The beef boils in the water to create a broth as Hugo leans back and cleans underneath his short, round nails with a short dagger he unsheathes from his waist. Andromeda’s stomach growls to remind her just how long its been since she last ate a proper meal. The scraps that the other Warriors fed her when she was their captive never truly satisfied her usually insatiable hunger. Finally after the sun has fully disappeared and the stars have winked across the inky blue-black sky Hugo removes the beef from the broth and motions for Andromeda to toss the vegetables into the pot.
“Do you want to take the meat off the bone or shall I?” He asks Lester.
Lester growls, “I’ll do it.”
Andromeda stirs the stew as Hugo reaches into his rucksack for a small pouch. “Herbs,” he explains as he adds them to the stew along with a pinch of the sea salt.
“My Mother had an herb garden before she left us,” Andromeda says quietly. “One of my clearest memories of her from before is helping her weed her herb garden. Half of her herb garden was for cooking. The other half would kill you. Sometimes she used both in the same dish just to get a reaction. She almost succeeded in killing my father before she left for good.”
It takes her a minute to force the memory back where it belongs and realize that both Hugo and Lester are gaping at her.
“They never punished your mother for what she did?” Hugo asks.
“She slipped out of town in the middle of the night.”
“Did you ever find out what became of her?” Lester asks gruffly.
Andromeda smiles bitterly, “She sits on the throne you serve.”
Lester’s eyes widen as Hugo whistles, “Queen Lyra is your mother?”
“Unfortunately,” Andromeda replies grimly.
Lester sits back and studies her as if he’s seeing her in a whole new light.
“Well, there be no poisonous herbs in this stew otherwise Lester wouldn’t still be sitting here,” Hugo winks at her.
Lester snorts, “You couldn’t poison me if you tried, my old friend. Or are you forgetting that I belonged to the Order of the Thorn before the Watierai Warriors recruited me?”
Hugo grins and now it is Andromeda’s turn to be surprised. The strong, scarred Warrior sitting across the campfire from her belonged to the secret sect of soldiers blood-sworn to the last Waterborn King of Vacantia? She thought the Order had died out centuries ago along with all the magic in the kingdom.
Lester catches her watching him over the flames and shakes his long golden blade over his shoulder as he tosses hunks of beef back into the stew.
Hugo ladles spoonfuls of stew into smooth wooden bowls for each of us, heaping Andromeda’s bowl with extra beef, “To strengthen you and fill you out.”
She accepts the bowl gratefully as her stomach groans in appreciation. They eat in silence, feasting upon the stew as if they’re starving, the only sounds filling the air are embarrassingly loud slurps and the crackle of the fire.
Andromeda’s eyes grow heavy as she offers to clean the dinner dishes as Lester stations himself against a tree at the edge of the encampment for first watch and Hugo stretches out on a hard pallet. She scrubs the wooden bowls and pot clean with the remainder of the salt water and lays herself down on her back alongside the fire. She falls asleep looking up at the stars above.
History of Esternwhorl #3
The Last Waterborn King and the Order of the Thorn
In the fifteenth year, while the Kingdoms of Shroudania and Lostero condemned their Waterborn citizens to death, the King of Vacantia had a dangerous secret. He was born of a Waterborn mother, a bastard to the crown who had only obtained the throne by poisoning his sister, the only living legitimate heir to the kingdom of Vacantia.
So afraid was this young, powerful king of his secret being discovered he searched his kingdom far and wide for the hidden tribes of the Waterborn who had survived persecution and outsmarted death and recruited thirteen of the strongest men among them to form the Order of the Thorn.
The members of the Order of the Thorn lived in the western shadow of the great walled-in capital city, set apart from the royal soldiers for their own protection.
For five centuries these fearless warriors protected the last Waterborn king and his descendants until the crown fell into the hands of a new bloodline in the year of Vacantia’s quincentennial. Countless wars with Shroudania were avoided in thanks to the Order of the Thorn’s ability to control the seas and founder enemy ships, damning countless foreign soldiers to the clutches of their Mistborn allies. Yes, - the Mistborn and the Waterborn were allies as like calls to like and the Mistborn were curious about their distant relatives whose blood spoke to the sea the same as theirs did.
When fish were far and few between and the fisherman of Vacantia were struggling during the Reaping Season of the 349th Year of the Current Empire the Order of the Thorn threw droves of fish onto the shores that provided enough protein to feed the coastal villages of Vacantia until the Rain Season the following year.
When the last living descendant of the Last Great Waterborn King of Vacantia - only a sixteenth percent of Waterborn heritage — was forced off the throne during the bloody Ostartha Day uprising in the 500th year of the Current Empire the newly crowned King Andre of the House of Barth ordered the name of the Last Waterborn King to be struck from memory and the scrolls of Vacantia’s history and the Order of Thorns to be disbanded.
What happened to the Order of the Thorn remains a mystery to this day. When King Andre’s men located the burrows the Order of the Thorn had transformed into their encampment all the soldiers found were the scorched and abandoned tents of the Order. King Andre’s High Priestess told the people of Vacantia that Zarouk looked down from his Kingdom above and burned the members of the Order of the Thorn where they stood because their very existence was an abomination. Other rumors spread that the Order of the Thorn and their families slipped into the sea and joined their Mistborn brethren; once a traitor to their fellow man, always a traitor. And whispers and old wives tales told of an old order gone dormant until the time they were needed again and that someday the Order would rise again and be more powerful than ever before.
The Order has been forgotten with time, their accomplishments and honor lost to all but those that hide in plain sight and worship their true mother Goddess in secret.
Chapter 3
Thane
Thane had stood at the gates of the capital city long after the young, mysterious thief — the daughter of Queen Lyra - disappeared down the road with two of his best lieutenants and became just another dot on the horizon.
The revelation of her identity turned over and over in his mind like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together properly. Little was known about Queen Lyra’s life before she appeared in the capital city and captured the heart of the Warrior King. The thought that she’d willing left behind at least two children from her previous life didn’t sit well with the young General.
Thane waited until the sun chased his lieutenants and his new recruit up into the mountains and the sky burst from apricot to the deep, dark blue of night and the stars winked into existence before he dragged his weary body to the nearest tavern, The Tipsy Otter. Several of his men had already made themselves at home in the bustling hub, some spinning yarns of their adventures, others drowning themselves in drink, and more than a few cozying up to a wench or two.
The young General observed them in amusement as he pushed through the hustle and bustle of serving girls and drunk patrons and stole the last open stool at the driftwood bar.
“The usual, General?” A mammoth grisly bear of a man asked as he appeared on the other side of the bar.
“You know me well, Frank,” Thane smirks. “And put the rest of those fool’s drinks on my tab.”
It was the least he could do. Thane knew more than a few of the men he commanded resented that a man significantly younger than them with far fewer years serving the crown had moved so quickly through the ranks of the
Watierai Warriors and become General over them all. One seasoned Warrior had even been so bold as to sneak into his tent the night he took over command of the Watierai Warriors to slit his throat while he slept. But Thane was cunning. He didn’t advance through the ranks so quickly by just dumb luck. He’d anticipated an attack and set a trap for any would-be assassins. Thane just never expected it to be one of the few Warriors he trusted with his life and looked up to like an uncle.
A pewter mug of honey ale thumped onto the bar in front of Thane returning him to the cacophony of the tavern and ebb and flow of the patrons coming and going around him.
The ale was cold and golden which reminded him of the girl thief’s unusual golden eyes. He’d never seen anyone with eyes like hers, molten gold with flecks of silver and a sliver of a red ring around her pupil. The girl’s eyes radiated warmth and danger at the same time.
Thane scolded himself and took a hearty sip of his ale. He shouldn’t waste so much time thinking about the girl thief. Even if she was Queen Lyra’s daughter, she was still a threat that had yet to prove herself trustworthy and King Pavo had placed her under his watch for a reason. Perhaps King Pavo knew something about her Thane didn’t; but why keep the existence of Queen Lyra’s other children a secret?
“Why the long face, friend?” A hand came down roughly on Thane’s shoulder. A brief glance at the angry red scar across the man’s hand and the stub where his index finger should have been told Thane everything he needed to know.
“Perhaps I’m thinking of your reassignment,” Thane teased as he took another swig of his ale.
“You can’t do that,” Cutter Longbone smirked as he slid onto the stool beside Thane. “Then you’d have to appoint Castor your second-in-command and you know the Warriors won’t last two-seconds under that nasty bastard’s command.”
“You bring up an interesting point,” Thane concedes concealing his grin in his mug. Frowning he adds, “We’ve got a new recruit.”
“So I heard,” Cutter glances sidelong at Thane as the barkeep thumps a cold pewter mug of ale on the bar in front of him. “The thief and Queen Lyra’s long-lost daughter are really one and the same?”
“It appears so,” Thane replies bitterly. He never had liked surprises and the thief’s secret torpedoed his good mood.
“Shi’ite,” Cutter grimaces and takes a large gulp of ale.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Where is the cunning little interloper now?” Cutter looks around the tavern.
“I sent her on ahead with Hugo and Lester.” Thane replies vaguely as he surveys his men in the mirror behind the bar. One of the younger Warriors is getting a little too handsy with one of the wenches, something worth Thane keeping an eye on if he wants to avoid a brawl that would tarnish the reputation of the Watierai Warriors.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Cutter inquires dubiously.
“Lester and Hugo are two of our best, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Thane replies dismissively. He doesn’t want to think about the thief anymore, let alone talk about her.
“It’s not them I think you should be worrying about,” Cutter snorts into his mug. “She’s not bad on the eyes though, unusual but there’s something about her. Much better than most of our female Warriors.”
“Easy, my friend,” Thane pats his friend on the shoulder, “I’m not sure you could survive her.”
Cutter laughs, “It’d be a good way to go though.”
Thane shakes his head, “I’ll prepare to light your funeral pyre then.”
“Come on, let’s go save Plig before that wench throws his arse on the ground,” Cutter grins and rises from his stool leaving Thane to follow him as he weaves through the throng of tavern patrons.
Tomorrow. Thane would worry about the thief-girl tomorrow. Tonight he’d put her far from his mind.
❖
Andromeda
“How in Baster’s name does His Royal Highness expect us to begin your Watierai Warrior training today? We’re still three day’s journey from Ravenwing’s Point!” Lester growls through gritted teeth making sure to punctuate every word.
“I don’t know,” Andromeda shakes her head. “That’s just what he told the General.”
“Gods be damned,” Lester shakes his head and kicks the dirt road beneath his feet. He’d softened toward Andromeda this morning but she noticed he was still quick to rage at the smallest thing.
“There’s more to being a Watierai Warrior than a sacred sword and specialized armor, friend,” Hugo reminds the hot-tempered man. “Any prospective Watierai Warrior that hopes to pass the trials must have experience hunting and stalking in addition to hand-to-hand combat.”
Lester grunts in response. “This is going to be like training a small child.”
“I can hold my own when it comes to hunting,” Andromeda crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “I accompanied my father into the mountains as a child when he hunted our dinner and I took over when he became too ill to go to the woods anymore.”
“That remains to be seen,” Lester snorts and pivots to stuff his belongings back into his rucksack.
Andromeda assists Hugo in breaking down their temporary camp and follows the men through the wooded area back to the merchant highway.
“Lesson one,” Lester puts his hands on his slim hips. “Strength training. You will carry Hugo’s rucksack in addition to our cooking supplies as we travel.”
“I am perfectly capable of carrying my own sack,” Hugo grunts from where he crouches over the remnants of the campfire he’s just covered with dirt.
“But it will teach her endurance if she does it,” Lester grins smugly. He tosses her Hugo’s pack and Andromeda staggers back a few paces from the force and the weight of the bag itself. Gritting her teeth, eyes blazing, Andromeda swings the straps over her shoulders as the weight settles onto her back. Next she tucks the cooking pots into the open top of the sack, crossing the handles like hilts of swords peeking over each of her shoulders.
“Aye, let’s get a move on,” Lester snorts in approval of the combined weight on Andromeda’s back and shakes his head as he weaves into the trees leading the way back to the path.
Lester sets a brisk pace, urging them on as they bake in the sun. Andromeda feels her skin burn and blister under the unforgiving sun but refuses to complain and be seen weak in Lester’s eyes. She’s determined to prove to him and anyone else who challenges her that she has just as much right to be a member of the Watierai Warriors as they do.
Hugo keeps pace with Andromeda instead of forging ahead with his friend and she can see that he favors his right side as they hike along the looming Skinwalker Mountains then divert off the path heading downhill toward the coastline.
Sweat slicks the back of Andromeda’s neck as she winds her snarled, chestnut hair into a long braid which she tosses over her shoulder. Lester pauses only long enough to replenish the water in his waterskin in a fast-running river and Andromeda kneels to splash water over her sweat-soaked arms and face so she doesn’t lose the rucksack into the rushing water.
Hugo sips from his own waterskin before studying the growth of moss on the trunk of a massive white ash tree to confirm our course.
“What does the moss tell us?” Hugo quizzes her.
“Moss grows on the North side of trees,” Andromeda points at the fuzzy green growth as she walks over to him. “Therefore since we’re traveling south and west, we want to be traveling in the opposite direction of the moss growth.”
“Very good,” Hugo praises.
Lester grunts, “Any boy of five years of age could tell you that.”
Andromeda glares at Lester as she watches him pluck a large, round berry so red in color it’s nearly black from a weeping shrub. He goes to pop it into his mouth but Andromeda’s words freeze his movements immediately. “Those are bloodberries. They make you bleed from your eyes and kill instantly.”
Lester glares at the poisonous fruit and flicks it into the forest.
“I knew that.”
Andromeda smiles smugly and pushes past him to crouch once more at the riverbank. She cups her hands and lets them fill with the mountain purified water before drinking long, gulping sips until she’s had her fill. Andromeda wipes her dripping mouth roughly with the back of her hand and straightens to her full height, catching for a brief second Lester watching her with grudging respect before he buries the expression beneath a mask of indifference.
“Let’s not waste all day dawdling at the riverbank,” Lester says gruffly. “I want to get to the forest’s edge before nightfall.”
He doesn’t wait for Hugo or Andromeda to follow him before he trudges through trees, twigs snapping and crunching in his wake.
“He likes you,” Hugo grins encouragingly.
Andromeda snorts, “How does Lester treat those that he dislikes?”
“He’s a good man, just cautious,” Hugo explains. “Believe me, if he didn’t like you then you wouldn’t be still traveling with us. He’d have slit your throat in the night.”
Andromeda gulps and trails Hugo deeper into the wood as she traces a finger over her throat.
The passage through the forest becomes rocky and uneven as they descend the mountainside. Andromeda forces herself not to give in to her impulse to race through the forest, knowing that at any moment her boot could catch on a raised rock and she’d tumble to the valley floor below.
Hugo’s breath becomes labored, his face and neck covered in large red splotches as he treks on. Andromeda slows her pace to hike beside him as he leans heavily on his walking stick. Lester scouts on ahead, though if he’s aware of his friend’s struggle he doesn’t show it.
They reach the edge of the forest at the mountain’s base late in the afternoon, the muted sun barely visible in the sky above the high-reaching trees. Hugo slumps onto a large boulder to catch his breath.
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