Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1)

by Kameron A. Williams

  This is a work of fiction. All names, places, characters and events are products of the author’s imagination.

  Copyright © Kameron A. Williams 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN-13: 978-1530321056

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  “He was still too young to know that the heart’s memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and that thanks to this artifice we manage to endure the burden of the past.”

  Gabriel García Márquez

  1

  ZAR WAS SO EXHAUSTED he could hardly move, and so infuriated he could barely keep still. His dear friend, Asha, had forced the conundrum with one of her poorly timed and increasingly regular tirades, a childish and inappropriate tantrum that ended with them both being chased out of the city. What angered Zar most was that having to fight for his life to escape Sirith was completely unnecessary, and all because Asha couldn’t behave.

  It was after a time—a time that felt far too long to Zar—that the shouts of the guards he’d left bleeding and cursing behind them had diminished until there was naught left but a susurrus of curses in the wind. Zar only stopped running when he couldn’t hear them at all, when the last whisper had ebbed from his ears like a lonely echo fading into the distance. The road from Sirith had never seemed so long.

  “One day that’s going to get us killed!” Zar yelled, bowed over and panting. “You think it’s funny, is that it? Aye, Asha, very good, very funny! You laugh until were dead!”

  Asha poked her lips out smugly, but said nothing. She had stopped with Zar to wait for him as he caught his breath, but now that he was yelling she continued down the road without a sound.

  “Oh, you’ve nothing to say now,” Zar continued. “You made quite the fuss in the city, but now you’ve nothing to say? Perhaps you should help next time—since you like starting fights!”

  Asha remained quiet, though Zar swore he saw her shake her head, ever so faintly.

  “What do you mean, no?” said Zar, marching up behind her. “You started it!”

  Asha stopped for a moment, looking back at Zar as if to object.

  “Well, I may have said a few things,” Zar admitted, “but you went too far!” He pointed a finger at his friend and glared. “I enjoy a good scrap as much as any man, but I don’t want to be killed because you can’t control yourself!”

  Asha turned from Zar and started down the road again, her pace markedly quicker than before. It looked as if she meant to leave the man behind.

  “Wait,” Zar called, running after her. “Wait! Let’s go together!”

  Asha kept up her pace and didn’t look back even once.

  It wasn’t long before Zar was out of breath again, doubled over and heaving on the roadside. “Leviathan,” he squeezed between gasps. “I won’t run another step! You’ll stop and you’ll stop at once!”

  Zar struggled on, yelling breathlessly, growing all the angrier as his friend trotted gingerly in the distance. “It’s because of me that we made it out without being killed! Very well! You want to be on your own? Next time you’ll be on your own!”

  The two detoured from the road and into the trees as the sun moved over Snowstone in the west. They moved through the forest until dusk. The rocky hills of the west began to level out to the broad, grassy plains of Fairview Meadow. From a hilltop, they could see the meadow in the distance, its cottages spread sparsely over the field.

  Bedimmed in the twilight, the beautiful green fields were spotted with hues of yellow and violet. The barren, but still beautiful chur trees stood tall above the road, and Zar could hear the flow of the brook that ran throughout with clear, refreshing water that seemed as cold in summer as it was in winter. The two hadn’t seen the meadow for years, and they slowed their pace to soak up the sweet air that wafted from the fields and smelled of a royal flower garden. Zar smiled when he saw the small, winding path that led down to the cottage. The cedar stable was still standing strong behind the house, and Zar swore he could already smell the smithy that was built alongside it—that distinct aroma of smoked leather and burnt steel he had come to relish. His feet seemed to tingle as he led Asha back to the forge where it was warm. He led her in, pausing a moment to soak up the warmth, and glanced about to see what had changed. It all looked the same.

  It wasn’t long before he found himself staring at the coals glowing brightly in the hearth, and random memories of times spent in the meadow danced wildly in his mind. It was his friends, his family that always brought him back to this place. It was because of them that he called the mainreach home, though he was only able to enjoy their company between his coming and going. When the sun rose over the horizon it was only Asha whom he never had to part with.

  “It looks as if we haven’t been gone a day. It’s all the same as when we left, isn’t it, Asha?”

  Asha was too busy making herself comfortable to listen. She had curled up in the corner nearest the furnace, lounging in its heat.

  “I take it you’ll be resting here for the night?”

  Asha paid the man no mind, settling her head down and closing her eyes.

  Zar shrugged. “Until the morning, then.”

  He left the forge and came to the cottage door—the blemished, weather-worn wooden door he had returned to countless times after a season of adventuring. It was that door that always seemed to mark the end of old adventures and the beginning of new ones for Zar. As he raised his arm to knock, he paused a moment, pondering what the mainreach might have in store for him now that he was back. Aside from Tiomot’s corruption and the ever-growing influence of Snowstone, his adventures in the mainreach had been quite delightful; delightful for Zar, of course, was not so delightful for other men.

  His knuckles struck soundly against the old maple door. He knew his friends hadn’t yet left for Gara. Besides Dancer and Dalya being in their stalls there were plenty of weapons in the forge, and the coals he had just stared into were red-hot and recently attended. He could hear shuffling inside.

  “Who knocks?”

  Zar smiled. His old friend had approached the door.

  “Why, it’s your only friend, old man.”

  “Zar?” Barek’s voice sounded from behind the door, and Zar heard a softer voice, Shahla’s, coming from inside with excitement.

  “Is it Zar?”

  The door flew open swiftly, and a stocky, black- bearded man with a rough, bronze complexion appeared in the doorway and shouted, “Zar! Bring your swordslingin’ hide in here! Leviathan! We haven’t seen the likes of you for years!” The man eagerly grabbed Zar, and pulled him, almost violently, in from the night.

  Zar embraced his old comrade. Shahla ran to the door, leapt onto him and clung on firmly. Zar smiled brightly as the woman hung on, and he swung her around in a few circles as she laughed and screamed out feverishly. She had grown into a woman, and Zar marveled at just how different she looked—though he was careful not to let his face show it.

  “Where were you off
to? We half thought you were dead!” said Barek, who had jumped to a corner of the cottage and begun rummaging through chests.

  “Oh my,” Zar taunted.

  “No, truly,” said Shahla, looking at Zar with wide eyes and a full smile.

  Zar returned the grin. “No, not dead, but I’ve certainly come close, I daresay.”

  “You always come close,” called Barek, still fumbling around in the goods. “But you’re too smart—and too good with a sword.”

  “Where did you go?” Shahla asked. “Did you cross the sea?”

  Barek turned around, presenting a flask of wine and three chalices. “Cross the sea?” he protested, “Aye, he crossed the sea and slew Leviathan on the way!”

  The three broke out in laughter as they sat down on the furs that covered the cottage floor. Barek handed out the chalices and filled them to the brim.

  “I was treasure hunting in Cyana for a bit,” said Zar. Shahla leaned forward, swallowing the wine in her mouth, and smiled with wonder. “I envy you—you and your adventures.”

  “You wouldn’t envy this one,” said Zar, “more quarrel than quarry, I’m afraid.”

  “The fire-crowned Cyanans!” called Barek. “I’m sure they weren’t too keen about a mainreacher coming down and snatching their gold.” Barek gulped down his drink. “But I’ve never known you to mind a good fight.”

  “And I never have,” said Zar, lifting the drink to his lips. “But a little more gold would’ve been nice. This is good wine.”

  “The finest from Lolia,” said Barek, lifting his drink in the air.

  “The finest for the finest,” Zar complimented, moving his cup toward Barek’s. Shahla lifted her chalice as well, knocking it against Zar’s and her father’s. The brass chimed like cymbals.

  “I recall one time, in a dark and unknown wood,”

  slurred Zar, after the three had finished the flask of wine and started on another. “I was ambushed!” Zar jumped to his feet and swayed slightly.

  Shahla looked up at him, her golden face flushed and ruddy. “Ambushed?” she cried. “Ambushed by who?”

  “Turagols,” Zar growled, scrunching up his face to something silly and twisted.

  Barek looked unsatisfied and boasted, “I haven’t met a man that swings a sword better than you!”

  “You flatter me, old man, but there were thousands,”

  Zar called, and Barek and his daughter both eyed him suspiciously as they chuckled. “Fine, hundreds! There were hundreds!”

  “Truly?” Shahla questioned.

  “Well, maybe a hundred. Fine, perhaps a bit less, but at least fifty.”

  Shahla was taken by a storm of laughter, but managed words in between. “What did you do?”

  “I sought to reason, of course, since I am a reasonable man—mild and gentle—”

  “Bah!” Barek protested. “Gentle like a storm!”

  “But they would hear none of it,” Zar kept on. “They wanted blood—not words—and there were far too many, at least fifty of them.”

  “Did you flee?” Shahla teased.

  “Nay, nay!” Zar reveled. “I stood my ground and stared at the lot of them. I saw my victory in my mind and planned how I would defeat them. I gathered my strength,” he said, lifting his arm and tightening his hand to a fist. “I steadied my nerve, and after I had every movement calculated in my mind, I took up my sword… Zar looked intently over their heads, straight through the cottage wall as if he could see the band of savages standing outside. “I took up my sword and… fled! I fled and called to Asha, ‘Save yourself or be skinned alive!’”

  Laughter struck from all three, and the reunion continued with more laughter and more drunken tales, more wine, and eventually a song that none of the three knew the exact words to, yet all insisted on carrying on as if they did. While they all seemed to have the melody correct, the words varied from one person to the next, with the more unfamiliar parts of the song being mumbled over or simply hummed through. It was a time later, when they grew tired and quiet, that they each spread out in the corners of the cottage and drifted off to sleep.

  A sound of clattering snuck into Zar’s ears and shook him from his slumber, but it was the savory scent of meat that raised him. “Where’s the old man?” he muttered.

  “He’s round back with Asha,” said Shahla, attending the stove. The woman dropped a handful of wild greens in a pot with the sapid smelling meat that had called Zar off the furs. She stirred it.

  “Ah.” Zar tightened his belt around his waist, and after stretching out a bit, seated himself on the floor, resting his back against the wall. “She’s very brave, I tell you.”

  “She must be,” replied Shahla, smiling, “traveling with the likes of you.”

  “Me?” Zar called. “I’m but a humble adventurer, but Asha—she’s quite fearless, I daresay. Yesterday she spit in the face of a noble.”

  “Truly?” asked Shahla, laughing. “What happened?”

  “We were in Sirith,” said Zar with a sigh, reaching for the costrel of water that hung from the wall beside him. “I got in a minor argument with some lord or other—”

  “So it was your doing,” said Shahla as if she already knew.

  “We were talking it out like sophisticated men,” Zar defended. “Then Asha starts groaning and kicking. Before I know it she’s coughed a fat one right in the lad’s face. It’s not the first time, either.”

  Shahla laughed wildly. “She’s the wisest camel in all the land,” she said, pulling her eyes from the stove to Zar. “I can trust her to bring you back to us in one piece.”

  “Trust her?” Zar laughed out the words. “You can trust her to get me in trouble.”

  “She didn’t like the man is all,” said Shahla, still giggling.

  “Aye, she didn’t like him and she showed it. I can’t say her opinion of the man was wrong, though. He certainly deserved it.”

  “See. She is wise.”

  “She’s got a good nose,” said Zar with a shrug. “She can sniff out water when I need it, sniff out anyone tracking us—and apparently she can smell spoiled, pompous young lords.”

  “And what does that smell like, I wonder?”

  “Not as good as this,” said Zar, hopping up and pulling out his dagger as he shuffled to the stove. He poked his blade into a thin piece of meat and brought it to his mouth, biting at the flesh while oil rolled down to the dagger’s guard. Shahla also snagged a piece.

  “Would you tell my father there’s food ready,” she said, between bites.

  Zar skewered another piece of meat, then grabbed his sword and slung it over his shoulder before heading out the open door. The pounding of steel echoed from the smithy. Barek was at work, and Zar approached to find the man as he had found him there countless times, sitting on his bench leaned over a piece of steel, eyes squinting as he brought his hammer down in hard uniform strokes, with each stroke appearing exactly the same as the last. Barek hadn’t noticed his approach, nor did Zar expect him to, for when that man was at work the rest of the world was dead. Zar doubted the man would notice if a battle was taking place outside his door when he was striking steel. Zar stood lost in memories of times spent watching the very same sight—with Shahla— hearing the steel, seeing the sparks, witnessing a master smith at work.

  “A bit early for work, isn’t it?” Zar raised his voice over the clamor.

  Barek laid down his hammer. “Early?” He turned to face his friend. “It hasn’t been early since I awoke. I thought you’d sleep all day.”

  “Well I could in this place,” Zar replied. “There’s just something about Fairview Meadow.” He leaned out the smithy to glance at the sun overhead. “Leviathan! I’ve slept away the morning!”

  Barek chuckled heartily and nodded.

  “Where’s Asha?”

  “Grazing,” Barek replied. “She loves the meadow—got the best grass.”

  “Aye, and we should do some grazing ourselves.

  There’s food ready.
”

  Barek nodded and made the face he always made when he wished to ask a favor—solemn with eyes wandering about the room. Barek had the biggest heart, strongest arms, and loudest voice Zar had witnessed in nearly any man, but when it came to asking favors he always grew nervous, quiet, and sometimes stuttered.

  Zar looked to his friend, still seated on the bench.

  “Ask it, old man.”

  “Ah, just that… that… I wanted to ask if you would accompany Shahla to Gara to sell the goods. Unless of course—”

  “Of a certain,” Zar interrupted, “I have no other business.”

  “Good,” Barek agreed. “I have business here, but I won’t let her travel alone, not that far. Not with all those goods and all that gold on the way back.”

  “Certainly not,” Zar agreed.

  “Not saying she can’t take care of herself,” said Barek.

  “She’s a woman now.”

  “That’s what I worry about,” said Zar.

  Barek smiled slightly and shook his head. “Don’t,” he said. “Any man even looks at her, and she can put an arrow through his skull before he blinks.”

  “She can shoot now?”

  “Aye,” Barek replied. “She can shoot.”

  Zar found himself smiling in disbelief, and looked to his friend as if waiting for Barek to tell him it was all a joke. But no joke came.

  “Where are you off to next?” Barek asked. “After you return from Gara?”

  “The east,” Zar answered with a smile. “I’ll probably start with Lindoth. There’s always some sort of scandal going on there and I’m sure someone will be in need of a good sword.”

  “Without a doubt,” Barek agreed.

  Zar looked about the smithy. Stacks of weapons rolled in hides were spread over the tables, handles and steel points sticking out occasionally from the skins. “So, when are these weapons expected in the big city?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Very well. I can enjoy this place for a good while longer before it’s time to head out.” Zar lifted his scabbard’s leather strap from his shoulder and placed his sword before Barek. “I was hoping you could give your old blade a good sharpening.” He drew the sword from its sheath. “I’m afraid it’s been banged up a bit.”