Her matted hair was a rich auburn. Several chunks had been torn out, but the rest hung down just past her shoulders. Under the dried blood and soot Vinnicus could make out the high, delicate cheekbones characteristic of the people in this region. Her face was miraculously undamaged, and her full lips, while pulled taut in anguish, still maintained a country girl’s beauty. She wore the remains of a thick wool dress, the front of which was torn away, leaving the sleeves and collar holding the garment together, as if it were some ragged cloak. Cuts and deep gashes crossed most of her exposed flesh. It was a wonder that she was alive at all. Perhaps the last caring part of Duhann had restrained the beast in some small way.
“Was that your child?” Vinnicus asked.
For answer, she parted her lips in a silent scream and clutched the damp bundle closer to her ruined breast.
Answer enough.
A burning building across the village lane collapsed with a sliding crash, causing the woman to shriek and cringe anew.
“The beast is dead, and quite useless. He will do you no more harm,” Vinnicus said with anger. He’d tasted the bitterness of disappointment many times in the past, yet his palette had never acquired a tolerance for its cutting bite. Duhann’s death created such a rift in his plans that Vinnicus would be scrambling for years to put events back in order… It was hard not to be bitter.
“Ruined.” Raw edges ridged the first coherent word that emerged from the woman’s huddled form, echoing Vinnicus’s thoughts. Her voice began to rise in pitch, repeating the word again and again, until she was howling with the same intensity with which she had initially come to his attention. “Ruined! RUIned! RUINED!”
Relaxing the tension from his face, Vinnicus knelt down beside her, thinking of Duhann. “It would appear that all present are ruined, my dear,” he said, with no true feeling and mostly to himself. He reached out with delicate fingers and the force of his presence, simultaneously. He gently moved the mass of tangled hair to expose her slender neck, while his mind confronted and subdued the feral fears in her mind. It would not do for her to survive and bear witness to these events. A quick death, Vinnicus decided; there were more pressing matters to attend to.
Her resounding howls died away as her fear was calmed by his will and he sheltered her mind from the pain in her body. In her stillness, the sound of muffled mewling and the rapid thumps of a second heartbeat caught his ear. She cradled no corpse.
Surprised, he gently raised the mesmerized woman to her feet. White glints of bone were garishly displayed behind the tattered flesh of her ribs and her abdomen was a mangled ruin. Surprisingly, the infant she carried appeared completely unharmed.
Vinnicus continued his mental manipulation of the girl’s ravaged mind. His long, pale hands slowly removed the child from her unresisting arms. Now he could easily see that the blood and viscera covering the small form were entirely its mother’s.
Amazing.
Turning from the dying woman, her fate forgotten, Vinnicus cradled the infant. He smiled down at the angry, hungry bundle in his arms and thought back to his dimly remembered past, when he had once been a man. His father had taught him their people’s words for second chances. They were not often offered in his upbringing, and when they were, it was always with a gravity and expectation that they would not be wasted. “Kahen-e-set.” Too clumsy for today’s tongue, perhaps, but, yes... “You will be my second chance... Kinsey.”
“KINSEY,” the chancellor hissed. Another branch snapped under his richly embroidered boot with a loud crack. The sound echoed off the surrounding trees like children at play with wooden swords.
Already irritated with the nobleman, Kinsey cursed softly. He turned to the damned fool aristocrat and spoke in a low voice, “If you want to die, please, allow me the opportunity to fulfill your wish. Otherwise, be still!”
Chancellor Kesh Tomelen froze in place, looking at Kinsey in stunned silence. Kesh’s pale, delicate face slowly turned crimson and his usually handsome features transformed into an ugly frown of scorn. “I’ll not be spoken to in such a manner,” he spat. “As leader of this expedition I will be given the proper respect. And don’t forget why you are here in the first place... You’re lucky your assault on Lord Graves didn’t cost you your commission.”
If Kinsey hadn’t been so annoyed, he would have laughed. Instead, he stepped much closer to the chancellor so that their noses almost touched. “You and I are pretty much equals on this little ‘expedition,’ and seeing as how there are no castle walls nearby that puts me in charge. And I say, shut your mouth and be still!”
Kinsey watched as his words settled over the chancellor. The fop’s fists tightened to the point that his knuckles turned white, and the veins on his forehead bulged like fat earthworms. Kinsey thought the chancellor might actually try to strike him, but to his credit, Kesh held his tongue and stopped his stumbling about like a drunken fool.
Pointing a finger at the ground for emphasis, Kinsey spoke in a hushed, peremptory voice, “Stay here! If you make too much noise, we’ll be discovered.”
Without waiting for a response, Kinsey crawled into the wall of dense brush before him. He moved as quietly as possible, but chainmail wasn’t made for sneaking and Kinsey wasn’t made for it either. His real purpose was to get away from the chancellor, not to play scout. That particular role was being fulfilled by someone with the skill for such things. Kinsey just needed some distance from the nobleman before his anger made him do something rash. Kesh had been a nettlesome presence, incessantly whining about current affairs and boasting of past adventures. The previous three weeks had meant enduring a barrage of verbal floggings and Kinsey’s patience was at an end. Why he couldn’t abide the irritation of the man, which was certainly not new to him, was a mystery. The last thing Kinsey’s life needed was the complications that pummeling the envoy sent to gain favor with his prince’s future wife would bring.
Kinsey crawled a bit further once he cleared the thicket, then stopped to look back and make sure he wasn’t being followed. Kesh was an able enough politician, but a woodsman he was not; the fool needed constant tending so that he didn’t accidentally injure himself or, Eos forbid, get killed. Although, Kinsey thought, this mission might be the death of us both.
Looking around the small clearing, he observed that the trees here were enormous and that their heavy roots covered the ground like interlocking spider webs. It would take ten men, with their arms spread wide to reach around the smallest of these giants, and this was just the outer edge of the forest. Rumors spoke of trees in the deep wood that would take hundreds of men to span their bases. Kinsey had seen only one tree of such size, in the heart of Waterfall Citadel, a behemoth even amongst the trees that surrounded him. A beacon of hope for many a traveler, Terrandal could be seen from miles away and heralded the presence of the greatest city of northern Orundal.
Although the size of the trees was notable to say the least, the Winewood got its namesake from another trait just as distinctive. The rich maroon color of the bark inspired the name of these woods, and some used to believe they tasted like actual wine. Total nonsense of course. In his youth, Kinsey had put a piece of the ruddy bark in his mouth and regretted it immediately—the taste was so bitter, his face had puckered for a week.
Kinsey attempted to get to his feet but was yanked back to the ground as if by some great force. Looking beneath him, he found one of the many tree roots that ran along the ground had gotten tangled in his chainmail shirt.
Kinsey shook his head and muttered, “Unbelievable.”
“Are you deliberately trying to be discovered, or are you letting your dwarven half roll around in the mud?” said a familiar voice.
Kinsey rolled away from the sound, tearing himself free of the entangling root. He came up on all fours and faced his longtime friend, mentor, and adopted father.
“You looked less like a turtle and more like a badger that time,” Erik said, a broad smile on his face as if enjoying some jester’s p
erformance. He had perched himself soundlessly on a large, moss-covered root just outside the treeline. One of his hands held a bow casually in front of him. The other rubbed his chin.
Kinsey’s cheeks flushed in humiliation and he got to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. The damned elf had done it to him again, sneaking up unawares. One of these days, Kinsey was going to take a club to Erik’s boots. “Some of us were not blessed with an elf’s pair of feet,” Kinsey said. Dusting himself off, he snorted softly. “You’re going to have to show me how you do that.”
“Been trying for the past sixty years. I’ve heard of slow learners, but really... there comes a point when you just have to let go of lost causes,” Erik replied, grinning. He came off the tree root with a little hop and made his way to Kinsey. The elf was tall and lean and moved with an irritating grace that all of his kind seemed to possess. His long, dark hair was held back by many braids, allowing Erik’s distinctive ears to show. The faded browns and greens of his leather armor made him almost impossible to see in these woods.
“What did you find?” Kinsey asked.
“Yes, what did you find?” Chancellor Tomelen repeated. He tumbled from the thicket, cursing as he came to an abrupt halt on his backside between Erik and Kinsey. The finery on the man’s clothes spoke volumes of his inexperience with road travel and dealing with the dangerous encounters that accompanied such a journey. Any bandit would jump at the chance to strip him naked and take him for ransom.
In spite of his foolishness, the chancellor scrambled to his feet with an attempt at dignity and brushed himself off with a look of disdain on his face. He hissed through clenched teeth, “I will not be left out of this conversation. You two were sent to help guard me on my journey to Stone Mountain; make no mistake who is in charge here! I will make the decisions that need to be made, and you”—his eyes swept across the pair—“will respect and follow my lead.”
Kinsey could feel the heat rising around his neck. The confrontation with Lord Banlor Graves had started in such a manner. It was as if the two men were kin; Kesh mimicked Banlor perfectly in his unfaltering arrogance. The gall of them, expecting him, and everyone else, to heed their every beck and call. It put Kinsey on edge—he wasn’t some dog on a leash that could be set to heel.
Kinsey balled up a fist as his temper rose to the boiling point. He was going to lay Kesh low—and most likely lose all standing in the process—but at that moment, he didn’t care.
He felt Erik’s hand on his shoulder. “Of course, Chancellor, but this particular situation is martial in nature. Kinsey and I are well versed and prepared to handle the matter. You needn’t burden yourself with such a menial task.”
Kinsey deflated. It was times like this he found himself most humbled by his mentor. Kinsey had trouble handling the constant pampering aristocrats needed. Fortunately, this was a skill Erik had mastered before Kinsey was even born. If only he possessed the patience Erik always seemed to maintain, but Kinsey had been born rough around the edges. No matter how much proper schooling he was given, he was still half-dwarven, and bashing people over the head was part of his heritage.
Kesh gave Erik a sideways glance. “Your smooth words will not placate me, Erik. I will be the judge of what I burden myself with. Now, what did you find?” The chancellor turned to face the elf directly.
Erik bowed his head in assent and started moving back toward the remainder of their party beyond the thicket, addressing both Kinsey and Kesh as he walked. “There are a score of Wildmen that have made camp about a quarter mile ahead of us. From the looks of the camp I would say they have been there for some time. The Wildmen don’t concern me as much as the four wargs they have with them. We will be at the mercy of the wind as long as those beasts are present.”
Kinsey looked in the direction Erik had gestured when speaking of the Wildmen camp. He had led the chancellor’s entourage further north in hopes of avoiding such encounters. They were practically in the middle of Pelos, so what in Eos’ name were Wildmen doing this far north of the border? A question Kinsey would definitely bring up once they reached Stone Mountain. Until then, he would have to find a way around this mess. “Can we backtrack, then come around from a different direction?”
Erik made an equivocating gesture. “Possibly. I found a game trail to the North that cuts above their campsite, but if the wind changes we’ll be discovered. We could loop down further south and avoid the whole area.”
Kinsey frowned in thought and jabbed his thumb in the direction of the Wildmen camp. “There’s no guarantee we won’t run into another group like this one, not to mention the time delay the southern route would cost. It would easily add an extra couple of days.”
“It’s a gamble either way,” Erik said with a shrug.
“The less time we spend in these woods the better. I say we press on,” Kesh said with conviction.
“Chancellor, I believe you and I are in agreement for the first time during this little journey,” Kinsey replied.
“Yes, well... don’t get used to it,” said Kesh. There was no mistaking the contempt in his voice.
Kinsey watched Kesh’s back as the finely dressed nobleman walked down to the line of mules, horses, and men in the ravine below. “I truly hate that man,” he said with a show of teeth.
“You wouldn’t be the first, but may well be the last,” said Erik. He chuckled as he passed by.
Kinsey reached out and stopped him. “Thank you... for back there. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Not many do when the chancellor is involved.” Erik smiled and placed a hand on Kinsey’s shoulder. “You’re doing a good job here; these men look up to you. Remember that the next time you feel your anger rise.” He patted Kinsey’s shoulder roughly, then made his way down the hill.
Kinsey took a deep, calming breath. Twenty souls depended on him to make the right decisions. He was trying. Battling his own frustrations, on top of the pressures of making the correct decisions for everyone else, was becoming more difficult as the journey dragged on.
Even a few short months ago he was able to maintain his composure when a plan went sour, or when suffering the jibes from an irritating speck like Kesh. But now, even trivial setbacks seemed to provoke an anger in him that felt almost alive, twisting inside his chest, aching to be set free.
He shook his head. Maybe it was just the pressure of this mission. He had led many expeditions before, but none this high profile. The weeks previous to departure had been grueling, locked up in a room with Basinian aristocrats going over every detail. And etiquette, for Eos’ sake: “Proper this,” and “Proper that…” The whole ordeal made Kinsey feel nauseous. Relocating royalty was a pain that no one should have to suffer.
Kinsey could see Chancellor Tomelen walking amongst the men, gesturing for them to get up and prepare to move out. The goldenhaired nobleman then proceeded to direct where direction wasn’t needed.
Kinsey mumbled to himself, “Or people who think they’re royalty, for that matter.”
Moving down the hill to the lip of the ravine, Kinsey stood where he could see the entire group and spoke loud enough for all to hear: “Everybody, listen up!”
Erik took what supplies he needed from his saddlebags as Kinsey’s voice carried over the ravine. This little detour is going to be tricky, he thought. The game trail was only a couple of hundred yards from the Wildmen campsite and any excess noise would certainly lead to discovery. He knew the soldiers could handle themselves; it was the nobles, mules, and horses that concerned him. If the animals got scent of the wargs, panic could infect the whole group. The nobles were untested in combat—there was no telling how they might react.
Erik grabbed his horse’s reins and led him slowly to an armored veteran who stood listening intently to Kinsey. “Rouke,” whispered Erik, “a word.”
Rouke turned his head slightly toward Erik to listen but kept his eyes on Kinsey. He was an average-sized man with no truly distinguishable features other than a dee
p scar above his right brow. His short brown hair and worn clothing gave him the appearance of just about every armsman in the Basinian military. What made Rouke stand apart was reliability. Erik knew if he put the man to a task, that task would be completed.
Erik offered his reins to the stout soldier. “I will take us to the game trail, then give lead over to you. It won’t be hard to follow once you’re on it, the trail is well worn. Just keep heading east and you should be safe as babes in their cradles. I’ll need you to take Camelyard so I can move ahead to keep watch on the Wildmen camp.”
“Aye,” said Rouke. He nodded and took the reins. “Don’t ya worry ’bout Camelyard, I’ll keep good watch over ’im.”
Erik patted Rouke on the shoulder and moved to the head of the caravan to wait for Kinsey’s final commands. Once situated on a large, moss-covered rock, he looked toward his once-ward, now comrade, with a mixture of pride and concern.
Kinsey was truly an odd mix. Humans and dwarves rarely mingled. Not so much because of cultural differences, although there were many, but because of the physical deformities that resulted from such a union. Although, Erik observed, Kinsey had not suffered negatively from these particular abnormalities but had taken on some of the best qualities of each race. His facial features leaned toward human with slight, dwarven exaggerations in his thickened chin and broadened nose. Fiery brown eyes peered out from under heavy brows and rich auburn hair covered his head, upper lip, and chin. Kinsey’s human similarities ended with his five and a half feet of height, while the dwarven part of him dominated his excessive girth. Not to say he was portly by any means; Kinsey was just big. In essence, he looked like a giant dwarf.
Erik grinned at the contradiction that so appropriately described his good friend—his adopted son.
He had taken Kinsey and his surrogate mother as wards over sixty years ago, when Kinsey was but an infant. The courts in Waterfall Citadel had given Erik no explanation as to their previous situation, only that they were without a home and no family to care for them. Not unlike his own situation at one time, Erik sympathized with the pair and gave them a place to call their own. Over time he grew to love the boy and his mother, and eventually took her as his wife and Kinsey as his son. It had been a good life; her passing had been hard on him.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
