by D A Godwin
Kataria shook her head. “That would be the town we were headed for?”
“There isn’t any other village nearby.”
The look in his eyes told her that he was worried again.
He pointed. “I see a roof over there, down the hill a bit. Let’s hope it was spared from the attack.”
It took little time to reach, and as they drew near, the single thatched roof turned into a handful of log buildings wedged into the side of the mountain where a stream cut its way down the slope. A small area had been cleared for farming, and a short stone fence formed an enclosure that might once have held sheep or pigs. The gates were open, and no smoke rose from any chimney.
They approached slowly, stopping at the edge of the tree line. Tormjere pointed to tracks in the dirt.
“Goblins. Stay here while I check the house.”
Hand on his sword, he crept along a dead hedge surrounding a patch of tilled land and entered the open door of the house.
Kataria thought it deserted, but she could not fault him for his caution. He stepped back outside a moment later and motioned her forward.
“What happened to everyone?” she asked.
“There’s no blood, so they must have fled.”
The inside of the small house was ransacked, but there was no sign of either goblins or the inhabitants. Having never been inside such a dwelling, she studied its construction. Roughhewn logs packed with mortar made up the walls, and the floor was covered in a mat of dried and bundled long grass that was oddly comfortable beneath her feet. Pots and dried herbs hung along a wall stained with soot from the fireplace. The whole room would barely have contained her bed.
He rummaged around the hovel, and when he stopped he was holding a wad of greyish cloth towards her.
“Here, take off everything and put these on.”
She crossed her arms and gave him a frosty look that left no doubt as to her opinion of his request.
Tormjere spoke insistently. “Anything that looks like nobility will mark you as out of place. Your clothes are of too fine a cut and still smell of perfume, and while you are not bedecked in jewels, the rings on your fingers could buy an entire town.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she snatched the clothes from his hands. They were dirty and smelled horrible, and she avoided any thought of who had worn them last. There wasn’t even a private room.
“Go look out the door,” she said crossly. “And do not turn around until I say so.”
She watched him for a moment to make sure he was doing as instructed before turning her back and stripping out of her clothes. The peasant’s robes—or dress, or whatever it was supposed to be—was rough against her skin and only came down to just past her knees. She buckled on the belt and warhammer, pleased that it gave at least some shape to her waist. She started to put her boots back on, then remembered what he’d said. It would all have to go, or there was no point in doing any of it.
She spied a pair of low boots sitting against a wall beneath a cloak hanging from a peg. They were loose around her ankles when she put them on but would do for now. Her rings she removed and set aside, though her royal signet went in a pouch that she hung around her neck and tucked inside her robes. She felt ashamed for taking someone’s belongings, but they had little choice. Finally, she took cloth and water and wiped what was left of the color from her face as best she could without a mirror.
“You can look now.”
Tormjere turned to check her appearance and found her blue eyes staring directly into his, daring him to smile. She looked uncomfortable, but the pristinely silver disc of Eluria was the only thing that could mark her as what she was. That and her hair.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “You should be able to pass for any peasant’s wife, except…”
He looked again at her unbraided, waist-length hair and wondered what to do with it. It was currently in fashion with the nobility, but few commoners allowed their hair to grow to that length, as it tended to get in the way. It was so out of place that the change in clothes hardly seemed to matter. The weather was far too warm for her to cover her hair with the cloak all day, and he could think of no type of hat or wrapping that might work.
She seemed to be having similar thoughts, as she pulled her hair around her shoulder and ran her hands protectively down its length.
“We need to cut it, don’t we?” she asked apprehensively.
“Ah… there are few with such beautiful hair, Your Highness, and we have nothing to cover it with.”
She thought for a moment, then, surprisingly, gave him a small nod.
Tormjere found a pair of shears but hesitated as she turned away and closed her eyes.
“Not too short, please,” she said timidly.
A few snips and it was done. Kataria shook her head side to side, trying to get used to the feel of her now shoulder-length hair. Free of the added weight, it began to curl gently at the ends.
Tormjere started to stuff the hair into a sack, but he stopped and instead offered the locks to her.
She accepted them with a smile that said she appreciated the gesture, but there was moisture in her eyes as she wrapped them around her fingers.
“We’ll need a different name for you, as well,” he said to take her mind off what they had just done.
She looked at him and shrugged. “I have only used one my entire life. I cannot think of another.”
“Amber?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.
“Kedra?”
She shook her head again.
“Merith?”
Another headshake.
“Goblin-butt,” he said under his breath, frustrated at how long this was taking for something so temporary.
“What was that?”
“Gabriette?” he asked quickly.
She frowned at him.
“How about ‘Shalindra’?” he asked, just making things up at this point.
She repeated the name several times, testing the sound. It felt like a good name for a follower of Eluria. “That will be fine.”
Tormjere stuffed her hair, clothes, and rings into the sack and cast another glance out the door.
“Ready, Shalindra?” he asked.
They found a spot not far from the house and buried the sack, then covered the disturbed earth with rocks and leaves.
“Where are we to go now?” she asked.
Tormjere pointed. “We’ll circle wide around the town, back up to near that peak today, then follow the next crease down tomorrow. Hopefully, the goblins will have moved on, whether they continue towards Fallhaven or return west.”
She grimaced at the thought of walking up another mountain but said nothing. It was the safest option, though she was beginning to wonder if they would ever find food.
It wasn’t long before the clothes began to cause her problems. The rough fabric chafed, and her knees hurt from the ill-fitting boots. By late afternoon, she could take no more. With a frustrated sound, she stopped to lean against a tree and rub her legs.
“Loose shoes make my knees hurt as well,” Tormjere said sympathetically. “Let me take a look.”
She sat on a rock and put her foot on his leg as he knelt in front of her. After examining the fit he took his strange knife with the deer hoof for a handle and poked a pair of holes in the leather, then ran some cord through and wrapped it around her ankle to create a snug fit.
Kataria regarded him as he went to work on her other foot. There were countless scores of men who would have killed to put their hand on her leg, and almost as many who would have killed them for trying. Yet here he was, calmly fixing her boots as if it were the most natural thing in the world, totally ignoring the exposed skin of her shapely calf. A petulant frown made its way to her face as she pondered if that was good or not.
“That should help for now,” he said as he stood.
“How much farther?” she asked, more sharply than intended. She was tired, hungry, and uncomfortable. The gentl
e rain that was beginning to fall did little to improve her mood.
“Just a bit.”
His idea of a bit turned out to be much different than her own, as they continued walking for what felt like half a day. At least her knees had stopped hurting. Now she was simply soggy and half-covered in mud.
“We can stop here for the night,” he said, finally.
“Are we to sleep in the rain?”
He pointed her towards a spruce tree, one with branches close to the ground, and they crawled beneath it. The prickly needles were difficult to maneuver through, but once underneath they provided ample shelter from the rain and a soft bed on which to lie. She was too tired to even think about a tent or proper bed.
Kataria’s hunger woke her the next morning. She crawled from beneath the tree and found Tormjere waiting nearby, watching the brilliant reds and oranges of the sunrise.
“You should have slept,” she said.
“I did, off and on. It’s not the first time I’ve gone with less than I’d like.”
She sat and pulled her cloak tight to ward off the morning chill. “I am hungry.”
Tormjere grinned and held up a snared rabbit. “This should help.”
She shriveled her nose at the thought of such common fare, but her empty stomach quickly overrode such sensibilities—anything was better than bread and nuts.
“You will at least cook it, correct?”
“I prefer them that way, yes,” he said, with only a hint of sarcasm. “The trees are thick enough here to mask a fire.”
Tormjere gathered together some dry twigs and formed them into a ball in his hand. He concentrated, and the kindling burst into flame. He set it on a rock and, in short order, had a small fire going.
“You never said you were a wizard.”
Tormjere shrugged as he began to dress the rabbit. “I’m not. I just know a few things.”
“How did you learn? Did someone teach you?”
“A friend—one of the Imaretii, actually,” he said, wondering where Honarch was now.
“You know someone in the Conclave?” she asked in surprise. “Are the wizards not helping our enemy now?”
“It’s a long story.”
“If you are to help me, I think it reasonable to know your relation to these wizards,” she said, not really suspicious of his motives but eager to talk about anything other than goblins.
“Fair enough,” he said, handing her a branch with meat skewered on one end. She held it close over the low flames, as he did.
“Not long after we met last year, I travelled to Fallhaven, and from there to Kirchmont. I was helping a priest of Amalthee to recover a stolen artifact, and there were two Conclave wizards with us. We later discovered the elder wizard was in league with the thief who stole the artifact, while his apprentice…” He paused thoughtfully. “We became friends, and he was generous with his knowledge. I haven’t seen him since, unfortunately.”
They sat in silence as the rabbit cooked. The smell of smoke and cooking meat had her mouth watering in anticipation, and she took a bite off the end before the whole piece was all the way done. It was tough and gamey, and she would have killed for some salt, but it was food.
“There’s some salt in my bag,” he said absently, still lost in thought.
Kataria pulled a bag from his bedroll and looked at the unfamiliar jumble inside.
“Inside that pouch there on the left.”
She plucked it out by its drawstring, then realized there was nowhere to set either the meat or the salt down. With a sigh, she wedged the stick between her legs and poured a tiny amount of salt into her dirty hand. A sudden image of Lady Prithard, her etiquette tutor, looking at her in horror for her complete lack of manners popped into her head, and she almost giggled at the thought.
Tormjere stood and looked out across the mountains. “It’s not quite the palace you’re used to, I’m sure, but you can’t beat the view.”
She followed his gaze out to the horizon. He was right: it was impressive. The morning sun pierced the dark clouds with rays of light that shone down over the hazy, rippling ridges of the mountains. The vivid scene was balanced by the soft sounds of the forest, different from the constant crashing of waves on the beach she was accustomed to but just as pleasant.
He finished the last of his food, smothered the fire, and then set about disguising any signs of their stay.
The winds picked up almost the moment they left, bringing ever darker clouds that blotted out the sun. By midday a cold, driving rain descended on them, and they were forced to take shelter before making much progress. It was almost small enough to be called a deep overhang rather than a cave, but so long as the wind didn’t change direction it was deep enough that they would remain dry.
Tormjere made himself comfortable at the mouth of the cave and dozed off. Kataria knew he was not fully asleep, because every now and then one eye or the other would open and peer outside.
She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, listening to the thunder as it rolled through the valleys and wondering what was going to happen. It had taken long months to travel the kingdom when she accompanied her father on his tour. This time she had no carriage to ride in and no servants to see to her needs. She also had little idea where they were actually going, but it felt like the right direction.
Tormjere was correct, however. Seeking out her uncle in this manner was not the soundest decision, but she was certain that returning to her home would be an even worse choice. Erbac could not have acted alone. A sudden sadness washed over her at the memory of what had happened and what she had been forced to do. With a sigh she put it out of her mind, for now.
For all its power, the storm was gone by evening, and the rising moon drove away the clouds. She took that as a positive omen, and she caressed the symbol of Eluria around her neck as she stood watching the moon. Her fingers traced their way around the three sections that defined the edge: the twelve braids and twenty-eight bumps that marked the months and days in the lunar calendar, and the Three Sisters whom legend said had lifted the moon into the sky. The symbol shifted in her hand. The movement reminded her that she and Tormjere had sat in one place for half the day, doing nothing. Even Eluria is bored.
“I feel as if we should be doing something,” she stated.
“It’s getting dark and I’d hate to stumble on any goblins or wander off a cliff in the night, so we’re better off staying here until tomorrow. Aren’t you supposed to pray now, like all the other priests?”
“Prayers to Eluria are made before Her statue in a temple, in the morning,” she replied.
“Why would you pray to the moon when the sun’s rising?”
“To thank Her for Her protection during the night. There are specific verses whose timing is aligned to each phase of the moon.”
He continued to look skeptical.
“You do not believe that?” she asked, annoyed. “Did your magician give you better methods of working with the gods than those of us who follow them?”
“You don’t have to be anywhere special to speak to the gods,” Tormjere said.
She began to protest, but his dark eyes were focused on something behind her. When she turned to follow his gaze, she found herself staring at the full moon hanging large in the sky above the mountains. The scattered clouds were rimmed with Her light, and the water in a lake far below sparkled and danced. It reminded her of those nights as a child when she had stood on her balcony, gazing at the moon shining on the ocean.
Her left hand again went unconsciously to Eluria’s symbol hanging from her neck. It felt… warm? Not the warmth from being pressed against her skin; rather, it radiated from within the metal itself. His statement resonated in her mind. What if night was a better time to seek Her? What if here could be as proper as a temple? A powerful feeling stirred deep within her chest, taking her breath away. Overcome, she sank to her knees.
The moonlight swirled like water, caressing her and wrapping protectively abo
ut her spirit, bestowing a lightness that lifted her from the world. There was no forest, no cave, only Her light. Calling to her. Filling her with purpose and a desire to give all that she was.
I want to, Mistress. As I promised you so long ago.
Too soon, the sensation retreated, and she was again on the mountain. She raised her head and looked back to where Tormjere sat on a rock, silently watching her. Moonlight glistened off the tears of joy sliding down her own cheeks.
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. “How did I know what?”
She turned to face him. “How did you know now was the time?”
Tormjere looked at her as if she questioned the obvious. “Eluria is the goddess of the moon. There’s the moon. You’ll probably never be closer to Her than where you stand tonight. It just makes sense.”
“Do you follow Her as well?”
He shook his head as he helped her to her feet, clearly uncomfortable speaking to someone on their knees.
“You have received divine training with another order then? From the priest you travelled with?”
“No. That was my brother’s path.”
“Twice now you have given me guidance that runs counter to what I have been taught. Both times you have been correct. How can you know such things if you are not a priest?”
“You don’t have to be a priest to know things; you just need to pay attention.”
“My father may have thought my desire to join Her temple a simple diversion, but I truly wish to become a priestess of Eluria. I have been drawn to Her light since I was a girl, when I would watch the moon shine above the ocean. I feel a calling to Her more than anything else in my life, and tonight has strengthened my resolve beyond any shadow of a doubt. I will be Hers, but I do not know how.” Her words spilled out in a rush. “What should I do? You know, somehow, do you not? You must tell me.”
“Go to sleep. It’s a long walk ahead, and we’ve already lost a day.”
She tried to hide her disappointment, certain that more remained to be discovered. But, as she stifled a yawn, she realized that he was, once again, correct. With a final, longing glance at the moon, she followed him into the cave.