by Kel Kade
“Ah, well, that’ll be another bit.”
“Mm-hmm. And a towel?” he asked.
“That’s a bit, too,” the man said with a smile as if a bit meant free, except with pay.
“So, a bath is a copper,” Aaslo said. “Why don’t you just say a bath is a copper?”
Still smiling, the man said, “Because a bath isn’t a copper. It’s two bits. And, if you’d like a room, the bath is free!”
“How much is a room?”
“Five coppers,” the man said, splaying his fingers.
“Five coppers is a silver. Why don’t you just say a silver?”
The man gasped with dismay. “Well, you might not have a silver, but it’s possible you have five coppers.”
“It’s the same amount of money,” Aaslo grumbled. After five days of sleeping in the woods, a battle with white-blooded creatures, and slogging through the mud, he figured he probably smelled worse than the horse he intended to buy.
“Your acceptance of that fact diminishes its truth in no way.”
“Shut up,” said Aaslo.
“Excuse me, sir?” said the innkeeper warily.
“Ah, I said set it up. I’ll not be taking the room, but I guess I’ll have the bath. I’ll need the soap and towel, too.”
The innkeeper smiled with delight and waved him toward the bathing chamber. Aaslo paid an extra bit for more hot water to wash his clothes, which before long were hanging in front of the hearth on the other side of the small chamber. The rest of his belongings were gathered in the corner, except for the head. That, he had tucked between the tub and the near wall. The heat began to penetrate his muscles, and for the first time since Goldenwood, Aaslo thought he might relax.
He picked up his shaving kit from the shelf that lay across the tub and looked at himself in the small mirror. He scratched at his scruff and picked out a few leaves and chunks of dirt. At least, he hoped it was dirt. If he were honest with himself, he might have admitted that it had been seven days since he had last shaved—or bathed.
“I knew it!” Mathias said with a hoot.
Aaslo groaned. “Can’t you just let me be in my bath? I don’t need you in here with me.”
“Oh, yes, sir. I meant no offense,” said a small, squeaky voice from other side of the curtain blocking the doorway. “I was just seein’ if you needed anythin’ else. Sorry to bother you, sir.” The curtain billowed as the door was pulled shut, and Aaslo groaned again.
* * *
An hour later, he was standing in a run-down stable yard arguing with a gangly man who had a lazy eye. Aaslo rolled the numbers over again in his mind, and his stomach rolled with them as he considered his lightweight purse.
“What’s so great about this one?”
“It’s brown,” said the man.
“You’re charging ten extra silver for this one because it’s brown?”
“Yes, sir. People like brown horses.”
Aaslo surveyed the selection. Four horses. Of four horses, the man was trying to get him to buy this one—and pay extra—because it was brown.
“I need a dependable horse—one that can travel long-distance. I don’t care if it’s brown.”
“I get that,” said the man. “This one’s as good as the others, plus it’s brown.”
“Sir, I’m a forester, and if you know anything about foresters, then you’d know I don’t care one twig if it’s brown.”
“Jacobi, what are you tryin’ to sell to that young man?”
Aaslo turned to find an older woman wobbling down the steps from the home into the attached stable.
“Ma, go back inside. Let me handle this,” said Jacobi.
“Didn’t ya hear the man? He’s a forester. You’ll not be tryin’ to swindle no forester. Have some respect. I apologize, Sir Forester. I thought I raised him better than that. I’ve got a horse for you. He’s a strong one—a bit stubborn and a little crusty, but he’ll get ya where ya need to go. I’ll give him to ya for five less than these others, too.”
“Which one is he?” Aaslo asked.
“Oh, he’s not in here. People are a bit uncomfortable around him on account of his looks. That’s why no one wants him. I figure you don’t care about that, though, do ya, Sir Forester? Just follow me.”
“She’s going to cook you and eat you for supper.”
“I’m not good eating,” Aaslo muttered.
“Oh, he’s a good eater,” the old woman called back to him. “A healthy weight—strong, like I said.”
At best, the horse might have been considered strange, but most would say he was outright ugly. He could have been half boar, and Aaslo wouldn’t have cared, so long as he took him where he needed to go. A line ran straight down the gelding’s face from forelock to muzzle, one side black and the other white. More striking were the eyes, which were two different colors—bluish white on the black side of his face and brown on the other. It was as if someone had cut two horses down the center, then joined two of the halves. Beyond that, his coat was mottled with brown, black, and white splotches. Aaslo had never seen anything like it.
Mr. Poldry, the Goldenwood blacksmith, and Captain Cromley had taught Mathias what to look for in a horse. Aaslo had tagged along. From what he could tell, this mess of a beast seemed like a decent ride. If he was going to ride it, though, he’d need supplies.
“I’ll take him,” Aaslo said, “but I’ll need to purchase some tack.”
“That’s all right. I’ll have Jacobi clean him up for ya while you go up the street,” said the old woman as they stepped out of the barn. She paused and squinted toward the stable. “Now, who’s he talkin’ to over there? My eyes ain’t what they used to be, but that’s a strange one if I’ve ever seen one.”
A tall, thin man wearing odd clothing was deep in conversation with Jacobi. The man’s black pants were tight around the legs, and his fitted white tunic hung to his knees. He wore a black sash around his abdomen, from which hung a curved blade, which was broader toward the tip and carried in an ornamented sheath. His straight brown hair fell to his waist, and his overall appearance was immaculate. The man nodded toward Jacobi and then walked away before Aaslo and the old woman had reached them.
“Who was that? What did he want?” the woman snapped, and Aaslo was glad she was there to ask.
“I’m not sure, Ma. He’s looking for someone. A tall, blond fellow with a birthmark on his temple. Either of you seen him?”
“You know I’m not seeing much these days, Jacobi. What kinda question is that? Now let the forester get his things so he can be on his way.”
From the street, Aaslo spied the stranger stepping into the linen shop. Quickening his pace, Aaslo scurried down the road to a general store. Just as he ducked through the doorway, he glanced back to see the man exit the linen shop and head toward the chandler’s next door. Aaslo turned to survey the supply shop. It was dim, with dust motes floating in the afternoon sunlight that barely lit the front of the room. The shelves and crates stacked along the walls held an assortment of farm and ranch equipment, and the tack was piled in the rear, almost as an afterthought.
“Can I help you?” asked the shopkeeper as he stood from behind the counter.
Aaslo hadn’t even realized the man was in the room. The shopkeeper’s face was worn and leathery, as if he’d spent his life in the sun. He had a long mustache that hung past his chin and was missing one of his front teeth.
“I need some tack. Something good for a long journey,” Aaslo said.
“Nothin’ fancy, then? I’ve got a worn saddle, not too worn, mind you. Might be better than a new one if ya ain’t used to ridin’. It’ll be cheaper, too.”
“That sounds fine,” Aaslo said. “How much?”
The man narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Aaslo’s gear. “I’ll give it to ya in trade. The tack for that axe.”
Aaslo shook his head. “I need my axe. How much for the tack?”
“What do ya need more—the tack or that axe?” the shop
keeper said.
“He’s got you there.”
Aaslo clenched his jaw. “I need the tack more at the moment, but I’m a forester. I can’t part with the axe.”
“You’re a forester, eh? I never seen a forester. Ya look normal to me.”
Mathias hooted with laughter. “That’s because he doesn’t know you.”
“Did you expect that I wouldn’t?” said Aaslo.
“Well, ya ain’t got no pointy ears or nothin’, sir. I’m just sayin’.”
Aaslo scowled. “Why would I have pointy ears?”
The man held up his hands. “Now, don’t get a twist in your reins. I’m just saying some folks think you foresters’ve been dallyin’ with the faeries. Others think maybe you are faeries—or some kinda fae folk, anyhow.”
“I bet you’re the prettiest faerie of them all, Aaslo. Show us your sparkle.”
Aaslo huffed, “I’m not a faerie, and I don’t know any fae folk. I couldn’t say if they even exist. I’m just a man who needs a saddle and his axe.”
“I suppose we can’t be partin’ a forester from his axe. It’s a fine axe, though. If you’re headin’ south, you won’t be gettin’ much use outta it. No trees for a long while.”
“How do you know I’m going south?” Aaslo said.
“Not much else ways to go, now, is there? I s’pose you could be goin’ east, but ain’t much reason to be going out that way. I figure you’re answerin’ the summons. The blight down there in Ruriton must be pretty bad if they’re callin’ for a forester from all the way up here. You’d think with all those magic folk, they’d be able to take care of it themselves. Mayhap you’ll be needing that axe when ya get there.”
Aaslo knew nothing about a summons, or a blight, but at least he didn’t have to come up with an excuse. The shopkeeper finally sold him the items he needed, and Aaslo hefted the whole pile, glad to be done with the mess.
“Good luck to you, Sir Forester.”
He turned to leave and nearly ran into the man standing behind him. It was the stranger who had been looking for Mathias. The man looked at him with a piercing gaze that reminded Aaslo of a raptor sizing up its prey. Pale brown eyes rimmed in gold stared at him over sharp cheekbones bearing a waxy sheen. Pursing his thin lips, the man glanced over Aaslo, and it became obvious judgment had been passed.
“What … is a forester?” the man asked.
Aaslo wanted to ignore the question and leave, but the stranger was blocking the way.
Instead, he said, “Who are you? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
The man grinned, baring teeth that looked a bit too pointed. He spoke slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. “I’m a visitor. They call me Verus. I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you’ve seen him? He’s tall, young, with blond hair and a distinctive mark on his temple … right … here,” he said, tapping his own temple with a finger bearing a long nail filed to a point and lacquered black.
“I’m popular,” cheered Mathias.
“You’re dead,” Aaslo muttered.
Verus’s intense gaze searched Aaslo for everything that he was. He said, “I assure you that I am very much alive. It’s interesting that you say that, though. Do you think of death often?”
“Only when planning my future,” Aaslo retorted. “I can’t say that I’ve seen anyone who fits that description, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention. I mind my own business.”
“Hmm, and what was that business, Forester?”
“None of yours,” Aaslo said.
The shopkeeper interrupted the exchange with an anxious cough. “Ah, kind sir, this here is a forester. They’re highly respected, especially in these parts. Ya see, they grow the trees, take care of ’em, make sure they’re healthy—so as the loggers have somethin’ to cut down. Without the foresters, none of us would be here. And, well, they don’t leave the forests much, so they don’t get talkin’ to people much neither, if you understand what I mean.”
Verus narrowed his eyes at Aaslo. “You are a gardener?” He turned to the shopkeeper. “This is a respectable position in your kingdom?”
“They say faeries love gardens, Aaslo. Maybe you are a faerie.”
Although words rarely affected Aaslo, this Verus was likely the enemy, and he wanted to punch the man in his vicious little mouth. “I’m not a gardener.”
The shopkeeper’s grin faltered, and he glanced at Aaslo, presumably to see if he would say more. Aaslo attempted to step around the man, but Verus made no effort to move. He sized up the stranger as he considered shoving him out of the way. He didn’t like Verus, and he decided any injury the man might incur would be acceptable.
“He might be a magus.”
The thought gave him pause long enough for the shopkeeper to begin chattering again. Looking back to Verus, the shopkeeper said, “Yes, foresters are revered for their sacrifice. Even now, he’s goin’ to fight back the blight that’s destroyin’ the wilds in the south.”
Verus leaned into Aaslo and sniffed. “What magic do these foresters possess to combat such a scourge?”
Aaslo didn’t attempt to hide his contempt as he replied, “We don’t have any magic besides hard work and experience.”
With a malicious grin, Verus said, “Good luck with that.” The infuriating man glanced at the shopkeeper and then dismissed them both as he left.
The shopkeeper rubbed his head and said, “He’s a strange one, no doubt about that. Now that I think about it, seein’ as how you’re goin’ to fight the blight and all, I kinda feel bad about chargin’ ya for the tack. It’s all used goods, after all. Here, let me return your money. If ya get a good reward, you remember me on the way back.”
Although he had little money left, Aaslo had no desire to mislead or take advantage of the man. He was about to reject the offer when Mathias said, “You’re going to save the world, dimwit.”
“Right,” Aaslo muttered. He took the coins from the shopkeeper and promised to return if he came back rich. Aaslo doubted he’d survive to come back at all.
“Well, you certainly won’t with that attitude.”
“You’re right,” he muttered as he left the shop. “I don’t have to become the savior, anyway. I’ll drop you off, and the king will find someone else—a knight or a magus or an entire army of knights and magi.”
Aaslo didn’t want to run into Verus again, so he quickly collected the remainder of his supplies and left the town astride his new steed. With his pack strapped to the saddle and Mathias’s head secured at his belt, he took to the southern road toward the capital. It was not long before he realized the horse was an idiot. It first became evident when the gelding refused to turn left. No matter how hard Aaslo tried, he couldn’t get the beast to go left, so he was forced to circle to the right every time he needed to change direction. Just as he reached the town limit, the moron spooked at a flowerpot beside the florist’s stall; and, when Aaslo stopped to give him water, the damnable creature threw the water bucket into the air and then proceeded to stomp on it as if it were a rat.
The old woman had been true to her word, though. Dolt, as Aaslo had begun affectionately calling him, seemed to keep his pace indefinitely, even if it wasn’t a fast one. The horse plodded along until well after dark. Normally, Aaslo would have stopped for camp at least an hour before sundown, but he was concerned about being followed. He doubted he had roused Verus’s suspicions, though. The man seemed to have rejected him as inconsequential, but Aaslo felt it better to be safe. That night, he slept hidden in the grass far from the road.
* * *
Myropa watched Verus step into the next shop. She had once again found the Lightbane’s former companion as he was haggling over the price of a horse, although the sorceress was no longer with him. She had not expected to find Verus in the village, not so far north. He had been assigned the central region, but the man was ambitious, perhaps more so than Obriday, who had at least gained his position through skill. What Verus lacked in strength and
skill, though, he made up for in brutality.
Myropa might have considered updating Verus on the progress of the mission if he had been able to see or hear her, but the sorcerer had not been granted the blessing. She imagined the ignoble louse spending weeks looking for someone who was already dead and smiled to herself. With a thought, she was standing at the edge of town watching the young forester ride past. She had hoped the sorceress would join him once his business in town was concluded, but the woman did not reappear. Myropa realized the two must have parted ways, although she couldn’t imagine why the woman would have left him alone. Even Myropa knew well that foresters were not equipped to handle tasks outside their beloved forests, and the significance of this one leaving his forest had not been lost on her. Glancing at the bag that dangled from the man’s waist, she considered again the loss he—and his world—had suffered.
She knew the forester’s destination, so she would be able to find him again. Releasing the breath of the living, Myropa passed through the veil into Celestria. The light was bright there, unlike the muted tones in the Realm of the Living, where she no longer saw the sun as the brilliant yellow star she remembered. Her heeled slippers tapped lightly over the jade tiles as she exited the receiving chamber of the fifth palace. The courtyard was empty, save for the twittering birds bathing in the fountain. Skirting the voluminous leaves and petals of the exaggerated foliage, she passed under the marble archway of the far portico, then padded through the corridor, colorfully lit with varying hues of flame atop man-sized torches. A breeze swept through the open archways, brushing her split skirt aside and exposing her legs to a chill. While she could not feel warmth, the cold never eluded her.
When she reached the swirling door of liquid light at the end, she pulled on a golden cord at its side. A moment later, the light stilled, and she was able to pass through without trouble.
“Really, Trostili, I don’t know why you bother with them,” said Arayallen. “They’re so destructive.”
“That’s the point,” said Trostili.
Arayallen pursed her perfect, pink lips, then smiled. “Yes, I suppose you would appreciate that.” She waved a hand toward the doorway but did not grace Myropa with her gaze. “Your pet is here. See what she wants so we can get on with the preparations.”
