by H. A. Harvey
“There, now if you can avoid scratching at yourself for a few heartbeats, you at least look the part of a warrior.” She stated, and though her face was expressionless as always, there was a hint of mirth in her voice. “Get used to the wool, you’ll be grateful for it in the mountains at night.”
“So, you won’t be embarrassed to chase down slavers with me and the cubs?” Nian replied, only half joking.
“I wouldn’t be, but I am not going. Ulif will supervise the run.” Autumn spoke flatly but Nian wondered, and perhaps hoped a bit, if she was as disappointed as he was. As though she could read his expression, Autumn added explanation. “I have a specific task in our upcoming job. This will be better for you anyway. He prefers spears, but is well versed with a longblade. He’ll be able to teach you enough so you don’t skewer yourself in the first fight.”
“We should be on our way, Nian.” Rowan strode up adjusting the straps on his jerkin. “Thank you, Autumn, for the help and for suggesting the run. I hope it brings you good fortune in your own road.”
Autumn nodded in response, then looked at Rowan and Nian intently, “I understand you are motivated to rescue your friends and family, but remember that neither of you are experienced combatants, and you will still be outnumbered. When there is fighting, keep near Ulif. He won’t be on the front, as this is the cubs’ test, so you should keep to the rear with him. It will do your sister little good if you lose yourself in saving her. Martyrdom is overrated.”
The four walked together back to what served as a courtyard and main road through the fortified town. There, Autumn excused herself and left out the gate to make preparations for herself before dusk, while Nian, Rowan, and Kolel crossed over to the front of the keep. Before arriving, Nian could see a small crowd of mercenaries gathered around the Gateward corner of the keep. He caught sight of Ulif, Turev the Orc, and the younger Human he had met in Longmyst, the remembered his name to be Mitchell, standing by a surly looking Dwarf bearing a crossbow so large it covered the entirety of his back, and what looked like an Orcish girl-child positively bristling with knives. Ulif saw the trio approaching and stepped forward to meet them.
“There you are, we might have left without you if we’d any clue where we were going.” Ulif leaned his weight upon his spear and grinned, an expression obviously meant to be friendly, but Nian found it more than a little intimidating somehow. “You have a dozen men at your command, counting myself and eleven would-be wolves.”
“Much better, counting us, that’s fifteen, and most are seasoned fighters.” Nian beamed, “Dealing with those slavers used to bushwhacking unarmed villagers will be a song!”
“Two to one is better than ten, I agree.” Kolel assented cautiously, “But still weighted heavily against us, my friend. It is best never to expect easy. Prepare for impossible, and then you are never under equipped for what comes.”
Ulif snuffed, “True enough, but you’ll find a cub with a chance to cut years off his term will fight like six men. Besides, I tend to try to say things at the beginning of a job that are likely to increase morale.” Turning to Nian he held a hand out first to the Dwarf, and then to the Orc child. “Nian, this is Xain, Ambassador of Caer Dunan, and Amalthea from the Goblins of Wheelward Tarnigne. Xain is a bit of a mechanical wizard, makes everything from clocks to siege weapons. Speaking of which, he’ll probably take offense if I don’t introduce Vera along with him. The two of them together can send a bolt through the visor of a knight at full gallop from three bowlengths or more.”
“More.” The Dwarf Xain grunted confidently, though Ulif barely paused before resuming introductions.
“Thea here likes knives, as you might guess, but so far she’s proven to be a bunch of full-sized pain in a compact, travel-sized package. The other two Longstrider cubs you know, Turev and Mitchell.”
“Yes, we spoke before.” Nian nodded to the two armored men before introducing them to Kolel and Rowan, “Mitchell is Tyrian, from Shimmermist. His family has wielded his sword in battle for hundreds of generations, and he hopes to add to its legend with the wolves. Turev is a Frostbone Orc by blood. He doesn’t talk in Hearthspeak, but he hears it fine. Frostbones live on the. . .oh right, in the ice plains of Nilheim, in the glaciers. They’re the reason Baedites fear any Orc they see.”
“Well done, Nian!” Mitchell laughed and strode forward to clasp wrists, “I had thought you were entirely too occupied with staring at our Beta to remember anything from that little chat under the trees.”
Nian flushed a light red, “A good innkeep remembers the names of his guests, especially those that come with a story.”
Turev barked something short and curt.
“No, I suppose he doesn’t look like one any longer.” Kolel agreed. “A brush with destiny, I suppose you could say.”
“Speaking of.” Ulric inserted, “We should be about ours, yes? I know a few of the other cubs, mostly by reputation, but you will have plenty of time on the road to meet them all. You had said the wizard was going to see us off?”
Nian nodded, looking over to the table where Malor sat, the afternoon shade of the keep sheltering him and his writing from the rays of Phoenix. He headed over as confidently as he could manage while the wizard, for his part, sat pointedly ignoring the boy all the way up to the edge of his table, writing furiously. Nian stood expectantly for a long moment, until he began to feel awkward. At length, he cleared his throat.
“Ah, Wizard Malor?” Nian began, clearing his throat again as he decided he didn’t sound like leader of anything at all, much less a group of dangerous mercenaries. “You are supposed to speed my men and I on our way.”
“I know.” Malor replied curtly, “I spent a great deal of my morning trying to explain to the Maiden Ourei that I work for her father, not her.” Malor cast a weary glance over his shoulder and, following his gaze, Nian noted Ourei standing atop the lower story of the keep. She waved when he saw her, which made him smile.
“And then,” Malor continued sourly, “I spent my time since midday debating whether it would require more energy to deal with adolescent tantrums until we march tomorrow or to acquiesce and do as she asks. Luckily for you, she won out, simply because this way I may be able to rest and recover my strength before her father puts me to work on something besides ink and parchment. No horses.”
“What?” Kolel objected loudly.
“You may feel that it is a simple matter, blinking folk about wherever they please, but it requires as much energy in an instant as walking there would yourself. You save time, not energy. It still gets burnt, sadly for me, I get to do the burning.” Malor stood, slapping his tome closed and glaring resentfully up at Ourei, who made an insistent face back at him and gestured to her hand. “Oh yes, farm boy, give me your shield hand.”
Nian hesitated, but seeing Ourei smile and nod, he held out his hand. “My name is Nian, and I am an innkeep, not a farmer.”
“I really do not care.”
The wizard grasped the back of his hand and held it palm-up, wavering his free hand over it as he mumbled. At first, the wizard’s hand began to glow with a white light that seemed to have swirling grey smoke moving about within. Then, it felt like Nian’s palm caught fire and he let out what he would fear later was an entirely unmanly cry.
Malor seemed to have anticipated Nian’s reaction, for his grip clamped tightly, preventing him from drawing his hand back. As Nian watched, wide-eyed with pain, the glowing swirls of smoke swam along under the surface of his skin, forming shapes and lines along his palm, slowly forming into a collection of letters he could not hope to read, clustered around a circular spot of white mist.
“Now choose a phrase.” Malor instructed, sounding slightly winded.
“A what?” Nian asked, the burning seeming to have settled to a dull throbbing.
“A phrase, a saying. It can be a word, or a piece of gibberish. It only matters that yo
u don’t forget it and you won’t accidentally use it in casual conversation.”
Nian thought a moment, then nodded to himself. “Kadia.”
Malor arched an eyebrow, but nodded.
“Say it again.” He instructed, and then focused upon Nian’s hand bringing back the burning sensation as the mist, having dimmed as they spoke, leapt back to an almost blinding luminescence. Nian said again the Maiden of Hope’s name, and watched as the light, and thankfully the pain, faded in an instant from his hand. There, on his palm, the mist seemed to have sunk into his flesh to become a crisp and clean tattoo. The lettering was gone, and the dot had expanded, growing sharp points to form a star of white and grey, as though it were painted to appear like a marble carving. Malor released his hold, though Nian still held it out in front of him, staring.
“It is a spelled tattoo, a rune that you can activate when it is needed. Now try to listen closely, and do tell me if I have to repeat something in simpler terms. This mending charm will mend wounded flesh when activated. To do that, you place your palm against the skin of the person you wish to heal and state the phrase to trigger it. The spell is potent enough that it should close wounds of any sort so long as the person is not already dead, though even magic can only help someone fight, and some injuries are beyond recovery.”
Nian lifted his hand and stared at his tattoo in awe, turning it this way and that in the light as though he expected it to sparkle or ignite into misty fire again. In truth, he more than half did expect just that.
“Hey, Innkeeper! This is important.” Malor snapped his fingers in front of Nian’s eyes. “The mark will fade after three activations, so do not waste them on jammed fingers and blisters. A wound can’t close if something is stuck inside it, so you have to remove arrows, bits of blade, and wash the wound before you activate it, or you waste a use. Also this only works on wounds to body, mind, or soul. Don’t waste a use on exhaustion or fatigue, and trying to use it on poisons or disease-“
“Will waste a use. I’m not completely stupid.” Nian glared at Malor a moment before realizing he was still waggling his hand idly in the air. He played it off by waving to Ourei before dropping it out of the air.
“I haven’t the time to debate that, nor do I think it would do any good.” Malor turned and started walking toward the large stables at the back of the keep with Nian and the others following in a confused train. “I am certain Ourei will have your steeds well cared for while you are gone, gods know there will be plenty of room come dawn. Now. . .”
Stopping in front of a drinking trough, Malor scooped a stone from the ground and threw it into the trough with what looked like all his might. The water splashed rather unimpressively, and Nian tried not to laugh.
“Was. . .was something supposed to happen, my good wizard?” Kolel asked, a little condescendingly.
Rowan caught Nian’s arm, only just stopping him from actually laughing. Nian looked at his friend, puzzled, then followed Rowan’s rapt gaze to see a single drop of water hanging in midair as though it had splashed up with the rest and forgotten to fall. As the two boys, and indeed the whole collection of armed men about them, watched in fascination, the drop floated out and touched Nian’s forehead, drawing a bead of sweat into its mass from his brow before floating back to hover between Malor and the rest of the crowd. The droplet began to ripple. . .no flow out from its center, and grew until a circular disk of water at least ten feet in diameter floated in front of them, reflecting an image of their astonished faces back at them all.
“Speak when you see where you want to get back to.” Malor muttered between incantations, his voice sounding like he were holding up a falling tree.
Slowly at first, then moving with incredible speed, the image in the water shifted. The figures walked backwards and drifted away, Nian saw himself back into the outfitters with Autumn, Rowan, and Kolel, also moving in reverse. Half a second later, he backed out, wearing his ruined party clothes. By the time they reached the weapons tent, individual actions became too quick to see, and they zipped backwards through here and there, through the keep and then back out and down the embankment. The woods flew by and then they flew as a trio of streaks across the rolling hills until a small fire sprung up and night fell. Nian watched in fascination as he and his friends thrashed about the camp in their sleep before disassembling the fire as dawn was breaking.
“Hey wait!” Rowan suddenly realized what was happening, “There! STOP THERE!”
The image froze. There were Nian and Rowan, each bent in a different direction as they had been placing a stick on the ground. Behind them, Kolel casually backed his horse down the steep slope of the hill.
“Why?” Nian asked.
“That’s where the trail was last.” Rowan stated.
“But why not go back all the way to Longmyst? We can fight them before they ever get to town, kill them all before anyone gets hurt or they burn my home!”
Malor cursed under his breath, “Blithering idiot. We’re looking back along your path for where to send you. I can’t move you through time.” The image shifted and the campfire seemed to have burnt out long ago, while the light shifted to the long shadows of late afternoon. “Now go, step through the water. By the Twelve will you hurry? I can’t hold it forever, and it will double in difficulty each time someone passes through.”
Rowan nodded and dashed at the water. He leapt into the circular plane and vanished, leaving a ripple and a blur for a moment before the image returned to normal. Malor grunted as though Rowan had dashed into him, but remained standing. Needing no more urging, first Nian, then Kolel, followed by each of the mercenaries dashed into the circle. The foot of the last man barely vanished before Malor gasped and sagged against the wall of the stable and the watery portal collapsed into a handful of moist spots on the ground.
The slender form of Ourei drew up beside Malor as she grasped his hand and gave it a grateful kiss. “Thank you for helping them, Malor.”
“I haven’t helped anyone.” The wizard sighed when he had regained a little breath, “I have sent a brave and foolish boy to find his end. Help me back to the keep, would you?”
“He won’t.” Ourei smiled as she replied, taking his arm over her shoulder and starting back towards the open door. “Have a little Hope, wizard. A light shines in the darkness.”
5
Three Roads to Baeden
Autumn checked the buckles on her bodice and adjusted her travel cloak one more time. She righted herself just before Dale and the rest of her wolves started to crawl out of their tent and roll it up in the cool, pre-dawn air. She let her eyes drift across the field as the muster began. The small city of tents had already largely vanished and been replaced by a sea of leather and metal, churning with a low rumble of pent-up energy. It was fascinating how the early hour came alive.
When she had first come out only the Earl’s commanders, the young Captain Kaiden and of course the Wizard Malor, had been upon the field before her. In years past, Adair had always been first out, his gear prepped and eyes bright an hour before anyone could rouse themselves. He had been near the end of his prime when the Longstriders had rescued her and a few other children from the flames of her grove. Now, he rose later, and spent longer in his tent before stepping out to the head of the pack. She pretended not to notice, and simply took it upon herself to take his place meeting the pack and mystifying them by somehow being alert and ready before the first of them stirred.
The captain paced and saluted officers as they emerged onto the field, his energy a signature of a young commander eager to prove his worth. Malor stood absolutely still in stark contrast to the captain. He was young, not much more than a year or two older than the boy Nian, but his stern demeanor made him seem decades older. When she had first seen him, she had been disappointed in her first glimpse of a real wizard, his trousers and polished shoes capped with a vested shirt made him look like no
more than a scribe or some knight’s poorly chosen squire than some seething font of power out of legend. Now, he finally looked the part. Over his simple yet expensive garb he now wore the traditional robe of an imperial wizard, long black silk embroidered with golden thread in runes few could read. His pale grey cloak flapped like a banner in the morning wind through the clearing as his stormcloud-grey eyes also watched the soldiers gather.
Looking across the sea of steel and flesh, Autumn could see the line where the regular troops ended and the mercenaries began. The straight, regimented lines of the Tyrian garrison stood in place. Not yet at attention, they stirred idly but kept their disciplined formations. The mercenary forces milled idly about, keeping near those they knew, but still drifting in and out of each other’s clusters and seeming so much like schools of fish flitting about a still pond. And then you came to the wolves, each pack standing in their own fashion, but still. They didn’t stand locked like a soldier in formation, but were still like predators preparing for the hunt, feeling the wind and letting it sway them slightly, listening and watching, waiting for word from their Alpha. This moment she loved most, for she imagined the packs to be stands of trees in a wild wood, and her wolves were her own private grove. They were hers to watch and protect, steel and flesh replacing the leaf and green wood stolen by fire.
“Still cheating yerself of that last good night’s sleep, eh Stoneface?” Povo, the pack’s third Beta stalked up, stretching with a hearty yawn. “Maybe if you’d been nicer to that farmboy, he’d have helped you change that bad habit.”
Autumn eyed the big Dracis, thankful as she stood in front of her wolves that Dryads didn’t blush. She didn’t really like Povo. He was big, loud, crude, and too sure of himself. She especially didn’t like having to stand right next to him and endure his musky odor. Ulif normally acted as a buffer between them, but now she had to take over for him too. She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, rolling it about slightly to drive the dryness from her mouth before she spoke.
