Landmoor

by Jeff Wheeler

  Thealos looked at the frail Shae thoughtfully. “The Drugaen would call you Justin. Would that offend you?”

  “No,” he replied. “This one is a fool, but harmless. Tell him that I thank him for the new name.”

  Thealos smiled. “Looks like you’ve made a friend, Flent. Justin will do.” Flent beamed and gave the frail Shae a quick nod. Turning to Sturnin Goff, Thealos gave him a level look. The night air rustled as a heavy wind shook the upper limbs of the pines. “Now… why don’t we clear a few things up? Why have you been tracking the Sleepwalker?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “Can’t track a Sleepwalker, lad. I’ve been tracking you.”

  The quirk of a smile twitched on Thealos’ mouth. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  The knight gave him a hard look. “You prefer bluntness. Very well. You’re green, lad. Green as fresh cut wood. I don’t say it to insult you, but I watched what happened back in Sol. And tonight. You carry a blade you barely know how to use. Your hands tell me you’re a rich man’s son. And you dress like any number of Shae barters I’ve seen across the river. Maybe I was a little too curious what you are doing this side of the Trident with a Sleepwalker. Either you’re paying him a lot of coin for some kind of work, or he’s pulling you along by the ear.” His green-gray eyes flashed. “I think it’s the latter.”

  Thealos stared at him, at a loss for words. He felt anger rising in his chest, but he kept it under control. “Dragging me by the ear you say?” he replied with an edge to his voice.

  “I’m a plain speaking man, lad. I’ve seen a Sleepwalker or two in my days. One could have killed all six Krag before your friend there got whumped on the head. Sleepwalkers are dangerous. Now, I’ve heard that the Gray Legion has spies working in the Rebellion. But if they’re paying for Sleepwalkers too, that means trouble for Dos-Aralon. We wouldn’t want the king slain in his bed in the middle of the keep by some black-clothed life-thief. But they cost a great deal, and only the Shae have that kind of money. Again, maybe I’m too curious. Either way, I will have answers from you.” His voice was soft, his eyes accusing.

  “You tracked me across the Shoreland to ask if I hired an assassin to kill your king? And if Jaerod had been here would you still have approached the camp?”

  “Of course. I thought he was with you,” the knight replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I have a healthy respect for Sleepwalkers. Just as I have a healthy respect for the Crimson Wolfsmen.” He gave Thealos a small chuckle. “But I sent a warning to Dos-Aralon in any case about the two of you with word that I’d try and follow along. Whatever the Bandits might be paying for something like that, you can be sure Dos-Aralon can counter any offer.”

  Thealos folded his arms. “I won’t speak treason against your king, Sturnin Goff. I may not like the king of Dos-Aralon, but I have no reason to want him dead. Besides, we’re not exactly going that direction.”

  “Then why are you in the Shoreland? Those Wolfsmen in Sol weren’t looking for me.”

  Thealos felt a little exasperated. “You expect a confession? I’m not a fool, nor am I part of your country. What were you doing in Sol? That’s a long way from Owen Draw.”

  “I was in the Foxtale for a reason, lad. The Duke of Owen Draw was given a message that the Bandit Commander of the Shoreland Regiment wanted to meet the Knight General in Sol. We’ve heard there have been some conflict between the leaders. The message didn’t say anything about Kiran Thall.” He cocked his head, his eyes boring hard in Thealos’. “The Knight General sent me to see if this was a Gray Legion ruse or not. And for my trouble, I got attacked by a company of Kiran Thall. Now I’m asking you again, boy. Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with out here? Sleepwalkers don’t just wander the Shoreland. Was it chance we happened to be in the same tavern that night? Out with it.”

  “So you were sent to meet with a Bandit Commander?” Thealos hedged, feeling his stomach tighten in knots. He remembered that Jaerod had left him on the streets of Sol to meet with someone. Confusion welled up in his mind. He needed time to sort this out and not look like a fool in front of the others. “You are suggesting that Jaerod is involved with the Bandit Rebellion and want to know if the Shae are as well?”

  “Can you give me any reason to believe he isn’t?”

  At the moment, Thealos could not and was glad when Flent interrupted.

  “Hopefully your duke didn’t pay in gold to hear those Gray Legion lies,” Flent said. “I’ve been working at the Foxtale for eight years. I know all the regulars.” He waved his hand and chuckled. “A Bandit Commander? In Sol? We get Sheven-Ingen pirates, drunken wrecks from Copperyon and even farther. But the Foxtale ain’t a Bandit hideout. That was the first time the Kiran Thall ever came into our place.”

  “What about the Sleepwalker?” Sturnin challenged.

  “Sure he is a Sleepwalker,” the Drugaen answered with a shrug. “And what law in Dos-Aralon is there about being a Sleepwalker? The man has stopped by over the last few months, but only to talk and play Bones. Maybe he’s a spy, but he’s no Bandit general.”

  “Then maybe he knows where I can find him,” the knight replied. “You sent the girl riding to Castun. I’m assuming he’s there.”

  Thealos felt trapped and cursed himself. “He said… he would leave a message for us there.”

  The knight smirked. “You’re a bad liar. Surprises me, coming from a Shae. But I suppose we’ll see soon enough when we reach the trading post. You see, I’ll find out one way or another.” He cocked one of his eyebrows. “Now why don’t you tell me why those Wolfsmen were after you?”

  “You don’t really think I’m going to tell you, do you?” Thealos countered, meeting the knight’s stare with his own.

  The knight paused, feeding the air with tension. Finally, he muttered something under his breath and shook his head. “If you were drowning in a river and I was on shore, I’d toss you a rope.” Sturnin’s voice softened. “Don’t haggle that it’s too coarse. If your intentions are good, I’d like to help you get out.”

  Thealos sighed. “I appreciate the gesture. I know more than I can say right now. But I’m a good swimmer despite what you may think about my swordsmanship.” He paused and stared down at his boots, steeling himself. He looked up at Sturnin again. “And maybe you and your king are in the river and haven’t realized it yet.”

  * * *

  Thealos and the others marched up and down the undulating hills just within the borders of the Shadows Wood. Sweat streaked down Thealos’ face, and he mopped it up with his sleeve. He glanced backwards, watching Flent struggle to keep up, his thick legs leaving him slightly behind. The Drugaen had tried early that morning to teach Justin how to play Bones, but the game was lost on the older Shae, who smiled bemusingly at him and made all the wrong moves. Sturnin Goff walked with his sword strapped across his back. He was sweating heavily in the glinting armor, but he was stronger and more fit than any of them and marched without complaint. They stopped to rest at midday, savoring the break from the humid, scorching air.

  Sitting on a crooked stump, Thealos withdrew his water flask and carefully doused the sack of Everoot with it. Then he splashed some of the river water on the back of his neck and savored the coolness. As it dripped down his back, he watched the Warder Shae draw near.

  “You have it,” Justin said.

  Thealos cocked his head curiously, cinching the bag strings and stuffing the bundle in his tunic. “Have what?” he replied in Silvan.

  “A connection with Earth magic.” His pale face was the only one not dripping with sweat, and he looked almost cold in his dark blue robes. Thealos studied his long, narrow fingers – bony and elegant – then opened his cloak wide to reveal the blade of Jade-Shayler. The Shae’s eyes gleamed and he nodded, looking at the weapon respectfully.

  “Last night, I felt the magic nearby,” he said. “I knew you were there, before you attacked. Are you one of the Shae Guardians?”

  Thealos shook his hea
d. “No, I am not. I found this magic, and I feel some of it working in me when I use it. What do you know of it?”

  The frail man squatted near the stump Thealos sat on. “I have kinship with the ones who forged it. It was made with the skill of my kind. The Shae Warders.”

  Thealos looked at him curiously. “I know of the Sian Council in Avisahn, but I did not know there were Warders living down here…”

  Justin shook his head, forestalling him. “I am not from Avisahn. Tell me – who is the Shae King today?”

  “What do you mean, today?” Thealos asked, confused. “King Silverborne has ruled for nearly sixty Silvan years; surely you are not that old.”

  Justin smirked. “He was a young man when I last knew of him. Does he have any sons? Who is his heir?”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense. You are scarcely older than I am!”

  “You do not understand the nature of the Shae Warders. We do not live as long as the rest of the Shae as a price for the powers we invoke. I, myself, have lived out twenty Silvan years. No more. But I have not seen Eroth’s light for many years…I have slept in the Earth magic protecting the Warding that I was called to defend.”

  Thealos stared at him in disbelief and leaned forward. “And what Warding were you called to protect?” he said in a soft voice, but he thought he knew already. Justin was talking about the Everoot. He was certain of it.

  “I cannot tell you,” Justin said. “It is a secret I must guard until I can remember my charge. I know what I am, but not who I am. I remember snatches from the past, back before the great wars. When I awoke, I remember being caught by the Krag in the ruins of my watchpost, not knowing what had transpired to bring about its desolation. My memory has been…razed. Whether it is due to my long sleep or not, I do not know. I was summoned back to my Warding. But I do not remember when or how. You must take me to the Shae King.”

  “Why?”

  Justin shook his head. “I do not know. But I’m sure the answers I seek are in the archives of the Shae King. I ask again, my friend. Who has survived these many years? Who leads the Shae now?”

  Thealos slung his travel pack loose and set it down next to him. He mopped his neck and throat. “Silverborne’s daughter, Laisha. She rules the Shae in her father’s name. He had a son, a great one. When I was a small boy, he was killed during the Purge Wars.”

  “The Purge Wars?”

  Thealos looked at him in amazement. “When the Shae and the King of Dos-Aralon drove the Bandit armies out of the Shoreland...”

  “Dos-Aralon?” Justin asked, confused. “‘Dos’ means there was another before it. When was the other?”

  “You truly do not know what happened?”

  “I swear by the goddess Shenalle, whom I serve.”

  Thealos was baffled by the Shae Warder’s ignorance. He was certain Jaerod would know what he was talking about. But too many years had passed. The humans and the Shae were allies instead of enemies. He could see Justin’s hatred for humans in the way he glared loathingly at Sturnin Goff. Tensions between the races must have been even stronger back then. How was he going to convince him to speak with a Sleepwalker?

  “I will tell you what I can, but there is a man you should meet. A man called Jaerod.”

  “A human?” Justin said, wrinkling his nose.

  Thealos sighed. “He knows the ways and history of our people. He has visited many of the Shae watchposts and studied from their archives. He may know who you are.”

  “The language of man has changed too much over the centuries. I can barely understand the Drugaen tongue that the Krag spoke.”

  “Jaerod speaks Silvan.”

  The Warder Shae paused, uncertain. “I do not think this is wise. Perhaps I should go on to Avisahn alone. I will find my answers there.”

  “The village we travel to isn’t far. Go with us that far. Perhaps more of your memory will return with time.”

  “If you think it is wise, my friend,” he answered with a nod. He rose with a slight trembling. Staring up at the dark tangles of trees, the Shae pulled the hood tighter and waited for Thealos to stand.

  As they started walking again towards the village of Castun, Thealos wrestled with his thoughts. Sturnin had given him too many conflicting words, making him doubt Jaerod’s loyalty a little. He did not like feeling that way. But what did he really know coming from a realm of rumors and gossip? How many of the pieces actually worked together instead of conflicted? He thought about it a moment. A Bandit army was preparing to siege Landmoor – he had learned that from Jaerod. It seemed that Sturnin Goff was aware of some of the Bandit movements as well. There was a grove of Everoot somewhere nearby, and the Bandits had discovered it. Only Jaerod had known that. The Shae were needed to retrieve a lost talisman that would protect them from the dangers inherent in Earth magic being used in Forbidden ways. That was the secret he could not share. And Justin – or whatever his true name was – had been the guardian of a Warding, a work of magic created to protect something. The talisman or the Everoot itself?

  As he walked and crunched in the matting of pine needles and shrubs, Thealos felt something pulling at his heart, tugging him inextricably south. He hadn’t seen it before, not when he was in bonds with Tannon’s Band. Or when he escaped the Crimson Wolfsmen in Sol. But he could see it now, as clearly as the sun’s hot smile. There was something pulling him south.

  To Landmoor.

  He knew for certain that the events unfolding in his life had not been random encounters. No, it was all too cleverly worked out for that. The gods were at work. And they were using him.

  XIX

  Roye scrubbed a trail of sticky ale from the wooden counter with a damp cloth. Three customers were passed out at the bar, and one snored with a throaty growl. The hearth fire snapped, keeping the chill of the sea’s wind outside the Foxtale. Rubbing his bleary eyes, Roye stepped around the bar and cursed the name of Flent Shago. Normally, Flent would have carried the drunks to the porch and let them sleep until the street dogs woke them up by licking the ale from their faces. But the Drugaen was gone and no amount of complaining would bring him close enough to cuff. And since Ticastasy had vanished too, it had been murder running the tavern that night by himself.

  “Ungrateful Drugaen,” Roye muttered to himself. He shook his head. “Girl...you better not be working for anyone else. I swore I’d counter any offer you got.” He poked the nearest man with his thick finger and grumbled for him to get out. The man stirred, said a few slurred words, and Roye grabbed his shirt and helped him stand. It took a few moments before all three were either lying cozy off the porch or stumbling half-blind into the fog-misted streets. The garrison watch would find them, Roye thought, wiping his hands. Then they would be their problem.

  Jingling a few coins he had snatched from their pockets to pay the tab they owed, he pulled the crossbar over the door and limped over to a stool to rest. Old bones getting tired, he thought, rubbing his swollen fingers over his scalp. He finished off the left-over drink from one of the patrons’ mugs before reaching for a well-used deck of playing cards. He flipped through it and smiled, remembering how good the Drugaen had become playing Bones. The dull expression on his face had lured unwary gamblers into playing high stakes. Added to the gracious way he lost and how he appeared to win by mistake, it made him a reliable source of income. Roye frowned. He hadn’t paid the Drugaen what he should have, but what had he ever asked for? A place to stay, some stew to eat, and all the drink he could swallow. Not a shabby trade, Roye thought, in a world that had little a Drugaen could trade his muscles for.

  Roye dumped the cards on the counter and began picking up the empty mugs and plates. He wondered how long Flent and Ticastasy would be gone or if they would ever come back. How many days had it been? They were the reason behind the success of the Foxtale. Ticastasy had a way of making the place shine. Not just her personality, but how she arranged things in the place. He’d paid her well, but maybe another innkeeper had finally lure
d her away. The Drugaen could be replaced, but it would all be very costly.

  A thump sounded at the door. At first Roye thought the wind had shaken it. But it sounded a second time, rattling the crossbar. Roye huffed and walked towards another table.

  “I’m closed!” He turned his back to it, not waiting for a response. “Why is there always someone thirsty right before sunrise?” he muttered. “It’s so banned late I can hardly see.”

  “Roye. It’s Tsyrke.”

  The tavernkeeper stopped. He knew that voice. Even worse, he knew what the voice wanted. Fear knifed him in the ribs, and he took a cautious step backwards. Oh, for Hate’s sake! Why did he have to show up tonight! “Everybody’s gone,” Roye stammered, his mouth dry and hot. “Just cleanin’ up, Tsyrke – why don’t you come back in a few hours...”

  “Roye,” the voice warned. “Open the door.”

  The owner of the Foxtale dropped the plates on the nearest table. Limping forward, he unlatched the door and pulled it open, fighting against the wind. The sudden chill from the sea cut into his skin and made his teeth chatter. It was Tsyrke Phollen, the sea captain who had taken a liking to Ticastasy. One of the richest men in Ilvaren – and one of the most dangerous.

  I should have closed up an hour ago, Roye thought angrily. If I’d been in bed, he wouldn’t have found me here. Ban those two! Ban them to Pitan!

  The musty smell of the ocean clung to the man’s clothes and armor. Roye did not think it strange at all that he wore a long hauberk under his thick salt-stained tunic. A man with his reputation was a target for thieves and worse. Tsyrke had a tousle of sandy brown hair that was cropped short like most Shorelanders preferred. The hauberk clinked and rattled as he entered the Foxtale, swinging the door shut behind him. A tattered red cape hung lop-sided down his back, discolored by soot and blood stains. Deep brown eyes glanced over the empty tables and rested at last on Roye. His wind-burned face was hard and showed the faint tug of a frown. He was not happy. Roye’s mind raced for a way to start the conversation.