by R J Hanson
“You’ve done enough talking, big man,” the voice said. “It’s time for moving.”
“Agreed,” Roland said. “El’, now!”
As Roland scooped up Petie in one hand and his helmet in another Eldryn rolled from his pallet and sprang for the horses that had been hobbled. The first volley of arrows struck the ground around them but, if Roland was right, it would be the only volley.
Eldryn reached out with his sword and cut the hobbles loose. He took up the halters of Lance Chaser and Road Pounder and the first waves rounded the bend in the canyon.
Roland and Petie were swept up in the blast of freezing waters. The heavy rains from the north had created a flash flood in the lower canyons that ran north to south. Roland struggled against the numbing waves that threatened to take him. As he swam, as much as splashed, he saw that Petie was limp in his grasp.
Rage, a deeper rage than Roland had ever known, devoured him. His muscles strove like titans against the killing waters. He was struck again and again by debris the flood had collected. He was slammed against stones and trees as the rushing waters carried him south. He twisted and turned to protect Petie from those assaults.
In all his life he had never struggled so. It seemed that the world itself was against his every move. It may have been minutes or hours since he began this war with the killing tide, he could not tell. He only knew one thing. If it meant his death so be it, but he would see Petie to dry land.
Eldryn awoke with the sun high above him. He was wet, but not cold. Thank whatever gods that had bless his armor, he was not cold. He saw Lance Chaser and Road Pounder grazing not too far away. He could see their muscles shivering against the cold and their coats were still slick with the freezing water.
As he made his way to his feet, he discovered that his leg had taken a bad turn. Sharp pain stabbed up his side and he barely managed to stand. Wavering there he called to the horses who responded dutifully. He rubbed them down and checked their legs for cuts or breaks. Somehow, they had made it through with only minor scratches.
Then his thoughts went to Roland and Petie.
“Roland!” Eldryn called. “Petie!”
Eldryn scanned the plains around him to no avail. He hopped onto Lance Chaser bareback and took up Road Pounder’s lead rope. He again surveyed his surroundings.
“Bolvii, if ever you would hear me then please hear me now,” Eldryn said. “Please let them be well. Please. Roland loves you and Petie is coming to love you. They will be your heroes! Any gods that hear me, I will trade my life for theirs! I offer you my soul!”
Bolvii was listening. So was another.
Eldryn thought that the morning had become cloudy. He didn’t realize he was weeping.
Eldryn had ridden for the rest of the day and well into the night. He had determined to ride south for that was the direction the damned waters would have carried them. It would have been better for the horses to be warmed by a fire, or at least placed in some form of shelter. However, Roland and Petie were out there, or their bodies were.
While there was daylight left, Eldryn scanned the sky as much as the plains. He looked for vultures in the air or bodies on the ground.
Deep into the night he heard the howls of wolves. He was tired. Bone tired. More weary than he had ever been. Hunger and thirst clawed at him. Lance Chaser stumbled on exhausted. Eldryn knew that he might well be riding his horse to death. His heart ached.
Cavalier that he was, Eldryn had learned from an early age to respect his mount. Treat them well and they will serve you well. Watch them and watch out for them. Now that served him well when he noticed Road Pounder toss his head to the west.
Eldryn road up a group of wolves stalking toward something laying in the dark. The wolves maneuvered themselves in a semi-circle around him. At some point he had strung his bow and he knocked an arrow in it now. As his attention was on the wolves before him, he detected motion and then heard a yelp from behind.
One of the wolves had attempted to ambush him and his horses. Road Pounder had sent that wolf flying with a sound kick. At that the rest of the wolves back away a bit. They backed even farther when Eldryn dropped one with an arrow strike through the shoulder.
Eldryn dismounted, slung his bow, and stumbled forward, sword in hand. The wolves backed away until he discovered the bodies of Roland and Petie. Roland was on his back and still clutched Petie in one strong arm, holding him across his chest. There was blood. So much blood.
Eldryn began to weep again even though he believed he had been wrung out of tears. He fell to his knees and crawled forward to hold them. He wiped blood away from Petie’s cold cheek. Petie had a gash below is left eye. As his weeping became sobs, he kissed and mopped blood away from Roland’s forehead. A blow that would create that sort of wound would kill a man for sure.
“If you tell anyone that I let you kiss me there will be a reckoning,” Roland said.
Eldryn’s weeping halted, hiccupped, and continued as he saw that blood still flowed from both Petie’s wounds and Roland’s.
“How many days?” Roland said.
The words shocked Eldryn.
“Three,” Eldryn said at last. “You both were used pretty hard by the flood. I made a broth of the herbs we had from Ash. I couldn’t exactly remember which ones did what so I mashed them all together into a soup. I poured what I could down your throat and Petie’s. Damn, Roland. You had me scared.”
“Petie is alright?” Roland asked, still not opening his eyes.
“I think so,” Eldryn said. “It looks like an arrow cut his cheek pretty bad. May have even knocked him out. I did what I could to stitch it and the wound on your forehead.”
Roland’s hand reached up and felt his face. His fingers found the wound, that would become a scar known far and wide, that ran up from the outside of his left eye brown to his hair line.
Roland drifted off to sleep again. Eldryn camped on the plains for the next three days before he had someone around that he could talk to. Roland roused first and healed miraculously as he drank deeply of the broth Eldryn had made. Petie awoke a day later. That day Roland and Eldryn took turns giving the boy worried looks.
“El’, you were right. You are right.”
“What do you mean,” Eldryn asked.
“Our road is too dangerous for a boy,” Roland said. “I see it now. I suppose I knew it before but didn’t want to admit it. I have an idea.”
Eldryn didn’t care about Roland’s idea. He didn’t care about much more than having them with him and alive. Eldryn had prayed and Eldryn had been heard.
Although few remembered, champions, fallen and otherwise were aware of the pleas made to the gods.
Petie rose the following day and they spent the next four days camping there and casting about for lost equipment. Roland’s helm had washed ashore a little more than one hundred yards south of the camp. He was very glad to have it back. The bulk of their equipment had been lost to the water, but their weapons, armor, horses, and, most importantly, Petie, had survived. There was no sign of the highwaymen.
The three friends rode into Modins a little more than two months later. The smell of spring and the ocean salt was in the air. The world awoke all around them as new life came out of winter’s death grip.
All of Roland’s wounds had healed, but Roland still carried a nasty scar on his forehead and around his neck. The scar around his neck he concealed with the black cloth. Petie had been arguing with both Roland and Eldryn since he had discovered that he could not travel with them farther than Modins.
The argument continued as they approached the gate in the city walls.
“I will be fine. I did well against the demons,” Petie said. “You said so your own self, Roland.”
“Yes, you did, young warrior. But there are things you must learn that Eldryn and I are not qualified to teach you. And we were lucky with the fallen champions. Skill is good, but ‘if a man may pick any ally, make that ally good fortune.’”
“Spoke Arto,” Eldryn said. That particular quip had become something of a usual joke among the three and each of them chuckled.
“I have not told you about this until now,” Roland said. “However, I think you would have a good chance at getting into the academy of Silver Helms here in Modins.”
“How can I? I have the skill, but I haven’t the money for that.”
“I do,” Roland said. “We go straight for the academy, and, if you pass their tests, then I will pay your tuition.”
“I will not accept the charity!” Petie said defiantly.
“I am a warrior, I give no charity to another fighting man!” Roland barked. He heard his own father’s voice in his sharp reply and regretted it.
“Once you graduate seek me out and you will earn the coin I spend today,” Roland continued in a softer tone. “However, I will expect you to make the most of their training, for I will need you and you will need those skills.”
“I am to serve in your army when I am trained?” Petie asked.
“I have no army yet, but nor are you yet trained. You learn, you study, and you work, hard. I will have a place for you when you are ready.”
They rode through the gates and, after asking a few town criers for directions, located the Academy of the Silver Helm. Roland rode into the marshaling yard and approached an official there. They talked briefly and then Roland returned to where Eldryn and Petie sat on the horses.
“I will be back in a moment,” Roland said.
Roland walked toward a well-built stone office near the wall of the academy grounds. He entered and found a very stern man within, appearing in his forties, conducting an inventory of practice weapons. He appeared to be of the Great Man race as well, approaching seven feet in height. He had short cut salt and pepper hair. The skin on his face was a road map of a life lived hard. Roland observed that the rank on his arm indicated that he was a Master Sergeant.
“I am here to see about enrolling a student,” Roland said.
“Have you the coin for his room, board, and tuition?” The Master Sergeant asked, not turning from his inventory.
“I have this,” Roland said as he produced one of the gems he had taken from Nolcavanor.
The Master Sergeant turned and looked the gem over carefully.
“I am Master Sergeant Walkenn,” the hard-built man said.
“I assume that will cover the costs, if he is accepted,” Roland said. The boy in him wished for Walkenn to regard his fine armor and weapons in high esteem. The growing man in him saw the vanity in that wish and was a bit ashamed.
“Yes, this will do,” Walkenn said in his ever flat tone. “Is the boy ready for the tests now?”
“Yes, he is,” Roland said. He did wonder what it would take to impress such a man. Those thoughts took him again to his own father. Walkenn, it seemed, shared that trait with Velryk.
“Bring him to the marshaling yard. I will meet you there shortly.”
Roland nodded and exited the office. He walked toward where Petie and Eldryn waited.
“You will tell no lie,” Roland said. “They will ask you who your father is, and you will tell them. Your first father…what can I say about a man that I did not know? I am sure he was a mighty man, to have such a son. However, he is dead now. I, Roland, am now your father, and that is what you will tell them. They will not accept orphans, however, you are no longer an orphan. You are my son, from this day forward.”
Tears brimmed Petie’s eyes. Head Sergeant Walkenn walked from the stone building carrying a small backpack burdened with rocks, and an hourglass.
“Boy come here,” Sgt. Walkenn said.
“I am Peterion, son of Roland,” Petie replied with indignant pride in his voice.
Sgt. Walkenn looked at Peterion with steel in his eyes.
“I give no damn if you are the king’s favorite whore,” Sgt. Walkenn yelled. “You will do as ordered, and you will jump to it!”
Peterion leapt from the horse’s back in a smooth dismount, just as Eldryn had taught him, and ran to where the Sergeant stood. Roland could easily mark the pride on Eldryn’s face at the swift execution of a move El’ himself had spent hours teaching Petie.
Roland felt a bit of shame then. The warrior’s road was no place for a boy and this was the proper decision. However, Roland had been so concerned with how he would miss Petie he had not taken into account how the boy had taken a place in Eldryn’s heart as well.
“Yes, sir,” Peterion said still wiping at his eyes.
The Sergeant gave Peterion the pack and Peterion hoisted it upon his shoulders.
“You will run this course, boy,” the Sergeant said as he indicated a series of ropes, short walls, and a muddy pit arranged in a large circle around the yard. The course was, by Roland’s guess, at least two leagues long and perhaps more. “You will finish before the sand falls from this glass.”
“Yes sir!”
Sgt. Walkenn turned the glass over and Petie sped off. Roland and Eldryn both watched with the anxiety that only a nervous parent can know. Twenty minutes went by as Roland and Eldryn looked on. Petie struggled through the obstacles with determination.
While Petie ran, Sgt. Walkenn placed the hourglass in a pouch at his waist and withdrew another. He waited and, when Petie was in sight with the course almost finished, he held the second hourglass high.
“You failed, boy. Your time is up.”
Petie growled and pushed himself even faster along the course.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me, boy. You failed! You lost! You can leave now! You did not make it!”
Petie shouted an obscenity, perhaps his first, and ran even faster. He crashed into the final wall with exhaustion that spread into every muscle. Petie growled again and forced himself over the wall. He continued to run the last forty yards back to the point where the Sergeant, Roland, and Eldryn waited.
“You are defeated, boy. Quit.”
Petie pressed on even harder, calling strength from deep within him. He made his new hate for this Sergeant burn fuel to his legs and lungs. Petie finally reached the three onlookers. He collapsed at their feet, sucking in wind as his lungs starved for air.
“Why didn’t you quit, boy?”
“A warrior never quits,” Peterion said as his chest heaved in gasps. “A warrior only knows defeat when he quits. You can shove that glass, and the sand that’s in it!”
“You have a fine son here, Roland,” Sgt. Walkenn said as he turned to Roland. “We will accept him into the officers’ training here.”
Roland looked at Peterion with pride bursting from his seams.
“You will do what these men tell you, and you will learn. I will return for you when the time is right. If something should happen to me, then seek out your grandfather, Velryk, in Fordir.”
The Sergeant's head jerked toward Roland at those words.
“Lord Velryk in Fordir? You are the son of Lord Velryk?”
“I am.”
“Then your son is welcome, Sir Roland.”
“There is no sir, just Roland. I thank you Master Sergeant.”
Roland nodded toward Petie, who worked hard to hold back his tears. Petie stood, stern and ridged and watched Roland and Eldryn ride away. Roland stopped at the gate and looked back to Petie. Petie held the dagger Roland had given him tight in his hand. Since the first time he held it, it had given him strength against his fears.
“I will come for you when it is time, son.”
chapter Xii
Reunion
SPRING HAD COME TO THE CITY OF MODINS and, like the land surrounding it, the city was in full bloom. However, the luster of Eheno, named for the god of joy and blooming, the fifth month of 1649, seemed empty to two tired travelers. Roland and Eldryn made their way toward the northwest corner of Modins and found an inn there called Hell’s Breeze. They rented two rooms and ordered large meals. Roland asked the bartender if there had been any messages left for him, but there were none.
Roland left a no
te at the desk under the name Fletcher. The note listed their room numbers and where they planned to stable the horses. The note was signed with a simple ‘R.’
They put up their horses in a stable that was behind the inn. Once back at the inn, Roland and Eldryn sat down to their meals but they only pushed their food around with their forks. Neither of them wished to eat.
“I already miss him, Roland.”
“As do I,” Roland said. “We both know it has to be this way. Our road is not the road for a boy so young.”
Roland’s thoughts turned to Velryk then. Could that be how he felt? Instead of holding Roland back, could he have been trying to protect him? No, that was a foolish thought. Roland was tough. He had proven that time and again these past few months since leaving home. Still, his thoughts troubled him.
They nibbled at their meals in silence and, for the first time either could remember, left ale in the bottom of their tankards and food on their plates when they walked from the table. Each man went to his own room where they bathed and then went to bed.
Roland pulled his helmet on and strapped it in place. He was actually starting to get used to sleeping in it. He looked out his window toward the setting sun. Roland then climbed into bed and he pulled the covers up high over his head to blot out the light and fell to a deep sleep. The helm allowed him to see through the shade of night, which meant that in order to sleep with the helmet on he had to cover his head with something for it to be dark. Therefore, Roland drew the covers up and realized this was his first time in a real bed in what seemed like an eternity.
Dawn smiled to herself. Roland had been managing to block most of the Dream Twister spells that she and Yorketh had placed on him. He was probably using some leaf that burglar gave him. Leaves, however, would not stop a well-placed dagger.
She and Yorketh had decided that regardless of how young they were, Roland and Eldryn should be handled separately for safety’s sake. They waited for an hour to make sure that Roland would be in a deep sleep. After an hour had passed Dawn and Yorketh walked up to the staircase, which led to the boys’ rooms. Yorketh had gone to the tavern across the street and put gold up to buy the drinks for the next three rounds. That act had literally cleared this inn of its customers.
