by Ben Cassidy
Joseph cupped his hands around the mug of water in front of him. “Why?”
Maklavir sighed and looked down at the table. “Slaves. Some they sold, some they would sacrifice to their gods. Occasionally we would find the remains.” He looked back at Galla. “Most of those who were taken were never heard from again.”
Galla bowed his head sadly. “The Oganti have been in bondage to the darker powers, ever since the times of Despair. We have tried to reach them with the message of hope, but they have long resisted the efforts of our brothers.”
“But you said they had converted?” said Joseph.
“Not all. But some.” Galla looked around the table. “One of the smaller tribes, only a couple hundred people, but it is a start. They are trying their best to learn to farm instead of raiding. The last we had heard from our brother they were even building a small church, though the progress is slow. That is why it is imperative that I get through to them. They have great need of the supplies that I am bringing, but the route is a perilous one.” He straightened, and glanced sadly back at the tavern windows. “But there is much hatred and fear here, especially of a Baderan such as myself. That is why I turn to you for assistance.”
Joseph glanced over at Kendril.
The Ghostwalker remained silent, watching the Baderan with glowering eyes.
Joseph cleared his throat. “We would like to help, Mr. Galla, but—”
“You would all be compensated, of course,” Galla broke in quickly. “The journey would take about two or three days. I will purchase all necessary food and supplies. As for money--” He cleared his throat and clasped both his hands together tightly. “I regret to say that I do not have much. Would, say, five hundred coins be sufficient?”
Joseph’s jaw dropped.
Maklavir stopped stroking his goatee and stared at the Baderan as if he were crazy.
“Five hundred coins?” Joseph stammered. “That seems…” he exchanged a look with Maklavir, “…reasonable.”
“We’re not mercenaries,” came the abrupt sound of Kendril’s voice. He hadn’t moved, his arms still crossed.
Galla looked over at the Ghostwalker and smiled weakly. “I understand. It is my wish that no bloodshed occur on my journey. But—” he looked back at Joseph, “I require a guide, and a larger group will make travel safer, especially against highway bandits and raiders.”
Joseph opened his mouth to reply, but Kendril cut in first.
“Sorry. Not interested.”
Galla’s face faltered. “Please, I know that I do not have much to offer, but--?”
Kendril sneered. “How about we cut to the chase? What’s your real game here, Galla?”
Joseph put a hand on the table. “Kendril—”
The priest shook his head. “I’m not--”
“Smuggling?” the Ghostwalker continued. “Or maybe you’ve got some friends of yours waiting for us in the woods just outside of town?”
“Kendril!” Joseph stood from his chair. “A word?”
Kendril glared up at his friend for a moment, then pushed back his chair.
Joseph walked over to the bar, and waited until the Ghostwalker came up beside him. “What in Zanthora do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.
“Oh, come on.” Kendril looked back over his shoulder at the table behind them. “Don’t tell me you’re actually buying this guy’s story?”
Joseph clenched his fist. “Why shouldn’t I?”
Kendril looked back at his companion. “Five hundred coins? To nursemaid some priest in the wilderness? He can’t be legitimate.”
Joseph inhaled, controlling his rising temper. “And what if he is, Kendril? You want to throw away an opportunity like this? Five minutes ago you were saying that we had no other choice but to split up. Well, now we have another choice, and you’re determined to reject it.”
Kendril glanced back at the Baderan sitting across the room. “I don’t trust him, Joseph. He’s hiding something.”
Joseph looked away in disgust. “It’s always the same with you, Kendril. You never trust anybody. Everyone always has to have some ulterior motive.” He looked back at his friend. “Is it so hard to believe that someone could be telling the truth for once?”
The Ghostwalker nodded. “Yes. It is. He doesn’t even look like a priest.”
Joseph turned from the bar. “He’s a Baderan, Kendril. The clergy there own more land than the rest of the country combined. Chances are he’s an aristocrat himself. That doesn’t make him a liar.”
Kendril scowled and looked back in Galla’s direction again. “It just doesn’t add up, Joseph.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “You know what, Kendril? It doesn’t matter anyway, because you don’t speak for all of us. You want to stay here, fine. I for one am going. Even if this is some nefarious trap it’s better than rotting away in this backwoods town.” He turned to go.
Kendril caught his arm. “Joseph, don’t be a fool!”
He turned angrily towards the Ghostwalker. “Fool? I’m not the one turning my back on five hundred coins, Kendril.” He shook his head. “You know, sometimes I think you want to split our group apart.”
The Ghostwalker bristled, but said nothing.
“Guys?” came Kara’s sudden voice from behind them. “What’s going on?”
Kendril turned back to the bar.
Joseph gave him an angry glance. “Kendril doesn’t think Galla’s telling the truth.”
Kara looked back at where Maklavir and the priest were talking at the table. “Well he’s telling the truth about one thing, anyway.” She pulled a small book out from under her cloak and tossed it to Joseph.
He glanced down at it, then back up at Kara. “The Blessed Scriptures?”
The redhead leaned back against the bar. “His saddlebags are filled with them. Other religious stuff, too. Icons, candles, that kind of stuff.”
“You went out and took this from his saddlebag?”
“Wasn’t too hard. His animals are just outside.” Kara cocked her head and gave Joseph a knowing smile. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to keep it.”
Kendril turned his head and gave the book in Joseph’s hand a dubious look. “So he’s carrying the stuff he says he is. That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means he isn’t lying.”
“About that,” Kendril returned briskly.
“Look, Kendril,” said Kara in a low voice, “I’m as suspicious as you are of this guy, but so far his story checks out. I think we should go for this.”
The Ghostwalker gave a look over his shoulder back at where Galla was sitting. “I still think this smells like a trap.”
Kara gave a small laugh. “If he’s trying to rob us, the joke’s on him. We don’t have anything of value.”
Kendril said nothing. He tapped the bar with his hand.
“What do you say, Kendril?” asked Joseph.
The Ghostwalker sighed, lowering his head and rubbing his temple. His shoulders slumped in submission. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Chapter 3
The sun was shining brightly on the snow as Maklavir dodged around a passing cart, lifting his cape away from the spattering mud. He waved over at Kendril, who was sitting a few feet away on a worn bench, a glittering sword in his hand. Behind him was the open front of a blacksmith shop, and from inside came the ringing sound of metal upon metal.
Maklavir skipped around a mud puddle. He repositioned the cap on his head as he came up beside the Ghostwalker. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said with a deep breath of air.
“It is if you ever get up early enough to see it.” Kendril ran a white cloth down the edge of the long blade, oiling the steel.
Maklavir grinned good-naturedly. “Yes, well I was otherwise occupied. It appears that my gratuitous tip of yesterday was not ill spent.”
“Please,” said Kendril, holding up a hand, “spare me the details.” He lifted the weapon in his hand, searching the bright metal
carefully for defects.
Maklavir folded his arms across his chest. “That’s a fine sword,” he said conversationally. “I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
Kendril held it out at arm’s length, turning it in his hand. The blue and green gems set into the hilt sparkled and danced in the sunlight.
“Jade gave it to me,” he said quietly.
“Ah.” Maklavir nodded. “I haven’t seen you use it.”
“I can’t,” said Kendril. “Not yet.” He grabbed the scabbard off the ground where it lay by his foot. A moment later, the weapon was sheathed.
“So,” said Maklavir as he cleared his throat. “Where are Joseph and Kara?”
“Getting supplies,” Kendril replied vaguely. He rose stiffly to his feet, stretching his back. “Galla wants to leave by noon.”
The diplomat caught the tone in his friend’s voice. “You don’t trust him?”
“No.”
He grinned. “I guess one of us shouldn’t. I for one think he’s a charming chap. Surprisingly well cultured.”
Kendril stuffed his oiling cloth into a pocket of his cloak. “Well that’s just grand.”
Maklavir shrugged. “We’ve been to so many backwater towns, it’s hard to find anyone who can talk intelligently about the latest fashions and gossip. Hardimelaag has come out with a new opera, apparently.” The diplomat sighed. “Though I doubt I’ll ever see it now.”
“Consider yourself lucky. His Yolanda was absolutely painful.”
Maklavir gave his companion a startled look. “You’ve seen Yolanda?”
Kendril turned from the bench. “Unfortunately.”
The diplomat stepped beside him, shaking his head. “You’re a man of many surprises, Kendril.”
The Ghostwalker grunted. “I try.”
“There.” Kara threw the rope over the last donkey’s back and tightened the pack that hung haphazardly on its side. “More than two weeks’ rations, plus all the blankets and matchcords we could need.” She turned her head, her breath crystallizing in the air. “It should be enough.”
Joseph nodded. He patted one of the animals on the back. The three donkeys stood patiently in a row, their tails whishing and their breath steaming white in the cold.
Galla finished putting the last gold coin into the hand of a pleased-looking shopkeeper who was standing on the steps to his store.
“Anytime you want to do business again,” the shopkeeper said with a tip of his hat, “I’d be happy to help.”
Galla pulled his fur-lined coat up against the chill. “Thank you, but this is all we need for now.”
“You folks trappers, then?” the man continued, eying Joseph and Kara curiously. “Not much game out in the woods this time of year.”
“We’re—” Galla paused, his fingers clutching together nervously for a moment, “surveying, actually. Just trying to find some promising hunting grounds for the spring.”
Joseph looked up from the saddlebag he was adjusting. Galla didn’t return his gaze.
The man shrugged. “All right. Best of luck.” He stamped the snow off his boots and headed back into his store.
Galla turned before the door had even swung shut. “Is an hour enough time?” he asked in a low voice.
Joseph nodded slowly, his eyes watching the priest carefully. “Should be. Soon as we find Kendril and Maklavir we can be off.”
“Good.” Galla scratched the back of his neck with a rapid gesture. “And remember, don’t tell anyone about this. Just the five of us.” He glanced back one more time at the empty steps behind him, then pushed past Joseph through the snow.
The scout watched him with narrowed eyes until he disappeared.
Kara came up next to him, scratching the donkey on the ear. “He lies pretty well for a priest.”
“Yes he does,” said Joseph uncertainly. He shook his head and turned back to the pack he was adjusting.
Kara rubbed her hands slowly together against the cold. “You having second thoughts?”
“No. Kendril’s paranoia is rubbing off on me, that’s all.” He looked up again in the direction the priest had disappeared in. “I’m still not sure why this trip is such a big secret.”
Kara shrugged, then crossed in front of the donkey and tightened the straps on the other side. “He is a Baderan, after all. Maklavir said they weren’t well liked around here. Did you notice how he tries to hide his accent?”
Joseph nodded, but his eyes remained unconvinced.
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” Kara said softly. “Five hundred coins is a lot to throw away, Joseph.”
He sighed. “I know.”
A light snow began to fall as the group slowly trudged out of Stefgarten, following the worn track to the west. Joseph led the way, his horse plowing confidently through the snow and slush as he carefully watched the dark forest that loomed ever closer. Galla came behind, swaying atop a tired-looking donkey with what looked to be no little discomfort for both man and beast. The donkeys carrying the supplies came next, their heads down low out of the steadily falling snowflakes. Behind them Kara rode on her pony, shivering occasionally against the cold. Maklavir rode next to her on his white charger, humming to himself.
Behind them all came Kendril, leading his mule Simon by the bridle. A scowl seemed perpetually etched on his face.
They traveled for several hours in silence, save for the sloshing of hooves in the snow and Maklavir’s incessant humming. Around them was a deadened world of white, and the sky above was nothing more than a swirling mass of gray clouds. Ahead was the wide forest, the trees capped with snow, and beyond them were the Snowy Mountains, impossible to see through the clouds. They met no one along the road, and it somehow seemed strangely appropriate. Theirs was a world of solitude, and unnatural stillness.
The cold black of evening was just beginning to fall when Joseph found a spot for them to camp, just off the road. An old farmhouse, its owner long since dead or gone, was barely standing under the weight of its rotting boards, but it was still the best shelter from the cold wind and drifting snow to be seen in any direction.
Joseph gave a shrug of apology as they unloaded their blankets and supplies by the broken-down door. “Sorry. Best I could do.”
“Half the roof’s missing,” said Maklavir as he peered in through the doorway. “Are you sure this thing is entirely stable?”
“Why don’t you shake the wall and find out?” came Kendril’s tart reply.
Galla gave the shack a disagreeable look, but said nothing. He breathed on his hands, rubbing them quickly together. “It will do,” he said at last.
The snow dropped down to a few scattered flakes about two hours after sundown. Joseph sat on a tumbled down fencepost by himself in the dark, wrapped in a blanket against the cold. Behind him from the farmhouse came the flickering light from the campfire, along with the sound of Maklavir telling yet another one of his stories in a dramatic tone. Joseph smiled as the diplomat neared the punch line. He whisked his knife expertly over the small piece of wood in his hands as he listened. He stooped down to blow some of the shavings off, then returned to his quiet whittling.
“Kind of cold out here, isn’t it?”
Joseph glanced back over his shoulder to see Kendril behind him. “Not too bad,” he replied. “I’ve seen a lot colder.”
The Ghostwalker sighed. He brushed some snow off another fencepost. “Any reason you’re out here all by yourself?”
Joseph cut away another slice of wood. “Not really. You?”
Kendril sat down with a groan. “I couldn’t take anymore of Maklavir’s prattling.”
The scout hid his smile from his friend. “I think he’s told that story before.”
“Try about nine times.” Kendril glanced over at Joseph’s hands. “What are you doing?”
Joseph straightened up. He brushed a snowflake from his face. “Just a little whittling.”
Kendril pulled up his hood as a cold breeze stirred up. “Whittling, huh? Any
reason you’re doing it out here in the dark instead of over by the fire?”
The scout hesitated. He put down his knife and pulled at the handkerchief tied around his neck. “It’s kind of a—” He paused, uncertain how to continue. “It’s actually, for…Kara.”
Kendril gave him a probing look. “Kara?”
Joseph flicked a piece of wood off the blanket. “I thought she might like it.”
Kendril glanced back at the farmhouse behind them, then shrugged. “I guess flowers are more traditional, but then Kara doesn’t seem like a very traditional girl. So what is it?”
Joseph hesitated another moment, then tossed it to Kendril. “It’ll be a bird when it’s done. You can see the wings there.”
The Ghostwalker nodded, examining the piece carefully. “Looks good.”
“Thanks.” Joseph took the figurine back. He looked up at his friend. “You think she’ll like it?”
Kendril tossed back his shoulders. “Do I know anything about women?”
Joseph hung his head, shivering from the cold.
Kendril glanced away. “You’re putting a lot of time and thought into making it,” he said after a moment. “My guess is that she’ll like it.”
Joseph looked back at his friend, and gave a slow nod. “I hope so.”
“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” said the Ghostwalker after a moment’s silence.
Joseph rubbed his beard, and glanced through the darkness down the road in front of them. “We should hit the forest by mid-morning. That will be the most dangerous part for bandits or highwaymen, though I doubt there are many out in this weather.”
“Only fools like us,” added Kendril sourly.
“After that it’s all uphill,” said Joseph, sticking his knife back into the sheath in the top of his boot. “Galla said it’s only about two or three days’ travel from Stefgarten.”
Kendril cupped his gloved hands over his face, breathing into them. “Let’s hope it’s not much more than that.” He sat back, rubbing the side of his nose. “I’ll go ahead and take first watch tonight.”
