by A. D. Green
Lett scowled at her father shaking her head in exasperation. He shrugged back as if to say ‘what did I do’.
Renco watched it all in silence, keeping the surprise from his face. Old Mao might be a grumpy sod most of the time but he loved his own voice and a willing audience. Something had set him off and Renco wondered, not for the first time, about his companion and friend. Mao had been with Master Hiro long before he joined them both and in all those years had never really said much about his life from before. He had asked Master Hiro about it once but all he got in response was a curt. “Ask him yourself Renco.”
He watched Lett cajoling Mao but could tell from the tautness of his friend’s shoulders that he’d say no more. It was all wind and wasted effort, but Lett persisted anyway. She was pretty stubborn but she was no match for Mao.
Imperceptibly Renco saw Mao tense and knew he would snap at any moment. Nudging his horse forward he manoeuvred between the pair. Mao had a vicious tongue on him and he didn’t want Lett to be the focus of his ire.
Lett’s eyes flashed in annoyance as his horse brushed inside hers but Renco simply shook his head no and she seemed to understand, her demeanour switching instantly.
“Come on Renco, I’ll race you to that elder tree and back.” Lett pointed it out further up the road and Renco turned to look. As soon as his eyes left hers, Lett gave her horse a kick and with a shout of encouragement broke into a canter, leaving Renco behind.
Renco's face creased into a grin. Squeezing his knees his own mare leapt to the chase. He slowly closed up on Lett enjoying the sight of her blonde hair trailing out behind her. He found himself feeling inexplicably happy with life. All too soon they were rounding the elder and racing back.
Lett, shouting excitedly, managed to maintain her lead, then flashed past their little band and whooped in triumph. Drawing her horse up to a walk Lett turned back towards her Da’s little wagon as Renco trotted up alongside.
“That was too easy,” she laughed, as Renco’s horse came to a walk, blowing and snorting.
Renco performed a mock bow in his saddle and grinned back. The grin faltered as he felt Luke Goodwill glaring at him. He wasn’t sure what to make of the bard, which was unusual for him. He was very adept at reading people usually.
Uncomfortable under Luke’s stare Renco swung his horse around and trotted up next to Mao. He was the perfect companion for someone who didn’t want to talk and he could tell Mao sulked still.
Hiro suddenly opened his eyes and blinked a few times in the bright light. Looking about he declared, “We will make camp over there,” pointing to the meadow grass at the side of the road not far from the river.
Luke looked up at the sky. It was a typically perfect day for this early in the autumn, blue skies with a few fluffy clouds up high.
“Plenty of light left,” Luke stated. “Probably enough for another two maybe three leagues. Might even make Longstretch if we push on a bit after dark.”
Hiro ignored the bard, instead steering his horse off the road and onto the meadow grass which ran a hundred paces to the river. Mao and Renco followed without question leaving a disgruntled Luke to trail behind slowly in the wagon.
Renco could see Luke wasn’t happy, whether at being ignored by master or at having to follow along he wasn’t sure. The bard was obviously used to doing things his own way.
They set up camp with practised ease. Luke and Lett had their own routine. In short order the camp was arranged, Renco dropping a final armful of dead branches and sticks into a pile for the fire. Stretching his back out he watched as a group of people appeared on the road out past the elder tree.
Renco had noticed since leaving Greenholme the day before that the road had grown steadily busier and pretty much all the folks he saw headed south.
This group was larger than most with four wagons in convoy and ten on horseback herding a mix of livestock behind them. The last wagon had a big bull tied to the back of it on a long rope. As he watched them trundle south a man on the second wagon raised his arm and waved.
Renco waved back. He drew his senses in and focused them, snapping briefly to see the flow as it ebbed and swirled around him. He could make out the bright signatures of the people on the road, identified almost as an afterthought the young and the old. There were thirty one sparks altogether, ten of them children in or on the wagons.
“Gather round I have news to share,” Hiro declared.
Mao was sat cross-legged on a mat he had unrolled on the ground and so barely moved. Luke and Lett though looked at each other then stopped what they were doing by their wagon and walked into the centre of the campsite.
“What news is this Master Hiro?” Luke Goodwill asked.
“Redford has fallen,” Hiro said.
“Fallen, to whom?” Luke asked. He’d spoken to several bands of people throughout the day. All had been fleeing the north and all told something slightly different. The theme though the same. “Is this that trouble in the north you talked of? These urak the people speak of?”
“The very same,” Hiro replied staring calmly at the bard.
“I’ve been to Redford many times. It’s a walled town and Lord William is not lax in his duties. How could it have fallen?” Luke said. “These urak are creatures from the past, from legend. It cannot be true,” he spluttered.
“I can’t answer for Redford, but the urak are very real I assure you,” Hiro said.
“Who are you old man?” Luke asked. “How do you know these things? You’ve spoken to no one since we left Greenholme.”
“I know these things because Lutico, mage and councillor to Lord Richard at Thorsten, has reported as much to the Council of Mages,” Hiro replied.
Luke turned away walking a slow circuit to his wagon and back, deep in thought.
Renco watched the bard as he went. His skin prickled and he turned to find Lett’s blue eyes staring intently at him. She quickly switched her gaze to Master Hiro then back again. Probably wondering who the hells we are Renco thought.
“So you’re a mage,” Luke stated as he completed his circuit. “That explains some things at least.”
“I’ve just found out. You needed to know so I am telling you,” Master Hiro replied. Renco noted he didn’t correct Luke’s assumption. “You should head south. Soon the north will be infested with urak,” Hiro continued.
Luke laughed. “I’m a bard,” he said by way of explanation. “You expect me to run from the greatest story of our age? No sir. Seems to me the Trinity set me on this path.”
Hiro looked over at Lett, let his eyes rest on her for a moment before staring pointedly back at Luke. “You would take your daughter into war, with urak?”
Luke laughed again, although Renco thought it a little forced.
“Lett is my apprentice as the boy there is yours.” Luke indicated Renco. “Besides she’s a woman grown. Lett can make her own decisions.”
Hiro’s eyes glinted in anger. “You’re a fool. Urak are not men. However bad you think the Chezuan Nomadi are pales in comparison to urak. To them we are nothing more than livestock. I urge you, for your daughter’s sake, go back to Rivercross. March with Twyford if you wish to go north; there will be your story.”
“So you weren’t asleep! Listened to us talking of the Nomadi huh? Well thank you for your concern.” Luke sounded anything but thankful to Renco’s ears. �
�But I’ll not tuck tail and run to Twyford. There will be a hand of bards, probably two hands, all marching north to make their names. Well I’m already here damn it. I’ll not turn back.” His voice rose as he spoke.
Hiro gave him a final stony-eyed stare then shrugged and walked off.
Renco did as instructed and caught up with his master just as he arrived at the river’s edge. There was a crumbled embankment leading down to a stony expanse of shale that shelved off into the waters of the river. It was on this that they ran through their exercises.
Renco threw Hiro his staff and then, stretching himself, crouched into sleeping locust position. He lost himself to the subtle movements of his forms as he flowed from one position to the next.
Renco completed his move gliding into the crane stance before finishing. He bowed to master before twirling his staff around and snapping it under his arm.
Hiro bowed back in the prescribed fashion of master to student, his bow little more than a nod of his head.
Renco was aware they had an audience. On top of the embankment sat Maohong cross-legged. He liked to watch Renco get beaten and was saying as much to Lett who perched on a rock alongside him. Her eyes looked wide and bright.
“That was amazing. No wonder you’re such a good dancer,” she said as Renco’s eyes flickered to hers.
Renco grinned foolishly at the compliment.
Stripping off his outer robe Hiro folded it neatly and placed it on a rock. He stepped lightly into the water until his knees were covered, never flinching from its icy bite.
Renco followed his example, removing his jacket and woven shirt, leaving him stripped to the waist. His chest and arms were lean and well-muscled from the countless drills and exercises Master Hiro put him through. He felt Lett watching him and was suddenly self-conscious of her attention.
Wading into the river after his master Renco tried to clear his mind. Where had his inner calm gone from his earlier exercise? A gasp and intake of breath came from behind. It was Lett and Renco turned to see her staring in fixation at his back.
Renco coloured, embarrassed as he realised she looked at his scars. Scars that crisscrossed his entire back, the cuts and welts healed into hard ridges. Lett’s hand had risen to cover her mouth. Did his scars disgust her so?
The next moment Renco’s foot was gone, taken out from under him as he took a step. He rolled into the icy water and back up onto his feet in one smooth motion whipping his staff around in front of him. The cold shock refocused his attention as water sluiced off his head and body but the expected follow through from his master did not land. His ankle smarted from where it had been clipped and hooked.
Master Hiro stood calmly leaning on his staff, looking unimpressed.
At that, Hiro launched into an attack and almost caught Renco across the head. He managed to step away bringing his staff up to crack against his master's just in time. It was an unusual opening. Normally Renco was the aggressor at the start of their sparring.
Master Hiro twisted his staff and looped it around to smack against Renco’s as he brought his up to block before seamlessly whipping it back around and across. Renco blocked again, then again, and again.
The speed increased and their staves blurred and then suddenly Renco’s foot was hooked again and down he went into the water. He surged back up barely blocking a thrust in time. He snapped his staff out pushing back hard against his master.
Hiro took that power and used it, letting it spin him round and down. Jabbing with the butt of his staff he connected with Renco’s wrist, pulling the blow at the last moment.
Renco flinched; the strike smarted numbing his hand. Stepping back, keeping his eyes on his master Renco flexed his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. He glanced to the bank and saw Lett watching him, her eyes large in the fading light.
When Renco awoke it was dark and he was lying on the river bank. His head throbbed in agony and he groaned. He lay a while trying to control the pain, slowly gathering himself. Finally, lifting a hand he gently probed his head. He grunted. A line of fire burnt across the side of his skull where master’s staff must have connected with him. It was odd. Usually he could sense the blows coming even if he couldn’t stop them from landing. This though, he hadn’t seen or felt.
He was chilled and a stone was digging into his back. It was time to get up. With a moan he gingerly rolled onto his side and pushed himself up. His clothes lay on the rock where he’d folded them and next to them his staff. It took him entirely too long to get dressed.
“I don’t like him very much,” Lett said from the darkness.
Renco turned carefully, head pounding, to face her. He could see her dark silhouette outlined where she stood atop the embankment and wondered how long she’d been watching him. He should have sensed her but his head was so sore he couldn’t focus on even the simplest of things.
“He almost killed you,” she said. With a rustle she bent and jumped down the bank landing with a crunch onto the shale.
Renco grunted. Her voice was too loud. His head pulsed like it was going to explode.
“And your back Renco, by the lady it’s a mess. What he’s doing to you is wrong. I know he’s your master but it scares me how he treats you.”
Renco would have shaken his head no except it hurt too much. She grabbed his arm then and hugged herself against him. He could feel the softness of her breast against his arm and the sweetness of her breath against his cheek, a pleasant interlude from his agonies.
“Look, you should come with me and my Da when we leave. You don’t have to stay with that vicious old goat.” She declared. “Mao could come too, he tells a story almost as good as my Da even if he is a grump.”
Renco made it to the bank and Lett helped as he clambered up the side. Closing his eyes to dull the pain behind them they shot open as Lett’s hands latched onto his backside as she pushed, roughly heaving him up the side. Scrambling up next to him she grabbed his arm again holding on to him tightly.
Renco plodded slowly back to camp, using his staff to lean upon on one side, with Lett stuck to his other, nattering all the way. He didn’t really listen to her chatter, instead concentrating on placing one foot ahead of the other.
It was a slow journey and seemed to take an age although in reality it was probably no more than a minute or two. Renco’s headache deepened with every step until finally, blissfully, he found his sleeping matt by the light of the fire. He sank gratefully onto it, rolling onto his back eyes closed, breathing slowly.
“I’ll leave you be. Think on what I said,” Lett whispered. “I hope you feel better on the turn.” With that she was gone.
The last thing he remembered before falling into a blessed sleep was Mao chuckling in the darkness.
Chapter 57
: Life and Death
“Very good Nihm, you’re doing really well,” Marron said. They had walked the hundred paces from the roadside to the river bank, wading through the meadow grass separating the two. In her right hand Nihm leaned upon the staff Lucky had cut for Morten whilst Morten himself stood to her left, his arm hooked under Nihm’s for support.
Mercy walked beside Marron and watched everything. She never seemed relaxed Marron observed, not like back at the Broken Axe. Not since… well not since the night she’d almost lost Nihm. The night Mercy had lost two of her companions. I guess I’m not much better Marron conceded; at least I still have my daughter.
Nihm had been very shaky when
she started out from the back of the wagon but the further she walked the steadier she became. Marron thought Nihm would tire but instead she seemed stronger, more coordinated. It was baby steps still, but just to see her standing almost unaided made Marron's heart sing. She was going to be all right.
The dogs cavorted around Nihm, Ash and Snow barking excitedly at her every step, bouncing around like puppies despite standing almost to Marron’s hip. Thunder and Maise prowled in a wider circle, quieter more watchful.
“Go on away with you both.” Marron shooed at Nihm’s dogs, clapping her hands at them. She couldn’t help but smile at their joy, it matched her own. It was a miracle to Marron. To think a few days ago all was lost and Nihm dead but for the dying, and yet somehow here she was alive and walking. She would thank the Trinity but knew it was the Order that had saved her daughter not the gods. Her Order, who had raised and shaped her and to whom she had pledged her life.
“You can make it, you’re almost there Nihm,” Morten exhorted breaking into Marron’s train of thought.
“Ig gow,” Nihm replied, her brow damp with sweat. She took a step and her foot snagged in the long grass. Morten tightened his grip on her arm but she caught her own stumble and righted herself with barely a grunt of effort.
Then with her next step Nihm broke free of the meadow. She had made it to the river and stood on the beaten track that followed its winding path, the ground flat and smooth from the barge horses that sometimes helped pull the boats back up to Thorsten.
Nihm shrugged off Morten’s grip a wide smile on her face, wanting to stand unaided. She took in the swirling expanse of the river. It was wide and dark, its waters placid. To the east a small skiff low in the water was about to disappear around a bend. It had been overloaded with people when it passed them by, all watching with grim faces apart from a few children who seemed oblivious to their plight and waved vigorously.
Marron hugged her daughter. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. She caught sight of Mercy out of the corner of her eye. She was looking back towards the wagon, the scar on her face puckered and stretched as she frowned focusing on something. Marron let go of Nihm to look just as she heard a loud splash behind.
