by Aaron Bunce
Something is happening to her! The thought made him sick.
The sensation grew stronger again, and Julian slumped forward. He felt the cold stone of the building against his back. His muscles went rigid, and the blustery white of the storm intensified. He was blind for a moment as a brilliant light stole away the world. A figure appeared from the blinding sea, revolving from the distance until it floated before him.
Julian tried to reach out to Tanea, but he couldn’t see or feel his hands. She hung in the air for a pregnant moment, the airy fabric of her clothes rustling gently. Her eyes opened, locking on him, but in a flash she was gone. The cold and dark flooded over him once again. The turbulent churn he felt inside moments ago washed away, leaving him hollow inside.
Julian tried to make sense of the strange vision, but it felt beyond him somehow. He was too tired to make sense of it. Too tired and too battered. His confusion quickly became anxiety. He needed to do something, and soon.
Julian moved his boots, disturbing the blanket of puffy white that already covered the ground. Everything would be covered long before he could make it back to the camp. He knew that every massing inch of snow diminished his chances of tracking the masked man. The thought enraged him, pushing him further towards reckless action.
Julian squeezed into the corner behind the door, listening and waiting. The cold seeped into his entire body, numbing his aching muscles. He pondered the strange vision, trying to determine what it all meant as large snowflakes settled on his face.
He wasn’t left pondering Tanea’s strange appearance long, before a warm light appeared from the crack at the bottom of the rickety door.
Chapter 24
Serve your conscience
Julian stood quietly, his teeth chattering as he waited for the door to open. His mind wandered to painful memories. He continued to replay the events of the previous night.
How can such a small man be so strong? What power does he hold, and where did he send her? Julian pondered desperately. The beat of Tanea’s heart felt close, even though she had never seemed further away. He longed to hold her close and feel the heat of her skin and the supple touch of her lips.
I will find you, he whispered to the cold.
Julian wiped his nose on his glove and sniffed the air, lavender? And he sniffed, instantly remembering the fragrance of her hair. How could he smell her?
Was it more than just a vision? Julian thought, remembering the strange gems glowing in the masked man’s bracelet. A latched clicked, jarring him back to his cold reality.
The door creaked loudly, sticking briefly within its swollen casement. But a moment later it crashed open, trapping Julian in his corner. He heard a man cough several times. It was a wet, obnoxious sound, made even sicklier when the man spat heavily upon the ground.
Julian heard tinkling glass along with the rattle of something metal. A moment later the cold breeze cut through the gaps in the door, wafting what smelled like pipe past his nose.
The iron-banded barrel groaned, protesting as the man beyond the door settled his weight upon it. Julian’s fatigue melted away, pushed from his body by the promise of action. He could waste no more time.
Julian pushed the door as hard as he could. It crashed closed with a crack, sending wood fragments raining over the powdered snow. Felder Smithhammer, stiff-legged and slovenly, sprang from his perch upon the barrel and turned.
“Curse you! What kind of stupid joke was that? You made me break my favorite mug, you daft, partinger of a goat’s mother!” the smith cursed with fight in his eyes.
Julian looked down and nudged the shards of the broken mug with the toe of his boot.
“And that was the last of my barley wine. Should flog you for…” the Smith started to threaten, but Julian came forward, catching him around the throat. Felder choked as his bulk slapped against the stone, his breath rushing out as a gargle.
“Why did you lie to me?” Julian hissed, their faces so close that their noses almost touched.
Felder’s eyes went wide and swiveled from side to side. The flab of his cheeks jiggled as he shook his head, but he did not speak. His face turned from red to a deep shade of purple before Julian realized that his grip was crushing the man’s throat. He unlocked his grip, and the smith slumped forward, gagging and coughing down a gurgling breath.
“I don’t…I don’t…understand?!” Felder said weakly.
Julian forced his breath in and out, trying to master his anger. Tanea was now even further away, her trail sunk beneath a blanket of ever-falling snow.
I wasn’t seeing things. He knew the mark on the axe. He knows where it came from. The flash of recognition on Felder’s face wasn’t just his imagination playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be.
Without a word, Julian reached down and took the Smith’s hand. He lifted it into the light from the doorway to inspect the thick, crested ring squashed onto his pudgy finger. Julian had just glimpsed it inside, but he saw it in full detail now. He lifted the axe off of his belt. Felder flinched as the weapon rose.
“You said that you didn’t know who made this weapon. Look here, look at the mark. Now tell me, why would it match the crest upon your ring?” Julian asked, his confidence rising as Felder’s eyes grew wide.
“No,” Felder said indignantly. “Can’t expect me to know where every half-pot piece of tin, battle-field garbage comes from.”
“I take this weapon to my commander. I tell him that it and others like it were used by the raiding parties to kill his men. My friends. Then I tell him that it came from you. What do you think they do to you?” Julian asked, clenching his jaw so hard his teeth started to ache.
“I didn’t make it. And I don’t have to tell you anything. I’ve only ever given my service to the Silver, so spit on you.” Felder inflated his chest and pushed back.
“The monsters that attacked our camp carried other strange weapons. Pickaxes. They are mining tools. Am I right?” Julian asked.
“So what if they are?” Felder spat back defiantly.
Julian’s frustration grew. He had to stop himself from striking the stubborn man.
“If you’re quite finished, I have work that needs tending. Now leave me be.” Felder moved to push past Julian, but he shoved the man back against the wall.
“Where would these beasts get mining tools? Why would they be carrying weapons with your mark? You’re going to tell me now!” Julian hissed.
The axe hovered at eye level, and Felder refused to look at it. Julian held his gaze and did not blink. He didn’t move until the older man finally broke down and looked away.
“Did you make these weapons?”
Felder simply shook his head, letting out a deep breath.
“If you did not make these weapons, where did they come from?” Julian asked, his tone softening a bit.
“What are you going to do if I tell you?” Felder asked, his head slumping towards the floor.
“I am going to find their camp,” Julian said coolly. “They took someone from me.”
“I…” Felder sputtered, but then took the axe from Julian and turned it over in his large, callused hands. “Aye, I know who made this, and I know where he is.”
“Go on, where are they? Who would do this, who is it that would help these monsters?” Julian pressed.
“Thaws back, when I was a much younger man, my wife and I came to Craymore from the Booted Hills. We had just married, because of a debt her family owed to mine…” Felder began.
“I don’t have time for a history lesson,” Julian snapped, interrupting.
Felder reached out with both hands and grasped Julian around his upper arms. His hands were much stronger than Julian expected, especially for a man of such soft appearance. “You must listen. If I am going to tell you, then you must understand.”
Julian shook his head in frustration, and punched the wall, right next to Felder’s head. But after a moment he backed off and let the man continue.
“As I was say
ing, we were young, younger than you. We moved here and didn’t know anything about the mountains, or each other, for that matter. Back then Mt. Bahlman was dwarf territory. They mined, smithed and traded with the city. They came into town regularly to trade gems, ore, and weapons for food and cloth. My wife worked in the market and got to know the dwarf merchants. Got to know them pretty good it turns out. My wife ended up with child. The shame I felt when I found out. You must understand we were so young. Life here was different than anything we had ever known,” Felder said.
“That isn’t so strange a thing for two young people newlywed,” Julian retorted.
“Strange you see, because my wife and I had not been intimate together. I was just a kid. I didn’t know anything about women. She hid it from me as long as she could, but I finally put it all together. I had a decision to make. Cast her out as an adulteress, in which she would have been scorned, or beaten, or take her in and claim the child as my own.
“The baby was born a boy, and although he was small, he grew up fast and strong. He wasn’t more than a few thaws old before I started to tell he was different, stalky like me, only worse.” Felder stopped, a sour look lingering on his face.
Julian fought his impatience, affording the Smith a few more moments to finish his story.
“I never forgave my wife, but we raised the boy as our own. The older he got, the more we could tell that he was different. He showed an uncanny knack for working metal, did things even I couldn’t do. But people looked at him weird, and slowly but surely they started to talk. We decided he couldn’t stay, so we packed him up in the wagon one night and took him up Bahlman’s Pass, to live at the dwarves’ mining village in Cottonwood Grove. We figured his own would take him in, but when we got there, it was empty.
“They abandoned the mine and the whole village overnight, even going so far as to tear down most of the buildings, and take them too. We couldn’t take him back to the city. If people found out that he was my wife’s shame, we’d have been out on our backsides, or worse. So he stayed in Cottonwood Grove. We set him up in the lone building left standing. It was a shack really, but it was sound and safe. We took him food as often as we could, but eventually people got suspicious of our trips up the mountain, so we stopped going. His name is Gaston. Greystone we called him, on accounted of his father,” Felder finished.
“He is still there? There is someone living up there, by himself?” Julian asked flabbergasted. Felder nodded his head, but would not look into his eyes.
“This Cottonwood Grove…might there still be mining supplies there?” Julian asked.
“Might’n be,” Felder mumbled, “it’s a fair ways up, though. Half a day by wagon, hard ride by fast horse.”
Julian hooked the axe onto his belt, already turning to run back down the alleyway. It made perfect sense. The abandoned mine, the remnants of a town, it was more than a suitable place for a war party to camp.
From that far up Bahlman’s Pass the raiding parties would have access to both sides of the mountain. From there they could stage their war parties, and attack both the west and the east sides of the city with ease.
“Wait…you won’t tell anyone will you? Please, I beg you!” Felder yelled, but Julian didn’t respond.
He ignored the pain in his legs and the fire in his chest as he ran. He reached the barracks so out of breath that he could not speak for several moments. He roused Sky with a nudge, who had dozed off in a chair by the fire. They rounded up the others together, and after stopping for provisions, took fresh horses from the stable and returned to the camp.
The men protested as soon as he arrived, complaining that he had pulled them from their patrol and that they were eager to return to their duty. Julian silenced them with a look and pulled aside those men he knew he could trust.
Nirnan, Banner, Tristan, Sky, and a spearman named Asofel formed a tight circle around Julian. The men from the patrol edged in closer around them, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“You know that I do not ask this lightly, and I ask that each of you serve your conscience first and foremost. Please think hard before answering. I know where they have taken Tanea, and fated luck would have it, this is the source of the attacks on the city. We do not know how many there will be, but I plan on getting her back. If you think the risk too great, I will not fault you for walking away now. But if you are willing, then I will gladly welcome your help,” Julian said and took a step back.
Julian looked long and hard into each man’s eyes in turn. They looked to each other, but exchanged no words. After a moment of silence, they all stepped forward.
Julian barely contained a smile as he stowed his gear, but when he tried to mount his horse one of the patrolmen grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back.
“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” the soldier barked.
“Consider your next move,” Julian growled as the soldier’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He had come too far and was now too close to his goal to let anyone hold him back.
“This is your station. You cannot leave!” the men growled and came forward angrily.
“Move aside!” Julian moved towards his horse, but the men would not back down.
“I said move aside,” Julian growled. He inched forward until they stood chest to chest. Heat radiated off of Julian’s face, his rage threatening to take control.
The man finally relented. He stepped aside, allowing Julian to mount his horse. The patrol shouted and cursed as Julian and his group rode away, their words drifting harmlessly on the ever-pressing Bahlman winds.
“Hold on Tanea. I’m coming for you,” he whispered.
Chapter 25
Last straw
Roman tried to repay Dennah’s generosity, repeatedly. But she stubbornly refused.
“My needs are few. I will draw pay when the caravan reaches Fort Falksgraad,” she told him.
His pride got in the way, however. He had been living off of the charity of others for too long, so he was determined to pay Dennah back as much gold as he could, despite her resistance to the notion.
He spent his time looking for work, earning what little coin he could. No job was too small, even if it meant shoveling horse manure out of pens or descaling and cleaning fish. With the caravan in town, there was a greater demand for food and drink, and not just for its people, but their large number of horses demanded care as well.
Roman’s side limited him physically, but he also knew he would find fewer paying jobs if people thought he was hurting, so he did his best to hide his discomfort.
The cellar stairs at Marna’s tavern gave him fits, especially while hoisting full casks of ale. He gritted through the pain, and in the end, accepted a warm meal and a few extra silver coins for the trouble.
At the end of each day, Roman tracked Dennah down and gave her the majority of his earnings, leaving only a few coins for himself. He took little rest and pushed his body beyond its limits. Each night he found the unsettling pain in his gut harder and harder to ignore.
Dennah continued to fight him, and on several occasions resorted to dumping the coins back into his pocket when he wasn’t looking. Once he discovered what she had been doing, he wrapped the coins up and stuffed them in her bag.
“We’ll be here for a while,” Dennah said, detailing how Frenin fought against the Council’s food royalties.
“So the farmers pay their tax, and the Earl also claims their food as well? What are people supposed to stock the winter stores with?” Roman asked.
“That is what Frenin fights for. He has even threatened to request an inquisition with the Earl himself. At this rate we won’t be leaving for a while,” Dennah said.
Roman wasn’t disappointed by this news because it meant that his newfound friends would remain in town a little while longer. The night before, Dennah had introduced him to a weather-beaten old wagon driver, who whistled when he spoke. He introduced himself simply as Tadd.
Roman discovered
, after several mugs of ale and a warm fire, that the ancient looking old man had known his father and had also met his mother, many, many, thaws ago.
A young stable hand named Folkvar followed Tadd and Dennah everywhere they went. Quiet and introspective, Roman found he liked the young man instantly.
Roman spent many hours sitting before his fireplace with his new friends, sifting through foggy clouds of pipe smoke and Tadd’s wild stories. Of which, he never seemed to run out.
Roman rarely talked. Instead he preferred to sit back and listen. For the first time in his life, he had real friends. They weren’t there because they felt pity for him, or because they were trying to fill some void in his life. They were there simply because they wanted to be. He looked forward to their time together and often wondered if, in a different life, this is what it would have felt like to have a family.
Their companionship also brought him some sadness, for he knew that as soon as business concluded they would be leaving, and he would return to his solitary life once again.
Roman pondered these things while he shoveled manure out of stables. It helped him to ignore the smell, as well as the bite of the persistent horse flies, which never seemed to go away.
Can I up and leave with them when the caravan is ready to go? There is nothing tying me down. Would the caravan allow stragglers? And what would I do to earn a living?
For every possibility, he only stumbled upon more questions, and with questions, more uncertainty. Roman asked one of the guards about enlistment. But there was no guarantee that Roman would stay with the caravan past the fort at Falksgraad creek. He finally decided to enjoy their company for the remainder of their stay and accept whatever happened afterward.
Roman finished slopping out the stalls and scattered fresh straw over the ground. He leaned against the wall for a moment before he left, waiting for a pain in his stomach to pass.
Roman limped into the caravan camp a short while later and settled onto a log before the fire. Tadd sat against his wagon, puffing on his pipe and poking the hot embers with a stick.
