“In the fortune, in the dreams, there was a mountain. It was you. You save me from the sea, you help me carry on. You’re the mountain,” she said, voice trembling. “But then there is the trees. Two growing trees. In the dream, they turn to antlers…”
She wiped her eyes. Then she cleared her throat and continued.
“I saw the antlers. I saw them. They were on the knight,” she said, looking into my face with alarm.
Her voice was hushed and urgent. I could sense she was distraught. She was distraught from witnessing the future – her future. Though vague I could tell it was not a future she had envisioned.
I waited a while before speaking.
“Fortunes are merely suggestions of the future. They are not unbending truth,” I said, digging up what I knew of the subject. “Merely a path the Maker smiles on.”
“But… it has happened. And the dream… it was so real. I cannot deny this fortune,” she whispered, looking down at her hands.
“And was there an end? If it is all in the past now, then the future is yours to decide,” I said.
Daz shook her head slowly.
“No… the fortune ends with happiness. But also… war. A struggle. Success.”
“Success and happiness? Then why mourn a possible future? Praise the Maker and take heart!” I exclaimed.
Daz ran a hand over her smooth head, resting it at the base of her skull – covering up her dark tattoo.
“But… I cannot. I have duty. I am a slave…” she whispered.
“No,” I said firmly. “You are not. You need not be. You can be free.”
She held her face on her hands for a while. I waited patiently. I knew she would come to a choice, to the right choice.
It was hard for me to say it – hard for me to insist she could be free. For she could only be free here, on foreign soil, far from the pervasive hand of Un; and if she wished to be free, she could not aid me in my journey home.
I closed my eyes. My heart ached.
Suggesting she be free was a hard thing to do. But it was the right thing to do. For her sake.
It is what my daughters would have wanted. What my wife would have known as honourable. And could I really return home a coward? Return home at the expense of one so like my own children?
Daz suddenly stood up. I opened my eyes and saw her walk toward the mule, determination in her step.
She unlashed the stone tablet and let it fall heavily to the ground.
I stood.
“What are you doing?” I asked, concerned.
Daz drew a small knife from her belt and knelt before the tablet.
“I know what I must do,” she said firmly.
I walked over and knelt beside her.
“What is it you must do?” I asked.
She looked to me. She put a hand on my shoulder.
“I must follow the fortune. I must find the knight,” she said fervently.
Her expression was completely changed. Before she was defeated; broken and mournful. Now she was impassioned, glowing with life.
She cut into her hand and let the blood drip into a hole in the tablet.
“I will tell the mark that I will stop my pursuit. I will be free,” she said. “And then, I will hold my promise. I will help you home.”
I could not conceal my surprise.
My spirit rallied within me. The shadow of grief withdrew. And the sun shone a little brighter.
I wondered at her change of heart. By the Maker, she had transformed! Had my own words helped her see? I hoped they had.
I stood, leaving Daz to conduct her ritual. I marvelled at the morning sun, casting its golden light upon the gentle meadows. I closed my eyes and felt its warmth upon my face, my bare arms.
I would see my daughters once again. I would embrace my wife and see our children grow.
When this was over, all over, Daz and I would smash that tablet to pieces. We would do it together.
And then, at long last, I would go home.
51
Ortham
The town was much nearer than Dawn had thought. Which wasn’t a surprise; it explained the derelict farm fields that were scattered throughout the meadows. Everything was overgrown and falling apart, abandoned perhaps a decade or so ago, no more. The orchards were choked by unpruned branches and long grass, the thatch roofs blackening and caving in. Ditches were covered in bracken and weeds encroached upon long-neglected fields.
We rode through the morning and into the afternoon. We stopped once to eat, but Herace refused to dismount. I couldn’t blame him; Getting in and out of the saddle with an injured leg and broken arm was a logistical headache. So we ate as we moved. I dismounted once to inspect a well, in the hopes of refilling our waterskins, but to no avail. The water was dark and unclean and we weren’t so desperate as to warrant the risk.
In the late afternoon we came upon the town; surrounding it were bucolic farms, these ones all bustling with activity. Summer was advancing; midsummer was over.
An uninvited pang of melancholy blossomed inside of me as I realized it; the season was passing. Far from over, of course, but passing nonetheless. The unstoppable flow of time marching toward an inscrutable horizon, leaving behind half-remembered moments.
Would I recall today? Would I remember riding into town, sun upon me, flanked by such good company? The smell of summer greenery in the air, the sound of wind in the long grass?
I sighed.
Sometimes it was best not to reflect. If the memory stuck, it would stick.
We rode into the outskirts of the town.
Vindayan settlements were strange things; always straddling rivers. They lay no claim upon the hard ground beyond the banks of the river; if they could till it, fence it, forest it, then yes they considered it a natural part of the Vindayan Empire. But beyond? No.
Looking at a map of the great riverine empire one could see their strange ‘borders.’ The whole thing was like a spiderweb, with the big spider not quite in its centre but huddled up in the northwest. That was Vindaya proper, the great city. It sat in a basin from whence so many rivers flowed outward, into the mountains and to the north and south coasts. Here and there were great swathes of Vindayan territory that they settled and farmed, but for the most part, they stuck to the confines of the riverbanks and the coasts. Saxaga Ost, for example, one of the earliest land territories, sat in the open plains of the northeast; there they herded cattle and horses and had immense farms. It helped feed the whole of the empire – it was a breadbasket. And just that; a resource. Vindayan elvish, the elves from Vindaya itself, looked down on the settlers. But at least they held the elvish settlers in higher esteem than the non-elvish natives and settlers.
It was a queer empire. Not one I understood. One of their rivers ran not far from my homeland; after one good season, I sold my excess crop to the river traders. At least they paid well.
The town we entered was surrounded by hastily-constructed logpole walls and a deep ditch. Watchtowers butted up against the walls, but they were mostly empty. The gates had no doors at all; the ditches were choked with grass, and a bridge had been laid across to the other side. The defenses seemed to have been abandoned just as hastily as they had been constructed.
I easily recognized the style as relics of the trollish and ogritic invasions. All of southern Vindaya had been at risk during those awful incursions; it sparked a wave of defensive building and mercenary bands. Vinaya had not been ready; no one had. Couple that with the overland invasion launched by the Empire of Un in the same years, and the empire was stretched thin. The ur-man colonies were equally affected, but the great stone fortresses along the dells of the Bulwarks held out admirably. So much so that the Unnic forces usually just bypassed those fortresses to lay waste further west – further west in Vindaya.
It was strange, as we passed through the logpole walls of the little riverside town, that no matter where I went I was reminded of the Secon
d Coalition. Of the war. My war. Even in this distant frontier of an empire that was not my own, the spectre of that terrible conflict dogged my steps.
It didn’t bother me in the same way it used to, though; I was thankful for that. After all, the last vestige of my part in it all, my being cursed to serve the Black Cohort, was done with.
Now only the dilapidated walls of towns like this could recall me to that bleak past.
A few folk stared as we rode through. There weren’t any nearby Sacred places, so sylfolk must have been a rarity. Mostly, though, we were politely ignored.
We stopped at an inn near the banks of the river. It was one of the few buildings made of brick instead of wood, and the roof was made of dark pine shingles.
“Well, looks like the right place to stop,” I said as I dismounted.
Dawn dismounted too and hitched her horse, then mine. I went over to help the wounded Herace.
When I got to his side, however, he flatly refused. He wouldn’t allow himself to be aided, not here in town with others watching. With considerable effort he got out of the saddle all by himself, despite having his leg bound and arm slung. I stood back, but remained close enough just in case.
With horses hitched, the three of us entered the inn.
It was poorly lit, with two large hearths on either end. The inn was mostly empty and very few patrons sitting around its tables. Scant light filtered down from the open shutters above our heads, illuminating motes of dust that drifted in the warm air.
“Two rooms, as usual?” I asked the other two.
Dawn contemplated it a moment as Herace took a seat at the long bar. A host came by to serve him.
“I think one will be fine. Really, whatever they have,” she replied. “I doubt there will be much fuss over courtly decorum here.”
She was right. We were staying in a run-down inn on the Vindayan frontier; no one of any import would know if the princess was sharing a room with a commoner and a noble.
I asked the host as he came by. They had a room to rent with four beds on the second floor – we took it.
“I’m going to go find a healer,” Dawn whispered to me, looking over at Herace as he sat at the bar. “Make sure he doesn’t wander off, alright?”
“Don’t worry. He won’t outrun me today,” I replied.
As Dawn walked out the front I briefly wondered if I should have gone with her – just in case. But then again, I don’t think she needed any protection. She had killed a Witch and a Disciple now.
If anything, they needed protection from her.
So instead of worrying, instead of tagging along, I just watched her go and enjoyed the sight while I could.
Once she was gone I went outside and ferried what baggage we needed from the horses to the room. I left Herace at the bar; he already had his nose in a clay bowl of some burning liquor. I didn’t think he would go anywhere anytime soon. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to help me with the baggage, not in his state.
The room was small and bare but clean enough. Four cramped beds with wool blankets atop; there was a decent-sized wooden window, too, which I opened. It looked over the lower roof and out to the town and river beyond. The sun hovered above the teeth of the Bitter Frost Mountains.
Once finished that task I brought the horses around to the stable and left them in the charge of a young elvish boy. I paid him a half-silverling to brush them down well. He seemed to appreciate it, and set about the task right away.
Eventually I ended up back at the bar. I sat next to Herace as we waited for Dawn to return with a healer. It shouldn’t have taken long; it was the most common job of the four magickal trades. Every settlement could use a few healers; and a good one, a knowledgeable one, certainly earned their weight in gold.
Sometimes I thought I could start studying to be a healer; it was less malevolent than being a battle-mage. Or even a coaxer, to help the harvest grow, or a seer for some court or company. But then I always remembered that I didn’t even like magick very much. And it was a miracle I had ever been able to learn battle-magick in the first place. It was difficult, but not as complicated as being a healer or a seer.
And being a coaxer was really just being a farmer with extra steps.
So I would stay a battle-mage. For the Céin Urthian court, if Dawn’s dream bore fruit; I already had my first pupil, too.
Herace drained another clay bowl of alcohol and set it down on the bar.
“Uh, you might want to go a little easier on that,” I cautioned. “Wouldn’t want to piss yourself in front of a healer.”
Herace grimaced and wiped his face with his good hand.
“Meh. Doesn’t matter. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
We both laughed. My spirit lightened knowing he wasn’t as dejected as it seemed.
I stopped the host and asked him to bring me a bowl of the same stuff Herace was drinking. Moments later he slid one over to me. I took a sip; it was disgusting.
“Why would you pay for such a foul thing?” I asked Herace as I placed the bowl back down.
“Because it’s their cheapest, strongest stuff,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Dulling the pain, then?” I asked. “I doubt they’ll have to reset that bone. Hasn’t been long enough since you broke it.”
Herace took another sip of a fresh bowl. He sucked his teeth.
“Wrong kind of pain,” he said glumly.
I turned to him and leaned an elbow on the bar.
“Oh, come on now. So what, you lost a duel?”
“Hey, not so loud!” he said, casting a sideways glance at the all-but-empty room.
I rolled my eyes.
“Hardly a loss, if you ask me,” I said. “I caught a glimpse of you two fighting; it was dead even. Anyway, she was a Disciple of the Void. What could you expect? They probably live for this.”
Herace took another sip, ignoring me.
A long moment of silence ensued.
“That’s not what I’m trying to forget,” he said in a quiet voice.
I had no clue what he was referring to. Just as I opened my mouth to ask, Dawn returned, healers in tow.
The first healer was a portly elf with long hair, drawn back in a braid. He had a leather apron on and looked more like a carpenter than a healer. In fact, he probably was a carpenter, judging by the size of the town. One can’t rely on illness and injury every day for a living. The other looked like his young son, probably brought along as an apprentice.
“A’right, let’s take a look at ye,” he said in a provincial accent, rolling up his sleeves.
Herace turned and propped his leg up in a stool. The healer unwound the dirty bandage and inspected the wound. I watched from the side and could see it was deep, right in the inner thigh just above his knee. The barkeeper looked over with concern, probably disgruntled by the fact we were using his bar as a medical room. But he made no protest.
The healer then took a look at Herace’s arm. It was bruised and swollen.
After a quick inspection the healer decided to take Herace and his apprentice up to the room we had rented. He assured us it wouldn’t take too long, maybe an hour at most to close up the cut and start the bone mending. I doubted he had enough energy to work for longer than an hour anyway.
Herace knocked back the last of his burning liquor and followed the healer up the stairs, limping as he went.
I was really curious to know what Herace had meant by ‘trying to forget’… but I had missed my chance. I would ask him tomorrow, once the hangover had worn off.
Dawn and I walked outside and down to the river bank. The sun was still up, but evening was approaching. We had some time to waste before nightfall.
“Whatever will we do to pass the time?” Dawn asked mischievously as we walked along the grassy banks.
The river glowed a lustrous, sparkling gold in the late-afternoon light. We walked down hand-in-hand to the water and sat on the bank
s.
Dawn lay in the grass and rested her head in my lap. Her antlers were seriously in the way but I didn’t mind. I ran my fingers through her wavy chestnut hair as she stared up at the deep blue sky. It was the best way I could imagine to pass the time.
“I hope Herace is going to be alright,” Dawn sighed.
I took my hat off and placed it in the grass next to me.
“I think he will be,” I said, looking out over the sparkling river. “I think he’ll be just fine…”
52
Herace
“Wow, is it supposed to hurt that much?” I yelped, involuntarily pulling away from the heavy-set elf.
Pain throbbed in my arm.
“Yeah, that’ll be the way for a little while at least. If ye need somethin’ to bite, we’ve got a strip of leather,” he said, taking my injured arm back into his rough hands.
His son pulled out a mangled piece of chewed leather from the big healer’s bag. It looked like it had really seen a lot of mouths. I politely declined.
The healer continued coursing magick through my arm. Apparently it was supposed to meld the bones back together, but it felt more like someone was flogging the already broken limb with a wet bolt of linen.
Clearly I was not drunk enough.
I fished a full silverling from my belt pouch and tossed it to the son.
“Get me their strongest,” I panted. “And hurry.”
The son got up and ran downstairs. The healer chuckled without looking up from his task.
“Ah, least you’re conscious. Most scream or pass out,” he said.
I felt sweat beading on my forehead but forced a cavalier smile.
“I’ve had worse. Barely hurts now. It just surprised me, is all,” I lied, as I tried to keep my eyes from rolling back into my head.
The son came back with a full pitcher. I drank deeply from it, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat. I nearly coughed it back up.
“Careful now. Don’t want you making sick on me, your lordship,” the healer said.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 42