Third, research. He had made a promise to himself, and nothing would dissuade him from the task.
“Come on, you two.” Calla waved at the men. The older woman already had her back turned, heading the way she had come.
The home was not much more than a hovel. He knew from first sight that she had not exaggerated about having nothing to steal.
An assortment of cages and traps were visible near the flimsy front door, most resting against the crude logs of the outer wall. Intact, but unused.
They heard the baby crying even before entering. Sori, the woman, left the door open for the visitors and headed straight to the second of only two rooms. “Hush, child.” They watched her rock it gently, but Jak wondered why she did not feed it a breast. Was she afraid to?
He had a sudden, terrible vision. The babe must be corrupt. Mutated. In his mind’s eye, he saw the scaly skin like Kleo’s, and his heart broke.
Stepping closer, he sought a better look. With relief, he saw nothing unusual about the infant. It was simply hungry.
She met their questioning gazes and answered. “We’ve not had much this past tenday and more. Something happened this winter. The harvest spoiled. The animals either gone or…worse. The other hunters, fled.
“Most, anyway. Others have turned mad. As have the authorities. They patrol the roads, looking for the taint of evil, as they call it. Killing the sick and innocent.”
She looked down in abject sorrow. “And my milk is gone, so my babe suffers. We are helpless to do aught but wait. And hope.”
“Why do you not flee, like the others?”
“Because this is our home,” came a voice from behind, deep and powerful.
They turned to the newcomer. A big man with broad shoulders, and a beard that put Jak’s to shame. By contrast, small eyes were almost hidden in the round face. But they twinkled in delight at the sight of his wife and son, and the mouth curled into an open, if ugly, smile. Though the man emanated strength, Jak did not feel threatened.
All eyes gravitated toward the object in the stranger’s gloved hand—a dead squirrel, held by the tail.
“I would have had two,” he said, following their stares, “but the damn thieving bears got to the other first. Just our luck that while other predators disappear, the bears remain.”
“Gronen hates bears,” Sori announced. Her spirits had noticeably improved since her husband’s arrival. “The bane of the hunter, he says.”
The giant man nodded. “When they wake in the spring, they’re hungry as wolves. They eat everything they can find, dead and living. Sometimes I think they get more from my traps than we do.
“They’re not usually active this early in the year, but spring is early. I’ve never known those beasts to be out while the days are still dark—but the sky’s stayed dark much longer than usual, though the spring thaw is early.
“Terrible portents,” he said with a shake of the head. He handed the squirrel over to Sori, who took it to the corner of the main room used for cooking and dining. The baby had quieted at the very presence of its father. “They say it’s the devils’ doing.”
Jak’s skin prickled. “The devils?”
“Aye. Some say the devils bring bad weather. The thunder and lightning. The perpetual night.”
In his experience, Jak had learned that most people used the terms devil and demon interchangeably. He considered himself both fortunate and not to know the difference, and to have first-hand experience with all kinds of evil. Now he wondered to which the hunter was referring.
“So…there are devils about?” he asked.
“Aye. They say an army is formed in the north, full of all manner of demons and malformed creatures.”
“The Veldt,” Jak said.
Kluber looked at him quizzically. “The Veldt?”
“It’s what a horde of demons and velbeasts is called.”
“Velbeast?”
“An animal that shouldn’t exist.”
Calla sighed. “I wish you didn’t know things like that.”
Gronen watched the back-and-forth with a blend of curiosity and annoyance, then continued. “They say it’s marching this way, sure as we stand here today. I don’t know about that, but I have seen some awful things in these woods. Nay, nothing would surprise me now.”
The powerful voice had noticeably softened, and Jak felt the man’s burdens. Clearly, the people of Everdawn were not the only ones who suffered.
“The worst thing isn’t the demons, though,” Gronen said. “It’s what they do to men, to women. The sad tainted—in mind, body, or heart. Bringing out the worst in folk.
“They say a man leads this devil-army. That is, half a man, and half a demon himself. Eight feet tall, with a sword as large as he. That one spreads this taint, that Kevik the Corrupt.”
Jak felt that his heart had stopped beating. The world did not seem real, these events merely a nightmare, though he was aware of Calla crying beside him.
“Forgive me,” the hunter said at last. “You are our guests, and I have upset you. I will help Sori with the meal.”
Kluber and Jak did their best to soothe Calla, but her anguish seemed endless. Clearly, her heart had never fully moved on from the man she intended to marry before the winter solstice. Before the attack, and the destruction of everything she ever cared about.
Perhaps he should have felt jealous, but Jak understood her sorrows too well. He even sympathized. Kevik had been his master, his best friend, and—for most of their time together—the finest man he had known. The last tendays had been trying, to say the least, but nothing could undo the bonds of a lifetime.
Jak was thankful that Calla allowed him to put his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest, and they commiserated together.
The dinner was a modest affair. Gronen and Sori were apologetic for the meagerness of the meal—a few bites of meat per person and some dry scraps of root vegetables. But their friendliness provided more sustenance than the food they offered, and none of the three visitors complained. They had eaten far from well in the down-below, but seldom as badly as this poor family.
The table was not spacious enough for five, so Sori stood and worked about the house while the others sat and talked. Currently, she was adding wood to the hearty fire, for fuel was one resource they had in abundance.
Jak allowed the others to do most of the talking while he studied their host. Gronen was a likable man, but an oddity. For one thing, he was one of the few left-handed people Jak could recall meeting. At least, he used his left hand for everything, though he looked clumsy doing so.
There was nothing awkward in the banter between man and wife, however. Their love for one another was inspiring. It was an achievement to which Jak, so recent to find love of his own, could only aspire. If the baby survived, this would be a wonderful environment in which to be raised.
If the baby survived. The palpable worry was an ever-present sadness that infected every thought, and dampened attempts at cheer.
Jak studied his companions, also. The tears long gone, Calla looked as beautiful as ever—even in the tattered, loose robes provided by the temple. She was smiling now, listening to another of Gronen’s embellished stories. The man was a gifted talker, and Jak owed him a tremendous debt of gratitude for restoring her spirits.
Kluber, meanwhile, did not seem to be paying attention to the story. Several years older than Jak, he had a habit of inspecting everyone and everything around, as if passing judgment. This home would certainly not meet the standards of the son of a magistrate, but the focus of his investigation was the hunter himself.
Jak watched as his friend leaned forward. “Gronen, why do you still wear those gloves?”
The older man’s face fell. All the good nature disappeared along with the redness in his cheeks, replaced by a cold, pale distrust.
“Kluber—”
“Jak, it’s hot as Tempus in here.”
“Kluber, we are their guests.”
The large man leaned back in his chair. “Sori, the babe cries again. Please see to it.”
The woman looked distraught. “Gronen—”
“It’s all right, love.”
“I’ll help you,” Calla said. She put her arm around the woman’s shoulders as they left the men. In the other room, the baby shrieked louder at their entrance.
The hunter stared at Kluber for a long moment, during which no one spoke. For nothing needed to be said. At last, with a sigh, he shifted his gaze to his hands. He studied them for a long time, like they were strangers.
He placed his hands on the table, one over the other. Then, clumsily, he pulled the left glove off first, revealing a large, hairy, perfectly normal hand. “It began almost three tendays ago.” Then the right. Twisted and unfinished, but visibly a paw. He motioned, trying to uncurl fingers that were no longer there.
“I thank the gods every day for afflicting me, rather than my wife or son.”
“The gods don’t hear you,” Jak said. “For there are no gods to thank.”
The man simply nodded. “Will you kill me for this? I’ll not fight you… If I cannot care for my family, I do not deserve...” His throat choked, ending the sentence.
“Jak,” Kluber said. “Listen.”
“I hear nothing.”
“Exactly.”
The baby is quiet, all too suddenly. Please let it not be dead.
His fears were echoed in the eyes of the hunter. The man could accept his own death, but not his child’s. He looked afraid to stand.
Jak was, too, but did so anyway. He left the man on the chair and approached the doorway between rooms, Kluber at his back. Through the opening, he saw both women looking down.
There was the baby, suckling at Calla’s exposed, swollen breast. It gulped ravenously and contentedly, its raw pleasure mirrored by the look on its mother’s face.
Calla knew the men were there, staring, but did not take her eyes from the babe.
Kluber put his hand firmly on Jak’s shoulder. Sympathy—or restraint.
So many things began to make sense now. Her moodiness, for one. Along with the frequent signs of discomfort—clearly, she must have started leaking earlier than most. Even so, he could not help thinking that the time did not add up.
Jak wished he could sort through his emotions, but the others were staring. Waiting. He needed to speak, though all he had were questions.
“Calla, you have milk?”
She was smiling down on the tiny pink face in her arms. “Isn’t exactly milk yet. But he seems to like it well enough.”
“How long?”
“I suspected before, but I didn’t know for sure until the temple. I started…this…a tenday ago.” Embarrassment burdened her words.
“And you never told us?”
“I was ashamed.” She looked up at last. “And I was afraid you’d be angry. Please don’t be angry, Jak.”
He wondered why she would worry so. If his favorite two people brought new life into this world, that was better than anything he could achieve. Yet he could play a supporting role, as always.
A new child, and another survivor of Neverdawn. If it was to be a girl, she would be just like the finest woman he knew. If a boy—well, if anyone could raise him to be just like Kevik, it was Calla.
The old Kevik, that is. Kevik the Kind.
Jak finally compelled his legs to move again. The room was cramped, but there was enough space to sit beside the women. “Angry? Calla, this is a blessing.”
He saw a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly reached out to wipe it away before it could fall onto the baby. Judging by that smiling face, it would not have minded in the slightest.
They spent another day with the hunter’s family, until Jak sensed that their presence was more of a burden than a favor. Calla gave what she could—which, sadly, was not much—and now the three extra mouths to feed were an unnecessary strain.
Gronen stood at the door as they departed. “I don’t know what the future holds, but we’re not the type to give up easily.”
“Good man. Resist the taint as long as you can. I’ll do my best to stop it.”
“How will you do that, friend?”
“By destroying the source. The sword Kevik carries.”
“You cannot fight him.”
“Nay, not yet. I fear the hard times may last a while. But eventually, we’ll strike back.”
“I wish you luck and speed, Jak.” They shook left hands, left to left. “Kluber, I know you’ll help him. And Calla…I don’t know what to say.”
Neither did she, apparently. Jak put his arm around her shoulders. “Ready?” She nodded, a hint of sunshine dancing across her brown hair. The break in the rain was much appreciated, but he knew it would not last.
They had learned their location from the hunter and wife. The border with Lorester was not far away, but the nearest road led southward, to Daphina and on into Akenberg. At one time, the idea of leaving Falkenreach would have filled Jak with anxiety. After all that had happened, however, the notion barely warranted a second thought.
“Look out for the patrols,” Gronen warned them again. “And heed the rumors of war.”
“We will,” Kluber said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Gronen nodded. The gloves were back on. Clearly, the man preferred to keep the paw out of sight, both to hide it from others and himself. Thinking of the progression of Kleo’s scales, Jak wondered how long before the rest of the body began changing.
Sori appeared beside her husband, and he wrapped an arm around her. “Luck and speed, you three. Luck and speed.”
3
Neublusten
The eagle soared far overhead, gracing the blue sky with golden majesty, tracing a path from the walls of Neublusten to the sparkling lake for which the city was named. Once over the water, the bird circled back, flapping its wings but once, then gliding lower over the melting snows of the field where a thousand soldiers were forming, always in motion, in the spirit of all animals everywhere, hunger compelling its eternal search for prey.
As he watched, King Nicolas of Akenberg silently wished it luck. He felt little sympathy for the hare and marmot, for this was simply the way of things. The blessed prospered, the weak succumbed. It was unfair, but so was life.
Farther and farther away, the image lost clarity. Now little more than a speck, the great bird abruptly changed directions, back toward the heights, as a volley of bolts flew into the sky.
Nico frowned. Crossbowmen, making sport. He could barely make out the projectiles from this distance, but had no doubt what they were. He also knew they would have to be lucky, indeed, to take down an eagle in flight.
One was, and the swift speck of gold ceased its upward trajectory and fell to earth. The noblest of creatures in a moment of transcendent glory, snuffed out in an instant.
“That’s a lesson for you,” Leti told him. “Appreciate all of life’s precious moments, for you never know when they will end.”
“As My Princess commands,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss.
“There’s no time for that, boy,” Renard admonished. “You have a kingdom to lead. Nay, an empire.”
Nico closed his eyes regretfully. When he opened them again, the other two were gone. He still had the beauty of the lake, however, and the welcome warmth of sunshine. The tranquility of the scene was not to be lightly disregarded.
But in times of war, springtime meant new offensives, and he had ordered this one himself. Now, it was his obligation to see the troops off.
From a respectable distance away, two others watched him stand. Seeing him mount, they followed suit. Then, as he cantered toward the Fourth Army, they galloped to catch up. Lima took position on his left, Pim his right. Neither spoke a word, but he felt their presence so keenly he almost stopped missing his ghosts.
He loved them more than he could let them know. Nico owed them much, for he never would have reached the position he was in without the
ir aid, and their friendship.
Exactly what position was he in? A king, but more than that, according to the rumors. A reluctant hero to his homeland. The man who turned a war around, who summoned hope from despair.
And a ruler only a few steps away from being emperor. Win this civil war he unwillingly found himself fighting, and he would become the obvious candidate. Akenberg’s former enemies would have little alternative but to support him. Such was the price of defeat.
If Akenberg won this conflict. One battle did not make a war. The siege of the capital was over, but three enemies remained, and more fighting was yet to come.
Soon his escorts were joined by another. Captain Mickens of the Kingshields, Nico’s personal guard, saluted his leader and fell in behind the others. Nico glanced back to see the man beaming at his former comrades. And why not? They had all gone through trying times together, and all had much of which to be proud.
Pride did not sit easily upon Nico’s head, however, for there was always one more obstacle in his way, one more problem to push through, one more responsibility to fulfill. This had been his life ever since being tasked with a modest errand to a neighboring kingdom, two seasons and a lifetime ago.
Words were not necessary for the foursome to enjoy each others’ company, and the brief gallop across the scenic plains was more rousing than the grandest orchestra.
Nico located the commander near the front of the formation, twenty companies of infantry and four of cavalry, plus the ancillary aides and adjuncts that made an army function. A formidable force with which to turn the tides of war, and much better than what Nico had returned to at the beginning of winter. An army with more tendays training at its back. And, even more importantly, a victory.
Overseeing this massing of eager young men and women was the man Nico came to see. He slowed his destrier, but did not dismount, and spoke in a loud, authoritative voice. He wanted as many of the staff and soldiers as possible to hear the respect he had for this officer, the true savior of Neublusten.
“General Freilenn, I wish you and your troops a fast and successful journey.”
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