by Jesse Teller
Dova nodded. “Have we decided we can help the child?” he said.
“I think it will work. I’ll be in touch.”
“You can not go alone, Rayph. What if they lie in wait?”
“It is a chance I must take. I must see what has happened.”
“Go to our friend. Ask him to go with you. It will make me feel a lot better to know he walks beside you,” Dova said.
Rayph could not help but smile. “He is retired.”
The Cheese Master
The rain eased a bit as Rayph put the last of the tiny hamlets behind him. He pulled back on Beast’s reins, giving the animal a rest. Steam rose in tiny tendrils from the horse’s back. She snorted and bobbed her head, obviously frustrated. Rayph stroked her neck. “We are almost there, old friend. Just a bit more.” The animal loosed a high cry of indignation and Rayph laughed.
“OK, Beast, you want to run? Then let’s get to it.” He drove his heels into the horse’s flanks and Beast devoured the road again. The fields rose and fell gently. Full, rich grass waved in every direction, hemmed in by well-made fences and populated by bored-looking cows. Rayph let his mare tear her way along the deeply rutted road, giving her plenty of freedom to make her ground. She skidded to a stop outside the arch that spanned the road. She pawed the ground and snorted again.
“Kond Ranch” the sign proclaimed, and Rayph felt an old sentimentality. He slid a leg over the back of his mount and dropped to the ground. He stooped to pick up a rock and, with a gentle toss, sent it flying under the arch. A loud pop and the rock split down the middle before both pieces exploded to dust fragments.
“Still works,” he said to Beast. The animal screamed at him. “He’ll be here soon.”
A well-tanned man, narrow and muscled, made his way over the small hill and into view. Rayph raised a salute, and the man cocked a half-smile.
“Come on in, Ivoryfist. I can’t say he is expecting you. He has been very busy these days. I’m not sure what sort of reception you will get.”
“No worse than I deserve, I would wager.” He took Beast by the reins and the two men walked on. The villa had grown. Many rooms had been added, speaking to a restlessness in its crafting. The wall around the house had been extended since last he had seen it. Rayph wondered at his friend’s motives.
He handed Beast to a stable boy. “Watch her. She is temperamental. She will bite you if you let her. She is on edge. Tame her with an apple before you get too close.” The boy nodded, and Rayph turned to the house.
Once his greeter led him to the door, Rayph patted him on the back. “I know you’re busy. I will see myself in,” Rayph said.
The man nodded and disappeared.
Rayph let himself into the house. The deep scent of honeysuckle greeted his nose, mixed with a hint of lemon, giving the house a looked-after feel that Rayph found inviting. He stepped to the kitchen, grabbed a pot filled with water, and swung it over the fire. He sat at the table and waited.
Smear entered, wearing a smock and wiping his hands. He stopped at the door that led to the rest of the house and shook his head. His blue eyes scanned the room, and he chuckled to himself as he tossed a shock of black hair behind his ear.
“Forty?” Smear asked.
“About that,” Rayph said. Smear made his way to the fire and grabbed the pot. He poured the glasses and scooped the tea.
“How’s Lori?”
“Don’t see her much. She is an elder now. New responsibilities, new home, more warriors under her command. She is more serious than before. Smiles less,” Rayph said.
Smear nodded with a frown.
“Where’s Tes?” Rayph asked.
“Gone some twenty years now. Couldn’t handle the sedentary life. Couldn’t handle having me around all the time. You called that.”
“I always got the feeling she liked the idea of you more than the reality,” Rayph said.
Smear brushed off his hands and sat. The two men looked over the table at one another before either of them spoke again. They drank.
“How’s the king?” Smear finally asked.
“He is every bit of what you have heard, I’m sure. Thick-headed, ignorant, temperamental, self-conscious of everything he does. Hates his wife, hates his kid, hates his nation. He is my greatest folly.”
“It should have been Corin. I told you that,” Smear said.
“He was the younger twin. There would have been turmoil.”
“You stand by your decision?”
Rayph raised an eyebrow.
Smear nodded.
“You get out much?” Rayph said.
Smear finished his tea and set the cup down. “Do I want more?” he asked.
Rayph nodded. Smear got himself another mug.
“How’s the cheese?” Rayph asked.
“Want a taste?”
“Sure,” Rayph said. Smear got up and walked to a nearby counter. He uncovered a basket and made a small pile of cheese cubes. He handed it over the table to Rayph, who smelled it and looked up.
“It’s supposed to smell like that,” Smear nodded.
Rayph picked up a cube and tossed it in his mouth. He crushed it and fought back the wince. His mouth filled with crumbly, unpleasant cheese that sweat grease. It soured in his mouth, and he chewed again, swallowed, and looked at Smear.
“That’s new, a design of my own. Been working on it for a while. I almost have it where I want it,” Smear said.
Rayph nodded. He chose a different colored piece and tossed it in his mouth. It behaved the same way as the first, and he swallowed as quickly as he could.
“You’ve tried that one. Pick a different kind.”
Rayph chose something half-melted and bit into it. He soon found himself pondering his own mortality. He chewed as fast as he could and swallowed, washed it away with a swig of tea, and set the empty glass down.
“Staying for a while?” Smear asked.
“Can’t.”
“I see.” Smear stood up just to sit back down again. Rayph looked at his cup and Smear got him more tea. Rayph braced himself for the onslaught and grabbed another cube of cheese. It soured in his mouth, and he nodded to Smear.
“It’s getting dark,” Rayph said to the perfectly lit mid-day sun.
“I can’t,” Smear said, standing up again. He snatched up the plate of cheese and stormed to the counter to shovel them into the basket again. “I’m retired. I make cheese now. I haven’t picked up a dagger or fist blade in forty years.” He turned his back and Rayph took a thoughtful sip of tea. “I don’t do that anymore.”
Rayph nodded. “I know, you make cheese,” Rayph said. “You’re a spy named Smear. Who makes cheese. Smear, the cheese maker. I would wager a guess you’re the most dangerous cheese maker this country has ever known.”
“I’ll get better,” Smear said. Both laughed.
“I have to go. Got a thing to do,” Rayph said. He stood and drained his mug. “Thanks for the tea and,” he motioned to the cheese, “what-have-you.”
Smear said nothing. His eyes were for the counter and the basket of what passed for cheese.
Rayph stepped out of the house and into the yard. The scents of honeysuckle and lemons left him, and he was sad to see them go. The stable boy walked out with his horse. Beast’s stomp and rearing head told of her willingness to be once again on the road. Rayph nodded and took the reins.
“Saddle and tack your master’s horse,” he said. The boy cast an eye to the house and nodded. Before the horse was ready to go, Smear slipped from the house and to the side of Rayph’s horse. He wore all black and carried a light pack. His blades clung tight to his body, and he looked Rayph in the eye.
“Your horse is almost ready,” Rayph said.
“Yeah,” Smear said.
The boy led the stud to Smear, who grabbed the young boy by the back of the neck and kissed his forehead. “Tell your father he can have the house. Tell him to change the name of the ranch if he wants to make cheese. This name will ge
t him nowhere.”
The kid nodded. Smear swung his way to the saddle, and Rayph kicked Beast to a gallop. Both Smear and the mare seemed eager for the road.
Bounty
Konnon sat in the teamster’s seat with a crossbow lowered at the man beside him and a grimace on his face. He touched the wound on his flank and held back the wince with dogged determination. His life depended on his face. His life depended on handling the pain. He hoped his thick, dark bangs covered most of his visage, but he worried they were too sweaty and pasted to his face to help.
The man driving the wagon gave him a sideways glance and Konnon smacked him up side the head with the crossbow. The stirrup on the end of the weapon connected with the man’s ear and he shouted out in pain.
“I walked up on you while you had your sword out and ready. You had six men around you and you all fought like the devils of Hell,” Konnon said. “Yet here you sit, bound and gagged and doing my bidding. Try to make a move against me and I will collect your bounty with your corpse.”
“Less money,” the man behind them said. Konnon had to twist in the seat to slam the man in the head with the crossbow. His side screamed and he could feel stitches rip as he turned. He held back his grunt of pain and looked the speaker in the eye.
“Shut your mouth,” Konnon said.
“Bounty hunters are trash,” the man muttered.
Konnon couldn’t refute the claim, so he turned his back on the six men behind him. He focused on the road and fought against the sting of sweat in his eyes. He looked at the bonds that held the feet of the man beside him, checked the cords that held the hands fast, and he tried to assure himself he had them all secure.
He saw the city in the distance and the man beside him grunted. The back of the cart broke out in bedlam and Konnon cursed. He held the crossbow to the driver’s head and, with the flex of his finger, embedded the bolt in the man’s ear.
Konnon leapt to his feet, ignoring the heavy flow of blood that gushed from his side, and he turned, jumping into the back of the cart.
Five were running, the last one too wounded to flee. Konnon moved past that one and a swift foot tripped him. He came down hard on the back of the cart and caught himself. He pulled his dagger and stabbed the wounded man’s knee. The perfect blade slid through the wound and hit the wood of the wagon beneath. The man screamed. Konnon let the cry play over the air before a slice ended the scream.
They all needed to hear that.
He gripped his dagger and pulled as he leapt off the wagon. The first of them was spinning. Somehow, he had freed his hands, and he curled them up in tight knots and cursed. Konnon had no time to waste. One swift slice and the man’s hands hit the ground. Prison would be terrible for him without hands, but that was not Konnon’s problem.
He headed into the nearby woods, where the rest of the group had gone, and he found another severed and twisted rope. He looked in that direction, seeing a man with bound hands running. Konnon threw a dagger and cursed as his bounty dwindled around him.
He made it into the woods and found another man hopping through the brush, his hands tied, his legs bound at the knee. Konnon rushed past him.
More and more bodies, and when Konnon doubled back to the man hobbling toward the dagger Konnon had thrown, he slammed the back of the head with his sword. The criminal went down like a stone and Konnon cursed.
He looked around him at the bodies and cried out in agony. The wound came back to him then. The pain, the blood. Through the excitement he had always been able to stuff his pain down, put it all away, fold it and organize his wounds into minor nuisances until he had done his job. Now the true horror of his cut came back to him and he sobbed in pain.
Whiskey from his bag. A fresh bandage. A bit of food and an elixir a wandering salesmen had given him many years ago. It was the oil of a snake from the land of the garq. It was supposed to be good for blood loss. Glyss had told him many times it was just rendered cow fat, but Konnon was a believer. He took a long swig and stoppered the end. He braced himself against the side of the cart.
Konnon focused on gathering the bodies. He screamed a lot, and every time, he tried to make it a manly scream. He knew he failed. He had to drag one body after the next back to the cart. Fallen trees and thick brush caused him to struggle. Every time he hefted a corpse and tossed it into the back of the cart, he cursed. Every time he was forced to kick a man awake and drag him to the wagon, he fought against the pain that radiated through his body.
When the cart was loaded, when the handless man’s wounds had been bound and the last of the survivors had been shoved in, Konnon pulled himself into the wagon and snapped the reins.
He was dizzy when he crossed the threshold of the city. He was babbling when they gave him his money. When he emptied his wagon, he could barely walk, and when he tried to climb in, he collapsed.
He spoke a name and the guards rushed him to a powerful friend. He was nursed back to health, and when he got to his feet a week later, he counted his coin and grunted in displeasure. After the money spent on his recovery and the food he ate while he was down, he had done little better than breaking even. This would not be enough for her medicine.
After spending a night with his friend, Konnon sold his wagon but kept one of the horses. He turned the animal to the west and headed for Ixon, to his little girl. He needed to see her again, needed to watch her smile and tell her another story.
The Maiden
Both men dropped, invisible, from the air with little more than puffs of dust kicked up at their boots. They stared at the hill before them with wary eyes. Rayph could see the damage done to his prison with a glance, but deciphering exactly what had transpired would be impossible without the Maiden of Mending Keep guiding him.
“If they have destroyed her, this entire trip is futile,” Rayph said.
Smear jogged off toward the building, turning his footfalls west. Rayph surveyed the damage before he moved.
The outer wall had been reduced to rubble in many places. The damage had come from the inside, as if the escaping inmates possessed the power to wreck the outer defenses. Rayph thought about some of the men and women who had been set free, and he realized they did have such power. The keep itself was a patchwork of shattered walls. He could not tell for sure how big the hole was that had been blasted away, or what shape it had been. Its ragged tears peppered the building, giving a brief glimpse of what had occurred.
The courtyard was completely decimated, and a good portion of the roof had been blown off, or collapsed, or both. Mending Keep had been effectively dismantled and would take years to rebuild.
He spoke his command word and lifted slightly from the ground. He moved forward, ever so slowly, until he had flown over the outer wall and into the courtyard. Once inside, he seeped into the shattered flagstones and down under the structure. He moved along tunnels he did not know, trusting the walls to direct him to where he needed to be.
When he entered the heart of Mending Keep, Rayph lowered himself through the massive gears and pulleys to the home of the Maiden herself. A battle had played itself out here. Rayph knew Stoic would have come here in the event of an attack, and he braced himself for the damage. Whole sections of the inner sanctum had collapsed on one another. Great pulleys, taller than Rayph, had been shattered and now lay in bits around him. The pillars that had been built to shrink or expand were reduced to rubble. In the center of the chamber, he lowered himself to a landing, resting atop a great corkscrew. He touched down and dropped to a knee at the foot of a shattered statue.
He whispered a prayer and stood, slowly stooped, lifted the upper torso and head of the female sculpture, and set it up carefully. She tipped a bit to the left, but he could not fix that. Rayph lowered himself to his knees and whispered softly.
“Maiden of Mending Keep, if you are still here, answer my plea. I need your aid to make this right.”
The carved face spasmed. The mouth opened and gasped for breath, spitting dust and rock sh
ards. The eyes peeked open slightly, and Rayph sighed in relief.
“Ivoryfist, welcome home,” she said. A swell of emotion rendered Rayph speechless. He felt the words coming and tried to stop them, but they were too much for him.
“I’m sorry I left you. I should have been here to defend you, milady.” Rayph knew what she would say and felt helpless but to hope she was right.
“Your death serves no one, Ivoryfist, least of all me. I am thankful you were away. I saw what they did to Stoic. I could not be asked to watch the same fate follow you.”
“I could have done something,” he said, not knowing if it were true.
“You and your friends maybe, but you alone would have fallen. They were ready for you. They came prepared.”
“Can you help me figure out what happened here? Anything you can show me will aid me greatly.”
“I wish to help,” she said. A kindled hope in her words broke Rayph’s heart. He knew he could not return her affections.
“Reconfigure to the day of the attack. I need to see the path of destruction,” he said.
She worked at words. Rayph guessed what they were before she uttered them. “I was not designed to do that. Every day, a different configuration, never the same, never a repeat.”
“I know what I ask of you, Maiden. I pray you can do it even though you were not designed for it.”
She looked up, her love for him evident in her eyes. “I will try, Ivoryfist.”
“Smear is here. Don’t crush him,” Rayph said.
She nodded.
“I will leave to give you space enough to work. Anything you can do will aid me.”
Once outside, Rayph heard the building groan before the shifting began. The inner sanctum churned and the walls cracked to pieces. The building whirled and changed. Walls rolled and retreated. The wings spun and extended. The roof bubbled and rose as the building added a story, then a second, to its height. Broken bits of the structure slowly sorted themselves. Until, one by one, they aligned. The hole grew as the cells shifted and rearranged themselves. Slowly, the entire building redesigned itself.
