“What do you want?” Heygar asked, bringing another little silent flame to life while another three candles fell to darkness.
“I know you spoke to Eralorien. I tried to sway his thoughts on such matters, but he is a stubborn old man. I was hoping you might sway his decision to leave the group.”
Ah, the brief mystery was unravelled. Eralorien wanted to tender his resignation. Feelings of rejection stirred, but Heygar showed nothing but calm on his face. The lure had swayed the old man’s predilection towards leaving for now, but it would not hold for long. He would march one last time, and after, they would sit down and speak of things.
At least if Eralorien perished during this undertaking, there would be even less guilt than normal. And more gold to share. The man had no family to care for, so there was no further responsibility. And Iaculous? Well, he was welcome to do whatever he wanted to. He was a fine enough killer, and his healing was as good as any other weaver at such a fee.
“You should get rest, Iaculous. Maybe grab yourself a little companionship before the road,” he said as though nothing in the world bothered him, not even a growing number of unlit candles. The young apprentice bowed, and Heygar understood his worry. Would he choose a life with his love or follow the path of weaving?
“Yes, sir,” Iaculous said, trying to disguise the despondency in his face.
“Let’s see what happens,” Heygar offered as he heard delicate steps from below. Panic surged through him once more. It wasn’t her. Just steps that sounded like her.
“Let me through,” cried Arielle from the head of the stairs. Her fingers gripped the iron bars tightly. Iaculous stepped out and swiftly unlocked the gate like a good potential mate.
“As if anyone would attack us in Dellerin!” she snapped, and the door opened for her. Her face was redder than normal. Like her sister, she had fire when she needed it. She stormed through the security cage and slammed the door behind her. “See, Heygar, we’re all nice and safe now,” she mocked, kicking at the gate that secluded The Seven from everyone else in the inn. Her voice was slurred from the ale, and he imagined she would regret that after a few hours in the saddle's sway.
“I keep my Hounds in fine cages,” Heygar growled, trying and failing to stop the diminutive female as she missed her own bedroom by quite a distance and slipped through his doorway.
“Ooh, pretty,” she gasped, eyeing the burning candles.
“Get out!”
She glided through the room dreamily. “Incense would be a fine addition for some playing.” He wondered what her reaction would be to his stealing her sister from her. And dissolving the Hounds. No man went to war with his wife at his side. Retirement was inevitable—as was death. At least one would be a worthy story to tell.
“I reserved a room apiece for a reason,” Heygar said, but she still wasn’t listening. She was absently tearing a few of the rose petals apart while staring at the little flames with a stupid grin on her face. Despite himself, he thought she looked a little endearing in her annoying ways. She brought out the best in everyone. It was a gift.
“I could help,” Iaculous whispered.
“You could leave.”
Silvious appeared from behind the gate. He had appeared without a sound. “Lemme in.” When no one made any move to unlock the gate, he slipped a tiny pin into the mechanism. After a few pulses, the gate swung open effortlessly.
“Bolt it after you,” hissed Heygar and cursed the security on this floor. So much for a restful few hours, knowing they were protected.
Silvious pulled a large wedge of cheese from under his cloak “No need to sleep yet. Look what I … found,” He produced a thin dagger and spun it in his clawed fingers. His nose twitched in excitement—for the treasure and for the act in its procurement. Heygar had known many thieves in his time, but none shared the joy of the rodenerack every time he “found” something.
“You aren’t exactly breaking the stereotype of your kind,” Iaculous said from the doorway.
“I’d love some cheese,” Arielle cried in excitement.
“Plenty to share with family,” Silvious suggested, gesturing to his master.
“Could everyone please leave me to my thoughts?” shouted Heygar. Then he heard the sharp tone of his beloved as she climbed the last level. “Not with everyone around.” His heart hammered, and he grabbed desperately for the nearest candle to finish the lighting.
“I can help,” Iaculous said and held his hands out. They glowed brighter than Eralorien’s. A flame leapt around the room, and a hundred candles blinked into darkness before swiftly relighting themselves. Iaculous went pale and fell against the door as though struck by a brute twice his size. Arielle gasped in panic and fright and took hold of the apprentice as he steadied himself.
“What did you do?” she cried.
“It’s a simple enchantment,” he whispered as though lost in a dream. His voice was rough and heavy as if he had spent a night and a day singing without rest. Perhaps he had.
“You look broken.”
“We should leave the general to it,” he wheezed and leaned on Arielle for a moment, allowing strength to return to his body.
“I will tend to you, idiot,” she cried, stroking his chin tenderly.
“I’m fine!” he suddenly snapped. His voice was clear and stronger. “Let’s enjoy the spoils of the rat,” he added, softer this time, and he offered his potential lover a smile. Making a fuss in front of the boss was unlikely to curry favour it would appear.
They retired to Silvious’s room to dine on cheese until sleep likely robbed them of missed opportunities. The sooner they leapt upon each other, the better, thought Heygar. Then he thought of Bereziel’s words, that they might create something incredible eventually. But those were just the broken words of a decrepit old man.
“So, are you going to let me in?” Cherrie snapped.
“I don’t know, my love. Will I earn a kiss?” Heygar asked, wary that his comrades might hear his sweeter side. He met her at the gate and stroked her hair through the bars with his rough, calloused hands.
“You may have a kiss, I suppose,” she said as though it was an expense of great effort.
“Perhaps I would like a little more,” he whispered and tried to meet her lips.
She dodged his assault. “Open the gate, Heygar.”
“I’m not sure I really want to now.”
“Fine, you may see me in a state of undress,” Cherrie countered and smiled weakly. He knew that smile. She was troubled. Perhaps when he asked her a quick question, she might snap out of it. Click. She glided into their room, and he left the gate unlocked for whenever Denan and whichever young beauty he had ensnarled retired for the evening.
“Oh, the candles are nice,” she said softly and undid the knots at her dress. She groaned under her breath as she did. She was beautiful, and any reservations he felt diminished immediately.
“Oh, Cherrie, you are my …” he said as her dress fell away. He crept up behind her with the ring in hand.
“Oh, that’s much better. I can breathe now,” she said.
“You are my …” Soulmate?
She dropped onto the bed. A few petals took flight and found death upon the ground.
“I hate this thurken cycle,” she moaned and prodded at her scarred back absently. “It always starts with the back and then everything really goes to spit. You would think weavers could have figured a way to deal with things like this.”
Heygar realised his folly.
“So, I’m no father yet?” He didn’t know females all too well, but he knew now was the wrong time to ask for her hand. He slipped the ring back into his pocket.
“I’m not with your child just yet, my love,” she said, snuggling her head into the feathered pillow.
“I lit one candle and lost the run of myself,” he joked and climbed upon the bed.
“The candles are pretty,” she said, sighing as he ran his fingers along her ruined skin. “You don’t have to
if you are too tired,” she added and stretched out on the bed.
“If nothing else, I will always take what pain I can from you,” he said and massaged away what pain he could.
“My man.”
5
Day One
Morning struck, and with it came dreary marching weather. Heygar sat in his saddle miserably as his mount carried him farther from civilisation. It was still well before dawn. Sleep was an overrated interest to any decent mercenary, and the sooner they were clear of Dellerin’s grasp, the safer they would be.
They had made good time already. It was only a day and a half’s ride to the coast and a day’s swift sailing over treacherous waters to the unwelcoming shore of Venistra. Still, without a locked gate at their back, there were dangers. Lemier had painted fine targets on all their rears. Leaving under the cover of night was a fine way to stay ahead of potential ambushes.
Silvious was another. The rodenerack’s horse was tethered to Denan’s. It was smaller than the rest of the warhorses and built with speed in mind. Now though, it ambled in its reins as it awaited the return of its rodenerack master.
Silvious could scamper quicker than any horse for a short time if needed, and scamper ahead he did. With his head arched unnaturally low and claws dragging ever so slightly in the muddy ground, they had charged him with the unenviable task of scouting their route. Not for a swifter path to the coast, however. There was only one suitable road, and therein lay the problem.
Silvious’s quarries were assassins and ambushes. Sadly enough, both were a common occurrence between rival companies. The Seven should have been above all this, having become the most reliable group in their field and sitting atop the ladder of rule, but there was always a foolish little brat with ideas above his or her station. They had faced at least a dozen attempts in as many years, which was admittedly well below the average. Still, Heygar was tiring of needless bloodshed and the constant watching of the bend in the road ahead.
He had committed similar deeds as a whippet himself, attempting to become the fiercest Venandi in the courtyard. Thoughts of the last troupe he and his little group had taken out in Fayenar sprung to mind, and guilty thoughts were suppressed swiftly. A mercenary’s life was full of sins. Some things he wouldn’t miss when retirement came.
“You look tired, friend,” Denan said from beside him.
Though the morning was dull, the younger man’s eyes were bright and alert. They were hunter’s eyes awaiting the first dribble of blood before draining a man dry. Heygar had long since presumed that his old friend cared little for wealth and notoriety. He was a mercenary for the sport and kill. It was something in his lineage, he imagined. Venistrians were always a little too twisted for his taste. Though Denan’s absence from such a miserable country had disciplined his friend and tapered his loyalties, he had displayed no real desire to return to his land. Denan treated his homeland as a cold outcast would, from a city of light.
Perhaps it was all the recent tales of collapsing economies, mass famine, and unique monsters rising which stirred his thoughts of desire. Whispered words of dark activities occurring in Venistra were slow to emerge at first, but as months passed and little trinkets of information became known, Denan appeared to reconsider. Eventually, he heard a dark weaver had taken a step towards leadership, which stirred him to act. And act he had, by proposing a task of assassination on this mysterious Mallum to Heygar and Heygar alone.
“We can do the deed, my friend, but why not make sure we earn gold along the way?” Heygar had suggested with a wry grin. It wasn’t difficult to imagine King Lemier wanting Mallum taken care of. Anchoring the Hounds in Dellerin for a few days longer than needed had placed them in the king’s sights and provided the shrewdest solution.
“I was up half the night with Cherrie,” lied Heygar, and Denan laughed.
“She should allow our fearless leader to sleep on the eve of battle.” Denan gripped both ropes tightly. His eyes were on the path ahead as they neared the ingress of Ailedroc Forest. The dozen miles ahead would be taken carefully. With clusters of trees on either side, it made a fine staging point for ambushes. He didn’t need to mention fears like this to his comrades. They already knew what to expect and exactly how to react.
“I almost pledged myself to her,” Heygar mumbled, in case she heard.
“What happened? Did she do something new and lurid?”
“I have a ring,” Heygar said. Denan’s smile faded upon realising the truth in his words and the ramifications.
Welcome to my misery, brother.
Denan appeared dreadfully unhappy at discussing emotional things with Heygar. “So, she said no?”
“Be still, my friend. The conversation never reared its unpleasant head.”
“If you two wed, what becomes of our little troop?” Denan said and spat in the dirt. Leader or not, Heygar saw the hurt in his friend’s face. As second in command, Heygar should have informed him. Denan wiped spittle from his goatee and looked down in shame. Heygar patted him on the back.
“If we wed, I will invite you to the affair,” Heygar said, grinning.
The first sparks of dawn drew life, but the shadow of the wood enclosed itself over them before they could feel the sun’s first warm rays. Instead, the morning chill increased, and Heygar shuddered despite himself.
Denan tapped the magnificent heavy armour. “Will you dress in that monstrosity for the auspicious occasion?”
“I’ll have Silvious polish it up nice and proper,” Heygar said and caught himself glancing at the path below for any signs of his diminutive comrade’s scuff marks in the mud. He had only suggested he run a few miles ahead, and the little thief should have returned by now. Still, he wasn’t too concerned. Silvious was crafty enough to spot any danger a few miles off.
“Will you leave us, then?”
“She might say no.”
“Let's hope so,” Denan said and tried to smile. Heygar cursed to himself. As if the Venistrian did not have enough on his mind. Now his general had pulled the rug from under his feet.
“At some point, you will be the one to take the mantle from me, Denan. It's long past due you fronted your own group of lunatics.”
“I’ve never craved ruling.”
“This isn’t running a little group of hunters, trying to avoid your birth right. This is something far less honourable and far more important.” Heygar offered a smile.
“I’ve tried honour and look where it’s taken me.” Denan released his grip on one rein and scratched absently at the one tattoo he wore on his chest. It was a small, unimpressive symbol in black and red, but whenever Denan was troubled, his hand inevitably reached for it. Heygar knew it was his family crest. If a snake, skinned alive, was an attractive crest in Venistra, they were sorely lacking an artist’s eye. Maybe if they spent less time rebelling and more time engaging in artistic practices, Heygar thought, the island might be better off. “You can lead, you can inspire,” Heygar insisted, and Denan offered a humourless laugh.
“My friendship has blinded your senses, old man. If I was ever capable of inspiring the lowliest peasant, I would consider my life well-lived. As it is, well, the most I can inspire is a desperate woman away from her boredom for a few nights.” Denan shuffled in his saddle searching for a way to change the subject. Talking of his return home was likely bringing down his mood even more than normal. “I wonder where the rat is. He should have returned by now,” he said suddenly.
“See, you are already thinking like a leader,” agreed Heygar with a little too much enthusiasm.
A few hours later, when the sun was higher in the sky, the casual banter between the warriors of bad bets, salacious jests, and pompous boasts filled the air. Heygar imagined for the umpteenth time whether he could give it all up.
Despite the early hour, they made camp at the side of the road where there was a big enough break in the tree line. Only a blinded fool would continue without the reappearance of their scout. If a few more hours pass
ed, trouble and nasty, predictable things were afoot.
“We rest here until Silvious returns,” Heygar said and dropped to the ground. His armour clanked loudly under its weight as he steadied himself. He still wasn’t used to the heaviness of his new armour.
He hobbled his horse near a patch of grass and stretched out, resting his head on a moss-covered log. Around him, he heard his comrades sit, eat, and mutter their irritation at Silvious’s absence. It was like trying to manage a troupe of children.
After a time, Heygar fell into a well-needed sleep with wonderful dreams of jewels and rings and beautiful women. But they were lost in uneasy visions of dark Venistrian shadows, unnatural fierce beasts, and feelings of tragic loss. He woke with a start, not from the nightmares but from Denan’s call.
“Here comes the little rat now,” the younger warrior said, and Heygar blinked the sleep from his eyes.
“He’s moving quicker than he needs to,” hissed Iaculous.
The young weaver cursed, and Heygar spotted the rodenerack a couple hundred feet down the thin path, scurrying with all his might towards them. He screamed incomprehensible words, again and again. Sometimes, when his mind was elsewhere, Silvious’s original language returned. It usually happened when he was frightened, which was rare enough.
Iaculous was the first to notice the arrow imbedded in the rat’s shoulder. He dropped to his knees and closed his eyes, and the blue surge of source power emanated from his fists. He wove his healing. The rodenerack continued screaming the word again. It sounded like a drowning man coughing water from his lungs, with a few hisses thrown in between. When he eventually reached his comrades, he discovered his foreign tongue once more.
“Ambush!” he cried out in their language. Then he collapsed in the mud at Heygar’s feet as a thin blue veneer of healing covered his panting body.
6
A Company Of Fools
The Seven Page 5