by V. Holmes
The man striding down the narrow wooden stairs was unremarkable. "Dhoah' Lyne'alea?" While he was Arman's height, his muscular breadth belonged to a larger man. The three circles and three dots around Athrolan's tower emblem designated his rank of Commander. His expression was reserved, but respectful. "Your arrival does us honor." His features were blocky and his chin-length dark hair was clearly cut for function, not style. "I'm Sir Raven Dorcal, Commander of Her Majesty's navy. I have orders to accompany you north to the city."
She gave him a weary smile. "We're grateful for your aid. This is my guard, Aud'narman Wardyn of Vielrona and Lieutenant Brentemir Barrackborn, who recently joined us."
"Breakfast will be served shortly, but there is time to bathe beforehand, if you wish."
"Please. The roads have been hard." Alea could barely contain her glee at the idea of a hot bath.
"The men's bathhouse is there. Dhoah' Lyne'alea, you may stay in my own quarters as I'm afraid they are the only ones with a decent bed. I'll have a tub brought up for you." He turned to Bren and Arman. "You two may stay in the officers' quarters. I will meet you in the mess for breakfast." He gave Alea a stiff nod. "Welcome to Fort Hero."
Φ
The soldiers' bathhouse was little more than a shed off the barracks. The wooden tub was waist height and surrounded by fire-heated bricks. For a fort it was a great luxury and further testament to Athrolan's past wealth. The day was just beginning so the room was deserted. Bren hissed through his teeth as he entered the water faster than his skin adjusted to the heat. Arman disarmed himself of the various blades of his bandolier and boots. Bren's eyebrows rose at the pile of weapons on the bench. Well that's an obvious statement. He sunk deeper into the water as Arman joined him. They were silent for a long time before Bren opened his eyes. "It was a long journey from Vielrona?"
Arman's head rested on the rim of the tub. The edges of his unusually long teeth showed slightly. "Yes." His tone was bland, not rude.
Bren was itching to ask about the fangs, but he held his tongue. Nosey questions were the last thing their situation needed.
"I'd never been this far from home before. I can handle myself, but I never knew it would be like this."
"I'd never left my city either, until two years ago. I was more excited about seeing the places in the legends than the battles."
"Why did you come with us?"
Bren frowned. If this was their supposed talk, it was easier than he had expected. "Since killing that girl, my mind's been odd. I didn't lie about that. Azirik was a driven man, but it's bordering on insanity lately. He plans to raze every city that sheltered the Laen. When I learned he was my father I confronted him—told him heirs have been made of less noble stock or some such. He told me to leave. Perhaps that was the step I never could have taken on my own."
Arman was staring at him levelly. "Every city?" When Bren nodded, Arman tilted his head calculatingly. The glint in the man's eyes was unnervingly reptilian. Arman said no more. Once he had scrubbed the rough, lumpy soap from his skin and hair, he stepped out.
Bren followed a moment later, shaking out his clothes.
"The hand mark on my chest is from milady." Arman's words were sudden. "I was bleeding out in a gutter and she healed me. Her skin burnt mine. She has that effect on people, Barrackborn. If you're honest, loving her will be your only pain." He laced his shirt and was gone.
Φ
Alea was binding back her hair when Arman knocked. “Milady, might I have a word?” She shot him a tired smile as he entered. “Feeling better?” She tied off the end of her braid.
“Much.” He fixed her with a pointed stare. “I want you to be careful.” His tone was more serious than it had been in days. “Not everyone has noble intentions. Reaching out to Athrolan was a risk you had to take. You seemed more concerned with that than with Bren. This world is big and dark and unfriendly. I need to know you’ll listen when I say something is too dangerous. This alliance with Athrolan will take time from your learning. With an enemy lieutenant knowing both our movements and Athrolan’s I fear you’ve endangered us all.”
She looked down. “I understand. Bren is a good man, or wants to be. I can tell.”
Arman frowned. “Your power tells you?”
“Not exactly.” She avoided his gaze. “He’s my brother, Arman. My father wishes me dead. My mother is a world away. Bren is the only family I have now.”
“I cannot protect you if you don’t take precautions or tell me your thoughts and plans. Your need for family has blinded you. I don’t like him.”
Her gaze grew suddenly icy. “He is enemy to no one here, but you.” She brushed past him to the parlor where breakfast had been laid out for them. The commander arrived shortly after, with Bren on his heels.
The fare was meat and bread, cut in size for single bites. A few bowls held different sauces for dipping. Bren watched enviously as Raven ate without dirtying his fingers at all.
“What of your journey so far?" The latter asked as he delved into the simple fare.
Alea gave a simplified version of her tale, beginning with her recovery in Vielrona. “Our journey began shortly after I discovered my heritage. Bren found us just yesterday.”
Raven did not speak until she was through. “That is quite a tale. The ride to Athrolan will take another two weeks.” His gaze flicked to Bren. “You are a lieutenant, but not of Athrolan.”
Bren’s expression tensed. “I was Azirik’s man until my perspective changed. My rank is more habit, I suppose, than actual title.”
Raven’s eyes narrowed before turning to Arman. “Dhoah’ Lyne’alea did not include your title with introductions—am I right in assuming you are her Rakos guard?”
“Rakos is what I am, not a title, but you are correct.”
Bren’s eyes widened at that admission.
Alea rubbed her temples. The tension between the men was ridiculous and childishly out of character. “I think our energy is better spent discussing the future, commander.” She pushed her plate away and fixed Raven with a pointed stare. “Tell us of your plans for the upcoming journey.”
“We ride in two days with a troop that will come through Pardelan. We will take the mountain pass—Scree Notch—and when the road cuts west we will move north. The Ru’un Felds is home to Fort Stone, where General Aneral awaits us.”
“I look forward to the meeting.”
He rose abruptly. “I must see to the minutiae of traveling, if you would excuse me?” He bowed before exiting.
The three were silent in his absence and Alea rested her head on her arm. “He seems rather terse.” It would be a long journey.
“Lyne’alea?” Bren glanced over at her. “I have no idea what to expect.”
“Did you not pay attention in your lessons?” Arman added a raised brow to his jibe. “Or did you only listen to those involved killing innocents?”
Alea glared at him. “Excuse me?” While he and his childhood friends frequently poked sarcastic fun at one another, the acid in his voice was new.
Arman’s lip curled and he rose, claiming to need something from their packs.
Bren had not acknowledged the snide remark. “I have ridden a good deal of the landscape, but in regards to your goal, I know little.”
Alea smiled slightly. “Honestly, I sometimes feel the same. I fight the gods, in theory. I need to learn more about my people and my power. We have an alliance with Athrolan, so we’ll formalize it when we arrive in their capital.”
Bren glanced at the door. “Does Arman dislike everyone?”
Alea winced. “No. He’s usually teasing and thoughtful. He’s quiet, but when he speaks he means it. He fears for us, and that lends him an edge.”
Bren regarded the map on the wall, noting the expanse of land the two must have traveled alone. “He’s loyal, bond or no.” He took in the other maps framed on the wall. His eyes rested on the old altar in the corner. It bore the red and copper of the gods. The candles were cold, dust clingin
g to the wax, and the flowers had shriveled. He touched the wooden emblem under his tunic.
With Arman gone, Alea took the seat beside her brother. “We’re as lost as you.” She fingered the hem of her sleeve. “I’m sure he has questioned you, but why did you come with us?”
“I wasn’t sure at first. My options in Ceir Bodian were few, and I think the sense of adventure took over. These last months under Azirik have worn on me, and with you, that weight is lifted.” He seemed to search the air for words. “I need orders, I need command. Leading a group of soldiers is fine, as long as I have a king to dictate my moves. Azirik was losing that ability, falling into maddness. My uncertainty is gone now. Everything fits when I look at you.”
Alea stared at her hands. "I understand the orders. Arman, Commander Dorcal, even An'thoriend, they all shunt me about, telling me how to go about things. It irks me that they think I'm not strong or clever enough to do it myself." She glanced up, eyes wistful. "But following their orders is so much easier than making my own sometimes." She drew a breath. "Arman worries that I just want family, thus I trust you too easily.”
“Is it true? Where were you raised? By whom?”
“I miss my family. I was raised in Cehn, by the ihal and his family. I had many foster-siblings and a good education. I was sheltered, perhaps, and I suspect they may have known all along what I could be.”
“Cehn?” Bren looked down.
“Yes. Were you there?” There was no judgment in her question, but resignation.
“I was."
“This is not an easy path and yet you still chose it. I do not trust you because I want family. I trust you because I believe you want one.”
Arman’s return interrupted any response from Bren. “I begged a bit of boot black from the soldiers—I thought we all could use the task to keep our minds light for the day.”
They drew their footwear off, brushing dust from the leather. After convincing Arman that she could, infact, do her boots herself, Alea watched the men carefully and set about the task. She was slow, and by the time she completed her first, Arman had finished his and was partly done with her other.
She wiped her hair away from her face. “They should not make this so difficult.”
Bren glanced up. “You truly have never blacked a boot before?” His own hands were deft in the task, the deep brown buff staining his fingers.
“I wore only ankle boots in Sunam when we rode. Otherwise, I had sandals. They were polished, and I suppose my serving woman did it.” Her face flushed.
Arman and Bren stared at her, then Bren began to laugh deeply. After a moment Arman joined in, and his quiet chuckle warmed Alea’s heart. She smiled despite herself. Arman propped her boot beside the one she had finished. He frowned and rubbed boot buff from her cheek with a rough thumb.
Their afternoon passed slowly, but all were grateful for the respite. Shortly after dinner, Alea retired to her room. Arman and Bren shared one of the empty officer’s cabins. Their stiff silence was maintained as they repacked their respective bags. Bren rolled over and feigned sleep to avoid any more confrontation. The fort lamps were extinguished and the buzz of activity slowed. When the watch called sixth hour after sunset, Arman left, taking his knife and cloak with him. Bren sat up and listened as the guard settled himself outside Alea’s door.
Φ
The 14th Day of Vurgmord, 1251
“She needs rest! Surely it can wait?” The low argument woke Alea close to midnight. Recognizing Arman’s lilting tone, she dressed quickly.
“I’m sorry, sir, Commander Dorcal said it cannot.”
Arman cursed through his teeth. Alea was already packing when he knocked. “What is it?”
“The Commander called for us to meet.” His expression was grim and sent her heart plummeting. Bren was already waiting by the commander’s study door when they arrived.
Seeing them, Raven motioned them in. “How long did it take the Berrin or Miriken to find you?” He glanced at Bren, “Excepting you, of course.”
“Truly until just a few days ago. We’ve seen little of the Mirkin, but the Berrin tailed us for some time yesterday.” Arman crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“Ceir Bodian’s guards have seen campfires in the hills and three leagues to the north there are signs of an army’s passing. I can’t count on both my hands how many raiding parties have been reported to either General Aneral or myself.”
Alea watched Bren’s expression change from attentive to awkward. “Azirik is leading the group near Bodian. Eight score Miriken soldiers. The Berrin are divided into three—two battalions parallel each other north. One along the eastern edge of the de Galin, the other along the large river to the west, the….” He frowned as he forgot the name.
“The Jolin?”
“Yes. The rest are divided into the parties you’ve seen, scattered to the winds.”
Raven sat back, eyes narrowing on Bren. “You will certainly be useful. When we’ve more time, I hope I can get details onto a map.”
Arman fixated on the fore of the commander’s sentence. “More time?”
“Those raiding parties ‘scattered to the winds’ have become less scattered and march here.”
Bren swore. “That is over a hundred, easily.”
Raven turned to Alea. “I’ll not mince words, milady. If they keep their speed they'll be here in half a day. Our escort troop will never make it in time to accompany us. We ride at dawn.”
Arman leaned forward, gripping the back of Alea’s chair. “Sir, we’ve ridden all night, and have less than four hours sleep as it is.” His voice was fierce. Alea could feel heat roll off the man’s skin. She did not have to turn to know his fangs were exposed.
Raven glanced up at the younger man. “I’ll take my personal guards and ride with you, as promised. If we ride hard we’ll make it. Hero will give us time.” His hands clenched.
“There is something else?”
“Dhoah’ Lyne’alea, am I right that you need the three Crowns?”
“I’m not certain of all the details, but I would imagine, yes. You are stalling, however.”
“The gods gave Azirik their Crown.”
Alea paled. She had suspected the gods would lend Azirik power, but this was different. She was hundreds of leagues and months away from Le’yan and the Laen’s Crown.
“Azirik has had it for some time.” Bren’s words were careful. “It was gifted to him just after we discovered what escaped from Cehn.”
“How does he use it? His plans?” There was a disturbing gleam in Alea’s eye.
“I know little and we don’t have time to go over it now. He intends to destroy all allies you’ve gained, but I think he still believes that girl was the Dhoah’ Laen.”
Alea closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. “Then we leave at dawn.”
Arman followed Alea back upstairs and waited as she made sure everything was packed. He paced the room, sitting at the desk for a moment then rising to pace again.
Alea finally stopped and looked at him. “What?”
“I worry about telling Bren everything.” He stalled her protests with a raised hand. “I know, he’s your brother. You didn’t share things with me at first. You should keep that caution.”
“Enough.” Her tone was level. Mentioning there was still much she did not share would only start a bigger argument.
He looked surprised at the hardness in her voice. “Lyne’alea?”
She did not hear the use of her name. “I admit his appearance was sudden and raises questions, but the most concerning I have already answered for myself. I know he mentioned Azirik’s plans for Vielrona, but that part of his life is over. My instincts are not often wrong. You fear I want family, but you are wrong. I had a loving family—whom Bren helped destroy. It is he who never did. You’re the only one who will not trust me and I don’t know, for fate’s sake, why!” Her narrow lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes blazed. Arman scoffed, storming out, and she
turned angrily back to her packing.
Φ
The 14th Day of Vurgmord, 1251
Arman scanned the forest ahead, his brow furrowed.
“Did you sleep at all?” Alea’s hair was tucked under a shapeless hat. The man’s shirt she wore all but erased her small breasts and the breeches stuffed into her boots were loose.
“Little. Too much to think about.” The Athrolani dawn forced mist from the foothills flanking the road. He shook his head ruefully. “Is that my shirt?”
“I did what I could.”
“I barely recognized you. You did well, milady.” Raven rode lead, conversing quietly with Bren while the commander’s two guards brought up the rear. They were all dressed in common clothes, their rank insignia covered by cloaks. We’re probably the best-armed common folk this road will have seen. Arman grinned as he counted the weapons stashed under packs and beside pommels. They rode at a trot the horses could hold for hours. Though the silence was often tense, no one seemed willing to break it with the usual road-banter.
Alea absently flexed her gloved hand to keep it warm. The month on the road had done wonders for her confidence. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“You’re noble raised and nobler born.”
“I’m also your friend.” She glared out at the road, her eyes bright. “Sometimes I wish I could pretend my own death and hide. Run away so I could live in peace.”
Arman’s chest tightened. “I doubt even that would stop them.”
“It’s only sometimes.” Her next statement was cut short as Raven signaled for a halt. Arman and Alea had made their own schedule for much of their ride, but Raven set a firm pace. They moved off the road to where a small river looped about a deep grove. Alea curried down the horses carefully, scraping road dust and sweat from their coats. She enjoyed the way animals never looked at her with fear.
“We’re going to take turns in the river, if you wanted to go first.” The younger of Raven’s guards shifted on his feet. “It's still cold, but a hot spring up in the hills makes it less than bone-chilling.”
