by M. M. Perry
Gunnarr pursed his lips.
“You’ve been seen,” he said simply.
“Yes,” Cass admitted.
Gunnarr watched her silently. All thoughts of sharing his feelings with her fled his mind as the one thought rang repeatedly in his head. She’s been seen.
“Fortunately for me,” Cass said, “I was seen far away from here.” Then she grimaced as fresh pain shot through her head.
“Son of a mongrel,” she cursed closing her eyes tight against the pain. When she could open them again she saw Gunnarr standing there, arms crossed, face dark.
“Look. I’m fine. I’m a warrior. So are you. We both know that this is a dangerous life. I’d still be risking my life every day, whether I was seen or not. I’ve never let it influence me before,” Cass said, “and I’m not going to start now.”
Gunnarr did not uncross his arms. Cass knew she hadn’t convinced him to let her go. She sighed, and reluctantly revealed more of what she knew.
“The vision the seer had,” she said, “it didn’t include my death. So I know, for certain, that not only do I recover from my grave injuries,” she gestured at her new scar, “but that I don’t die when the vision comes to pass, either. I swear this to you.”
She turned away from him, indicating the conversation was over. As she walked away, Gunnarr spoke up.
“Selina. It was Selina who saw you, wasn’t it? That was the vision she had that made her decide she no longer wished to be a seer.” He was not asking Cass; he was telling her. It all fit so cleanly, he knew it had to be true.
Cass stopped. She looked down at her hands for a moment. They were covered in the scars she’d picked up during more battles than she could count. She turned them over and looked down at the palms; rough calluses ran between the index finger and thumb of her right hand. She touched them for a moment thinking on the life she had chosen, of all the people she had helped, of all the adventures she had over the years.
“I imagine I would have led a safer life, had I not been seen, or at least had Selina not told me what she saw,” she said with her back to Gunnarr. “I imagine it would also be a lot duller, sitting around a house, looking out the windows and dreaming of what could have been while raising a brood of my own.”
She turned and looked at Gunnarr then. “But I imagine that Cass would never have met any of the wonderful people I have, like you. Not all visions are portents of doom, Gunnarr, even if they may seem so at first glance. Sometimes the vision a seer gives you sets you on a path you would never have walked otherwise,” she said enigmatically.
Then she walked into the camp, leaving Gunnarr staring after her.
Cass strode into camp just as Inez was tossing aside her rotten apple.
“Are we ready to go then?” she asked with as much enthusiasm as she could produce with her head throbbing.
“Are you sure you are up to it?” Viola asked.
Cass rubbed her head.
“It hurts. But I suspect an enchanter like you can whip up something to take the edge off,” Cass said.
Viola nodded ardently as she began pulling vials from her vest. Callan approached the fireside, adjusting his pants as he did. When he saw Cass standing there, unaided, he smiled happily.
“Wonderful!” he said clapping his hands. “Now we can be on our way.”
“Yes, we can. But you should have really been on your way hours ago,” she said.
“We would have been. But our employer refused to leave,” Gunnarr said as he began packing gear.
Cass turned toward Callan, her eyebrow raised.
“Really?”
Callan rolled his eyes and mounted his horse, eager to get going.
“Don’t make too much of it. I paid for two warriors. I want my money’s worth,” he said, feeling like he needed to downplay his decision. He didn’t feel he deserved it much, given how he’d wanted to order them to leave her, right up until that last moment.
Viola, finished with her mixture, handed Cass a small bronze bowl with a thick, milky substance in it. Cass upended it and grimaced.
“Dreadful,” she said. She snatched Nat’s water cup from his hand and used it to chase the vile tasting medicine.
She swallowed several gulps before handing the cup back.
“Well then, let’s leave this place behind. I’m sure I won’t be the only one glad to see the last of it.”
Chapter 12
By the time Cass’ headache dulled from splitting to simply nagging, Chulpe could be seen in the distance. It was nestled high on the side of a large mountain, one of countless behemoths that made up the Razorback mountain range. Long, snaking roads could be seen tracing their way up the mountain to the stronghold from far into the distance. As Callan looked up at the majestic city he couldn’t help but compare it to his own kingdom of Faylendar on the other end of the Razorbacks.
The two cities were not all that far apart, sitting at either end of the shorter east to west run that made up the northern Razorbacks, but the longer north to south range of the mountains that lay between them was virtually impassable by land. The mountains thrust so high into the air that not even the griffins attempted to migrate over the peaks. The only creature Callan knew of that ever traversed the peaks was the high flying teeton bird, which had long ago been domesticated as a messenger bird in the area because of its unique ability to summit the Razorbacks. The peaks themselves were ice-shrouded wastelands devoid of life, though popular myth held that ice dragons lived in the peaks of the mountains, and in ages past would descend on the cities of Chulpe, Faylendar and the smaller villages that peppered the foothills of the Razorbacks to terrorize their inhabitants. Callan doubted there was any truth to these tales, since there was no mention of the beasts in any of the official histories in his libraries.
Aside from both abutting the Razorbacks the two kingdoms shared little in common with each other, differing greatly in both architecture and culture. Faylendar, Callan’s kingdom, was situated on a vast plain of alternating grasslands and forests, several days ride from the Windbreak Mountains, the local name in Faylendar for the east reaching spur of the Razorbacks. The range didn’t figure very largely in Faylendarian custom or myth, being so far distant as to barely be discernible on the horizon on a clear day. The city was sprawling, the buildings spread out with wide avenues between them and large tracts of uncultivated land between the single story homes and shops. Callan’s castle was the largest building in Faylendar, and it had only two floors. Whenever someone needed more space in Faylendar instead of building up, they built out. Most of the homes in Faylendar were made of wood, as the forests surrounding Faylendar were full of fast-growing trees that produced excellent timber. The squat, sparsely spaced buildings that made up the city stretched all the way to the waters of the Sorrows Sea to the west, where long docks were cast like fishing lines out into the sea hauling in boats from all over Tanavia. The weather in Faylendar was temperate, and the people there dressed in loose fitting linens and sandals.
Callan was hard-pressed to see any similarities between Chulpe and Faylendar. The high altitude forced the people of Chulpe to dress in warmer clothes, fur lined and thick. Plant life, except for the grass that blanketed the Razorbacks, was scarce in the mountains, so there were few sources of pigments. Over time, the scarcity had led the people to value dyes highly, and it had become a cultural imperative in Chulpe to dye every bit of clothing, from their caps to their boots and socks. Sporting an undyed bit of clothing was akin to letting the world know you were a pauper in Chulpe, so nearly everyone in Chulpe bustled around their frigid kingdom wrapped in cheery colors, making the folk a delight to watch as they moved about their daily tasks. With the hard stone of Mount Fang behind and around them, the people of Chulpe did not have the luxury of space to spread their buildings out as did the people of Faylendar, so they built up. They did so with stone quarried directly from the mountain surrounding them, creating tall towers of buildings, sturdy and cold looking while slowly,
over generations, carving out a bit more space from the mountain for their city to claim. The people decorated the buildings with more of their dyes, painting brilliantly vivid murals on the sides of their houses.
While Faylendar was primarily an agrarian society, the people of Chulpe were hunters and ranchers. The mountain range they lived in housed vast herds of razorbacks, for which the mountains were named, a tough mountain dwelling goat that the Chulpeans hunted and raised for milk, furs, leather and meat. The razorback’s thick, soft coats made excellent clothing for the people of the colder climates. The huge creatures weighed in at almost a ton when fully grown. Domesticated female razorbacks roamed fenced in pastures and were milked every morning. They were a hardy species and bred so successfully year round that the Chulpeans didn’t need to domesticate them for their meat and fur, instead choosing to hunt the wild razorbacks for that.
Although the bulk of Chulpe’s exports were made up of products created from the plentiful razorback population, it wasn’t the only things the citizens of Chulpe had to offer. Deep mines burrowing into the mountainside where the city met the mountain produced a range of valuable metals, which the Chulpeans smelted into ingots and sold to the many traders that visited the kingdom looking for materials to make armor and weapons.
Callan hoped he might find a message from home was waiting for him in the city, and he relished the idea of being able to send word to his wife about his progress. Once they reached Chulpe, they would only be two days’ journey from Oshia’s Temple. The temple itself could appear in many locations, some actually closer to Faylendar, but would only do so if the supplicants approaching it satisfied Oshia’s requirement that they undertake a long journey to find it. However, they would need the king of Chulpe’s permission to continue up the mountain and through Coterman’s Pass to get to the Valley of Clouds on the other side, where the temple should appear for them. The king of Chulpe was within his rights to request something of the party for his permission, a tradition that hailed from the kings of old that the Chulpean monarchy had carried down through the ages.
“The city looks so small from here,” Nat mused as they travelled along.
“That’s an illusion created by distance and the sheer size of the mountain behind it. The city is really quite large,” Callan said turning his gaze from Chulpe to Nat. “I’m not sure if it has as many people living in it as Faylendar, but it certainly must come close. At least, it should, from what I remember of the smell.”
“I think the smell comes from the goats, not the people,” Cass said.
“It doesn’t really matter what it’s from, it’s horrendous,” Callan said snippily, “and not something I’m looking forward to.”
“It isn’t so bad,” Viola said, “I think you exaggerate a little, your highness.”
“You only think that because you’ve never been to Faylendar. You can keep a city that size clean and hygienic, if you put some effort into it,” Callan said.
Cass was beginning to understand why the kings of Chulpe and Faylendar might not be on the best of terms.
“Perhaps it would be best to keep those sorts of comments to ourselves when we’re asking the king of Chulpe for a favor,” Cass said diplomatically.
Callan snorted.
“Trust me. Regardless how cordially we treat him, he won’t just let us through Coterman’s Pass until we do something for him first.”
“Well, in my experience, that’s true of every king,” Cass said, “They never just do anything for you for nothing. They see every request as an opportunity.”
Callan had nothing to say in response to Cass’ comment. It was true. He himself had asked warriors to do little jobs for him whenever they showed up at court requesting this or that favor or indulgence. Now that he was in the position of being on the other end of that transaction, with his wife’s life on the line, he questioned the wisdom and fairness of such a thing.
“You know, I think I’ll change that. At least while I’m king, I won’t require warriors to perform some task whenever they ask me for a favor,” Callan said, “so long as the request is reasonable,” he quickly added.
“How magnanimous of you,” Inez said sarcastically from her little wagon.
Callan ignored her, and the travel-weary group trudged on in relative silence. In a few hours they came onto a more open area of land. Only a smattering of scrappy trees grew here, leaving room for smaller brush and grasses to grow. A wide road coming in from the west curved north and away from them towards Chulpe. Callan was grateful to finally hear his horse’s shod feet clop against the paving stones of a real road. The sound signaled civilization to Callan. If he hadn’t been pressed for time to reach Oshia’s temple, Callan would have started by taking a ship to Meldor, a seaside city that had the advantage of having a well maintained road that went right from it to Chulpe.
The rulers of Chulpe had built the road years ago, knowing that they would need to encourage trade by facilitating travel to their mountain city. The road kept fresh vegetables, roots and fruits coming into the city on a regular basis, something the people of Chulpe needed badly since the soil in the mountains wasn’t particularly fertile. The wide road passed by several farming communities, small ones that mainly existed to provide for Chulpe, that had cropped up after the road had been constructed.
Callan had decided against traveling to Chulpe by way of Meldor for a couple reasons. Foremost, the old woman had insisted that travelling to the tavern at the edge of the plains was essential to getting a warrior who could help them. The other more practical reason was that unfortunately it would have taken several weeks to travel by sea to Meldor this time of year, weeks Callan felt Melody simply did not have. This time of year, the Sorrows Sea would be in a particularly tempestuous mood, and storms of ship-sinking magnitude were not uncommon.
Now that he thought on it, there was also the fact that there was a god to appease in this undertaking. Ever since Cass informed him that Oshia required a long and arduous journey before he would deign to see any worshippers, Callan became fairly certain a posh junket in a well-stocked ship, followed by an easy jaunt up a well-maintained road dotted by villages and inns wouldn’t satisfy Oshia. The god might have sensed that Callan had cheated him of his required journey and moved the temple just to spite the king.
Callan was realizing just how fickle the gods could be. The required journey to get to Oshia was only part of the payment required of those supplicants who approached him. One thing Callan’s wise men had made sure he knew was what exactly what the king would face once he arrived at the temple. Callan shuddered when he thought on some of the stories his wise men had relayed to him, but then quickly steeled himself. He was determined to go through with the journey, no matter the cost.
Whenever he felt doubt and fear about his impending audience with Oshia creeping in he simply needed to think back to his last visit with Melody to banish them, her soft hand reaching up weakly to touch his face as she begged him not to go. She had been so frail; her cheeks sunken, her normally bright eyes dim, her movements sluggish. One moment remembering her in that condition, and Callan knew he would pay whatever price was demanded to make her whole again.
The group began to encounter other people, few at first, but more as they traveled on the road to Chulpe. They caught up with and passed huge wagons laden with goods for trade in Chulpe, while other people burdened with the Chulpean goods, some in wagons and some afoot, passed them going the other way. Some travelers were overloaded with heavy furs on their backs or in their wagons. Others escorted piles of iron ingots and some finished weaponry. Nat watched all the passersby with great interest. He had seen traders come and go from Faylendar, but they dealt in very different goods.
“I wonder if any of these carts come from Faylendar,” Nat asked contemplatively.
“Not any of these,” Callan said looking around. “These foodstuffs wouldn’t make the voyage. It would spoil long before it got this far. But if you see anyone carrying texti
les or grains, then those might come from our kingdom. Those are our chief exports to Chulpe.”
With each passing mile, the road became more crowded with travelers. Individuals and families moved along the road at a brisk pace, weaving between the slower moving traders, hurrying to get to the city while the markets were still open. Merchants’ stalls began cropping up on the side of the road, selling things at a far higher price than the markets in the city, hoping to convince travelers that buying from them at a higher price was worth the time and effort they’d save compared to making the trek all the way up the mountain. Most people passed them by without a second glance, but enough weary travelers considered the winding road that climbed up the mountainside and stopped to shop at the roadside that it was clearly a profitable trade.
When they finally reached a larger congregation of merchants and houses near the base of the mountain, the city of Chulpe loomed high over them, near enough to make out some details of its architecture. Although it seemed quite close, the steepness of the mountain required the road to zigzag up the mountain for another ten miles, ensuring the grade of the road was passable for everyone, even those lugging carts of goods.
Cass and Gunnarr trotted into the heart of the settlement, a small market. The prices here were still steep compared to those they’d find in the city proper, but they weren’t nearly as bad as those of the road merchants. Cass hopped off of her horse and approached a man standing near one of the merchants. He looked very pleased to see her.
“Driscol!” Cass said loudly as the big man walked over and embraced her in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground.
He was huge, easily as tall as Gunnarr, though much rounder. His bulging stomach caused his clothes to strain with every movement. He wore a heavy leather vest lined with thick fur. His arms were bare, and were as thick around as most men’s legs, strong muscles bulging beneath a generous layer of fat. As he moved, his boots made a metallic clicking as they struck the road’s paving stones, as if they were made of steel. On closer inspection, Nat saw heavy spikes protruding from the bottoms, leaving small holes in the ground wherever he walked off the road. Aside from a dagger that had such a sharp curve to it that it almost looked like a sickle, Driscol was unarmed. The hilt of the dagger was encrusted with deep blue jewels and looked to be made of, or at least embellished with, highly polished silver. The man’s skin was dark, a rich ebony color, and his face was almost completely obscured by his bushy, black beard. The hair on his head was as bushy as his beard, and the only thing keeping it from making his head look like one big ball of hair was a heavy tie gathering it into a ball at the back of his skull. His teeth and eyes looked all the brighter in contrast with his velvety black skin.
