Wanderer's Song

by P. E. Padilla

  “No matter which way we go, there are dangers,” Aeden said. “Our best choice is to get to Sitor-Kanda by the quickest route possible. We will just have to deal with our pursuers when we must, in any way we can.”

  They had discussed the animaru and Aeden felt that Urun Chinowa’s power would be potent against them. He was, after all, a healer, and life magic was what he used. He had also analyzed his last battle and had some ideas on how he could gain the party an advantage when next they were attacked.

  The road to Drugancairn wound through copses of trees and over rolling hills. The forest was off to their left, and the road stayed near the edge of the trees. It was warm, the sun a bright ball in the sky with only an occasional cloud to cast a shadow upon them. They soon came over a large hill and caught their first glance of the town.

  Nestled in the trees in a small valley, Drugancairn was not the most impressive sight Aeden had seen in his travels. Most of the buildings scattered haphazardly about were of wood construction, the vast majority with thatch roofs. There was the occasional home or business topped with wooden shingles, too, but a mere handful had clay tiles on their roofs, usually buildings made of stone or brick. There were rudimentary streets, but they were not paved.

  “How many people live here?” Aeden asked.

  “Over three hundred,” Tere Chizzit answered.

  “With that number of people and the homes here, I would think they would have paved at least some of the streets.”

  “Paved streets are not important to these folk,” the blind man said. “There are no sources of flat stones for paving nearby, and the cost and work involved probably just don’t seem worth it to them. Do not be so quick to judge the entire town based on appearances.”

  Aeden felt the rebuke keenly. He hadn’t meant to sound arrogant. He had always thought of the towns outside the highlands as having their streets more than just dirt. He had seen it often enough in the travels with the Gypta, but then, they normally kept to the larger roads when they passed from one nation to the next.

  While he was still considering their streets, he noticed movement from near the trees of the forest. When he turned, he saw a wave of black shapes exiting the trees and moving for the town at great speed. He recognized the gaits of those shapes. Animaru.

  The others noticed right after he did.

  “We should leave before they see you,” Raki said.

  “We can’t just leave the town to fight off the monsters themselves,” Fahtin said. “They would all be slaughtered.”

  Raki’s face reddened. He looked toward the ground, not saying a word.

  “She’s right,” Aeden said. “We have to help them.” He started running toward where the animaru were going into the town. There looked to be several dozen of them, far too many for the citizens to handle on their own. They probably wouldn’t be able to kill any of them as the beasts cut through them.

  Aeden was halfway down the hill before he realized that the others were right behind him. He hadn’t even thought of them, caught up in what he knew he must do.

  The townsfolk tried to defend themselves, some of the men charging out toward the creatures once the alarm had gone up. They came with swords, cudgels, and whatever farm implements they could find. Each one fell easily as the animaru almost nonchalantly slashed at them while running through the streets. They looked to be searching for something.

  One clever man doused two of the black creatures with oil and then tossed a lit lamp onto them. He succeeded in catching them on fire, but not much else. He got his abdomen ripped open for his trouble and, as the fiery creatures continued to move through the town, the fire spread to some of the buildings.

  When Aeden and the others reached the first of the black creatures, the town looked like it would burn to the ground. There were bleeding heaps of flesh in their wake, the only thing left of the town’s heroes. Aeden’s swords were out in a heartbeat and he dove into the fray, slashing and stabbing at his foes.

  He wasted no time. As soon as the creatures saw him and realized who he was, he began to call the magic to him. He had never been able to duplicate the powerful explosion he had used that night in the Gypta camp, but he had learned other useful things. He called his friends to him and completed the gestures and pronounced the words of power necessary to cast Light to Conquer Darkness upon their weapons and his own. The implements of battle glowed faintly in the afternoon sun.

  Though the creatures swarmed around Aeden, speaking in their strange language, the others were not helpless to harm the animaru as they had been. Their weapons now bit into the black flesh with the power of blood magic, and for the first time, the creatures feared destruction.

  Tere Chizzit fired arrows with blinding speed, placing each one into an eye or throat. Raki, too, had deadly aim, and his throwing spikes and knives took their fair share of the creatures. Fahtin stood near Aeden, her knives flashing and tearing flesh from their enemies. Urun Chinowa swung a walking stick he had been using, the shaft burning with a magical fire he had called onto it.

  And then there was Aeden. He was a whirlwind with his swords, cutting down animaru with every stroke. In between slashes, he sang out words of power and caused some of the monsters to burn, their howls echoing in the little valley.

  A crowd of the townsfolk watched the combat from afar. The animaru were focused on Aeden and so did not charge the onlookers, so the people first doused fires with buckets of water, and then stood and gaped at what they saw.

  Fahtin cut the last of the creatures down with her knives, the magic still flickering on them. Aeden looked around to make sure there were none left standing and saw what they had wrought. Ten or so of the locals had been killed by the creatures before Aeden had reached them, but nearly three dozen black carcasses littered the ground.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Aeden asked his friends.

  He did an assessment and found them relatively unharmed. A few scratches or cuts here and there were all they had to show for their combat.

  Urun went to each of them and used his power on them, healing their small wounds. He checked the corpses of the people of the town and found two still alive. Using his herbs and his power, he healed them as well. When he was done, he sat down heavily. Meanwhile, Raki and Tere walked around the battlefield to retrieve their projectiles from the black bodies of their foes.

  “I’ll need to rest for a little while,” the priest said. “Using my power in battle and then to heal has drained me. Maybe we can go to a tavern and sit down?”

  “Aye,” Aeden said. “That sounds like just the thing.”

  They waited for Raki and Tere to finish retrieving their weapons, Fahtin coming over to join them. As they stood there, Aeden watched the townspeople gathering, whispering and telling each other about what had happened.

  It wasn’t long before most of the crowd started to applaud the heroes, some of their number coming up to pat the warriors on the back or to shake their hands. Offers of drinks and food and close company—from some of the young women of the town—followed.

  Aeden looked over at Fahtin, trying to gauge her reaction. She smiled back at him, eyes darting back and forth. It was a new experience to her, too. All of the party, except for Tere Chizzit—who took it all in stride—seemed to be buoyed by the spirit of the crowd. Aeden thought maybe he liked being thought of as a hero. Looking toward another group of townspeople, those who were retrieving the bodies of their loved ones lost in the fight, tempered his attitude somewhat.

  The people guided them to a large stone building near the center of the town. It was one of the few with roofs made of dull red tile. A sign hung out in front of it with a picture of a bear drinking a jug of something marked with an X on it. The words underneath proclaimed the building “The Drunken Bear.”

  Inside the doors, the common room was big enough to hold half the people gathered on the street. The party was given a table near the great hearth in the center, and serving women brought them drinks and food. The tave
rn keeper smiled at them as he wrung his hands in front of the apron wrapped around his stout body.

  “Welcome, welcome, heroes of Drugancairn,” the man said. “I am Syle Orden, proprietor of this establishment. Tell me whatever it is that you desire, and I will do my best to do it for you. Nothing less for those who saved our town.”

  “Thank you, Master Orden,” Tere Chizzit said. “The drinks and food are plenty for now.” The man seemed to be in his element. Aeden wondered if he was ever out of his element.

  As they drank their ale and wine and ate the food offered—roast chicken, baked vegetables, and fresh bread—the townsfolk came and expressed their thanks and admiration for the group. The fighters were polite, their eyes shining in the unfamiliar situation. They were not accustomed to such respect, especially the Gypta. Raki ate with his head down, Fahtin smiled at their well-wishers, and Aeden merely nodded as they shook his hand. Urun sat off to the side and mumbled to himself.

  Only Tere seemed to be comfortable, eating with fervor and engaging with some of the men of the town. The women, for some reason, didn’t go near him. It must have been his eyes that scared them away.

  As the evening wore on, the excitement died down, and people began to go off to their homes. Soon, there were only a dozen or so people in the common room. Tere had spoken to the tavern keeper about renting rooms for the night, but the man would not hear of it.

  “No, oh no,” he said. “You’ll not pay for rooms in my inn. You have saved our town from a fate far too common of late, whole villages being destroyed by black creatures that cannot be killed. No, you will stay in my best rooms without cost. I insist.”

  Tere thanked the man. They could retire to the rooms whenever they liked, but decided to finish their meals and drinks at a leisurely pace.

  As Aeden was thinking of leaving to go to his room, he spotted a woman he had not seen earlier. She had probably been there the entire time, but he had missed her with all the other people around. She got up from a table in the corner of the common room and started making her way across the length of it. Aeden’s eyes were drawn as surely as iron filings to a lodestone.

  She was small and slight, barely taller than Raki, but she was perfectly proportioned. She wore snug black pants—very snug—and her tunic was as tight. She carried her cloak over her arm. Her hair, a deep chestnut color, hung loose down to the middle of her back and floated as she moved, glistening in the firelight. Aeden realized he was staring at her, his mug halfway to his mouth. How did she put on pants that tight?

  As the woman glided across the room—her stride was much too graceful and sophisticated to be called a walk—the movement did wondrous things to the curves and lines of her body. When she reached the door, she glanced back over her shoulder and her brown eyes met Aeden’s. She quirked her eyebrows slightly, gave him a small smile, and then was gone.

  Aeden took the first breath he had taken all night. At least, that’s how it seemed. Fahtin was snapping her fingers in front of his face.

  “Aeden,” she said. “Aeden. Hello. Can you hear me?”

  “What?” He shook his head but held onto the image of the woman for as long as he possibly could.

  “We are going to get some sleep. Will you go to your room now or do you want to continue to stare at the door where she left the room?”

  “Oh.” The heat of his blush rose from his neck up his face and to his scalp. “Yes. Yes, I’ll go to bed, too.”

  As they got up and left the table, Aeden looked back toward the door. Who was that woman? Did he know her? He thought that maybe he wanted to.

  39

  Tere Chizzit lay on his bed in the room the innkeeper had given him, unable to sleep. What was he doing here? He told the boy that he would get him through the Grundenwald. Well, he had done that. Why was he still with them?

  He liked his new friends, and to be honest, he did miss traveling with others. Missed traveling at all, surprisingly. He had been so long in the forest by himself, so long without another person to talk to. Well, except Urun. He had visited with the young priest on occasion, but it wasn’t the same. He suspected the man was half mad, not handling his solitude well. Forced isolation will do that to a man.

  Tere, on the other hand, had chosen to leave people behind. Nothing but trouble, were people.

  Still, he did like the boy, this Aeden. The old tracker chuckled. He reminded Tere of himself when he was young. It was hard to think of himself that way after all these years. He felt like he had always been old. Sure, he had a few good years left in him; he could still take care of himself and beat any of the youngsters out there, but sometimes he just wanted to give up, lie down in the forest and let it swallow him whole.

  Was this truly the end times, when the prophecies would come together and be fulfilled? He wasn’t sure if Aeden was this Malatirsay, but it seemed likely. Too many signs were coming true for it not to be the case. Maybe he’d stick around a little while longer and see what happened. What could it hurt? These three young people would need the guidance of an old grizzled veteran like him. Hells, even Urun was not too far from the apron strings. Maybe Tere could do one last thing of importance before he let the forest take him.

  He got up from his bed and draped his cloak about him. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep anytime soon, so he might as well go out exploring. He’d only been to Drugancairn once before, long ago, and much had changed. Some fresh air, a little exercise, and he’d settle right down to sleep.

  Tere opened up the window and looked outside. The moon was at a quarter, a waning crescent, its light barely outshining the stars. There was no one about, and it was an easy drop from the second story window to the ground. As he was halfway out of the opening, he stopped, thought twice, and reached back in for his quiver and bow. One never knew what he might meet while out exploring at night, especially in these times.

  It didn’t take much effort to reach the outskirts of the town. He hesitated even to use the word town. It was more like a haphazard collection of buildings that happened to be situated near each other. That much had not changed since he was in the area last. He crossed a space with long grass, went up a small hill, and then into a stand of trees to the south of the town itself.

  An owl hooted softly from a tree nearby and then took off in silent flight, no doubt going to where it could hunt in peace. Tere made his way into the copse, moving silently through the foliage. Yes, this was what he needed. The serenity of nature called to him and for a moment, he understood Urun’s devotion to the goddess who represented the natural world.

  Trees felt different at night. For those unfamiliar with them, they became scary silhouettes, poised in the darkness and waiting to pounce. For Tere, they were old friends, resting after a day of sunlight and observation of the activity of woodland creatures. He patted an old oak as he went by. Yes, trees were good. They never talked back, were never ill-mannered, and not once in the history of the world had they betrayed their friends. He wished more people were like trees.

  A voice pierced the silence and brought his thoughts up short. Who would be out in the forest at this time of night, and speaking at that? He softly padded to where he thought the sound came from, then stopped and waited, listening for it to come again. It did.

  There, to his right, further into the trees. There was more than one voice now, he recognized as he got closer. They didn’t sound like friendly words, not like a sociable discussion at all. He moved closer.

  “You cheated us,” a man said. “We had a deal. You took our money and were trying to leave without holding up your end of the bargain.”

  “Yes,” another man said. “We should have known better than to deal with you. My gut told me you would try to steal from us. ‘Come on, Tousin,’ they said, ‘No one who looks like that could get away with swindling people. That’s not the kind of woman any man would forget.’ Well, now we know I’m right, don’t we?”

  Tere Chizzit moved closer to a small clearing where the voices were. Sti
ll unable to see the speakers, he climbed a gnarled tree and sat in the hip between two branches. Five dark figures surrounded a smaller one. The one in the middle was wrapped in a cloak, so he couldn’t tell who it was. The other five had their cloaks drawn back to show swords and cudgels with iron banding around their ends.

  “We would have given you a chance to give the money back,” another of the five said, “if you hadn’t run like you did. Now, regretfully, the only thing we can do is take the money from your corpse and allow the animals of the forest to strip the flesh from your bones.”

  “Let’s have a little fun with her first,” the first man said. “I think the least she could do is to provide a little entertainment for the problems she has caused us.”

  There were grunts from some of the others that sounded like agreement. Her? Tere focused on the figure in the center of the circle and realized that it was true. It was a woman they had surrounded. He could tell by the way she stood, if not by the slender form described by the cloak.

  “No,” the man Tousin said. “We will kill her because we have to, but we will not act like animals.” There was grumbling from the others, but he swiveled his head toward each of them and their mutterings settled down to murmurs.

  “Surely we can come to an agreement,” the woman in the middle of the circle said. “Something that will be advantageous to all of us? There’s no need for death here.”

  “Time’s up,” their leader said. “Let’s get this done, boys.” The men drew out their weapons and prepared to attack her.

  Tere Chizzit wasn’t sure if he should get involved. It wasn’t his business after all, and he didn’t know the situation well enough to choose sides. On the other hand, a woman was going to be killed in front of him, and that was unacceptable. Even if she had stolen from them, he didn’t believe in the death penalty for that. He hesitated, his hand on an arrow in his quiver.