by Kris Kramer
~~~~~
It took some doing, but they finally found their way toward what they hoped was Aiden's house. A small stone fort sat on the hill just behind Alvarton, and one of the guards on the night watch had a friend who'd once served with Aiden many years ago. He'd heard he lived out past the homesteaders in the woods just south of the Silver Hills. He pointed them in the right direction, and once on their way Finias was able to navigate the paths through the forest with ease.
Before leaving the fort, though, Finias asked the guard why Aiden had been branded. Riordan's words had stirred something in him, and now he was curious why a man who seemed to be such a formidable warrior, and who'd fought in the Uprising for years would end up a coward. The guard shrugged and said he'd heard that Aiden deserted his men during a fight out in Andua. Finias grunted at the lack of specifics, but he didn't press for any more details, even though he knew there had to be more to the story.
It took them roughly an hour of trekking through the dark paths before they reached the homesteaders, a collection of hundreds of shoddy huts and shacks scattered amongst clearings in the woods. The homesteaders were a community all their own, backwoods hunters and farmers, small-time traders and thieves, outlaws and people just looking to get by without interference from Calderan law. This area was remote and hard to get to, so guards rarely came out this way, and tax collectors and census takers had long ago given up trying to get money or information from anyone out here. The homesteaders ignored the Crown's laws and made their own, respecting their neighbor's privacy and reason for being out here, but demanding enough common sense to not prey on each other. This was where the forgotten people of Corendar lived. And, of course, Aiden was beyond even them.
After stopping for directions at a campfire surrounded by rowdy, late-night revelers, they slipped past two small groupings of shacks and took the first west-leading path they found. The trail was narrow but navigable, despite the scarce moonlight streaking through the forest canopy. The branches hung low, however, forcing them to duck under and around every dark shape that jutted across the path. The slower pace only added to Riordan's anxiety, though, making him even jumpier now than he was in Alvarton. And that had the effect of pushing Finias even closer to his breaking point.
“There's someone over there.” Riordan pointed at the space between two trees in the distance, then became aware that he was pointing and pulled his hand back, pretending to play with his sleeve.
“No, there's not,” Finias replied sourly, not even bothering to look.
“There is," Riordan protested. “I know I saw someone this time.”
“Okay,” Finias said, not stopping.
“Shouldn't you go check?”
“No.”
Riordan jogged up alongside Finias and leaned close, whispering. “That could be them! They could be here!”
“Well, that would be awful for you.”
Riordan stopped, a look of shock on his face. “Don't you care about this? Don't you care about what happens to us?”
Finias sighed and turned back to the priest. “You know what I think? I think the only thing moving in the darkness is you. I think you're so bloody fidgety that your head shook and you thought it was the world around you.”
Riordan frowned, but he said nothing, so Finias stalked off. Neither said a word for several minutes, and Finias did his best to enjoy the quiet. Until Riordan interrupted it once again.
“You've given up, haven't you?”
Finias shook his head. “I haven't given up. I'm here, aren't I? I'm still walking down this path, in the woods, in the middle of the night, surrounded by a darkness full of everything... oh, except fadeblades stalking us for the King.” Finias slapped a branch out of his way. “No, I certainly haven't given up.”
He continued down the path, leaving a stunned Riordan behind. It was a long moment before he finally heard the brisk footsteps of the old man trying to catch up.
“They're guarding a treasure,” Riordan said furtively. “Where we're going.”
“And I bet it’s fantastic,” Finias responded sourly. “With mountains of gold and jewels.”
“I'm telling you the truth. It was down there. Down... where we found them. Where we found the tenebrous.”
Finias stopped and hung his head. He didn't know why he kept entertaining these notions, but for some reason this old man knew what he liked to hear. “Okay, then. What kind of treasure?”
“You have to understand something, first. It's tainted treasure. Some of it. It's surrounded by shadow. You have to understand that.”
“Understand what? It's still treasure, right? How do you taint gold?”
Riordan's face belied his desperation. He was painfully incapable of hiding his feelings. “I have to be careful, Finias. That's why I haven't said where it is. If everyone knew where the treasure was, they'd go looking for it, and they wouldn't understand – no, no, that's not right. They wouldn't want to understand that they'd be walking into the same trap we did.”
Finias considered that for a long moment. “Is that where we're going, then? Are we going back to the treasure? It's out past the Red Hills?”
“Yes,” Riordan said after a short pause.
“But you won't say where it is?”
He shook his head. “I can't. Not yet. I'm sorry.”
“Because it's too dangerous to know that?”
“Yes.”
Finias laughed. He'd had enough of this. “Well, of course. That would be too easy.”
“I told you, I have to be careful.”
“Then why tell me that? Why not just say we're going to a cave somewhere to kill another crazy Warshield?”
Riordan took a deep breath. “Because I need your help. And because I don't know yet what motivates you more. I don't know if you care more about money or about honor. About yourself, or about doing what's right.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Finias said sharply.
“What do you care about, Finias? That's an important question, because with the trouble we're in now, I need for you to care about this. Or we're going to die.”
Finias was left speechless at this old priest's condemnation of him. Of course he cared about what they were doing. He wouldn't be out here if he didn't, right? He wouldn't have walked out of the tavern, or left the city or spent all night waking up cranky old villagers if he didn't feel like he was doing something important. He didn't do anything unless it was important, unless he truly cared about it. And he was tired of being played for a fool.
“You know what I think? I think you're a crazy old man!” Finias said, his voice rising. He shook his head and started pacing around in a circle. “How did I even let you talk me into coming out here? I was drunk, that's why. Stupid, Finias. So stupid. All you've actually done is tell me stories and point at every little sound in the dark like it's some bogeyman coming to get you. A sentinel... you're just a beggar, or worse. Or – or maybe you're a madman seeing nightmares from your time in the wars. That's what you are. That's all that you are. And I'm done listening to you.”
Finias stood there for a moment, expecting Riordan to break down and plead with him, but the priest wasn't looking at him. He was staring over Finias' shoulder, unable to even look him in the eye.
“You're wrong,” Riordan said.
“No. I'm not,” Finias replied, a little more harshly than he’d intended.
Riordan reached into the flap of his robe, pulling out a short sword that Finias hadn’t known he had. Instinctively, Finias reached for his own sword, thinking that his off-balance companion had fallen completely off his rocker. Riordan, still not looking at him, pointed calmly at the trees behind Finias. “Then who are they?”
Finias turned, expecting more shadows in the dark, or made-up monsters. Instead, he saw several well-armed men appearing from the trees, men who didn't look like simple homesteaders out protecting their property. They wore expensive armor, their weapons – axes, swords and knives – were alre
ady drawn, and they’d spread out along the path, surrounding the two of them. It was at that moment, as Finias drew his own sword, that he realized his terrible mistake. They'd been followed and he, of all people, had missed it. He’d been careless and emotional, everything his father taught him not to be, and now this unending nightmare of a day had thrown another obstacle in his path.
He only hoped he lived long enough to learn his lesson.
