Recalling the way Olwena looked so longingly toward the open plain the day before, he thought she might prefer to be buried there, outside the shadow of the forest, beneath an open sky.
When the hole was deep enough, he gently laid them to rest. Many of the dead slavers nearby wore heavy leather armor. He removed several heavy pieces of that armor and pilled it up over them before he packed the dirt back over them.
That ought to at least deter any coyote size scavengers.
Done at last, he sat down and rested. Words wouldn’t come at first, so he lay back and stroked the fur and feathers of his two remaining companions. Eventually, the numbness in his heart dissipated enough for him to carry on and his voice broke as he gave a short, improvised eulogy.
“Olwena was a rough shell with a soft center, she didn't deserve to die like she did. Even the little griffin, in his own way, was a true and loyal companion. I hope, wherever they are, that they're at peace.” All he had to offer were simple words from a heavy heart, but simple words were better than no words at all. He lingered a little while longer beside their grave before moving on.
As picked his way across the field of battle, he couldn't help but notice the rich clothing of the Fae warriors. New clothes like that would certainly be nice. He was still wearing the thick rawhides Ferschall had originally provided, and his footwear wouldn't last much longer. He certainly wasn't eager to strip clothes off fallen enemies. Although, maybe there was no need for those types of measures?
He traveled down the tree line, to near where he suspected the Convergence camp still stood.
# # #
The Fae camp was tucked far enough back into the trees that it had most likely been hidden from the slaver's caravan when it passed by earlier that morning.
Once more, Leon sent Merle and Ahab in ahead to scout things out, but they both quickly returned as if to say, "Come on in, you'll be fine."
As he slunk from the cover of the trees into the camp, not one item looked to be disturbed from where it was the evening before. It seemed likely that everyone in the camp had been pursuing him and his friends when they ran headlong into the slavers.
Leon assumed any survivors were still racing back through the woods to find help. As such, he didn’t waste time. There was no telling how long the empty camp would stay empty. He scavenged through a few of the richly adorned tents at the edge of the camp and found a treasure trove of useless items within. Though he did manage to find a few piles of clean clothing that looked like they would fit, he was quick to bundle up what he needed and to discard what he didn't.
Near the back of the camp, he came across one of their four Thunderbirds. Its reins had become tangled in the branches of a nearby tree. They prevented it from escaping like he assumed the others had done during all the screaming and howling the night before.
The bird made a throaty warning sound when he got too close and tried to kick him when he stepped around its back to check the gear. Leon could only assume it was Sved's dear friend from the day before. He quickly reached out and calmed the bird with his gift. The effect was immediate.
I'll never get tired of using this on surly critters!
Several of their packs, including Ferschall’s pottery bag, rested nearby. Taking the initiative, he loaded the bird with plenty of supplies and food. On a whim, he threw Ferschall's pottery up on the pile as well.
I've been lugging it this whole time, it may be worthless, but that old man seemed to think it was worth something to him. Anyway, it'd be a waste to leave it now!
Then, in an impulsive decision on his way out, he decided to check out the big tent at the center of camp.
When he ducked in through the soft canvas flap, he spotted movement in his periphery. Diving into a crouch, he drew his Blade. The tent flap fell, and the tent went dark. He reached out for his Blade the way he had the night before, and his vision cleared enough to take in the surroundings. His frightful nemesis was only a young bird, perched eye level on an antlered hook, hanging fashionably off the center pole. The items in the tent were opulent when compared to the others he had entered.
This must belong to that queen’s son.
The tent smelled like the hippie's head shop he had once visited out of sheer curiosity when some friends talked him into a trip to Austin, but its decorum was over the top in every way. After fumbling through the mass of pillowed cushions that lined the floor and kicking over more than a few half-empty canteens containing a residual fluid that gave off an odor of something stronger than water, he stumbled across a small ornate leather chest next to a bedroll in one corner of the tent. The chest wasn’t even locked!
Jackpot!
Inside was a box of glowing amber stones, a heavy leather-bound book, and a few pounds of metal blocks that looked suspiciously like gold. Not wanting to waste any more time, Leon grabbed the chest and bedroll as he headed to the door, but turning back, he paused. Something about that little fuzzball on the antler perch looked familiar.
He stepped closer and studied the bird. A thick woven leather strip secured its leg to its roost. It hissed at him when he got too close. Then, when he stepped back, it bobbed its head, staring at him with wide eyes. Leon drew recognition from that look. It was Reed’s owl! It had to be! For some reason, it looked a bit larger and older than it had the day before.
He carefully approached the bird and observed the blue-violet feathers which were sprouting through the baby fuzz on its body. It was still awkward in appearance, but he could tell it would soon be a magnificent-looking creature. Reed would certainly want him back.
What the heck, I’ve already got a zoo waiting outside, may as well add another.
He reached up and used his gift on the wide-eyed bird. It immediately calmed and allowed him to remove the leather bindings that held it to its perch. When he held out his arm and whistled, it gladly hopped right up onto his shoulder. Its talons dug into his rawhide shirt but didn’t pierce the leather.
Just as he was about to leave, he made one last discovery. A small but well-crafted canvas rucksack lay leaning against the wall. Without a second thought, he scooped it up and brought it out, lashing it securely to the mounting pile on his pack bird's back.
Not wishing to push his luck any further, Leon led his little caravan of critters out into the afternoon sun, across the grassy trail, and into the sheltered shadows of the far trees growing along the Somber. Though he desperately wanted to clean himself off in the river, he forced his way forward and continued east for another two hours, until the river widened some, and he could see a shallow, gravel-bottomed pool that backed into a beachy hamlet. That clear water was too enticing to pass up, and he itched to get out of his blood-stained clothing.
“We can make some ground tomorrow and catch up just enough to keep an eye on that caravan. Now, though, it's bath time!” Merle slunk away at the mention of his least favorite activity, but Ahab stuck around. The cub seemed thrilled at the prospect of a swim.
The water was as cool as it looked, and though he had sent Merle to keep watch, Leon was glad Ahab stuck around. Oddly, the griffin was a veritable fish in the river!
Leon bathed and used the sandy bottom to thoroughly scrub himself, including his old CW hat. That hat suffered from a sweat stain at least an inch thick. It desperately needed the cleaning. When he finished bathing, he used his Blade to shave a splotchy beard that had been making his neck itch for days. Afterward, he threw on a clean undergarment and both him and the griffin relaxed on the pebbled beach till the sun’s rays no longer warmed their bodies.
His new clothes fit rather good considering they were looted from the camp in such a hurry, but the rucksack proved to hold the greatest treasure of all. It contained a small field tent. The tent was made for one, so the critters were out of luck, but it would keep him dry and comfortable if he hit more bad weather. Plus, its mottled earth-tone appearance proved to be a perfect color for blending in with his wooded surroundings.
Must have been w
hat the prince used when he traveled to the Convergence. Oh well, he sure won’t be needing it now!
Taking some small measure of comfort in the little victories of the day, Leon settled into the task of feeding his animals and preparing his camp for the coming night. He definitely planned on following the slavers, just not close enough for them to catch his scent.
Chapter 22
Later that night, Leon tossed and turned on the bedroll in his new tent, restlessly struggling to find rest. A fire hadn’t seemed prudent, but the bedding was warm and there was no doubt the tent was comfortable. Comfort wasn't the problem. A cold and empty camp was a lonesome place for a man to be alone with his thoughts, especially so soon after the tragedies he had so recently endured.
Sleep had come blissfully swift the night before, spurred on by sheer exhaustion. This night was different. Insomnia mocked him with dark thoughts of loss and despair. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fight off those lingering apprehensions. So, at last, he kicked aside his bedroll, hopeful that fresh air would still his racing mind.
He flung open the tent flap and stood to stretch his tired back. Touching a hand to his Blade brought his vision into focus. Was it him or had it become easier to call upon the Blade’s gifts?
Reed’s owl hooted down at him from a limb somewhere above. The Thunderbird was out, eyes closed while gently rocking in the wind like some drunken feathery sailor. Merle and Ahab were curled up next to one another beside the tent. They both lifted their heads and gave him questioning looks, but he waved them off and asked them to stay. “Just need a little time to myself fellas, I’ll be back soon.”
Leaving the wooded cove of his riverside camp, Leon walked back out onto the treeless trail. The new moon was barely a waxing sliver, but the stars that night were something special. The sky was clear, and all those thousands of tiny twinkling beacons lent their collective light to create a humbling glimpse into the great expanse beyond. He took a few steps and plunked down on his hind end.
As he sank comfortably into the grassy carpet, he continued his stargazing. He had never seen a sky so bright, even back home in Texas. It stirred a longing in his chest and one of Gus’ many cowboy poems came bubbling up in his memory. He recited it quietly to himself.
“As I gaze up into moonlit skies,
On a night which I despise,
I stop and think and realize,
There are many, many cries.”
Tears finally found purchase through the dry cracks in the corners of his eyes. He let them come, weeping alone in the tall grass. Hoping beyond hope that he would someday be able to look up into a starry sky with Gus by his side once more. He knew better though. He knew the world of Fayden was a hard place, a merciless wilderness.
But the stars! All those stars above whispered small promises of beauty and hope against the dark void where they hung. Slowly the hurt in his chest softened until it was only a dull ache. He took a few deep breaths to further settle his mind and to relax, content to lay there a little longer, watching the night sky and remembering the good things about the faces and voices of all those he had lost over the past few weeks. The smell of the morning dew rising on clean grass around him helped to further still his thoughts.
His hand fidgeted over the now-familiar bone-handled hilt at his side. He drew the Blade and held it up above him. Starlight flashed in its reflection as he turned it first one way and then the other. He relished the calming sensation that came from simply holding that bone hilt handle close. He didn’t know much about the Blade, but for some reason he wished…he wished he might know more. There were mysteries hidden in puzzles in his new world, yet the Blade always seemed to rest unobtrusively at the center of every new revelation.
He was so lost in thought that a raspy chuffing noise didn’t register with him as it drew close. It wasn’t until a large shadow loomed over him, partially blocking out the starlight from above, that he hollered in fright and attempted to roll aside.
A paw the size of a ten-gallon hat brim came down on his shoulder as he scrambled to roll away. It easily rolled him back onto his back, where it settled on his chest and held him firm. Foul breath from a great toothy mouth huffed in his face, slinging slobber down his forehead and blowing his hat right off his head. He couldn’t move, and he dared not cry out again.
The terrifying standoff was interrupted by a deep-throated growl from nearby, followed by a not so threatening squawk-growl.
Good ole Merle! At least he and Ahab still have my back…for all the good that'll do me now.
Leon tried to tilt his head back to see what was going on, but the grass limited his view to the toothy maw above his face. The beast lifted its head to face his dog and Leon could better see what pinned him where he lay. They were all in big trouble!
Crouching over him was a bear on all fours. But not just any bear, this bear was so large that Leon would have had to look up an inch or two to look him in the eye, even if he had been standing on his own two feet! It responded to Merle's snarl with a dismissive chuff, clearly less than impressed and equally unafraid of the dog’s aggressive tactic. It didn't even acknowledge the griffin. Then it swiveled back to Leon.
Things were heading downhill quickly until a rich, smoky smooth voice spoke up from above the bear. “Easy Grumpy, you can eat them later if they don’t behave, but I want to ask this fool in the grass a couple of questions first.” The phrase was spoken in such a literal manner that it brokered no humor.
The woman then addressed him, “You alone out here? Don’t lie! You won’t like Grumpy when he’s…well, when he’s grumpy.”
“Yeah, just me. Me and my animals I mean.”
The bear backed up. “Sit up, let me get a better look at you. Call off that hound.”
Leon called out to tell Merle that he was okay, but through his Blade, he sent both him and Ahab a silent request to be ready. Then he eased himself up into a sitting position, careful not to make any sudden moves.
He took his first full look at the bear beside him and, in turn, the woman riding above. Frizzy blond hair framed exotic features on a wary face, both of which were further accentuated by high cheekbones and a square but feminine jawline. She wore a light smattering of some type of dark red facial paint beneath a stenciled maroon leather headband. It gave her a severe look, fierce enough to match the bear she rode. The strange woman wore a gray fur poncho wrapped tight around her neck. Her arms, which extended out the sides of the poncho, were fitted with dark maroon leather wrist guards. What he could see of the flourishes and swirls on the wrist guards matched those on her headband. Hers was a wild sort of fierceness. Leon felt awkward and meek in the shadow of a woman whose every attribute served to meld danger and beauty in such a balanced blend.
As she stared down at him her eyebrows rose, until a frown slipped through her solemn demeanor. Leon saw sadness mixed with confusion in that frown. More perplexing were the implications. What had he done?
He subconsciously wiped the back of his wrist under his nose and made a half-hearted attempt to brush his curly mop of hair back up off his brow. Still, she didn’t seem to notice any of his normal self-conscious ticks. She just sat there on that giant bear, slack-jawed, looking almost as stunned as him.
“You are Bladed.” It was a statement, not a question. He still held his Blade in his right hand.
The woman studied him a while longer. Then she climbed down and made him face away from her as she searched him for other weapons. He had nothing on him at the time but his Blade, so he didn’t protest.
“Who are you?” she asked as she reached down to frisk his boots.
“Leon Waldman.”
Leon couldn’t help but notice that, when he turned back around, she stood eye level to him, but she seemed so much taller. After she was satisfied, he didn’t have any other weapons, he took a chance and offered an olive branch. “Can I ask your name?”
She remained silent for a bit longer. Then she reached out and gripped his wri
st. Her grip was as bone-crunching solid as they came. Nearly made his eyes water once more.
“I am Kyra of the Stonebreakers clan.”
She didn’t waste any more time on pleasantries as she dropped his hand. Instead, she went straight to the point. “What are you doing here and why are you alone?”
Though everyone Leon had met since his arrival spoke common Fayden, he had noticed subtle variations in every new Tribe he encountered. The Fae spoke in lilting patterns, the Hootsi in a firm, direct manner, and the Otterkin, in a scattered, pondering voice. Kyra's words flowed with strength, in a steady, rhythmic cadence. They called to him and bid him listen at the same time.
# # #
Leon spent the next hour answering Kyra's questions and explaining his story as best he could. He did, however, leave some significant portions out, and opted to start his narrative back at the moment Ben and his men stumbled into Ferschall. He didn't lie, per se, just mentioned that he was a stranger traveling from southern lands.
Kyra, despite being initially suspicious, was a good listener and only interrupted to get clarification or to ask for more detail. When Leon came to the part of the story that included the last few days, and he explained the results of their run-in with the Fae, he thought he saw a hint of empathy flitter across her eyes.
However, at the mention of the slavers, her expression turned to granite. Whatever quiet coals she kept smoldering below her calm demeaner erupted into blazing fury at the mention of the capture of his friends. For a few terrifying moments, Leon worried Grumpy might get the wrong idea about the nature of their conversation. His chuffing escalated to a rumbling growl until she placed a hand on the big bear and calmed the situation.
Once Kyra regained composure, she told him her story. To his chagrin, her story held much more loss than he could have dreamed possible. Though she held back on specifics and only gave facts, he could piece together the words between the lines.
A Choice of Blades: The Blade Remnant, Book One Page 26
