“You know about that,” Farrus said, rubbing his chin with a thick, calloused thumb. “You’ll have to tell me how you found that out sometime.”
“Perhaps later, Master Farrus.” Sim’s eyes widened with surprise as he watched Givara’s cheeks redden. Until now, he was sure that she didn’t even feel emotions like regular human beings.
“Later then,” Farrus said with a coy smirk. His gaze lingered a moment too long, and he suddenly caught himself and looked away embarrassed. “Anyway. Long before Bella Kelmor came to Caramour, she was the leader of the Da’suri.” He realized Sim had no idea what he was talking about. “The Da’suri are secret groups of female trivals who try to avoid Desirmor’s attention. I’m not even sure there are any coven’s left.”
“There are a few, Master Farrus,” Enaya interjected.
“Good to know.” Farrus looked around the room. The one large group that had been sitting at a table were starting to get up and offer goodnights as they went their separate ways. There were still two couples seated at the bar, talking to Mistress Hisha, but the common room was empty otherwise. Farrus waited for the last of the departing group to leave the room before he continued. “Bella was a very strong trival. An incredible healer. The coven she led had spent years trying to figure out a way to get a soul born into the world without the stain. They believed that if they could find a way to shield a birthing mother with the trivarial power, the child might be able to resist the stain.
"Sarimus used to visit Vistrello along his trading routes and had developed a romantic affair with one of the women. Eventually she became with child, and the coven went into a frenzy. Bella had already devised a plan to shield a birthing infant that would take the combined power of the entire coven. They decided to try it on Sheila, Sarimus’ girl.
"The night Sheila went into labor the entire coven gathered in a circle around her as Bella led the spell. I don’t know what they did, or how they did it, but the child was born clean. Sadly, Sheila didn’t survive the birthing, and over half of the coven died as a result of their efforts. Whatever they did that night, it took a great deal of power, and it came at a grave price, but those that lived knew that the child born that night was the most important person ever born.”
“They did it,” Enaya exhaled with wide eyed breathlessness. She took Farrus’ arm, imploring him. “Where is the child, Farrus? I must know.”
Farrus looked at Sim, his face suddenly becoming sullen. Sim was used to Farrus being a man of few words and little emotion. Looking at his old friend, Sim could see despair all over his face. He suddenly knew why.
“Maehril,” Sim said absently, as though his lips formed the words before his brain had even finished the thought.
Enaya and Givara looked at him sharply. Farrus nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping as though he were accepting defeat.
“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me, Farrus?” Sim asked, feeling even worse about his failure to protect Maehril.
“Sarimus wanted to. He and Sevin had a big argument about it years ago.” Sim remembered the argument. Sarimus stayed away from Dell for eight years after that. It made him wonder if things might have been different if they had told him back then. Would his parents and Sarimus still be alive if he’d known what was happening?
Enaya was becoming agitated. Her head swung back and forth between the two men, blue eyes blazing, deciding which man she’d have to slap around to get the answers she needed.
“Who is this Maehril, Master Farrus?” Givara commanded. She meant to take charge of the table.
“She was one of the serving girls at the inn,” Sim answered for him.
“She’s lost now anyways,” Farrus said, looking down at his half empty pint of ale.
“What do you mean she’s lost?” Enaya practically screamed, earning a glance from the people at the bar.
“She’s lost, Lady Relador.” Farrus replied between sips of ale. “Disappeared when the city was attacked.
Sim looked at Enaya weakly. “It’s my fault. The last thing Sevin and Sarimus said to me was to protect her at all costs. She was right there, in the common room. Right next to me when we heard the first explosions. They told me to go to the barn and hide -- to take her with me. But she was gone.”
Enaya looked on the verge of exploding. Her hands were gripping the edges of the table as if she might float away if she let go. “You weak, pathetic fool! Imbecile! Are you completely helpless? Are you capable of anything at all? How can you be trusted with anything? Phah! The fate of the world rests in the hands of a mindless infant.”
“That’s enough, Enaya,” Givara cut in with a severe tone. Sim was sure he’d never heard her call Enaya by her first name before. Enaya looked at her companion in shock. Givara simply stared her down, green cold eyes offering silent commands. After a moment Enaya slumped back in her chair, looking awfully similar to Farrus slouching dejectedly next to her. “Master Farrus, you said that this girl, Maehril, she was born without the stain? Yes?”
Farrus looked up and nodded sadly. Givara reached out and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Then there is hope.”
“What hope have we, Givara? You heard him. The girl is lost.” Enaya sounded defeated.
“There is always hope, my Lady,” Givara reassured her. “And now our trip to Nal’Dahara has taken on an even greater importance. We need to see the prophecy, my Lady. As it was written.”
“Of course, Givara. But why does that give us hope?” Enaya asked.
“Prophecy is not promised, nor is it random,” Givara said with a smile. “It is but a map of events to come. How those events unfold is never certain. Whatever has happened to the girl, has happened as it was meant to. Her path to the end of the prophecy has taken a different turn than our own, but it does not mean that she is lost to us. Everything that has taken place these last few days…these last several years, in fact, has been more than mere chance. We must trust in the choices we make, for in the end, history will reveal them to be the right choices.”
Enaya’s face took on a faraway look as she considered her companion’s wisdom. Sim was looking at Givara in a totally new light. She had seemed a silent weapon to him these last few days. A serpent coiled and ready to strike. To hear her speak so effusively and with such rational insight, gave him a new respect for her. His skepticism over her past faded away, and he felt that now he was looking at a queen, instead of a guardian.
Farrus also became inspired by Givara’s speech. He sat up in his chair studying her with a hopeful grin. “Yes. Yes, you’re right,” he said with renewed confidence.
“She is right,” Sim said softly, thinking of Maehril sleeping beneath the deck of a small sailboat. They all turned and looked at him. “I had a vision. Maehril’s on a boat. There’s this old man…with gills, if you can believe it. She’s sleeping beneath the deck. I think the old man is a friend. Or at least, he seems worried about her.”
Enaya was giving him the ‘keep your mouth shut, fool’ look, and seemed ready to give him another lashing from her tongue when Farrus interjected. “Sim has the foresight, my ladies.” His voice was solemn, confident. “This young man is capable of incredible things. Give him time. He says Maehril is safe. I suggest you believe him.”
Givara was studying Sim with a blank, unreadable expression, but Enaya just pursed her lips as though she would hold it in for now.
They were quiet for several moments, sipping their drinks and considering what they’d learned. “What about Siminus then, Master Farrus?” Enaya asked, breaking the silence.
Farrus took a long sip from his pint. Sim’s heart began to race. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear the answer.
“Sim’s the Legacy,” Farrus said, softly. He raised his glass as if to give honors. “Sim is the last living Harven. The world’s last hope.”
“It is as we believed,” Enaya whispered to herself. She looked at Sim with uncertainty.
Sim didn’t care. Enaya could doubt him -- call hi
m a mindless infant. It didn’t matter. His mind was more concerned with the ramifications of his heritage. For him to be the last Harven, Sarimus must truly be his real father. Even though Enaya had spelled it out for him a few nights earlier, he didn’t want to believe it. Now he had no choice. But if Sarimus was indeed his father then…
“She’s my sister?” Sim asked as the suddenness of the realization fell upon him.
“Aye, Sim. I’m sorry they never told you,” Farrus apologized.
Wheels of thought turned quickly in his head. Things were starting to come together. He looked around the table. “So if Maehril is pure, then the Creator is living within her?”
Farrus nodded. “Maehril’s birth is what convinced us that you were the Harven of prophecy. That’s why we’ve kept you hidden, and let you grow up innocent. There is just too much riding on you and Maehril.”
“But I don’t even know anything,” Sim threw his hands up in frustration. “You say I’m the last Harven, but I don’t know how to use the trivarial power. How can you expect me to take on Desirmor?”
Farrus smiled warmly at Sim, almost fatherly. “You can do a lot more than you think, Sim. And you don’t need to use the trivarial power. Harvens, as I’ve been told, use something a bit stronger.” They all looked at him in confusion. Farrus pointed to Sim’s chest. “See that gem you’ve got there? Sarimus gave that to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes. The night before Dell was attacked.”
“Well, think of that as a key. A key that unlocks the power of creation.”
Enaya and Givara stared at the orange gem hanging around Sim’s neck with wide-eyed awe. Sim held it out on his hand seeing it in a new way. The surface, like a pool of water flowing beneath a pane of glass, seemed to call out to him.
“I don’t know how to use it, Farrus.” Whispers too faint to understand, called out from the gem, imploring him. He wondered if his companions could hear it too.
“You’ll learn in time.” Farrus reached across the table and put his hand over Sim’s covering the gem. The faraway voices abruptly disappeared. “Sarimus gave me instructions. Told me what I’d need to do if anything happened to him. Some you’ll figure out on your own. Some you’ll have to be taught. For now, you’ll need to be patient. The road ahead is very long.”
Sim placed the gem back beneath his shirt, looking down to make sure that none of it was exposed. Enaya seemed disappointed when he put it away, but quickly regained herself.
“I assume you mean to travel with us, Master Farrus?” she asked him pointedly.
“I do.”
“We’ve secured passage with one of the traeggars in port. We depart mid-morning for Nal’Dahara. The ship’s chief clerk, a Master Gedman, is asking for the moon and the stars to gain passage. Can you pay your own way, or do you need assistance?”
Farrus just smiled and jingled a fat coin purse attached to his sword belt.
“Very well. I’m sure there are a thousand questions we could ask you tonight, but it’s getting late, and we’ll have plenty of time to trade secrets in the days ahead.” Enaya stood up, followed by Givara. Sim was expecting to stay down in the common room and spend some more time with Farrus, but Enaya wasn’t about to let that happen. She folded her arms, tapping her right hand irritably against her left elbow, waiting for him to get up and lead the way. Farrus just smirked and shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh alright,” Sim exhaled with frustration. “Can’t you ever just let me be?” He walked to the stairs followed closely by both women, each wearing a satisfied smile. “I’m not a child you know,” he argued as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.
“Of course not, Siminus,” Enaya cooed in her infuriatingly haughty tone of voice. “You are not a child.”
Down the hallway he fumed under his breath until he stood outside his door. He looked back at them angrily, a dozen strong curses and insults sitting on the tip of his tongue. He would not be bullied by a pair of women. They both looked at him as a mother might look at her pouting infant. Angry to the point of screaming, Sim bit his tongue and entered his room, slamming the door shut.
Enaya gave Givara a withering look. “Men.”
They both had a good laugh as they entered their own room and retired for the night.
Chapter Eight: Bale Farrushaw
Farrus stepped out of the White Coral Inn onto a bustling street. He took a moment to watch the people coming from both directions, scanning the faces for anyone he might recognize. There was so much at stake. He had to be careful, now more than ever.
Givara left the inn behind him, coming to stand at his side. He still didn’t know what to make of her. She was an unusual woman, both regal and rugged. Her emerald green eyes, blazed with intensity and something more -- secrets. Farrus may have never settled down with one, but he knew enough about women to know that even the simplest farmer’s daughter was practiced in the art of secrecy. Sooner or later they were going to have their little talk.
For now he was happy for the company. The early morning sun was still sitting low on the horizon, but work near ship docks started as soon as it was light enough to see. Years as a guardsman in a quiet port city hadn’t dulled his dislike for the ocean. He had grown up in a town on the side of a mountain where the only water you saw was at the bottom of a well or when rain fell from a cloudy sky. You could trust people in that town. No-one surprised you. In a place like Carleton, anyone could be an enemy.
Givara watched the crowd with the same inborn suspicion. Farrus looked her over as she scanned the people that passed. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman who wore her hair so short. He kind of liked it. It was practical and somehow, it fit her. The sword she wore was also unusual. In his past he had seen more emblems than he could count, but the crystal leaf, inlaid on both sides of the hilt, was something new. Usually a swordsman emblazoned his hilt with his family crest or the symbol of skill rank. He wondered what the crystal leaf signified. More than anything, he wondered how well she could use that slender curved blade.
“The ship we seek is on the right side, in the second bay.” Farrus barely noticed that she was talking to him. “Master Farrus?”
“Yes. Ah, second bay you said?” He could have kicked himself for losing his focus in front of her.
“Follow me.” She turned down the street, heading for the docks, without waiting to see if he would follow.
They walked among dockworkers hurrying about their morning tasks, and servants running errands for their nobles. Farrus kept a sharp eye for anyone that stood out. Most people would keep to themselves, eyes forward, focusing on their duties. Farrus was looking for anyone with a wandering eye. Someone who might be concealing a weapon. Someone who might find him out of place. No-one stood out.
“You’re much more than a guardsman from a remote city, aren’t you Master Farrus?” Givara was walking beside him now, still eyeing the crowd, but with a knowing smile on her face.
“And you’re much more than a noblewoman’s guardian, aren’t you Mistress Givara?”
“Much more,” she whispered flirtatiously.
“You carry a strange sword,” Farrus said, pointing to her scabbard. They had come to the entrance to the dock. There was a slab stone wall running along the stretch of cobblestone that ran out to the waterline. A pair of old men with crude fishing poles sat on the wall engaged in a quiet, friendly conversation. Farrus led Givara by the arm away from the men, to a spot further down the wall. From their position they had a clear view of Master Gedman’s traeggar. Farrus wanted to watch the ship for awhile before securing his passage. Jumping into a kettle could be dangerous if you didn’t see the boiling water.
“So what was it? Infantry? Mercenary?” Givara asked with a strange casualness.
“A little of both.” Farrus wasn’t sure he was willing to play his hand until she made a play first.
“I want to be clear with you, Master Farrus.” Givara fixed him with a cold, humorless stare. “I am bound to give my
life to protect Lady Relador. I need to know who I’m traveling with. My instincts tell me you’re a man of honor. But I also believe you’re hiding something. In my experience men who keep secrets are dangerous. They usually do foolish things to protect those secrets.”
Farrus smiled softly. She was actually trying to intimidate him. He studied her face. He liked the way her thin cheekbones pulled his eyes down to her lips. Her eyes were so intense and purposeful. It made him wonder what kind of woman she was before life had made her so hard. She demanded answers from him, but he would give nothing without a concession on her part.
“When I agreed to let you and Lady Relador know about Maehril, it was on the condition that you spill the beans about yourself. You want answers? Well so do…”
Farrus couldn’t finish his statement. As he spoke he saw a man coming toward them from the oceanside of the dock. He wore a loose fitting white linen shirt, with black trousers and polished black boots. His face was black and partially hidden by a mop of greasy black hair that swung loosely across his yellow eyes. It was Navan Prianhe, Desirmor’s monomach.
Farrus reflexively grabbed Givara’s hand, hoping she would understand he was warning her of danger. She looked at him askance until she sensed the tension in his grip. Her head swung around, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the danger. Farrus felt her hand tighten on his, as she also recognized Prianhe. Farrus tried to think quickly. If they suddenly fled it would draw his attention, and though he came closer with every step, he still hadn’t noticed them.
Suddenly he felt Givara’s hand on his chin leading his lips to hers. Her hand reached around to the back of his head, turning his body to shield their faces as Prianhe walked past them, only several feet away. Farrus could hear Prianhe’s boots clicking on the cobblestone road, each step echoing like cannon blasts in his ears. Givara kissed him passionately, searching out his tongue with her own. He could feel his pulse rising, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the danger or the intimacy. Agonizingly, Givara released him, looking over his shoulder at Prianhe who was well past them now, turning left down the main street, away from the White Coral Inn.
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