“Then I think I will make the most of our time,” she replied, taking his hand.
Gewey thought back to the intensely fierce elf woman she appeared to be when they first met. Little had he realized at the time how intricate her spirit really was, or how deep her emotions truly ran. And though their bond allowed them to share the innermost aspects of themselves, he was still continually amazed by how much more there was to discover. It was as if he could feel her growing and changing, strengthening their connection with each passing day.
He tried to imagine what their life would be like if they returned to Sharpstone. After all that had happened, and all that was still to come, would it be a life they could realistically hope to lead?
Suddenly an image of his home flashed into his mind. He knew that it had come from Kaylia. He was wearing his comfortable elf clothes, sitting in his father’s chair, and sipping a cup of wine. Kaylia was close by in his mother’s rocker. She was dressed in a white satin robe and holding a small bundle in her arms. At first he couldn’t tell what the bundle was, but as she rocked forward he could see the tiny face of a sleeping baby. His heart was filled with love and tranquility.
“You would have such a simple life?” asked Gewey.
Kaylia looked confused “What do you mean?”
“The vision you just showed me. It was beautiful.”
“I did nothing,” she replied.
He described it to her. “I thought it came from you. I felt it through our bond.”
She smiled. “Then let us hope it is a vision of the future.”
Chapter 10
Gewey knew that the journey to the Spirit Hills would take them at least four weeks by wagon, and he intended to use that time by learning as much as he could about the flow of the spirit. However, his thoughts were becoming increasingly troubled the further away from Valshara they traveled, making it nearly impossible for him to concentrate. The enemy could certainly strike back very soon, and without him there, the battles would be far more costly. He was also concerned that King Lousis intended to sail a fleet to Baltria once Skalhalis was secured. Most of the Angrääl ships had escaped, so word of their defeat would reach the Reborn King quickly. More than once Kaylia scolded him for worrying about things he had no control over, but it was hard to not think about them anyway.
They planned to make their way to the Old Santismal Road. When they reached Vine Run they would sell the wagon and head into the wild on foot. He thought about the night he had spent at the inn there with Dina.
“I’ll have to explain to Minnie why I have a different wife,” he teased.
Kaylia did not find it amusing and poked him hard in his ribs.
They had camped for the first few days, but decided it best to take rooms in towns and villages once they were far enough away from Althetas for Gewey to pass unrecognized. Kaylia had a red silk head wrap Selena had given to her to hide her elf features. Gewey did not like that she needed to conceal who she was, but Kaylia assured him she wasn’t bothered by it. Besides, it was necessary if they wanted to pass unnoticed.
Gewey spent most of their time alone asking Kaylia about her childhood, and very soon came to realize just how little he knew about her life. Each new tale caused him to feel closer to her. Now he truly understood just how much she loved her people and cared about their future.
On the eighth day they came upon a small caravan of ten wagons camped along the roadside. Each one was piled high with furnishings and other personal possessions. The people looked haggard and weary, barely noticing as they approached.
“This is what comes of war,” whispered Kaylia. “We should stop and find out to where they flee.” She glanced up at the darkening sky. “It will be night soon anyway.”
Gewey pulled up just beyond the last wagon. Most of the people had gathered around a fire close to the side of the road, over which a large iron pot was suspended. A short, round-faced man approached. His curly salt and pepper hair was unkempt and matted. He wore a lightweight cotton shirt and a pair of torn brown trousers - clearly clothing not made for cold climates. His dark complexion masked his aging features well, but his uneven awkward steps and bent posture spoke of many years of toil.
He smiled politely. “I welcome you, friend. But I must tell you that if you seek food, we have little enough for ourselves. And no coin to purchase more.”
Gewey reached into the wagon and pulled out a large sack of potatoes. “In that case, we will share what we have with you. We only want to warm ourselves by your fire.”
The man’s eyes lit up. “Then you are most welcome indeed.” He bowed. “I am Andren. Please, warm yourselves.” He looked at his own thin rags. “I can tell you, it does get cold at night.”
Kaylia retrieved a sack of salted pork and they followed Andren to the fire. Most of the people gathered around it were women, children, or elderly. They looked up suspiciously, whispering softly to each other.
Gewey glanced into the pot at the thin soup inside. He threw down the potatoes. “I think these might be better.” He took the pork from Kaylia. “This as well.”
His offerings instantly changed their mood. In moments, the sacks were opened and laughter could be heard from everyone. Each took their turn to thank Gewey and Kaylia for their kindness.
“There is far too little generosity of late,” said Andren as they settled down by the fire. “And we are truly grateful. Though I hope this will not cause you hardship.”
Gewey shook his head and smiled. “Not at all. We are happy to help. But I must ask why you are here and in such dire straits?”
Andren’s face was strained. “We flee the wrath of Darshan.”
His words caused Gewey and Kaylia to tense.
“Darshan?” Gewey repeated, feigning ignorance.
Andren cocked his head. “You mean you haven’t heard? King Halmara provoked the wrath of a god. They call him Darshan, but who knows which one it really is? Most think it’s Gerath or Saraf being called by a different name.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. Though I am surprised you haven’t heard. I assumed you were fleeing the war as well.”
“We are,” said Gewey. “But I heard nothing about a god.”
“The story I heard was that he marched his followers against King Halmara and Angrääl,” said Andren. “Then he told his people to halt and bear witness as he destroyed an entire army with a wave of his hand. It is said that he burned ten thousand soldiers in an instant.”
“That’s hogwash,” cut in a thin old woman wearing a shabby blue dress. “My son was there. He was one of the few who escaped back to Skalhalis after the battle. He told me that whatever it was that attacked them, it only destroyed the horses with fire. After that, King Lousis and the elves did the rest.” She spat, scowling. “Anyway, it was those bastards from Angrääl who brought this down on us. If they had never come, there would be no war. And I would still be in my own house in front of a fire instead of being out here in the cold, turned into a beggar.”
“So, are all of you from Skalhalis?” asked Kaylia.
“Yes,” said Andren. “We were the first to leave. But I can promise you that this road will soon be flooded with refugees. The Reborn King will return. You can count on that. And when he does…” His voice trailed off for a moment and he shook his head sadly. “When Darshan and Angrääl meet again, I wager they’ll lay waste to the entire coast. I for one have no intention of being there when it happens. I’m too old to fight, and I refuse to watch my city burn.”
The pain in the man’s eyes sent a pang of guilt shooting through Gewey. Already his name was becoming a symbol for destruction and fear. Kaylia touched the back of his hand with keen understanding.
The earlier bright mood was now completely gone as the people thought of their lost homes and the loved ones left behind. Mothers without children, sons without fathers, wives without husbands. And this was only the beginning. They finished eating in silence, then prepared for sleep.
From the west, Gewey
heard the sound of furious hoofbeats and the rattle of steel approaching. He guessed it was at least three riders. He glanced over at their wagon; his sword was just behind the driver’s seat. Kaylia shook her head ever so slightly.
Moments later, three Angrääl soldiers in full armor came into view. Everyone stood huddled together, clearly afraid.
“I’m sorry,” said Andren.
“For what?” asked Gewey.
Before Andren could respond, the riders halted and leapt from their saddles. All bore the sigil of Angrääl on their breastplates. The tallest had a gold chevron on each shoulder. Pushing aside the refugees, he peered inside the iron pot.
“You are welcome to share our meal,” said Andren. “And to warm yourselves by our fire.”
The leader removed his helmet, revealing dirty blond hair, a square jaw, and deep set brown eyes. The scars on his face told of many battles, while the worn and chipped hilt of his broadsword suggested that it has spilled much blood in the past. Without any word or provocation, he walked straight up to Andren and backhanded him across his jaw, sending him crumbling to the ground.
“I am Captain Lott Grusta,” he shouted, surveying the camp. “And you have no right to offer what already belongs to the Reborn King.”
Gewey reached down and helped Andren to his feet. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth.
“There is no need to hurt anyone,” said Andren. “We have no weapons. Take what you want and leave us in peace.”
Grusta’s eyes fell on Gewey and Kaylia. “These two look as if they may not be as helpless as the rest of you rabble. Which is your wagon?”
Gewey leveled his gaze. He felt his muscles tense. “You will not be leaving here with anything. Nor will you harm these people. Get on your horses and ride away…while you still can.”
The captain stepped in close so that their noses were virtually touching. He was broad in the shoulder, though not quite as broad as Gewey. The other two soldiers slowly moved their hands to their swords.
“Perhaps an example must be made,” he growled.
Gewey flashed a wicked smile. The flow filled his body. Just then he felt Kaylia through their bond pleading for him to restrain himself. Instead of releasing the flow of earth or air, he allowed the spirit to enter him. The night sparkled with countless flashes of tiny light. He could see the fear and desperation inside everyone there - including the soldiers. He reached out and touched their spirits, willing their fear to grow stronger.
“You should leave now,” he whispered.
The captain began to tremble. Slowly he backed away and mounted his horse. He looked at Gewey one last time before spurring his horse to a gallop. The other two soldiers followed in close pursuit.
For several minutes the people remained still and said nothing, as if expecting the soldiers to return.
Finally Andren spoke. “I have never seen anything like that. They could have killed you where you stood.”
Gewey shrugged. “They were just cowards preying on the weak.”
“Well it was cowards like them who robbed us of our provisions,” said Andren. “They’re the reason we are half starved.” He slapped Gewey on the shoulder. “But now that you are with us, perhaps they’ll leave us be.”
“I think we were lucky,” remarked Kaylia. She turned and walked to their wagon, Gewey following close behind. “That was foolish,” she whispered, once she was certain no one could hear. “You could have revealed yourself.”
Gewey placed his hands on her shoulders. “But I didn’t. Even better, I used the flow of the spirit to put fear into their hearts.”
“I know,” she replied. “I felt it. It was different to that at Valshara. It was as if you reached into their very souls and twisted them to your will.”
“If I could do that to all the armies of Angrääl, the war would end quickly.” His voice contained childlike excitement. “Imagine the lives that would be spared.”
Kaylia nodded, but with a skeptical look in her eyes. “Indeed it could. But first you need to master this skill, or there is no telling the damage you may do.”
He took her hands and smiled. “I’ll be careful. I swear.”
They returned to the camp fire. Andren and the others were talking and laughing, and before everyone went to sleep they even mustered enough enthusiasm to sing a few songs. Gewey’s heart was glad to see their spirits lifted. The hardships that the war had already brought to people weighed heavily on his mind. But his encounter with the soldiers gave him hope.
The next morning they packed their gear and filed in behind the other wagons. Though traveling with a caravan of displaced women, children and elderly was sure to slow their progress, it would certainly mask their presence to any who sought them.
By midday, a cold breeze was coming down from the north. Gewey passed out the few blankets he had brought with him to the neediest of the refugees, at the same time distributing the dried meat and fruits among the entire group. He knew that the further from the coast they went, the colder it would get.
He began to think of Sharpstone. Likely the first snows would be falling there soon, if they hadn’t already. Even without Angrääl soldiers traveling down the Goodbranch, business from the north would have all but ceased by now, and the grain suppliers from the Eastland kingdoms would have already finished their year’s trading. He hoped his farm was in good order. That such mundane thoughts still entered his mind made him chuckle softly to himself.
After a short midday meal, they continued on their way. Andren had told him that most of his group intended to seek refuge in the Eastland, where it was said that the Reborn King had yet to invade. They asked hopefully if Gewey intended to accompany them the entire way. Not wanting to cause them despair, he evaded the question. It was obvious that his and Kaylia’s presence made them feel safe. He even considered using the power of the flow to lift their spirits, but Kaylia sensed his thoughts and gave him a scathing glance.
“Do not be a fool,” she hissed. “You cannot control it. You will end up with a caravan of worshipers, and I for one do not want this lot following us into the Spirit Hills chanting your name.”
Gewey was surprised by how much of a child she could still make him feel. “You’re right, of course.”
It was nearly an hour before sunset when they came across a riderless horse grazing at the side of the road. Gewey recognized the saddle and gear to be from Angrääl. After searching the area, he very soon came upon the soldiers who had visited their camp the day before. Their bodies were heaped upon the ground, with blood staining the surrounding earth from the savage wounds on their faces and throats. He ran back to the wagon and grabbed his sword.
He told the others what he had found. “I’ll make sure that whoever did this is no longer nearby.”
Kaylia grabbed her long knife and followed him to the bodies. She examined the gruesome scene for several minutes, then nodded with understanding.
“There are no signs of bandits or rogues about,” she said bitterly. “What was done to these men…they did to themselves.”
Gewey stared at the bodies, stunned and mouth agape. Guilt and regret stabbed at his heart as he realized what he had done.
“This is why I tell you to be cautious,” said Kaylia coldly. “And this is why Felsafell said that the spirit is your true weapon.”
Gewey wanted her comfort, but she offered none. It pained him to feel her anger and disappointment. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he told her.
“I do not think you did,” said Kaylia. “But even after what happened in Valshara, you still insist on using a power that you have yet to understand.” She pointed to the dead soldiers. “What if this was someone other than the enemy? Could you have borne the guilt?”
Gewey looked again at the bodies, the terrified expressions of their last moments frozen on their faces. Suddenly he felt ill. He turned to Kaylia, but the instant their eyes met he felt a sudden rage rush through their bond. It was unlike anything he’d f
elt from her before. She clenched her fists and stormed away into the nearby brush. Gewey stood there dumbfounded. After a few minutes she returned, a look of remorse on her face.
“I’m sorry. I swear I will not use the flow of the spirit on anyone again until I understand it better,” Gewey promised.
She shook her head. “It is I who should apologize. I do not understand why I became so angry. For some reason I lost control of my passions.”
Gewey smiled sympathetically. “You’re just tired. And with everything that has happened, I think you’re allowed to get angry from time to time.” He took her hand. “Besides, if you can’t vent your frustrations on me, then who can you?”
She did not smile back. “Perhaps you are right. Still, it was an unusual feeling.”
He looked once again at the bodies. “We should not tell the others that they killed themselves. The truth would only frighten them.”
She nodded, then pulled away from him and began rifling through the soldiers’ clothing.
“What are you doing?” asked Gewey uneasily.
“We are at war,” she replied flatly. “They may have information.” She pulled a small coin purse from the captain’s belt. “And this can replace the stolen provisions.”
Gewey turned away from the ghoulish scene and made his way back to the caravan. He told the others that the soldiers had been killed by bandits, also that the bandits had left a trail headed north. This brought forth sinister smiles and nods of satisfaction. When Kaylia returned she gave Andren what coin she had found, then got back into the wagon.
“They had no information about their masters,” she told Gewey once they were underway. “Only a few personal letters and mementos. But even these can tell us something. Those men were from Gath.”
Gewey looked at her, eyes wide. “That could mean the armies of Angrääl have already begun to march west.”
“At minimum, the Reborn King must have some sort of hold there,” she offered. “We may have even less time than we thought.”
A Trial of Souls Page 12
