by Ben Hale
Three days after waking in the healing ward Alydian finished her charm, adding the last few spells to complete the enchantment. Then she took a place in front of it and began to speak, her voice causing the lightcast falcon to spread its wings.
“I hope this message finds you in time,” she said. “And if it does, I need your help. We both know what is going to happen and want to stop it. It’s time we stepped out of the shadows . . .”
Chapter 36: Crescent Moon Farm
Raiden and Jester limped their way through Greenwood until they reached the southern highway across Griffin. The storm ended shortly after they were on the road, but they were drenched to the bone, and their injuries slowed them further. Two days after the battle they came to a farm owned by a member of the Defiant. The farmer’s wife took one look at them and stabbed a finger toward the barn.
“Your clothes stay outside,” she said firmly. “I’m sure you want a meal but you’ll have a bath first.”
“Holly,” the farmer implored her. “Don’t be daft. Let them in.”
She turned on him, her eyes flashing. “They’ll drag mud and blood all over the house, and if a patrol happens to stop by we’ll all be headed to the gallows.”
“Yes dear,” he said, lowering his gaze and stepping onto the porch.
“And John? Don’t call me daft.”
“Yes dear.”
As tired as he was, Raiden managed a smile. Holly barely came to his shoulder, but the diminutive woman had as much spirit as Red. Round with child, she closed the door and shouted at their seven children, calling them to order like a general marshaling her troops. John descended the steps and gestured toward the barn in the back.
“You heard her,” he said with a sigh. “Off to the barn with you.”
“You have our gratitude, John,” Jester said.
“As we’ve said before,” the farmer replied with a dismissive wave. “Any friends of the Soldier are welcome at our door.”
Raiden and Jester limped around the farm. Shaped like a crescent, the large farm bent between two rocky hills. Its position south of Herosian and its proximity to the highway made it a frequent stopping place for merchants. Travelers of every race knew the rules of Crescent Moon Farm. If you want to eat you contribute to the table, and if you want to sleep you had to help with the morning chores.
“Anyone visiting?” Raiden asked.
John shook his head. “A group of sailors stopped by on their way to Keese,” he said, “but they departed this morning.”
“We have no desire to bring harm to your house,” Jester added.
John laughed. “Griffin soldiers may stop here, but just to join us for a meal. Only the Verinai would search our land. If they visit, you know where to hide.”
“We do,” Raiden said, recalling the secret room beneath the house.
They reached the barn, a well-built structure that housed a few horses and some equipment. When they entered, one of John’s sons was working the handle of a pump, filling the basin above the privy. An inventive and curious man, John had fashioned the basin above a small room adjacent to the barn. The place afforded privacy so his children could wash standing up, a method that allowed them to get clean without the painstaking effort of filling and draining a tub. A second son, who appeared little more than a child, swatted at the pigs to move them away.
“Add a fireball,” John said.
“Yes, father,” the boy said, and opened a stone bin fastened against the wall. With a set of tongs, he pulled out a steaming sphere of aquaglass, which he dropped into the tub.
“You don’t have to waste such expense on us,” Raiden protested.
“Nonsense,” John replied. “You’re dirtier than the boys after planting.”
The water began to steam, and Raiden pointed Jester to it. John directed his sons back to their chores as the assassin began to remove his outer clothing. Layers of mud came away with crusted blood and leaves, and Jester growled as the movement laid bare his wounds. Blood welled up from the reopened injuries, dripping from his leg, arm, side, and forehead. Then he stepped into the privy and shut the door, hissing in pain as the warm water met his torn flesh.
“Blasted mages,” he growled, his voice echoing from within the privy.
Raiden sank into a seat on the wall and closed his eyes. Too focused on surviving the storm and escaping the woods, they had spoken little regarding what they’d overheard, but it had weighed heavily on Raiden’s mind. But now his fatigue got the better of him, and he slept for several minutes until Jester hissed again.
Raiden snapped awake, fumbling for his sword until he realized the assassin was merely exiting the privy. Blood streamed from his wounds, staining the clothing John had brought. He caught up a towel and pressed it against his side, muttering to himself. Raiden winced as he rose and stepped to him, noticing the whiteness to the man’s face.
“Your wounds are more severe than you let on,” Raiden said, his voice laced with disapproval.
“What am I, a whelp?” he demanded.
“Are you covered?” Holly called from outside the barn. “I have more towels if you need them.” Without waiting for an answer, she strode inside.
She took one look at Jester and her face went rigid. “Warren,” she called, “Bring my needle and thread, quickly.”
“I’ll be fine, woman,” Jester said.
Holly was already at his side and forcing him to lie on the bench Raiden had vacated. “Don’t be daft,” she snapped.
Another of their sons appeared with a needle and thread, and she went to work on Jester’s wounds. He clenched his jaw but did not cry out as she stitched the wound on his side. Then she moved to the gouge in his leg.
“Take your bath,” she called over her shoulder. “I suspect you have injuries of your own lurking beneath all that mud. I promise to keep my back turned.”
Raiden did as requested and gingerly stripped his own clothing. His weapons clattered softly onto the floor and he stepped into the privy before removing the last of his clothing. He sucked in a breath as his own wounds touched the stream of water. It was odd, as if bathing in a waterfall, and would have been pleasant if it didn’t sting.
“You should have said you were injured,” Holly called after a moment. “I would have let you in.”
Her voice was hard and clipped, but the disapproval hid her worry. Raiden smiled at the motherly tone, and recalled how many times his own mother had sounded like that.
“You spoke with wisdom,” he called back. “The bathhouse is easier to clean than the house.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But a dead body is hard to clean up from anywhere.”
Jester grunted, and Raiden wondered if she’d tugged on the thread to emphasize her point. Knowing she would be waiting to stitch him up, Raiden lingered in the bathhouse until the water began to cool. Then he reluctantly exited and dried himself before dressing. He forewent the shirt and stepped back into the barn, where Holly looked him up and down.
“Not as bad as your friend,” she said briskly, “But that mud will likely cause infection.”
She pulled a bottle of pink liquid from a cupboard on the shelf and released a single drop on each of Jester’s wounds. He sighed in relief as the liquid healing magic soothed his pain. Then he eased himself up, allowing Raiden to take his place.
“She’s rather good for a magicless healer,” he said. His face was drawn, but he managed a smile.
Holly sniffed. “Of course I am.”
Raiden lay down and endured the stitching, managing not to cry out. When she’d finished, he sighed in relief and sat up to pull the shirt over his head. His muscles were sore but his injuries no longer ached with every motion.
“You have my gratitude,” he said. “But you should not have used so much on our poor forms.”
“Don’t scold me on where I spend my coin,” Holly said briskly, rising and wiping blood onto her apron. “Now come inside for dinner. My boys will handle the cleanup.”
“Are you certain—”
“Don’t argue,” she said, turning on her heel and striding to the house.
Raiden and Jester exchanged a look and a smile.
“Why can’t Holly lead the Verinai?” Jester lamented.
Raiden laughed. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Jester grinned and they ascended the back steps to the house. Entering the kitchens, they took the offered seats and Raiden watched Holly bustle about the kitchen, cooking, cleaning, and directing her children with poise and skill. A moment later steaming piles of potatoes and seared meat were placed before them and they dug in.
They finished their plates, and extra helpings, just as Holly disappeared to put the kids to bed. The oldest three protested at the early hour, but Holly sent them to bed with a single word. With darkness falling outside and just a handful of light orbs to illuminate the interior of the house, John leaned forward.
“I think it’s time we know what’s going on.”
Holly glanced over from where she was cleaning the stove. “Did the Soldier kill the king?” She shot the question at them as if she’d been holding it in for hours, prompting John to sigh.
“Holly—”
“We deserve the truth,” she said. “Rumors are flying and no one knows truth from falsehood.”
“The Soldier did not kill the king,” Raiden said, exchanging a look with Jester. “A Verinai master wielded the blade.”
Holly stopped, her cleaning rag hanging in her hand as she regarded him for several moments. Then abruptly she nodded and returned to cleaning, but her posture seemed more relaxed.
“Tell us everything,” she said firmly. “We cannot help from ignorance.”
“Holly,” John said. “They don’t need to—”
“They certainly do,” she said, waving the rag at him like a dagger. “The people of Griffin are on the verge of revolt, and townsfolk are terrified and desperate. They are gearing for battle even though they don’t know the foe. Only truth will stop a war.”
“Your wife speaks with wisdom,” Jester said, his tone amused.
“She always does,” John said. “Even if she lacks restraint.”
Holly’s lips twitched but she did not smile. “Then it’s settled. Out with it.”
Raiden hesitated, and then realized that he’d been guarded for too long. Starting from the battle with Alydian, he shared the tale in its entirety, withholding only Alydian’s role and the true identity of the Soldier.
As he spoke Holly and John listened. John sat behind the table, his long legs extended beneath while his arms were folded over his broad chest. He absently scratched his beard as he stared at Raiden.
At first Holly cleaned, but as the tale drew to a close she slowed her movement, until she sat with them. When Raiden finally fell silent she regarded Raiden, her expression tight with emotion. Then she looked to John, her tone soft for the first time.
“John?”
“I know,” he said with a long sigh. “It appears the war has already begun.”
Chapter 37: Invitation
Raiden, Jester, Holly, and John talked deep into the night. Then Holly exhaled in exasperation and stabbed a finger toward the stairs.
“Talk won’t forestall a war tonight. Time for bed.”
Again, Raiden heard his mother’s voice and flashed a weary smile. Following the woman’s direction, he trudged down the stairs to the secret room John had built out of a corner in their cellar. Cramped and containing a pair of bunk beds, the room was hidden behind a stack of crates.
Raiden climbed into a bed and was asleep in seconds. He dreamed of the bandit gorge, and of Teriah’s final expression. Then he fought the guardian and repeatedly failed, until a spike of aquaglass pierced his chest. He snapped awake, nearly striking Jester as he poked Raiden.
“Easy,” Jester said, his features illuminated by a dim light orb.
Raiden ran a hand over his face and sighed. “My apologies,” he said.
“Can’t shake the oracle’s expression?”
Raiden sat up with a groan. “No.”
“I understand the sentiment,” Jester said. “But Holly wants us to come up to eat. Apparently it’s noonday, and she won’t let us skip a second meal.”
Raiden cracked a smile. “She’s like a mother hen.”
“More like a lion protecting her cubs,” Jester said with a grin.
A muffled shout drew their attention to the ceiling, of Holly scolding an errant child. They exchanged another smile as they listened to Holly correct her son. When it subsided Raiden rolled out of bed and eased his shirt past his wounds. He grimaced as the motion pulled on the stitches but was pleased to find his wounds nearly healed, the healing magic aiding in the recovery.
They ascended the stairs to find Holly bustling in the kitchen, a daughter and a son working with her, both doing dishes and cooking. Raiden spotted the two remaining plates heaped with corn, potatoes, and bacon, and chose the nearest.
“I’ll finish the chores,” Holly said to her children. “Go out and help your father.”
“But mother,” they protested in unison, shooting looks at Raiden and Jester.
“Don’t argue with me,” Holly said sternly, flicking her towel like a whip. “Now move along.”
Muttering, they exited the kitchens. Raiden threw the children an apologetic look as he dug into the meal. It had cooled but was still delicious, and he ate with an almost feverish appetite. Jester was no less enthusiastic for the meal.
Holly gave them space, and finished the dishes with deft motions before tackling a load of soiled linens by the door. Raiden noticed his own bloodstained clothing from the previous day and made to protest, but she glared at him.
“Do you know how to get blood out of leather armor?” she snorted triumphantly before exiting the room. In her absence, Jester lowered his tone.
“I’d rather fight a battlemage than Holly,” Jester murmured. “She intimidates me.”
“Me as well,” Raiden said, lowering his tone when she returned for a second load.
They finished their meal and then took their dishes to the sink of water, scrubbing them clean before placing them beside the sink to dry. Holly returned to collect the last of the linens, and gave an approving nod when she spotted Jester and Raiden washing their own plates. Then she disappeared again, and a moment later Raiden heard her turning the outside laundry tub, another of John’s creations.
Raiden exited the house and strode onto the back lawn, his gaze immediately drawn to the activity in the field. John and several of his children worked with corn and wheat, with even the young ones assisting in the labor.
Clouds drifted across the sky, white and cottony against a striking blue. The sun warmed the air while the breeze cooled it, the contrast warm and pleasant, a pure summer day. Trees dotted the hills that surrounded Crescent Moon Farm, their canopies tugged by the wind as if it had a secret it wished to share.
The yard around the farm contained a handful of great oaks between the house and the edge of the planting fields. The barn sat to the left, and a pair of young men were visible inside, shoveling hay to the horses.
On the opposite side of the yard the oldest oak contained a small structure nestled in its limbs. Crafted with great care, the small ship was evidently intended for the children, and even boasted a helm and a prow. A spiral staircase ascended to the deck, providing an elegant entrance to the whimsical vessel.
Raiden made his way to the great oak and ascended the stairs, wincing as the climb pulled on the stitches in his leg. Shaded and cool, the retreat provided an unparalleled view of the planting fields, the house, and the road. With a sigh, Raiden sank onto a bench and Jester joined him.
The tranquility of the farm instilled a yearning in Raiden that he hadn’t felt in decades, and he marveled at the peace that Holly and John had painstakingly cultivated. For several moments he considered where he would be if he’d never picked up a sword.
“Why did Te
riah grant us our freedom?” Jester asked.
The question had obviously burned in the assassin’s mind, and his tone reflected his need for an answer. Raiden sat in silence, reluctant to defile the peace of the scene with a conversation of blood. Then he finally shook his head.
“I cannot say.”
“I don’t like being used,” Jester said, “at least not by a woman like her.”
Raiden grinned. “I thought you liked all women.”
Jester laughed lightly. “I said all women like me, not that I like them.”
Raiden laughed with him but the levity passed quickly, and Raiden said, “I don’t like being manipulated either.”
“Does she think we’ll go after Red?”
“Is that what we should do?”
Jester threw him a sharp look. “You would not?”
Raiden sighed. “It is the predictable course.”
“But why not just kill us in the gorge?” Jester asked, curiosity burning in his voice. “Why wait until we go after Red?”
“She said I have one more task before my death,” Raiden said.
“Blasted oracles,” Jester said, rising to his feet and limping to the railing. “Our world would be better without them.”
“They’ve served the kingdoms for over two senteniums,” Raiden said. “They’ve never betrayed the people.”
“All it takes is one,” Jester said. “And after what we heard, Teriah is a traitor of the highest order.”
“Do you really think she would kill Elenyr?” Raiden asked, folding his arms. “Or was their conversation merely a ploy? Teriah obviously knew we were there.”
Jester frowned, and then jerked his head. “Teriah may have known, but Elsin’s surprise was genuine.”
Raiden was inclined to agree. The guildmaster’s expression when she’d spotted Raiden and Jester had been surprise, anger, and a trace of fear. The woman didn’t want their conversation known. But why would Teriah want them to hear it?