by Jim Galford
Greth managed to speak up before Ilarra, answering, “And as I told you, that was a lot more than one generation ago. In the wilds, we stopped worshiping forest spirits before we even came to these lands. Altis hasn’t had a shrine to a dragon in more than two hundred years.”
“Which,” said Mairlee sharply, “is within someone’s lifetime, if not yours. Never assume I speak of you. Your life is a blink in the eyes of the world’s pattern.”
Groaning, Greth grabbed Ilarra’s wrist and shook his head fervently.
“What pattern do you mean?” asked Ilarra, narrowing her eyes at Greth. He sighed and hung his head immediately.
“Funny you should ask, Ilarra,” said Mairlee, getting up and walking into the back room. “Give me a moment.”
Yanking her hand free of Greth, Ilarra said softly, “We didn’t give her my name. How did she do that?”
“She just does,” he answered in a whisper. “First time she found me, she knew my name and that of the person who’d stabbed me. My father said she asked about how his parents were doing by name…but he barely even knew them before they died while he was young.”
Before Ilarra could ask anything further, Mairlee came back out into the room carrying a long brown cloth sheet. She came straight to Ilarra, dropping the fabric in her lap.
“Look at that and tell me what you see,” the woman said, standing over Ilarra.
Ilarra lifted the cloth and spread it out, finding that it had been embroidered with gold strands that wound through the whole sheet, creating wave-like patterns throughout. She studied those for a short time, trying to make out the picture the original creator had intended. In the back of her mind, she reveled in getting to touch anything that contained gold. The simple blanket could have been worth more than the whole of Hyeth.
“I’ve seen the style before,” she told Mairlee, smoothing the fabric. “Most artists use that type of pattern to represent wind.”
Mairlee shook her head and said, “You are ignorant like so many. Even the elves see only the surface of what they look at, ignoring the details that make everything fall into place.”
Kneeling, Mairlee lifted an edge of the sheet and raised it toward Ilarra’s face.
“A hundred threads are interlaced here,” she told Ilarra, tracing several with her fingertip. Those threads are what make up what you see. A single thread out of place will change the appearance of the whole. The threads matter more than the result, but working together, they create a pattern. Each thread can only hold its place through the existence of the others.”
Mairlee stopped there, watching Ilarra’s face as though she expected a specific answer.
“What does that have to do with our lifetimes and this nonsense about dragons?” Ilarra asked, trying to ignore the furious head-shaking of Greth.
Smiling as though she were regarding prey rather than a visitor, the old woman answered, “Nothing at all. However, patterns exist in many places other than fabric. You are a wizard, so I would have thought you had learned to apply your education to more than spells. This is something you must understand. One strand plucked away from where it belongs and the whole thing is ruined if it cannot be put back in a hurry.”
“I really don’t understand.”
“No matter,” the woman answered, snatching away the sheet. “My son will explain when he arrives. He understands this particular thread far better than I do and will know if it must be torn out and replaced.”
“Arrives? We weren’t planning on staying long…only long enough for you to look at Raeln and see if you could do anything to help me…”
Mairlee shook her head as she walked back over to Raeln. Sitting down, she said, “Ilarra, what Dorralt has been done to you will kill you sooner or later. That I cannot change. Keep Raeln alive and his strength will help you endure. If he continues to injure himself to this degree, what is in you will destroy you both…” Trailing off, Mairlee yanked a thread from the sheet with a deftness that Ilarra found remarkable, letting it fall from her hand onto the floor. The woman began looking around, though her eyes were distant. She sniffed like Ilarra would have expected Raeln or Greth to, holding up a hand to keep her visitors from asking questions.
“You have been here too long…the riders are on their way,” she said at last, standing quickly. “One of the made-men has helped them find your path and will lead them here if we are not quick. I will not be here when they arrive.”
“Made-men?” asked Ilarra as Greth leapt to his feet and began checking the windows.
“A halfling you call them,” Mairlee answered. “A race of men made by the ignorance of wizards like yourself, Ilarra. I have no patience for created beings…I have little enough for the races that have existed for all of your recorded history. Keep him out of my home, and I will see to it that my son catches up with you. That is the only promise I will make you. Until then, for the dragons’ sake, stop using your magic.”
Greth went to Raeln’s side and began flicking at his whiskers until the man stirred, groaning. “C’mon, big guy,” he said to Raeln, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a seated position on the cot. “I need you walking.”
Raeln’s eyes opened, but he stared blankly, not seeing Greth at all.
“Is he…?” Ilarra started to ask, then realized Mairlee was nowhere to be found. Even the sheet she had been holding was gone, though the strand she had pulled free lay on the floor near Ilarra’s wet boots. The woman must have slipped into the back room while Ilarra was watching Raeln get up.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” asked Greth, waving three fingers in front of Raeln’s face. “Raeln. Pay attention and say something.”
Blinking, Raeln stared at Greth’s fingers briefly, before punching him in the face, knocking Greth to the floor.
“He’s good, let’s go,” Greth said, laughing as he sat up, wiping blood from his muzzle. “Ilarra, you lead the way and I’ll help keep him upright.”
Ilarra opened the door of the cottage and let Greth and Raeln pass her into the cold outside, where a fresh coat of snow had filled in their tracks during the night. The two men moved slowly, Raeln reluctantly putting most of his weight on Greth’s shoulders. Once they were out, Ilarra followed them and closed the door behind her. As soon as the door clicked shut, the handle was snatched from her hand.
She spun to face the cottage thinking that Mairlee had opened the door, but as Ilarra turned, she found that the cottage was gone. Where she expected it to be, a long winding road now stood, covered by fresh, trackless snow. Even the foothills that she would have used as landmarks were gone. She turned back to Raeln and Greth, finding them also standing in the road, a group of horses riding toward them in the distance.
“Where are we?” she demanded, trying to find anywhere they could run but seeing only flat ground in all directions.
“Mairlee does that sometimes,” muttered Greth, stopping where he was. “They’ve already seen us…she left us right in the open. Not much I can say other than ‘sorry’.”
The three of them waited in the middle of the road as the ten horsemen rode up and stopped in front of them. All of the horses bore cloth flags of Lantonne across their breasts and their riders were geared like Lantonnian military. On one particular horse, the rider and a passenger were dressed quite differently, with the rider in a heavy black robe and the tiny man behind him pointing excitedly at Ilarra and her friends.
“I told you they’d be on the run using the king’s roads!” Corth practically shouted, grinning wickedly at Ilarra. “Put them in chains and I’ll have them swinging from the walls as soon as we get back to town!”
Despite his wounds, Raeln pushed Greth away and stood on his own, ready to go down fighting. The two wildlings moved apart, attempting to block the solders from getting anywhere near Ilarra.
Therec, the man in the robes, slid off his horse and began walking toward them. He stopped a little outside of reach when Greth drew a sword and pointed it at him.
“I understand there has been a misunderstanding,” offered Therec, raising his gloved hands to show that he was unarmed. Lowering his hood to let the sun shine on his tattoos and shaved head, he smiled at Ilarra as though they were old friends, not like one intending to hang her. “You will come back with me to Lantonne and we will get to the bottom of this. There will be no executions…”
“What?” shrieked the halfling.
“…and you will be tended to by our doctors and healers,” added Therec, nodding toward Raeln. “We are not here to attack you, but if your men attack, we will have no choice. I would not have my soldiers or any of you die simply because our intentions were good, but poorly stated.”
“Raeln, relax,” Ilarra ordered, coming forward until she stood between him and Greth. “Why should I trust you, ambassador? You brought no magisters and none of the king’s men. For all I know, you could kill us the moment we surrender.”
Pointing to his belt, Therec slowly brought a hand down to a scroll case at his hip. From that he extracted a rolled piece of parchment, which he offered to Greth, the closest member of the group.
Greth kept his sword aimed at Therec but took the parchment with his other hand. Unrolling it, he squinted at the text briefly, then reached over to give it to Ilarra. “I don’t read all that well,” he said softly to her as she took the paper. “Looks pretty, though.”
Ilarra opened up the parchment, and her eyes immediately went to the royal seal near the bottom. She had seen that mark on official notices sent to her father many times. The text was less believable, stating in no uncertain terms that Therec spoke with the authority of Lantonne’s king, written in a broad flowing stroke that was difficult to read.
“If this is true,” Ilarra said, handing the paper back to Therec, “I want your pledge on your position with the king that we will be safe.”
Bowing, Therec replied, “As you wish. On my station as ambassador from Turessi and servant of the king of Lantonne, I hereby swear that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe from harm, so long as you bring no harm to the others under my watch. This promise extends only so far as a fair trial, after which law will determine your safety rather than I.”
Looking past Therec to where Corth continued to mutter and demand justice—which seemed to equate to immediate death in his mind—Ilarra added, “Can you be sure that others will agree to abide by that?”
“I have the authority to have them hung for disobeying an order from the king,” he said a little louder than necessary. Corth’s ranting immediately diminished to a low rumble. “You have my promise as both a Turessian speaking on his own honor and as a man entrusted with great responsibility by this land’s king. If I fail to adhere to my promise, others can readily strip me of these duties, as you no doubt saw.”
Ilarra looked to Raeln for guidance, but he was concentrating on staying upright. His eyes drifted and he appeared ready to fall at any moment. She turned to Greth, who gave a very slight nod.
“We agree to come and speak our case,” she answered at last. “You are short horses if you expect us to travel…actually, how far are we from Lantonne?”
Therec’s eyes narrowed, giving Ilarra the sense that he was evaluating her words for hidden meanings or deceptions. After a moment, he answered, “Less than a day’s ride on a good horse. These horses are neither good nor rested, but we do have others and a carriage in at a stable nearby. If it weren’t for the hills behind us, you could see the city in the distance.”
Ilarra thanked Therec for his consideration—trying not to think about how they had managed to wind up days or weeks of travel southeast of where Mairlee had been—and followed him as he led his horse southward down the road. Within steps, the three of them were completely surrounded by soldiers, who glared at them with no attempt to hide their belief that she and the wildlings were traitors.
Whether Ilarra wanted to say the words or not, they were definitely prisoners. If nothing else, she did feel better after visiting Mairlee, though she could not even say why.
*
The following day, the wagon they rode in was well within sight of the great city of Lantonne, though Ilarra no longer felt the excitement she had during her last approach. Instead, she felt her stomach clench up in dread of what was to come, and her mind raced with thoughts of how to spare Raeln and possibly Greth from the fate she expected was coming for herself. Perhaps if she could manage to be imprisoned for life, Raeln could go on to be happy elsewhere…
“Idiot’s awake again,” was all Ilarra could pick out of Greth’s muttering nearby.
An hour earlier, one of the soldiers had “accidentally” shoved Ilarra into the side of the wagon face-first when they had stopped for food. Raeln had jumped to her defense, hurling the man nearly ten feet away before Therec had stepped in and demanded both sides be calm. As soon as the three prisoners had gotten back aboard the wagon, Raeln had put a hand to his head and collapsed.
Moving over beside the wildlings, Ilarra watched as Greth slowly removed a blood-soaked cloth from Raeln’s head. The stitches had held for the most part, but the wound was ugly and bleeding badly again. All the while that Greth worked on stopping the bleeding, Raeln was weakly trying to make him stop.
“Will he be able to walk…or run?” Ilarra asked, keeping her voice low to ensure the soldiers could not hear her.
Raeln nodded until Greth slapped the uninjured side of his head just hard enough to get his attention.
“No,” Greth answered firmly. “He’s got a concussion, and every time he twitches, this gash starts bleeding again. Much as I want to get away, we’re staying prisoners for a day or two until he can walk without me carrying him by the scruff. He can probably fight, if he doesn’t expect to live through it.”
Ilarra touched Raeln’s head gently and his anger faded away into a look of apologetic hopelessness. “Greth,” she said, looking to the other man, “you owe us nothing. If you find your way out, take it.”
The wolf snorted and pressed the cloth to Raeln’s head again. “How could I leave you two?” said Greth, flicking Raeln’s ear seemingly to amuse himself. “He’s helpless without me and you’re like the pet I never had as a pup. I’m staying until it looks like it’ll get me killed if I don’t run.”
Raeln snarled and tried to look Ilarra in the eyes, but Greth shoved him back to the floorboards.
“He loves the idea,” Greth said, grinning as he checked the cloth, quickly putting it right back against the wound. “I didn’t hear one word of objection. Until I do, I’ll just assume he’s agreeing with everything I say.”
Raeln tried to push Greth away, but Greth grabbed the back of his neck firmly, digging in his claws. After several seconds of Raeln straining to free himself but being too weak to do so, Raeln gave up and snorted as he relaxed.
“How do you keep him from killing himself?” asked Greth a few minutes later. “Where I come from, he’d be dead within a week, and no one would be surprised. There’s one in every pack that thinks he’s too good to work with others, and we usually find them skinned in a ditch.”
“I…he doesn’t need me to stop him.”
“Stupid fighters like him die with an arrow in their back,” continued Greth. “Smart fighters kill the archer before they attack the main force. This fool would walk into the battle daring them to shoot him, then be surprised when they did. The wilds breed smart fighters, but I guess the elves produce ‘great’ fighters.”
Raeln’s expression made Ilarra’s heart break. He looked truly miserable being spoken about like that, but could not—or would not, she corrected herself—say anything to defend himself. Instead, he looked back at Greth with a look that pleaded, “Please stop.”
Ilarra half-expected Greth to act even more harshly toward Raeln when he showed the chiding was bothering him. What little she knew about the instincts of wolf wildlings made her think he would take Raeln’s expression as a weakness to be exploited. Instead, Greth saw that look and immediate
ly stopped talking, his ears sinking slightly as he focused on tending to Raeln’s wound. They stayed silent for a time, until Raeln had relaxed and began drifting off to sleep.
“He’ll need the rest,” whispered Greth, once Raeln was breathing steadily. “If not to heal, then to get through whatever’s coming when we reach the city.”
“Thank you for helping. You didn’t have to help us,” Ilarra quickly told him, squeezing Greth’s hand.
The man wrinkled his muzzle as he stared at her hand, but he did not stop her. “No, I didn’t.” Greth gave Raeln a brief grin. “It’ll be fun to rub it in that he’s in my debt, though. Like my sire used to say, ‘whatever doesn’t kill you gives me something to laugh at you about.’ I’ll be laughing at him for days about this…once I’m sure he’s not going to die on me.”
Ilarra smiled at the wolf’s joke but did not doubt that he would torment Raeln. The humor faded quickly, leaving them in the dark quiet of the wagon for a little while, with Raeln faintly snoring.
“What now?” she finally asked.
Greth frowned at her question, moving to sit alongside Raeln. He eyed the unconscious man for some time, then shrugged. “We wait. I’m betting the horses they have pulling us won’t make it to the keep before night. Normally, I would say we run as soon as the sun sets, but I know the things that patrol when the sun’s down and you do not want to meet them, even as powerful as you are. Just takes one critter getting past your spells and you’re as dead as the idiot and I. If something attacks, we run while the humans fight…if not, we wait for another chance.”