by Aaron Bunce
Their hearts pounded like the hooves of a mighty stallion, but they opposed one another, beating in a contrasting rhythm that felt distant and strange. The white started to bleed away. Dots of color peppered the canvas of her mind. She saw rocks, then a branch, and finally, trees.
She was moving, surging along like a gust of wind. Tanea felt the particles of snow moving, ripped from the ground to swirl around her. A river valley dropped out below her, the water churning in mighty, white waves as it battled the ice around it.
Then she saw a village, tucked within the towering mountain pines, and hugging to a wide bend in the crystal clear river. She felt a pull on her, tugging her towards a spot in the village.
Tanea tumbled between the log buildings, turning and swirling, unable to exercise any control of where she was moving, or how. She curved to the left and moved toward a large structure. Her body clenched involuntarily as she neared it, but passed through the thick wood without the slightest resistance.
It was dark. Fires roared in crude, open braziers, and thick bubbly candles flickered. She heard animal noises and saw massive cages on the wall, but she couldn’t afford the attention on their inhabitants. The pull strengthened, tugging her towards a figure lying prone on a pile of straw on the ground.
Tanea couldn’t see him in any detail. He appeared as a silhouette, half of his body radiating white light, and the other almost impenetrable darkness.
Julian, she thought as they came together, their pounding hearts beating as one.
* * * *
Julian grimaced, the pain in his ankle crawling up his leg and unsettling his stomach. The air smelled of animal dung and spilt ale. Spear Point’s healer, a man named Tongues, looked more like a butcher. He was a fat, pale man in soiled robes with a horribly bloodstained apron.
Healer, he thought cynically. He’s more likely to chop me up and feed me to his pigs.
“Your companions don’t want to come in?” Tongues asked, wiping his grubby face on his forearm.
Julian turned about, twisting his neck at an awkward position to catch sight of the two Yu’urei. Histarian and Ghadarzehi stood on opposite sides of the door. They looked like rigid, fur-covered statues.
“Evidently not,” Julian grumbled as he shifted on the prickly pile of straw.
This place makes them uncomfortable. It is the animals, Pera chimed in.
Them? It makes me uncomfortable, Julian replied, eying Tongues blood stained hands, but then looked to the cages stacked against the exterior walls. Animals of every size and shape were crammed into the enclosures. Some whined, growled, or hissed, while some cowered quietly in the darkness.
“There’s only so much I can do for you, I’ll warn you. I mostly see to the animals…you know, with the pit an’ all?” Tongues said, propping Julian’s leg up on a sack of what felt like dried beans.
Julian eyed him wearily, “What about the people?” he asked, wanting nothing more than to pull away from the man.
“Well, I see to the occasional wound. Usually just cuts or breaks. But most people in Spear Point look after themselves. It’s a mountain thing. Hardy folk don’t want to put too much trust in others,” Tongues said quickly, pulling Julian’s boot back over the sack.
“Now, let us see what you did here,” the portly man said, pulling on Julian’s boot with surprising care. Or, perhaps he had just grown too accustomed to Ghadarzehi’s heavy hand.
The boot slid off painfully, exposing Julian’s swollen and mangled ankle. Julian gasped, but not from the pain as he expected, but from a strange sensation deep inside.
“Here bite down on this while I take a look,” Tongues said, forcing a folded leather strap between Julian’s jaws.
He bit down on the leather, but wasn’t paying attention. He was focused on the strange sensation pounding in his chest. His heart, along with the subtle pulse of Tanea’s, started to race. At first they opposed one another, until a peculiar, warm sensation settled over his body, like an invisible blanket. As it grew warmer, the two heartbeats came together.
“Tis mangled proper,” Tongues said, but Julian had closed his eyes.
He could feel the man prodding and twisting his foot. The pain surged and bit, clawing at every muscle and bone within reach, but the warmth pulsing over him deadened it somehow, and kept it from seeping into his whole body.
Tanea, Julian thought, desperately. His heart hiccupped and then he felt her. He sensed her as keenly as if she settled down upon him, her weight pressing against his battered body.
“I think the bones are all intact. It feels like you slipped the foot out of the joint is all,” Tongues added, twisting Julian’s foot into an uncomfortable angle.
She is reaching out to you. Take her in! Pera cried out suddenly, but his voice was drowned out by a much louder, and stronger one. It boomed in his ears and inside his head, washing everything else away.
Julian! The voice echoed in his mind. He knew her voice instantly, and wanted to weep. It had been so long since he was able to see her, touch her face, or simply hear her voice.
Tanea! he thought, filling with her presence. He focused on her face, desperate for the connection to strengthen. The smell of animal dung drifted away, replaced by a familiar scent. It was a scent reminiscent of the lilac flowers that grew by his parent’s house as a child. The warmth covering his body grew tighter, as if it were two massive arms pulling him into a tighter embrace.
“You just bite down on that strap, good n’ hard,” Tongues said, his voice close by, but washed out.
Julian, I need your help. The voice grew louder again, but ebbed and flowed, growing distant before rushing back in again. …someone I can trust. Someone who will help me get out of the city and help find you.
Julian almost lost track of where he was. He tried to wrench Pera’s power away once again to see Craymore, to watch over her and find some way to help her himself.
His thoughts inexplicably turned to Sky, but his friend was dead. He saw his body torn apart by the…wretch. The man’s name was a bitter thing he refused to even consider. Nirnan, Banner, and Tristan were his friends, and they were capable, but he hadn’t seen them for so many sunrises and sets. Were they even still alive? Are they still manning the line? Or, are they safe and sound, back in the city?
One name bubbled up into his thoughts, and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Gaston…the bastard son of the Silver’s blacksmith, he screamed the name in his thoughts, pushing every recollection he had of the half-blood through the connection. He had to help her find him.
“And pull!” Tongues growled and pain tore through Julian’s body, shattering the warm sensation and dispelling every ounce of Tanea’s presence from his body.
“Alright, I have a better hold on him. One more time,” a man said, his arms wedged tightly under Julian’s armpits.
He opened his eyes just as Tongue’s pulled, his hands wrapped around his discolored foot. Julian felt his foot slide free, the bones and tendons grinding and slipping. And then with a pop, it slid back into place.
“There we have it,” Tongues said, his pate glistening in the light from the open braziers. “Just as I thought, slipped the joint!”
Julian growled and punched the man holding him under his arms and curled up on the straw, his entire leg throbbing.
“Oh. I’ll bet that hurt!” Tongues laughed, wiping his hands on his apron as he stood. “Try not to hit my help so much. They might not come back if you bruise ‘em up too much.”
Julian pulled his foot to him, cradling his knees as he waited for the pain to subside. He ignored Tongues, his focus split on the pain, and Tanea’s jolting presence. He could only hope that she received his message, and beyond that, understood it.
Could she hear me? Do you think she will understand? Julian asked, looking to Pera for some reassurance.
Your pain broke the bond. There is no way for us to know.
Julian rolled over and pushed his face out of the straw. He wiped his eyes and mouth dr
y on his sleeve and struggled into a seated position. His legs stuck out before him, both of his feet now pointing in the right direction.
“I’ll need to splint that leg, and after a bit of rest, you should be able to get up and about,” Tongues said, a pair of sticks and some cloth in his arms.
Can you mend it? Julian asked.
His fingers started to tingle in response, so he balled up both of his hands into fists. Pera didn’t have to say it. Yes, the Nymradic could, but only if Julian gave it what it needed. But there was something else, a feeling emanating from the Nymradic that made the hair on Julian’s arm stand on end.
There is something else? he thought.
Yes…the connection between you, and her. It is the strongest bond I have ever felt. It is divine energy, braided around both of your souls. I believe that I can unravel it, just a bit, and help you to communicate with her.
How? Julian thought in response, but he knew the answer before the question had even formed in his mind. The Nymradic would need to feed.
* * * *
Tanea rocked back on her heels, her head bouncing painfully off the cold brick. She pulled her hands away from her heart and rubbed her eyes.
The afterimage lingered, burned into her vision even after she tried to blink it away. One moment she was floating in the warm light, Julian’s presence all around her, and in the next, she was torn away, ripped apart by a horrible pain.
“Gaston,” she said, forming the sound that boomed into her mind. She couldn’t remember Julian ever speaking of anyone by that name. A host of emotions were carried along with the name. She felt shame, despair, and pain, but also courage.
Yet, there was nothing beyond the single word. No indicator who this person was or how she was going to find him. Tanea held her hands out before her, the emotions running rampant through her body causing her hands to shake. She made fists and clutched them close to her body, trying to make sense of the horribly vague message.
The connection had been strong. So strong that she could feel and smell him, but something, some pain cut it off, interrupting them before he could tell her what she really needed to know.
The emotions continued to swirl. She felt anger, betrayal, and loneliness. Her hands quaked as she felt a compulsion seize her arms. Her entire body jerked as she held her hands close, but an idea struck her, and she let go.
Relief flooded through her. She knew that it wasn’t her emotion. That it was some lingering effect of the connection with Julian, but she reveled in it nonetheless. She felt as if she had been pulled out of a dark hole, the light of the sun splashing across her face for the first time in a great while. Her arm jerked down, her first clenching tightly.
Tanea moved to grab her wrist, but froze. Her arm lifted back up and dropped down again, the motion swift and practiced. When she closed her eyes, she could swear she felt a weight in her hand.
“A hammer!” Tanea gasped suddenly.
The emotions faded, her arm dropping once more before falling limp to her side. Julian hadn’t just channeled the person’s name, she realized, but everything he knew about them. The information came through as emotions and impressions.
“I need to find Gaston. He’s a worker…a carpenter, or a stone mason,” she surmised, but shook her head. They didn’t feel right. “He works with a hammer, yes. A blacksmith!”
Tanea leapt out of the doorway, warmth blossoming in her chest. That was it. It had to be. Craymore had a number of blacksmiths, both in the old city and the new. But the Silver Guard had their own smithy.
She paused in the shadows at the end of the alley, her mind spinning as she tried to put together the pieces of everything she thought she knew. An idea popped into her mind, filling her with a bit more confidence.
Tanea took a deep breath, steadying her nerves before pulling the heavy robe over her head. She ducked back and stuffed the garment into the closest rubbish bin and took a moment to smooth out the wrinkles in her tunic.
“Just look the part,” she whispered, rubbing her arms. It was cold, and she longed for the robe’s warmth.
Tanea strode out of the alleyway, her chin held high and her steps even. She walked straight towards the gate and the two men blocking its entrance, the keep blocking the warm sun.
“State your business with the Silver,” one of the imposing guards said, his voice gruff and his tone short.
Tanea met the man’s gaze and smiled, “We received a summons for aid. They said the blacksmith was pained to walk and asked us to see him mended.”
The gruff guard looked to his counterpart before looking back down. Tanea clasped her hands behind her back, to hide the fact that they were shaking. The man eyed her tunic and braids and then nodded. The two men lifted their heavy halberds, opening the path forward.
“Thank you,” Tanea said, humbly, but paused after only a few steps.
“The smithy is in the back of the keep. Head straight back through the training yard and you’ll see it,” the guard offered. She nodded and turned, walking under the portcullis and into the courtyard.
Soldiers and scribes walked about, the sun reflecting off the shingles overhead casting them in a red glow. Tanea rubbed her arms, warding off the cold, but thankful for the tall wall to block out the wind. She quickly set off through the courtyard, hugging the inside wall and following the curve of the massive structure.
Tanea paused as she came to a wall of stacked straw bales. The fibrous blocks were stacked well over her head, and extended from the outer wall of the keep to the curtain wall beyond. She followed it, until she came to a gap, and a gate. She could hear men’s voices on the other side.
Unwilling to linger too long in the cold, Tanea released the latch and pulled the gate open. The space beyond was a maze of sparring dummies and archery lanes, all surrounding a parade ground. There were men everywhere, fighting, sparring, and instructing.
She closed the door behind her and hugged the straw wall, content to draw as little attention as possible. A pair of archers occupied the closest lane. They took turns loosing arrows, before pushing the other out of the way. Tanea watched out of the corner of her eye, amused at their somewhat childish antics.
“Move on, first one to split the other’s drinks his fill!” one of the men said, trying to muscle the other aside.
“Surely, son, that’s why you’ll let me take my turn,” the other barked, laughing.
Tanea ducked her head and continued on. She turned at a stone half-wall, skirting a circular pad surrounded by stout, wooden sparring dummies. A group of men took turns. They entered the center, attacked the first’s legs, moved to the next and attacked at waist level and so on, until they completed the circuit. A large man strode into the circle. He had wide shoulders, thick forearms, and despite looking very young, sported a beard any man would be proud to wear.
The large man came forward and chopped at the first dummy, the impact wobbling the whole construct. Tanea thought the sword looked oddly small in his hands, and he didn’t look completely natural with it. She wondered if he was used to something larger.
The bearded man turned and attacked the second, and then the third, but as he approached the fourth his eyes brushed across her. Tanea looked away and walked a bit faster, but she could feel his eyes on her.
She reached the parade ground and ducked back over to the wall. She looked back on impulse. The bearded man was watching her, his head cocked to the side, his mouth scrunched up in a peculiar frown. He reached up and pulled at his whiskers, but then his eyes flashed open and he took a step toward her.
He knows me…is he with them?! She thought frantically and kicked up her pace into a jog.
Tanea slammed the latch open on the far wall, sliding through the gate and flinging it closed behind her. The keep wall curved back to her left. She could just make out a building tucked against the outer wall. A lean-to roof extended off the side, covering an open forge made of black brick.
Tanea ran, throwing caution to the wind
. Her braids swung around, whipping her in the face, but she wouldn’t stop. She slipped on a patch of ice, flailed her arms and fell forward. Her knee banged hard on the cobblestone, but she kept from tumbling completely.
“Cursed ice!” she spat, pushing back up and limping forward.
Tanea heard the gate latch spring open behind her, before slamming shut.
“Hey! You!” the man called out, but she didn’t turn back, or slow.
Limping, Tanea continued past the forge and pushed through the door without stopping. She didn’t care if it was the right entrance, only that she wasn’t alone when the large man caught up to her.
The shop was dimly lit, but warm. A pair of soot-smudged lanterns glowed on a long, flat counter, while stubby candles interspersed with pieces of armor covered the racks beyond that.
“Think maybe ye got turned around somewhere?” the smith said. He was sitting at the far end of the counter, his body shrouded in darkness. Tanea hadn’t even noticed him.
He took a swig from a tankard before drawing long and hard on a pipe. He expelled the smoke and wiped his nose on his forearm. Tanea coughed and waved the smoke away. It smelled of cheap pipe weed and something sweet, perhaps cherries.
“I think not,” she said, stepping forward. “I am looking for Gaston.”
The man’s back straightened and his scruffy jowls jiggled. He suddenly appeared much taller, and a bit more intimidating. It was a look in his eye, a dark glint Tanea found unsettling.
“And who told you that name?” the man asked, his pipe tapping against the counter as he pushed off to stand.
She felt a draft on her neck, and a heartbeat later the door closed. She heard heavy boots on the floor, but didn’t dare turn. She folded her hands before her, in what she hoped was a non-threatening sign.
“I believe he can help me. Please, I need to speak with Gaston.”
“No one here by that name. Never heard of em! Now be gone with ye. Yer not wanted here!” the smith growled, knocking his tankard over and spilling its foamy contents in the process.
