by T. G. Neal
“So?” She asked running her hands through it, jettisoning a fine mist into the air as it dried. “Is it bad?”
Vaelen shook his head and rose to his feet. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”
Something about the way he said that made her heart flutter, and she couldn’t tell if it was the heat of the fire or flush, as her face warmed. “Thank you.” She said bashfully.
Vaelen thought to his own long hair, still pulled back and tied with a string. “I don’t believe I’d be as proficient as you, but I’d like the same treatment, if you could.”
Aurelia obliged before Vaelen went to bathe in the pool below the little falls. She managed to get shorter for his, a far change from his previous shoulder-length hair. The freedom and comfort it afforded him was pleasant, and since he no longer held a station of any regality, he was free to do as he pleased, though this revelation was bittersweet.
Afterward he went and bathed. Aurelia had left him some of the herbs she had collected, and Vaelen did as she had, tearing a small portion of cloth off of the canvas wrap that his new armor had been wrapped in. He rubbed the herbs around in the cloth, disrobed, and stepped down into the pool. At first, the chill was unsettling, but as his body grew accustomed to the temperature change, he enjoyed the comfort it gave him.
Aurelia looked up to barely see the cast light of the fire on his naked back. She looked away, and as he slipped off into the water looked back. In the dim light of the fire, and the beaming white light of the moon, she could see several scars on his back that she didn’t remember seeing when she stitched up his other injuries. She wondered how much he’d seen in his few years in combat. The stories he’d told her she always appreciated, but she wondered how many darker stories he kept to himself.
As he stepped deeper into the water, he first submerged himself. Even in the light white light of the moon, he could see to the bottom of the small pool. Though much of the color was indistinguishable, he could see the multicolored stones on the basin of the pool. The colors made him smile, as did the general comfort of the water. As he stood in the waist deep water, he wrung water through the herbs and washed them over his body several times before tossing the rag aside and just enjoying the water itself. His hands found his most recent wounds that Aurelia had stitched. The deepest wound – the one on his shoulder – still felt tight at times, though it had gotten better. The stitches would eventually go away, though, having been made of animal intestines, he assumed, because their presence was already diminished. He then moved his hand to his side and felt of it. The coating that Aurelia had placed over it was gone, and the wound sealed on its own, though it was still tender, meaning it hadn’t healed completely inside.
Vaelen got out of the water, dried himself off and clothed himself, save for his top. He washed his woven cotton shirt to lighten the show of blood and left it out to dry next to the fire while he rested. He grunted as he lowered himself to the ground to sit and lean back against the trunk of the tree. “I feel so much better,” he said, closing his eyes. The contrast of the fire against his cool skin felt amazing, probably the best he’d felt in days. To him, it felt like weeks.
“I felt the same.” Aurelia said, looking at him past the flames. “We look like different people.” She said, quietly.
“Aren’t we?” He asked.
“What do you mean?” She said, confused, running a hand over her short hair.
“Well,” he started “the things that have happened to us over the last few days have been more than life altering.” His voice grew somber. “We lost loved ones. We lost the life that we knew the best. To begin with, they thought we were dead.” His voice grew more cheerful, but still did not qualify as happy. “We overcame obstacles, defeated enemies, and escaped almost unscathed. Who we were – who I was – died in Drachenara. Though I share many similarities to my former self, I truly am I different man. Anger, sadness and bitterness come to mind first.” He said, again with a somber tone.
Aurelia looked at him intently for a moment as he stared into the coals of the fire. For a long while she didn’t say anything, she just looked at him until he met her eyes. “You’re every bit the man you’ve always been.”
“With some changes,” he said.
“Without change we couldn’t grow.” Aurelia said with a smile. By no means was she happy about what had transpired, but she wasn’t unhappy with the results.
Vaelen didn’t say anything else. By the time his shirt dried and he put it on, Aurelia had fallen asleep. He walked around the camp and checked the horses and made sure they were secured to the tree, made sure there was no one within the immediate vicinity, and he put the knot of a fallen limb on the fire to burn all night. Before he, too, went to sleep, he walked over and draped the thin quilts they had over Aurelia as she slept. “Sleep well, My Lady.” He said as he walked back to his bedroll to lie down.
As he closed his eyes to dose, Aurelia whispered “You too, My Lord.”
“In these times of untrusting partners and unsure futures, it is with great honor that I announce an alliance with the Brendoms of Drachenara and Stormvale! You, as citizens, may ask what this means. It means that you are free to travel the borders as you wish, and you will only pay one tax, one fee, and gain much more in trade from this unity.
‘As part of Bren Drache’s new plan for security, they have begun recruiting for their new army. That recruiting extended to Stormvale, and now extends here to Greyvale! The Bren has excitedly announced that he will be personally satisfying a recruitment bonus of two-hundred and fifty sovereigns, paid to all new recruits, or land in any one of the three cities for your family to live.
‘That is not all. I hereby resign my title of Bren, though I will still fulfill the role of Bren for this great Brendom. I now bear the title Governor and will act as an extension of the hands of Bren and Brenness Drache! This day we celebrate our union with these great brendoms! This day we celebrate our prosperous futures!” The man turned away from the late-night celebration in the towns square and walked back in the keep behind him. As he closed the door, he came face to face with Miliria and a silent, vacant-eyed Denevim.
Miliria placed a finger on Governor Hemund’s lips before he could speak and ran the tip of her finger down his chin and along his jawline. “You were magnificent.” She said and turned away. “You may keep your host.”
Hemund smiled an unnaturally wide smile that would unnerve any normal person. “Thank you, Milady. The Burning One sent you only the best.”
Miliria smiled and turned away from the demon-possessed Hemund and led her brother outside to a cart that awaited them. “Now, Governor, do take care of our interests down here. And be sure to send us any information you may become privy to.”
The still-grinning Hemund nodded and waved them away for their journey back to Drachenara.
As the horse-drawn carriage pulled them away, Miliria sat with her hands in her lap. She looked over at her brother, who silently stared out of the window. “Denevim.” She said flatly, getting her brother’s attention. “You are alive. Be grateful.”
“How much of me yet lives, sister. I do not feel anything but anger, fear, and desperation.” His voice was cold and devoid of emotion.
“Such is the sacrifice we make. What you feel is your humanity.” She said, sitting perfectly still, staring blankly into his eyes.
“Is it?” Denevim said. “Or is it what the Destroyer would have me feel?” He said with a bitter bite at the end of his words.
“He gave you life again, you destroyed it first. He brought you back from the veil. He breathed his power into you through my hands! For that are you not grateful? How dare you speak against him?!” Miliria screamed at him in a voice just a shade away from a demon in of itself.
Denevim shrunk down from her. “Sister, I would not dare.”
“You would not dare.” She grabbed his arm and tore back his sleeve to expose his bare forearm. She then grabbed the flesh and dug her fingers in. He di
d not bleed. His arm began to blacken from her touch as death interwove with his cold flesh.
Denevim slid off into the floor of the carriage and buried his face in his sister’s lap, “No, sister! Not the cold of death, not again! Please!” His cries were desperate, empty, but fearful.
“That is what I expected,” she said, releasing his arm. “What he gives, I can take away.” She said, then waved her brother back to his seat. “Do not speak again.”
The ride back to Drachenara, though long, was entirely silent. Miliria spent the time in quiet reflection and prayer to the Destroyer, Ifris. Her future was uncertain, though she had a grand plan to execute, and a dark future it would be.
The next morning Aurelia woke before Vaelen. She quietly moved around camp, checking on the horses and strapping much of their gear up. She put her bow over her back, matching nicely with her current attire, and hanging her quiver from her hip. The dagger from Jorvig she tucked into her boot, where it would be close if she needed it.
Once everything was reasonably loaded, she placed a series of sticks on the fire to kick it up a bit more, and then she unwrapped their chicken from the night before to warm it for breakfast. As it warmed, she went down to the pool to fill their waterskins for their journey ahead.
None of this had gotten better since they’d set out on their own, forced into a life of vagabonds, even criminals, to survive from day to day. They hadn’t gone without food, in part for Vaelen’s willingness to do whatever was necessary to get it. And they had been fortunate to have so many allies in hiding – people she never knew about. But there wasn’t a day that went by that Aurelia didn’t seem to care for Vaelen more and more, she just never had a chance to express it. The moment never felt right to tell him. Both of them had lost so much.
As Aurelia crouched at the water and filled up the skins, she looked at the pebbles on the bottom of the crystal-clear pool of water. Here, in the serenity of their forest home, Aurelia wondered if anything that had happened had even really happened. For a moment, things felt so okay, that she even questioned if anything had gone wrong at all. Her wanton thoughts left her feeling more alive inside than before, though the darkness still challenged to cause her to fear, to flee, and to hide; and yet she would not yield to the fear or the loss.
Aurelia made the short trek back to camp and she moved the horses from the water closer to the fire and tied them to the tree she had slept against the night prior.
By her estimation, it was only a couple of hours after sunrise. Vaelen was too dedicated to his daily routine, and she knew that meant he would be up soon, especially when he smelled the food.
Vaelen roused up no sooner than Aurelia finished her tasks. Half-lidded, he sniffed the air and looked around. He stretched his arms out and rolled his joints as he rose and groaned as he stood. “What is this?” He said leaning against the tree and stretching.
“What is what?” Aurelia asked confused.
“Making me breakfast? I don’t know what to think.” Vaelen laughed and reached to pick up and put on his new armor.
“Ha.” Aurelia said smiling. “You’ll have to let me make you a true Drachen breakfast sometime, if we ever find ourselves comfortable again. Margit in the Keep’s kitchen taught me. It’s delicious.”
Vaelen nodded but developed a sort of somber face. “We will get somewhere comfortable again, I assure you. We’ve had as much good as bad luck, it would seem.”
Aurelia nodded and turned the chicken with the opposing side nearing the coals. “Oh, I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I… like the path we’re on now.”
Vaelen smiled and pulled the straps tight on his torso, flexing and stretching to get his body adjusted to the new armor. “This is nice, but it’s no plate. I look forward to one day having a set of plate armor to wear again. I feel unprotected.”
“I feel over protected.” Aurelia said.
“You think that, until someone tries to kill you and you’re grateful for it.”
“Oh, you mean like everyone since we’ve left Drachenara?” Aurelia said with a hint of humor to her voice.
Vaelen laughed aloud this time and tore off a chicken leg. Before taking a bite, he said, “Yes, well, I suppose you’re right. Sticky fingered thieves, blindly-ordered soldiers and bloodthirsty mages.”
Aurelia took her share of the chicken and smiled back. “I appreciate it, though.”
After they finished their short breakfast, they mounted up and got back on the road. Now past the Midland and Drachenara border, the only thing they could see behind them was the forests around the border and the mountains that created the greater Drachen Valley. Here, as they rode, the land turned from thick forest to a little wood, and then into the open plains that Midland was so well known for. On either side of the dirt road were farms, majestically lined up for hundreds of acres. Some grew corn and cotton, though most grew wheat in this area.
Once past the farms came just the plains. Scattered off through the rolling hills of the open ground were giant stones and the weathered heads of ancient statues that once looked over the caretakers of the land. No one knew who the statues were supposed to be, and only one still stood intact at the crossroads many miles ahead of them.
The Brendom of Midland was probably the least populated of all the Brendoms of the Nine. Made up primarily of farmers, the country only had one city and a few townships. Trade was limited, except for the weekly Market that came together out of covered farmers wagons and Elven Nomadic Caravans, called Ventila Elves. And though the country was so sparsely civilized, it was still fairly populated with those Nomads and Farmers.
As they rode the winding path, Aurelia watched as first one horse with a cloaked rider appeared on the nearby hillside. Then another joined him. By the time she mentioned it to Vaelen, a third and fourth rider joined the group of cloaked riders, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Ventila,” he said, still only walking his horse at a trot. “We have nothing to fear. They’re a peaceful people, though they’re largely ungoverned by any of the Nine Brendoms. They travel where the wind takes them. Made up of seers and herbalists, mostly, but they have a few mages, archers and warriors in their midst. My father told me that they’ve been here long since before man was, since before the statues, but they don’t share their history with humans. And they'll probably be here long after humans perish.”
Aurelia made an audible sound of interest and moved her horse up directly beside Vaelen’s, “Why is that?”
Vaelen looked at her and then looked back at the Elves as they ran along the hillside, “Because we enslaved their people.”
“We didn’t,” Aurelia corrected.
“No, but humanity did. When we stepped foot on this land, Maker knows how long ago, we were cruel to the Elves, who offered to share their land with us. For centuries before us, the Elves and Dwarves lived together, and then we came along and divided their already divided culture.” Vaelen sounded serious as he spoke, distaste for the human actions evident in his voice. “Dwarves agreed to open their doors to us, trade with us and give us secrets. This was the Elvish land first, long before either the Dwarves or Humans. Sure, you’ve met a few city Elves, here and there. But many of the true Elves, Elves like the Ventila or the Wood Elves – The Lignila -- remember how cruel we were to them, even going so far as to enslave their people in most brendoms, and across the seas.”
Aurelia seemed sad, “I learned much of this as a young girl, but not like you’ve said it.”
“That’s because they don’t teach noble folk the trials and tribulations that are suffered by the people under them. A highborn man or woman either has to be told or experience it themselves for it to seem real.” Vaelen said matter-of-factly.
Aurelia didn’t know what to say. He was right. She had seen the world from a much different perspective since things fell apart in Drachenara. Now that she was leaving her homeland behind, she was learning that things were much different than what she thought they were all along. In he
r mind, she had always believed that her parents had their people’s best interest in mind, and she still believed that, but how naïve were her parents in regard to what happened outside the city walls? She knew that her parents were willing to help people like Robert, in Giltshore, and his family, but how many more people had they actually been able to help. “Why don’t we try to correct things? The Nine, I mean.”
Vaelen shrugged, lifting a hand to wave to them as they veered away from Vaelen and Aurelia, disappearing back over the hillside. “Because they don’t want us to,” he said, “not anymore.” He looked back to Aurelia. “If you’ve ever spoken to a Plains Elf or a Wood Elf, they will refer to you as Advelis until they know you, or know you mean no harm. It means stranger or invader in their tongue. They’re afraid that we mean to unravel their culture, and as the years have gone on, we have.”
Aurelia was disturbed by this. “Is that, too, why the Dwarves shut themselves up in the mountains? Why some of them live up here, but most live below the surface?”
Vaelen nodded, “Aye. This has been more recent. When my father was a young man, the doors to the Dwarven Brendoms were still open. He said that under each major mountain system were Dwarves building great underground castles, mine shafts, and amassing gold in great quantities. Their people would come out to hunt and tend to their fields, and trade with humans. That is, until the last civil war, thirty-some years ago, before King Tivanis took over.
‘Each side of the war offered alliance with the Dwarves, promising various deals and promises to the Dwarven people like recognition and peace and station. The Dwarves were drawn into the mix, and when Humans on both sides didn’t keep up their end of the bargain, the Dwarven people closed their doors forever. Dwarves on the surface forgave us and stayed with us. Some even fell in love with humans. The others have been locked in their cavernous homes for forty-five years.”