Within

by Aaron Bunce

  They continued on for some time, the horses plodding along, one talking and the other listening. Dennah told him about the rigors of her training, when a bark echoed out of a small copse of trees to their right. Roman turned painfully to see Tusk crash out of a thicket.

  “Do you know that animal?” Dennah asked, her hand sliding to the sword on her belt.

  “Tusk,” Roman breathed, relief flooding through him. He gave Dennah a sidelong glance but instantly started to laugh.

  If the mud-hole Tusk rolled in at Garon’s farm wasn’t bad enough, he was barely recognizable now. His fur was a tangled mess of mud, dried twigs, and burrs. Roman could smell him before he got close.

  “He looks…” Dennah started to say.

  “Yes, ready for a bath,” Roman finished.

  Tusk bounded up to them happily, wagging his tail, sending bits of mud and plant life flying in every direction. The horses tramped their feet and tossed their heads as the dog circled.

  They kicked their horses up into a faster gait, and Tusk followed happily. Dennah started asking Roman questions. He shrugged them away at first, “there is not much to tell,” he would say. Comparatively speaking, he thought his life was simple, even boring. He felt uncomfortable admitting that he knew nothing about his family, despite growing up with his father.

  Dennah seemed to pick up on his discomfort and shifted the conversation to Tusk. Roman willingly shared the “legendary” hunting trip in which he discovered the roaming animal. Dennah listened intently, laughing at the dog’s quirks, and even agreeing that Tusk was the perfect name for the one of a kind animal.

  They found mutual ground in Tusk, and talked the rest of the way to Roman’s house. They shared a good laugh or two, watching the dog bound around, boisterously shattering the peace and quiet.

  Roman caught himself smiling more than he had in a long time. Perhaps more than he ever had. He didn’t have any friends when he was little, and as he got older, he shied away from others his age. He kept everyone at a distance, save for Greta and Frenin.

  Thinking of Greta pained him, like tearing loose a scab. He tried to force those thoughts away. To banish the images of Greta from his mind, but he couldn’t remember her as she was. Instead, he was haunted by the horrible moment in the field, when he found her, withered and gone.

  His pain was cumbersome. He wanted desperately to strike at the person responsible. His anger was easier to cope with than the emptiness of grief.

  As they continued to talk, Roman found himself wanting to open up about a great many things. To talk about the parts of his life that he had resolved to keep to himself. He watched Dennah out of the corner of his eye, as she talked to Tusk, who bounced along next to her horse, an overly-long stick held firmly in his jaws.

  He had struck a friendship with her, in the amount of time it took to ride to his house. He could never have fathomed it possible.

  Perhaps Frenin was wrong after all, Roman thought. Perhaps the caravan staying in town wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  Chapter 18

  Troubled

  Roman pulled the reins taut in his right hand. General answered in kind and trudged through a wall of chest-high grasses and out onto the road to his house.

  Trees branched high overhead, weaving together in a canopy of myriad colors. Birds and squirrels flitted about, sent into a frenzy by the noise of Tusk’s playful shouts.

  “This is where you live?” Dennah asked, looking around.

  “It’s a little off the beaten path, but I like the peace and quiet,” he said honestly.

  “No, it’s great! Your own little cabin in the woods,” she said with a smile.

  They approached his home with Tusk trotting along behind. Roman’s smile faded. Something was wrong, out of place. But he couldn’t immediately place what.

  “Is there something wrong?” Dennah asked, sitting up straight in her saddle.

  “Something’s not right,” Roman said, not taking his eyes off the small house. Tusk reiterated the sentiment with a deep growl. It wasn’t necessarily what Roman saw, but what he felt. He didn’t tell her that.

  Roman slid gingerly from General’s back, leaving the horse to mill about in the trees. He heard Dennah call out something behind him, but his focus was straight ahead. He mounted the stairs, one hand pressed against his injured side.

  The door looked and felt normal enough as he grabbed the pitted, iron handle. But there was no resistance when he pushed. The heavy oak door swung open a short distance before coming to a stop with a groan.

  “What is it?” Dennah asked. She pressed in but didn’t try to hold him back.

  The door lock was old and simple, but it was strong. The bolt was still extended, and the doorframe was broken, splintered apart as if it had been battered in with a ram.

  “Wait a moment,” Dennah whispered, and held him back as he started to walk through the door. “There could still be someone in there.”

  “Let me check it out,” she whispered.

  Roman moved aside and allowed her to enter first. Her sword slid easily out of its scabbard as she pushed through the door. Roman looked back and found Tusk pacing in the grass at the bottom of the stairs. He kept his eyes locked on the house and refused to come any closer.

  Roman turned and followed Dennah through the door. The house felt unnaturally dark, like the shadows themselves sagged under their weight.

  Dennah walked slowly into his small living-room. The fireplace was cold and dark, and one of his dining room chairs had been knocked over. She turned right and went through the doorway to the kitchen, but Roman did not follow. Instead, he turned left and crept silently towards his bedroom.

  The gloom deepened the further in he went. The bedroom’s single window admitted the only light. The trees outside swayed in the breeze, causing the sunlight to flutter. The shimmering light made Roman unsteady for a moment as the ground and walls seemed to move. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes until everything stopped spinning.

  His bed was unkempt, which was how he left it, but his small chest was in complete disarray. Someone had removed each of its three drawers and dumped them out. Everything Roman held dear was scattered and trampled on the ground.

  Roman scooped his possessions off the floor. None of it had any real value, at least to anyone but him. If they were after his coin, then they would have been disappointed. It was still tied securely to his belt. Then it struck him that they might have been looking for something specific. But what?

  Roman turned to leave but stopped when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. It was a draft, one so cold that his skin instantly started to goose bump.

  Roman reached up and checked the window, but it was shut tight, and he could feel no discernible draft. He felt another cold swell, this one prickling his scalp, followed quickly by the hair on his arms.

  He felt the telltale knot starting to form in his stomach. Not two heartbeats later his insides twisted painfully. The wrenching ribbons of pain doubled him over. He bit his knuckles and leaned head first into the wall, hoping and praying that the pain would end.

  Something moved in his peripheral vision. He could not discern a definitive shape. It could have been a dancing shadow from the light outside, or it could have been something more substantial. A chill rippled over him, and Roman stumbled forward, turning circles in the middle of the room.

  As his fear fought for a stranglehold, the shadows seemed to come alive. Roman walked quickly out of his room and collided with Dennah in the hallway.

  “Mani flail you!” she cried out, quickly lowering her sword point. “I almost ran you through. Is anything missing?”

  “I don’t think so,” Roman said, very conscious of the shadows at his back.

  “That is good. But I would make sure. There is always someone willing to stealing anything from anyone,” Dennah said.

  Roman nodded but walked past her and outside. He felt better as soon as he got outside. Sunshine replaced
the oppressive darkness, and the weak autumn warmth lifted the chill from his skin. He argued with Dennah, but finally relented and let her remove General’s saddle.

  “I can take care of your horse, why don’t you start a fire,” she yelled as she led his horse away.

  Roman hovered on the front stairs, afraid to enter the shadowed confines of his home. He tried to coax Tusk inside, but the dog sat in the grass and refused to budge.

  He refused to put his back to the room as he stooped down before the hearth, but the firewood box was empty. He had been lax on chopping firewood of late. Roman headed outside with the empty box and hefted his father’s old axe to his shoulder.

  His ribs protested when he bent over to lift the wood onto the stump. The firewood was dry, but still he only barely managed to tip the wood into place. Roman kept his arms loose and tried to use the weight of the axe more than his strength to split the firewood. But each time he brought the axe down it merely sunk into the wood and got stuck.

  Roman cursed as he tried to yank the axe free, but only managed to knock the firewood over in the process. He looked around self-consciously to see if Dennah was watching.

  Can’t even chop firewood, he thought dejectedly.

  He managed to get the axe head free, and propped the firewood back up on the stump to try again before Dennah appeared around the corner of the house. Roman made a good show of it. With both hands gripped tightly around the axe handle, he hefted the heavy head into the air. The axe came down with as much power as he could muster, but his left arm twinged and again the axe simply stuck into the wood, with little effect.

  “Are you mad? You’ll hurt yourself,” Dennah said.

  “I can manage,” Roman said defensively and tried to pick up the axe once again, but the pain in his side bested him. Sadly, he had been defeated by a piece of wood.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” Dennah offered, stooping down and picking up the axe.

  Roman felt worthless as he slumped against the house. He was incapable of mounting his horse, and now a girl had to chop his firewood for him. Dennah looked back as she shouldered the axe. He tried to hide his sour expression, but he could tell that she noticed.

  “Remember, I have five brothers. Which means I’ve had to do most of the work,” she said, bending over to stand the troublesome piece of firewood back up.

  “That piece is too thick. Here, let me get you a smaller one,” he said and pushed off to retrieve another piece from the pile.

  Dennah straightened, pausing only a moment to adjust her leather armor. In one swift, decisive, and powerful movement, she brought the axe up in both hands and then drove it down. The axe head broke clean through the firewood, and with a satisfying crack the log fell in two pieces.

  Dennah bent and placed another piece of wood on the stump. The axe head went up and again split the wood in half. She continued until a decent pile of split wood lay on the ground. She abruptly stuck the axe blade into the stump and scooped up an arm full of wood.

  Roman had to admit, he was impressed, and when she stood up to walk back to the house, she cocked her head to the side and winked. Roman couldn’t help but chuckle as she disappeared around the corner, her arms loaded to bear.

  She is full of surprises, he thought.

  With a hitch in his step, Roman caught up to Dennah as she passed Tusk, who still sat vigilantly in the grass, staring at the front door. He gave a soft woof as Roman climbed the steps and went inside. He decided at that moment that he would take the dog down to the river the next day to give him a bath, for both of their sakes.

  Dennah knelt in front of the dark fireplace. She built a nest of dry leaves, twigs, and stripped bark, and then placed a grid of larger sticks over that. Finally, she propped up several large pieces of the split firewood on top. Roman deposited his modest handful of wood in the box next to the hearth.

  From a pocket on her belt, Dennah pulled a flint and small striking stone. With only a few well-placed strikes, she had sparks raining down on the dry tinder. A crackling fire filled the hearth in short order, the warm glow working quickly to break the gloom.

  “You didn’t have to do all of this for me, you know,” Roman said, feeling slightly guilty at all the work she had already done.

  “A simple thank you will suffice,” she said.

  “Then, thank you,” Roman said, slightly awkwardly. He fumbled with something else to say. Dennah poked at the fire and then smoothed out the wrinkles in her tunic.

  “I suppose…you’re most likely tired. I should probably head back now, and let you rest.” She replaced the poker next to the fireplace and turned to leave.

  Roman felt an uncomfortable pinch in his gut, and as she pulled open the door, he suddenly realized how badly he didn’t want to be alone in his own home.

  “Err, wait. Why don’t you stay a while? I could make something to eat,” Roman stammered.

  Dennah stopped halfway through the door and turned, “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “No, it’s no trouble at all. Please stay, it’s the least I can do to repay you for all your help,” he said. Deep down inside, he feared that she would refuse. After all, he was still practically a stranger. Despite all of that, he didn’t want to be alone once it grew dark.

  “Then I accept!” she said after mulling it over a moment.

  Dennah lit lanterns and candles while Roman fetched a handful of potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables from his root cellar. He cleaned and chopped them before lifting the heavy lid of the dwarvish-made cold box. His father had bartered for it from Lucilla and Noble, who had purchased it from a Dwarvish merchant when they passed through Braakdell.

  The chest’s icy secret was in its extraordinary metal lining. Through their uncanny knowledge of metallurgy and alchemy, the dwarves had produced a metal they called cold-steel. It looked like polished iron but remained cold to the touch, even during the warmest of summer months. They used cold steel to line casks of ale but quickly put it to use storing food as well.

  Roman pulled out a lamb shoulder wrapped in waxed parchment. He unwrapped the meat and sprinkled it with dried spices from a tin on his counter. The mixture of herbs and seasonings had been his father’s favorite.

  Roman skewered the lamb and took it into the living room and hung it over the fire. He slid a pan full of chopped vegetables beneath the lamb, so the juices would drip down over them as the meat cooked.

  The house quickly filled with the smell of cooking food. Dennah prowled between the kitchen and the living room, stalking about the fireplace like a hungry cat. She eagerly volunteered to turn the rotisserie for him, while he finished preparing their meal.

  Roman pulled the food from the fire a short while later and carved the meat from the bone. He piled it onto two plates and added a large scoop of potatoes and carrots. Finally, he tore off some chunks of Marna’s fabulous bread, softened by the fire and spread with freshly churned butter. He set the plates down on the table, but as he sat, Dennah disappeared. She reappeared a moment later holding a bottle of wine.

  “I bought this from a vintner in a small village on Lake Madus. His vines grew from roots brought over on the boats from Fanfir. Or so he claimed,” she said. “I was hoping for the right occasion to open it up.”

  Roman filled two glasses with wine as Dennah tucked into her plate. He watched her eat and wondered how long it had been since she had a hot meal.

  He chuckled as she wiped up the last scraps of food with a piece of bread. She pushed her plate away and leaned back in her chair to sip her wine.

  “Wow! I haven’t had such a fine meal since leaving home, my compliments!”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it. My father was fantastic in the kitchen. I guess I picked up a trick or two from him,” Roman said.

  They sat and talked for a long while, refilling their glasses several times. Their conversation lulled, and Roman realized that the time had flown by.

  “Where has the time gone? Do you need to be going? I
don’t want you to get in trouble if you have duties,” he asked.

  “You worry too much!” Dennah laughed. “I get a full day of leave. Half of our crew the day we arrive, the other half the day after. I stood watch the first night, so today is my leave day. Tomorrow…well, I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

  Dennah burst into a fit of spontaneous laughter, and Roman joined in. He didn’t know why they were laughing, but it felt good to let go. The wine had done its job. Dennah leaned forward and lifted the empty wine bottle from the table.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Roman said.

  “Ah, good. To be honest, I needed some time away from the others,” she said, settling back in her chair.

  “I can only imagine.” Roman could tell by the wrinkle of her brow that there was more to it than she made out. A silence settled over them. Dennah ran her index finger over the lip of her glass, her thoughts drawn away to something or someplace else.

  “How was the road down from Lake Madus?” Roman asked finally, breaking the silence.

  “It was easy enough travel. Oh, I saw the ruins from the road,” she said brightening. “Tadd said they’re Dalan. Have you ever seen them?”

  “I have, they’re all along the road…seen them out east too. But I’ve never been up close, heard people say it was bad luck. The Council put an edict on them long ago. Declared that anyone caught looting would be thrown into the stocks,” Roman said.

  “Tadd seems to know a lot about them. He’s a wagon driver by the way. He’s also been through Barden’s Reach. I’ve always wanted to see it.” Dennah stared wistfully into the candle flame.

  “Are you friends with many of the other guards?” The wrinkle of her brow deepened.

  “Just Tadd, he has been a lifesaver. Oh, and Folkvar, he looks after the animals,” Dennah replied slowly, her brow furrowing as she stared at the candle. Roman couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a woman traveling with a caravan full of men.

  “My father once told me that a person cannot truly know what they are made of until they risk pain or worse. To stand up for something, even when they know they will fail. No matter how large or small. Our actions temper character, and we define ourselves, right or wrong, by the strength of our determination,” Roman said suddenly.