Awakener

by J. C. Staudt

  Norne smiled. He opened a door along the hallway and entered an austere chamber with a single window, four slatted beds, a side table, and a cabinet. “This is it. The guest quarters. There should be spare robes in the dresser.”

  “I can’t wait to take off this filthy thing,” Maaltred said, closing the door behind him.

  Maaltred unfolded his wet parchments and draped them over the side table to dry, then changed his clothes and washed his hands and face in the basin. Norne followed suit, and they stowed their packs beneath the beds before heading for the kitchen.

  “You don’t really mean to leave for home before we’ve returned to Maergath, do you?” Norne asked as they walked.

  “I believe I’ve sufficient silver to buy my way home from here. But no. For now, I’ll stay. If it takes too long to find the children, though, I’m leaving. When you return to Maergath, you may tell the king whatever you want. I’ll spend my last days at home with my wife and niece. It’s them I did this for anyway.”

  “I’ll make you an offer, then. Stay and help me find the girls. When I tell the king about our mishap on the Dathiri River, I’ll tell him you were washed downstream and likely drowned. I found your pack on the riverbank with the sphere inside.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “We each want something here. Let’s help each other get it.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “The children as hostages. And thereby, the king’s favor.”

  Maaltred considered this. “Three days. That’s as long as I’ll stay. And only because we’ve found a free roof to sleep under. Should we retrieve the girls, I’ll accompany you to Maergath. Otherwise, I’m going off home.”

  “So you’ll bask in our success, or leave me to suffer the king’s punishment alone.”

  “Not alone. Only in a different place. I’ll be in my chair by the hearth when they drag me away in irons. You’ll be at Castle Maergath.”

  “That isn’t going to happen. Neither of us is going away in irons. We’re going to find Eril and get the girls back. Then we’re going to deliver them to Maergath and get our reward for a task well done. I have faith in Yannui’s providence.”

  Maaltred wasn’t sure he had faith in anything. But the smell of hot baked bread pulled the thought from his mind, and he sat to table with Norne and supped in the temple kitchen until they were both full and warm and happy.

  Chapter 18

  When the men in the Cove Runner’s hold emerged from their hiding places, Alynor quickly came to realize they were wearing Dathiri tabards; four black-and-white panels with the emblem of the two-headed jötun stitched in the center. There were a dozen or so altogether. They might’ve been soldiers, but their uniforms were ragged and grubby, and they wore neither armor nor weapons.

  Alynor also realized the steel at her throat was not a knife or dagger, but a pewter spoon with the edge of the handle pressed to her chin. She saw her captor adjust his grip on the round end, felt his hold on her tighten. The other men were thin in the cheekbones, and when they moved to surround her, it was with a shuffling weariness.

  “Who are you?” asked the man holding her. “I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. You give me anything but a straight answer and I’ll end you. Hear?”

  She nodded. When he took his hand away, Alynor cleared her throat and said, “My name is Alynor Mirrowell. My host and I are taking this ship to Deepsail.”

  There was a collective groan, a slapping of foreheads, a slumping of shoulders.

  “We’ve just come from there,” someone said.

  “I ain’t going back,” said someone else.

  “Me neither. I say we turn this ship around.”

  “Now wait a moment,” said Alynor. “Would someone mind telling me who you are, and how you got here?”

  No one spoke.

  “We needn’t show animosity towards one another,” she said.

  “We’re in a tough spot, marm,” said a man whose face she could barely see across the dark hold.

  “Don’t tell the wench nothing,” said the man behind her.

  “I don’t see how we’re going to get anywhere with that kind of talk,” she said. “If you’re not willing to hash this out, you might as well cut my throat and be done with it.”

  “We sailed to Ralthia to seek asylum from Halbrid King,” said the man across the room.

  “Interesting. On this ship?”

  “On a ship of our own making.”

  “Little more than a bundle of sticks tied together, it was,” someone chimed in. “With a longspear mast and a sail cut from stitched tunics.”

  “You’re defectors.”

  “We was slaves,” said the man holding her. “Taken from our homes to serve Dathrond’s king. We had no other choice.”

  “Ah, you were conscripts. I heard about you. Olyvard called upon every lord in the realms to offer a portion of his levy as a sign of loyalty. That was ten years ago now. Pardon my impertinence, but it seems to me your only choice was to accept your lot and make the best of it. Why wait until now to defect?”

  “The war, marm. You think we didn’t try to make the best of it? You think most of us didn’t spend those ten long years crossing our fingers every day to be sent packing home while never seeing a trace of thanks or goodwill from his majesty?”

  “I’m certain you did. Where are you all from?”

  “Different places. Riverend, me.”

  “Shadowreach.”

  “Piper’s Bluff.”

  “Silvensworn.”

  “Laerlocke.”

  “Willowbrook.”

  “Did someone say Laerlocke?”

  A man raised his hand.

  “I have family in Laerlocke,” Alynor said. “Who was your liege lord?”

  “Lord Valtain of Locke Keep.”

  “Lord Anjen Valtain?”

  “The very same.”

  “He’s husband to my second cousin, married these fifteen years. I’d meant to attend their wedding, only… something came up. Seems we’ve all been inconvenienced by Olyvard King. I’ll have you know I am no friend to him, nor is my host. How did Halbrid King receive you when you arrived in Ralthia? I do not think he offered you sanctuary, else you would’ve been found on the island instead of locked in the hold of his personal vessel.”

  “You’ve the right of it, marm. We was half-starved and nearly dead when we arrived. Some of our number didn’t make it. Halbrid took us for spies. Ordered his corsairs to sail us to the reef and throw us overboard. Feed for the sharks, he said.”

  “My husband told me Halbrid was a mistrustful man, but that strikes me as excessive. We found him less than helpful ourselves, though he stopped well short of threatening our lives. You needn’t worry about him anymore, though; the corsairs who were to dispose of you have been dealt with. That reminds me… I came down here looking for some bandages for my husband, who was wounded while fighting them off. So how about it? Are we friends?”

  The man released her. “There’ll be no going back to Deepsail for us. We barely escaped with our lives. Only thing awaiting us there is a hangman’s noose.”

  “Not if we can drive out the Dathiri.”

  He scoffed. “Unless you’ve got a host five thousand strong abovedecks, you’ve a better chance of stopping waves on the beach.”

  “Do you know why Deepsail fell so quickly?”

  “Aye. The king sent one of them magic spheres with his Warpriests.”

  “You know of the spheres.”

  “Everyone does. Everyone in the army, leastwise. They were a point of pride for the king. No one thought we’d take Deepsail, but thanks to that sphere it fell in a matter of days.”

  “We’ve reason to believe there are three spheres. Is this correct?”

  “Aye, that’s right.”

  “Do you know where the other two are?”

  “One is in Maergath,” he said. “The third was sent east to obstruct the king’s enemies in Tetheril.”
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  Alynor smiled. “The king’s enemies indeed. Enemies he’s incited anew.”

  “What was that?”

  “Never mind. Hand me that stack of rags there, would you? It’s time I introduced you to my husband.”

  Alynor led the way abovedecks and knelt beside Darion, now seated against the mast. He looked muddled, and he was barely holding his eyes open while Draithon made conversation in efforts to keep him awake. Alynor rolled up Darion’s left sleeve to assess the wound. It was a deep cut, but one he would recover from so long as it was properly managed.

  “There you are,” Draithon said. “Who are all these people?”

  As she bandaged Darion’s arm, Alynor told them about the deserters and their voyage to Ralthia, and about Halbrid King’s subsequent refusal to grant them sanctuary. “Most of these men aren’t even from Dathrond. They’re the conscripts my father mentioned all those years ago, from towns and villages across the kingdoms. You were right about the spheres, Darion. There are three. One’s in Deepsail, another in Maergath, and the third returning there soon with our girls.”

  “Halbrid King was going to have these men drowned?” Darion asked.

  “Fed to the sharks,” said the man who’d held Alynor at spoonpoint.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Jarrel Heslip, though you might call me Captain Heslip from here on out. We’re taking control of this ship and turning her round for Ralthia.”

  Darion slid to his feet, using the mast for leverage “And what will you do there? You’ve commandeered Halbrid King’s personal vessel. Do you think you’ll fare any better this time than last?”

  “It’s death for us either way. Better we take our chances in the island wilderness than return to the realms.”

  “My companions and I have no need of this ship beyond Deepsail. Bring us there, and the ship is yours to be taken wherever you please. I’ll even see you provisioned for the return journey, should you wish to take your chances in Ralthia.”

  “How does we know you ain’t spies for Dathrond? Who says you ain’t going to turn us in to the field commander when we get there?”

  Darion blinked at the man, then burst into laughter. “Spies? For Dathrond? Olyvard King is the most despicable man I’ve ever had the displeasure to know. I say that openly as a traitor to the realms, mind.”

  Heslip gave him a curious look. “Who are you? You strike me familiar.”

  “I’m no one you need concern yourself over.”

  “Yet you speak as an enemy of Dathrond.”

  “Are you and your men not enemies of Dathrond as well?”

  “We are now.”

  “Then we’re kindred. We’ve no quarrel between us. Distrust me if you wish, but you’ll only waste your breath.”

  “No,” said the man, shaking his finger with remembrance. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Riverend.”

  “I’ve been there many times.”

  Riverend was where Darion had told the biggest lie of his life, Alynor knew. He’d delivered the Ogrelord’s head there after claiming to have defeated his armies at the Seaspire, when in fact Sir Jalleth had done the deed. The crowds had cheered him, and the people had set him down in history as the Savior of the Realms.

  “Wait a moment,” said Heslip. “I do know you. Sir Darion?”

  “Darion Ulther?” said another soldier. “He was exiled years ago. Died in a foreign kingdom, they say.”

  “No, that ain’t true. He betrayed the king and turned barbarian. Lives in the cold northern wastes of Korengad with his three cannibal wives and their twelve cannibal whelps.”

  “You’re both wrong,” said a third man. “Sir Darion turned hisself into a dragon. Been flying the Tetheri hinterlands ever since.”

  Alynor snorted. A moment passed before she could speak. “I can’t believe some of the stories,” she said, still laughing. “People have such vivid imaginations.”

  Darion smirked. “While there is some truth to what each of you have heard, I am indeed Darion Ulther. I’ve returned to take my revenge upon the king and rescue my daughters, whom he’s taken hostage.”

  “Is it true you fought alongside the Korengadi?” someone asked. “Killed Dathiri soldiers?”

  Darion gave a hesitant nod. “It’s true.”

  “Traitorous bastard. I say we throws him overboard.”

  “He’ll kill us all in our sleep.”

  “Or put a hex on us, more like.”

  “Quickly. Take him before he speaks.”

  “Any man who touches him will taste my steel,” said Kestrel, standing atop the companionway with both swords drawn.

  “And mine,” said Draithon, stepping in front of his father and drawing his.

  Axli stepped out from behind the companionway, twirling her clubs, her sons hidden behind her. “I promise I’ll make you wish these were only steel.”

  The Dathiri deserters stopped short.

  “I betrayed Dathrond for the same reason you did,” Darion told them. “It’s true, we’ve been taught to hate and fear the northmen for generations, but they’re no different from us. They love, and bleed, and long for better days, just as we do. In fighting for the Korengadi, I fought for their maltreatment. Olyvard took Rudgar’s son. Now he’s murdered mine. It’s no more than four days between here and Deepsail. Those four days are all I ask of you. Four days for the chance to face him. Four days to set things right for the wrongs he’s done us all. Four days, so that perhaps soon you’ll be able to go home to your families and forget your liege lords ever sent you away.”

  “What is it you mean to do? The Mages of Deepsail are strung up outside the city walls. What makes you think you won’t suffer the same fate?”

  “The Council of Mages never knew about the spheres. I do.”

  “And you reckon that’ll make it easier?”

  “Not by much, but it’s something.”

  “Have you any idea how to dismantle the one in Deepsail?”

  Darion hesitated, reluctance plain on his face. “We’ll find a way.”

  “A try is better than nothing, I reckon. Far be it from me to keep a man from a cause so noble. You have your four days, spellsword.”

  Chapter 19

  Sister Wolla had spoken with nearly everyone who’d visited the Temple of Phyraxis over the last three days, but she’d failed to turn up any trace of Eril, Blinch, Briynad, the Ulther girls, or any organization purporting to call themselves the Servants of the Dusk. Maaltred was in the temple’s guest quarters packing his things for home when Norne came to bring him the news.

  “Sister Wolla has agreed to let me stay until I find them.”

  “That’s good. What do you suppose are your chances?”

  “Forandran is a big city. We’ve plenty of searching to do yet.”

  “Indeed you have. I trust our arrangement still stands?”

  “You appear to have drowned in the river,” said Norne. “The king will learn nothing more.”

  “I cannot thank you enough for doing this.”

  “More the reward mine,” Norne said with a smile. “In truth, I’m not doing it for the thanks. I’m doing it because I understand. I see what it does to you to be away from your family. I pray you safe travels home and a life of joy ahead with your loved ones.”

  “My best wishes for you as well,” said Maaltred. He might’ve wished Norne good fortune in finding the Ulther girls and bringing them safely to Maergath, only he wasn’t sure they would be safe there at all. That was none of his concern now, though. Not anymore.

  “What route will you take getting home?”

  “I’ll follow the river north on foot, if I can’t hitch a ride on a tradesman’s cart. I’ll either cross the river at the Mountains of Driftwater or follow it west to Falcon Falls.”

  “Be on your guard if you choose the latter,” Norne warned. “Marlana’s Clearing is no place for a man like yourself traveling alone.”
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br />   “A man like myself? How am I to interpret that?”

  “I only meant you’re unarmed.”

  “I’ve the power of the wild-song, haven’t I? I may only possess a few spells, but thanks to you I’ve got fresh copies. I imagine they’ll suffice.”

  “The further you get from the sphere, the more likely you’ll be to encounter some adversary you can’t handle.”

  “You needn’t worry about me. I’ll stick close to the river. With luck I’ll make it through Marlana’s Clearing in less than a week’s time. Once I’m in the Eastgap, finding home won’t be difficult.”

  “You’ll no longer be protected from the mage-song out there.”

  “I know you’re trying to dissuade me from going, Vicar Norne.”

  “I wish only to prepare you for what may lie ahead.”

  “I’m not afraid of the mage-song. I hate it, but I’m not afraid of it.”

  “Then be afraid of the monsters who will no longer be impelled to stay away from you. Hold on a moment.” Norne sat at the side table and inked a spell onto a new sheet of parchment. “Here,” he said, handing it to Maaltred. “It’s a curing spell. A gentle one, but one which may prove useful on the road. Curing spells are not to be used except in times of greatest need. You know that.”

  Maaltred nodded. After making sure the ink was dry, he folded the parchment and slipped it into his pocket with the others. “So the sphere has been protecting us.”

  “The sphere has its benefits along with its deficiencies.”

  “I’m anxious to put it behind me. I’m proud to have created a device capable of crippling magic, but I never wanted to wield it myself. I’ve this cloud hanging over my mind. A vision of the sphere-storms, blotting out my memories. I can’t move past it. It feels, to me, something like regret.”

  “You’ve done nothing you ought regret, Brother Maaltred. If you’re losing your memories, go home and make new ones.”

  The two priests clasped arms.

  Maaltred hoisted his pack and left the guest quarters feeling light on his feet, now unencumbered by either the sphere or the king’s task. He descended to the atrium and exited the temple through its grand gilded entrance doors. A cold autumn wind coursed down the lane, ruffling the clothing of the passersby and putting a chill in his bones. He pulled up his hood and hooked his thumbs round his pack straps before starting on his way.