As lunchtime neared, the air was slightly less freezing. Blayke's clothes were almost dry now, his extremities warmer. The village was another hour away. As they drew closer to the town, the distance between houses shortened, the farm holdings grew smaller and more numerous, and the traffic on the road heavier. The road had dried out somewhat, making walking easier. The landscape was relatively flat, and Blayke found it almost boring compared to the spectacular mountain peaks they had grown used to.
In the distance, Arcon spotted four mounted men galloping toward them. "Better get off the road; looks like they'll run anyone down who happened to get in their way." They hurriedly moved to the grass and kept walking.
The horses slowed as they reached the pair, one man leading the others. He was of middle years, broad-shouldered, with a battle-scarred face, his mouth lopsidedly curled in a permanent sneer. His clothes were ragged and his horse not much better. Mercenaries maybe? Whoever they were, Arcon didn’t like the look of it.
"Good day, sir." He addressed Arcon.
"Good day."
"I was wondering if you could help us. We’re looking for a man, about your age, and a boy about his age, with his height and hair colour. They’re wanted for crimes against the king. Our instructions are to capture them at any cost—dead is just as good as alive.” He gazed meaningfully at Blayke.
Arcon answered whilst looking at the inferior members of the group. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
The leader’s sneer intensified. “Oh, I think you can. Would you and your boy care to come with us?" His smile was less than inviting. The other men had moved their horses to encircle them. They all had their swords out to ensure the answer would not be in doubt.
"And with whom am I speaking?" This time Arcon turned to stare at the sneering thug, holding civility by the thinnest of threads.
"Pernoc, but you can call me Sir. I would advise you to come willingly." He looked at his nearest companion. "They did say take them ‘dead or alive’ didn't they? Yes, I was sure that's what they said, so maybe you don’t want to come willingly?" Pernoc’s horse had been inching toward Arcon, and was now almost touching him.
"Hmm, and who would they be?"
"That's on a need-to-know basis, and I'm pretty sure you don't need to know. So, old man, what do you say, hey? Are we going to do this the hard way? In fact, that would probably be more fun for the boys; they have been cooped up a while."
"I really enjoy doing things the hard way, but I think I’ll be disappointed today." Arcon was making small gestures with his fingers.
The man closest to Blayke jerked his beast sideways and slammed Blayke to the ground. He jumped off the horse and stood over his prey, sword raised. His companions laughed at the helpless young man on the ground. "Should have stayed home with your mamma. Roll onto your stomach, little girl, so I can tie you up." Blayke was not sure what to do, so he did nothing. “One more chance, boy. Roll over or your head’s going to roll off.” His sword descended toward Blayke's throat. Blayke stared at Arcon, teeth gritted, eyes pleading.
Arcon screamed, "Burn!" His finger pointed at Blayke's attacker. The stranger's clothes burst into flame. He shrieked, his sword falling harmlessly next to Blayke's head. Blayke grabbed it and jumped to his feet as the man fell. He looked around to see where the next assault was coming from, but his eyes were drawn back to the writhing man burning to death on the ground near his feet.
The other bandits were staring, mouths agape at the bonfire that only moments ago had been their comrade. "Forget the boy. Kill him!"
The leader charged at Arcon. Arcon didn't speak, just stabbed his finger at each bandit, one by one. It happened so quickly that Blayke hadn’t had a chance to move during the encounter. He now stood staring at the four bodies aflame, screams no longer escaping tormented throats. The horses bolted in fright.
"Damn horses. If this gang were only part of a contingent sent to capture us, the horses will be fleeing right back to reinforcements. Quick, we'll have to get away from the road."
Blayke didn’t move, except to place his hand over his mouth and nose. He had never seen such carnage, and the smell. Burning flesh had a unique, sweet, sickly odour, and the smoke made his eyes water. He doubled over and vomited.
Arcon rushed to Blayke and helped him stand upright. He gently, but firmly, took Blayke's face in his hands. The same hands that had wreaked horror a moment ago were now the loving hands of his surrogate father. "Look at me, boy. I’m sorry I had to do that, but if I hadn't, we would both be dead. Well, you would be anyway. I’m ashamed to say I was unprepared. Flame was the first thing I thought of, and I might’ve panicked just a little. Come on, we can't stay here a moment longer." Blayke's face barely registered what Arcon was saying. There was no time so Arcon slapped his face.
Blayke felt the sting and bent over again, this time vomiting on Arcon's shoes. When he stood straight, his eyes held a new grim understanding of life and its other side. "I've never seen someone killed. It's sickening. I don't think I could ever do something like that." Arcon looked hurt. "Not that I think you're evil or anything." Blayke winced, knowing his reply was lame and did nothing to detract from the insult he had thoughtlessly given his uncle.
Arcon understood what Blayke was going through. Arcon had killed a few people in his lifetime; it was never pleasant. What was more than a little frightening was that the killing was easier each time. This time, when Arcon jogged away from the road, Blayke followed, eager to get away from the now-blackened corpses, and unaware of the extra weight in his pocket.
Arcon hated himself at that moment, for he knew Blayke would have to kill (probably many times) and it was he, Arcon, who had led him down that path. He told himself it couldn't be helped, and for the moment all their energy needed to be saved for the long road ahead. Unfortunately logic couldn’t smother the lamenting guilt and pain, which now inhabited the space left by an innocence destroyed—his or Blayke’s he wasn’t sure.
Breathing deeply and clenching his fists, Arcon dismissed all thought and focused on moving forward. His legs worked more quickly now, for he felt an urgency that couldn't be ignored. He had to communicate with Avruellen and warn her. Arcon hoped she was alright. If he had felt any complacency, it was well and truly gone, scoured away by his own murderous flames. The freedom he had felt as they left the mountains had been replaced by a nervousness that was new to him. They were nowhere near finding what they sought, and now their enemies were looking for them. He felt hunted and could suddenly sympathize with the rodents on which Phantom sustained himself. They needed a plan, but only one came to mind: he ran faster.
7
Bronwyn watched her aunt watching her friend. "Aunt, please don't hurt her."
"Don't be silly. I wouldn’t do that." She crouched down and placed fingertips on Corrille's brow, mumbled a few words, then stood back. Corrille's eyes fluttered opened, and she slowly sat up.
Her words raced one another in their haste to leave her mouth. "I'm sorry, Miss Avruellen. I wasn't spying or anything. I ran away and thought to ask Bronny for help, but when I got to your cottage you were leaving. I didn't know what was going on, and I didn't want you to take me back home, so I thought I'd follow you." Avruellen was staring at the young runaway, one brow raised. Corrille worried at Avruellen’s lack of sympathy. "I don't want to go home, and you can't make me. If I can't come with you, I'll go my own way."
Avruellen shook her head. "I won't have you out there by yourself. You don't know the first thing about travelling. Do you have any money? No? I didn't think so. How do you expect to feed yourself, and what about protection? Not everyone in this world is going to be nice to you, and some will do their best to make trouble."
"I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as you'll be if you don't do what I say. There are rules that must be followed if you come with us; I don’t tolerate disobedience. I’m not going to tell you anything about what we're doing, and if Bronwyn does, she will be severely punished. You
must not talk of anything you see with anyone but us. Do you understand?" Both girls nodded vigorously, happy to be together again.
Bronwyn rushed over to hug her aunt, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won't regret it. I promise." Avruellen had heard it all before and had a feeling she would.
Avruellen fussed over preparing dinner, stopping every now and then to give the girls a frown whilst they became reacquainted.
"Your aunt is so serious and a bit scary."
"She's OK. She just worries a lot, and I guess she sees you as extra responsibility."
"But I'm eighteen. It's not like I'm a baby. I can look after myself."
Bronwyn admitted her friend probably could look after herself, to some degree. She wasn't as good a fighter as Bronwyn, but she was sufficient and had the presence of mind to bring her sword when she ran away; Bronwyn felt for her own weapon, a dagger, which was strapped securely to her ankle.
"Did you bring a bedroll, or a heavier coat?" Bronwyn’s question prompted Corrille to rummage through her pack.
"I've got a heavier coat but I didn’t think about anything else. I didn’t have time."
"We'll get you one when we reach the city."
"By the city, do you mean Bayerlon?" Corrille's eyes brightened. Like Bronwyn, she had never been far from their village—and certainly never to the capital.
"Yep. Isn’t it exciting? What do you think it'll be like?"
"I suppose there'll be lots of people, especially beautiful women in lovely dresses; I‘ve heard some women have as many as ten!"
"And handsome men, of course." Both girls giggled. Avruellen made no secret that she was listening and gave them a disapproving look.
Bronwyn changed the subject. "So why did you run away? What happened?"
Corrille fidgeted and suddenly couldn't look her friend in the eye. "I've never told anyone this. You have to promise not to tell." Bronwyn nodded, but Corrille wasn’t convinced. “Promise?”
“Yes, yes, I promise.”
Corrille took a deep breath and spoke quickly before her nerve left her. "Father beats me. He gets drunk almost every night, and he’s even burnt me with the fire iron. Don't get me wrong, he's usually a wonderful father, but once he drinks ... his eyes seem to change. It's like it's not him. He just goes crazy. Mother leaves when he gets like that, but he doesn't let me leave, so I try and stay quiet but he always finds an excuse. I just couldn't take it anymore." Corrille turned her back to her friend so she wouldn’t see the tears as they spilled over her lower lids. Bronwyn knew Corrille’s father, and he seemed nice enough. It was difficult to imagine he would do such a thing.
“How come you’ve never told me about this before? I mean, why would he do it? He seems like he really loves you.”
"Lift up my top."
Bronwyn hesitantly obeyed. An audible breath rushed through her mouth. "Oh gods, these bruises are awful. Did he really do that to you? Oh, Corrille, I'm so sorry. You should have come to me sooner. Auntie would have protected you." By this time Avruellen had come to see for herself. She shook her head when she saw what the girl had suffered.
There was little talking while they ate, and Bronwyn’s usually voracious appetite had diminished after hearing what her best friend had been subjected to. Each woman was lost in her own thoughts. They slept next to each other; Avruellen and Bronwyn shared their blankets with the new arrival, who snuggled between them. Although the days were lengthening toward spring, the nights were cold. As usual, they had a big day ahead of them so they said their “good nights” early.
Avruellen couldn't say why, but she didn't trust her niece's friend. She felt great sympathy for what Corrille had endured at the hands of her father, a person who should have protected her, not abused her. However, having been a victim didn’t ensure you were of good character. Well, she was here now, and maybe that was for some good; didn't they say “keep your friends close, your enemies closer”? Maybe enemy was too strong a word, but friend didn't feel right either. Just to be on the safe side, Avruellen asked Flux to hunt in the morning so he could watch over them as they slept. The fox, Avruellen's life-long companion, did as he was asked. Nothing unusual happened though, and he wasted no time bolting into the woods for breakfast when Avruellen woke.
Porridge and dried fruit was breakfast for the humans, whilst Flux broke his fast with a warm rabbit. They were travelling with few possessions, so it took only minutes to clear the camp. Avruellen led the way out of the campsite while it was still early, the girls chatting behind, Flux trotting at the rear. Avruellen wasn’t taking any chances where their safety was concerned. She had known Corrille was following them from the first night and had waited to see how long it would take for her to show herself. When it seemed the girl might follow them “secretly” all the way to the city, Avruellen had thought it better to get her where she could keep a closer eye. It didn't hurt for Bronwyn to have a companion; there were times when Avruellen needed to think in silence and her niece wanted to chat. Also, she thought it might distract Bronwyn from wanting a creatura.
Something else had been worrying the realmist ever since she had dragged Corrille into their immediate company. Avruellen had assumed the sense of being watched would disappear when the girl had been “discovered,” but it had not. She hoped The Circle’s meeting hadn’t been compromised. The eerie sense of being followed had not diminished at all; in fact it felt stronger. She wondered if the enemy knew what they were up to. Even though Avruellen knew her fox was always wary, she contacted Flux and warned him to be extra watchful.
Lunch was a welcome time to rest sore feet. They found a clear, inviting stream not far from the road. Large, flat, moss-covered rocks were in abundance under the trees and they were comfortable enough to sit on. The trio took off their shoes and rubbed tired feet through the cool grass. Flux padded to the water’s edge and put his nose delicately near the flow, tongue flickering in and out too fast to follow, drinking in the cold water. Their meal was another simple affair of hard cheese and fruit, after which they all bathed. It was too cold to luxuriate for long, but no one liked being whiffy. They hadn't bathed since before the meeting. The day was warm for this time of year, so everyone felt it was a good opportunity to be clean for a change.
Avruellen’s pace increased after lunch, the growing sense of urgency spurring her on. She had been unable to figure out why, and that worried her all the more. The girls were practically jogging to keep up with Bronwyn's tall aunt. "Your aunt has the stamina of a person half her age."
"You have no idea." Bronwyn and her aunt kept the secret of her real age. No one knew why practicing realmistry increased longevity, but it could increase a lifespan up to tenfold. Bronwyn was looking forward to a long, long life—but it had negative aspects the young girl could not possibly imagine.
Using power from the Second Realm was not forbidden. Most people didn't believe it could be done, but the population’s general ignorance and superstitions ensured prejudice against so-called realmists was ingrained. If you claimed to be a realmist, most either thought you a liar or feared you. In order to hide her true vocation, Avruellen had found when she had been somewhere for a number of years, it was wise to disappear or fake her own death. As a consequence, she had left many good friends and family in her wake. Her old heart had broken too many times to count, so if Bronwyn noticed a lack of affection it was probably true; an inevitable by-product of a person whose emotions had been sacrificed to duty. Avruellen hoped Bronwyn didn't end up as closed to love as she had.
Avruellen berated herself for harping on what couldn't be changed. She had to keep all her thoughts on the present. Were they already being targeted? The noble realmist was surprised at how she, the most powerful woman on earth, could feel so helpless. She looked back at her charges. "How are you going back there?"
"Fine. Why the speed? You'd think we were being chased by Zebla's hounds." Zebla was an evil goddess, who myth had it, disguised herself as a white snow wolf to capture the a
ffection of Nevus, the god of winter. When the god saw Zebla (in her wolven form) he felt such great affection, he welcomed her into his family and escorted her to his mountain-top cave. On the first night, as the god slept, Zebla assumed her true form and placed a collar of flame around his neck. The collar, a visual embodiment of her power, captured the god. The snow of a hundred years, which lasted throughout his incarceration, covered the earth and led to the starvation of many men and beasts, only melting when he managed to escape and gain control of his winter. He would not have escaped had it not been for a jealous underling, Phyrmon, who coveted Zebla's interest. Phyrmon set Nevus free when his mistress was away. When Zebla returned, she knew instantly what had happened. As far as the legend goes, poor old Phyrmon was currently passing his days as a guinea pig for Zebla's fascination with poisons. She tested each new poison she created on Phyrmon. He was constantly subjected to slow death by excruciating pain, only to be brought back again and again. The gods could be so cruel.
"Not Zebla's hounds, dear, but it's rude to be late for an appointment."
"What appointment?"
"You'll see dear, you'll see, but only if you can keep up." With that, Avruellen forged ahead. The girls looked at each other, rolling their eyes, and with no other choice, ran to catch up.
Despite Avruellen's misgivings, the next few days unfolded uneventfully. They were making good time. If nothing untoward happened, they would be in Bayerlon on the ninth day, as scheduled. Three nights before their planned arrival they came upon a homestead not far from the road. The occupants were a couple whose children had recently married and left home. Their farm produced vegetables, milk, and cheese. Avruellen decided it would be nice to sleep indoors for a change and had an eye on what appeared to be a small, vacant, timber cottage situated away from the main house. The travellers approached the inviting homestead to ask if they could spend the night (for a fee of course) in the compact domicile. The farmer and his wife agreed. Not only did they provide lodgings, they offered freshly baked bread, vegetable soup, and roast meat for dinner. Avruellen and Bronwyn declined the meat but were more than happy to accept the rest. Corrille was ecstatic to eat meat for a change. She had eaten very little before her exposure due to her own lack of foresight, but once she had become part of the little group, her repast matched the fruit, bread, and cheese, of which she was now heartily sick.
Shadows of the Realm (The Circle of Talia) Page 5
