The Delving

by Aaron Bunce

  Thorben hesitantly reached out and took the purse, immediately surprised by its heft. He squeezed it, and slowly loosened the drawstring. The morning sun slipped into the bag, glimmering off copper and silver. Thorben tipped it over into his palm and let the coins spill out. A fair share of copper coins, strikingly similar to Gor’s, fell out first, followed by a mass of silver. Thorben shook the bag to dislodge the rest, only to see a small pile of gleaming gold fall onto the top of the pile.

  There was more coin in that purse than Thorben had ever had at one time, truth be told – more than the taxman had taken for the past four thaws combined.

  Thorben numbly dumped the coin back into the sack and securely tied it to his belt. He cleared his throat, and managed to croak out a short prayer. Then they eased the last delver into the water and silently watched him float away.

  They collected what little they could salvage after that and departed, deciding to follow the riverbank south, instead of braving the deep river crossing and dangerous climb to the north. Jez led and they spent the morning and early afternoon navigating around rocky banks and narrow sandbars. They camped for the night in a recessed cove. They managed to catch a fish and start a fire, all with some thread from his old shirt, a broken wire from the handle of his ruined rock hammer, and some salted meat.

  They ate quietly and settled in for the night, an unanswered question hanging between them. Jez didn’t appear to know how to ask it, and he wasn’t in any mood to hurry her.

  Thorben lay propped against a mossy log, the river bubbling and gurgling away nearby. He watched the sky long after Jez fell asleep, the moon and stars hanging peacefully in the inky black. He dropped his gaze and watched the girl for a while, troubling over what he could do for her.

  He awoke at sunrise, but thankfully didn’t remember any of his dreams. They spent the next morning following the river, the rocky bluffs eventually giving way to narrower slopes and several branching tributaries. Thorben led them across a narrow spot, the water still making him nervous, but not so much that he lost his wits.

  A quick climb brought them out of the river valley, where they immediately stumbled onto a camped group of soldiers. Thorben stopped, and for a moment considered dropping back down the slope, but then realized how guilty that would make him look.

  He gave Jez’s arm a reassuring squeeze and guided them forward, putting on the most welcoming smile he could summon. He glanced to the east and noticed another small camp on the other side of the river. Soldiers walked up the ridge above the river valley as well, tromping north. Had he not seen them? Or were they just lucky?

  They were a dozen paces away from the camp before a soldier looked up from the fire. Thorben threw him a friendly wave, Jez following his lead. The young man jumped up from his seat, armor and scabbard rattling loudly.

  “You, stop right there!”

  “Yes, sir,” Thorben said, fighting to keep his smile in place.

  “What were you doing down there? This river is off limits by the Council’s decree.”

  Several other soldiers took notice and walked over, standing just behind the first man.

  “Off limits?” Thorben asked, trying hard to look confused.

  “Signs are posted. Only a blind man could miss ‘em.”

  “Well, my apologies. My, uh, well, my young niece and I were passing through on our way to see some relatives to the east. We came upon the river to the south, had worked up a hunger with our walking, and I decided to try my hand at catching something to eat.” Thorben held up the thread and crude hook. “I didn’t have much luck, I’ll tell you that much,” he said, laughing. “Instead of tromping back down through the swampy land, we found this nice little hill and came out here. Just a little stop and back on the road.”

  “They look like a couple lakers, heh? Grimy lakers,” one of the other soldiers said, elbowing the man next to him.

  “Fishing, eh?” the young man asked, his eyes crawling up from Thorben’s boots. The other soldiers shuffled in a little closer.

  He realized how bad he must look – dirty, battered, exhausted. A quick glance to Jez confirmed that she looked no better. They looked like vagabonds. Certain bloodlines splintered off many thaws before, fracturing families between the lakes of Karnell and the Boroughs. Thorben knew that some families still carried bad blood over the division.

  “Council’s edict says no one is allowed near the blood mound burials. This river valley leads right by it. Are you telling me you don’t know that?”

  Thorben shook his head and turned to look back up the river valley, even more soldiers taking notice and starting to move their way. His hands grew clammy, the dwarven hammer a touch heavier in his bag. He reached down and subconsciously fumbled with his sleeve, pulling it down well past his branded wrist.

  “Edict also says that trespassers are to be taken and questioned. Repeat offenders are jailed.”

  Thorben knew he would be in trouble if they decided to search him and found the brand. Once that happened he would be guilty in their eyes.

  “Why don’t you just come with us, our captain will want to ask you some questions,” the young man said, and reached to lead him forward.

  Thorben’s gaze caught on an emblem embossed on the man’s black armor – a fearsome fish holding cross spears in its mouth.

  “Wait, are you boys with the River Watch?”

  The young man stopped and nodded.

  “My oldest son is set to take his trials soon in Klydesborough. He’s wanted to be a river watchman since he was knee-high,” Thorben said, proudly, a genuine smile taking shape. His insides warmed at the thought of Paul.

  “I did my own trials there, too. Tell him to be mindful of the water trial. Proctor Barnhardt gives the young men who suck up to him the best canoes.”

  “…the water trial means slag. Does he have his own bow for the archery trial? The bows they give out are crap,” another of the young men said, chiming in loudly.

  “I remember. My bow string broke on my second to last arrow…lowered my score by two points.”

  “The trial of knowledge is the hardest,” a third young man chimed in, “tell him to keep his wits in his head and his britches dry. That’s the key. They’ll drill him on every bit of knowledge that seems needed, but it’s not the answers they’re after, but in how he responds.”

  The young soldier nodded in agreement and turned back to Thorben. “So you’re from the Boroughs then?”

  “Born and bred in Yarborough. My wife’s family has lived there since the King’s Way Bridge still stood. We’ve booted hills dirt in our blood.”

  The young men went silent, although Thorben swore they looked more at ease. They quietly ushered them forward through the camp, moving through a small field, and finally to a narrow, well-used road. A sign pointed off to the right, towards Braakdell and the lakes, and another to the left, to home. They paused on the roadside as a patrol passed by. A tent stood on the other side of the road, the black fabric richly embroidered with the River Watch fish and spears. It was a tent fit for a commander, a man of station.

  Thorben’s belly flopped over as the young men pulled them out into the roadway. The young soldier stopped halfway across, the others circling around them. He looked to each of them in turn, confusion turning to panic.

  “If your son has booted hills dirt in his blood, he’ll pass those trials for sure. But just in case, give him my luck, and tell him Proctor Barnhardt is a sucker for sweets, especially maple candies. Now go on, and be careful, the roads are dangerous lately,” the young soldier said, and nodded his head down the road.

  “Thank you. Maple candies,” Thorben said, reaching out and clasping the young man’s hand.

  They turned and made off down the road, but stopped when the young soldier called after them.

  “And tell your son to be mindful of a posting in Pinehall, eh. The women there have an eye for River Watchmen, and more than a few brothers have come home to surprise family with a woman and
child in tow.”

  “Wise advice,” Thorben called back and waved.

  “How did you know how to…” Jez asked after they’d walked a fair distance down the road.

  “When the young man called us ‘lakers’ I knew. There were some families that broke apart many, many thaws ago. Some settled in the boroughs and others in the lakes. It’s a river folk and lake folk thing, I guess. One doesn’t always like the other. As soon as he called us that I hoped that they would warm to us if they knew we were from the hills. It helps that Paul is preparing for his trials. The River Watch is a brotherhood, after all.”

  They made good time on the roadway, hard-packed dirt allowing for faster walking. Myrddin appeared and disappeared regularly, but his stays grew shorter and shorter, until the ghostly dweorg vanished right in the middle of a conversation. It was odd, too, as he could tell the dwarf wasn’t necessarily aware of the gaps in time. Thorben tried to hide his alarm when Myrddin would disappear or randomly pop in. Jez watched him suspiciously, but he could only shake his head.

  He could feel the magic in the ring, the power binding him to the dwarf, losing its strength. The band wasn’t quite so tightly bound to his finger. In fact, he could wiggle it back and forth.

  A crossroads appeared that evening, signaling a turn north or south. Yarborough was just a decent walk north. It would be late and dark, but he would finally be home.

  They’d barely started on the northern path before Jez cleared her throat, her gaze stuck on the ground at her feet.

  “About what my father said…what he asked, and well, where I am supposed to go. Did you mean it, when you said that you would help find my brother, that you would help us?”

  Thorben took a deep breath. He’d been preparing for this question since they left the crypt.

  “Yes, I meant what I said,” he said, still struggling with what that actually meant. He’d been pulled into this entire ordeal because of his struggles, and was about to willingly take on more responsibility, more mouths to feed. “You can stay with us. My wife will take a bit of convincing, but leave that to me.”

  “And my brother? He isn’t safe with her,” Jez said, her dark eyes locked on him.

  Thorben nodded, taking note that the girl wouldn’t even refer to her mother by name.

  What kind of mother could affect a child so? Dennica is going to kill me.

  They both grew tired and stopped after sundown, and thanks to a bright, full moon decided to walk the rest of the way in the dark. The house was dark and quiet when he turned down the lane. Thorben stood on the edge of the gardens, apprehensive to approach his own home. He felt awkward, after leaving the way he did – in the middle of the night.

  Thorben let Jez in through the kitchens, an old fire burned down to coals in the oven. The house was dark, quiet, a beam creaking gently somewhere in the next room. He made up a bed for Jez in the sitting room before the fireplace and retreated to kitchen, where he lit a single candle and sat down to think.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Broken but Whole

  Thorben sat at Dennica’s chopping table for the better part of the night, watching the candle burn and considering what he would tell his wife, but also, how. He chewed over it again and again, fighting between the notion of telling a lie, and unburdening his own conscience and telling the truth, and then accepting whatever hell his wife threw his way.

  Whatever it is, I will deserve it, he thought.

  The wind whistled and rattled through the trees outside, a mouse scurried somewhere beneath a floorboard, and the house breathed and shifted, creaking and groaning in familiar ways. And yet, it felt unfamiliar at the same time.

  Whether he was willing to admit it, the crypt changed him. He felt uncomfortable with the darkness, the subtle sounds that filled the quiet moments. Everything beyond the flickering candle flame was danger, the shadows hiding dangers his eyes could not see, but his mind knew were there. Thorben fought sleep for fear of that darkness, but also because he knew his dreams would find him eventually.

  His eyes drooped and his head became heavy in his hands, but a gentle, green light suddenly filled the dark corners. Thorben turned to find Myrddin standing next to the small table, the dwarf looking out of place amongst the tall furniture.

  “I feel it now,” the dweorg said, a subtle wrinkle pulling at his mouth. His beard twitched and he stepped up to the table.

  “Feel? What do you feel?”

  “I am slipping…back to the ring’s emptiness. I didn’t notice it before, but now…now I remember it from the long-ago time. The magic in that ring is strong, but no power can last forever. I don’t ken how much longer I’ll be able to come to ye.”

  “Is it where you were before I found the ring?”

  Myrddin shrugged, licking his lips. The jeweled studs in his face glimmered briefly, like twinkling stars in a night sky. “How am I to ken for sure? I remember wandering the tombs for a time, swallowing that infernal ring, and laying my head down. Then I was awake again, and I was with you.”

  Myrddin’s form shimmered for a heartbeat, his glow losing a bit of its luster.

  “What do I need to do?” Thorben asked.

  “I don’t ken, Thorben long legs. I was a Stonesinger me whole life. That ring is dalan crafted, its magic strange and unknown to me. I have to go back to the dark place now. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep coming back. Please, promise me again that you’ll take my Lynheid’s gift to Braakdell. I need to hear you say it again, before I go back there, before I start losing myself again.”

  There was sadness in the dweorg’s eyes, and Thorben felt it keenly. He could only imagine the short man’s pain – of being separated from his child, and locked in a prison of darkness and death, the fading memory of loved ones as the only solace.

  “I promise, Myrddin. I will take it there myself. And I will take this with me, so you can see her for yourself,” he replied and pointed to the gently glowing ring on his finger.

  “Thank you…” the dwarf responded, but faded away before he could finish.

  Pre-dawn warmed the sky not long after, the earliest light shining in through the small kitchen window. Thorben opened up the top half of the door, cool, early morning breeze and bird song washing over him. He stood there for a long while, relishing in the sweet-smelling air and the calming sounds as the world woke up around him. It all felt and sounded so alive, a stark and welcome contrast to everything he’d lived through recently.

  “So you trek off in the dead of night, like some man with a shame, leaving only a note. I think you run off on me and your children, only to wake gods’ only know how many sunrises later to find you shadowing the kitchen door…looking like, well, a man thinking about running right back out that door,” Dennica said, her voice sleepy but sharp.

  Her words cut into him, and Thorben accepted the sting. He deserved every…single…one, and so much more.

  Thorben turned to find his wife standing in the doorway, her hair a tangled mess and her heavily worn nightgown rumpled. She looked him over and stepped forward, a hand sliding up to her mouth.

  “Here, please sit. I will make you some tea and then we will talk,” Thorben said, and gently guided her over to sit down. She didn’t argue and watched as he made a fire and hung the kettle. He set the tea to steep, finally setting a steaming mug in front of her on the table.

  Dennica picked up the mug, blew on it for a moment, and took a sip. She reached up to tuck a few strands of hair out of the way, and took a deep breath.

  “I didn’t accompany a caravan south to Ogre Springs. I was approached by someone the day I went to Lamtrop’s, a man from my past, who made me an offer only a fool would accept. I left in the night because I knew you would talk me out of it.” Thorben took a breath, allowing his wife an opportunity to soak it in and respond.

  Dennica reached up and rubbed her left eye, glanced out the door, and slowly sipped her tea. She didn’t slam the cup down, smack the table, or start yelling. />
  “And the girl slumbering away on the floor in the other room?” she asked, her voice a bit unsteady.

  She was mad, Thorben could tell that much. He took a healthy drink of his tea and proceeded to tell her everything, every detail, small and large. He didn’t gloss anything over, or lie. The truth was hard in the retelling, like slowly spitting out rotten bits of his insides. When he finished, Dennica finished her tea, wiped her mouth on a sleeve and scratched her left eye again.

  “Coin isn’t all our family needs…”

  “It wasn’t just coin, my love,” Thorben said, “Iona told me that he knew a cleric, powerfully gifted in the healing arts, and if I delved for him this one time, he would have her remove my brand. This was my chance to wash this shame away, and finally, be the good and honest man that you deserve.” He felt tears welling up, the shame bubbling forth.

  A tear appeared in Dennica’s eyes, and she shook, fighting visibly to hold them back. “Damn you, Thorben Paulson. How many times have I got to tell you that it doesn’t matter to us? That scar on your wrist isn’t who you are to us. You’ve been a good husband to me, and raised seven honest children. We’ve done all that together, and we can continue to do it together…”

  “It’s not, though. The children don’t know about my brand. I’ve kept it covered all this time, but can’t keep it from everyone out there. They know, and to them, this,” he said, and ripped the shirtsleeve up, “is all I am, and all I will ever be.”

  Dennica swallowed hard and put her fingers to her lips.

  “This was my risk…my chance to wipe my slate clear, and maybe for once, make it so we didn’t have to scrape along for everything. Maybe for once, we could sit back and prosper.”

  “Why could you not tell me at least…be stubborn and insist on going, but at least tell me? I’m your wife and deserve at least that.”

  “Because I am a coward and a fool.”

  “Aye, you’re a fool, a daft fool, but you are no coward, Thorben. Yes, you’ve made bad decisions, and you’ve paid for them time and again. But you’re one of the bravest men I know…if not thick in the head.”