By Ways Unseen

by Daniel Dydek

  When Lasserain as Paolound emerged, he knew something had happened; the young man before him was whole, and there was not a trace of fear in his eyes.

  This was good.

  Paolound advanced with a bellow to shake the forest; Haydren spun lightly to one side, sword lashing out. Without waiting, he danced again, and two more streaks of red appeared on the dragon’s flanks. Paolound’s tail swept forward as he snarled; Haydren leapt nimbly, coming forward again with furious and painfully-accurate strokes the instant his feet touched the ground.

  Paolound kicked; one toe caught Haydren’s arm and spun him. He caught himself against a tree, gasping but not knocking the wind from him. Paolound turned swiftly now, razor talons skimming near Haydren’s head as he ducked away. Fire followed him as he sped behind a tree, slapping at his back as his tunic caught.

  He wrenched his shirt off, baring his arms and the armor that still showed a little wear from Paolound’s crush on the Frecksshire Moors. He cast it aside, still burning, and turned, Aerithion light in his hands; but he misjudged how quickly Lasserain had come after him. A great paw grasped the blade while the other struck Haydren in a fist in nearly the same spot where he had dented the armor so long ago.

  Miraculously, Haydren managed to keep a grip on Aerithion as he tumbled backward. His head smacked against a tree, and his vision swam.

  Lasserain approached, back in the form of a mage with his sword held low. Haydren blinked quickly and took a calming breath; as Lasserain neared he continued to stagger. The mage stopped, so close yet just too far, and gazed at Haydren in sadness.

  “You can’t do it, can you?” he asked quietly. Haydren put a hand to his head, but his eyes were alert. “I truly believed, after watching you so long, you would be better than this.” Lasserain took a step forward, and Haydren’s sword flashed upward.

  But the blade stopped a finger’s-breadth from Lasserain’s chest and quivered as an axe in a thick tree. The mage sighed, blasting Aerithion from Haydren’s grip with a blow from his sword. “I learned that one only recently,” Lasserain said, a smile curling his lips. “I needed something to keep magic attacks from piercing me. I thought I had found it, but it seemed to reference Bultum. Once I discovered the properties of the metal, though, I realized it was indeed what I was searching for.”

  Lasserain’s fist smashed into Haydren’s mouth, and Haydren fell to the ground. Something cool and round pressed into his palm beneath the ferns. His fingers closed, and he wiped his mouth with his other hand.

  Lasserain gripped him around the throat and lifted him to his feet. “Now, Haydren,” Lasserain said. “I see what Guntsen saw in you.” He grinned. “The weakness, and worthlessness. Before you die, I want you to know I will not stop. When you’re dead, I will kill your friends, and my armies will unleash upon the breadth of Burieng, and I will continue to kill and destroy until Melnor himself must come and try to kill me. Then the world will finally be rid of his meddling.”

  Haydren coughed, and blinked. “I hoped you wouldn’t say that,” he rasped. With a jerk, Haydren thrust his Cretal dagger into Lasserain’s chest and twisted it. Lasserain’s eyes opened wide as he stepped backward, grasping the dagger by the hilt and pulling it free. The red, pitted blade seemed to glow; Lasserain dropped the dagger and gazed at Haydren in confusion.

  “I think you have that spell wrong, Lasserain,” Haydren said. “The Bultum is not magic, the Cretal is; but since, in my sword it is fully encased in Bultum, your spell stopped that from piercing you.”

  Lasserain looked at him with a strange expression on his face, almost of gratitude; yet also, it seemed, of triumph. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Just then, Sarah stepped from a tree behind Lasserain; she whispered something, and struck him in the back with her mace. He stumbled forward, but instead of hitting the wall of air around the circle of fire, he plunged directly into it. The flames surged higher as he shrieked; when his scream faded, the fires fell, and the forest was silent once more.

  “He’s not the only one who can cease a spell,” she said, resting the head of the mace on the ground, and crossing her hands on the pommel. Geoffrey stepped into view, grinning and shaking his head at her.

  “How did you do it?” Geoffrey asked Haydren. “We couldn’t see; it looked like he was beating you pretty soundly.”

  Haydren bent over and picked up the dagger. “My father’s dagger,” he said, holding it up for them to see.

  “I didn’t see Pladt give that to you back at Dubril,” Geoffrey said.

  “He didn’t,” Haydren said, looking upward. “I think he kept it to give it to me now – so Lasserain wouldn’t know I had it.”

  Just then, a loud groaning sounded through the forest; the trees seemed to wilt, and collapse to the ground around them. The ferns, too, curled up and retreated into the dirt. The company huddled together in a sudden whirlwind, watching as Lasserain’s garden shriveled, dried, collapsed, and was blown toward the sea. When nothing was left but bare rock, the winds ceased; night had fallen during the battle, and when he looked up, Haydren saw a crescent moon just rising over the horizon.

  An anguished cry echoed from the castle; in the light of an upper window of the keep, Guntsen stood staring in horror over the ruined landscape. Silhouettes appeared in the room behind him; as the company watched helplessly, blows were struck. Guntsen cried out again, and plummeted from the window, disappearing behind ramparts that shielded the companions’ view of his final demise.

  Haydren closed his eyes and shook his head. “How many chances does one get? Why, in the face of every choice, do so many choose death?” He glanced sideways at Sarah.

  Sarah bowed her head. “Everyone dies,” she said. “I guess we’re used to the idea that it’s supposed to be that way.” When she looked up, she sighed. “Like this forest,” she continued. “It might have gone this way eventually; should we mourn its passing less when it dies over the normal course of time?”

  “It was a beautiful wood,” Haydren agreed.

  “No matter how beautiful it seemed,” Geoffrey said, glancing around at the stony ground where the forest had once been, “it was still the product of evil; now that Lasserain is gone, I suppose it must go too.”

  “It is good for it to go,” Haydren said, nodding. “As must we; it is a long journey home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  TRAVELS

  “Something is happening in Gintanos.”

  “I cannot go; the Islands are about to boil, too.”

  “Should I go?”

  “Send Kanala; you stay in Andelen.”

  22 Halmfurtung 1320 – Autumn

  They were able to acquire fresh horses in Galessern; many of the soldiers had died when Lasserain fell, for their spirits had been tied to his through Life magic, as Paolound’s had been. The soldiers that were left in the castle were more than happy to disown the mage and the former King, who had been killed and revived by Lasserain over fifteen years ago. For fear of their lives they had served the undead King; for gratitude of their lives, they agreed to serve the new Earl, Filrin, who had slain Guntsen. Though Burieng had once been united, many years ago, it had not been for a long while; Haydren felt sure, with Filrin in power, it might remain so still. But the tensions which had existed along the borders would be gone. With his province so crippled, Filrin would not now dare risk war with his northern counterparts.

  Dubril was shattered, and not a man challenged them as they took the Koniero Highway north along the gulf. The road was long and treacherous, and it was over two weeks before they reached Naaseb, the castle which maintained a line of forts along the Aonan province’s border with both Coberan and Kelian provinces. Haydren informed the soldiers there of Filrin’s ascension to power, with a letter the new Earl had signed and sealed; they had already known Lasserain was dead, for many of their soldiers had also fallen the day of the mage’s death.

  Six days later they passed through Endol, the border-castle facing Kelian Provi
nce and their road north toward Hewolucs. Their time there was shorter than at Naaseb, and the next day they crossed the border to Balath in Tarthip County. They continued north through Raka, and on to Kontar.

  After passing Kontar and turning east, forty-two days after defeating the mage and beginning their journey home, they had entered lands Haydren began to recognize. The sun shined brightly in a crisp blue sky as the broad plains waved in the breeze. A group of merchants passed them on their way to Kontar, waving cheerily, no longer needing to fear for beasts; bandits, too, seemed in disarray. As the sun crested on its path through the sky, Hewolucs rose before them.

  The bustle in the castle was exactly how Haydren remembered it. A contingent of guards walking by looked just as they had; Hewolucs, then, was not under enemy control. As he neared the house in which he had spent his first years in Burieng, a lump began rising in his throat. Would they still be there? Guntsen had not said anything about what he might have done to them. Would they have moved? But where?

  Then he turned onto the street, and Maerie was outside sweeping in front of the house. Haydren pulled his horse to a stop and gazed at her, his vision clouding. She paused, looked up, and the broom clattered to the pavement.

  Time stopped for a long moment. Those watching saw Haydren dismount and run to Maerie, and Maerie run to him, and for them to collide in a long embrace. Haydren remembered nothing except the tears running down his face as he saw his adoptive mother once more, and feeling her kiss his neck and hold him tightly just as she used to when he was young.

  Finally they separated, and Maerie glanced behind Haydren at his companions. “Oh, of course,” Haydren said, turning. “This is Geoffrey; he helped me after I first left the castle and has kept me alive ever since. Sarah is from Jyunta, and has been with me for some months now.”

  “You are all very welcome in this household,” Maerie said. “Much has happened here since you left, Haydren,” she said, turning to him.

  “A lot has happened to me too, Maerie,” he replied with a smile.

  “Did you know?” she asked, placing a palm on his chest as her eyes lit up brightly. “The bandits are gone, and the beasts too; they even say Lasserain has been killed.”

  Haydren smiled broadly and laughed, along with his companions. “I had heard something like that,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “But where is Mickel? Is he still in the towers?”

  “Of course,” Maerie replied. “Sir Cullins would have it no other – you don’t know, do you? How could you? Oh, Haydren, so much has happened. Sir Cullins is the Earl of Kelian, now!”

  Haydren gripped her arm in surprise. “He is?” he said. “I wasn’t sure if he had died the night I escaped or not.”

  “No, he was fine,” she replied. “He was advisor to Guntsen for a while, until Guntsen left. A new batch of soldiers came, saying they were under orders from him, from Earl Guntsen. We tried to resist, but they took over. After a few months, Sir Cullins led the rebellion against the soldiers and took back the castle; of course everyone told him to take over, since he had done so well taking the castle back. I’m sure he will want to see you, now that you’re back.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Haydren said. “But that can wait until tomorrow; there’s so much we need to catch up on.”

  The company spent the night at Mickel and Maerie’s house, enjoying the celebration when Mickel returned for the night to find his adopted son and companions. Beer and ale were brought out – and water for Sarah – and they talked late into the night.

  The next morning, before his companions awakened, Haydren slipped out and went to the keep. The guard there recognized him, and let him in to see Sir Cullins. When the aide announced Haydren, Sir Cullins almost didn’t remember the name, thinking his pupil would be long gone.

  “Haydren? Haydren!” Sir Cullins shouted as Haydren entered. “Why are you still here? Why did you come back? Did you hear?”

  “I hadn’t heard,” Haydren said, smiling as he approached. “But I hoped after killing Lasserain, things might be different up here.”

  Sir Cullins gripped Haydren’s arm as his eyes widened. “You did that?” he asked in wonder. Haydren nodded humbly, and Sir Cullins laughed. “Did you happen to come across that coward Guntsen while you were down there?”

  “I did, actually,” Haydren replied. “He was killed by one of the south’s soldiers, Filrin – he’s the Earl of Aonan Province now.”

  “I don’t know him,” Cullins said. “Does he seem peaceful?”

  “He seemed tired of the destruction to his homeland,” Haydren said soberly. “If he does anything with his Earlship, it will be to rebuild his Province. You don’t have to worry about him, Sir Cullins; those whom we told – all tired of war – approved of his coming to power.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Cullins mused. “Speaking of coming to power, Haydren, Guntsen’s betrayal has left a lot of castles without lords. As Earl, I have the power to give you one of them. Surely killing Lasserain has earned you that?”

  “’Lord Loren’?” Haydren mused. “I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

  “Something closer to home, then?” Cullins said. “How about captain of my guard? You would have the respect so long denied to you, Haydren. No one would call you ‘orphan’ after that.”

  Haydren smiled. “A year ago, your Excellency, I would have taken that from you without thinking.”

  “But now?”

  “I would be honored if you would give it to Mickel, Excellency,” Haydren said. “I have unfinished business elsewhere.”

  “I see,” Cullins said, seating himself slowly. “If you wish, Haydren; the job is his. He conducted himself most appropriately during the Knights occupancy; I’m sure the people of Hewolucs would not object to his appointment.”

  “Thank you, Excellency,” Haydren said.

  Later that day, after Haydren had returned home, Mickel came to him. “I just received word from Earl Cullins,” Mickel said. “He has appointed me captain of the guard.”

  Haydren smiled. “That’s great news, Mickel,” he said.

  Mickel sat down in front of Haydren. “You already knew,” he said. “Which means you must have asked the Earl for it. That’s two promotions I owe you now, Haydren.”

  Haydren’s smile faltered, and he shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “When I asked for you to be reinstated the first time, I didn’t do it for you. I had hoped that, with you as a guard-lieutenant of the towers again, some of the boys at the school wouldn’t look down on me so much.”

  “I see,” Mickel said quietly with a nod. “And this time?”

  “You and Maerie did so much for me, taking me in and risking your well-being for my sake,” Haydren said, gazing into Mickel’s eyes. “And I know the two of you want me to think of you as father and mother; but things have begun coming back to me – memories of before Burieng.” He paused and drew a deep sigh. “I know my true parents are dead, and I wish to return to Rinc Na to see if anyone else of my family still live – I believe I had a sister, back there, that didn’t come with us to Burieng. But I didn’t want to leave you and Maerie without thanking you. I had hoped a position as Captain of the Guard might convey that.”

  “Just saying ‘thank you’ would convey that,” Mickel said with a smile. “We always knew you would be your own person, Haydren. Since you survived the attack on your caravan and made it all the way to Hewolucs, we knew you meant to survive. We just hoped we could make the journey a little easier.”

  At that, Haydren and Mickel embraced; Haydren spent the night, and in the morning packed to leave. He paused as he held the Cretal dagger, wavering upon putting it in the bag with all the rest of his things. It had been passed down, clearly, to him; should he save it to pass down to his future son? Could he?

  He pulled the blade from its sheath, gazing at it. Lasserain’s blood had been cleaned from it long ago, but it still looked as if it had not. Haydren had thought, once, that the red, pitted metal made t
he stain of blood blend in, made the death disappear. But as he looked on it now he saw that the stain had not gone; rather the blade was permanently stained by every drop of blood it had ever spilled. It did not make Haydren feel the death less, but so much more so that he loathed to even keep the weapon. Suddenly he wished every weapon did not clean so easily, that every weapon made the wielder loathe to keep it, for fear they should have to use it again.

  That, he could pass down to a future son.

  When next he saw Sarah and Geoffrey, they glanced quickly at one another, then at Haydren, and smiled.

  “What is it?” Haydren asked.

  “A letter came from Earl Durdamon,” Sarah said, holding up a parchment.

  “For who?”

  “For me.” Sarah opened it quickly and glanced at it, then looked up again. “Sheppar, Kinnig of Andelen, is a friend of Durdamon’s.”

  “Geoffrey mentioned him before,” Haydren said with a nod, then laughed. “I didn’t understand the ‘Kinnig’ part then, either.”

  “’Little King,’” Sarah replied with a grin. “It’s a new honorific; he’s not king the way we think of kings, wielding all the power; more like what Durdamon is to the west.”

  “So what does the letter say?”

  “He wants me to go to Andelen and see if I can help him,” she replied.

  “You’re not going with me to Rinc Na?”

  “I do want to return there, and soon,” Sarah said with a nod. She shrugged. “Just not yet.”

  “And you?” Haydren asked, turning to Geoffrey.

  “I need to see Kerrik, Pladt’s father, to tell him what happened,” Geoffrey said.

  Haydren nodded once. “Tell him I’m sorry, would you?”

  “I will.”