by Stefon Mears
“You think they’ve found a god?” Amra said.
“I’m not sure about that,” Ehren said. “Kind of hard to keep the discovery of a god quiet.”
“Power,” Cavan said. “You think they’ve found power.”
“People have certainly killed for less,” Amra said.
“I think they found something powerful enough to spark a legend. And I think we’re going to have to worry about more than rescuing Kent.”
Amra burst out with a sudden bark of laughter, and looked a bit embarrassed when Cavan and Ehren stared at her in the dim moonlight.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just … Cavan, I think this barony just got too valuable to be the inheritance of a bastard.”
Cavan shook his head. Another time, he might have laughed. Surely it was funny — on some level — that he and Kent were under threat because he stood to inherit something so valuable that, if anyone else knew about it, he would not have been allowed to inherit it.
But right now, Cavan couldn’t laugh. Couldn’t even smile as he lay down to get such sleep as he would that night. Guilt weighed heavily on him. Kent and his family were suffering — possibly even being tortured or murdered even now — and Cavan had been wasting his thoughts on smiling farmers and easy roadways and bright, shiny colors. Like some spoiled child, with barely a thought spent on their mission. Their goal.
Goals now. Plural. Ehren was likely right. Chances were they’d have to do more than save Kent and his family.
But Kent and his family came first. And Ehren would just have to accept that.
* * *
Cavan awoke first the next morning, shortly before sunrise. By his own planning, of course. Even a failed wizard could feel the approach of sunrise, sunset, midday and midnight. The easiest thing in the world to waken himself when he chose. And in this case, he wanted to be awake before even Ehren arose to offer his morning prayers to the rising sun.
Cavan threw off his undyed roughspun cloak, which had done double-duty as a blanket because he had not bothered with his bedroll.
His friends still slept, and Cavan slipped away from them, down toward the river’s edge. What he had to do, he had to do alone.
Cavan’s guilt last night had been a weighty thing, sitting on his chest and making all his worries worse. That was no good. That was no way to ride into danger.
But drifting away into memory with every wisp of cloud or hint of birdsong, that was no good either. Cavan hadn’t even realized he was doing that, not until Ehren’s story. Not until the guilt hit.
Then it became clear. Cavan had lost his focus. Left some of it in the place between, when he’d thrown all of his being into that memory to escape the giant spider and its kin.
Ever since then, every little thing seemed to demand Cavan’s attention.
Even now, the predawn gray had tinges of red and purple, more color than that place between and drawing Cavan’s eyes. His ears ate up the gentle breeze through the alders and ashes, the rushing of the river, the chittering and rustling of squirrels, the first songs of the morning birds. The smell of the blackberries made his stomach rumble and his mouth water and he could already feel a part of his mind casting back to the place between, trying to remember if the underbrush in the gray forest had included any berry bushes.
Cavan sat down cross-legged near the river’s edge, on soft green blades of grass, moistened by dew and spray.
And there he ran through every focusing exercise he could think of. First, those taught by Master Powys. Clearing his mind by following his breath in and out, over and over until there was only his breathing, and the clean air and the rising and falling chest were incidental to the process.
Then he shifted his focus, carried his attention from his lungs and into his veins, following his lifeblood as it pumped through his body. Three cycles through his system, he followed, then back to his breaths.
Cavan began to breathe in the quiet power of this place. The gentle insistence of the breeze. The unstoppable rushing of the wide river. The deep permanence of the earth beneath him. These things and more he breathed in until their power filled him up like a well in a storm.
Once full, Cavan sprang to his feet and whipped his longsword from its scabbard in a single movement. Cavan went through the eight basic strikes first with his blade in one hand, then the other, then with a two-hand grip that did not quite suit the shorter pommel of this sword.
He followed the eight basic strikes with the four basic blocks, the twelve counterstrikes. And then on to the advanced attacks and defenses. Every single move he’d been taught and a few he’d developed on his own.
And with each movement Cavan was deep inside his muscles. Ensuring not only were his feet placed properly, but his weight distributed correctly on the soft grass, his legs tensing when they needed to, loosening when they could. His back, his shoulders, his arms, his wrists — every movement, every muscle, proper tension, proper placement, proper timing.
When Cavan finished, his breaths weren’t shallow and quick like a novice. They were full and deep as they were supposed to be. A light sheen of sweat coated him in the first rays of dawn.
Soft applause came from nearby. Cavan looked to his right to see Amra, leaning against an ash tree. She’d already donned her black leather armor, which meant Cavan had not slipped away so unnoticed as he’d hoped. Back near the horses, Cavan could hear Ehren chanting his morning prayers.
“How long have you been watching?” he said.
“Very well done,” she said, and there was nothing teasing in her voice, for once. “Not that I’m surprised. I’ve fought beside you. Still.” She cocked her head to one side, her short black curls almost dancing as she did. “Much as I tease you about tactics, I’m not sure how you failed warrior training. Your entire self was in every one of those movements.”
“I didn’t have that much focus when I studied with Ser Dreng. Not until—”
“You’re kidding.” Amra blinked. “You’re telling me training to be a wizard made you a better warrior?”
Cavan shrugged. Sheathed his sword.
“Now I’ve heard everything.” Amra chuckled, then turned and started back toward camp.
Cavan took the moment alone to wash in the river, before returning with blackberries to add to their breakfast of sharp, hard cheese and good Oltoss rye bread.
Most important, Cavan felt like himself again. Not like some child, traveling as much through memory as across the land. Not like the half-man who’d left a piece of himself in another world.
He was Cavan Oltblood. And he had work to do.
* * *
Cavan barely noticed the land around them as they rode that day. A few hills. A small valley. Trees came and went. The rivers were closer at times, farther away at other times. He knew them well enough, and they didn’t need his attention.
Clouds smeared and passed quickly through the pale sky overhead. Clearly they were traveling faster than he was. The road was wide and easier than it should have been — thanks to ancient magics — and still Ehren and Amra held the hobbies to a moderate traveling pace.
They were right. Cavan knew they were right. Knew they had to take breaks to rest and water the horses. Knew they couldn’t simply gallop all the way to the baronial manor house in Juno.
But he didn’t have to like it.
Amra tried distracting him with tactical questions. What was the layout of the manor? Of the surroundings? What land features could we expect before we get there? Pinch points? Likely ambushes? Where would we be crossing the river?
Answering only did so much good. No more than a few hundred yards later she’d ask the same question again. Or for clarification of some detail. Tell me more about this bridge. Do the foothills around the Blue Mountains get those crystalline deposits? And so on.
Cavan answered every question as best he could, but so much had happened since he left home. His recollections were never clear enough to satisfy her.
And Ehren, he
asked questions Cavan had never known the answer to. How many herds of goats? How many farms? How far up the mountains do they go during each season?
Cavan knew they had reasons for each question. But that didn’t help Cavan gain knowledge Kent had thought him too young to learn.
On and on through the day they rode, while the Blue Mountains in the distance grew slowly larger. Somewhere past midday, Cavan first noticed an azure glint among the snow near the peak of the tallest mountain, the Ice Dagger.
Cavan, Ehren and Amra were just remounting their horses to continue on after a supper of cold chicken, roasted with herbs — and not the same taste as last night’s fare — with apples and a bread so light it was almost cake, when Amra stood tall in her saddle and stared into the distance.
“Cavan,” she said, “how broad is the pass to Nolarr?”
“Broad enough that no one calls it a pass. It’s like there’s a tiny break in the mountains for the Royal Road. Some folks call it—”
“The Street of Death,” she said, sitting down in her saddle now.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s used in tactical studies. Twelve leagues long, and wide enough to march an army down. Except that the sides have small, hidden nooks and passes where soldiers can hide and rain down death. Arrows, rocks, hot oil, that sort of thing.”
“Not to mention the scorpions the duke had built at key points.”
“Why does the king allow it?” Ehren asked.
“Because the only way to invade Oltoss from the east is to cross Nolarr, which means that army will be stopped dead at the Blue Mountains. Every one of those defenses can be aimed at an army approaching from the east as easily as one from the west.”
“Good thing we’re not bringing an army,” Ehren said. “And that we’re not going to Nolarr.”
Amra and Cavan exchanged looks. She looked as certain as he felt that they would have to go to Nolarr before all this was over.
“Do you know a way around that pass?” she asked.
Cavan wanted to smile and give a mysterious answer. Master Powys would have approved of that. Or even just a confident assurance. Ser Dreng would have commended him for that. But as it was, Cavan could only say one thing honestly.
“Sort of.”
Amra sighed and nodded. Apparently she understood exactly what he meant — he knew the routes the soldiers used, but not well.
They turned back to riding, and Ehren began to sing one of his paeans to Zatafa.
Cavan hung his head as his blond friend began to sing. As though the day’s ride weren’t long enough…
14
No more than an hour before sunset, Cavan, Ehren and Amra finally crossed the border from the County of Twall into the Barony of Juno. They’d been off the Royal Road to the south for hours now, and Cavan could feel the difference. He tasted dust from the roads now. Their horses had to watch out for wagon ruts.
And the ride itself was more jarring. Not uncomfortable for a man who spent so many days of his life in the saddle — and certainly better than riding cross-country — but noticeable after the Royal Road.
Thicker, taller trees through here. Pines and redwoods, mostly, though even those didn’t look so large as Cavan remembered them. But then, he’d spent a fair bit of time among the giant trees of the Wailing Woods since then. Compared to those trees, these were fresh-sprung saplings. As though a stiff wind could blow one down.
Not much chance of that today though. The winds were still mild things, easing their way up from the south. Cavan resolved to enjoy that while it lasted. Those winds would get stronger all too soon.
The closeness of the Blue Mountains did nothing to help the trees look tall. The peaks towered now, taking up nearly half the sky. Impressive. Especially since Cavan knew that between the mountain range and the place he sat ahorse rose a series of hills even before the first gentle slopes of the mountains themselves.
It was ever the trick of mountains to look closer than they were.
“I expect we’ll reach an inn before sunset,” Ehren said, and Cavan could hear the hope underlying his attempt at a neutral tone. “The road’s too well-used for us not to. We could learn much at an inn.”
“So could the duke,” Amra said. “No inns.”
She looked around as though her eyes would pick out something in the late afternoon sunlight that she had somehow missed until now. But the rocks near the road yielded little, and the grass beyond them even less. And whatever secrets lay tucked behind the tree lines on either side of the road did not leap to offer themselves up. She even looked over her shoulder at the road behind, almost as though she expected riders.
She shook her head as she turned back.
“I’m surprised we haven’t seen those hunters by now. And I still can’t believe we got past that bridge without an ambush. We had to cross it, and visibility was so low—”
“Perhaps we got ahead of them,” Ehren said. “Or perhaps they went the wrong direction. Perhaps they thought we’d go to the king.”
“Falstaff knows I wouldn’t go to the king,” Cavan said. “Not without—”
“Proof,” Amra said. “Yes, we know. How well do you know this area, Cavan? Any idea where we’d find a good place to camp?”
Cavan shook his head.
“Farms!” Ehren said, with real joy in his voice. “We passed the last of Twall’s farms hours ago, but we can’t be too far from the farmsteads here in…”
He trailed off because Cavan was shaking his head.
“Nothing we’d reach before dark.”
“Besides,” Amra said, “if we’re being watched, the last thing we’d want to do is lead hunters to a farm. They wouldn’t blink at killing the farmers.”
“Wait…” Cavan said, staring into the trees east of the road as memories surfaced. “The manor’s huntsman, Gregor. He took us hunting in those woods…”
“How long?” Amra said, excitement in her voice.
“Just a couple of days at a time, but…”
“Come on,” she said, spurring Caramel off the road to the east, forcing the others to follow. “Let’s find the game trails while the light’s still good. Then I’m sure we can reach one of the clearings where Gregor had you camp.”
Cavan wondered briefly, and not for the first time, if Amra could read his mind.
They’d barely reached the tree line before she spotted a game trail, and it was one Cavan remembered when he recognized the old bear scars across the trunk of a nearby pine tree. The trail was used mainly by deer. Wide enough for a hunting party, so long as they were careful.
Cavan started toward the trail, but Amra whistled the horses to a halt.
“Nope,” she said, smiling. “We tie the horses just inside the tree line, where they won’t be seen. We go in on foot, weapons ready.”
“I’m not sure how far it is,” Cavan said. “We might not make it before dark.”
“Oh, we must,” Amra said, pulling her sword. “We simply must. Otherwise those hunters will have lain their ambush for nothing.”
“No,” Ehren said. “Ridiculous. There’s no way they could—”
“Bet me,” Amra said, taking one hand off her sword and offering it to Ehren. “Ten crowns says the duke’s hunters are waiting to ambush us at the clearing. Twenty more says they’re the same ones we fought near the Firespears.”
Cavan shook his head. He knew that gleam in her eye. And Ehren knew it too. Amra never offered a bet unless she was certain she was right.
Ehren sighed and shook his head.
“Come on then.”
“No,” Cavan said.
Amra didn’t say anything this time. She just turned and looked at him. She did flutter her eyelashes, which Cavan knew was a warning sign. He had wondered on occasion if she ever fluttered her eyelashes to flirt with lovers, but he doubted it.
He didn’t waste time wondering now, though. He just answered her unspoken question.
“We have the tactical edge,�
�� he said. “We know they’re there. But strategically, this is a mistake.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t. I know you two aren’t fond of killing, but we will face these four again. This may be our only chance to take them when we have the advantage.”
“We have the advantage right now. But we have a chance to compound it. They’re sleeping outside, in shifts. Waiting on alert. Eating trail rations. Certain we’re coming.” Cavan smiled. “But we’re going to bypass them and sleep in an inn tonight. A good night’s sleep in real beds. Hot meals.”
Amra started to shake her head. Ehren chimed in.
“Plus gossip. A chance to get the lay of the—”
“No,” Cavan said. “We draw as little attention as possible. Talk as little as possible. Eat, sleep, and ride before dawn.”
“Fine,” Amra said, sheathing her sword. “But you may be recognized.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cavan said. “The men who are hunting us won’t hear about it until we’re gone.”
Amra sighed, but clapped Cavan on the shoulder. “Every time I start thinking of you as a warrior, you remind me you’re half a wizard.”
Cavan wasn’t sure what to say to that, but the three of them mounted and rode hard for the inn.
* * *
By the time the sun finally rose over the Blue Mountains the next morning, Cavan, Ehren and Amra had been riding for hours. Fortified by a good night’s sleep, and not one but two hot meals. This morning had been carrot porridge with beef in a beer broth. More than thick enough to stick to their ribs as they rode in a pre-dawn gloom that lasted for hours.
But then, so close to the mighty Blue Mountains, the sun wouldn’t clear the peaks and shine its light down on the Barony of Juno until close to midday.
By then, the trio had cleared the forest, ridden past a number of creeks and small rivers, farms and mills, and were closing in on the baronial manor itself. The road grew smoother, though more from care than magic, and farms around them now grew beets, lettuce and spinach, mainly, but a scattered few grew corn and carrots.
