Chronicles Of Aronshae (3 Book Omnibus)

by J. K. Barber

  “We would hide as we always have, in animal form or amongst the trees,” The Elder somberly answered. “We can always rebuild our homes exactly as they were someplace else. However, we do not fear outsiders right now. Other races fear this forest these days, calling it the Bloodwood, and rarely dare to enter. You see, the animals are crazy and the birds swarm about madly.” The Elder winked and grinned. Katya laughed yet her concern for her new found friends did not abate. She let the matter drop for now.

  “Lady Katya, I do have to ask you something else,” the Elder continued. “How did you get into the forest? Niko reported that you simply appeared at the crystals.”

  “Yah, it’s like she fell from the sky, because she hit those crystals hard,” Niko added.

  “I am not really sure to be honest. I was in Snowhaven in the middle of a battle. I was snatched by a man and pulled into darkness. We fought and I was able to break free.” Katya decided to omit much of the details of her passage through that dark, cold nether realm until she could learn more. She had revealed more than before though; Razorik might have information about that cold grave of a place. “Then it got light and I appeared here.”

  The Elder stroked his chin again, looking Katya up and down, and then nodded.

  “Well, Lady, I think that is enough for one evening. These old bones are calling for sleep,” he said. Katya wondered if he did know something and was holding back. She was tired as well. Perhaps it was best that they adjourn for the evening and think on all that had been said.

  “As you wish, Elder, and thank you very much for allowing Niko to come with me. My mother...” Katya’s voice broke off. Lady Amara glided to her side and laid a cool hand on the sorceress’ middle knuckle.

  “We understand and are happy to share our gifts when we can. However, when you return home and in your travels we must insist that you keep the Nhyme a secret. Niko knows to stay out of sight or rather he should know.” Lady Amara shot Niko a cool glare then returned her gaze to Katya. “Can you make us that promise?”

  “You have my word to keep Blodwood and the Nhyme a secret as best I can. Having Niko traveling with me may be difficult... unless he travels in an animal form that I can perhaps claim as a pet.”

  “A good idea, Lady Katya,” the Elder chimed in. “Niko what will you disguise yourself as for the trip that would be believable to have come out of the forest? Perhaps a bird so you don’t get trampled?”

  “I’ll be a blue jay or a raven. I like those two forms very much.” Niko beamed, changing into each form as he mentioned them. The very idea of the trip puffed him up and sent him into a nervous pacing. “Maybe a small owl or… or oooooo yah. That would be neat. A sparrow or...” The Elder let Niko drone on, watching in amusement as the younger Nhyme changed shapes rapidly.

  “Any of those are fine, Niko,” The Elder chuckled. “Now if you will excuse Lady Amara and me, we bid you a good night. Niko has a spot picked out where you can rest tonight. Sleep well, Lady Katya, and again make yourself at home as best as you can.”

  “Good night, Elder and Lady Amara. Sleep well and thank you for your hospitality,” Katya said as she stood and bowed. Niko bowed half-heartedly, his little head so full of ideas it looked like it might explode. The Elder and Lady Amara inclined their heads and then flew arm in arm back up to their house in the great tree.

  Niko directed Katya through the forest to a spot where she could sleep, as he excitedly babbled on about their upcoming trip. Thoughts of returning home in a week, after she learned more from the Nhyme, filled Katya with renewed hope. She was going home and with a good chance at curing her mother’s illness. Her stomach stopped churning for the first time since she arrived in Blodwood.

  Chapter 12

  Two days after Jared and Sasha reached Binford’s Bluff, a trader’s caravan arrived in town from Mica. Sasha suggested that they hire themselves out as guards, but Jared balked at the idea. He winced at the memory of his imprisonment in the small mining town. Sasha argued that it would be safer to travel with the Trades Guild and would be a relatively easy way to earn a few coins. Jared finally gave in to Sasha’s argument. He noticed that the swordswoman’s pouch had been decreased by close to half its original volume, after she again insisted on paying for her own meal that morning. Besides, Jared realized, the odds of anyone in the caravan actually being from Mica were almost nonexistent.

  Jared met with the Trade Master, a gruff but practical man named Leon dressed in the blue and white colors of the Guild. After haggling back and forth for several minutes, and with a promise that he could produce a letter of recommendation from the constable of Binford’s Bluff, Jared persuaded the Trader to pay them a slightly higher wage than the average caravan guard would have received. The woodsman convinced Leon that a skilled hunter at a higher wage, who could provide food while on the road, would save the guild money in the long run since they would have to dig into the provisions set aside for the trip less often. Additionally, Sasha, a formally trained swordswoman would be worth three of his common musclemen should they be attacked by bandits and would, therefore, be a bargain at twice the price she would be paid. A compromise struck, they were to receive a share and a quarter. While Jared was not hard pressed for coin at the time, he knew that Sasha, whether she admitted it or not, would appreciate the extra pay.

  And so they found themselves, three nights later, south and east of Binford’s Bluff, gainfully employed by the Trades Guild of Illyander, eating a meager meal of venison and beans in the company of several rough but jovial men who had also sold their services to the caravan’s master. The first night had been the most eventful.

  One of the guards, a burly man by the name of Corvan, had made an inappropriate comment to Sasha followed by an even more inappropriate placement of his hand on her person. Jared had begun to stand up to deal with the mildly intoxicated man, but immediately resumed his seat by the fire, when Corvan hit the ground next to him. The man laid there stunned for a moment and then began to laugh hardily, placing his hand to his now bloodied nose. The other four guards, a motley collection of sellswords from all over the kingdom, burst into laughter. Several offered to buy Sasha a drink at the next town to which they came. Apparently, Corvan had been blowing hot air since they had left Mica, and they appreciated the fact that it was a woman who put him in his place. Following this incident, the rest of the caravan treated Sasha as just another hired hand, even if they did tend to tone down their brusqueness a bit when she was around.

  Over the next couple days, Jared only spent about half of his day with the caravan. He scouted the trail ahead on a horse loaned to him by the caravan, checking possible ambush sites and bringing down game when time and opportunity permitted. Normally, Jared would have savored his time away from the caravan, running trail and hunting, then begrudgingly return to the wagons at nightfall to join the rest of the people for dinner. Something was now different. He still relished his time in the wild, hunting game and looking for signs of bandits, of which there were oddly none, but on this trip he actually began to look forward to the long low sound of the horn that signaled the caravan’s stopping for the night. Perhaps it was the camaraderie that had sprung up amongst the guards that he had never bothered to participate in before.

  Usually a solitary man, Jared would return at night, take his meal, perhaps smoke a pipe in the shadows, and then sleep. In the morning he would take a quick breakfast and be out on the trail before half the camp was even awake. Now, he began to enjoy sitting around the fire at night, listening to stories, mostly exaggerated, from the other men and sharing a smoke with them. When they would ask him to tell a story though, he would quietly reply that he hadn’t done much and they would find his tale boring in comparison. Finally, they quit asking, as though by silent agreement they had decided to respect his reticence. When they had first begun inquiring about him, he noticed that Sasha would lean forward a bit in anticipation. Then, when he would rebuff the other guards’ requests, she would sit back, a small l
ook of frustration in her eyes. He would wonder again what it was that made this job, this caravan, so different that he had begun to stick around for the nightly ritual of conversation, but then shake his head when he heard old Sirus’ laughter in the back of his mind.

  His mentor was gone, maybe dead at this point, though he doubted it. Sirus, who had taught him to use his gifts and relish in his special bond with the wild, was as tough and stubborn as the bear to which the old man had first bonded. He wondered where Sirus was now. He pictured him sitting in a clearing somewhere, next to a small campfire smoking a pipe, much like Jared did now, only Sirus would be alone as usual.

  The older man had been in many ways like a father to Jared. After his parents had died, Jared was taken in by the elder woodsman and raised to respect the wild and his inborn talent with the animals. Had Sirus not had the same gift and been able to explain to Jared, as a young boy, what it was that was happening to him, he had no doubt that he would have ended up stark raving mad or worse. Sirus had taught him so much and given him so much that he would never have been able to repay him, even had they stayed together. Jared began to replay in his mind their parting. He remembered the yelling and the screaming but then shook his head to clear his mind of the memories. There was no point in walking that trail again. The scenery didn’t change.

  Jared returned his attention to Corvan’s story, an obviously embellished tale about him and some barmaid he had met in a small town near the capital, and how he had rescued her from the clutches of a surly bar patron. Everyone else added the requisite grain of salt as they listened, skeptical but entertained none the less. Jared glanced to where Sasha sat, enjoying the flush of her skin as Corvan got to how he was rewarded by said barmaid. She smiled slightly, and Jared returned his gaze to where Corvan lay, his back resting against his pack on the ground.

  The story ended with its usual round of laughter and salutes, followed by a quick consensus that it was time to turn in for the evening, except for Marcus. It was Marcus’ turn to take first watch that night. While the rest of the guards had been drinking watered down grog with their meal, the young man from Mica had been enjoying only water.

  From what Jared had been able to piece together, this was Marcus’ first time working a caravan. He had rejected the miner’s life of his father. He had left his home, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, signing on with the first caravan that had traveled through the small town. Having worked a few years in the Tolliver Mining Company, the kid was well-muscled and tough. A few months spent learning how to use a sword properly and Marcus would make a decent caravan guard, mercenary, or even a solider in the King’s Army. However, the young boy from the small town was still too full of wonder over the big wide world around him to settle on any one occupation just yet. Part of Jared envied Marcus’ naivety and another part was saddened over its eventual shattering. The world could be a very cruel place. Jared watched Sasha, as she was settling into her bedroll, across the fire from him and smiled sadly.

  Jared awoke to Hoarfrost’s whinny. Normally, the sounds a horse made were one of the things that quickly got relegated to background noise when one traveled with a caravan, but there was something about it that caught Jared’s attention. He rolled his head to the side, facing the glowing embers that were all that remained of the night’s fire. The eastern sky had not yet begun to lighten, but the night birds had ceased their singing. He guessed it was a few hours before dawn. Nothing seemed amiss, but Hoarfrost’s whinny nagged at the back of his mind.

  He pushed back his blanket and sat halfway up, propping himself up on his elbows. He looked around the circle of sleeping forms. His eyes immediately went to Sasha, and he watched her chest gently rise and fall as she slept. After days of riding, she was tired and slept soundly. Also, since they had again begun traveling her belly had seemed to calm, but he had noticed still not enough for her to finish her supper that night. Jared had given her some herbs to try to settle her stomach, but they had not seemed to help. Her sleep was deep but fitful. He wished that he could see her better, except the light from the remnants of the fire was too weak. He slowly scanned the other slumbering forms around the circle. Marcus slept to the right of Sasha, his head close to her feet. First watch had apparently been uneventful. He continued his survey of the company, glancing quickly from Marcus to Ruharc. Ruharc was a thin man, with a build closer to Sasha’s. The Easterner wore a full beard, and his long curved sword lay on the ground next to him, close at hand. Ruharc slept next to Jared and seemed undisturbed.

  As Jared’s eyes returned to Sasha, he began to feel foolish about having woken up to the sound of a horse in a camp full of them. However, he had learned sometimes that it was better to be foolish and thorough than to leave things to chance. His eyes drifted to the left from Sasha to Talas. Talas was an older man, approaching his middle years. His forehead was quickly racing to meet the growing spot on the back of his shaved head, but the man had seen many a fight. He bore scars from a dozen years in the King’s Army, and though he might have lost a bit of the quickness his arm had once had, his eyes had lost none of their brightness. These same bright eyes regarded Jared now. Talas, too, was awake and looking around the circle of sleeping warriors. The older man nodded once to Jared and then tilted his head towards the last of their companions around the dying campfire, a horseman also from the Eastern Kingdom by the name of Gabe.

  Where Ruharc’s face was covered by a full beard, Gabe’s face was clean shaven every day after breakfast. The man was meticulous when it came to his gear, his horse and the shortbow that lay next to him. Three arrows were stuck into the ground, near where he slept. He followed the same ritual every night, waxing his bowstring against the dew but leaving the weapon unstrung and then sticking the arrows into the ground next to him.

  Jared was pondering the prudence of such preparations, when he noticed something else. It was something that Talas had apparently realized before Jared did. The woodsman cursed under his breath and fully rolled over onto his side to grab his sword, a long eastern blade, which curved slightly and was edged only along one side. As Jared pulled the weapon from its sheath, the tapered end glinted in the fire light.

  Seeing that Jared had reached the same conclusion, Talas threw back his own blanket, his short sword already in hand. The old soldier slept in his hardened leather breastplate, a practice which Jared thought would be uncomfortable, but guessed that after years on campaign it was something one would get used to.

  Jared inclined his head towards Sasha’s sleeping form. Talas nodded, as they both rose into a low crouch. The veteran soldier placed his hand over the young woman’s mouth and put his finger to his lips, as she startled awake. She quickly calmed down and threw back her covers. As the swordswoman retrieved her blade from the ground beside her, Talas moved on to Marcus and then Ruharc. Jared followed suit and woke up Gabe with a hand over the Easterner’s mouth. But instead of motioning for quiet Jared whispered, his concerned face inches from the bowman’s.

  “I thought you were on third watch,” Jared lowly stated.

  Confusion creased the prone man’s forehead as Jared removed his hand. “I’m supposed to be. Corvan hasn’t come to get me yet.”

  Jared looked over his shoulder to see Ruharc being awoken as well. He turned back to Gabe. “String your bow, we may have a problem. It’s a few hours before dawn, and Corvan hasn’t returned from watch.” Jared shuffled back, as the realization of his words struck the bowman. The Easterner quickly, but quietly moved into action, stringing his bow and settling a quiver of arrows onto his back.

  Looking around the circle, Jared saw Talas helping Sasha with the last strap of her well-made breastplate. At first, Jared had been afraid that the exquisite armor the young woman wore had been chosen for looks rather than function, what with its ivy inlaid chest piece and bracers adorned with large star sapphires. However, even Talas had been impressed with its construction, when Sasha had consented to his inspection two nights ago. The veteran had d
eclared it “fit for the royal family.” The young woman’s reaction had been a strange one. She had cast her eyes to the ground, her brows knitting as a look of sadness passed over her features.

  “Thank you,” she had said quietly. “My father made it for me. He’s a smith.” Seeing Sasha’s reaction, Talas had quickly changed the subject, allowing the young woman her privacy.

  “It’s very well made.” Talas had then jerked his thumb towards where Corvan was lounging on the ground. “Unlike this piece of horse dung over here.” The older man had smiled widely, jesting with Corvan, whose mind ran a step behind. Corvan had scrambled up to show Talas what he thought of his joke. The caravan guard had erupted with laughter, as Talas hooked Corvan’s wrist with his foot and sent him to the ground once again. Talas had then thrown up his hands, a look of mock innocence on his face.

  “All in jest, lad,” Talas had said. “All in jest.” Even Sasha couldn’t help but smile, as the large man had blustered from the ground, grumbling with mock indignity about how it was a good thing he had been taught to respect his elders.

  Jared’s mind returned to the present and began to race over all the things he did not know about his female, traveling companion. On certain subjects, Sasha was just as reticent to talk about herself as Jared was. Her family was one such topic. Sasha looked up, taking a deep breath as she finished settling into her armor. Her eyes caught Jared’s. The woodsman let his gaze linger momentarily and then returned to the matter at hand.

  Silently confirming that everyone was prepared, Jared looked to Talas who nodded. The veteran thrust his shortsword into the ground and cupped his hands to his mouth. The sound of a warbling bird call emerged from Talas’ mouth and was quickly swallowed by the night. A look of concern furrowed his brow, as he waited for a response. He cupped his hands again and repeated the signal. Again, there was no reply.