by H. A. Harvey
“I’m not like you, Povo.” She replied flatly, “I don’t need to cling to something soft to reassure me it’s all going to be okay.”
Povo frowned at her quick reply, silencing a snicker from somewhere among the wolves with a fierce glare. At the front of her group, Dale smiled at her. He had run with Povo until he lost his eye, when the Dracis had been quick to pawn him off on her. Since, he had worked twice as hard as he ever had with Povo, becoming her unofficial second in command. Dale made no secret that he considered losing his eye to be the luckiest thing to happen to him in a long time. The small battle of wits was brought to a close as Adair emerged from his tent and, in the absence of any cubs, two of the junior wolves dashed over to break down his tent.
“Are we set?” He asked simply, eyeing the pack as he walked up to stand in front of Autumn and Povo.
Autumn nodded, “Cyan, Kored, and Linder will run with me, the rest of Ulif’s wolves will follow Povo. Everyone is here and ready.”
“Good,” Adair nodded, “With any luck, Ulif and some new wolves will be finished with their run just in time to meet us in Broadstone as reinforcements.”
“Broadstone?” Povo asked puzzled, “Almost everyone here is mounted. I’d thought we would march to one of the border keeps. How are we getting all this down the Crescent Ledge?”
“That is why we have a wizard. As I understand, his services in all this cost nearly what the wolf packs did.” Adair nodded as he noted the army signaling the march. “Here we go.”
The column moved out much like any other. Slowly at first, but soon enough they moved in a steady, rolling march. Moving through the dense trees with so many mounted troops was slow work, and though it was less than a full day’s ride to the road which marked the border into Baeden, they had not yet crossed it by the second evening. As dusk settled in and the troops prepared to make camp, Autumn found herself wondering how Nian and his cubs were faring.
She somehow imagined him sitting in the darkness with hardened mercenaries circled around in rapt attention as he discussed some important plan. She laughed softly to herself at the notion. It was much more likely that he was collapsed by a fire, snoring in exhaustion by now.
“Did I miss a joke?” Adair asked, bemused as he sat down at the fire beside her.
“Nothing, Pa.” She replied.
It had been a long time since she had a chance to call him that. She still liked to call him that, when the rare moment without other wolves around presented itself. The funny human term he said his children used for him, in his life before he left to join the wolves. It had been the memory of them, more than her, that he pulled out of the flames so many years ago but somehow that didn’t diminish the action. She felt it made her his daughter as much as anyone could, and had started calling him ‘Pa’ after she learned about his lost children.
“Well, whatever it is, I like it. I haven’t heard you laugh in a long time.” He stirred the fire and passed her a bit of hard tack, “Still, I suppose that’s more my fault than anything. This isn’t such a great life. You’d have been better off if I’d left you with folks that could understand you better.”
“Wouldn’t work.” Autumn said, smiling for him. “You tried once, remember? I stole a horse to come after you, almost got us both hanged.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” He smiled.
Autumn loved that smile. Not the light one he used when there was a joke he was supposed to laugh at, or to be polite to someone important, but the one that meant he was really happy for just a moment. If the pack knew how much rarer that smile was than her own, they would too. She lived for that smile. Adair stretched sorely, pulling off his breastplate to examine the worn surface.
“This old thing is about on its last campaign.” He sighed a little, “Its wearer’s getting worn himself. I’m starting to feel these long marches and cold nights in my bones. Pretty soon I may need to ask the elders to go white wolf, let you have a run at Alpha for a while.”
“Let Ulif have it.” Autumn shook her head, “I’ll go with you. I bet I can farm as well as I shoot a bow.”
“Ulif is two years older than I am.” Adair laughed, “And he’d never take it anyway, likes being second fiddle. He’s solid at your side and gives good advice, but he doesn’t have the presence to lead and he knows it. Povo is too focused on himself, the pack has to come first. You get that, and the whole pack can tell, they respect you.”
“I am here because you are here. I do it right because I won’t let you down.” Autumn started to get annoyed, “Why this sudden push to get rid of me again?”
“Sorry, little leaf.” Adair wrapped an arm around her shoulders, “Sometimes I think you are hobbling yourself tagging along with an old man when there’s a real story of your own out there for you somewhere.”
Autumn glanced around, satisfying herself that there weren’t any wolves watching before she rested her head on his shoulder, “I don’t need a story, and I’m not hobbled.”
Adair laughed softly, “I guess the Dryad in you has roots after all, you’re just latched on to a rolling stone.”
“I guesso.”
“Anyway,” Adair cleared his throat after sitting for a moment, “I actually came by to tell you, I volunteered you and your wolves for a bit of an excursion.”
Autumn sighed and sat up, back to business it seemed. “Why only half the pack?”
“A third, you’ll leave the rest of Ulif’s wolves with us. Roderick, the head scout wants a small team to accompany him and Malor ahead. The wizard needs time to construct a ramp of some sort down the cliff. They need to keep out of sight as much as possible, so the Njord doesn’t want more than six or seven guards. Once the ramp is done, you all will move down to the rally point and set up watch. We’ll meet you there and move on with the other packs to do our part in the plan.”
“Sounds easy enough, and it will get us out of the marching dust.” Autumn agreed.
“About the plan, your part I mean. I still think we should find someone else to do it.”
“I will be fine.” Autumn reassured him, “There are barely any Fae in the packs, and out of them, I’m the only stable one. Whoever goes in has to be reliable.”
Adair gave up arguing and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Be ready in an hour, Roderick will be here to lead you out. You all can sleep in shifts while the wizard works.”
. . .
Rowan dashed up the trunk of a tree leaning against the trunk of its neighbor, hopping from its broken peak to a low limb. He squinted his eyes against the streaks of light sweeping through the canopy to look along the broader paths through the trees. He stared for almost half a minute before smiling and dropping directly to the ground below. Nian, Ulif, and a reptilian Buros mercenary named Ikoz were just drawing up on the tree as Rowan landed nimbly in front of them, drawing his spear off his back and pointing down a dry riverbed.
“This way.” He stated between deep breaths and then darted off again, Ikoz keeping close in stride with him. About thirty yards down the river bed, the two pulled up short and Rowan bent to examine a small vine in the sand. As the others trotted up he grinned, holding up the small green vine. “This one is barely wilted. We have to be getting close, a few hours at the most, which is good, I’m losing the light again.”
“Then we rest here tonight.” Ulif panted between breaths, “We need to be rested before we close on them. We’ll overtake them slowly through the day and take them by surprise as they camp tomorrow night.”
“He be right.” Stated Ikoz, the only one among them, including Rowan, who was not gasping for breath. “You dart too much, from Buros zat be a lot.”
Nian looked at Rowan, wanting to press forward as much as he could tell his friend did, but he knew Ulif was right. He could barely stand straight, let alone hope to wield a blade. He knew the others bringing up the rear couldn’t be much better off as mor
e than half wore heavier mail armor. He inhaled deeply, leaning back against the riverbank before nodding.
“We’ll camp here on the ledge.” He said, looking to Rowan, “If we’re that close, should we risk a fire tonight?”
Rowan shook his head, “No, I doubt they would see one if we kept it small, but best to be sure. Besides, perhaps we can catch a glimpse of their fire if we don’t dull our eyes with our own, then we can cut a straight path in the morning, instead of curving after the riverbeds and clearings they’ve been sticking to. I’ll take first watch.”
Ikoz walked up to Rowan and kicked the butt of his spear out from under the Desaid, sending him flopping to the dust. “You barely stand right now. Ikoz, the Dvarf, and Sattal merchant keep vatch. Ozers rest for fighting, and tomorrow no running.”
“You’ve been up here with us runners all day.” Nian argued, “Why not let someone who’s been taking it slower take your place?”
Ulif chuckled as he found a divot between two great roots to sink into. “Nian, the Buros hasn’t been running. If anything, we’ve probably been going annoyingly slow for him. Trust me, when a Buros is trying to move quickly, you’ll know.”
The other three joined him around the base of the tree and sat, catching their wind as the others drew into view and the light dimmed then faded into night. Most of the company had arrived by dusk, though it wasn’t until the stars were shimmering brightly that Xain and Kolel came strolling into the crowd. Nian and Rowan sat chatting with Ulif and an elven woman wearing a pair of light swords at her hip and a short bow across her back.
“There you are!” Nian beamed at them, “This is Elliastrea, or Ellia for short. She hails from Noorwood, and Rowan can’t seem to hear enough about the place. But we were talking about the slavers and she pointed something out you’ll want to hear.”
“No fire?” Kolel knocked dust from his clothes and shook out his hat before sinking down next to a large boulder and passing his bag of dewdrops to Xain after taking one himself. “We must be getting close.”
Ellia shook her head, “No, we were waiting on you and the Dwarf. It’s your turn to fetch wood.”
Xain sputtered a little indignantly before he realized she was jesting. “Ah, they make jokes of burning lumber in Noorwood? I was told different.”
The two shared a bit of an icy glare until Kolel broke the silence, “Yes, well, we also had a bit of a conversation along the way, concerning you Nian. Well, at least I believe it will be pertinent information, and perhaps will help begin to help us understand why Kadia chose you.”
“Alright,” Nian sighed, quite sure Kolel wouldn’t be satisfied until he got to insert his information first, “What is it?”
“Well, I first started thinking something odd was afoot when you showed Lady Ourei your wound. Not only was it healed to a point of new flesh within a few days of travel on the road, but . . . well show Ulif where it is.”
“Ka . . .She healed me.” Nian reminded Kolel, still lifting his hairline so Ulif could lean close in the starlight to examine it.
“You were struck there? How hard?” Ulif asked.
“I dunno.” Nian shrugged, “Hard enough to take me off my feet.”
“Right by the base of the skull, you’re quite lucky. A good pommel strike there will kill a man, no matter how tough.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Kolel resumed, “And-“
“And Kadia didn’t heal you.” Rowan interrupted. “I changed the wrap, the cuts were cleaned and bound, but no sign of magic or pultices.”
“Tell me Nian,” He said, “Have you always been a little small until lately?”
Nian rubbed the back of his head almost unconsciously. “Yeah, I was a little bit of a runt until this last winter. That’s one reason Rowan an’ I got on so well, my sister kinda outgrew him. He’s actually closer to my age than hers.”
Kolel nodded to Xain who leaned forward, “You remember Adair calls me ambassador?” Nian nodded. “You know what it means, a Dwarven ambassador?” Nian shook his head.
“It means he was politely asked to leave the citadel.” Kolel took over the explanation, “It’s a form of respected exile. You see, my friend, Dwarves, for their own reasons, almost universally despise change and are meticulous record keepers. It is probably why they knew about Xain’s kind before anyone else.”
“His kind? I don’t get it, why wouldn’t Dwarves know about Dwarves first?”
“No, not exactly.” Kolel continued. “Let me see, we’ll keep this as brief as I can manage. I’m sure you’ve had storytellers pass through your tavern who spoke of the Age of Fire, when the Great Spire burned and Heaven along with it. When the drakes, mortal cousins to the dragons emerged from the burning remnants of their predecessors, and the gods were cast down as mortals for a time, some say as penance to Creation.”
“Yes of course,” Nian nodded, “It’s where the Firstborn came from, the children of a god and a mortal, more powerful than either. Like the Golden Emperor of Ava is one.”
“He is the last one, and some say his power is not just his own but the combined might of all the foes he vanquished in forming his empire.” Kolel nodded, “But what fewer know, is that the bloodlines continued, though diminished and unpredictable. What Xain’s folk call God-kin, or demigods as we call them along the Mythril Coast, still turn up scattered throughout the mortal peoples. They are nearly impossible to predict, most are imperceptibly different from other mortals until their adolescence. It was because of this that many of the Firstborn thought them weak or failed bloodlines, and had them destroyed. So, their mortal parents took to hiding their children from the Firstborn, and the bloodlines were scattered on the wind.”
Nian laughed, “I think I would know if my father or mother were descended from gods.”
“Not true.” Xain resumed, “The gift of this bloodline, it does not always flow straight. It can skip a generation, or even ten. Often one sibling will be God-kin, but the other never awakens, even in twins this is so.”
“Regardless,” Kolel continued, seeming to want very much to finish his narrative, “The abilities of these demigods are the subject of many varying opinions among storytellers and scholars alike. Some seem to think little aside from an unnatural resilience and an extremely slowed aging process is all that sets them apart, others say that with the right dedication and circumstance, one can fully awaken to equal the might of a Firstborn. Regardless, one thing is widely accepted. Demigods seem to be tied irrevocably to the movements of Creation, like the Incarnates themselves but to a lesser degree. They are magnets and catalysts to change, sometimes violent, others not, but always they change the world around them. They either are drawn to great events, or such things are drawn to them. Now Dwarves, as I said, loathe change. Even Caer Dunan, which is a relatively young citadel by Dwarven standards, traces its history and traditions back tens of thousands of years. I believe their current royal family traces their dynasty in an unbroken line back to before the founding of the Avan Empire.”
“By three generations before Lesser Cataclysm, songs say this is when Golden Emperor first comes to Aidenguard.” Xain nodded. “So, Dwarves learn to spot God-kin very young. Slow to grow in adolescence, showing unnatural reserves of strength, uncanny force of personality, healing quickly and without scars in most cases, and surviving blows that should kill. Alone, these things happen, but when two or three begin to show in one Dwarf, he or she is tested. Once God-kin are confirmed, we are given training until we are old enough to survive alone, then we get bag of gold, weapons, and provisions, and made ambassadors to outside world. Message is clear, you are rare and we have pride you are Dwarf, but cannot stay here.”
“Wait, they kick you out?” Nian frowned in puzzlement, “And you can never go home?”
Xain held up his left hand, showing a gold ring with an elaborate seal set in some blue-green metal. “This to me is Caer Dunan, h
ome, where two thousand generations of my kin lived and died to build. To stay there as I am, I invite destruction to that home and its heritage. It is price I gladly pay.”
“You are missing the point, Nian. You grew slowly through adolescence, survived a blow that would have felled a normal man, healed cleanly in days, keeping up with Rowan’s staunch determination and experienced travel as you did so. When we got to Deepwood, you turned the head of a noblewoman without trying, argued with the earl without fear, and managed to convince some of the most selective mercenary companies in the world to rally to your aid, not to mention a wizard. Beyond that, the slaver attack on Longmyst and there happening to already be an army massed at the fortress you selected from convenience to approach for help?”
“The point,” Nian stated flatly, digging at the ground with the toe of his boot, “Is that however this all ends, I don’t get to go home.”
“That is just the Dwarven way.” Ulif replied, “Many places, demigods are welcomed with open arms. There are places in the world that desperately need change, Nian. Places where men and women with dark hearts hold power in a vice-like grip and common folk have no hope for anything beyond a bleak and toilsome life of pain. And there is always the life of a mercenary. You’d be surprised the number of your kind that are drawn to this life for just such a reason.”
“How many are there?” Rowan asked.
“It is less common than a talent for magic,” Replied Kolel, “But more than you might think.”
“When you take into consideration what we know about our enemy now, this is good news.” Ulif said, and Rowan nodded.
“Why, what news do we have of the slavers?” Kolel asked, curiosity suddenly piqued.
“Ah, less news, but more a new insight into what I saw.” He nodded to the elf. “Ellia, perhaps you should explain.”
