The Gauntlet Thrown

by Cheryl Dyson

CHAPTER TWO

  THE REDOLIAN

  Toryn trudged beside his Falaran captor as they trod the road through the forest. It was a broad path blanketed with grass and pine needles. Despite Toryn’s current humiliating situation, shackled and prodded along by a damned Falaran, he was happy to be alive after the fiasco of the previous night. It could very well have been him lying dead in a ditch on this fine spring day. Apparently Redwing felt the same, for he whistled tunelessly as they walked.

  Toryn’s sword was tied to Redwing’s pack and his eyes were drawn to it time and again. His fingers itched to grip it once more, and teach the Falaran the folly of keeping him alive. As near as Toryn could determine, were traveling near the southern border of Falara. The road would soon leave Redwing’s homeland and cross into the mountainous northern edge of Terris.

  They stopped at noonday for a brief rest and Toryn suffered the Falaran to stuff a piece of dried lamb into his mouth and wash it down with water from his water skin, although the gamey taste of lamb made Toryn shudder. He studied his captor while they rested. The Falaran was young, but seemed quite fit. There were no signs of decadent living that Toryn had expected to see. A long sword was scabbarded to his waist; its hilt glittered with gold. Toryn would have liked to see the blade. Admittedly, the Falaran could use a bow, but Toryn wondered if he had any skill with a sword. The elegant beauty of the ruby-encrusted hilt did not speak of hard usage.

  Redwing wore a gilt-edged dagger that matched the sword and Toryn thought both would be worthy prizes for him to show off once he returned home. The Falaran wore typical Falaran clothing: leather breeches and supple black boots, and a shirt of wool in a simple buff color. Over the shirt he wore a brown leather vest lined in sheepskin. Stitched onto the right breast of the vest was an intricate design that Toryn tried to examine whenever Redwing’s attention wandered. It was some sort of Falaran clan-symbol, Toryn supposed, and resembled a fighting falcon set on a red shield. Toryn’s interest was also captured by the signet ring Redwing wore upon his left hand. Toryn could not make out the design, but it flashed ruby and gold when the sunlight caught it. Falaran jewelry was prized in Redol.

  Despite Toryn’s disdain, he watched Redwing with grudging approval. The Falaran moved quietly and deliberately. He was no novice traveler. His camp had been well-laid in a rocky bowl, ringed with brush to catch on clothing and rustle upon intrusion. Toryn and his companions had had a difficult time sneaking up to the campsite, crawling inch by inch on their bellies and sliding carefully through small gaps in the undergrowth. Despite their care, Redwing had known of their coming, even though he should have been asleep. They must have made enough noise to alert him.

  Redwing took no chances with Toryn as they traveled, staying far enough behind to avoid surprise attacks on Toryn’s part, yet not so far that Toryn could have fled without Redwing feathering him with an arrow. The Falaran seemed to prefer to keep the bow in his hand rather than carrying it over his shoulder as they walked.

  "Why are you taking me along?" Toryn asked when his curiosity got the better of his pride. He tried to wipe water droplets from his chin with his shoulders, since Redwing had not untied his hands when it was time to drink. Instead he sat far too close as he tipped the water skin gently into Toryn’s parched mouth. Toryn hated to converse with the enemy, but unease about his potential fate prompted him to pry what he could out of the Falaran.

  "Would you rather be dead like your friends?" Redwing asked. "How long before others of your tribe come searching for you and your cohorts?"

  "Why? Do you plan to keep me hostage?" Toryn asked, unable to fathom the Falaran’s motives.

  Redwing snorted. "Certainly not. Not even if you would bring a ransom." Toryn kept his features perfectly blank, neither affirming nor denying the statement while the blue eyes studied him. Redwing shrugged and continued, "I haven’t the time to trade threats and offers with your people, even if they were inclined to let me live after slaying three of your companions."

  Toryn shook his head in confusion. "Why not just kill me, then?" He did not want to die, as Redwing had intimated, but he was curious about the Falaran’s intentions. It simply made no sense to keep Toryn alive.

  Redwing smiled. "Contrary to popular Redolian belief, not all Falarans are bloodthirsty killers."

  Toryn was dubious, but kept silent. He was glad enough to be alive after what had happened to his accomplices. He had not known them well, so their deaths caused him no great pain, but he did not like to see his countrymen slain, no matter their incompetence. Then again, he could also be considered incompetent. He had not been able to kill a lone man with the aid of three others. His brother would be mortified. Perhaps he would get another chance at Redwing and could return to Redol in pride. He perused the Falaran speculatively, a gaze that Redwing did not overlook. He checked the bonds and Toryn felt some satisfaction that a mere glance could provoke a reaction.

  The day turned out to be pleasantly warm. Without prompting, Redwing occasionally paused to loosen Toryn’s bonds and allowed him to relieve himself, although he kept a dagger pressed into the small of Toryn’s back during the maneuver. Toryn held back the need to fight his way free. Sooner or later, the Falaran would become lax. He hoped.

  Toryn considered himself to be a man of some patience, but after listening to Redwing’s tuneless whistling for another hour, his bruised eardrums persuaded him to speak. "May I request some other form of torture?" he asked, stopping suddenly. "Pluck out my fingernails, perhaps? Blind me? Practice your archery on me?"

  "What are you talking about?" Redwing seemed startled by the outburst. He studied Toryn as if assessing his condition. Toryn stood tall, determined not to show any sign of weakness, even though his head pounded with every step and he could feel blood trickling from beneath the bandage to mingle with the sweat of his brow.

  "Your whistling is worse than the howling of a sick cat," Toryn said.

  "I’m glad you like it." Redwing grinned. "Please keep walking." They continued on and he whistled louder and more tunelessly than before. Toryn finally groaned. Redwing’s attempt at annoyance had been amplified by Toryn’s headache.

  "Enough. I will talk. What do you want to know?"

  "I was not trying to force you into speaking."

  "I'll talk. Anything to silence your accursed whistling."

  "Well, if you feel so strongly about it ..."

  "I do."

  "Very well," Redwing said. "Tell me about yourself."

  "My name is Toryn. I am from Redol and I plan to kill you. Let’s talk about you, now."

  "I already know what you think about me."

  "Perhaps I will change my mind," Toryn offered and then chuckled at the absurd thought.

  "More likely you will milk me for information to plan your escape and retaliation."

  Toryn nodded contemplatively. "That, too."

  "Is there anything else we can discuss? Or shall I just whistle?"

  Toryn thought quickly. "You seemed surprised at my mention of Adona. Is it possible we have similar beliefs?" He had pondered the question as they walked.

  "Most Falarans worship Adona," Redwing said, sounding nonplused. "Although the more remote villages still pay homage to the pagan gods of earth and moon, sun and sky. The Brotherhood of the Path built a chapel in Eaglecrest five summers ago. They set up several monasteries in Falara and began teaching. I was trained by the Order of Might."

  "Trained? Trained in what?"

  "Archery," Brydon replied with a grin. Toryn rolled his eyes, but he had to acknowledge that one. "Sword and hand-fighting. Lance skill."

  "I didn’t know the Church taught the military arts. At home the monks teach only the words of Adona and perform ceremonies on holy days, as well as marriages, birth and death rites, of course, and blessings. And there are roaming healers."

  "Redol has only accepted the Order of Knowledge and the Order of Healing," Redwing explained. "The Order of Might consists of knight-priests—trained warriors w
ho fight for justice and honor in the service of Adona. They are the preferred guardsmen for royalty or the nobility and answer to their secular overlords, though their first loyalty is to the Church. Knight-priests in Eaglecrest guard the royal family and keep order in the city."

  Toryn snorted. He doubted Redol would ever allow a militant order of priests to get a foothold there, though if they were truly loyal, perhaps they could be used to fight against Falara.

  "The Order of Might never fights amongst itself," Redwing said as if reading Toryn’s mind. "If Redol established a Brotherhood, they would never go up against the Brotherhood of the Lance, in Falara."

  "What good are they, then?"

  Redwing laughed. "They maintain the laws. They fight bandits, guard prisoners, escort travelers through hostile areas... And they are priests, as well, so they perform the holy offices like your wandering monks. Do you know about bards? The Bardic Order is somewhat less devout than the others. They seek Adona’s blessing through music and song. Bards roam the world, exchanging lodging for song and stories."

  "I have seen a bard!" Toryn exclaimed. "He came to our winter encampment and spent the evening playing pipes and singing. Afterward, he wanted to hear some of our music. Several of the girls sang and we all danced to the old tunes. It was a great time! He wrote many strange symbols on paper while he was with us."

  Brydon nodded. "Writing music, no doubt. Bards always seek new material. I wouldn’t be surprised if that same bard is now singing Redolian songs in the south."

  "What do you mean ‘writing music’—how can music be written?"

  "Each sound has a special symbol. Anyone can read it once they understand the symbols."

  "Can you read it?"

  "Some," Redwing admitted. "Though I can only play the lute and not very good."

  Toryn frowned, mentally scoffing. Read music, indeed!

  Redwing went on. "The Brotherhood of the Book taught me how to read common writing as well as music. The bishop taught me mathematics. I was blessed by the bishop’s own hand before starting this journey."

  "We cannot possibly have similar beliefs," Toryn said, bewildered and somewhat horrified at the thought.

  "Redol seems like Falara in its younger days, before the Church began to flourish. I confess I expected Redol to have more strange pagan beliefs, like Akarska. I thought your people worshipped some sort of bull god."

  Toryn shrugged. "Some do, but the Terrin Church is gaining converts. My tribe observes the old ceremonies during breeding and calving seasons, but we also celebrate the newer holy days, like those in midsummer and midwinter. My people do not gather together often, so we enjoy the feasts. But a few remain who actually believe we were descended from Re, the bull-god."

  "So you accept the concept of the Creator and the knowledge that all mankind is of one spirit?"

  Toryn snorted. "That is for the monks to debate. I don’t sit around and wonder where my ancestors came from when I’m snaring a rabbit or stalking Falarans."

  "You are not even curious? What if your people and mine have the same ancestry? You and I could be related, somewhere far back in the mists of time."

  "I refuse to believe that!"

  "Even so," Redwing said. The idea seemed to intrigue him and he stopped whistling for the remainder of the afternoon. Toryn contemplated it also, though he tried not to. It was an abhorrent thought.

  When they stopped for the evening, Redwing bound Toryn to a tree, took his bow, and announced that he was going to find some meat. Toryn did not care. His head throbbed and every step for the last hour had sent dreadful pounding up into his skull until he thought it would split. He fidgeted with his bonds for a moment or two after Redwing disappeared and prayed, despite himself, that the Falaran returned. Being abandoned for wild animal fodder was not a pleasant prospect.

  In due time, Redwing returned carrying two fat rabbits, which he skinned and dressed. Toryn was asleep shortly after the process began and the rabbits were fully cooked before he awoke. He stirred as Redwing pulled the roasted meat from the flames. Firelight glinted off the man’s golden hair. Toryn’s stomach growled.

  "Aren’t you afraid other Redolians will spot your fire and come for you?" he asked, though he knew the chance of it was slim.

  "No. No one is near for at least two leagues," the Falaran replied and blew on the meat to cool it.

  "How would you know that?" Toryn thought it a very strange comment.

  Brydon smiled. "I have very good eyesight."

  Hilarious, Toryn thought. Redwing shoved some hot meat into Toryn’s mouth, probably to prevent further questions.

  "I feel like a pet cur." Toryn swore after he swallowed a large bite that had burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

  "Would you rather feel like a cur, or a corpse?" Redwing asked.

  Toryn entertained a brief fantasy of throttling the bastard. After they had both eaten their fill, Redwing leaned back against a tree. They listened to the sounds of the night in silence. Under different circumstances, it might have been a very pleasant evening.

  "What do you plan to do with me?"

  Redwing’s face tipped toward him. "If I set you free, what would you do?"

  "Go home," Toryn lied. He quelled the rush of excitement Redwing’s words had brought; odd were the Falaran was simply making conversation.

  "Were you sent by someone to kill me, or did you take it upon yourselves? I know that Redol has no single leader. Was it your chief who ordered it? Or do you have a council of chiefs?"

  Toryn looked away. His clan-chief had not initiated the assassination attempt. In fact, the plan to waylay the Falaran had been cooked up on the spur of the moment and acted upon without much forethought. Toryn had been visiting a neighboring village when news had come of a Falaran with a quest. His companions had been insulting Toryn’s manhood for nearly the entire day, so he had boldly suggested that they go and kill the questor. After much drinking—and despite the scoffing of their elders—or perhaps because of it—the four of them had set off to make a name for themselves. It had been something of a competitive lark until Redwing had turned the game deadly serious.

  Toryn shifted uncomfortably. "I would rather not say."

  "Would your people follow me all the way to Silver?"

  "You’re going to Silver?" Toryn could not mask his surprise. It was a very long distance.

  "Perhaps." Redwing shrugged. "Would they?"

  "Of course not! No one would travel that far. We would wait until you returned, and hope that you did not."

  "Good." Redwing pushed himself to his feet and tucked the leather cloak around Toryn. He spread out a makeshift bed for himself, curled up, and was asleep before Toryn could ask him anything more.