by Jocelyn Fox
“Because he is probably thinking of better ways to honor her memory,” Ramel snapped. He paused and took a breath. “I apologize.”
“No need,” said Murtagh honestly. Mira pressed her head against his leg. “I’m happy to look after Mira while you’re gone.”
“I thought about taking her with me, but she’s not a hunting hound and I don’t know what beasts we will face.” Ramel left his thoughts unspoken and hanging in the room like smoke – he didn’t want to take Mira on patrol because she was his last tangible link to Rye, and though parting from her company would be difficult, it would be easier than seeing her fall to a garrelnost. He didn’t want to be responsible for her death.
“Ari and I will make sure she’s happy,” said Murtagh. Ramel didn’t miss the slight change of tone when Murtagh talked about his partner.
“Everything all right between you two?” Ramel asked.
“Yes,” the Walker replied. “Or, I think so. She slips off sometimes without telling me where she goes, and it’s happening more and more often. At first, I thought perhaps she was seeing someone else…which is her right, if she so desires, but I’d thought she would at least be honest with me.” Murtagh shook his head. “But that’s not it.”
“Perhaps she’s troubled by the disappearance of the Princess and the word of the unrest in the North,” said Ramel.
“Perhaps,” said Murtagh.
“And when I come back will you have your full membership in the guild?”
Murtagh shrugged slightly. “Perhaps.” He smiled. “Not all of us can sail through our trials at the very top of our class and ahead of everyone else.”
“I’d give my sword back to the Queen this instant if it would see them safely home,” Ramel replied.
His friend sobered. “I don’t ever mean to make light of it, Ramel. I’m sorry if it seems that way.”
“No, I know you don’t mean it in the way that I think of it,” replied Ramel wearily. “It’s not through any fault of yours that I am…the way I am.”
“And what way is that?” asked Murtagh, lifting an eyebrow.
Ramel turned back to the bed and put a hand on his Knight’s sword, resting by his pack. They’d danced around this issue for months. Their schedules kept them busy, with Murtagh preparing for his guild exam and Ramel fulfilling his duties as a Knight. The Queen showed him uncommon favor, which made him strangely uncomfortable. No one dared ask him about the story when he sat at the high dais, but the ladies stared at him when they thought he wasn’t looking and whispered to one another in the courtyard. He sighed as he considered how best to answer Murtagh’s question. “It’s difficult to explain.”
“I was always the better of the two of us at lessons, so try me,” replied Murtagh.
“I thought that receiving my Knight’s sword would be the best day of my life,” said Ramel quietly. “The best moment of my life.” He shook his head. “But I feel...frozen. Ever since the battle in the clearing, when Knight Finnead ordered me to abandon them…it’s like I haven’t been able to feel properly since then.”
“I have seen you put yourself through plenty of guilt,” said Murtagh seriously, “so I don’t think it’s that you can’t feel.”
“Well, maybe it’s that I can’t feel any kind of joy. I don’t know.” Ramel shifted restlessly. “I think…I think that I feel like I’d be betraying them, if I felt happy.” He shrugged. “Who am I to feel happy when we still don’t know their fates? Who am I to feel any kind of joy when they could be suffering or dead?”
“If they are dead, they are beyond the pain of this world,” replied Murtagh in a somber voice.
“That’s cold comfort to those of us left behind,” said Ramel. He sat on the bed and stared at his empty hands. “I followed the orders of my Knight, but following his orders also meant he saved my life. How am I to repay that?”
“I don’t know,” said Murtagh. Mira whined and walked over to Ramel, licking his hand.
“If I let myself feel,” Ramel said slowly, “I would just feel how desperately I miss them.”
“Some would say that’s completely natural.”
“What if I don’t want to feel it? What if I would rather not relive what it feels like to abandon the people you love best in the world?”
Murtagh sighed. “I feel like Ari would have better answers for you. She’s better at this kind of thing.”
“I don’t need a healer. I’m not sick,” muttered Ramel, running his hands through his hair.
“I’m not saying you’re sick, I’m just saying that Ari would know what to say.”
“You’re impossibly patient and somehow your love for Ari is irritating me right now. What kind of miserable bastard have I become,” Ramel sighed.
“The kind of miserable bastard who should perhaps be a bit more forgiving with himself,” Murtagh suggested almost gently. Then he grinned and shrugged. “Or just go find a willing lady and have some fun.”
“Tried that. It wasn’t as fun as I’d thought it would be.”
“You’re right,” said Murtagh, raising his eyebrow. “You have become miserable.”
“And a bastard. Don’t forget that part.”
“Technically speaking, you don’t meet the definition.”
Ramel chuckled dryly at that and stood, grabbing his sword and sliding it onto his belt. He swept his cloak around his shoulders and then hefted his pack. “Well, I’m off to load Midnight.”
“How many Knights are going?” Murtagh patted Mira’s head as the black hound reclaimed her seat by the table. She watched Ramel with mournful eyes, as though she understood the conversation. They’d discussed the possibility that she really did understand their speech, since she was part ulfdrengr wolf. Ramel spoke to her sometimes when they were alone.
“A dozen, but we’re to split into three parties of four when we get deeper into the forest,” said Ramel.
“Think you’ll go with the Vaelanbrigh?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“You won’t get far if you don’t learn to speak prettily and smile like you once did,” said Murtagh with a smile.
“I’m not the boy I once was,” replied Ramel darkly.
Murtagh stood. “Let’s not leave it at that.” He took a breath. “I wish you the best of luck on your patrol.” He nodded decisively.
Ramel smiled slightly. “Thanks. And you’d better be a full guild member by the time I get back.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The young Knight paused by the door. “Oh, and don’t let Mira eat too much bacon. She absolutely loves it and will steal it if you don’t watch her.”
Mira grinned, her tongue lolling. She huffed and loped over to Ramel, pressing her head into his hand. He dropped to a knee and embraced her for a moment, memorizing the feel of her warm breath on his neck and the comforting dog-scent of her as it surrounded him. “Be good,” he murmured to her with one final scratch behind her ears. She licked the side of his face in reply. Then she turned and trotted back to her favorite spot on the rug by the fire, watching him with her solemn dark eyes as he opened the door and left her and Murtagh behind.
The patrol left Darkhill before the sun had properly risen. Ramel let Midnight choose his own place in the column, unwilling to play politics with the other Knights. They made room for the black charger without comment. The Vaelanbrigh led them into the forest. Ramel tried not to think of another day, not so long ago, when he had left Darkhill in golden, streaming sunlight, columns of Guards and Knights with magnificent banners arrayed behind them to send off the Princess. He tried not to think of how young he had been. It had barely been more than a year since he’d returned to Darkhill, but he felt as though decades had passed since that day.
He remained quiet throughout the duration of the patrol. If another Knight engaged him in conversation, he answered with courtesy until they tired of attempting to pry him out of his shell. He offered no insult and he took none when the rest of the Knights all seemed to
decide that letting him travel in peace was the best course of action. He participated in the morning sparring sessions, of course, fighting with an intense ferocity that earned him the respect of a few of the older Knights and a few grudging looks of admiration from Knights who were only a few years senior to him. Ramel heard two of the younger Knights talking by the night fire as he slipped by silently to check on Midnight.
“I wonder if he was that good at swordsmanship before the battle,” one Knight said speculatively.
“Stars, if it takes being roughed up by a garrelnost to gain some mystical talent with a blade, I’ll throw myself into the next one’s path,” replied his companion with a chuckle.
Ramel thought about stepping into the firelight and staring at them. He was felt certain he wouldn’t even have to speak any words for them to be intimidated. But then again, he realized that would only confirm his burgeoning reputation as the stoic and damaged hero. Instead, he slid by and vented his frustrations in a whisper to Midnight. The faehal listened intently, flicking one delicate ear at intervals. Ramel wished that he’d brought Mira on the journey and then immediately chastised himself for the selfish thought. When he turned back to return to his sleeping roll, the Vaelanbrigh stood blocking his path. Ramel waited silently for the older Knight to speak.
“Faehal are good listeners,” said the Vaelanbrigh finally, reaching out to pat Midnight’s neck. “Especially when they have seen the same sights as you.”
The Queen’s Vaelanbrigh was not a particularly large Knight – he was truly rather slender, and just barely taller than Ramel, but he emanated a force of presence that overshadowed his slight stature. Ramel had seen the Vaelanbrigh spar in the mornings, and he moved as quickly as a striking snake.
“Staying silent doesn’t particularly suit you, lad,” the Vaelanbrigh continued, unperturbed by Ramel’s recalcitrance. “I remember you as a squire, and you weren’t particularly known for your discretion.”
Ramel winced.
“No, don’t heap more guilt onto what you’ve already shouldered,” said the older Knight patiently. He shifted and a bar of moonlight revealed his eyes to be shockingly green. “That copper hair of yours is rather distinctive, as was your talent and your propensity for speaking out of turn…though that did improve,” the Vaelanbrigh conceded with a tilt of his head.
“I had no idea that one of the Queen’s Three paid such attention to a squire,” replied Ramel.
“I didn’t,” replied the Vaelanbrigh. “Not at first. I was actually interested in your master, Knight Finnead.”
“He was a Knight of singular skill,” said Ramel quietly.
“Indeed, he was,” said the Vaelanbrigh. “Or, I think we may say, is.”
Ramel looked sharply at the older Knight. His eyes glimmered like emeralds in the shadows. “Sir, do you…know something?”
“I don’t know anything in this world,” replied the Vaelanbrigh. “But the Queen saw enough in her mirror-magic to believe that your master and her sister are still alive.”
Ramel swallowed and felt something in his chest pinch painfully. “Did she mention any other?”
“You speak of the bard’s twin. The Queen did not specifically mention her, though I don’t think she had been scrying for the lady.”
Bitter disappointment flooded Ramel’s body with a physical pain. “I understand. The Queen has her priorities.”
“And what are yours, Knight Ramel?” The Vaelanbrigh’s eyes sliced into him. He didn’t understand if the question was a test of some sort.
“I want to know what happened,” he said quietly. “Perhaps that will make a difference.”
“Perhaps it will make a difference in what you feel here,” the Vaelanbrigh tapped his own temple, “…and here.” He rested his hand over his heart.
Ramel shifted uneasily. “Perhaps. I don’t know.”
The Vaelanbrigh nodded. “Honesty. That’s important.” He patted Midnight again and then turned back to Ramel once more. “I hope we find what you seek, lad, but remember that we are all your brothers here. We cannot replace those you have lost, but I think we are tolerable companions in our own right.”
Ramel stared at the illustrious Knight. Was one of Mab’s Three really giving him advice on accepting friendship? “Aye, sir. I’ll…keep that in mind.”
“See that you do, Knight Ramel.” The Vaelanbrigh nodded to him and disappeared into the shadows as silently as he’d appeared.
Ramel spent a few more minutes with Midnight, mulling over the Vaelanbrigh’s words. Then he patted the faehal’s neck and walked over to the main fire, taking his copper mug and pouring himself a glass of the small ale they drank in the evenings on patrol. The four other Knights sitting by the fire paused, and two of them glanced at one another, but when Ramel took a seat they continued the conversation as easily as if he hadn’t surprised them at all.
They traveled deeper into the forest. Ramel tried to recognize the path, straining his memory to the point of giving himself a headache, but the forest had changed in the year since his travels, and it all looked much the same anyway. He silently joined the other Knights at the main fire in the evening, and he began to reply with more than short three or four word answers when they asked him questions. He still felt as though there remained a strange distance that he couldn’t breach between himself and the other Knights, but gradually he found himself regaining the sharp tongue that Finnead had warned him against as a page. Though, he admitted to himself, he’d learn how to temper his witty remarks, favoring the good-natured sting of sarcasm over the slap of an insult.
As the days passed, Ramel thought about what he would do if they stumbled upon the clearing in which the battle had taken place. He decided that he would dismount silently and stare at the unremarkable little meadow, letting his mind recreate the chaos of that night. He would let himself think of whatever he needed to think about for a few moments, and then he’d swing back into the saddle and carry on. He practiced his reaction so many times in his head that he almost believed it had already happened.
At last the Vaelanbrigh announced they would be splitting into the three smaller patrols that had been planned from the very start. Ramel found himself instructed to travel onward with the Vaelanbrigh’s group, along with two other Knights. He was the youngest Knight of the group and only knew the other two from this patrol. Knight Sayre was only a decade or so older than Ramel and one of the other Knights who could match him for witty barbs. Serious Knight Morcant spoke quietly to the Vaelanbrigh of strategy and war fighting, rarely smiling. Ramel rode most of the time with Sayre, who thankfully restrained himself from asking about the object of their search.
They didn’t encounter any garrelnost, or for that matter any strange creatures at all. Ramel was beginning to think that all traces of the evil that had dogged them on their journey to the White City had disappeared, slinking back into the shadows. Then, in the early hours of their fourth day as a smaller patrol, Ramel saw the tree.
It surprised him. He’d thought that they were well past the point on the path where they’d camped in the clearing that fateful night. But as he guided Midnight through the forest, his skin prickled and he thought he smelled the faint scent of smoke on the wind. His faithful charger, too, shifted uneasily, his delicate ears swiveling at every new sound. Ramel knew better than to ignore his intuition, but he didn’t understand it until he spotted the great charred trunk of the tree that Rye had set aflame.
“Sir,” he said, sitting back in the saddle. He didn’t need to touch the reins to tell Midnight to stop. The Vaelanbrigh, at the front of the column, halted and watched Ramel expectantly. With a suddenly dry mouth, Ramel said, “This is where it happened.”
All the practiced reactions he had so carefully rehearsed crumbled, swept away by the sudden conviction that took hold of him. He turned Midnight’s head toward the charred tree. He had to see it.
“Ramel,” said the Vaelanbrigh, “are you certain?”
“Yes,�
�� Ramel said through numb lips. He swallowed. His voice was strangely steady. “There may be bodies to bury.”
“We will build any cairn we must,” said Morcant.
The words escaped Ramel as Midnight walked toward the blackened tree. “Lady Rye was setting a perimeter of warning runes. I was guarding her back.” He put a hand on his sword hilt as they neared the great dead tree, its charred trunk stark against the rest of the forest, pointing like an accusing finger up toward the sky. Several smaller trees around it had also caught fire, and Midnight stepped delicately over their fallen limbs. The new green leaves of small plants unfurled in the ash-rich soil.
“We looked back, and garrelnost had attacked the camp,” he said, hearing his own voice as if from a distance. “Lady Rye changed her rune and set this tree ablaze.”
Sayre reached out and brushed a hand against the black hulk of the tree, sniffing his darkened fingers. He nodded to the Vaelanbrigh. Ramel had no idea what test he’d just passed, but he found he didn’t much care. A strange, buzzing anxiety filled his body. He felt unmoored, dizzy. He wrapped a hand in Midnight’s mane in his attempt to anchor himself.
They filed past the tree. The clearing opened before them, riotously green and lush…but objects flattened the grass in several places.
“We ran back into camp. I found Knight Finnead.” He guided Midnight toward one of the strange hulks. “He was fighting a garrelnost, and I helped him kill it.” He stared down at the sightless eye sockets of the dead garrelnost. A few small scavengers scurried away at his approach, but most of the flesh was gone from the skeleton, leaving the gleaming gray bones. Grass and vines had begun to weave their way through the monster’s ribs. Ramel blinked and looked across the meadow. He felt his arm raise and point. “You should find the body of Guard Halin there.” His hand shifted. “And the body of Walker Orin there.” His mind supplied him with the image of Orin, newly dead, his throat a mangled mess. He wondered with macabre curiosity whether their bodies would be picked clean like that of the garrelnost.
Knight Sayre rode toward Halin’s body and Morcant, without a word, set off to find Orin’s corpse…or skeleton, he supposed. Ramel blinked and then guided Midnight toward the center of the clearing, aware that the Vaelanbrigh shadowed him and not caring. There in the long grass he found the remains of the Princess’s magical tent, collapsed into nothing more than a swath of faded and tattered cloth. A piercing sense of loss punctured him at the sight. He found he couldn’t breathe, much less calmly dismount and stand stoically at the epicenter of the place that had irrevocably changed his life. The Vaelanbrigh drew his own mount up beside him but said nothing.
