“Sit down and keep your hands flat on the table,” said a raspy voice. Cephom looked around for a chair and sat in the first one he saw. He placed his hands on the table. “You aren’t a messenger,” said the man in the shadows, shutting the door, bolting it and then raising his sword menacingly at Cephom. “You’re a crafter. I can feel your power.”
“It is possible to be both,” said Cephom, amicably. “I’m here looking for you to bring you a message.”
The crafter moved away from the door and almost fell. Cephom was on his feet instantly, helping him to a chair. “You look like you could use some food.” Cephom looked around the room. “The others didn’t make it?”
The crafter shook his head. “I don’t even know how I survived.”
“Perhaps the Creator has more work for you to do.” Cephom slipped off his pack and rummaged through it. “You can start on that,” he said, placing bread, dried meat, cheese and an apple on the table. “I’ll go see if anyone left food in town.”
“You might try the tavern,” offered the crafter. That’s where I’ve been going when I’m able to get out. But be careful. I don’t know what or who might still be out there.
“The tavern it is,” agreed Cephom. “I checked out most of the town before I found you. It seems to be safe for now.”
He left the crafter devouring his food and headed for the tavern. There he found the taps intact and filled several bottles with the taverns best brew. Walking through to the kitchen, he found a wheel of cheese and a ham. They would eat well tonight, he thought, gathering all his booty together in a bag he found in the kitchen. The only thing missing was bread.
The crafter was slumped over the table, sleeping, when he returned. Cephom picked him up and dragged him to the only cot in the room. Letting the crafter rest, he set about finding water and preparing food. It was dark when the crafter stirred again. Seeing Cephom he reached quickly for his sword then thought better of it. Cephom watched him, an amused smile on his face. “You should eat some more. You’re going to need your strength.”
The crafter accepted the food and began to eat. “What am I going to need my strength to do?” he asked around a mouthful of food.
“To retrieve some arrows,” said Cephom, taking a drink of the innkeeper’s best ale.
“Why don’t you just make new arrows?” asked the crafter. “Besides, we didn’t use arrows on the enemy.”
Cephom laughed then sampled some more of the beer. “If only it was that easy, Joshuas. These are special arrows, made by a crafter. They can’t be remade.”
Joshuas looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t remember telling you my name.”
“Didn’t you? Surely you must have told me. How else would I know it?”
“Exactly my point,” snarled Joshuas.
“Exactly,” said Cephom, as if that resolved the issue.
Joshuas opened his mouth to continue arguing then appeared to change his mind. “Special arrows?” he asked instead. “An arrow is an arrow.”
“I beg to differ, my friend,” said Cephom, enjoying his beer, smacking his lips in satisfaction. “Take, for instance, elven arrows. They fly true. They always find their target. The elves always retrieve them, because so much work went into making them. Goblin arrows on the other hand are little more than sticks.”
“Okay, point taken. What’s so special about these arrows you want me to retrieve?”
“Why, they’re the only thing that will kill the gaunt masters,” said Cephom.
Joshuas sat up straighter, more interested in the conversation now. “You have my attention. Please, continue.”
“Gaunts are special creatures in the first place,” began Cephom, finishing his beer and setting the bottle aside, “special demons born of Rengailai. They spread fear and terror. But they could be killed by humans. So, Rengailai created gaunts that were crafters. Then he created crafter gaunts that were impervious to magic. But he didn’t make them invincible or they might be able to destroy him in time. He gave them one weakness. They could be killed by an arrow crafted by him, if shot directly in the right eye.”
“Not the heart?” asked Joshuas.
“Oh no, gaunts don’t have hearts to speak of. Their hearts are quite difficult to find and not where you’d expect them to be.”
“So we need the arrows made by Rengailai.”
“Exactly,” said Cephom, sitting back in satisfaction.
“Where can I find these arrows?” prodded Joshuas.
Cephom looked up in surprise. He thought they’d concluded this business and that he could get back to eating. “In the Echoes, of course. They’re in the bodies of the crafters and healers Rengailai shot with them. He coated them with dark crafter’s poison then left the crafters in the echoes to wander in Neothera forever. The ghouls make sure the crafters get enough nourishment to keep them alive.” Cephom’s lips thinned in anger as he spoke. “You won’t be able to save all the lost crafter’s souls, but you can save a few.”
“I’ve been in the Echoes,” said Joshuas doubtfully. “I didn’t see what you’re describing.”
“No one but the Chidra has been in the section of the Echoes I’m describing. Only her power and innocence saved her,” said Cephom, quietly. “And perhaps some help from those who were watching over her.”
“I hope those same people will watch over me.”
Cephom’s expression lightened. “I’m sure they will.”
“What am I supposed to do with these arrows once I find them?”
“Take them to Barat and use them on the gaunt masters there. Then move on until you’ve found and killed them all. As long as the gaunt masters are alive, the Dredracians will rally and attack; no matter how often a crafter or warrior creates a miracle to save the people. They must be destroyed.”
“Destroying them is my destiny?” said Joshuas doubtfully.
“Exactly,” said Cephom.
“How hard could it be?” asked Joshuas, jokingly, “sneaking into Dirth, then into Dirthstone Manor, then the Echoes. Then, if I make it that far, finding a part of the echoes where no one has been. When I accomplish that, I fight ghouls for almost dead crafters and find the ones who have arrows sticking out of them. After I’ve accomplished all this, I’m supposed to convince Duke Donnegal I’m a friend and there to kill master crafters who are also gaunts by shooting them with these arrows.”
“Exactly,” said Cephom. “But you must remember to pierce their right eye.”
“In the eye,” Joshuas repeated.
“I’m glad to see you think you can do this job. The sooner you start the better. Although Duke Donnegal is holding Barat, they’re beginning to succumb to the fear and terror the gaunts bring with them.”
“Who are you really, Cephom? Not what you’re portraying yourself to be.”
“But I am,” replied Cephom. I’m a messenger.”
Joshuas leaned back in his chair, assessing him. Cephom put on his most innocent face, opening another bottle of beer. “You better give me one of those. If you want me fit enough to travel.”
Cephom smiled broadly and handed him the beer.
They left the city the next day, Cephom taking the lead and Joshuas content to follow. He hadn’t figured out who or what Cephom really was, but he’d decided he was a friend. Cephom chattered on endlessly about whatever caught his attention. Joshuas preferred Erion’s silence, but let the messenger talk. Cephom led them in the direction of the Drakmoth Mountains. He moved amazingly fast and Joshuas had a job keeping up with him. The miles went by quickly and soon, they were climbing steeply.
“Your Brenth has done quite a job in settling and organizing the people of Kyris,” said Cephom, easily avoiding the large rocks in the trail.
“Have you been here recently,” asked Joshuas. “I thought you said you were in Barat.”
Cephom walked on without answering. Joshuas rubbed his head in bewilderment. Maybe Cephom had the ability to read minds or had recently looked into the mists. How
else could he know all the things he seemed to know?
Although he’d mentioned the people of Kyris, if he knew where they were, he avoided them. Joshuas saw no one in the mountains, not even the native people of the Drakmoth. He didn’t bother to ask his guide about the absence of visible habitation. If he wanted him to know, he’d tell him. If he didn’t, asking would only bring more half answers and avoidances.
Stopping in a small clearing, they spread their blankets, made a small, sheltered fire and ate ham, cheese and beer. “It really is unfortunate there’s no bread,” lamented Cephom. “But we’re blessed to have food.”
Joshuas closed his eyes. He still wasn’t fully recovered and the day’s travel had taken its toll. “There’ve been many days when I’ve had to do without,” he agreed.
Cephom smiled. “But you don’t have to do without today. Eat, and then rest. I’ll take the first watch.”
Opening his eyes, Joshuas took the food Cephom offered and ate quickly. He was asleep before Cephom had finished enjoying his simple repast.
The birds announcing the sun’s arrival woke him. Cephom was sitting a few feet away, deep in meditation. “Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Joshuas, interrupting him.
“You needed the rest, I didn’t,” replied Cephom.
Joshuas accepted the answer without arguing. What good would it do to argue now? He’d make sure he took his turn tonight. “Where are we headed?” he asked after many more miles of trekking through the wooded mountainside.
“We’re headed to a small fortification. The people call it Healer’s Hole,” replied Cephom. “It was named after a healer who resided there. Now the healers in this part of the mountain make it their home.” He answered Joshuas’ question before he’d asked it. “There is one most gifted healer there,” said Cephom absently.
“I’ll have to remember that, should I need a healer in the future,” said Joshuas.
“You could use her help now,” replied Cephom, assessing Joshuas with a critical eye. Then he picked up his conversation where he’d left it. “She’ll be needed in the future,” he added quietly.
Joshuas stared at him as he walked on up the trail. Cephom definitely was aware of much more than he’d told him.
“You’ll get to meet her. She’s the person I’m seeking. I have a message to deliver.”
“One can only hope it isn’t as bad as mine,” mumbled Joshuas.
“Did you say something?” Cephom turned to look at him.
“Not a thing,” said Joshuas, continuing to follow the trail.
They found a ring of rocks to use as a shelter when night fell. Still lamenting the lack of bread, Cephom quickly caught two hares and had them skinned and roasting before Joshuas made it back with the vegetables he’d found.
“A change of diet is always welcome and who knows when we might need some quick energy. It always helps to have a little in reserve.” Cephom chopped the vegetables and threw them in a pot. He started to take two bottles of beer from the pack, then sighing, he put them back. “I suppose we ought to make do with water.”
Cephom enjoyed the meal as he seemed to enjoy all his meals. Then lying down, he closed his eyes and was quickly asleep. Joshuas moved to the outer edge of the ring of rocks and settled in to keep watch. The moon was almost full and its light filtered through the tree leaves. He thought about other times he’d been in these mountains. They’d almost seemed mystical to him when he’d come with Cedric to his home town. The clouds had hung down in the valley below them every morning. He’d had time to watch them disappear with the sun’s warmth.
Greyan had brought him to these mountains to collect the herbs and wild flowers needed for spells and potions. The trips to the mountains stopped once Greyan became obsessed with his prophecies, as did almost all communication between them. Joshuas smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d tried not to make the same mistakes with Peran, to lose the communication between them, but he still had.
Peran had wanted fame, glory, to make a name for himself. All Joshuas had wanted was to fade into obscurity. Peran had accused him of not caring, just as he’d accused Greyan. He supposed Peran’s adopted son would have accused him, had Peran lived long enough to adopt a son.
Joshuas frowned and wished he had a beer. There were several in the pack and he was tempted to drink them down and wash away the memories, but Cephom had wanted to save them and he was on watch. Running his hand through his hair, he decided he’d have to live with his memories tonight and the feelings. An owl hooted in the distance and Joshuas went on alert. An owl could be a spy, or the call could be a signal to someone that they’d spotted their camp. Cephom was sleeping. He didn’t want to leave him while he went to investigate. Instead, he waited and listened, his sword drawn.
It didn’t take long until he heard the quiet rustling. He nudged his thoughts out to see what he was about to encounter and drew them back quickly in surprise. Springing past the rocks, he grabbed the woman and pushed her behind him as he prepared to face the squad of orcs chasing her. Their attack was hard and swift. He threw a felling blow as he spoke a spell of protection around the woman. When she was safe, he began a spell of changing in between blocks and thrusts. He thought he saw Cephom, but didn’t have time to check. At the last word of the spell, he cast his arms outward. A blinding flash of light encircled the orcs. When the light faded, he was on his knees and the orcs were a pile of dust in front of him. Not his most creative crafting, but it had been effective.
The woman reached his side at the same time Cephom did. Together they helped him to his feet and back to the fire. “There is some beer in the pack,” Cephom told the woman, letting Joshuas slide to the ground. He quickly checked for injuries. Joshuas couldn’t have told him if he was hurt. He was numb from expending so much energy.
The woman handed Cephom the beer and he began pouring it in Joshuas’ mouth. “Is he going to be okay?”
“The better question is, are you okay, Daina?” asked Joshuas, his voice raspy again.
“I’m fine now, Joshuas. I was a bit worried there for a little while.”
“What’s happened,” asked Cephom, continuing his first-aid.
“They found our stronghold. I think they followed the last raiding party back. Several of the men are dead. The people in the stronghold made a break for it, while I distracted the orcs by running right at them.”
“A brave thing to do, my lady,” commented Cephom.
“They would have done the same for me,” she shrugged off his praise. “And they have in the past. I sent them to the next stronghold. The people there will spread them out among the fortifications where they’re needed. There have already been losses among the people from Kyris. I’ll join them in the morning. I can’t believe it’s you, Joshuas. They said you were dead.”
“They weren’t far from wrong,” replied Joshuas. “But Cephom says I was spared so I could retrieve something for his master.”
Daina gave Cephom an odd look, then let her gaze come back to Joshuas. “Then I guess you should stop rescuing damsels in trouble and start retrieving.”
“The two happened to coincide this time, but I’ll keep that in mind,” said Joshuas, sounding better after finishing the beer. “Cephom has business in these woods and was accompanying me.” He looked at Cephom, then Daina. “Where are my manners? Cephom this is Queen Daina of Dirth, late of Menas.” Pointing to Cephom he continued. “This is Cephom, today he is a messenger. But I dare say he’s not always a messenger.”
“Cephom,” Daina tried the name tentatively. “These days I’m only Daina, resistance fighter.”
“Quite an important job, right now,” said Cephom. “Your fighting gives many people hope. They missed your spirit when you were in Dirth.”
“I pray I can make up for those years,” said Daina quietly.
Cephom smiled, but said nothing. Instead, he handed Joshuas some cheese and ham. “As I said, it’s always wise to have some supplies in reserve, especially when traveling with c
rafters.”
There was a rustling in the forest and Joshuas struggled to his feet and drew his sword. Daina also drew her weapon, a long knife, with a dragon design. Its blade undulated like the body of the creature it depicted. Cephom simply rose to his feet.
In a few minutes, a young girl entered the circle. She was clothed in a dark cloak, clasped at the neck with the insignia of a healer. “Vanya,” said Cephom. “I have been expecting you. Now, everyone is here.”
Joshuas looked at Cephom in surprise, but lowered his weapon. Daina had let out a sigh of relief and put her weapon away.
The girl looked at Cephom with suspicion. “Do I know you?” She nodded slightly in Daina’s direction.
“No. But I know who you are. I have a message for you, two actually.” Cephom smiled disarmingly.
Vanya looked at Daina who shrugged. “Joshuas is a friend, so I guess Cephom is, too.”
Vanya nodded and put the weapon she had concealed under her cloak, in her belt. “First things, first,” she said, looking at Joshuas. “Your crafter is about to fall down.”
Daina and Cephom looked in Joshuas’ direction and rushed to his side. Sitting him down by a rock, Vanya knelt next to him and pulled her bag of medicine from her shoulder. Rummaging inside, she found the herbs she needed. Then crushing them over Joshuas, she began chanting. Joshuas could feel the power in her words, inside her. Cephom had been correct, she was a gifted healer, as gifted as Diedra. As she chanted, he could feel his energy returning. Vanya didn’t stop until Joshuas knew he was wholly restored. Vanya fell back on her heels and bowed her head. Cephom handed her the last of the food in the pack. She took it gratefully. “What are you doing out here this evening?” Daina asked her as she ate.
“I came looking for you. A few of your people stopped to tell us what had happened and what you’d done. I was worried.”
“You’re taking a great chance helping us,” replied Daina. “Your father won’t approve of your actions.”
“Father is wrong,” replied Vanya. “But I’m unable to convince him that he is. He doesn’t listen to me. After all I am only his daughter, not a son. As long as he is the leader of Healer’s Hole, no one there will join the resistance or help the resistance fighters. I’ve pleaded with them, reasoned with them. It does no good.”
First Comes The One Who Wanders Page 44
