretched, like those of a reptile. Around his new pupils, in a sea of liquid velvet, a deep shade of red covered everything.
They glow! My eyes glow red!
A chill wind racked over his skin causing goose pimples to rise,
yet he did not feel the cold. He felt nothing. Opening his eyes, the piercing blue vastness stretching off in every direction dazzled him. His attention lingered upon a stray cloud that sped across the sky.
“Ahh!” A voice, soft and airy like the expanse that dominated his vision, floated into his ears. “How do you feel?”
How do I feel? I feel nothing. I should feel. I have felt before. I felt—
Bolting upright, Arderi Cor looked down at his hands.
I felt my bones breaking!
Yet his hands seemed fine now. Rolling them over, he looked at each side. Reaching down, he rubbed his legs—kneading their muscles. The bones underneath felt intact.
I really do feel fine!
Arderi sat on a soft cot. Its cream-colored canvas easily supported his weight. Glancing around, he saw that he was in an opening between several white pillars, the tops of which were covered by a large, dome-shaped marble ceiling. Covering the ground below him were cut flagstone tiles that ended at the pillars. Beyond the tiles, vibrant green grass, neatly trimmed, covered the rest of the small hill. The grassy area stretched only a few paces wide then dropped out of sight. Majestic mountains surrounded him as far as he could see—their snow-capped peaks stabbed against the clear-blue sky.
None are above me. I am on the highest peak!
A hand gently rested on his arm. “Are you well, sir?”
Following the arm, Arderi gazed into a pair of liquid blue eyes. The eyes adorned a face so perfect that all breath left his lungs. Golden blond hair covered the girls head and framed skin so white, so smooth, he thought for a moment that she must be made from porcelain. A gentle smile lay on her ruby-red lips. She raised a hand to cover a giggle, and Arderi realized that his mouth hung open.
Curse you for a country lout!
“Sir, are you well?” Breaking eye contact, she looked him over. “You do not seem to bear any wounds.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Arderi nodded his head.
Smiling again, the girl bowed her head. “Good, then. I am called Rinear.”
Farmers & Mercenaries Page 43