“Lead us to your farm, Alto,” Tristam said, gesturing for Alto to take the lead.
Alto glanced at the other members of the adventuring party and nodded. He flicked Sebas’s reins and moved the horse forward. He took them through the copse of trees and the swampy field, and then down another trail that crossed a trickle of a creek and finally back to the field his father had been plowing. From there, it was less than a ten-minute ride to his home.
Alto burst into the house and led Tristam, Kar, and Karthor into his parents’ room. His family surrounded his father so they could listen to Magdalene, the town’s healer.
“Alto!” Magdalene said, her tone chastising him. “Are you done playing grown-up? Your father’s badly injured and may not last the night. Foolish of you to put yourself in danger as well.”
“Pardon me, good lady, but may I have a look at him?” Karthor stepped past Alto and into the already crowded room. With his polite words and actions, he’d prevented the know-it-all healer from causing a scene, something Alto reminded himself to thank the priest for later.
Magdalene huffed and rose from the side of the bed she sat on. She looked at Karthor, her eyes settling on the holy symbol of Leander he wore. She swallowed loudly and nodded, stepping away from the bed.
Karthor smiled and moved to her vacant position. He listened to the unconscious patriarch’s breathing and gently probed the bruise on his scalp, and then felt for the wound upon his leg. Eyes closed, he pressed his ear to Halgin’s chest.
“How was he injured?” Karthor asked, eyes still closed.
“We don’t know,” Lana said. “Only that his plow horse brought him back with his foot caught in the plow’s harness.”
Karthor lifted his head and gripped his holy symbol. He began chanting softly, his words growing in volume and strength with each repetition. As before, his holy symbol began to glow with divine light. The light sprung out, landing upon the wounded farmer. Karthor struggled, fighting to continue his prayer, but soon lapsed and slumped in exhaustion as he leaned against the bed.
He straightened, smiling wanly. Karthor looked exhausted. He reached out his hand and Kar stepped in to grab it and help to pull him to his feet. Alto grabbed his other arm and supported him. Karthor favored him with a smile.
“He will live,” Karthor said, drawing relieved whispers and tears of joy.
Karthor took a deep breath and lifted his arms free from the two men. “I have much to learn, I fear. My mastery of healing and even understanding of Leander’s teachings leaves much to be desired.”
Karthor smiled and glanced at his father. “I should still be at the church, learning of my duties, but my father insisted I aid him and his friends.”
“Bah, cloistered away amongst eunuchs you’ll learn half as much as you can in the world,” Kar muttered.
“They’re hardly eunuchs, Father. There are priestesses as well. Marriage is encouraged in my order,” Karthor said. Alto could tell it was an old argument between the two.
“Priestesses, bah…women that no doubt favor women, much as the priests favor boys. A church is no place for a young man,” Kar said, glancing at Alto. “Praying to a saint is all well and good; it’s the hidebound traditions of religion that ruin a man.”
Karthor shook his head. Alto returned his earlier smile, at a loss for what else to say.
“As I said, he will live. He may sleep a while yet; the blow to his head was serious. His leg was broken at the thigh and the ankle. The long haul back damaged his hip, I think. He will be a long time in healing and too weak to help with the planting this year. If he rests and heals, he may help some with the harvest, but he will never move as well as he did before today.”
Alto nodded, fighting back the feeling of despair that threatened to settle on his heart. “I thank you for your aid; that he lives is enough for us.”
“If I had proper training, I might have done more, but that would take me years. Given time to rest and heal, say a couple of weeks, you could take him to the temple in Portland. For a price, they will be able to do more for him,” Karthor explained.
“Portland I know,” Lana said, wiping away a tear. “How much will it cost?”
Karthor shrugged. “I’m not certain. For such a restoration and healing, I think they would seek a donation of no less than a hundred and fifty gold.”
Some of Alto’s brothers and sisters gasped. Lana blinked and nodded. “My thanks as well. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Alto glanced around and saw that Magdalene had slipped out. He had no idea where the healer had gone, but suspected that she refused to stick around while a real healer proved the insufferable woman wrong.
Karthor and Kar left the house, heading back out to the front. Tristam followed, though he made a nodding gesture toward the outside to Alto. Alto followed him until they were out of earshot of the others.
“That’s a lot of gold, son,” Tristam said. “I don’t suppose you’ve got that much around here, do you?”
Alto looked at him for a long moment before he shook his head.
“I could use a strong lad like you,” Tristam said. “The pay’s an even share of whatever job we’re after, minus the group cut for supplies. Rate we been going lately, you could have that much gold in a couple of months.”
Alto stared at him, perplexed. Earning that much wealth that quickly seemed impossible. He was certain no one in his family had ever seen such a fortune. Their land might have been worth it, but he doubted even that. Still, if he were to go with Tristam, with his father ill, there would be two less to tend the farm.
“I’m not a soldier,” Alto said, his way of turning down the generous offer.
Tristam laughed. “Yes, but that’s a good thing. Soldiers are brainless half the time. No, you’ve got no training, son, but we’d learn you right. Teach you to use that blade proper. You’d not be a soldier, but a warrior.”
Alto glanced back inside the house, knowing he should go back in to be with his family. He turned back to Tristam, smiled appreciatively, and shook his head. “My thanks to you, Tristam. For the offer and for the help. My place is here, with my family.”
“You’re a loyal son. I admire that,” Tristam said. “But think on this, Alto, you’re what, eighteen, twenty summers old now? This isn’t your family; it’s your father’s family. Any time now, you’ll be moving on to start your own life.”
Alto shook his head. “I’m only sixteen,” he admitted. He was less than two months from being seventeen but Alto wanted to shock him.
Tristam did a double take, staring at Alto’s legs, arms, hands, chest, and then finally meeting his gaze again. “Sixteen and that strong. Boy, I wish you the best in life, but know that wasting such potential, such strength, toiling on a farm would be a terrible loss.” Tristam clapped him on the shoulder companionably. “I respect your decision, but my offer stands. We headquarter in Portland, near the river Yelb at the main crossing. We call ourselves the Blades of Leander. It upsets the church and amuses Kar to no end.”
Alto nodded, and then gripped forearms with the man. Alto turned to the others already astride their horses and waved a farewell to them. He locked eyes with Karthor and offered him a smile of gratitude.
Alto watched them ride away and felt more than a small part of him wish he was riding with them. He shook his head, banishing the silly thought. Even after he turned to head back inside, his neck still craned around for a sight of the dust their horses left upon the road toward Monterose.
He was a farmer, born and bred. He’d known that his entire life. He’d never put much thought to it, but assumed that he would help out on his father’s farm all his life. Perhaps he would build his own home on the land somewhere, and maybe one day have his own family.
Alto sighed, hand upon the side of the door. He glanced once again at the road, where only a faint haze of dust still clung to the air. If he stayed, his future was one of hard work and the reward of knowing a simple {job} done w
ell. What Tristam offered was the stuff of tales told to children and whispered in the bars by drunkards. He shook the thoughts from his head and went inside to see to his father.
Chapter 2
The next day Alto and Darren worked to teach their siblings more about tending the farm. The youngsters could do the simple chores like milking the cows and fetching eggs from the chickens. The children needed to learn the plowing, sowing, and other work that required a strong and steady hand. Throughout the day, Alto’s thoughts were scattered, often taking a flight of fancy to the armor and sword that rested in his father’s trunk.
The following day, his father awoke for the first time. Lana fed him soup and gave him water, and then he fell asleep again for many hours. The next day he woke with a clear head. Alto waited until his mother and brothers and sisters were busy before going in to speak with him.
“Father, do you remember what happened?” Alto asked him.
“Thrown from my horse,” his father said, his eyes fixing on his son. “Goblins spooked it…they’re cowardly things, they must have ran. Was it you that found me?”
Alto shook his head. “Gemini brought you back; your foot was caught in the stirrup. He dragged you and the plow to the barn,” he told him.
“We saw to you, and then I rode out to make sure the raiders you spoke of passed us by.”
“I don’t remember much,” Halgin said, clearly unhappy about the situation.
“I found some people…good people,” Alto amended. “They helped kill the goblins and they came here so their priest could heal you.”
“Helped kill?” Halgin asked, lifting his head a little to get a better view.
Alto nodded. “Well, they did most of it, but one of the goblins tried to flee and came at me. I killed that one.”
Halgin grunted, laying his head back on his pillow. “And how did you manage that?”
“I took your sword and your armor and rode Sebas,” Alto explained.
Halgin sighed and remained silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, he did so in a voice Alto knew was one meant to offer guidance. “It’s good to fight for what’s yours, my boy. But killing for a living’s not our way of life. Not even goblins and the like.”
Alto nodded, falling into silence for a while and letting his gaze drop to his hands. He glanced back, expecting his father to have fallen asleep, but the man was staring up at the ceiling instead. “A proper healing is a hundred and fifty gold in Portland,” Alto said.
“Aye, I remember your mother saying as much yesterday. Not to worry; I’ll make do,” Halgin said.
It was another long and tense minute before Alto spoke again. “I could help earn the money.”
Halgin sighed, and then looked at him again. “How’s that, by soldiering? Soldiers don’t make much, not as much as we can in a season working the land. And they spend what they don’t gamble away on women and drink.”
Alto shook his head. “No, not soldiering. That’s the same mind Tristam had about them. Tristam’s in charge of the men I ran into that helped us.”
“You think Darren’s ready for the work you’d be leaving him? And the others? Caitlin, Kressa, Juell? And Harvest and Edwin—they’re barely old enough to walk without falling over! ”
Alto nodded. “Darren and I have been showing them the way of things. They learned fast, and I’ll be back by harvest.”
Halgin let out a final breath of disapproval. “You’ve made up your mind then. I’d been wondering if this was my last year with you. You’re a beast of a man, that’s true enough. But the strength of a plow horse isn’t enough for what you’re after. Aye, you’re a smart boy, but you’ve got to think quick and know what to do. One mistake and you’re done. It’s a dangerous path, son. I’d much rather you wanted my help in setting up your own place and your own land to tend.”
Alto hung his head for a moment and then lifted it to stare his father in the eye. “I want peace and good, honest work, but I don’t want it because someone else gives it to me. I want to earn it. I want to make sure when I’m ready for something like this that I can take care of what’s mine and help those who need it.”
Halgin chewed on his lip for a moment and then he nodded. “It’s not what I’d have chose for you, but I’m proud all the same. You’re a fine son, the finest a man could want. You’re too old to tell otherwise, and too big if that weren’t the case!”
Alto found himself smiling with his father, and fought back the emotions that threatened him. “I’ll be back to help, and I’ll be careful, too.”
Halgin nodded. He gave his son a smile and said, “Go, before your mother comes in and wrestles the truth from me and tries to stop you.”
Alto’s grin widened. He clasped Halgin’s good hand in his and then rose up. He turned and his eyes fell on the trunk with his father’s sword. He turned back, his lips parted to ask the question he couldn’t find the right words for.
Halgin saw him trying and smiled. “No, I’m sorry. You’ll have many swords in your life, Alto. Some will be better than others, but they’ll be nothing more than tools until you find the one that you’ve earned.”
“Isn’t working or buying one enough?” Alto asked, confused.
Halgin chuckled, and then grimaced at the discomfort movement in his chest caused. “Perhaps. The day will come when you’ll know what I mean. Take your bow and arrows and a good knife, though. It’s been a while, but this isn’t the first sign of goblins coming out of the mountains. We’ll need to keep what weapons we can to defend the farm.”
“All right. Thank you. For everything. I’ll be back!” Alto vowed.
“Go, boy, and hurry before they find a way to stop you!” his father said with tightness in his voice.
Alto nodded again and left his father’s side. He made straight for the room that he shared with Darren and his youngest brother, Edwin. He bundled up a change of clothes and what few personal effects he had, such as the silver Tristam had given him and his bow, arrows, and knife. He slipped out of the house, slipping quietly past the kitchen where his mother and two younger sisters worked, and then to the outside.
In the barn, Alto bid Darren a hushed and hurried goodbye, explaining that he was going to be gone for a few months, but that he would return for the harvest. Alto feared Darren wouldn’t understand the torrent of words and emotions.
Mounted on Sebas, Alto had only just ridden out of view of the house when he heard his mother calling for him. He steeled himself against the urge to turn back, and then had to fight back the guilt. Her cries faded from his ears in a few moments but it took far longer for their echo to fade from his heart.
* * * * *
“Oy! You there, boy! You look hungry. Come, I’ve got the finest smoked meats this side of the Northern Divide!”
“Fresh in from a long ride? I bet a nice bath and some companionship would do you good.”
Those cries and others assaulted Alto as he entered Portland. He spun in the saddle, trying to take in the different people calling out to him and to others that came in through the opened gate. He saw food and drink, weapons, shields and armor, wagons with men looking for laborers or guards, and other people hawking their wares. He heard a woman call to him, offering a bath and companionship. Alto was already blushing when he turned to look at her, and then dragged his gaze away as fast as he could when he saw the buxom woman was old enough to be his mother.
Alto tried to ride through them all, only to be stopped by a guard wearing a leather jacket and a helm. “Ho there, son, are you royalty?”
Alto’s eyes widened. “N-no!”
“Are you pulling a wagon? Have a permit to be on important business?”
Alto glanced around and shook his head.
“Then get off your horse!” the guard bellowed. “The stables are over there.”
Alto spun and saw a large barn tucked against the city wall, complete with a sign showing a picture of a horse. He dismounted and apologized to the guard, and then turned and walke
d Sebas toward it.
Several minutes later and with his purse lighter by three silver pieces, Alto strode away from the throng near the gate. His saddle bags rested across one shoulder as he walked through the town. The streets grew crowded again as he left the market near the gate and funneled into a street. He felt a tug at his side and glanced down to see a short section of leather thong bounce once on the ground. A boy barely older than Edwin was running away from him.
Alto took off after him. The pouch only held a few silver and copper pieces he’d acquired over the years but it was all the money he had. The thief disappeared into the crowd within a dozen paces. Alto stopped and looked around, his heart sinking. The grumbling of others passing by forced him to turn back and keep walking.
In a few minutes, Alto strode across a sturdy wooden bridge that spanned a river. He turned and stared at the buildings nearby, craning to catch a glimpse of something he might recognize. He was swept along by the crowd, and then had to scramble out of the way when a coach led by a team of magnificent horses bore down on him.
“You look lost.”
Alto spun about and tripped on the wooden porch that surrounded the building he was next to. He recovered his balance and glanced up at the wooden sign. It had been years since his father had taught him how to read. Most of what he’d learned he’d forgotten. Lucky for him the foaming mug on the sign left little doubt to the building’s purpose. Beneath the sign, with a broom in hand, he saw a brown-haired girl with freckles on her cheeks studying him.
“Is it that obvious?” Alto asked.
She grinned. “We’re not open yet. Were you hoping to come here?”
“I don’t think so.” Alto hesitated and looked around. He turned back to her and jerked his thumb toward the river he’d just crossed. “Was that the Yelb?”
“No, that’s the Sadani,” she said. “The Yelb’s in farther. Just outside the castle proper. There’s some locks set up between the two near the market.”
Child of Fate Page 2
