The wizard stopped and peered up at Kael, shielding his eyes against the sun. “And what would that news be?”
“Fane is dead, Fith. Ragg has killed him.”
The wizard’s mouth dropped open and his squinted eyes grew wide. “That’s impossible,” the old man gasped. “Ragg should not have been able to touch him.”
Kael was about to reveal that he now had possession of Fane’s crystal but decided against it, heeding his father’s advice.
“This is dreadful,” the wizard groaned. “Simply dreadful. The power is lost. It’s gone.” He looked back up at Kael, furrowing his brow. “Did you say you’ve just returned from Skur?”
“Indeed,” Kael said.
“Tell me, Kael, how did you escape Ragg’s detection?”
“I’m a master at stealth, good sir.”
Fith squinted the slits of his eyes.“Did Fane give you a talisman? Did he help you escape?”
Kael did not wish to lie to the man, nor did he wish to reveal the truth, so said nothing.
Fith began to pace about. “This is such dreadful, dreadful news you’ve delivered. Dreadful. I really believed Fane could do it. He was strong and his heart was pure. But what did he do with the crystal? Oh, I do hope he did not surrender it to Ragg.”
“Why?” Kael asked. “What could Ragg do with it?”
“Why,” Fith shook his head, his eyes wild, “there’d be no stopping him then. Oh, Fane, Fane, you foolish boy,” the old man muttered, waving his free hand through the air. “I only gave you three instructions: get the gold, do not remove the talisman, and return to me. And you failed on all three.”
“You,” Kael sputtered, breaking in on the wizard’s ramblings. “You put him up to that wretched quest, didn’t you?”
“Oh no.” Fith shook his head. “It was his own decision. I only gave him a talisman to protect him.”
“What magic did that talisman hold?”
Fith waved his hand. “You ask too many questions Kael, and I’ll say no more. Good day.”
The old man hurried down the street toward his quarters.
Fith entered his cottage and set the basket upon the table. Stealth, indeed. It would take more than stealth to outwit the dragon. Kael had the crystal. He was sure of it. He must, or he would never have returned from Skur. Why did Fane give it up? What good was it in the hands of a warrior?
Fane had had insight, an insight certainly inherited from his mother. Perhaps his brother had a touch of it, too. Perhaps Kael would realize there was more power in the blue stone than he, a man not attuned to magic, could handle. Perhaps he would give it back. Perhaps. But in the meantime, Fith would have to be satisfied that the stone was safe and out of Ragg’s reach.
He brewed a cup of chamomile tea, adding just a dash of jimson to help soothe his nerves, then went to the stone pedestal at the rear of the room. Lighting the tallow upon the top of the pedestal, he spoke a prayer in the tongue of the Ancients to the Keeper of Empyrean for his lost apprentice, making peace with his own sense of guilt, for it would do no good to dwell on it. Fane was gone and there would be no gold. But at least the crystal was secure.
When Kael returned home that evening, the smell of roast goose emanated from the house. Hurriedly, he put his horse into the barn for the night, wondering what the occasion was.
He walked through the doorway, hung his sword belt upon the rack on the wall, and took note of how clean and tidy the house was as he unlaced his leggings. An apple pie sat cooling on the table and the scents of the room made his mouth water.
“Welcome home, sir.” Alyn gave him a shy, half-smile.
“Welcome, indeed,” he said, pleasantly surprised, laying his leggings aside. The entire atmosphere brought back memories to when his mother had still been alive, only his mother had never stirred his loins the way this woman did and they were stirring like mad at the moment. He tried to keep aloof, reminding himself that she was only here for the child. He’d hired her for the child and only the child. He could not even consider wanting her tainted charms for himself.
Kael pointed at the goose, roasting in the ingle. “Where did that come from?”
“Your father brought some wares from the market this morning.”
“It smells wonderful.” He bent and sniffed the pie. “And so does this.” How long had it been since he’d had a truly decent meal? “I had no idea you knew how to cook.”
“There are a number of things I am capable of, sir.”
“I’m certain there are.” He sat at the table, plucking a small piece of warm pie from the dish. Innocent as he had intended it to be, it was clear his remark had upset her and he regretted having made it. Could he do nothing right? The damnable wench befuddled him so. It was intolerable.
“Sir?” Alyn spoke, coming beside him.
Kael looked up at her, steeling himself against the sight of her, awaiting her words.
She wanted to tell him how grateful she was. How much she’d enjoyed tending to the everyday household chores that warriors obviously didn’t have time for, and of the pleasure the child gave her. She wanted to tell him how worthwhile it all made her feel. But the coldness of his gaze stopped her. He was waiting for her to speak—she had to say something.
She turned away with a blush. He was a warrior, a man of royal lineage, and she but a soiled whore in his eyes. He wouldn’t care how she felt. “We will eat when your father comes home.”
Like a disobedient child who’d just had his hand slapped, Kael quit picking at the pie. But he would allow her that slight impropriety, for despite this wretched want that continued to plague him, he rather enjoyed the atmosphere a woman’s presence instilled within the house again. It had been barren for too long.
As the spring progressed to summer, Alyn began to tend to the long neglected yard, discovering a patch of ground behind the house that Kael informed her had been used by his mother to grow vegetables. He gave her permission to use it, and once again the crops sprouted at Dian’s.
Kael had not seen his father in such high spirits for many years. He seemed delighted with the presence of Alyn and Elva and would shower them both with time and gifts. He would speak often with Alyn about Fane, and Kael was impressed at how easily she was able to uphold her pretense.
As for himself, Kael spent as much time with Elva as he could spare and she was growing into a beautiful child. She was quiet, but ceaselessly inquisitive, and the moment she learned to crawl, she was into everything she could get her hands on.
He called her his little rum kinchin and she would call him Papa, and tug at his beard, squealing with delight when he held her and it pleased him more than he wanted to admit.
It was Alyn that Kael tried to avoid. Her allure was increasingly tormenting. The more he knew her the more he admired and desired her, and the more he desired her, the more he would steel himself against it.
By the time Elva was a year old, she was walking and eating solid food and though Alyn knew the child no longer needed her milk, she continued to take the child to her breast, fearing that if she stopped, Kael would send her away. She enjoyed her life here and had come to love Elva as her own. Where would she go when Kael was through with her? What would she do?
She had no money and she had no skills. And she thoroughly enjoyed her status in the village, being known as the widow of the chief warden’s son. People were pleasant and treated her with a respect reserved for the gentry. Perhaps one of the village men would desire to have her as a wife, for several had shown a definite interest, but it was a thought that made her heart heavy. There was only one man she desired and he wanted her not. He was content to have her care for his niece and his home and would never soil himself with the likes of her—would never see her as anything more than what she had been when he’d found her.
It was a foolish desire, one that would never see fruit, and she cursed herself for even daring to own such a dream. Even if she were a freewoman, she would be beneath his station, and this knowledge
caused a deep chagrin upon her soul. He had warned her from the start that he did not want her, that he found her disreputable, and he had shown no sign of retracting that view. Even his overbearing father was friendlier than he. Kael was a cold, hard stone, except when it came to Elva, and she was almost envious of the love and playfulness he exhibited toward the child.
It was early morning and Dian had already departed for the day. Kael had just finished his morning meal and now held Elva upon his lap, helping her spoon soft brose into her tiny mouth while Alyn had gone to the brook to fill her water buckets.
When she came back inside he watched her bear her load. Not once had she ever complained of her service here. She had willingly cooked and cleaned and cared for the child beyond the requirements of her duty. He could not deny that he admired her for that. She was a strong woman, this one, and her spirit had not been tarnished by her past. Indeed, it only seemed to be strengthened by it, and that strength only enhanced her beauty.
As she bent over, setting the buckets on the floor next to the ingle, Kael blushed, realizing he’d been imagining her unrigged again, and he forced his attention back to his task with Elva.
When would these wretched, chopping yearnings ever end? They were getting completely out of hand. Perhaps he should just send the girl away. Elva did not need her anymore. Elva hadn’t needed her for some time now. He knew that, so why was he keeping her? She had certainly fulfilled her obligation. He should just let her go. Be done with it. Get her out of his sight and put this miserable ache she inspired inside him to rest. He could then hire an old nanny to care for the child.
He feared that if he didn’t send Alyn away soon he might never have the will to do so and where would he be then? Left in an infernal, agitated state of proud want for the rest of his days? He wouldn’t be able to endure it. Yes, she would have to go. Just as soon as he could conjure up a plausible lie for his father to explain her departure without the child, he would terminate her service and be done with it.
Outside, the faint blare of trumpets on the road caught his full attention then. He sprang to his feet and headed toward the door just as Dian burst through it.
“Call to arms, Kael. Call to arms!” Dian grabbed his broadsword from the wall before heading back out the door for the barn. “There’s war on the southern border. Waste no time, son. We have to ride!”
“Alyn,” Kael shouted, thrusting Elva into her arms. The startled concern upon her face inspired an overwhelming longing to kiss her. Just one taste of her sweet lips before riding into battle. He might never get another chance.
But what if she rebuked him? How could he ride into battle bearing that kind of humiliation?
Instead of a kiss, he removed his purse from his belt, handing it over. “To help get you by while we’re gone,” he told her. “And you can use my name for credit at the market should you need to.”
“How long will you be gone?” She was coming to a panic. He was going off to war! He might never return.
“No one can say,” he said. “Take care of Elva, please. Stay at least until I return. There will be extra compensation for you, I promise.”
“Of course.” She could care less if she received compensation or not, as long as he returned. Watching him disappear out the door, she held Elva tightly, unaware of the tears streaming from her eyes until they began to dribble from her chin.
5
The War of Aarl
After retrieving his battle armor from the barn, Kael joined the band of twenty-five warriors from Avar and the couriers from Fead as they charged full speed westward with Dian in the lead. The thundering hooves of the steeds raised a cloud of dust in their wake. Only five warriors remained behind in Avar to keep order in the village.
Harsh as the wind of the plains, the excitement coursed through. Kael’s first duty as a warrior had been to serve on the southern border, as was the first year’s duty for all men joining the King’s Service. A hazardous duty, it was a proper test of a man’s mettle. It was there that Kael’s abilities for stealth had been discovered when, for three days, he managed to stalk a band of marauders across Broad River and returned to tell the tale.
Now, as the hooves of his gelding pounded the dirt, the lure of the fight began to resurge, pulsing within his veins. This is why he’d joined the King’s Service. This is what he was born to do.
North of Broad River, Fead was the central point of the Tillaman realm, home to the palace of King Tilla IV. To the south of the river lived the Corkers, and often they would push forth, trying to wrest back a land that was no longer theirs. Due to these skirmishes, Tillaman outposts dotted the northern banks of Broad River.
Corkers took no prisoners. Total annihilation of the enemy was their goal. And their most feared fighters were the merciless Dragos, men possessed by a dark, vile magic which rendered them wildly lethal and impervious to pain. Deadly accurate with their weapon of choice, the barbaric zhonga, a circular, three or five pointed blade hewed or thrown with equal destruction, even full metal armor and shield was inadequate protection against the crazed killers.
After Kael had served his mandatory year, he had returned to Avar, far to the northeast. It was not that he feared the Corkers or that he feared battle or death, for there was great glory in serving as a southern warrior, those hardy men regaled as heroes throughout the land. No, it had been at Dian’s demand that Kael had returned to Avar, for one day Kael would replace his father as chief warden and meting out justice would have to be learned.
They reached Fead before dark and at dawn, on the grassy plain before the castle, the regiments of northern Tillaman warriors congregated in preparation to join their brothers already engaged on the battlefront. Kael estimated there were 1000 or more men in full battle armor gathered here.
The lancers were uniting to the left while the archers assembled to the right. The center was filling with foot soldiers, known as the Grays, but often referred to among the more elite warriors as the Expendables. The third regiment of Grays had marched out yesterday, heading south to join the vanguard, the fourth presently assembling.
A banner of midnight blue bearing the herald of the crossed swords of silver within a circlet of wheat fluttered in the distance. The banner of the Rear Lancers. Kael nudged his gelding across the field, his helmet and gauntlets balanced upon his lap, and twisted uncomfortably beneath the weight of the chain mail hauberk now draped over his torso. He much preferred the lightness of simple leather.
“Is that my old friend Kael?”
The voice from behind caused him to spin about and a smile creased his face. “Thoren! Good to see you again.” Bringing their mounts close, the two men clasped wrists in fond greeting.
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” Thoren spoke. “But I look forward to serving with you again.”
“As well.” Kael pulled back and caught the helmet that threatened to slip away.
Thoren eased his horse back and motioned to the man beside him. “My brother, Morgan.”
“Morgan,” Kael repeated, extending his hand again in greeting, noting the rank insignia of corporal etched into the man’s brassards. “I am Kael, of Avar.”
“Dian’s son,” Thoren tossed in.
“Ah.” Morgan nodded, edging his steed close enough to grasp Kael’s hand. “So good to meet a distant blood bond. Dian is well respected.”
“Morgan has just been appointed Corporal of the Rear Lancers,” Thoren said. “Now I am expected to call him ‘Sir’ since I’ll be in his company.”
“As will I,” Kael said as the two men broke their grasp. “I congratulate you on your promotion Sir, and look forward to serving under you.”
Morgan urged his horse away. “With my skills, I should’ve been made a lieutenant. Don’t tarry too long, men. We muster within the hour.” He then spurred his mount to a trot, hurrying across the field.
“Thank the gods he didn’t make lieutenant,” Thoren said when his brother was out of ear shot.
&n
bsp; The unspoken question was evident in Kael’s eyes for his blond companion began to laugh. “Not that I doubt his leadership or fighting abilities, but his head is high enough in the clouds as it is. Ah, look,” he pointed, “there’s Evan and Toban.”
Despite the sea of halberds rising above the milling crowd of Grays, Evan was easy to spot, the tall man’s red hair standing out like a flag. Another former comrade with whom Kael had spent his first year of duty in the King’s Service. Thoren, Evan, and Artu.
The reunion with Evan and Thoren brought the unwanted memory of Artu to the forefront of his mind—a night Kael tried hard to forget. A fateful night in the village of Aarl. While Evan and Thoren had been busy chasing skirts in the village, Artu had convinced Kael to accompany him to a seedy pub outside of town. It was the first and last time Kael had ever been drunk. Outside the pub, Artu had gotten into an argument with one of the patrons, an envoy from Donnel, an argument that ended with the envoy’s death under Artu’s dirk. The tavern master was arrested for the crime.
Plagued with guilt, when questioned the following day, Kael confessed of the crimes to his captain. Kael endured two days in the stocks for drinking on duty. Artu swung from the gallows.
Artu had been his friend. But he had broken the law, and Kael could not ignore his sworn duty to uphold the law. The envoy’s death was a needless tragedy, for it had been Artu who was in the wrong. Kael could not allow the tavern master to be blamed for Artu’s crime. And he had never revealed to Evan or Thoren that it had been he who had turned Artu in.
When that first year’s duty was complete, Kael returned to Avar, Evan returned to Fead, and Thoren went back to the village of Sark on the border of Donnel. Occasionally Evan would ride into Avar to fill Kael’s ears with tales of his conquests and adventures in the palace, and Kael was almost envious of the excitement of Evan’s life.
Now, as Thoren and Kael approached their old friend, Evan’s voice began to differentiate itself from the din of the surrounding crowd.
The Legacy of Skur: Volume One Page 21
