Path of Fire (Saga of The Wolf Book 3)
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Path of Fire
SAGA OF THE WOLF: BOOK III
By Kris A. Hiatt
Works by Kris A. Hiatt
SAGA OF THE WOLF
Path of The Calm
Path of Tears
Path of Fire
Copyright © 2017 by Kris A. Hiatt
All rights reserved.
For Mom and Dad.
Thank you, once again, to my beta readers. I’m extremely grateful for your feedback and support. Josh, I can’t thank you enough. People like you make this world a better place.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 1
The forge was as hot as ever and his arms ached from the numerous sword blades he had already made, but Treace continued to pummel the steel that was unfortunate enough to find its way to the anvil. Virtually all of them wouldn’t be able to be used to make a serviceable sword, not that it mattered to him. He was simply using the act as a means to vent his frustration. He paused to look over his poor craftsmanship.
“Do you usually make swords like this?” Kiril asked loudly.
Treace tossed the hammer down and let go of the blade he was forging. When he looked at her, she wasn’t paying him any attention. She was looking down at the ground where nearly a dozen sword blades lay scattered around Jensen’s forge. Her light brown hair spilled over her shoulders and she had her arms crossed. He couldn’t see her bright blue eyes, but he knew they would be upon him soon enough. And judging by the way she asked the question, she wasn’t impressed by what she saw. No matter the circumstances, for the short time they’ve been traveling together, she always kept him honest. While they weren’t openly honest about how they felt about each other, they were honest in all other aspects. And, as usual, he had to admit that she was right. “No,” he told her.
“Is it helping?” she asked.
“With what?”
“I’m no swordsmith, but even I know those aren’t passable swords. So I’m guessing you’re taking your anger out on them.”
“Some.”
“Good,” she said quickly, before he could say anything further. “Now stop blaming Jensen for trying to take care of your mother.”
“He gave Wren my father’s journal, Kiril,” Treace explained. He didn’t know exactly why Wren needed his father’s journal, but he suspected it contained logs of his investigations. Whatever it was, Jensen had no right giving it to him. Wren was a bully and a terrible person. He didn’t deserve to be the one holding the journal penned by Treace’s father.
“And your father gave it to Jensen, not you,” Kiril pointed out.
“I was too young to understand its contents then, I’m not now,” Treace protested.
“And your father entrusted it to Jensen. I’d like to think he trusted him for a reason.”
“I don’t think he would have wanted him to give it to the likes of Wren,” Treace argued. He had hoped that he wouldn’t have to deal with Wren during his time at home, but it seemed as if he couldn’t avoid the man. As if all the times Wren had bullied him as a child wasn’t enough. Now as an adult Wren had managed to get his hands on Treace’s last remaining connection with his father. He doubted Jensen had intended to hurt Treace by doing so, but what Wren’s intentions were remained to be seen.
“To save your mother’s life? I think that’s exactly what your father would have wanted it used for.”
“It wasn’t his to give,” Treace told her. He didn’t want to give in. He knew she was right, but he wanted her to see his point of view.
“It was and you know it. Your father gave it to him, not you. I know you wanted to read it, but Jensen only did what he thought was best in order to help your mother.”
“You don’t understand,” he told her. She couldn’t. She knew her father for much longer than he knew his. All he had was a letter and a promise of reading the journal to find out more about his. Now the journal was gone. Jensen traded it to Wren. In exchange for the journal, Jensen received a good sum of money, of which he wouldn’t say how much, but Jensen used the money to pay for Treace’s mother’s continued treatments.
“I understand everything. I know you want to know more about your father. I get that. But I also know your mother’s life is easily worth whatever it was that journal contained, regardless of who wrote it. Jensen didn’t do it out of malice, he did it out of love. You can’t blame the man for that. I never met your father, but I doubt that he would.”
She was right, as usual. Her father wouldn’t blame Jensen. He’d give the journal up in a moment to save the woman he loved. If what was in his father’s letter was true, he had given his life for his son, he’d easily give up a book for his wife. But losing the journal wasn’t something Treace was prepared for. He had so many questions that needed answers. That journal was Treace’s best way to learn more about his father and the plan the man had for him. Not that the latter mattered much anymore, but it was still something that shouldn’t belong to Wren. In the end, though, he couldn’t blame Jensen for trying to help his mother. Treace couldn’t expect the man to sit by and watch helplessly as her condition deteriorated. He did what he could to help her. Jensen wasn’t the one to blame.
“I’ll take your silence as your agreement with my assessment,” she told him.
He couldn’t disagree so he simply nodded his head.
“Good. Have you thought about just asking him to sell it back to you?”
“I hadn’t, actually,” Treace admitted. He was yet again reminded of how good it was to have Kiril with him.
“Didn’t think so. Now clean up and get back to your mother, she’s asking for you.”
He nodded once again but didn’t reply. He knelt down and began picking up the discarded blades with his gloved hand. He felt her hand gently brush across his shoulders as she departed.
She was trying to comfort him as best as she could. He knew it was difficult for her. Having recently lost her father it had to be difficult. And even with that painful event so recent, she had accompanied him here when he found out that his mother was sick. It had to be a horrible reminder of what she had already lost.
His mother’s condition had affected her speech the most, making her stutter frequently. The medical said she had an attack of sorts on her brain and had originally lost full control of more than just her speech. But over time her speech improved to some degree, her coordination improved, and she regained control of her facial muscles. For the most part, only the impaired speech remained. Both he and Heral had tried to heal her by walking Path of Heart, but neither had any luck in curing that condition. It was widely accepted that any disease that affected the brain, or any damage to it for that matter, couldn’t be healed using magic. It didn’t stop Treace from trying. He suspected Heral had continued his efforts solely out of respect, though the man mentioned
the futility of it each time.
After closing the airways and putting away the scrap and tools, Treace departed the forge for home. Home. Even though it was his home, it didn’t quite feel like it anymore. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel welcomed there, it was just that he’d been gone for so long that it didn’t feel natural anymore.
He walked by a familiar spot in the woods and paused. Images of a rock thrown by Wren flashed through his mind. It was a long time ago and he didn’t even remember it had happened for several years. For some unknown reason his mind had suppressed it from him. Only seeing Liern with his friends triggered the memory. When Treace was much younger, Wren had thrown a rock that hit Treace in the head. He was sent to the medical for a couple of days and his speech was impaired for weeks. Luckily his speech had returned to normal, but the scar on his forehead from the rock remained. He couldn’t remember what had actually happened for the longest time. When he finally did remember what happened, he wanted to take revenge for the act. He quickly dismissed it as childish, but now that he had returned home and was standing on the spot where it happened, a hint of anger rose up yet again. Part of the anger was simply because he couldn’t stand that fact that Wren was parading around with Jensen’s sword strapped to his side. Jensen had traded not only the journal, but also the sword Treace made for him in order to pay for his mother’s frequent trips to the medical. He knew Jensen wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t necessary, but the fact that Wren wore the sword bothered him as much as losing the journal. He wasn’t angry with Jensen, but he felt his ire rise every time he pictured the sword hanging from Wren’s hip.
He knelt down and grabbed a handful of dirt. He let it sift slowly out of his hand as he remembered watching Wren give his friends a high-five as Treace lay on the ground with blood pouring out of the gash on his head. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Wren may have a plausible reason for needing the journal, but there wasn’t a single good reason Treace could think of for why Wren needed the sword. It was of good quality, but why that specific sword? Before he returned to Haven, he wanted to get the journal and see that the sword was returned to its rightful owner.
~~~
“We leave tomorrow,” Exodin announced.
Exodin had been his mentor when he was younger and had trained him how to use a sword. Now that he was tasked with training Liernin’s forces in preparation for the war with Shamir, Exodin had to set his affairs in order before leaving town. “So you’ve selected your replacement then?” Treace asked.
Exodin nodded his head. “Rinin.”
“I thought you two didn’t get along?” Treace asked. When he first met Rinin, the man had just been put on his ass by Exodin in a sparring match. Rinin had said something Treace couldn’t quite remember, but he did remember Exodin telling him to shut his mouth. His mentor had frequently taken barbs from the man in the past.
“A lot has changed,” Exodin replied although he still nodded his head as he spoke.
“You’re okay with leaving now?” Kiril asked in little more than a whisper.
Treace appreciated that Kiril was being quiet with her voice since his mother was in the other room, but it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t think they were loud enough to wake the sleeping woman, but even if they did, he didn’t care if she heard his words. It was the truth. She was alive and war was coming. He knew where he was needed.
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Exodin pointed out, getting out of the chair and walking toward the door.
“I am,” Treace told Kiril, ignoring Exodin’s proclamation. It was true enough, but he didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. He worked for Liernin and he knew full well what that entailed. “Her life is no longer in danger.”
Exodin nodded at them and offered a slight wave as he exited and closed the door behind him.
“But we’ve only been here a few days,” Kiril protested.
“True. Heral is to blame for this. If he hadn’t been so efficient with his healing we may have gotten to stay longer,” Moff added sarcastically.
Treace appreciated Heral immensely. His friend had done all he could to heal Treace’s mother. In fact, Treace believed he very well may have saved her life. He was grateful that Heral was so powerful in the use of healing magic. Moff on other the hand couldn’t find The Calm and therefore couldn’t heal anyone or use any type of magic. Treace took Moff’s comments as equal parts insult and admiration for Heral and his skills.
“I’m not blaming anyone,” Kiril told him.
“He knows you’re not,” Treace assured her. Heral was a great friend, but Moff was his best friend. Other than perhaps Kiril, Treace didn’t think anyone understood him better than Moff. But Moffred was a joker and sometimes his comments were taken as fact rather than the joke it was intended to be. “He’s just being an ass.”
“Truth be told, I’m ready to get out of lumberjack country and back to real civilization,” Moff said.
“Speaking of Heral, is he still at the medical?” Kiril asked.
Treace nodded. “I think our friend likes the idea of being a doctor.”
“So you’re just going to keep ignoring me then?” Moffred pouted.
“If he said something worthwhile, I wouldn’t ignore him,” Kiril told Treace, never looking Moff’s way.
“Oh, clever,” Moffred replied. “A reply without directly talking to me.”
“That might be the best way to talk to him from now on,” Treace suggested.
“Moffred agrees. That is the best way to talk to him from now on. He doesn’t think you deserve to speak to him directly anymore,” Moffred offered with a smile.
“I’m going to leave you two to fight that out,” Treace told them, getting up and heading for the door. He didn’t think Moffred would get the better end of that deal. It annoyed Kiril to no end when he spoke in third person. “I’ve got one last thing to take care of.”
If he was leaving tomorrow, he had to go see Wren about the journal and the sword. He hadn’t seen him yet and wondered how their meeting would go. It had been a few years. He was hopeful that Wren had grown up during his absence. Treace felt that he himself had matured immensely. With Wren being older than him and the son of the constable, he thought that perhaps the man would have fully matured by now. He should have known better.
~~~
As he approached the constable’s manor, memories of his first trip filled his mind. Combatants had squared off and playfully sparred. Men cheered for the winner. They were good memories. As he walked closer to the guards, he couldn’t help but to notice how much had changed. There weren’t any men practicing swordplay, and in fact, he only saw a handful of men in the complex. Two of which were guarding the front gate that Treace was nearing.
“That’s close enough,” one of the guards called out, placing his hand over his sword. “What do you want?”
“Tell Wren an old friend has come to see him,” Treace said, placing his hands in the air. He slowed his walk, but he didn’t stop entirely. He was glad he wasn’t wearing his armor, he wondered how bristled they would have been if he was armed.
“Treace? Is that you?” the other guard asked.
Treace merely smiled in return. He thought the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember who he was.
“It is you! I thought I recognized you. Man, have you grown.”
His reaction to Treace seemed to calm the other guard considerably.
“How have you been?” Treace asked, hoping that if he got the man talking he’d remember who he was.
“It’s been good lately,” the man replied. He looked to the other man and said, “Go see if Wren will take a visitor.”
The man frowned but did as he was told.
“If memory serves, I wouldn’t exactly call you two old friends,” the man told him.
“You’d be correct, but still, I was a child then, and it’s been a few years. I’m sure it will be fine now,” Treace told the man. He hoped that he was right.
The man snorted softly but didn’t offer a reply.
“So are you here to beg me to let you stay in my town?” Wren called out as he approached.
Treace stepped to the side of the guard. “And why would you try to throw me out?” Treace asked.
“You know very well what the agreement was,” Wren told him.
“I do remember. Quite well, in fact,” Treace replied.
“I had heard that you worked for Liernin.”
“I am under Liernin’s employ, yes,” Treace admitted.
“So then you admit you flunked out, or quit. It doesn’t matter which. What matters is that you lose. Get out of my town. I’ll give you until the morning,” Wren told him.
“And you’re wrong. I am a member of the College as well.”
“Like hell you are. Why would you be working for Liernin then?”
“Just because you aren’t capable of doing both doesn’t mean I’m not,” Treace replied.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t care what you believe. It’s the truth. Ask Exodin.”
“I see you two have picked up where you left off,” Emiah said as she approached.
Treace looked over Wren’s shoulder and was taken aback. Memories of her flashed through his mind. She wasn’t like what he remembered. He remembered her as a beautiful young woman. But the woman before him had changed. She had lost weight and looked gaunt. The sparkle that was once in her eyes was no longer there. She was still pretty, just not anything like she used to be. He wondered what had caused the changes.
“My dear, you remember the boy?”
Treace ignored the insult.
“Of course, how could I forget Treace?” Emiah asked, which drew a sour look from Wren. She walked up and stood next to Wren.
“I wish I could,” Wren replied.
“I knew you’d always keep me in your thoughts, Wren. Touching,” Treace told him, wanting to annoy him for calling him a boy.
“Hardly.”
“Nice to see you again,” Treace told Emiah, offering a quick nod of his head.