by Kris Hiatt
He slowed his pace after a few minutes, feeling much more in control of himself and was glad that he didn’t seem to be as drunk as he was just a few short minutes ago. He was just as glad, more so in fact, that his other condition had gone away during the course of the run. He was slightly out of breath and stopped to catch it and get his bearings. He wasn’t used to running in bare feet, so his feet hurt and were cold from cool night air and cold ground.
He wasn’t sure where he was. It was easy enough for him to know exactly where he was in the daylight, but the dark made it very difficult to navigate. He walked straight ahead for a few minutes before he finally got his bearings. He was near the docks. He took a deep breath and he could smell the ocean not all that far away. He knew he wasn’t that far from the Iron Anvil. He had actually run further east than the bar, only a few streets up, but didn’t think he wanted to go there.
He stood where he was for a short while, breathing in the ocean air and collecting himself. He finally decided he would make the short circle back to his room; going by the baron’s forge and west, and then finally south, back toward the Palace Inn. He figured the longer he was gone, the better chance he would have of most of the patrons being gone for the night.
“Well, look who it is,” said one of four men standing a short distance from the baron’s forge. He couldn’t see their faces, the meager light from the moon not enough to do so, and the light from the torches was coming from directly behind them, casting shadows over their faces. He didn’t see swords hanging from their hips, so he thought they were unarmed.
“Evening gentlemen,” Treace said nonchalantly, thinking they knew he was The Wolf.
“Yeah,” said a different one. “It’s the kiss stealing prick who thinks he’s the best fighter in the world.”
Treace realized then just how far from home he really was. He had gotten drunk and almost slept with a prostitute. He ran away from her and ran into a group of angry men. He got the feeling this was not going to end well.
“Let’s show him how to really fight,” one of them said.
That confirmed the feeling.
Chapter 16
“It has to be one of them. What are the chances someone else wears a wolf paw necklace?” Heral asked.
Drevic nodded his agreement. He knew it couldn’t be a coincidence, it had to be one of the two, and considering the person they called The Wolf supposedly beat a quality swordsman after being drug into the arena, Drevic knew it had to be Brother Treace. Moffred probably never handled a sword in his life and he knew that Treace had made many while working at the forge. Who else, other than those two, was going to be wearing that type of necklace?
“It’s Brother Treace,” Drevic told him.
“Think so?”
“It makes sense, he forges swords. Is it hard to believe he can wield them as well?”
“I suppose,” Heral said. “Moff doesn’t exactly seem like a swordfighter.”
“We’ll find out when they return,” Drevic said, tucking the edge of his blue robes under his leg so the wind wouldn’t billow it out.
“I know, but it’s killing me not knowing.”
“We’re already on the road out and I’m not turning around for you to verify the tale.”
“The city is still within view,” Heral protested.
“No,” Drevic told him.
Heral crossed his arms and sat quietly. Drevic was curious too, but he knew it had to be Treace. It was the topic of choice the morning when they went to see the baron. While they were waiting to see him, the guards told them the story of the unknown young man that easily defeated Primain, who Drevic was told was quite a swordsman. That night a few of the guards were in a nearby bar where the man was being heralded as The Wolf, due to his wolf paw necklace. Apparently many guards lost money wagering against the young man. Drevic thought it served them right for gambling.
“The baron was a nice man,” Heral said after a bit of silence.
“He is a nice man,” Drevic corrected.
“Yes, and I’m happy he agreed to meet with Baron Shamir at the College.”
“That’s not for another couple months,” Drevic told him.
“But it’s still positive news.”
“It is nice that Liernin will meet, yes. However, we don’t know that Shamir will agree to do the same. Even if he does, and they both meet, the outcome is not certain.”
“I know that,” Heral said.
“Do you understand the risks?”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Heral said.
“If they meet, and that’s not even for sure yet, what happens if they disagree so completely that it starts a war? In what light do you think the brothers will be looked at then?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“What if our order is the cause for both factions to go to war?” Drevic asked him. He wanted to make sure that Heral knew the risks that they were taking. Sure the reward could be an independent College, free of requests from the Church and from either baron. But the reward of failure could be much worse. They had been stopped by a handful of people on the streets asking them why they weren’t accepting Kaden as their savior and admitting their gifts were from God.
“You’re concentrating on the negative, brother,” Heral told him.
“And you’re ignoring the possibilities.”
“I am aware of them,” Heral said. “I just don’t believe that the barons meeting at the College would lead to a war, and if it did, who’s to say it wouldn’t have come to that anyway?”
“You twist it to fit your need then,” Drevic told him.
“I’m not twisting it, you are. Even if the barons never met, how long do you think each city could live without trade from the other? Sooner or later this needs to be solved, for good or ill.”
Drevic knew the younger brother was right. Much of the lumber, ore, furs, and vegetables came from Haven and its controlled areas. Most of the cloth dyes, medicinal herbs, and rice came from the areas under Kadenton’s influence. They could last years, most likely, but it wouldn’t be good for either city to do so.
“They could last for many years without war or trade,” Drevic said, not quite ready to give in.
“Yes, but at what cost? We live in a climate near to that of Haven, yet we can’t cultivate the medicinal herbs that come from Kadenton. They just don’t survive. Every medical needs those herbs. What would happen without them?”
“We are in agreement then, just stating it from a different perspective,” Drevic said.
“There is a lot of truth in that.”
“And, that is a long time from now,” Drevic said.
“At least a few months before they even meet.”
“So what’s the point in worrying about it now?” Drevic asked.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“I know, but I wanted you to see the whole picture,” Drevic said.
“I do now.”
“Then let’s deliver the good news to the Archmagister,” Drevic said.
“And the odd questions regarding the Church,” Heral said.
“That too.”
“Three days by wagon?” Heral asked.
“About that.”
“Shall I work on Path of The Calm?” Heral asked.
“That’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” Heral said and moved to go to the back of the wagon.
“Oh, and Brother Drevic?” he asked, pausing on his way in.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for your help.”
“You are welcome, Brother.”
Drevic was glad to see Heral was doing well with finding The Calm. Though he had found success several times, he couldn’t do so on a consistent basis. He thought he was almost as good of a choice for the mission as Treace, but that particular young man seemed to go toward The Calm more quickly than any other person Drevic had seen. He guessed Treace had more upside to his abilities, but he found he
was very impressed with Heral.
#
“And he accepted at first request?” Archmagister Nimbril asked three days later.
“Yes, Archmagister,” Drevic told him.
“That is fortunate and very welcomed news.”
“When will Magister Brental be returning?”
“In the summer, as originally planned,” Nimbril told him.
“Oh,” Drevic said. “I had just assumed we were both called back.”
“I know what you assumed. But there is a reason I called you back. I didn’t bring you back here due to a lack of faith in your abilities.”
“Archmagister, I never…”
“You would, and you did. Listen to me carefully Brother Drevic, and no interruptions.”
Drevic nodded his head in understanding while Archmagister Nimbril began to pace back and forth.
“Shortly after you left for Haven, a rider arrived with a message from Vrindel. He has requested that I travel to Haven and visit him at the priory to discuss our future. He said that he would take it as a personal slight if we declined his generous offer. His words, not mine.”
Drevic nodded. Vrindel wasn’t a bad man, Drevic thought, just one who believed things should be a certain way, and that way was his way. He had known a few of those men in his life.
“So I have decided I will travel to Haven to meet with him, and I will also meet with the baron while I am there. It is past time that the head of our order has met with the heads of the rest of the world. I have been ignorant in that regard and I accept that a lot of this could have been prevented had I been a better leader.”
Drevic opened his mouth to tell him he wasn’t a bad leader, but Nimbril gave him a hard look and he remembered his promise to not interrupt. Drevic closed his mouth and Nimbril resumed his pacing.
“You cannot deny that we would be in a different position had I been more visible to each baron and to the Church.”
Drevic didn’t know if he was being asked to respond or not, but decided to not say anything right away. If the Archmagister wanted him to speak, he would say so.
“Some of this I have realized in the days after sending Heral and that lazy Moffred to get you. My original reason for sending for you still remains, however. I have stated that I am against being absorbed by the Church and I would like someone who holds a different view to join me.”
Drevic wanted to protest that he wasn’t in favor of the Church taking over, he was just open to the idea of their gifts being from Kaden or from God. He guessed the Archmagister mistook his meaning during their discussions about Vrindel and the Church after he had relayed the information about the people at Haven and their questions regarding Kaden and God.
“That’s why you will travel with me to see Vrindel and you’ll introduce me to the baron,” the Archmagister said, smiling.
Drevic didn’t know why Nimbril would ask him to do it; he had several magisters that outranked him and were probably better suited for the task.
“Go ahead, speak,” Nimbril told him.
“Archmagister, first off, thank you for your faith in me, however, shouldn’t a magister travel with you?”
“Why? Are you a magister?”
“No,” Drevic answered the ludicrous question.
“Yet you have met the baron several times, why do I need a magister with me now?”
Drevic couldn’t think of a good reason now that the Archmagister put it that way.
“Precisely what I thought,” Nimbril said.
“Why me?”
“A better question at least. I picked you because I wanted someone with me who is capable of seeing things from more than one point of view. I needed someone who is intelligent, possesses wisdom, and someone who is respectful while still having the guts to ask the questions that need to be asked.”
Drevic didn’t know what to say to the man for his kind words, so he gave a small bow instead.
“A perfect example of why I chose you,” the Archmagister said, beaming. “Words weren’t needed, so you didn’t waste them.”
Drevic almost told him that he would have said something, had the words come to his mind. But they didn’t so he merely bowed, not because he thought he would waste words, as if that were possible.
“Anyway, I know you must be tired of riding in a wagon by now, but we leave at once.”
“We’ll not be taking a ship this time?”
“No, I hate the water,” Nimbril said.
“Yes, Archmagister.”
“Another thing,” the Archmagister said as he neared the door to his chamber. “In the future, while we’re alone, skip the perfunctory titles.”
“Yes, sir,” Drevic said, not wanting to try the man’s name out just yet.
Nimbril eyed him without moving and raised his eyebrow slightly.
“Yes, Nimbril.”
“Much better. See? Now we can be called friends,” he said, quite chipper. He opened the door and motioned for Drevic to go first.
“I’ll restock my travel supplies,” Drevic told him as he moved through the door.
“No need. While we’ve been speaking, Baros has been restocking the wagon.”
“Okay,” Drevic managed to say after fighting away the urge to follow it with ‘sir’ or ‘Archmagister’. He also realized that he hadn’t seen much of his old friend in months.
They walked through the halls in silence, only the sounds of their robes whisking the stone and the muffled sound of their shoes slapping the floor underneath them disturbing that silence. Drevic waved at the few brothers he saw as he made his way through the halls toward the front entrance, but mostly he was thinking of how much he had done in the past few years. He mastered three Paths and had become the first brother to meet with a baron regularly in the history of their order. He had been invited into the Meeting Chamber without being a magister, and was now going to travel with the Archmagister who was going to meet with the Archbishop and the baron, also for the first time in their recorded order. He was pleased with the way his life had gone so far.
“How long are we staying?” he asked Nimbril when he saw the wagon laden with supplies.
“A week at least, possibly longer,” Nimbril answered.
Drevic was surprised they were going to be staying that long. He assumed they were only going to make short visits to each; the Archbishop and the baron. He got the feeling he wasn’t being told everything.
“Thank you, Brother Baros,” Nimbril said once they reached the wagon.
“Archmagister,” Baros said, bowing.
“Thank you, my friend,” Drevic told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He noticed that Baros was wearing a yellow sash over his beige robes, indicating that he had mastered Path of Heart. “And congratulations.”
“Thank you, brother. To you as well,” Baros told him.
Drevic realized that Baros was referring to the blue robes of his current rank of Second Adept. He had demonstrated his mastery of Path of Tears a few months ago. Had he seen so little of his friend that he didn’t realize how much time had actually passed?
“Are you ready, Brother Drevic?” Nimbril asked.
“I am,” Drevic said and hoisted himself into the driver’s seat. One of the horses whinnied, and Drevic, not knowing much about horses, figured it was saying it was ready to go as well.
The Archmagister climbed into the passenger side of the wagon with some effort and a little assistance from Baros, who steadied the older man and was ready to catch him in case he fell.
“My staff,” Drevic said, remembering it was in his room. He thought of whacking Moffred with it and was thinking it would be better to have it and not need it than to be attacked by real bandits and not have it. He wasn’t that adept with it, but he would fight to save Nimbril’s life if it came to it. He got up and was ready to jump down when Baros stopped him.
“I’ll get it,” Baros said. “Oh, wait, I already did.”
Baros was smiling a large smile and Drevic realize
d it had been far too long since he had seen it upon his friend’s face. Baros motioned to the back of the wagon. Drevic looked in the back to see his staff resting on some of the soft cargo.
“Thank you, Baros” Drevic said, ignoring the usual title one brother offered another.
“You’re very welcome, my friend.”
Nimbril waved at Baros and nodded, which Drevic took as an indication the man was ready to leave. Drevic grabbed the reins and gave them a quick shake.
“Yah,” he said, trying to get the horses to move.
The well-trained and older horses knew exactly what to do and moved forward, barely even jostling the wagon as they did so. Their ears twitched and their tails swished, but they went about their business without any other complaint.
After the wagon was through the exit, Drevic heard the screeching of iron and looked back to see Baros and another brother closing the gates to the College. He didn’t know what to think. He had never, in all his years here, seen the gates closed.
“Why do they close the gates?” he asked Nimbril.
“The master of the order is out.”
“So the gates close because you are gone?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” Drevic asked, not understanding why the gates would close when the Archmagister left the College.
“Tradition,” Nimbril said, and then looked at Drevic.
Drevic didn’t say anything and only looked at Nimbril, hoping for a better answer. Nimbril sighed and looked ahead again.
“If the Archmagister leaves the College, for any reason, the gates to the College close. No one leaves, and no one enters that is not a brother.”
“Not even the cooks and servers?” Drevic asked, thinking of the dozens of helpers that cook, clean, and support the brothers every day.
“Not even them,” Nimbril confirmed. Drevic could hear sadness in the older man’s voice.
“When was the last time the gates were closed?”
“Never,” Nimbril said quietly.
“Never? Then how can you say it’s a tradition to have the gates closed?”
