The Severed Bond

by Elí Freysson

  Irina walked down the ridge, and formally into the Junmarch. As of that moment she was out of Lady Lumiara’s grasp. There was no sense of triumph. Just a relaxation of what little tension she’d had energy left for.

  A few berries in a meadow returned a tiny spark of strength to her and she closed the short distance to Ynglas, reflecting as she did so on how much her body language resembled the work of an inept necromancer.

  The village was remarkable only for its proximity to both the Mid and East borders, and its distance from other settlements. It was small but enjoyed relative prosperity due to the traffic that passed through in the merchant season.

  Since there was no wall no one accosted her as she passed the first few houses. The Thirsty Man Inn was the largest structure in town, old and rather storied due to the merchant traffic.

  She pushed the door open and staggered into a familiar air of smoke, meat, old wood and beer.

  The sitting area was divided into nine sections, marked by support pillars. The central one was the cooking and serving area and firepits lay in the centre of four of the others.

  Jon, Elseth and Kent hung their jaws out to dry as Irina walked in. Elseth was the first to her feet and hurried over to wrap a hug around her.

  “Irina! You... what... you made it!”

  “Hungry,” Irina mumbled. “Hungry and tired.”

  They supported her over to their table and Jon promptly splurged on the best meat the inn had to offer as well as strong beer. She attacked both with equal relish and was yet again reminded of how one learned to treasure the simple things. They let her enjoy about half the meal in silence before Jon spoke.

  “How did you escape?” he asked. “We lost you in the forest.”

  “It was a while before we found each other,” Elseth added. “We didn’t know if you’d been caught or if you were skulking about the forest. We... felt we couldn’t do any good by looking. It was like you said. We...”

  Elseth looked heartbroken.

  “We abandoned you again.”

  Irina took three big gulps of the beer, then closed her eyes and sighed happily at feeling her stomach react to the meat.

  “Again, there was nothing you could do,” she said. “Don’t feel bad. I will just feel bad in turn. I...”

  She thought of Ana and Bors and gazed down into her mug.

  “I... made my own way. The only way that could deliver me here. I will tell you about it later. Now I... I really need rest. I’ve travelled for a day and a night and half a day more. I will finish this later.”

  She tried to bring the eating bowl with her as she stood up but her weak, trembling fingers dropped it on the floor.

  “Come,” Elseth said and took her arm in support. “Jon, do pay for her bed.”

  Kent took her other arm and she was already half-asleep when they tucked her beneath a blanket.

  “Rest as much as you need,” Elseth said and patted her arm. “I’m... we’re so glad to see you!”

  “Yes,” Kent said with a wry smile. “We’ll actually get paid.”

  Irina managed to smile at him before her eyes closed of their own accord.

  # # #

  Irina slept, made use of a chamber pot, then slept some more.

  The second time she woke she actually felt somewhat refreshed. For a while she contented herself with lying still, ignoring the world and its demands of her while pondering.

  Irina thought about her life, her decisions, what she’d left behind and what lay ahead and reached no conclusion about any of it.

  She touched her neck.

  Footsteps approached, and she saw lamplight beneath the door to her room.

  “Hello?” she said.

  Elseth entered.

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No. How long have I slept?”

  “It’s near midnight.”

  Elseth entered and closed the door.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I think it will be some time before I can answer that question in any meaningful way,”

  Elseth nodded.

  “I suppose that can be expected. Look... we’ve been taking turns checking up on you. And there is still the matter of that meeting.”

  “Prince Walder,” Irina muttered.

  “Yes. That meeting is to be tomorrow afternoon, here at the inn. And it is all to be kept rather quiet. Small retinues and no use of titles. Do keep that in mind.”

  “Well, he is the one paying us,” Irina said. “How much is he paying for all of this, anyway?”

  “Six hundred rils. One hundred and fifty for each of us.”

  Irina made an impressed little sound.

  “That is... we’ve never had nearly that much.”

  “It was all a rather special job,” Elseth reminded her.

  “It certainly was.”

  Irina touched her neck again and chuckled weakly.

  “And it took me three whole years.”

  “Did you and the prince make special arrangement I wasn’t privy to?” Elseth asked jokingly.

  “Yes, this was all an elaborate master plan like no other,” Irina replied with a tired smile.

  “I’m going to get some sleep myself,” Elseth then said.

  “Right. Dream well.”

  # # #

  She ate breakfast with Jon, Elseth and Kent. They discussed old friends, difficulties and victories. They reminisced about the tomb of Rus, the Night Bull and the Glittercaves. They also updated her further on the things she had missed out on during these three years. It was all very familiar and yet somehow alien to her.

  “So the prin... our client just wants me to describe my experience?” she asked.

  “He didn’t lay out his list of questions, but that was the gist of it,” Jon said.

  “It is funny to think that technically we are earning a lot of money for a conversation,” Elseth mused.

  “And speaking of the money, have you decided what you’ll do with your part of it?” Irina asked.

  The three looked at one another.

  “There is no shortage of options, is there?” Kent said.

  “We could... buy the best equipment available,” Jon said. “Or hire help. Or just live off of it in comfort for a couple of years.”

  “Or amuse ourselves on the Alderi docks for a couple of months,” Elseth said with a grin.

  “Or spend it all wisely,” Irina said.

  Jon intertwined his fingers and laid his elbows on the table.

  “Or we could do that.”

  “One only leaves the life...” Irina began.

  “... early or dead,” Elseth finished.

  The table was silent for some time.

  There were old adventurers, sure enough. Men and women who ran taverns decorated with trophies, or landowners with battle scars, or simply farmers who had nothing to show for all their troubles save stories. But all of them had decided enough was enough while they still could.

  Death waited out there, in dark temples, lonely woods and deep caves.

  “Do you think you’ve had your fill, Irina?” Jon asked carefully.

  “I am thinking so many things right now that I don’t know what I am actually thinking,” she admitted.

  “Right,” he said, though she doubted he actually understood.

  Then he sighed.

  “I have been doing this long enough that I am not sure how else to live,” he said. “The highs of terror and joy... they become quite the habit.”

  “Believe me, I know,” Irina said. “But peace does have its own appeal.”

  “So poets tell us,” Kent said. “The calm, warm cabin in the distance.”

  “Aren’t they referring to the afterlife with that one?” Jon asked.

  The conversation went on to meander this way and that, as general chat between friends tended to do. The rest of the day was mostly spent in waiting. The group replaced the travelling equipment they’d had to leave behind while fleeing the bandits. She bathed.
She carved herself a new stick from better wood, and then largely just roamed about, hoping to silence her mind.

  At one point, up on a hillock just outside of the village, Irina looked south and mused that Lady Lumiara would most likely reach Vyslak late in the afternoon. That ought to properly shock the locals, given their reaction to Ana and Bors.

  She smiled in a melancholic fashion.

  After that she simply continued wandering about in circles, lost in thoughts and memories. The day inevitably wore on, and the meeting that was the reason for her being here drew near.

  # # #

  Prince Walder was somewhere south of forty years old, had a warrior’s body and a cleanly shaved face, and from beneath his hood poked hair that was in the early stages of greying.

  He arrived with five other men, which Irina supposed counted as a small retinue for a king’s son, and all wore sword belts and clothes of fine make but muted colours. The man took the interior in, then walked over to their table.

  “Good evening,” he said, in a refined version of the West accent. “I am surprised to see you again,” he added to Irina.

  He turned to the others.

  “I take it this means your mission was successful?”

  “It was,” Jon said. “Though only narrowly. That knife of yours did work.”

  “A strange little thing, isn’t it?”

  Walder held his hand out and Jon returned the knife.

  “Well, this is excellent,” he said, turning back to Irina. “I ought to be able to finish this whole matter off in one sitting.”

  “So you simply want an honest account of my experiences?” Irina asked him.

  “Of your impression of the Bright Lords. All shall become clear once my counterpart arrives.”

  He pointed off to the far corner.

  “My party and I shall be over there. I will send for you when needed.”

  With that the incognito prince walked off. Irina wondered whether the high-born realised how much they revealed themselves in their general manner.

  The four of them finished their beers, then ordered another round and worked through it slowly.

  In time the door opened again and in strode another six-man group. All wore those distinctive eastern boots, travelling cloaks, and of course swords.

  One separated from the group to approach the innkeeper, while the rest completely ignored their surroundings in favour of walking straight to that far corner.

  More beer and food was brought over for the new arrivals and Irina decided to hurry to the outhouse before getting called over. After she came back there was a bit more waiting yet.

  Finally a young man with straw-coloured hair and a battle scar on his cheek walked to their table.

  “You are wanted now, Irina,” he said, pleasantly enough.

  “Good,” she said and brought the rest of her beer with her.

  Two tables had been pushed together for the sake of this meeting, and the two sides sat opposite one another. She was directed to a stool on the side, placed halfway between them. Prince Walder sat in the centre, of course, and opposite him sat...

  The man was a few years older than his counterpart. Piercing eyes sat beneath a heavy brow, his hair reached his shoulders and he had a small, perfectly trimmed beard. And through some odd quirk of the years he was greying, but only on the left side.

  Prince Kalgan. Brother to the eastern king. Sorcerer, and leader of that awful invasion that had preceded the Demon War.

  “Yes, I am Prince Kalgan,” the man said in reaction to her stare. “For all that this affair is meant to be discreet.”

  His voice was strong and largely inflectionless. Somehow it fit those eyes just perfectly.

  “Greetings,” was all Irina could think to say.

  “So you are that freed chalu,” he went on. “Interesting.”

  “What exactly does West and East want of me?” she asked.

  “We are here to discuss the Bright Lords,” Walder said. “Their intentions and what to do about them. And I understand they keep their slaves in full confidence.”

  “They have no reason not to,” Irina said. “Their control cannot be defied. There is no danger of betrayal.”

  “Enviable, I’ll admit,” Kalgan said. “But worrying when it is your neighbour. Especially when said neighbour is holding onto lands that belong to you by old right.”

  Walder turned a decidedly neutral gaze to Kalgan for a moment, then addressed Irina again.

  “They have already swallowed up one kingdom and remade it in accordance to their will. Does anything at all remain of the old system?”

  “Very little,” Irina told him. “A few of the old lords remain as... regional overseers, one might say. Which a landed lord is, I suppose. But they have no special rights in the reign of the Bright Lords. No one does.”

  “Save the Bright Lords themselves, of course,” Walder pointed out.

  “The mystics who brought them into our world... they were seeking a cure for the Demon War,” Irina said. “The demons ravaging the land were pure chaos. Cruelty. Pointless destruction purely for its own sake. So those men and women cast a desperate call out into the outer planes for their exact opposite. Entities of pure order and benevolence. And that is precisely what they got.”

  Irina had some more of that beer and used the break to search for the right words.

  “I would say the Bright Lords and the demons are equally pure, just on different ends of the spectrum. And each act on their nature and can do no other. Crime is a form of chaos, for instance, and often born of want and made easier by unsafe roads. So they act against those factors. The Lords are kind. But they have no concern for superfluous things like tradition, identity, individual determination or other vague concepts. They care about well-being in the simplest terms. They are either very naïve or very wise, and which it is is a question I’m not sure can be answered.”

  “But can you answer to the matter of their intentions?” Kalgan asked. “That is why we are here.”

  “You worry that they will in time spread their way of things beyond Mid-Melgen’s borders,” Irina said. “Beyond the treaty. And you wonder if you should act first.”

  She had another sip and took her time with it. Then she put the mug down and drummed her fingers on it.

  “You needn’t worry,” she said. “Thirty-three entered our world to save Mid-Melgen from the demons, and thirty-three remain to this day. They are not massing a force. And each slave gets a fraction of power from their lord, so they can only control so many. In my three years in their service I never saw any sign that they intend to break the treaty. Their purpose here is to protect the people of Mid-Melgen, and that is what they will do. And as for getting rid of them...”

  She turned to Walder.

  “That summoning pole you originally hired my group to destroy... it doesn’t exist. I reached the room before being captured and there was nothing there. Either the mystics used some other method or the Bright Lords do not need it any more. I think the rumour of it simply exists to weed out people who would oppose them, so they can be turned into obedient servants.”

  She looked at both of them in turn.

  “And an invasion would be a doomed endeavour, I think. Remember, they did break the demons. And you would find little support among the populace. It has adapted to a new reality. Bellies are full, as crop failure or flooding is swiftly met with opened granaries. People are in good health. The Lords themselves and their chalu cannot be everywhere at once, but traditional healers are being trained and spread about the land like never before. Considering those two factors people have little to complain of.”

  She went silent again, and reminded herself that her interactions with Mid-Melgeners these last three years had all been as a chalu.

  “I am sure some discontent exists, among those who lost privileges and those who simply insist on distrust. But those aren’t numerous enough to make any difference.”

  She cleared her throat.


  “Have I satisfied both of you?”

  “I would have expected you to bear more rancour towards those who enslaved your mind,” Kalgan commented.

  There was still that cold focus to him; no sign of whether he was satisfied or not.

  “I was brought here to present facts, and these are the facts as I see them,” Irina told him. “I think you neither can nor need to battle the Bright Lords.”

  “Well, I am satisfied,” Walder said. “Everything you have said essentially matches the impression I’ve gotten from other sources. I simply wanted to hear from the best source possible before advising my father. Thank you, Wanderer Irina, and congratulations on your freedom.”

  “Thank you, Your-”

  She caught herself.

  “Thank you.

  He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she stood up.

  “Olson, do pay her group. As agreed.”

  The young man with the scarred cheek got up to rifle through their bags and Irina had her beer refilled, then joined her friends.

  Olson came over with the money, divided into three bags. Jon took out an extra bag he’d acquired earlier and he, Elseth and Kent counted equal amounts into it.

  “One hundred and fifty each,” Jon said as he pushed the bag Irina’s way.

  “We must toast to that,” Elseth said.

  They did, and Irina tried to remember just how often she’d taken part in this little ritual.

  “And now for that old question,” Jon said. “What next?”

  “Yes, what next?” Irina repeated as she stared at her bag of rils. She held it in her hand, feeling the weight.

  “It’s a delightful sound, isn’t it?” Elseth said through a giant grin as she squeezed her own bag, moving the coins about. “But we had a vague plan to go back west after all this. Do you have any objections to that, Irina?”

  “Objections?” she replied distantly. “No. No objections.”

  “We can discuss it all in the morning,” Kent said. “Rested and sober.”

  “So we can,” Jon said. “Now, Irina... how about you tell us what just went on?”

  They were far enough away from the princes’ table to make gossiping quite safe as long as they kept their voices down. The princes and their men did the same, and the meeting dragged on for a while as Irina repeated what she’d told their client. By the time she finished everyone was ready to retire and they walked together to their part of the inn.