131 Days [Book 3]_Spikes and Edges

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Lish chewed away contentedly. Halm chuckled despite his misery. The stable hand’s words came to him, and he patted the horse’s neck.

  “Eat what you will. And when you’re ready, we’ll walk. Give you another chance at torturing my fat hide.”

  In a short time, they resumed walking.

  Pebbles and dirt brushed his toes as Halm led the horse along. The stable hand had said to walk the animal often, and Halm decided he preferred walking. It wasn’t as painful. The heat bore down upon his back and shoulders, slow-cooking his skin until he could smell it. A fly buzzed in his ear, prompting a violent shake of his head. He scanned the open plains, looking for other travelers, and sighted none.

  Empty.

  It had been a while since he’d been on his own. Halm felt the need to fill the quiet. “I imagine you’ve traveled this way quite a bit?”

  Lish’s noble head nodded with every step.

  Halm figured that for a yes. “Good. Good. We’re off to see a woman. See if she still remembers me. Seems she’s been finding a way into my thoughts, and I’m one to wonder why, especially when it’s about women—or a woman, in this case.”

  Lish’s ears flickered, and Halm looked to the north. Some figures and perhaps a tall wagon traveled the road, seemingly floating above the grass. It took him a moment to realize they were traveling toward Sunja. Still, seeing people gladdened his heart.

  “Women. When I was in a city, I was never without one for long. Had them all shapes and sizes, Lish my lad. All shapes and sizes. And personalities.” Halm didn’t mention the gold he’d had to pay for the company or the drinks to make them stay.

  “Beauties every one,” Halm said as the horse scuffed up dirt. “There was one whose blond hair reached well past her waist. Lovely personality. Very popular at one alehouse. I remember a pair of sisters, one red haired, the other dark, small enough to sit on either knee and cuddle. Seddon’s heaven, Lish. If I think hard about it, I can remember their touch, the smell of the perfumed water they wore. Right and proper ladies.”

  The sound of something plopping caused Halm to stop and turn in time to see Lish dropping a cow kiss––or rather a horse kiss––into the dirt. The animal eyed the Zhiberian, challenging him to comment.

  Halm made a sour face and continued walking.

  The southern stretch of road remained empty of travelers, not even a bird, though he heard some calls. Halm looked ahead, searching for the westerly turn that would lead them to Karashipa.

  “Seems longer than the last time. The lads and I came out here not two or three weeks ago. You should’ve been there. What a time we had. Oh, my. All got resolved in the end. That’s where I met her: small village to the west. You’ll see. And don’t expect me to walk you the entire way. I’m only doing this to rest you. When you look ready, I’ll climb back on that bony back of yours, and you can torture me again.”

  Halm chuckled. Here he was, having lengthy conversations with a horse. The lads would call him unfit for doing such a thing.

  “As if I expect you to say anything. Though if you could, I imagine you have some interesting stories. Wouldn’t you? Of riders and places… maybe a mare or two?”

  Lish let slip another chunky stream into the road.

  A pensive Halm turned back to the empty road.

  “You do that a lot…”

  The day baked man and horse as they traveled farther west. Halm walked the animal more than he rode it. The animal’s gait became too painful for him to bear. Lish also labored in the growing heat, and Halm didn’t want his only companion to suffer needlessly.

  Around noon, Halm crossed a small, solid bridge spanning a brook. On the other side, he spotted a comfortable-looking clump of trees with the stream running beneath its generous shade. The flute sound of the slow waters convinced him it was time to rest. He led Lish off the road and noted the scuffed earth and grass around the bases of the tree trunks. Other travelers had stopped under the wide spread of leaves. As Halm inspected the spot, the smell of nearby water made his throat ache.

  “Right here then.” He halted Lish. “Right here. Get out of the heat of the day. Seddon above, I feel terrible. Drank a little too much yesterday, good Lish. Drank a little too much. Don’t hate me for it. I’m paying now.”

  Halm kept a steadying arm over the horse’s saddle and took deep breaths. Under the shade, the brook’s waters flowed, flashing speckled rocks at the bottom. Halm left Lish and walked to the stream, rubbing his lower back.

  “You’ve done this to me,” he muttered, casting a vengeful look in Lish’s direction. “I was fine this morning. I’m unfit, now. Unfit. All because of you.”

  At the water’s edge Halm dropped to one knee and then the other, bending over as if in worship. He clutched at wet rocks and lowered his face into the shallow depths. The water’s touch revived him to a degree, and he stayed that way, alternating between dunking his face and drinking.

  “Seddon above, that’s good,” he said when he came up for air. “Sweet Seddon. Ah, that’s so good.”

  A scuffing of hooves and a snort made him look to his right. There stood Lish, drinking and appearing in much better shape.

  Halm splashed water over his head, neck, and back. He crawled away from the edge and eased his back against the trunk of a tree. With both legs splayed out before him, he sat and breathed and watched Lish.

  “Drink your fill, and don’t go far. I’ll rest here for a while. We’ll make Karashipa by evening. You’ll see. Just as the sun is lying down on the lake, we’ll get there. Take your time. Seddon’s burning hole, I’ll never drink again.”

  Halm closed his eyes.

  The sun rested on the horizon when he woke. Halm groaned upon seeing that great blazing ball sinking into the grass, knowing full well he had slept too long. Lish stood a few strides away, watching, ears flickering.

  “Well, this is a time.” Halm sat up against the tree. “You could have woken me.”

  Lish blinked and looked away.

  Halm sighed. The horse sauntered to the nearest grass, nibbling on the more attractive strands. Eating wasn’t a bad idea, but Halm hadn’t thought he’d be falling asleep in the middle of the day, and as a result, he hadn’t brought anything with him. The evening sky bled red, blending into a deepening purple. Nothing moved besides Lish, and the calmness of the scene rendered the big Zhiberian speechless. He sniffed and scratched, realized he wasn’t so uncomfortable, and decided to stay the night right where he was. He had no food but doubted he’d starve, not with the stores upon his hips and ribs.

  “I’m good for at least a week.” He rose to his feet and pulled the saddle from the horse’s back.

  “There, in case you decide to lie down for the night. I don’t understand how you beasts can stay standing for such a long time. Don’t your legs get tired?”

  Lish ignored him.

  Halm was getting used to it. If he had any treats, he figured the animal wouldn’t leave him alone.

  “Eat,” he said to the horse. “Drink and stay close by. Don’t leave me during the night.”

  Lish made no promises.

  Grunting, Halm walked into the tall grass and relieved himself of the water he’d drunk earlier. When he returned, he placed the saddle on ground not veined with roots. He lay down, slowly, cursing the pain in his sides and joints. He folded the blanket into a thin pillow, covered the saddle with it, and got as comfortable as he could with his head at the base of the tree.

  The color slowly left the sky. The smell of the stream mixed with the moist heat. The night air buzzed with unseen life, and Halm hoped nothing would make a meal of him. In time, tiny bulbs of light appeared and drifted across the plains. He watched the tiny creatures, not knowing a name for them, but thinking them magical all the same. He watched until his eyelids grew heavy.

  And despite his aches, a warm feeling of ease led him to sleep.

  A splash of water woke Halm.

  He thought he’d been dreaming. He lay on his back
and realized he couldn’t see the night sky through the leaves. A second splash broke the stillness, sounding close by, raising the hair on his head and neck. He scrambled to a sitting position, his senses crackling, eyes scanning the suddenly ominous dark.

  Nothing.

  He found the hilt of his sword and got up, wholly awake and searching. Stars glittered on the horizon, a sheer spectacle of celestial wonder surrounding the little knot of forest where he’d stop to rest. That vast cosmic space filled his vision, clouded in places by strands of milky silk. For heartbeats, Halm forgot everything and stared.

  A snort from nearby and Lish’s dark outline came into view, almost within arm’s reach.

  Halm waited and listened, hearing a low chatter of nightlife and nothing more. The second splash came from the north, or so he believed. Nothing else happened, so he decided not to pursue it. Lish remained quiet and untroubled, so Halm believed the danger––if they were in danger––had passed. Perhaps a single animal had wandered by. Maybe a bear?

  Or a troll?

  The thought fouled his calm, but he discounted the idea a moment later. Trolls were rarely seen across the land, driven into forgotten places by the insane fools who hunted the beasts. There were other dangerous creatures of the night, but if some horror or other did prowl the night, Halm doubted Lish would be so calm.

  Still, Halm stayed awake long after the disturbance roused him from his sleep.

  In time, he sat down, watching the glittering dark framed between a line of grass and one of leaves.

  In the morning, Halm awoke with a snort and attempted to look everywhere at once.

  Lish studied him with little interest before returning to munching on a breakfast of grass. Scowling at the animal, Halm rubbed his jowls and stood. He stretched his back and limbs, growling at the pulling and popping. The sun hung above the eastern horizon, and there was very little else to be seen.

  Keeping his sword handy, Halm emptied the bull in the same area as the day before, looking around as his stream fell upon grass. When he finished, he tucked himself away and gripped the sword hilt, wondering what had disturbed him during the night. He marched in the direction of the noise, the grass reaching his mid-thigh, and slowed to a stop.

  “It was near here,” he muttered, turning in a circle. He realized he’d traveled a good distance from Lish, who continued eating. Well over thirty paces.

  “Hm.” Halm grunted and made to turn back when he noticed a depression in the grass, as if something had rested there.

  Sword in hand, he approached the small hollow and discovered a skeleton lying on its back, its jaws split in a howl. Bones protruded from a mesh of rusted chain links and torn leather. A discarded spear and shortsword rested at its feet, the metal fouled by time and elements. Halm didn’t go any closer, nor did he bother following what appeared to be a trail. Instead, he backed away, retracing his steps back to the clump of trees where Lish waited.

  When he reached the horse, Halm wasted no time saddling the animal.

  Wisps of smoke rose from stone chimneys as evening fires grew hot enough for cooking. Riding Lish once again, Halm rounded a bend of forest and spotted the first house. His spirits lifted considerably as other little village houses came into view.

  “Thank Seddon,” he muttered. Everything hurt, despite Halm spending an equal amount of time walking, riding, and resting during the trip. Not even the sights and clear air of the countryside could distract him from his growing discomfort, but seeing the little community put a weary smile on his bruised features.

  He leaned forward and patted Lish’s neck. “Almost there.”

  Lish ignored him.

  By noon, Halm had passed by a scattering of barns and single houses on the land known as Plagur’s Reach, but he did not approach them, focused on getting to Karashipa by the end of the day. Now, the rough houses came into full view, dark shapes detaching themselves from the deepening shadows of the timberland. A few voices broke the sleepy quiet, while at the very end of the road, the sun reflected in the mirror of the lake.

  Halm spotted the place where he and the lads had slept when they first came to the village by koch. Lish slowed, and Halm let him, not wanting to exhaust the animal. Some men and women sat outside their small homes, watching the Zhiberian ride in. Some even raised their hands in greeting, remembering him and how he’d killed Thaimondus. Halm lifted his free hand in return and rode on toward the lake.

  Lish snorted, and his ears fluttered, indicating he was growing tired of carrying the Zhiberian’s weight.

  “Almost there,” Halm repeated, nodding at a few villagers along the road who stopped their conversations and turned to watch him. He recognized the fellow who’d had the word punce carved in his forehead by Torcul, son of Thaimondus. Halm couldn’t remember the lad’s name, but he nodded at the man and got a smile for his trouble.

  More villagers peered out of windows. A few children playing by their front doors turned and stared. Halm didn’t stop.

  The alehouse waited down by the water’s edge, the surface so calm he almost forgot about his aches. A smoky ribbon issued from the chimney. The walls of Thaimondus’s residence came into view, the gates open wide. Halm wondered what the village had done with the space or intended to do with the land. He supposed he’d find out soon enough.

  Lish continued along the path to the alehouse door, and Halm eyed the small but well-built alehouse. The building certainly wasn’t as fine as anything in Sunja or any other city he’d visited, but its thick log walls appealed to him—rough, but comfortable.

  A short laugh perked Halm’s ears as he dismounted, and he saw windows covered in thin netting. Lamplight glowed from within. He saw that no one had bothered to replace the door, which remained ill fitting in its frame and looked as if some drunken lout had put boots to its wood.

  “You stay here now,” Halm said to Lish. “Don’t wander. I might need you for a quick escape.”

  Lish looked at the lake and made no promises.

  Rubbing the horse’s sweaty neck for good fortune, Halm drew himself up, saw that none of his bandages were stained with blood, and walked to the front door. He opened it and didn’t really see the rough stone fireplace. Nor did he notice the coarse canvas painting of rolling hills and a sun. He paid little mind to the three men sitting around one of four tables.

  The woman behind the bar, now…

  She captured his attention entirely.

  Lit lamps and a low-burning fire cast the room in a red hue and darkened her complexion, but it was Miji, her black hair tied back from her narrow face. She wore the same green dress with a white apron tied around her waist. She looked up from cleaning a mug, and Halm’s heart warmed to the recognition on her features, which he thought quite lovely.

  But then she saw his condition, and her mouth dropped open in horrified alarm.

  As the door closed behind him, Halm smiled back, making a conscious effort to keep his bad teeth hidden.

  “Hello, fair Miji.”

  20

  “What of our stores?” Sindra took her friend and cook Telda behind the bar, ignoring the shouts and laughter filling the alehouse.

  “Well,” Telda began, her head tilting, “we can probably make it through the night. There’s a roast of ham, a roast of beef—but that’s going quite fast—and one rabbit and one pheasant.”

  “No chicken?”

  “All gone,” Telda said. “Took the head off the last one earlier this evening. One chop and…” She fluttered both hands before her chest, showing how the headless animal’s legs moved upon decapitation.

  “You’re bad,” Sindra said.

  Telda giggled, delighted with her friend’s reaction. “You’d say different if the little feathered bastards ran across the floor. And they would, too, if I didn’t turn them over.”

  Sindra had no reply to that image. “Well, make a list, and tomorrow we’ll head to market. We’ll take Gurga along. We’ll need him to carry everything.”

&nb
sp; “Need a few kegs of Sunjan Gold as well.”

  “Make note of it. When I said ‘we’ll’ I did mean both of us.”

  “And Gurga.”

  “And Gurga.”

  “Your friend’s back.” Telda looked past Sindra, causing her to turn.

  Sindra’s heart skipped.

  Borchus. The man tipped his head in her direction.

  “Didn’t you––” Telda started.

  “I did.” Sindra cut her off and immediately felt bad for doing so. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll get Gurga.”

  Sindra caught her friend. “No, I’ll talk to him again.”

  “Best make it clear this time.”

  “I will.”

  “Clearer than last time.”

  “Aye that.”

  “Because he clearly didn’t understand last time.”

  Sindra fixed Telda with a silencing look.

  “I’ll check on the vegetables,” she muttered and moved to the kitchen door. “Put honey on that ham. Maybe do a little chopping.”

  Sindra turned back to Borchus, her surprise slowly replaced by disbelief. The man refused to listen. Minding an alehouse and all her other duties and obligations were busy and stressful enough without having to deal with him. Anger welled up. She would make him understand that tonight. She crossed the space between them, frustration bubbling to dangerous levels.

  Sindra stopped right in front of Borchus, slapping the counter with both hands. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Sindra.”

  “Answer me.”

  Borchus shrugged a shoulder. “Only here to drink.”

  “What did I tell you last time?”

  “Sindra, I need to talk to you.”

  That set her head to shaking. “What’s wrong with you? You’re unfit. I don’t want to talk. I’ve said that time and time again. I don’t want to talk. Did you hear me that time?”