by Colin McComb
When Toren put the sheep in that night, I made my way to the barn and said, “Nice day out today, aye?”
“Nice enough, I’d say. The snow has melted from the pastures, and the fields are coming in well.”
“Think the sheep are ready to leave the barn for forage?”
“I’d think so.”
“Good, good. Toren, have a seat. You'll want to sit.”
His face closed, guarded, he sat. “Yes?”
“You claimed the king as your friend, some months ago. News today has it that he has been severely wounded.”
It had been a long time since I’d seen someone keep such perfect control. His voice and hands shook only slightly as he said, “How?”
“One of the King’s Chosen, they say. The queen has disappeared, and one of the nobles is claiming the crown… temporarily, of course, to keep order.” I don’t think I was successful in keeping the cynicism out my voice, but I don’t think he noticed.
“So it's started,” he said. “We should be on the watch for assassins. If they had the audacity to kill the king, what paltry thing would it be for them to come for me?”
“I said wounded, not dead. And who is they? I said it was one of the King’s Chosen who did it, not a group of them.”
The look he turned on me was pitying. “This is a conspiracy, and the conspirators will be rewarded with an empire. I think he's dead, and they're holding the announcement to let Duke Athedon settle comfortably into the regency, to preserve appearances. If the king isn’t dead, it’s only because they need to show him to the crowd and let him name his successor publicly. Maybe they’ve got the queen someplace as a hostage for his good behavior. But no. No, I think he's dead, and Terona will never see his face again. So I’ll be staying here, I think. I’m not done learning this shepherd trade yet. And you know, I think I'd like to know more about what you're doing in those caves.”
“But—”
“Dark times are about to come to us, Ysabel. Lawless times. We may be seeing the end of everything we know. I don’t see any hope now.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded and backed out the door. As I closed the door behind me, I heard him mutter, “You didn’t have to kill him, you bastards. He was nearly dead already.”
I watched the barn door from the cottage, and he didn’t come out for more than an hour, after the sun had set.
I didn’t expect to see him the next morning, and I admit I gave a start of surprise when he came right on time. He didn’t look like he’d slept much. I gave him a nod, and he nodded back, and we got back to the routine, but I watched him walk up the western slope, and he walked like he’d been kicked in the gut. I wondered how close he was to old Fannon, and how much his life was worth now—and I suppose he had been wondering the same thing.
When he came back down the hill that evening, it seemed he’d come to peace with it. I didn’t say anything to him about it. I figured he’d start talking when he was ready. But he never did, and he never left. He just got quieter, more withdrawn, and he stayed that way into summer. I tried to engage him about the project, but it was no use. It was like he was giving up. It wasn't until Midsummer's Eve that I saw him change.
Toren was already off to the hills that morning when there came a knock on my door. I opened it to find a dark young man on my doorstep. He wore a backpack over his rough clothes, and I could see a head of dark hair peeking from over his shoulder—the backpack was a sling, then, for his child. An itinerant father, I thought, a beggar looking for scraps for his child. Hard to believe a face that proud and hard could stoop to begging, but I’d seen stranger things in my time.
“I’ve got some crusts and milk, if you’ll have it,” I said, “but I’ve got no money, nor do I have work for pay.”
“I’m not looking for coin nor scraps,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve heard that there are two old shepherds here, and you’re not the one I’m looking for. Where is the other?”
“Toren?” I said. “He's with the flock, but he…” and it was then that I looked at him closely, saw his scars and the strength in his arms. “Who are you?”
“A mendicant. That is all you need to know for now. Save me the trouble of tracking him across these valleys. It will not improve my temper toward you if I have to hunt for him. You cannot send a message to him before I reach him, you have no dog here to fetch him, you have no falcons or pigeons to warn him, and your fire is only ashes. I mean him no harm, but if I did, you could not stop me, and I would wrench the answer from your skin and blood. So tell me: where does he pasture?”
Something dark in that intensely weary face convinced me that I shouldn’t delay. “He’s in the west pasture. Take the small road past the front gate to where it forks around the central hill, and go west. He’ll be on the slopes of Eagle Rock. Know that he’ll be able to spot you well before you see him. He knows me, he knows the townsfolk, and when he sees you coming, he will be long gone.”
“Though he does not know it yet, he will want to see me. I have traveled long to find him.” He pulled his hand from the door and turned quick on his heel. I closed the door behind him and hobbled for my crook. Though I am old, though I fled rather than fight another magus, that young man wasn’t capable of anything but evil, it seemed to me, and now seemed a fine time to break my spell of cowardice.
As I reached the door, ready to call fires with my crook and set the man ablaze, I could see the stranger passing through the meadows, moving faster on his feet than any normal man had a right to do. And that’s when it all clicked together for me—this wasn’t any normal man. This was one of the King’s Chosen. Was this the man who tried assassinate the king? Even if Toren fled from here, there was no eluding one of these bloodhounds, and the young man with the dead eyes had likely come to kill one of the last parts of the old regime to complete the conspiracy in Terona. He’d come to kill my friend. But I might be able to stop him before he could. Even the knights fall before magic.
I left my house as quick as I could run, hurried as fast as I could up the western slope. I don’t know what I was hoping to accomplish—maybe to give Toren enough warning to hide or set up an ambush, or even (dared I hope) to bring the killer down. Fitting that he'd die in flame, this arsonist of Terona.
For some reason, at no point did I wonder why the boy was traveling with a baby.
I rushed across the open ground, each step sending a small shock up my healing leg, and cursed my age again and again. The earth itself seemed ready to trip me up—my staff caught in rabbit holes, small pebbles turned large under my foot, my cloak caught in the bushes and thistles. I was breathing hard, the sweat standing out on my forehead, and a dim despair came over me as I realized I’d be lucky even to get within shouting range. Halfway to the pasturing lands, a great pain exploded in my ankle, and I pitched forward onto my face.
I clawed my way up, spitting dirt, and realized that my only chance in warning Toren lay in my staff. I took the deepest breath my old lungs could swallow, bit my lip, and levered myself to my feet. I blazed my staff into the sky, launching a flaming bolt a hundred feet into the air, its explosion echoing on the hills. I shouted, “Toren! Run!”
And it was only then that I realized that maybe Dunlop could see that bolt as well. Now I was going to have to come up with a story. I sat back down and tore a strip from my cloak, wrapped it tight around my ankle, and began to hobble back down toward my house. I had to formulate something that'd keep people from talking about this, or figure out a way to make it look like something else. Curse the gods to a piss-soaked hell! If the Council sent a magus to investigate, I'd be found for sure. Likewise, if the knight came back to finish me off after he’d killed my friend, I'd want to have something ready for him. When I returned, I splinted my ankle (again!), finished my preparations, and then sat facing the door, my staff laid across my lap, and waited.
I heard the complaints of bleating of the sheep, and I straightened myself in my chair, ready to trigge
r my surprises. But the tone of the voices that intermingled with the bleating was wrong. I recognized the slight lilt of Toren's northern accent and the flat affect of the knight, and Toren sounded… glad?
I stood quickly and disarmed the traps and opened the door to Toren's smiling face, and the face of the kingslayer.
Toren smiled slightly and said, “Ysabel, it is my great pleasure to present you to Her Royal Highness, Princess Caitrona, and her guardian, Sir Pelagir Amons of the Knights Elite.”
I sat right back down, my mouth hanging open, and the killer stepped into my house, cradling the baby as if it were his own.
Toren said, “The sheep are in the barn. Crosh is watching them for these few moments. Let me put some food together, and I’ll explain what I can.”
When they'd found a seat, Toren sat in front of me and examined my outstretched leg. “When you said that this was a logical place for outcasts and rebels, my friend, I did not think the implications through. The fact that Pelagir could find me within months of my arrival has shown me that I am most certainly not safe remaining here.”
“Did you see my warning signal?” I asked.
“I did, and if you'll forgive me, that's another reason I must leave. You have been here for years, and may be able to explain that. But I am new, and Pelagir and the princess are newer still, and so we must leave. Now. Our presence here endangers you as well.”
I rose and hobbled to the kitchen. “In that case, let me speed you on your way. You'll need food and drink, fresh clothing, and money. I do not have much, but—”
Pelagir handed me five gold coins, more than I’d seen in one place in years. “Take this. I have more.”
“Sir Pelagir tells me,” Toren continued, “that he took no part in the king’s death.”
“I thought the king merely wounded,” I said.
“No,” said Pelagir. “He was to have been killed that night, and some few exceptions aside,” he glanced at the old general, “the conspirators did not generally fail in their tasks.”
“Toren, do you believe him?” I asked, looking at that dark, impassive face.
“Without reserve. He has been cruelly used by those who had his trust, and furthermore, he has held my life in his hands and gave it back to me. He had the courage to do what I could not, acting against the conspirators when none else would. Pelagir, tell him what happened.”
The young man spoke: “Duke Athedon—the man who has now taken the throne—approached me, and spoke to me of honor and duty. He spoke to me of gratitude, and bade me listen to the king and his advisors, and how they appreciate the mortal service their subjects tender them. Not three days later, as I stood guard outside His Majesty’s chamber, I heard him speak to the queen about our lack of ambition, our willingness to be slaughtered for his whim, and he laughed. He laughed at our sacrifice, and I thought then that he was unworthy of our devotion. I sought out the duke and asked him what he planned.”
“Was the queen a part of the plot?”
“Absolutely not,” said Pelagir. “Would she have willingly removed herself from power? She would not have been able to secure an alliance with the Cronen, and no matter her personal faults, she would not have seen her children murdered for her gain.”
“Very well. What did the duke say when you questioned him about this?” I asked.
“He said that he wished to restore honor to the Empire and to the knighthood, to bring back the glory that had been squandered under Fannon and his family. He told me that he scoffed at us for the queen's sake, so that she would consider us beneath her notice, and I believed him. Even then I trusted him. He drew me into his confidence, just enough that I would feel myself to be an integral part of his plot, and so I was. I was to be the scapegoat. It was early spring, months after the general fled because he could do nothing to stop this betrayal.” He nodded respectfully at Toren, who interjected.
“I tried, dammit! Not one of my compatriots proved worthy of my trust!”
Pelagir held up a placatory hand. “Nothing could have changed the course of events, sir. The duke approached you as a formality. You were a piece of the puzzle, but not integral. As long as he could take the army, he did not need you except as a figurehead.”
Toren nodded, half-mollified.
Pelagir continued his story. “I followed one of the duke’s compatriots, a duchess, one night to a meeting I was to attend later. I listened as he and she spoke of their allies in the knighthood, and their dupe who would take the blame. And it was then that I discovered that Duke Athedon intended not to glorify the knights, but eliminate us altogether and form a new force that would be entirely loyal to him and his family, rather than to the Empire.”
“I tried to warn my captain of this, and when he tried to have me killed outside his chambers, I discovered that he was a part of the conspiracy. I escaped, killing two of my brethren. I went to the nursery and slew the assassin there before taking one of the children; I could carry no more and still effect an escape. I left through the kitchens, arrived in the stable, found my courser and destroyed another by overloading the core in its chest so that it exploded, leaving the keep burning behind me. I came west, seeking the one man whose leadership may save us. There are others I trust, but they are not leaders of his caliber.”
“How did you find him here, far from Terona?”
“I am one of the Knights Elite,” he said, as if that answered the question.
Toren said, “They have blamed Pelagir for the king’s death, as we have heard, and so we must assume that they are moving ahead with their plan to discredit the knighthood. What Pelagir has accomplished is the salvation of the royal family, though what good it will do us now remains to be seen. At any rate, we should be moving.”
“Of course.” We rose, and I whistled Crosh to round up the sheep. We began walking back toward the cottage. Pelagir moved quickly, instinctively, his long strides eating up the ground, and he slowed down only with a visible effort. “Before you go, Pelagir, I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“Toren knows about the caves, but perhaps you do not. I received some training as a magus, but I fled Terona in disgrace years ago. I’ve had some time to put together a few odds and ends that you might find useful, and I’ve had the help of a few townsfolk who’re sick of being stepped on by the powerful. They’d help you if you’d help them. Give me the word and we'll put my work to use.”
“No,” he said.
My friend Toren added, “The time isn’t right, and these shepherds and townsfolk will be slaughtered if they try anything. The army will strike hard at trouble spots during the transition and will make severe examples of those who think to take advantage of this time. No. Continue with your livelihood, teach the children, train them quietly, and if we can manage it, someone will return to check on your progress.”
“All right,” I said. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. So nothing now?”
“Not if you value your life. And not if you intend for your revolt to have a chance at success.”
“Fine,” I said, but I was thinking differently. “What are your plans?”
“I can’t tell you that.” He looked carefully at me. “It’s best you not know, both for your sake and for ours. It is one thing that you know our names. It is another thing altogether to know our plans.”
“You’d best be going, then. No time to waste.” I grinned. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
Pelagir stood out in the yard already, the girl on his back, looking around alertly. Toren—Glasyin—took my hands in his and said, “I wish we could have brought something better to you, and if we come through this alive, I’ll see to it that you’re handsomely repaid.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Who knows what’ll happen?”
I had packed food enough for several days, and I bade them farewell from my yard. I stood and watched them walk north, the young knight carrying the princess and the pack, the general—my last true friend—walking along
side. I watched until they were out of sight, and then I went back to explain the fire in the sky.
Epilogue: Into the North
Midsummer, CY 586
The two travelers and their child traveled the road, drawing discreetly to the side whenever carriages or post riders thundered past them. They soon wore a coat of mud despite their care, and it was only the quick reactions of the younger man that kept the face of the baby girl he carried from being spattered as well.
He watched the older man from the corner of his eye as they walked, but then his eyes roamed everywhere even as the rest of him seemed to be at peace. At last, the older man sighed and leaned on his staff.
“You have something to say, Sir Knight. You’ve been waiting to say it since we left the farm, and you’re trying to find a way to broach the subject gracefully. Well, then. We’re not at court anymore. You have betrayed your oath”—the young knight flinched visibly at this—”so you might as well come to terms with it. I suspect you have hardly been thinking of the issue, intent on your mission of finding me or dancing around it, but you should let it sink in. You have betrayed your oath to your country, and you are traveling in the company of an exile from the court, an old general likely labeled a traitor and with a price on his head. I think it’s best that we speak honestly with each other, rather than spare the other’s feelings.”
Pelagir searched Glasyin’s face. “Very well, General. What I wanted to—”
“No,” said Glasyin. “Call me Toren. Not Glasyin. Not lord. Not general. Get out of those habits now. They will kill us if uttered in the wrong ears. You can still call me sir if it will make you feel better.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better. Now what was your question?”
The youth swallowed. “I had not thought past finding you, sir. I am trained to fight and kill. I have studied tactics and strategy. I have read how to build an insurgency. But I don’t know how to raise a child, and I don’t know what to do next.”
