Stillbright

by Daniel M Ford

  Chapter 13

  Choice, Not Fate

  He found, once he’d reached the camp, that everyone but Idgen Marte and Torvul had fallen into their blankets, and the warrior and the alchemist were waiting for him in a tiny pool of light cast by one of the dwarf’s lanterns. Torvul leaned against his wagon with a long-stemmed, round-bowled pipe stuck into the corner of his mouth, a faintly sweet smoke drifting from it, while she paced back and forth.

  “Where’s the boy?” the dwarf murmured, around the mouthpiece of his pipe.

  “In the safest place imaginable,” Allystaire replied, his eyes still slightly dazed, his voice distant. “They will be along.”

  “How did you know?” Idgen Marte asked, her restless curiosity written plainly on her face, even in the dimness of the lantern light.

  “I did not,” Allystaire replied. “That he could hear us sharing our thoughts, well, I suspected, but thought it could be some sorcerer’s trick.”

  “It still could,” Torvul pointed out. They both turned to him, glaring, and he frowned around his pipe. “I don’t mean that way. If he could do it before he, ah, met with Her Ladyship, then, maybe it is something sorcerers can do. Need to be mindful of it, is all.”

  “The boy is not a sorcerer,” Allystaire replied. “Nor could he have been. We know that now.”

  “How does it all fit together, Allystaire?” Idgen Marte asked. “Is She leading us along? Did She know you’d wind up in that dungeon somehow? That boy comes from half the world away, and he had to be—”

  “Faith,” Allystaire said. “I do not know how it all fits together. I cannot know. What I can do is carry on as the Arm of the Mother.”

  “Is it all to chance? Are we pushed along like game pieces?”

  “Idgen Marte,” Allystaire said, “were you pushed along when I hired you? No. You saw the chance to earn some weight. Were you pushed when you chose to stay? No. You stayed for the story. Your own words, not mine.”

  “I hope Her Ladyship doesn’t mind questions,” Torvul said, before taking in a mouthful of smoke and then blowing light, wobbling rings into the night sky. “Respectful questions.”

  “I know what you would ask me, Mourmitnourthrukacshtorvul.” The Goddess, Gideon trailing in Her wake, glided into the outskirts of their camp.

  As one, the three servants arrayed before Her—the Arm, the Shadow, and the Wit—knelt. She stood in front of the dwarf, who looked cautiously up at Her.

  “My Lady,” the dwarf began, removing his pipe and tucking it behind his back with one hand, “that we found Gideon, fated to be your servant, it seems an enormous chance. All of it seems an enormous chance. Are we fated to do these things? Are we—”

  “No, my Wit,” the Goddess said, frowning faintly. She motioned with Her hands, and they all stood, Gideon coming around to stand before Her, next to Allystaire. “I chose you, all of you, because I saw in your souls what this world most needed. Despite surviving great hurts, of spirit and body both, all of you share a compassion that the world, for all it has done to you, could not drive away. I may guide you, empower you, but the paths you walk and the choices you make will always remain your own.”

  “Then how’d you know, My Lady, that he’d hare off into the keep and fall afoul of a sorcerer, that the boy’d be there?” Torvul asked, without lifting his eyes.

  “I did not know. I cannot know what it is any of you may do. I may only guess,” the Goddess said, smiling gently, if a smile with such power could be said to be gentle. “And I excel at guessing what even you will do, Mourmitnourthrukacshtorvul.” She touched the dwarf’s cheek lightly with one long-fingered, glowing hand. “Son of the earth, I will not abandon you so long as you do not abandon me. It is not given to me to control you, nor would I wish to if I could.”

  She stepped back till her features and her smile encompassed them all, and Allystaire felt his mind and senses being overwhelmed once more. “I know from the paths you decide to walk, that I chose well, in each of you. None of you are fated to be what you are. You are, and will always be, the results of your actions and decisions. It is that which has led you to My service, not fate.

  “If you err, or you chose other than I might wish—so long as you do so in earnest service —I will keep my faith with you all. In deepest darkness, the narrowest of paths, the bitterest of ends—you will always have My love, and My Gifts, to sustain you.”

  With that, She slowly glided past them and into the camp, where lay the sleeping Bethe, Keegan, and the other rescued Brotherhood men. She bent over Bethe and laid Her hand atop the woman’s head for a moment, then She straightened and looked over the sleeping men.

  In Allystaire’s head, Her voice chimed softly. These men could be an aid to you, My Knight, if you can lead them back to the world. It will not be easy.

  Then, to all of them, She spoke once again before fading into the night.

  “You must go, and the five of you together finish what you began in the place where I woke and began Calling to you. It must be a beacon in the days to come.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Allystaire was up early, as usual, and stood a few yards away from the camp, staff in hand. As he heard the rustle of footsteps approaching, he looked up and saw that it was not Gideon, but Keegan. The man, looking a bit better for sleep, seemed taken aback to find Allystaire in his path. He made to tug his forelock and paused with his hand still upraised. He wore the blanket Torvul had given him wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak. Meager though it may have been, it was sturdier than the rags he wore, rags that Allystaire could, if he looked closely, see were once the leathers and livery of an Oyrwyn archer or scout.

  “I am no one’s lord any longer, Keegan,” Allystaire told him, quietly. “There is no need for any of that.”

  The man nodded, but still didn’t meet Allystaire’s eyes. “Might I ask y’some questions, m’…ah …”

  “Allystaire. And yes.”

  He lifted his eyes, grey, distant, and met Allystaire’s for a moment before looking back to the dirt, to his tattered boots. “I’m tryin’ t’figure out how long I’ve been out here. What year d’ya make it?”

  “Two score and one since the death of Iridan Rhidalish.” Allystaire replied. “Just short of three since the death of the Old Baron Oyrwyn.”

  Keegan’s eyes closed and his head dipped towards his chest. “I walked off into the mountains on your first foray with the Young Baron into Delondeur. That’d be…”

  “Two years last spring.” Allystaire let that hang in the crisp morning air a while, as Keegan alternated shaking his head and staring at his hands.

  “I cannot do anything to give you those years back, Keegan,” Allystaire said, finally. “I can take you to a place where you can find whole trousers, a better pair of boots, and regular food, so long as you are willing to work for it.”

  “Ya don’t care that I’m a deserter, m’l…Allystaire?”

  Shaking his head, Allystaire replied, “No.” At the look of wide-eyed disbelief on Keegan’s face, Allystaire shook his head insistently. “I know. There was a time when admitting that to me would mean the lash, mayhap the rope. I know.” Allystaire considered his next words, and said, “I might like to know why, but I have no right to hang you for it, whatever the cause.”

  Keegan sucked in a deep breath, tilted his eyes towards the sky. They were, Allystaire thought, roughly similar in age, though the leaner man had a thick red-tinged beard and thinning hair. There was a ropy, wiry strength to him despite the slenderness of his build.

  “I just walked off one day. Had enough.”

  “Not the easiest thing to manage.”

  “It is when you’re a scout and know your woodcraft,” Keegan said, with a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Fair enough,” Allystaire replied. “How long did it take you to, ah, have your fill?”

 
“Every bit of ten years.” He paused and looked at Allystaire, and went on. “Won more than we lost in that time, thanks t’you, or so most of us believed.”

  “How old were you when you took the Baron’s link?”

  “Not goin’ t’ask if I were pressed?”

  “I never wanted pressed men in my armies, Keegan,” Allystaire said. “I will understand if I have earned your scorn. I may even deserve it. But if you were pressed, it is none of my doing.”

  The man nodded then, as if confirming something. “Aye, that’s true. I was just twenty summers when I took the link. Were a huntsman in the service of Durnrock Hall. Knew how t’shoot, had me own bow, and I heard there was better pay for woodsmen, archers and the like, than for your spearman, and less risk. Thought I’d see somethin’, all that rot. Well,” the man went on, before Allystaire could reply, “what I saw were a lot o’ marchin. Got outside a lot o’ bad food. Killed my share o’men, took a nick here and a knock there. Never anythin’ real bad. Weren’t anythin’ particular about the day I walked off. Just…” Here he gestured with his empty hands to the air before him. “Enough. Enough blood, enough stupidity. I had a full quiver and a pack of good bread and everyone knew there were Deserter’s Brotherhood in these mountains. Figured I could wait out the campaign, then nip back o’er into Oyrwyn durin’ the winter.”

  “Is the Brotherhood a real thing? Deserters, all over the baronies, forming bands, defending themselves?” Robbing merchants and raiding the odd village, Allystaire thought, but did not say.

  “It’s real enough,” Keegan replied, with a tired shrug. “Not what ya’d call very formal. Just, we’d find each other. Some would decide to live the outlaw style. Most, though? Cold, we were too tired of fightin’ for that. I met all kinds of men up in these mountains. Innadan men, Delondeur, Harlach, even Machoryn and Damarind now and then. We learned pretty fast that none of us had any reason t’kill each other so long as ‘tweren’t a knight or a lord or a warband captain shoutin’ orders at us. Shared fire, shared bits of rabbit, shared a cave—” Then the tired shrug became a shudder and a slightly choked gasp.

  “How many of you were there out here?”

  Keegan shrugged. “More than a score, less than two. I dunno how many got turned by that god o’the caves. We tried to keep our camps small, not attract any o’the wrong attention.”

  Over Keegan’s shoulder, Allystaire saw Gideon, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand, the other curled around his staff. “Listen, Keegan. There is time yet for you to sleep before we are off. I have some business with the lad here. Take some more rest, and if you decide to follow us, you can have a home again. For as long or as short a time as you want.”

  “That go for all of us, or just me because I was an Oyrwyn man?”

  “I am not an Oyrwyn Lord any longer, Keegan. Any man who goes where we are headed, and does so in peace, will be welcomed.”

  Keegan sniffed. “Not all o’the men who’ve, ah, walked away from the war did so ‘cause they were sick o’the blood or the marchin’ or the rotten food.”

  Allystaire fixed Keegan with what he planned to be a mild stare, his eyes narrowed, and waited to see how he reacted.

  Keegan met him stare for stare, and said, “If y’don’t mind me sayin’, seein’ as how yer no lord anymore, y’hadn’t the best reputation for welcomin’ strays back.”

  “I know what my reputation was. There are men I would not welcome back. But the men who made your choice, to leave because they had no stomach for it? Them, I will take.”

  “And the cowards? What o’them?”

  Allystaire pressed his lips together in a faint line. “I am less apt to call a man a coward these days.”

  “I see. And what o’the men who fled the noose or the lash, eh? Men who’d maybe taken a liberty too far with a farmgirl or drawn steel o’er the dice cups. What o’them?”

  “I will not give harbor to murderers or rapists,” Allystaire replied. “Not them.”

  From behind Keegan, Gideon stepped forward, his mouth pursed. “Does the Goddess not ask us to be merciful?”

  Allystaire’s eyes, briefly fired with anger, flitted to Gideon. “She does,” he said, drawing the words out, “yet some men are beyond any forgiveness I can extend.”

  “Do not equivocate with me. My teachers may have been vile men, but they taught me logic,” Gideon replied, lifting his chin defiantly. “I did not say forgiveness. I said mercy. They are not the same. You can extend mercy without forgiveness, and you can forgive a man’s sins against you even as you kill him.”

  Allystaire felt his teeth grinding and his anger rising in his throat, liable to expel itself in a shout, but he choked it back down as a realization broke through, namely, that the boy was right. “Go on.”

  “What if these men who you say are beyond mercy—if they came to you and confessed their crimes and they genuinely expressed their sorrow—would you grant it to them then?”

  “Boy, that’s a pretty enough idea,” Keegan put in. “But any man who knows that can just sing o’his sorrows and how he’s a changed man now, well, there’s many a magistrate or priest at the Assizes has heard that song and gotten out his hangin’ rope regardless.”

  Allystaire was quiet a moment as he thought on Gideon’s words. “They would have to be willing to accept any sentence we might impose.”

  Keegan turned to Allystaire then. “Are y’serious? If they know they can avoid a rope dance or a headsman they’ll be linin’ up t’tell ya their best lies.”

  “No man can lie to me,” Allystaire replied. “The boy’s plan has merit.” Then to Gideon. “I will think on it. For now,” he hefted the wooden staff in his hand, “let us have at it.”

  “No man can lie t’ya? What does that—”

  “It means precisely what it sounds like it means, Keegan,” Allystaire said. “I am no longer an Oyrwyn Lord, true, but I have become something much different. Go get that rest, or food, if Torvul is awake yet. I have got to give our young rhetorician a good thumping.”

  The puzzlement on his face clearly showed that Keegan had more questions, but Allystaire and Gideon drew away before he could ask them, and so he drifted back into the camp to stir the fire.

  Several yards off, Allystaire and Gideon faced each other, staves in hand. “Part of me does want to give you a thumping,” the paladin was saying to the boy. “I am unused to having boys your age speak to me like that.”

  Flexing his hands around his staff and shifting his feet as he looked for a comfortable and practical stance, Gideon suddenly took a frightened step back.

  “I said part of me, Gideon. You were right to speak up. I am finding it hard to break old habits.”

  The boy nodded and took a half step closer. “Nothing is as difficult as change, whether in a man, a home, a village, or an entire country.”

  Allystaire took a step forward at just over half the speed he might actually attack, bringing his staff up in a fairly slow overhand, letting the boy see enough of it to get his own staff up to intercept it. “More rhetoric?”

  Gideon intercepted Allystaire’s staff, but frowned as he pushed it away with his own. “Yes, but there is truth in it. You have already been an agent of more change than most men who’ve ever lived,” he said, trying a tentative swing, which Allystaire easily caught.

  “It does not feel like so very much. Yet.”

  “No? You are the first true paladin to walk this world—this part of the world, at least—in at least three centuries, and that is a very low estimate; it is probably five. You have shaken the foundations of the most powerful of the warring baronies. You are the prophet and visible leader of a new faith.”

  Allystaire cut Gideon’s lecture short by rapping him on the wrist with a quick, if light touch of his staff. “You cannot talk a man to death. Defend yourself.”

  “Actually I could,” Gideon said m
atter-of-factly, even as he adjusted his hands on his staff and thrust it towards Allystaire’s stomach like a spear.

  Though he easily knocked it aside, Allystaire nodded and said, “Good. Most weapons can be used in more than one way. Never forget that.” Then the words the boy had spoken sunk in, and Allystaire called a halt by stepping back and planting one end of his staff on the ground. “You could do what?”

  “Talk a man to death. It might not sound like talking, exactly, but—”

  “Explain, Gideon.” One moment passed before he added, “Please.”

  “The power I absorbed from the god of the caves, I can redirect it.”

  “To what?”

  The boy shrugged. “Whatever I choose, I suppose.”

  “And this is the Gift of the Goddess?”

  “It is hard to say. I seem to have been born able to do this, yet, She showed me how to express it.”

  Allystaire was silently thoughtful for a moment. “Is this what you did when you released the ensorcelled chains Bhimanzir had laid upon me?”

  “Yes, though I did not really understand it, nor did I actually absorb the power he’d expended. I merely dispelled it. I had time to think on it as we traveled, but She made it all clearer.”

  “And the things you can do are limitless?”

  The boy frowned. “Your question does not make sense. Do you mean ‘are there no limits on the type of things I can do’ or do you mean ‘is there no limit on how much I can do?’

  Allystaire laughed mirthlessly. “You will teach me to be precise eventually, lad. I mean both, I suppose.”

  “Well, as to the former, I remain unsure. The Goddess told me that there are always limits. There are limits even on what She might do, and rules She must follow. As to the latter? The power of the cave god will run out in time, and with use. As will any further power I draw in.”

  “Gideon,” Allystaire said, “pretend that I do not understand the slightest thing about magic or thaumaturgy or sorcery—Torvul tells me I certainly do not—and explain what you mean in the smallest words you can use.”