Chapter 43
Sleeping under a wagon would be a welcome change to huddling against a tree during normal circumstances. It was not the rain which fell during the night which made Rheq curse his luck, but rather that the wagon he picked was slightly downhill from the pen containing the horses and goats. The storm was strong enough that water flowed from high ground to low, and it brought with it whatever was in its path—including animal dung.
At first, Rheq thought those who had slept in the wagon above him had emptied their chamber pots, thereby creating the foul odor which surrounded him. That would have been a harsh jest from the Gymads, and based on what he knew about them, something within their character.
Instead, when his hosts discovered him sleeping in filth, they found the situation even more amusing. Rheq had emerged from under the wagon in time to almost be run over by the tall, thin man who he had met last night. Once those around the area were done laughing at Rheq’s soiled clothing, the man who allowed him to stay asked, “Why pick that wagon?”
“It was the largest,” Rheq answered. “I thought it would offer more protection from the storm.”
The man laughed again and turned to walk away.
The sun was high enough from the horizon to offer light to the Gymad’s camp, though low enough that any direct rays were blocked by the tall maples which surrounded them. Already, the camp was a buzz of activity. Their horses were hitched to wagons which meant that they would soon be on the move.
“Wait!” Rheq called out. “Why are you leaving?”
The man stopped, turned, and responded, “Why would we stay?”
Rheq considered the question. There was nothing here but an opening large enough for the fourteen wagons to create a camp. Rheq was not aware of any villages nearby, though he had to admit his exact location was unknown.
“What about a morning meal?” Rheq asked hopefully.
A puzzled expression covered the man’s face. “We don’t eat until we can see the sun. It’s bad fortune to do otherwise. How can you not know this?”
“My people do not … follow such customs,” Rheq said carefully. Though he knew something of the Gymads, it was clear there was much yet to learn.
“And your people are from where, exactly?” the man asked.
Rheq noticed a few of the other men in the camp slow down or stop to hear the answer. Outwardly lying about his home, could make things worse. After all, from what Rheq recalled, his village had always been on friendly terms with the Gymads. Thinking over the events of the previous night, Rheq realized he had not introduced himself, and neither did he know the man’s name.
“My name is Rheq. I’m from Umstead, though I was recently conscripted into King Viskum’s army. And what shall I call you?”
Each of those watching him reacted in different ways, though a common trait was one of which Rheq would describe as pity.
“My name is Brishen. When was the last time you were there?” he asked. His tone was softer than before.
“A few days,” Rheq said. “I—” Grief hit him hard at that moment. He had been so focused on getting revenge that he had buried the realization of what had truly happened to those he loved. “I— that is, they—”
The tall man approached Rheq. Despite the state of Rheq’s attire and the smell that accompanied it, Brishen embraced him. “We saw what happened. Most of us only heard it. The screams, the pleading for mercy—all of it. Our scouts warned us to stay clear. We did, and fortune smiled on us as those who killed your family and friends did not know we were close. If nothing else, the experience strengthened our resolve not to become part of this or any other war.”
Rheq pushed himself away. “How can you not respond? You said you heard them! No one there earned that type of death. It was beyond reason!”
“Is any war within reason?”
In response, Rheq turned to walk away, but Brishen reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Where will you go, eh? What will you do now?”
Rheq tried to shove off the man’s grip, but it held him too tightly. “I will see my people are avenged. I will find those willing to help me.”
“We will help you.”
Slowly, Rheq faced Brishen. “You? But you said you don’t—”
“Do not misunderstand,” the Gymad said. “We will not attack those who killed the villagers.”
“Then what kind of help can you be?”
Unblinking, Brishen looked directly into Rheq’s eyes. “We can help you become a better you. Join us. There is much you can learn.”
The idea seemed ridiculous upon first consideration, but then it occurred to Rheq that Gymads were known for their defensive combat skills, as well as their knowledge of poisons. These were skills Rheq could use. More than that, he realized that he honestly had no idea where to go aside from heading north. Chances were he would run into enemy soldiers before finding those loyal to King Viskum. Yet, the Gymads never did anything without them gaining something in return.
“What is it you want from me in exchange for your help?” Rheq asked.
Brishen smiled. “Good. You see that everything comes with a price. My price is simple. You have a skill which we lack. Teach us what you know, and we will teach you what we know.”
What I know? What could I possibly know that they don’t? Rheq sensed no deception from the man, but he was a Gymad—traders known for their skills in bargaining. “And what is it you think I know?”
“You can move silently. I have men watching the camp to prevent exactly what you did last night—you approached us without prior warning.”
“Your men?” Rheq clarified.
“Yes, my men,” Brishen said. “Who else would be the leader?”
For that, Rheq had no answer. He doubted Brishen was elected. It did not seem a manner in which the Gymads would select a leader. Maybe he was born to it, or maybe he fought his way to dominance. Regardless, Rheq changed his focus to the other question: why the leader of this group thought that Rheq could move silently. That’s because I can. I’m a hunter and a tracker.
“To be clear,” Rheq said, “If I teach you how I can move silently, you will teach me what you know?”
“It will be more than that,” Brishen said. “You will be required to do those things necessary to maintain camp.”
“But I will have food to eat and a place to sleep?”
This was the bargaining stage, something which Rheq knew he was overmatched. Still, he had to try.
“Food, shelter, and teaching in exchange for your promise to work and show us how to move silently,” Brishen said.
Rheq did not consider long before answering, “Deal.”
Chapter 44
“Chaos is a powerful weapon,” Mistress Halima said to the initiates sitting on the ground before her. “It is one which the enemy employs. That is why we are losing this war.”
It was her final statement which caused the greatest reaction among the women who sat by Danla. She, herself, felt shocked at the revelation.
After the morning meal, instead of working on training exercises to help the initiates further their skills with the green myelur, the diminutive leader told her fourteen trainees to follow her to an open field, just north of the main campsite. Once there, she had instructed them all to sit. It was then that she told them of their situation.
“We’re losing?” Initiate Nya asked. She tugged at the fringes of her long, brown hair. “How is that possible? To my knowledge, our soldiers haven’t lost any battles. Did we not reclaim Iredell?”
Halima folded her hands over her lap. Her response was not to speak at all—a sign Danla had learned to mean the leader wanted the initiates to consider the situation and come up with possible conclusions.
“To know why we’re losing,” Yarma said, another of Danla’s fellow young women in training, “we have to know what we’re fighting for.”
Nya folded her arms across her chest. “Isn’t that obvious? We’re fighting to keep our land sa
fe.”
No, that’s not it. Danla realized there was something fundamentally wrong with the statement—though she could not decipher what was off. Iredell was safe, yes, after its recapture. The cost, as she understood it, to retake the city was not without the loss of life. That is when she made the connection.
“But we’re not fighting to keep the land safe,” Danla said. “We’re fighting to keep the people from harm.”
“It’s the same thing,” Nya countered.
“No, it isn’t,” Danla said. “The land was here long before we were. Who knows, it may be here long after we’re gone. But the enemy isn’t attacking the trees or dirt—they are attacking the people.”
“To what end?” Yarma interjected. “Why spend the resources to arm, feed, and support an army just to kill people. Isn’t the point of war to take something that someone else has?”
Danla considered the statement. Why would the enemy continue to attack villages and homesteads, and then abandon them before reinforcements could arrive? If what Yarma said was true, what would the enemy gain? Often the reports stated nothing was taken from the places attacked. At least nothing physical.
“Mistress Halima,” Danla said. “You stated the enemy is using chaos. Perhaps what they want right now is not land nor possessions. They want to take away something more precious: our freedom.”
The corner of her leader’s mouth twitched. “Why would they want to do that?”
“I can’t speak for everyone else,” Danla said, “but I haven’t felt safe since I heard we were at war. I’m constantly anxious, and I almost expect to be attacked at any moment. It makes me realize how much I took for granted when I was growing up.”
“I feel the same,” Yarma said. Most of the other initiates nodded or vocalized their agreement.
Danla continued, “Perhaps the enemy wants us to feel this way—that we aren’t safe, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”
“But we are doing something about it,” Nya said. “We chase them off with greater numbers after each attack.”
“The damage is already done by then,” Danla said. “People have already died. Word spreads. Fear grows.”
Nya tugged harder at her hair. “That doesn’t explain why they are doing it. What do they have to gain by creating fear?”
Then, at that moment, Danla understood. “I know.” But how to vocalize it? “Mistress Halima, may I try to explain?”
“Please do.” The leader motioned for Danla to stand next to her.
Unfolding her legs from beneath her, Danla stood and then weaved her way to the front of the clearing. Though she was one of the youngest of the women in training, she was not intimidated by standing before them.
“In the village where I grew up, Logs Pond it was called, we rarely had anyone new move to that part of the kingdom. Late one spring, oh, four winters ago or so, several families petitioned to build houses on the edge of town. It caused quite a stir. The idea of having new people live close by was exciting—at least it was to me.”
“I don’t see how this connects,” Yarma said.
Danla did not take offense to the statement. Yarma was as level-headed as any in the group. “It will make sense soon,” Danla said, “I needed to set up the situation.
“It took me several moon cycles of asking and listening carefully, but I finally found out what had happened. Those who moved to our village were part of a small homestead to the west, towards the mountains. It had been an especially wet winter, and with the spring thaw came severe flooding. It wiped out most of their farms.”
“That happened once to my family,” a young woman named Clo said. “We didn’t move. That was our home. We just rebuilt.”
“Aye,” Danla said. “That was my reaction as well—at least initially. I learned that this was not the first time it had happened recently. Point of fact, the land where their farms had been settled were in constant danger of flooding. It became too much, so they left to find a safer place to live.”
“I still don’t understand,” Yarma said. “Are you saying that the enemy wants us to abandon our homes because we don’t feel safe?”
“No, not our homes,” Danla said. “Think about it. Who is supposed to keep us safe?”
“King Viskum,” Nya said. “He directs our soldiers.”
“Exactly!” Danla said. “And if people don’t believe he can keep them safe?”
Nya stopped tugging at her hair. Her expression displayed the grim reality of what Danla had realized. “Then they will follow someone else.”
Chapter 45
The carriage bounced and jostled Nestov, though he hardly noticed. The ride had been smoother at times than others. Friar Janus warned Nestov of the uneven road, but the information helped little to make the ride more comfortable.
“The road from here to the castle in Nothcar was once maintained and well paved with stones,” Friar Janus had told Nestov before he left. “But after the war between our lands, travel reduced significantly.”
Of all the things Friar Janus had told him before he left, the condition of the roads was the least of Nestov’s worries. I’m not ready for this.
“Are you going to keep your breakfast from returning whence it came?” asked the only other person in the carriage.
Brother Mey was dressed in a simple brown robe, cinched at the waist. It was almost an exact copy of what Nestov wore, though the other man riding with him was much larger. While the robe covered the man’s physique, Nestov knew that Brother Mey was strong and quick enough to act as his protector.
“I’m fine, Brother Mey,” Nestov answered. “Thank you for asking.”
The monk laughed. “You certainly don’t look fine. Your face is as white as the purest cloud.”
Both Friar Janus and Abbot Aydomus said that Brother Mey could be trusted, though there were certain things which Nestov should keep to himself—specifically the four mantras he had learned while at the abbey. There are things I can talk to him about. It could help.
“I’ll admit that I’m … anxious,” Nestov said. “Aren’t you?”
“What’s there to be anxious about?” Brother Mey said. “Is it that we are heading to a land which is at war—not with us, thank the light—but with Sothcar? Or perhaps it is because you are the first emissary from Virqyna since our war ended with them. Could it be that you are being tasked with not only gaining an audience with King Viskum, but also you need to persuade him of the threat which we all face? Which of these is it?”
“All of them, I suppose,” Nestov said. And one you did not mention.
When Abbot Aydomus told Nestov his task, he considered the old man to be joking, or mad—or both. I am far too young to be an emissary. Did they send me because I was expendable? Nestov had read enough history to know that in politics misdirection and ulterior motives were commonplace. Was the goal to have him be captured, or killed, to give a reason for Virqyna to attack a land already at war, and therefore vulnerable?
“Hear me, Nestov,” Brother Mey said, snapping Nestov out of his ponderings. “My job is to keep you safe. I made a vow to get you to the castle alive, and that I will do. Though I don’t know exactly what caused Abbot Aydomus to act now, it has to be serious enough for us to take on this task.”
“What have they told you?” Nestov asked. He did not want to reveal anything he should not, but if the monk already knew, then it would not be breaking his vow of secrecy.
Brother Mey parted the thick cloth which covered one of the carriage’s windows. In doing so, beams of white light entered in. “They told me precious little, at least in the way of details. Abbot Aydomus said something terrible had happened. A darkness is approaching—something of which we have not seen in many generations. The church knew this could happen one day, which is why you, and those like you, have been trained.”
“But I’m not much more than a boy. What can I do?” Nestov asked, realizing after he said it how weak it made him look.
The monk turned
his attention back to Nestov. “I know even less about your training,” he said. “Mine has been focused on combat and defense. If I were meant to know, then I would have been told. What I do know is that when the darkness came before, it reshaped the land. Whole populations were wiped out. Humanity’s achievements were destroyed—erased as if they had never been. Nature reclaimed the land. Only in the past several generations have we begun to rebuild.”
Nestov had read of all of this during his studies, though most of the accounts were based on speculation and tales passed down from parents to children. To hear the monk speak with such solemnity of the events—some of which many people believed to be metaphors or parables instead of actual occurrences—made Nestov even more on edge.
“Know this, Nestov,” Brother Mey said. “You were selected for a reason. The abbot is old and powerful. He knows of things we can only guess. You should trust in him.”
“In him I trust,” Nestov said.
“But you aren’t sure you trust yourself?”
Nestov realized that was the heart of his concerns. Lowering his head, he responded, “Yes, I have my doubts.”
“That’s a contradiction, then, don’t you see?” Mey said. “If you trust the abbot, and he says you are the one who can do this, then you can do it. To believe you cannot means you truly do not trust the abbot. Which is it you believe?”
The question brought to Nestov’s mind the last time he saw Abbot Aydomus. He could picture the old man propped up in his bed. With a seemingly large amount of effort, the abbot had lifted a hand and pointed at Nestov. In doing so, he had said, “Darkness is created by many barriers—some stronger than others. The light in the world is beginning to grow once again. There are those who are growing stronger with its power. But something has happened, a dramatic shift in the myelur. A barrier is forming, and with it, a deep darkness. You must find this barrier and eliminate it before what grows in the shadows can once again lead us to destruction.”
“But Abbot Aydomus,” Nestov had said, “I have not been taught how to do what you ask. I have no idea how to recognize this barrier of which you speak, let alone how to rid it from the world. These are not skills I have learned in my lessons.”
Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1) Page 18
