by JD Byrne
“Nowhere, really,” he said. “And everywhere. I haven’t had what most people call a home in almost ten years. The woods are my home. When the weather turns foul there are always guesthouses that will take us in for a few nights. Proprietors of guesthouses, inns, and taverns are particularly fond of having a good guy as a guest, you see. Then we move on. It goes with the territory.”
“That’s not much of a life for a child,” she said.
“Is it any worse than the life of a child growing up on a farm?” Forlahn shot back at her, clearly aggravated by her questions. “What about a son who joins his father underground in a mine? Or goes to sea with him? Malin has learned to take care of himself in a way that most people never will. It will keep him alive…” His voice trailed off, but it was clear how the sentence was supposed to end.
In spite of the distress it was causing him, Strefer had to ask one more question. “What about his mother? Your wife, I presume?”
He sat for a moment, still and silent, letting the weight of the question sink in. Finally he said, in a low voice of sadness, “She’s gone. Has been for some time.” Before Strefer had a chance to ask anything else, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his legs. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to start a fire.” He walked away without waiting for a response.
~~~~~
A thick blanket of clouds on top of the relentless canopy of the forest made the night pitch black. The only light within sight was the slowly smoldering flames of the campfire Forlahn had made. It had already served its purpose.
First, it served to heat up the steel Forlahn had used to seal Rurek’s wound. If there was anyone else nearby looking for them, they would have had no problem following his anguished screams as Forlahn laid the glowing hot metal on the wound. But no one came, for which Strefer was thankful. She was more thankful that the day, all of it, had worn Rurek down so much that he was now sound asleep, still propped up against the tree by the stream.
Second, it had proven to be a formidable makeshift stove. Malin returned from his hunt with a pair of the same sort of rodent Strefer and Rurek had eaten a few nights before. He also brought back several different root vegetables, of which Forlahn selected a few and threw the rest out as suspicious. Forlahn took a pot from his apparently bottomless pack and prepared a thick stew that, to Strefer’s pleasant surprise, actually tasted good. He explained that his years in the forest had made him familiar with many of the plants and herbs that grew there and how to use them.
Fed and tired, Malin quickly went to sleep over by Rurek. Only an occasional snore provided any reminder to Strefer that he was there. Still, the boy was louder asleep than awake.
Strefer lay beside the fire, unable to sleep. The smoldering pile crackled occasionally, barely audible over the background din of forest life. Although she had grown used to sleeping on the ground, she noticed after dinner that both Forlahn and Malin had rolled-up mats that they used at night. Part of her hoped that one of them might give up their comfort in the name of chivalry. Neither did, and Strefer scolded herself for her disappointment.
It was not the lack of comfort that was keeping her awake. Instead, it was her mind, which buzzed with activity any time she closed her eyes. The day’s events replayed behind her eyes, out of order, a mishmash of terror, pain, and confusion. She tried once again, closing her eyes with deliberate slowness, as if she was trying to control her breathing. It was working, and she had just about slipped off, when a sharp noise nearby made her blast back to waking. She sat up with a start, only to see Forlahn on his knees by the fire, feeding it a few more bits of wood.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asked.
Strefer leaned back on her elbows. “Not really, unfortunately. I can’t seem to settle my mind down tonight.”
He nodded. “I don’t imagine you’ve been through a day like this before, have you?”
“Not quite,” she said, thinking back to the altercation at the ferry. “I’ve been in the middle of a riot in Tolenor and in the middle of tavern brawls. But they weren’t anything like today. I’ve never had…” her voice trailed off.
“Never had someone killed right in front of your eyes?” he asked, finishing her sentence.
“No,” she said, lying only slightly. “It’s not that, at least by itself. It’s the way it happened. The way you…destroyed his head. It just exploded.”
“I’m sorry about that. Spider isn’t the most dangerous or ruthless bandit in the Arbor. Or wasn’t, at any rate. But he was clever. If I had just shot him in the leg, brought him down like he did with Rurek, his goons would have been on you in a flash. On his orders, of course. But kill him right in front of them and they have no idea how to react. It was necessary.”
“Don’t apologize,” Strefer said. “In fact, I don’t think either one of us properly thanked you for saving us. Spider wanted to turn us in to someone, and who knows what they would have done.”
“I heard him reading out that wanted poster. You must have made some very powerful people very angry.”
“You think?” Strefer laughed. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Then they must be afraid of what you might do,” he said. “For one thing, only someone who is really desperate to get his hands on something, or someone, is going to print up that kind of a notice. For another, that’s one of the few notices I’ve heard that didn’t mention how big the reward was.”
Strefer didn’t follow. “Which means what, exactly?”
“You know the saying, if you have to ask how expensive something is you can’t afford it?”
Strefer nodded.
“Well, it’s the same with a wanted poster. A nonspecific reward means there is a lot of money at stake. Less important bounties tend to have a specific price on their heads.”
“Ah,” Strefer said. “Well, regardless, Rurek and I are both very grateful for what you did for us, killing Spider and all. But I’m sorry to say we don’t have any money to give you. No way to pay you for your efforts.”
Forlahn ignored Strefer’s confession. “Who do you think is after you, anyway?”
Strefer sighed and thought for a long moment. Everything Forlahn had done since he burst into that clearing and rescued them had been kind, selfless, and brave. If he was interested in turning them in himself, he could have made that intent apparent already. He didn’t have to try and help Rurek heal. He could simply have carried her off and collected the reward. But Strefer didn’t sense that was what motivated him. Besides, he had his son with him, which was not something a real bandit would do. It also occurred to Strefer that, with Rurek wounded, he could not get her to Oberton on his own. A skilled tracker who lived in these woods every day of his life, on the other hand, just might. She rolled over, opened the bag that had been stuck to her like an extra limb for all this time, and slipped the notebook out of its hiding place. “They’re looking for this,” she said, holding it up so the light of the fire caught its rich red cover.
Forlahn squinted at it in the flickering light. “A book? Are you serious?”
“Completely serious,” she said, nodding. “It’s a notebook from the private collection of a high-level Triumvirate functionary. He’s dead now. The back of his head looks an awful lot like Spider’s, actually.” She stopped, leaving the question of precisely who killed this person unasked and unanswered.
“I see,” Forlahn said. “I don’t suppose you would tell me what’s so important about this book?”
“Maybe sometime later,” she said.
“Well then, will you at least tell me what you were planning on doing with it that’s attracted so much attention?”
This much she would allow. “Rurek was taking me to Oberton. He says they’ll publish it, that they won’t be afraid of what it says.” She paused for a second. “I don’t know how whoever printed up that wanted poster knows that, though.”
Forlahn nodded. “I’m sure they’ll publish that. I’ve been to Oberton a few times. They are a very righteous peop
le. Can be hard to deal with sometimes, however.”
If he was telling the truth, Strefer thought that her placing some trust in him was the right thing to do. Rurek knew of Oberton, but had never actually been there. For all he knew, it was more of a myth than a reality. “I just had an idea,” she said, feigning a breakthrough already made. “Since my escort is wounded and you’ve been to Oberton before, would you come along with us?” He did not say no, at least not right away. “If we make it there safely and the book is published, I’ll sign over all the proceeds of the sale to you. That way, you’ll be rewarded, in some meager way, for what you’ve done for us.”
Forlahn sat silently for a long while, his gaze drifting to the again smoldering fire. “It’s an interesting proposal, I’ll give you that,” he said finally. “Let me think about it overnight. I will give you an answer in the morning.”
“Fair enough,” she said, although she suspected he might need more to be reeled in. “But let me make you a deal to sweeten the bargain. I’ll tell you my secret,” she said, tapping the notebook, “if you tell me yours.”
A quick look of distress passed across his face, but was gone just as quickly. “All right. What would you like to know?”
“What happened to your wife?” she asked, almost reflexively. She had been thinking about the question nearly all night.
“Very well,” he said, sighing. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, however. It’s not an exciting story, nor even a very tragic one. It’s actually quite simple. She died in childbirth with Malin.”
Strefer gasped. “I’m so sorry. That sounds quite tragic to me.” She paused for a moment to allow a response, but there was none. “So Malin never knew his mother?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Nor the place where he was born. Kalen and I—Kalen was my wife’s name—lived together in a small house across the river from Innisport. I was a hunt master. She taught a few local children their basic lessons. We were very happy, our home we had made together quite wonderful. All it lacked was children. When Kalen told me she was pregnant, I was beyond thrilled. Only a few months later she was gone, and I was left to raise Malin alone. I couldn’t stay in that house any longer. I took Malin and left, just walked out the front door and left. We’ve been wandering in these woods ever since.”
Strefer said nothing. What could she say? She decided it was best to let Forlahn move the discussion along when he was ready.
Which, in just a few moments, he was. “So, Strefer, you have one of my secrets,” he said. “Now tell me of this book of yours.”
Chapter 26
The meeting with Birkthir had changed things greatly. With his aid, Antrey was able to send a message to all the clans, asking for representatives to come together at one place to meet and discuss her proposal. By the time the Gentle Giant arrived back at Port Jaray weeks later, the city was buzzing with activity as the clans began to fill up the streets. It was clear that the regular residents of the city, a combination of Islanders and Neldathi outcasts, were wary at the prospect of so many people nursing so many different grudges packed into the same few blocks.
Antrey had made the conditions of the meeting clear in her message. No more than five representatives from any one clan could participate. Her intent was to limit the numbers of people who would descend on the city to a manageable number. A large enough number to cause trouble, potentially, but nothing too out of control for the local authorities. She was disappointed to see that different clans had interpreted the restriction in different ways. Some abided to the terms by the letter, sending only five people. Others sent five designated representatives, along with a much larger party of aides, functionaries, and hangers-on. So, while Birkthir himself arrived with only four others from his clan, the Uzkaleyn arrived with five envoys, each of which was attended by a dozen aides. In truth, they were mostly warriors, which set Antrey’s nerves on edge. The only other condition was that they leave the Islanders alone while in the city, which she hoped would be strictly followed. They had no part in the upcoming fight between the Neldathi and the Triumvirate. She hoped Naath’s trust in her would not have been given in vain.
Naath had secured an Islander assembly hall in the city that was situated at the edge of the docks, near the city’s commercial buildings. It was just large enough to hold the designated number of delegates, plus Antrey and her closest advisors. Hopefully, they could do their business there without anything turning ugly.
The meeting was scheduled for early afternoon, after everyone had taken a midday meal. Antrey had decided to steal a trick from Atilleo, who always arrived late for Grand Council sessions while he was president. It would allow her to arrive last and stride through the fully assembled body in full view of everyone she had summoned here. Goshen and Kajtan, among others, had been persuading her to act more like the leader she hoped to be, at least around others. Antrey had little interest in ceremony, but she understood the importance of appearance at this delicate stage. This entrance would be suitable for a jeyn, one of whom the Speakers would talk for years to come.
But as she entered the hall, Antrey knew that the Speakers would have an entirely different reason to take note. She walked in through the main door, which opened onto the central aisle, from which benches sprang on either side. Antrey had expected the room to be a hive of activity, bursting with the voices of dozens of separate conversations. But the truth was far different, as the room was half empty and eerily quiet.
The benches to her right were nearly full and contained some familiar faces. Birkthir was there with his delegation. Based on the color patterns displayed by the other groups, Antrey recognized members of the Mughein, Volakeyn, Haglein, and Paleyn. She even saw the black, blue, and red pattern of the Kohar, the clan of her birth. Kajtan, who had walked in behind her, slid into one of the benches in the crowd.
To her left, however, the benches were entirely empty, save for one solitary figure seated in the center of the front row. He did not turn as Antrey entered the room, allowing her a plain view of the yellow, blue, and red stripes on his braid. He was from the Chellein.
Antrey did her best to let the surprise of the empty seats not show on her face as she walked down the aisle with Goshen and Hirrek behind her. By the time she reached the dais at the front of the room, turned, and stepped to the lectern, she had decided what the half empty room meant. The only explanation she could grasp, or was willing to believe, was that the clans on the side of the room that was nearly full were those that had come to support her. The lone figure on the other side signaled opposition, but precisely from whom or on what basis Antrey could not tell. There was only one way to find out.
“Good afternoon, my brothers and sisters,” she said in a halting Dost dialect that, she had been told, could be understood well enough by all the clans. If those in the audience knew what Antrey was saying, they did not respond to it.
“Your journeys have been long and difficult,” she continued. “You cannot begin to imagine how much it means to me that you are here.” She cast her eyes across the room, still and motionless, sliding over the crowd and then onto the Chellein. He sat without moving, no emotion evident on his face. It disturbed her slightly. “Before we begin our discussions, I would ask Goshen to say a few words.”
Antrey turned away, but before Goshen could take her place and begin speaking, she heard a voice lash out from audience. Without looking, she knew it belonged to the Chellein. He shouted in a high register with quick, clipped syllables that left Antrey only guessing at what he said. She had learned to speak the language with some effort, but translating, particularly quickly spoken words said in a strange dialect, were beyond her. She looked to Goshen, who had already fired back a reply.
Goshen rolled his eyes, knowing Antrey would want it all translated. “He says that he will not sit here and listen to this,” Goshen said. “I told him to hold his tongue. He, then, called me a blasphemer, and warned that I might lose mine.”
Antrey remained ca
lm and turned to the man, who was standing and obviously outraged. “Speak your peace, brother,” she said. “We are here to talk.”
He shot back at her. “I am not your brother,” Goshen translated. “You are not my sister. And that fraud,” said while the man was pointing at him, “will pay for his blasphemy.” Then the Chellein turned and faced the others in the audience. “I am Dega of the Chellein. I come here as an envoy of my clan and my god, Solal. I speak as well for the Akan, the Uzkaleyn, and the Sheylan. We have heard the stories of this halfbreed girl and the lies of her blasphemous priest.” Goshen’s eyes gave Antrey a sorrowful look as he said those words.
“She brings only the false promise of revenge against the enemies of the Neldathi and the lies of this Goshen, who seeks to lead us away from the gods that have protected us for so long. I am here to say these clans will have no part of any rising led by blasphemers and whores.” He turned and pointed up at Antrey. “She will lead you into nothing but bloodshed and chaos. He will lead you away from the shelter of the gods. In the end, they will bring destruction down upon you all.”
Kajtan shot up from his seat. “What are you saying, Chellein dog?”
Dega, undaunted, walked over to Kajtan, around whom others had risen in support. “What I am saying, old man, is that if this pathetic coalition persists in its existence, it will be crushed long before the Triumvirate gets wind of it,” he said.
The two men stood, nearly touching, while the crowd behind Kajtan began to move menacingly towards them.
“Stop!” Antrey called out in the Neldathi tongue. “There will be no violence here!”
Kajtan backed down and, at his example, those around him did the same, all sitting back down in their places.
Dega walked back towards the other side of the room. “Already, you do this bitch’s bidding,” Goshen translated. “When this child leads you to slaughter, remember this day. Remember the mercy we would show to you now, for it will be absent when we meet on the field.”