Hero Risen (Seeds of Destiny, Book 3)

by Andy Livingstone

  ‘That is true.’ Cannick took a swig of his own drink. ‘And we had heard that you were seeking Brann, but just didn’t know it was you.’

  Garryk looked at Brann. ‘You know there are others seeking you, as I was, but for their own ends.’

  Brann nodded. ‘We know their ends, but not their faces.’

  His father’s voice was grim. ‘I heard of several, though came across but a few.’

  Brann’s interest rose. ‘You met some of them? Do you know where they are now?’

  ‘I do.’ He took another drink. ‘They are where I buried them.’

  Brann nearly dropped his drink. ‘You killed? You?’

  The eyes that met his were implacable. ‘I did what had to be done.’

  Gerens stared with his dark eyes. ‘I can see the family resemblance already.’

  But Brann just stared at his father. He could not imagine the man he had known killing in cold blood. His thoughts must have been plain on his face, because his father sighed, and said, ‘I have done many things for the first time. I lasted no more than a month after the mill was rebuilt before I left the village and came to the South Island. I, who had never been further than the nearest market town since my birth. I have travelled its villages and towns since, chasing news of the son taken from me.’

  ‘But I could have been anywhere.’

  ‘But I couldn’t be everywhere. If a net is cast in the sea, you will catch fish but perhaps never the type you want; cast in just one small pond, and you quickly exhaust the stock; but cast in a lake, and you will eventually find what you seek. So I decided on the South Island, and tried to cover as much as I could.’

  ‘But the mill was your life!’

  The head shook. ‘The family within were my life. Are my life.’

  ‘But you left them.’

  ‘They are safe, and cared for. And I will return to them. I can now return to them.’

  Brann frowned. ‘But you left them not knowing if I was even alive.’

  ‘I had no choice.’ The eyes were still locked on his. ‘When you are a parent, then you will understand.’

  Konall leant forward. ‘You are not a parent, so can we leave that for now?’ He looked at Garryk. ‘Have you travelled north of here? Or close enough to know what is happening there? In particular, the best route to your island?’

  Brann saw his father’s eyebrows raise, and heard Marlo start to apologise for Konall. He held up a hand to placate the boy. ‘It is fine, Marlo. My father appreciates bluntly honest speech.’

  Garryk shrugged. ‘Words are just words. Why use time saying those that are unnecessary, when you could be saying those that are needed?’

  Konall looked at Brann. ‘I like him better than you.’ He turned to Garryk. ‘So?’

  ‘So,’ his father said, ‘you can abandon your idea of travelling through them.’

  Cannick looked at him. ‘How so?’

  ‘There is fighting from Hamm to Marbury.’

  Breta frowned. ‘From where to where?’

  Garryk saw her lack of comprehension replicated on every other face. He sighed, and started to move platters and cups around on the table. ‘I’ll do my best to explain, but it won’t be as clear as a map.’

  Grakk looked at Brann with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Actually…’

  Brann grinned. ‘But perhaps best not here, in full view. Sophaya, I know you have the funds secreted away, but do you have sufficient on your person to negotiate with our host for rooms for the night?’ She nodded and slipped away. ‘We should finish eating and adjourn upstairs once Sophaya has secured the rooms. We have planning to do.’

  Konall gestured to Garryk with a chunk of meat skewered on the tip of his knife. ‘He likes his planning, does your son.’

  The man nodded. ‘Just like his mother.’

  ‘If it helps,’ said Hakon cheerfully, ‘he’s also a right wee devil in a fight.’

  Brann’s father looked at him with a face that never changed expression. ‘As I said…’

  Grakk snorted as he moved past them, his shoulders shaking. He clapped Garryk on the shoulder and pointed at the door. ‘Map,’ was all that the mirth permitted him to say.

  Brann shrugged. ‘It is true.’

  Sophaya returned with news of three rooms, and Brann looked at Hakon, Breta, Marlo and Philippe. ‘The stables have a secure room so the saddles and tack will be fine there, and handy for the horses in the morning, but we’d probably all feel more comfortable if the packs and the weapons we don’t have on us were up in the rooms. Would you mind?’

  The four left without a murmur, and Sophaya led the way upstairs, Brann falling in beside his father at the back.

  ‘They seem to like you,’ his father said. ‘Not that I think they shouldn’t, but… it is good to see.’

  Brann smiled. ‘We have been through much together. Adversity does that, I suppose.’

  ‘Good people do that. Adversity can breed animosity as much as comradeship.’ He looked at the figures disappearing through the door. ‘The girl with the rooms, the four who go for the packs – they do as you bid.’

  He shrugged. ‘I just say the obvious thing, and if it makes sense, why would they not?’

  Grakk’s voice came from behind. ‘He does himself an injustice, father of Brann. A man’s words carry weight if he has a history of making sense while others still ponder or, just as perilously, act rashly.’

  ‘I know he does,’ his father said. ‘I did not speak falsely when I said that he was in his mother’s image.’

  Grakk took his arm, turning him to face him. ‘And now you do yourself the injustice. Your image is in him also.’

  The man frowned, his face settling into it as if to its natural expression. ‘Him?’ He looked at Brann. ‘Like me? Not in any way.’

  Grakk shook his head. ‘More than you think. Consider: when you searched, month after month, you must have encountered setback after setback. And yet you never gave up.’

  The broad shoulders shrugged. ‘Where is the sense in that. Hard times are like a fight against adversity. If a man knocks you down, you get up or you invite him to finish you.’

  ‘And how often do you get up?’

  Garryk was perplexed at the question. ‘Every time, of course.’

  Grakk grinned and slapped him on the back enthusiastically. ‘And there we have it. With the son as with the father. What his mother gave him, the ability to think when all around cannot or will not, has kept all of us alive. But what you gave him, more than anything else, has kept him alive when any other I have met would have died a dozen deaths.’

  Brann looked at his father as the man took in the thought, and saw the magnitude of it take root. He wasn’t ready for a show of emotion twice in one night. ‘Right now, however, it is my mother’s desire to plan that is calling to me, so if we could leave the talking and continue the walking, it would be helpful.’

  They found the others congregating in the biggest of the three rooms they had been allocated and, without ceremony, Grakk spread the map out on the floor. Hakon had brought a jug of ale and passed around tumblers, although Brann noticed that his father took instead water. He did the same.

  Garryk knelt by the map and talked them through a lesson first of geography and then of the turmoil filling those lands. ‘You can see Cardallon, here: broader at the lower parts, where you have travelled roughly along the border between the kingdoms of Saria and Westland, and tapering slightly towards the top. The Northern kingdom, Ragalan, spans the width of the island, from the ports of Hamm and Marbury that I mentioned before, and begins just north of Benorthangeat. Where Cardallon reaches its north coast, the land spreads wide, jutting into the sea east and west and matching the wide southern coast of Alaria. Some say that, before the time of man, this was all one island, and that an irritated god smashed a divide and let it be filled by the sea to separate two relentlessly squabbling tribes of giants.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever the truth of it, crossing The Break from one island to th
e other can be treacherous from the fierce currents entering and meeting and fighting within it, but the distance is short even at its longest point, perhaps just more than half a day’s sailing, and those living on either side became skilled generations ago in navigating its waters.’

  Breta held out her flagon to Hakon and let him fill it while her eyes remained on Garryk. ‘So what is the problem? Surely we just ride to the coast and find one of these expert boatmen?’

  ‘The problem,’ Brann’s father said, ‘is here, and here, and here, and here.’ His finger stabbed at places along the northern end of the kingdom of Ragalan. ‘Devil men, riders with masks, have gathered bands of men, depraved and mad, but mad enough to be heedless of danger in combat and dangerous even to trained soldiers as a result. Mostly they terrorise villages, killing and torturing and leaving only embers behind. When the king’s soldiers are sent to engage them, sometimes they fight and sometimes they run, but the pertinent truth for us is that, if a stranger ventures anywhere into that area, from one coast to the other, they are as likely to be killed by crazed lunatics, terrified villagers, or desperate troops – basically, anyone you come across. It is a hell of chaos, terror and death.’

  ‘Precisely what Loku and his associates aspire to,’ Grakk said thoughtfully. ‘But why?’

  Garryk looked at him in enquiry, but Brann held up a hand. ‘That matter is an explanation for another time. What we need to know now is how we can pass them by?’

  His father shook his head. ‘We cannot. The danger is fluid; in many spots at any one time and with those spots always moving, so you cannot hope to avoid it.’

  Mongoose frowned. ‘But we must try to slip through. We cannot fly over it, can we?’

  ‘We cannot indeed,’ said Garryk. He placed a broad finger south of the east-coast port of Marbury. ‘But we can…’

  Brann smiled. ‘Sail around it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said his father.

  Mongoose groaned. ‘Not again. I think I’d rather face the lunatics.’

  They made good progress, leaving at dawn the next day and following the course of the River Cayd until it angled south-east. They camped for the night at that bend in the great river and, as the sun rose behind heavy clouds, struck out on a direct line for the coast, sighting the sea as the cloud-masked sun threatened to dim its light on the second day.

  Brann squinted and thought he could make out lights glinting.

  His father confirmed it. ‘There is a small fishing town there, more of a village really, but large enough that we should be able to find a boat to take us north if we pay enough. We should press on and make it there tonight.’

  ‘For a man who had never travelled beyond Millhaven for the market, Father, you certainly know your way around.’

  The man grimaced. ‘When you spend your time searching three kingdoms for your misplaced son, you tend to remember where you can find a bed under a roof and not under the stars. Especially during the rainy months.’

  Marlo looked over his shoulder. ‘Which are the rainy months?’

  ‘All but one,’ came Gerens’s sour response from behind.

  Brann laughed. ‘True. And that’s in a good year.’

  It was dark by the time they reached the village – it could not be described accurately as anything more – and they let the horses walk at their own pace down the last slope. A cluster of houses gathered in a curved huddle, as if protectively, around a similar cluster of fishing boats, the light spilt from windows shining from swaying masts and gently rocking hulls.

  Garryk headed for one building, bigger than the rest, that proved to be a tavern, and they left the horses with a lad in the yard at the rear and gratefully eased muscles aching from two days of hard riding onto seats around two tables.

  Brann was beside his father. ‘What is the name of this village?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ He waved to attract the attention of an older woman, thin but with the wiry strength that is formed from years of relentless work. ‘Never needed to know. As long as I know what a place offers and how to find it…’

  The woman reached them and whipped a rag from her shoulder to wipe the table. ‘And how can I help you good people?’ Her eyes fell on Garryk and she straightened with a smile. ‘Well, look who it is!’

  Eleven pairs of eyes turned on Brann’s father. He shrugged. ‘One of the few places I was never thrown out of for asking too many questions.’

  The woman laughed. ‘Only because we like a good story here. So tell me, did you ever find your…’ Her eyes landed on Brann beside his father and flicked back and forth, from one to the other. ‘Don’t tell me…’

  Garryk nodded.

  She beamed. ‘Well, this calls for a celebration. First drink is on the house.’

  Hakon grinned. ‘How many nights are we staying here?’

  Brann ignored him. ‘Can I ask, er…?’

  She spread her arms wide. ‘Of course, ask anything! You are like a figure of legend to me, I have heard so much about you. And it is Cwen, by the way.’

  Brann smiled. ‘Brann.’

  ‘I know!’ she laughed, pointing at Garryk. ‘Him, remember? So, what would you like to ask?’

  ‘We are looking for a boat to take us north, to Alaria. Would there be any men here who would consider it? We would pay generously, of course.’

  ‘I know just the man.’ She turned to face across the room. ‘Ormod!’

  A face with what appeared to be as many creases as years, and both were copious, looked up. Grey eyes in sockets sunken more even than the cheeks below them looked at her with resentment. ‘What?’

  ‘These ladies and gentlemen would like a lift to Alaria.’

  He looked sourly at the group. ‘Piss off. I’m at my dinner.’

  ‘Not now, you old fool. Tomorrow.’ She looked at Brann enquiringly, and he nodded confirmation.

  ‘Where in Alaria?’

  She looked at Brann again. ‘Anywhere suitable in the South,’ he said.

  ‘First bit you come to that’s safe,’ she told Ormod.

  ‘They can pay?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘One hour after dawn.’

  She turned back to Brann. ‘Don’t mind Ormod – he might be a grumpy old sod, but no one knows these waters better than he, and his sons and grandsons handle the boat the way you would expect a family of sailors to do. So, now you can enjoy your meal.’

  ‘And that first round of drinks,’ Hakon pointed out.

  Marlo’s voice piped up. ‘Cwen?’

  She noticed him. ‘Oh, aren’t you a darling? What can I do for you, my pet?’

  He blushed. ‘Will we maybe need two boats? They did not look over big, and we have horses.’

  ‘Oh, pet, you won’t be taking your horses. These are boats built for men and fish, and nothing bigger. We can keep them for your return, or I can buy them from you. There is a trader in Hamm who is making a very good living at the moment selling horses to the king’s soldiers, and there is a regular need for replacements these days.’

  Marlo looked crestfallen, but Konall kicked him under the table and snorted in disdain. ‘Grow up. They are just a means of getting from one place to another.’

  Marlo was about to respond, but Brann cut in. ‘If we can’t take them, we can’t take them.’ He turned back to Cwen. ‘We will pay you to care for them, but if we have not returned in the course of one moon, you may sell them. We do not know if we will return this way.’

  She frowned. ‘You lose out twice that way. I shall buy them from you now, and if I see you within that time, you may buy them back for the same price plus the cost of the feed.’

  Cannick swivelled in his seat at the other table to face Brann. ‘I never thought I’d find myself hungry because my meal is delayed by horse trading in a tavern in a fishing village, but here we are. You won’t get a fairer deal than that, lad. Take it and let the lady do her job.’

  Brann nodded. ‘Seems fair. We will include the saddles and tack, bu
t will take the saddlebags and weapons holsters, as they are personal to each rider.’

  ‘Excellent,’ she beamed. ‘I will deduct the cost of your food and lodgings, and give you the rest before you retire, once we agree a price.’

  And so they found themselves on a slick and cold stone quay in the early morning, looking at the only boat that had been left in the harbour when the rest of the fleet left just as the sun breached the horizon. Ormod sat on a barrel, watching and shouting critically as what must be his two sons and three grandsons busied themselves in readying the boat, working in the unison of a well-practised team.

  The old man held out a gnarled hand without a word as Brann approached, and he placed a purse of coins on a leathery palm creased with ancient rope scars.

  ‘Is that enough, Captain?’ Brann asked respectfully.

  The hand weighed the purse for several seconds. ‘It’ll do.’

  The wind remained favourable throughout the day, and there was still a good hour before sunset when a fishing village, almost identical to the one they had left, came into sight, and Mongoose hauled herself up to peer at it through bleary eyes.

  ‘Please tell me we have not returned to our journey’s origin and must start it all again,’ she groaned.

  Garryk took a rag and wiped her face. ‘The fisher folk spend so much time at sea, they do not consider boundaries on land as much as we do. Over generations, individuals move and visit along the coasts of this sea, mingling with those in other villages and never seeing a difference between a harbour on the north island and one on the south. They see more in common with each community set on this coast than with those of us who live off the land, and marriages and families among those villages probably have formed a breed apart. They have their own songs and stories, their own customs, and their own attitude to building a town or village: it is just a place to rest your head before you sail again. Every settlement looks the same, which can be as comforting in a way as it can be confusing to those as us.’