Fire Heart

by Dan Avera

  “Ah—my commander. He leads the Raven Knights.”

  Clare's eyes widened. “The mercenary band?” Will nodded. “Then...are you Willyem Blackmane?”

  Will laughed, surprised. “Well, yes. You've heard of me?”

  “Only over the last few months, but I've heard stories in the towns I've stopped at.” She shook her head and smiled. “Some I don't know whether to believe or discount as drunkard yarns. Is it true you took Brightstone with only twenty men?”

  “Well, no,” he said slowly, “I scaled the wall with twenty men and then opened the gate for Castor from the inside.” Clare knelt down close to him, her eyes alight with the excitement of a child listening to a bard. “He had a hundred men with him.”

  “And did you really kill a dragon?”

  Will laughed, wincing as his chest throbbed. “Well...a sand dragon? Yes. A real dragon? No, I, ah... I don't think they exist. But if I ever find one to kill, I'll be sure to let you know.”

  “Wow,” she breathed, still grinning, and rather than the disappointed frown Will had expected her eyes seemed to twinkle with even more interest. “An honest hero. Well, now it's even more of an honor to have met you. For someone to have accomplished so much so young...”

  “Eh, not exactly,” Will chuckled, and Clare raised a questioning eyebrow. “I'm not sure I'd say young. And I'm even less sure I'd say hero.”

  “What are you, twenty-five? Certainly no more than thirty, and I'd say that's fairly young. You can't be older than me.”

  Will laughed, thankful that she had not pressed the subject of his heroism. “You make it sound like you're an old woman,” he said with a grin. “I, on the other hand, am almost forty years old. So a fair amount older than you, I think.”

  Clare gave him a funny look. “Not by much.”

  “What?”

  “I'll be thirty-eight in...” She thought for a moment. “No, wait, the summer solstice has already passed, hasn't it?” She chuckled. “Goodness. I'd completely forgotten.”

  “How strange.” Will shook his head and laughed. “We have the same nameday.” He didn't add that they were, in fact, the same age. What are the chances? he thought. “You know, sometimes I imagine I'm beginning to feel my age...but I never really do.” He shrugged. “I still feel like I'm just past manhood.” He laughed and waggled his fingers mystically. “Maybe I'm immortal!”

  Clare joined in his mirth. He decided that she had a beautiful laugh. “I know what you mean,” she said. “I'm starting to think that maybe it's because I'm supposed to hunt down the yaru that killed my city.” She smiled at him, and winked. “Maybe it's destiny, and once they're all dead I'll simply fade away in a puff of smoke.”

  “I would certainly hope not,” Will murmured, thinking that she had a lovely smile. But he must have been staring, because a moment later she cleared her throat and looked away, though her smile remained. He mentally slapped himself. “So...would you happen to know how far away we are from Prado?” he asked after a moment.

  “No,” she said slowly, thinking, “but we're about a half-day's walk from the village where you were sleeping. I'm sorry—I don't know this area very well.”

  Will nodded. “Well, if you can get us back, I can get us to Prado.” He started to stand.

  Her hand was on his shoulder immediately, pressing him down. She was quite strong. “Not yet,” she said. “You're in no way fit to walk around, and I'm certainly not going to carry you.” She said the last with another wink. “We'll stay here for another day or two while you recover, and then we'll move.” Will opened his mouth to protest, but she arched an eyebrow and he shut it with a snap. “Not yet,” she said again.

  She stood and walked over to the fire. Next to Will's things she had laid her own—a battered rucksack, a sheathed longsword, and a sheathed dagger. She dug around inside the pack for a moment before pulling out several strips of dried meat and a small loaf of bread, which she broke in half. Will's stomach growled, and he suddenly realized how hungry he actually was. Clare tossed a few pieces of meat and half the bread to him. “Thanks,” he said, and then proceeded to ravenously wolf down the much-needed food. “I don't suppose any of the horses made it out alive?” he asked between bites.

  Clare shook her head and said, “The yaru got them all. They never leave anything alive.” She pulled a waterskin out of her pack and drank deeply, then corked it and tossed it to Will. His right hand shot out reflexively, and he winced as the impact of catching it sent lances of pain up his arm. “Sorry!” Clare said, looking chagrined. “I wasn't thinking.”

  “It's fine,” Will replied with a somewhat forced chuckle. “I'll live. I think I'm going to have to train myself to be left-handed for awhile.” They ate in silence for a time. “You know,” he said quietly, staring off into space, “I raised that horse from a colt. Funny, but I never really felt much of anything for him until now.” He chewed on a piece of meat thoughtfully. “I kind of miss him. I guess you never really realize what you have until it disappears, huh?”

  Clare said nothing, and after a moment he looked over at her. She was staring at the untouched food in her hands. “I know that feeling,” she said softly. And then, after a pause, “What was his name?”

  Will laughed, startling her, and she gave him a look that suggested he might have hit his head too hard. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “It's just—his name was Horse. Creative, right?” He laughed again, and after a moment Clare joined in. Their mirth slowly died away, and they lapsed into silence once more.

  Grim nudged Will's wrist with his nose, startling him from his thoughts. He looked down to see the warhound's eyes locked onto the piece of dried meat in his hand. “So how did you come about running with this mangy mutt?” he asked, tossing the meat to Grim.

  “I was part of the First Rank,” Clare answered. “They were...I guess the elite of Dahoto's guards. I don't really know anything comparable around here. Anyway, each soldier in the First Rank gets assigned to a warhound. Or got assigned, I suppose. We had to raise them from pups so they would find it favorable not to kill us and eat us somewhere along the road.” She indicated Will with her piece of bread. “That's why I find it so strange that he's taken a liking to you.”

  Will scratched the dog behind the ears, chuckling as one massive leg began to thump the ground in ecstasy. “What was it like?” he asked.

  Clare looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Living in one place. Having stability. Killing people for the right reasons.”

  Clare laughed. “Killing people for the right reasons? That's all up to interpretation, really. Stability was nice—I got paid to protect people, and that always felt good. Staying in one place?” She laughed again. “You have no idea how often I wished to be a traveling mercenary. It gets old, being in the same city year after year. I only ever left Dahoto for any length of time once, when King Seriperco called for soldiers to fight in a campaign against a Karkashian army. I was only out of the city for three months, but it felt wonderful to be somewhere else. I spent most of that time covered in blood and filth, but still. I...I guess I got what I wished for in the end...no, I can't think like that. I didn't want any of them to die.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Will after a moment. “I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty.”

  She waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I know. It's just me. I want to help people, and instead everyone I knew is dead and there was nothing I could do.”

  “Well, I really can't thank you enough for helping me,” Will said with a smile. “Saving me, rather. I'd be dead if not for you.”

  She smiled back at him, her eyes searching his face. “So what is it like to be a mercenary?”

  Will laughed aloud and leaned back, planting his hands on the ground behind him. Spikes of lightning shot up his arm and he quickly sat forward once more. “Well,” he said with a grimace, “shall I begin with eating mouldering food? Or perhaps with getting paid just enough to get by?�
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  “But the Raven Knights are famous now. I heard about your exploits and I'm from the Westlands!”

  Will nodded. “True. It is much better now—evidenced by my clothes.” He looked down at his ripped and tattered raiment and raised an eyebrow. “Well, what were my clothes, anyway.” He huffed a sigh. “And they were my first new pair in two years. Oh, well. My thanks for the patch job. But yes, we do get paid more and now the food isn't so moldy. We only just recently took Prado, and its people seem to like us better than the taen who ruled it. Fame is awfully powerful.” He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then turned away. “Truth be told, though, I miss the old times—even the raggedy clothes and terrible food.

  “There's something to be said for sleeping under the stars every night with a hundred of your comrades, knowing that you can trust each and every one of them with your life. There is one you'll meet, his name is Hook. He can't talk because somebody cut out his tongue, and he looks like a Belahan straight out of a faerie story, but he's one of the best men I've ever met. He has saved my life so many times that I've lost count. And then there are Castor and Katryna, who are like family. Katryna especially. She and I have been together for ten years...” He trailed off, smiling softly as he lost himself in thought.

  “It must be nice,” Clare said quietly, “to have so much companionship.” There was sadness in her voice, and Will looked back at her.

  “Well, if you'll stay with us, you can have that too.” He shrugged. “I know it won't replace the people you've lost, but there are good people in the Ravens. And Katryna will absolutely adore you. We don't have very many women, you know.”

  Clare laughed. “Oh, my. What will happen if one of your lonely men sees me and can't control himself in my feminine presence?”

  Will laughed, but it was a humorless one. “I'll break his skull.”

  Clare raised an eyebrow, her mirth evaporating, but Will grinned at her.

  “We have too many men now. Sometimes they need a little culling to make them remember who runs the Ravens.” He winked at her. “Don't worry, they won't try anything with you. I promise.”

  Clare shook her head slowly. “Why is it that you would do all these things for me when we've only just met?”

  “Well, you did save my life.”

  Clare cocked an eyebrow, but looked away and did not pursue the subject. “So this Katryna,” she said quietly, her voice taking on a strange tone that Will could not identify, “tell me about her. She is special to you?”

  “Oh, yes,” Will said softly, and for a moment the image of the Eastland girl flashed across his mind. “She...she and I have been through a lot together. Even Castor doesn't know the full extent of it.”

  “You have been with her for ten years?” Clare asked, her voice still carrying that strange tone.

  “Somewhere around there,” Will answered. “We hopped mercenary bands together for years until we met Castor. Then he fell in love with her, and I've been tied to him ever since.” He smiled. “Not that I regret it, of course. I'd already made up my mind to stick with him.”

  “Wait,” Clare said, “is she your woman? Or Castor's?”

  Will barked a laugh that made his ribs protest painfully. “Oh,” he said with a wince, “I don't think anyone can claim Katryna as his, but Castor is as close as it gets. She thinks she's got him wrapped around her finger, but...I think it's more the other way around.”

  “Oh,” Clare said, and Will looked at her curiously.

  They lapsed into silence for a time again, listening to the birds flit and sing overhead. “You know,” Will finally said, “if there is anything I can do for you—anything at all—I'll do it. I'm in your debt.”

  Clare laughed, and he noticed with no small measure of confusion that when she spoke, the strange inflection in her voice had vanished. “So knightly,” she chuckled.

  Will grinned. “No knights in the Southlands, I'm afraid. Only the Westlanders have such lofty morals.”

  “Regardless, there's really no need for that,” Clare replied, smiling shyly. “It's enough that you're taking me to Prado. And...and that you're helping me get revenge.”

  Will smiled back at her. “Tell me about your family,” he said.

  She stared at him for a moment, her face an unreadable mask. “They were very kind,” she finally said. “My father was a blacksmith. My mother helped him with his work. I did too, when I was little.” She looked away, staring into the depths of the fire. “She said to me once, 'Always follow your heart. Do what you want to do, even if people laugh at you for it.' She and my father were so proud when I became a soldier.” The memory brought the hint of a smile to Clare's lips. “People used to talk about her behind her back because she wouldn't act the part of a lady. Her hands were thick with calluses and she had the arms of a man from working a bellows all day. She never listened to any of those idiots, and once, when I beat another child for making fun of her, she beat me as punishment. Said that if I was going to hurt people, I'd better have a damned good reason.”

  She stood, still staring into the fire. “My father once put a group of beggar children to work for an entire day. They wanted food, and he gave it to them, but he made them earn it.” She looked at Will, and her face was glowing. “I was friends with them for...well, until the end.” She turned her gaze back to the fire, and Will saw tears glisten on her cheek. She wiped them away fiercely. “What about you? What's your story?”

  “Well,” said Will, “mine is actually fairly boring.” He shrugged. “My parents were normal people, I guess. Hardworking. They were millers. I suppose that's the reason I became a mercenary—I got sick of being a miller.” He chuckled. “My father was always pushing me to leave and make something of myself, too. Apparently I did.”

  “Where are they now?” Clare asked.

  “Still back in Farenzo. Well, my mother is, anyway. Father died about...six years ago, I think. Old age.” Will looked up at Clare and gave her a half-smile. “The last thing he said to me was, 'You are going to change the world.'”

  Grim suddenly began to snore, and both Will and Clare burst out laughing. “I guess we bored him to sleep,” Will said, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.

  “You know, I haven't talked about my family to anyone since they died,” Clare said suddenly, and she came to sit down on Grim's other side, facing Will. She scratched the warhound behind his ears and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. “Thank you,” she finally said.

  Will nodded silently and rubbed Grim's back. He chanced a glance at Clare, studying her from out of the corner of his eye. Spirits above, but she's beautiful, he thought, and he looked at her again—studied the gentle curves of her lips and the slender lines of her face, the fierce edge to her expression that belied a softness underneath. He found, to his bewilderment, that he could not look away.

  Eventually her emerald eyes rose to meet his. “What?” she asked with a tentative smile.

  Will tore his gaze away and attempted to hide a smile of his own. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I was just daydreaming.” Beneath his hand, the massive warhound whined in its sleep. Will patted the beast gently. “Just daydreaming.”

  Six

  Keth, after many long years, finally gave his gift to the world: death.

  “Look at them,” he mused privately to himself. “They seem so unhappy down there—so disillusioned with life.” His travels around Pallamar had given him all the perspective he needed to make his decision.

  And so it was that life became finite. Now all living things would eventually return from whence they came: the Void, that dark place of eternal beauty that spawned the Titans themselves. And Keth, his work finished, turned away with a smile.

  But he did not see the first man to watch his child die from fever; he did not see the man's anguish, nor his confusion—not until it was too late.

  ~

  They stayed in the clearing for four more days while Will slowly recovered his strength. It wa
s infuriating being able to move around for only a short time before his strength gave out, and it was humiliating to have to have Clare do all of the heavy labor. Never before had he been so weak and helpless, and it made him feel angry and embarrassed and worthless all at the same time—especially when she and Grim were gone for long stretches and he was left alone wondering at their whereabouts.

  On the first morning she had disappeared for what Will guessed to be nearly a belltoll, and he had worried she had gotten lost or hurt herself. She came back, of course. She had been to a creek a short way away, where Will realized she must have bathed. She seemed even more beautiful to him now without the sheen of traveler's filth, and on several occasions he caught himself staring at her. Before meeting Clare his thoughts of women had always been more of idle curiosity than anything, but now, to his surprise, he found himself fantasizing about how smooth her skin must be, and what it would feel like to run his fingers through her hair.

  She caught him looking at her every so often, and their faces would turn red with embarrassment as Will snapped his head in the other direction. He was always unsure of what to say, having never before been interested in a woman enough to court her, and he desperately wished Castor were there to guide him through the process. Castor had a remarkable knack for charming women. He would know exactly what to do.

  It was the work that was the worst, though; using his muscles was something he was good at. He would have been comfortable helping Clare with fetching the water or gathering sticks for firewood, and perhaps he might have found the courage somewhere along the way to tell her how beautiful she looked. But whenever he tried to get to his feet the strength in his leg gave out, and if he used his arm to do anything even remotely laborious an agonizing ache would form from the tips of his fingers all the way into his chest.

  Clare didn't seem to mind, though. In fact, Will was sure it bothered him more than it did her—often, whilst in the throes of a foul mood, he would see her looking at him and trying unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.