by L J Chappell
‘No.’
‘What about people? Or Gods? Or the titles of books? Or songs?’
‘Nothing like that.’
‘And your memories stretch back to … when, exactly?’
‘About six days ago. I don’t remember anything from before the prison.’
‘And do you remember those six days completely? Or have you forgotten things that happened to you in that time?’
‘I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything, no.’
‘And the names of your rescuers are …?’
‘Kiergard Slorn, Bane and Magda. The others are Garran and Thawn, and Ethryk.’
‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with your memory, as it were. I would have thought that indicates the cause was some kind of trauma, rather then a chronic condition. That probably makes it more likely that your memories can be recovered. When we return to somewhere civilised enough to have a library, I’ll make enquiries about your condition and what we might do to remedy it.’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate anything you can do.’
‘Of course. It must be very unsettling, not to know who you are. Not to know where you belong, or who with.’
‘On the other hand, if my memories come back then I might find out things about myself that I don’t like.’ He had started worrying about that a little.
‘I suppose you might, but I don’t believe someone’s nature can change so much that they wouldn’t like their old self. I think you probably are who you feel you are, regardless what you know or remember. And anyway, even if there are unpleasant things in your past, I’m sure it would be better to know about them?’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘Do you plan to stay with us? At least until you have your memory back?’
‘I don’t know. I think so, probably: until I know who I am. I have nowhere else to go.’
‘The same as the rest of us, then,’ Menska laughed. ‘He calls us all kinds of grand names, but we’re really just a band of misfits and rejects. Kiergard Slorn gives us a place to fit in – a family, almost: something to do, somewhere to belong and companions.’
‘That sounds perfect to me,’ he nodded. ‘I only wish that there wasn’t so much walking involved.’
‘Well, that will likely change after we meet Vorrigan in Drindeddledon, or whatever the place is called. We’re already close.’
They could see low-hanging smoke from the chimneys of the town ahead, and not long after that, they passed a three-mile marker. The actual name turned out to be Din’dorroden, which he didn’t think was too difficult: mispronouncing it had simply become a running joke among the others.
The buildings, like all the others he had seen so far, were a mix of wood and dark stone. Even from a distance, it was clear that several of them had two storeys and others had been painted in pale or bright colours. That simple difference made them seem more like places to live, rather than simple bulwarks against the harsh weather.
They approached from slightly uphill, which made it easier to gauge the size of the place – perhaps three hundred houses or more. That meant it was larger than anywhere they had seen since Lanvik, but it was still barely more than a large village.
‘I think we may have to spend the night here,’ Kiergard Slorn warned them as they came closer. ‘We’re not making good time and we can’t walk much further, not after the last few days. From here, Stormhaven must be at least five or six hours away and that is too much. I would rather push on, at least a little further, if we can, but I don’t know where we would spend the night.’
‘The weather is starting to close in,’ Ethryk agreed. ‘The roads are clear now, but if it turns very bad then we could be stuck here.’
‘There, on the left,’ Ubrik interrupted.
‘What?’
‘That barn ahead,’ he pointed. ‘That’s where Vorrigan will be waiting for us.’
They left the road, which by now was beginning to feel more like a proper road rather than just a wide path, even though their tracks were the first to disturb the thin layer of freshly-fallen snow.
‘Why the barn?’ Slorn asked.
‘It was abandoned. And empty,’ Karuin explained to him.
‘So you just moved in?’
‘Not exactly, no. We repaired the roof for the farmer, and he let us use it.’
‘Use it for what?’
‘Have a look,’ Ubrik said.
Slorn pushed one of the two wooden doors open and walked in, with the others jostling behind him. Inside was a long wooden wagon, with a half-open back and sloping sides. In the far corner, two winter buffalo were standing among a pile of hay, chewing and drooling.
‘Vorrigan?’ Slorn called.
A figure appeared from round the side of the wagon: he was tall, and perhaps a little older than the others, but with the smile of a young man. ‘So, you got back alive from your climbing adventure. I’m glad to see you,’ he beamed at them. Then he asked, ‘Well? What do you think?’
‘The wagon?’ Slorn asked.
‘Yes, the wagon.’
‘Why do we want a wagon?’
‘Travelling will be far easier in a wagon. Why else?’
‘Yes, but a wagon brings new problems,’ Slorn shook his head. ‘It can take us to Stormhaven but then we need to stow it, as well as feeding and stabling the buffalo and finding accommodation for ourselves.’
‘You weren’t listening earlier,’ Ubrik disagreed. ‘There is no accommodation in Stormhaven, and believe me – we looked. We have something booked in Darkfall from tomorrow night, but nowhere to stay in Stormhaven.’
‘Then where are you proposing we sleep tonight? Here?’
‘We’ll take the road north towards Darkfall Ness, and when we get tired we can sleep in the wagon,’ Vorrigan explained. ‘We’ll drive it a little off the road.’
‘There isn’t space – fourteen people cannot sleep in that wagon.’
‘They won’t need to. Not all at the same time. Eight people can sleep in the wagon, four underneath and two can keep watch.’
Kiergard Slorn shook his head, sucked in his breath and sighed. He took a few paces backwards to get a better look. ‘I doubt there’s room for eight people to sleep properly in that wagon,’ he disagreed. ‘And I don’t know about sleeping outdoors in this weather, under the wagon or anywhere else. Even if we survived the journey, we would still have to house and stable the wagon and buffalo in Darkfall.’
‘We can sell the wagon when we reach Darkfall.’
‘Sell it? Won’t the owner object?’
‘We are the owners, now.’
‘You mean it’s not even hired? You bought this thing? With our money?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the buffalo?’
‘Of course the buffalo. Why would I buy the wagon and not the buffalo? How would that make any sense?’
Slorn was silent for a moment, and then he asked: ‘You said you have rooms booked in Darkfall?’
‘There was a man in Stormhaven, selling rooms. An agent.’
‘And you paid a stranger, rooms unseen?’
‘You think we’ve suddenly become idiots?’ Karuin answered. ‘We gave him a small deposit, and he is holding the rooms until fifth watch tonight.’
‘How do you propose reaching Darkfall Ness by the end of fourth watch?’
‘In our new buffalo wagon, of course.’
‘You helped Vorrigan with the wagon?’
‘It was a good price,’ Karuin assured him. She sounded affronted that he had asked.
‘The buffalo are sound,’ Ethryk said, walking back over after examining them. ‘They’re a well matched pair, and they’re strong and healthy. They could take us all the way to Darkfall, as long as we rest them every few hours.’
Kiergard Slorn said nothing. He looked at the wagon, at Karuin, at Vorrigan, and at the buffalo. ‘Fine,’ he said at last, with an exaggerated shrug. ‘You win: we travel to Darkfall Ness by wagon. Get it ready and meet us on the
other side of town, on the Stormhaven road.’ He turned back to the others: ‘Thawn and the mage come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘There are merchants in this town selling all manner of things to the townspeople and the villages around, and I’m sure that number will include Humans. So before we leave this place, we have an opportunity to get you some more appropriate clothes. Or something clean, at least, even if nothing particularly suits or fits.’
They found a general store with a small selection of Human clothes at the back. The limited selection at least made choosing quite straightforward, even though all the available combinations meant that he would be dressed as a local labourer or farmworker. His first choice of jacket had no hood, but Slorn insisted that he would have to wear a hat or headscarf – at least until his hair grew back. So he picked a jacket that fitted less well but had a hood, and because the hood would be quite loose, he took a snug hat as well.
‘Do we have a spare pack?’ he asked, before they paid.
‘Yes. You want to carry your old things with you?’
‘Not everything, no, but my original clothes. They’re all I have from my previous life, before I lost my memory. Maybe there are clues in them, clues about who I really am.’
‘I’ll put them in a pack,’ Slorn agreed. ‘But you’ll have to carry it.’
‘That won’t be a problem,’ the mage joked, ‘as long as the wagon is carrying me.’
‘The wagon …,’ Slorn repeated, and he still didn’t sound completely happy about the idea. ‘Let’s go and see if they’re waiting.’
On the way, they made another stop: Slorn insisted that he should have a razor. ‘With your hair so short, your beard looks … abnormal,’ he explained.
‘As if your head might be on upside down,’ Thawn agreed. Neither Light nor Dark Elves grew hair on their faces.
The others were waiting on the outskirts of town with the wagon: there didn’t seem to be any other traffic, so they had simply stopped in the middle of the road. It was immediately obvious why Vorrigan hadn’t wanted to meet them further into the mountains: from Din’dorroden, the road stretching east looked flat and well-maintained. It should be easy going for a wheeled wagon, certainly compared with the tracks and trails that they had been following until now.
‘There are fourteen of us, which is too many for the wagon,’ Slorn said. ‘Those who walked furthest today will ride – the road down to Stormhaven will be a good chance for them to rest. The others will take turns steering, and four or five will have to walk alongside.’
The road was sufficiently regular and the wheels sufficiently flexible that the wagon did not shake too badly as it descended towards the coast. In the failing light, they only moved at a brisk walking speed, but there would be no stops and those who rode wouldn’t become tired.
The man Tremano and the priest, Vrosko Din, sat at the front while Ubrik, Lisamel, Karuin and the doctor, Menska, walked alongside. Vorrigan climbed in the back.
‘You should be walking,’ Thawn accused.
‘Yes,’ Vorrigan agreed, ‘but my curiosity can wait no longer. We have a Human among us, now,’ he grinned, ‘and unless my ears deceived me, Kiergard addressed him as “mage” earlier. In all the excitement of the new wagon, our introduction has been overlooked.’
‘If I introduce you,’ Garran growled, ‘will you get out? Or at least shut up, so we can sleep?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well. This is Vorrigan – he’s our general negotiator, master of supplies, master of forgeries and sometimes gambler. Vorrigan, this is Lanvik – he’s our mage, but he’s lost both his staff and his memory. We rescued him from prison.’
‘Ah, so you’re the mage we heard about when we arrived. Yes, I thought that might be why Kiergard was suddenly so eager to trek across those mountains. Well, I’m pleased to meet you.’ He waited a few seconds, and than asked: ‘Lanvik? Is that his real name?’
‘No,’ Garran admitted. ‘He’s forgotten his real name, but “Lanvik” sounds as if it could be his name, doesn’t it? A Human name.’
‘I suppose so,’ Vorrigan agreed. ‘Is that what we call him, then?’
‘Not yet, but I thought I’d try it,’ Garran said. ‘See if it fitted him.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ said the mage: “Lanvik”, apparently.
‘Lanvik, then … at least until you remember your real name, or think of one you prefer.’
‘Can you do magic without your staff?’ Vorrigan asked.
‘I can’t remember.’
‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘So you definitely can’t do magic without your memory, whether you have a staff or not.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind,’ Vorrigan smiled at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll fit in with us just fine, magic or not.’
‘You’re walking, remember,’ Thawn told him, a little coldly.
‘Ah yes,’ he agreed, and stepped down again from the back of the wagon.
The seven of them took a while to arrange themselves, as the wagon wasn’t really wide enough to lie sideways across. So five of them lay lengthwise in the bottom, on a thin covering of hay: Magda and Thawn lay above them, on the two shelves or benches that ran along the sides of the wagon.
‘This wagon stinks of something unmentionable,’ Bane shouted. ‘Did you think to ask what the previous owner used it for?’
‘We cleaned it as well as we could,’ Ubrik called back. ‘It was much worse when we found it.’
Bane carried on grumbling for a while, but soon they were all asleep.
4
It took over four hours to reach Stormhaven, by which time it was properly dark. The snow was not falling heavily, but there had still been enough to form a thin layer on their blankets as they lay in the wagon. Even so, they had slept soundly despite the cold, the damp and the constant shaking … perhaps because it had been even and regular.
‘Well, Master Wizard,’ Slorn addressed him as they stood and stretched beside the wagon. ‘It seems that you are to be called Lanvik. If you like.’
‘I don’t mind. It sounds a little odd, but it will attract a lot less attention than “Master Wizard”. And I suppose if that’s the name you’re going to call me then you should be deciding it, rather than me.’
‘That seems a very odd way of looking at the matter, but if you’re happy then it will serve. It will also avoid any potential confusion in future, if we happen to stumble upon additional mages who are unable to remember their names.’
Lanvik laughed, and confirmed: ‘I feel alright with “Lanvik”.’
‘Then welcome to our Company, Lanvik the Mage.’
There were a number of travellers’ inns scattered through Stormhaven which had stables attached so it didn’t take long to negotiate a rest for the buffalo, with water and fodder. They first had to assure the innkeeper that they would be gone within two hours: apparently he had let the same stables to pilgrims for the night.
Several of the Company took the various packs and were briefly absent. They had a number of trunks in storage elsewhere in Stormhaven, it seemed. They would exchange what they had taken for the mountain crossing with whatever they might need in Darkfall: more funds, a change of clothes and so on. They were back at the inn within twenty minutes.
The others had found tables at which to eat and relax before continuing their northward journey. Slorn again advised against strong drink, and noted that the religious travellers around them seemed bound by the same constraint. Despite that, the place was busy with people shouting and dancing and singing as well as eating. A small band of four musicians stood crushed in one corner, belting out loud and fast tunes – ideal for those who were already dancing but an odd accompaniment for anyone who was only there to eat.
Ethryk checked the animals before joining the others. ‘They are in fine condition, considering our journey down from Din’dorroden. I would say they should be able to work well into tomorrow, so long as we rest
them for an hour every four hours or so. If we need to, we could drive them for longer and they would go further, but if they become too tired then they will simply stop walking and nothing we can do will make them start again.’
‘Every four hours, then,’ Slorn agreed. ‘That means two more stops on our journey north, but we will still make far better time than if we had to stop and sleep. And if we can achieve thirty miles before sun-up, then we should be at Darkfall Ness by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘So you will now admit that the wagon was a brilliant idea? A thing of genius?’ Vorrigan asked.
‘It has been a success so far,’ Kiergard Slorn conceded, ‘but I have a task for you before we leave. The back of the wagon is cold and damp in the snow, and conditions will only worsen through the night. Your wagon would be significantly improved by the addition of some kind of cover – anything that keeps in the heat and keeps out the snow.’
‘Yes,’ Vorrigan agreed. ‘I had considered fixing our tarpaulin across the top, but you didn’t bring it back with you from your trip. I’ll see if I can find another before we leave, or something better … after all, I’m next up sleeping so it’s in my own interest.’ He stood and drained his tankard. ‘Don’t leave without me,’ he added, and headed off through the throng of people, towards the door.
Someone tapped Lanvik on the shoulder, startling him out of a daze: he realised he had been sitting, watching Magda.
‘Don’t get sweet on her,’ Tremano warned, ‘and don’t feel you have to protect her.’
‘She’s hard as nails,’ Lisamel commented, from his other side, ‘and more than capable of looking after herself.’
Lanvik was sitting between Tremano and Lisamel. He had hardly talked with either of them and didn’t know what they did, what they thought or what they were like. They always seemed to be together, though: they sat together when they ate, walked together, sometimes asked or answered questions together. He had thought at first that they must be a couple, but like everyone else in the Company they hadn’t shown each other any particular affection beyond friendship. Perhaps they had known each other before they joined Kiergard Slorn’s Company, or perhaps they were siblings, like Ubrik and Garran.
