Malek frowned. "Then what can I do to help?"
"You can stay alive."
Malek blinked at that.
Twilight shrugged. "I know Morlekai enjoys his mad quests for redemption, however much he likes to play the prickly rebel, too proud to go back." Sapphire eyes peered closely into Malek's own. "Did you not think your last stop quite odd, with minimal staff and all of them stinking of fear? And yet your leader here is utterly confident that he can yank the beards of his direst foes, and still be the one to come out laughing." Twilight sighed, turning to gaze behind Malek. "Be careful, Hound. Morlekai's ventures tend to leave bodies in their wake. And as annoying as you are, I would rather you not be one of them."
Malek felt a strong hand grip his shoulder.
“We need to run, boy,” Morlekai gently reproved. “When the air is alive with the spray of ice crystals from our boots, none can weigh our words.”
Malek flushed and nodded, leaping to his feet, locking gazes with Morlekai, throwing up a handful of soft, powdery snow, dusting them both.
“Twilight thinks we're being led into a trap.”
Gold green eyes measuring his soul.
"I know."
Malek shivered.
“Malek?” A sharp voice. Alacabar.
“Come, boy. We talk as we run. And I'm not so stupid as some might think.”
“What can you tell me?” Malek asked sometime later, after they had all lost themselves in the rhythm of racing at full speed through the snow. A sort of moving meditation. Restful in its own way as the lightest of naps, none of them having slept so much as a wink the night before. And the slight burn to thigh muscles so saturated with Shadow that they hardly felt it with any lesser exertion was an added bonus. Save when sparring all out against his friends, this was when his body felt most alive, most connected to the waking world, and not simply a vessel storing his dreaming mind.
Malek could somehow sense Morlekai's smile, even as he gazed straight ahead. "Each of those tomes, even the most obscure, leads down a separate tunnel, a random maze of misdirection. And I made sure to press hard on the conveniently placed sheet of actual paper, well aware of the mark it would leave behind after I so carefully took my transcribed notes, not dreaming of wasting the good paper beneath it. For all that paper is far cheaper than vellum, scholarly habits are hard to break for anyone worthy of the title."
Malek smiled. “False leads then, assuming enemies are sniffing at our trail at all.”
Morlekai nodded. “Precisely.” His face then snapped toward Malek's, voice clipped and cold. “And let me assure you of this, boy. The prize I seek is not for my own glory, and I do not spend lives cheaply, whatever your old friend might think. Any man or demon that has taken one of my own through the years has been given cause to regret their folly with every fiber of their cursed being.”
Malek nodded, mouth suddenly dry, shaken to his core. As potent a force as he knew he was becoming, catching a glimpse of those terrible eyes blazing like golden suns had left him feeling as stripped and vulnerable as any boy quaking under the cold stare of a father who could crush him with a single blow, and always found him wanting.
Their celebratory feast that night was a grand affair. Having run for many hours through the frigid snow with no sleep the night before, Malek felt only the gentlest weariness color his exultation, and his growling belly would not be denied. He ate hearty and well; roasted pheasant, and quail making their pleasurable way down his gullet, the succulent spit roasted pig possessing a tender porcine sweetness that was near euphoric, Malek making good use of the loaves of fresh baked bread supplied to sop up all the wonderful juices. Alacabar also was a hearty advocate of the pig, both of them stomping the floor in friendly unison as they cried their commendations to the chef, the entire noisy dining hall cheering along with the ebulliently joyous and half-drunk band of adventurers, a common sight to most folk who wished to partake of the fine fare to be found at Guildhalls the nation over.
No finer place to sup like a king or sleep like a babe upon the most comfortable down-filled mattresses to be found anywhere. Not cheap, but a worthy treat for the well-to-do, and oh yes, one must always have the utmost tolerance for the adventurers who would occasionally stop by. Those folks were the entire reason for the Guild, in any case. Such were the thoughts Malek could almost pluck from the air as he gazed upon any number of tolerantly smiling tables of Barlton's elite, more than a few guests gazing in open admiration at the potent figures within their midst, raising their cups in good cheer.
A bemused Malek gamely smiled back, for all that he knew those same emboldened diners would be stinking of fear and darting hurriedly away, did they encounter Malek in any other circumstances save this one.
Malek soon found himself on the cusp of nodding off, leaning comfortably back in his chair as his friends laughed and jested, reflecting on their joyous run and the exhilarating adventure ahead. He was glad now to be able to rest at last, content and full, the ever mercurial Morlekai smiling at him with warmest bonhomie once more, earlier ire all but forgotten.
And when the four at last made their way to their designated rooms, Malek wasted no time sinking into deepest slumber, companions dozing unselfconsciously by his side like a pack of hounds in truth.
32
“Help me, please!”
A sweat-soaked brow, curly auburn hair falling into a pair of hazel eyes locked upon his own. The sour stink of fear accompanying endless wails echoing through chambers vast and terrible. Children's voices.
Malek awoke with a start, heart pounding in his chest, unsure of how much time had passed, fighting to hold back a wave of blinding panic before collecting himself with a ragged gasp, remembering who he was. Where he was.
He shuddered, doing his best to put the nightmare out of his mind, at least for the moment, while it was still so real and visceral.
He scowled at the bright light stabbing into his brain from the stained glass windows as he scratched through his rather fragrant undertunic, grimacing at the sour taste of his own mouth and deciding that a hot copper bath was most definitely in order, to say nothing of sharp spirits and thread to floss and rinse his mouth. And a shave, he decided as he scratched his stubble, was definitely in order
Malek found himself easing into the steaming hot copper tub, brought up in good haste by eager attendants as well as the various toiletries he had requested. All in all, the adventurer's life wasn't bad, he reflected contentedly, nor was the Guild, really. Whatever political machinations they may have had in play, their service had always been top notch.
Malek sighed, sipping contentedly at a cold glass of milk, feeling refreshed and so much better than he had upon waking, dressed at last in clean linens, happy to take his time as he already knew what Morlekai’s plans were for the day. Securing the services of at least one Healer who could Delve, if such was available. Not that it was strictly necessary, but as Morlekai had reflected on their grand run the day before, a healer might have a role to play in the recovery of the prize they sought.
Yet as much as he tried to relax and think positively about the day ahead, the dream haunted him still. Those pleading, desperate eyes.
"How do you fare, lad? You are looking a good bit more refreshed than you have in some time." This from a cheerful Alacabar, himself cleaned up quite nicely, a far cry from the savage berserker he so often appeared to be, presently dressed in elegant attire befitting a gentleman farmer or a trader who had made his fortune. He looked prosperous, gregarious, and larger than life, his friendly smile good at putting at ease those who would otherwise be far too intimidated to talk to him at all.
Malek smiled in turn. "I am doing quite well, my friend. As much as I love sticking my thumb at convention and living life on my own terms, there is something quite nice about indulging in a bit of civilized behavior now and then."
Alacabar's powerful frame shook with laughter. "Don't I know it! Come, what say we give our gear a good oiling?"
&
nbsp; Malek nodded gamely, turning his gaze to his pile of scale covered armor dumped in a heap by the side of the great bed they had all shared the night before. Forged from the carcasses of the most terrible beasts of Shadow, and far tougher than the strongest steel they might be. Nonetheless, they stank, as his finely attuned nose did attest, crinkling at the stench of sweat, grime, and gore that they never had gotten around to cleaning, so preoccupied they had become with their quest.
"Strange how I didn't even notice the stench until after I had freshened myself up, but the thought of putting them on now?" Malek cringed.
Alacabar gave a knowing nod. “The price we pay, pup. The price we pay. Morlekai and Lucienda are off to claim our fifth for the journey ahead, as you well know.” Malek did indeed know, the riddles behind the recovery of the horn making it quite clear that one with the ‘selfless gift’, as it was put, was needed to assist them in retrieving their prize, though how exactly that would be accomplished hadn’t really been explained to Malek, and he was halfway certain Morlekai wasn’t even sure himself
"Come, let us be of use to our companions and give these things a good cleaning! After that? Do what you will, young Malek. I suspect that it will be a few days at least before our friends return."
Malek smiled at the thought. He was, of course, all too happy to serve the group, and enjoyed forging strong bonds with companions who would never judge him, yet for all that, he was looking forward to having some time to himself. Alacabar gave an approving nod at Malek's readiness to assist, and together they brought down their massive pile of soiled gear to the armory with polite nods at the smiths and weave mistresses attending to the needs of so many adventurers and those noblemen that hired them on for extra coin in the Guild's purse, as no one could fault their skill. But Malek's group had long made it a habit to care for their own gear, a motion that would have earned his former mentor's firm approval. Only a fool would train endless hours in mastering the arts of war, just to put his gear and thus his survival upon the whims of a page or servant who might give it naught but the most casual inspection, for all that one's life might depend upon the most rigorous care. No one was better suited to assure armor and armaments were fit and ready, after all, than the men and women whose lives depended upon them.
Besides, Malek enjoyed having the chance to talk and jest with his friend as they thoroughly cleansed and cared for their gear. Malek saw no weakness in blue tinted scales harder than any steel, nor signs of cracking in the boiled rawhide serving as their armor's base. Not that he ever expected to with armor comprised of the carcasses of beasts slain in deepest Shadow, but he had seen the results of armor failure and took nothing for granted. Still, no matter how hard he focused on his task, Alacabar's knowing gaze made it clear that he knew Malek was distracted.
“Lad, you’ve been oiling that same patch of scales for a quarter of a glass. If your mind’s going to wander, at least let your hands do the work they must.”
Malek grimaced in apology. "You're right, Alacabar. I will try to focus more efficiently on the task at hand."
His friend's fearsome countenance was almost gentle. “Do you want to talk about it, lad? Sometimes a heavy heart is made lighter, splitting its burden in twain.”
Malek dipped his head, touched by his friend's gesture of support, but strangely embarrassed about troubling him with his musings. "Thank you, Alacabar. Fear not, though. 'Tis but a dream that haunts me."
Alacabar chuckled at that. “Then tell the dream to begone, if it troubles you so. Delvers such as us wade through dreams thick with wonder and horror both. 'Tis not for us to be haunted by lonely remembrances known only to ourselves. Let it dissipate like morning mist! Revel in the beauty of the day. Every morning we are alive to see the surface of Dawn in all her glory, we should devote ourselves to enjoying it to the utmost! Eat and drink hearty, love with passion, and train with heart.”
Malek grinned, already feeling better with his friend's warmth and cheer. Still, he couldn't help but replay in his mind the mood and atmosphere of the town when he had first arrived, the unusually quiet streets of Barlton, bereft of the songs of children at play that normally carried so well through the windows of the Guildhall.
His heart lurched at the thought of that terrified girl being out there somewhere, her life so horribly desperate that her pleas could actually reach into his dreams. Then again, it could simply be the meandering thoughts of a restless mind giving voice to his own growing concerns. There was no way he could know for sure. He only knew that he was feeling a growing sense of unease, looking for some direction to focus it on, before it drove him mad.
"That consortium from Riskord. Cornering the textile markets of that country and suddenly in desperate need of youngsters to learn the clothier's trade."
Alacabar blinked and looked up, before giving a thoughtful nod. "And their representatives have been coming to town and village alike, gathering up able-bodied young men and women who have a yearning for a dash of excitement in their lives; not only offering free apprenticeships, but paying the family a stipend in silver as well."
Malek sighed. “I know, Alacabar. You don’t have to say it. They have writs indicating the king’s blessing. Verified by Riskord’s own emissary as being a lawful organization.”
His companion grinned. “What more is there to say? If the king himself has put his name upon the proclamation of authenticity, it makes the likelihood of foul play a slim one, don’t you think?”
"True," Malek was forced to agree. "And it makes sense, in a way. We all know what direction Erovering is going in, and the king will profit mightily in having dozens if not hundreds of well-trained clothiers able to make high-quality gambesons to protect our troops in the years to come."
Alacabar gave his party's youngest adventurer a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "Not to mention acquiring exclusive rights to purchase already made gambesons at favorable rates, even before those apprentices are trained. You see, lad? Nothing to worry about. All is well. Or at least as well as it can be in this half-mad world full of living dreams and noble schemers determined to see us all swimming in a sea of intrigue and blood."
Malek politely nodded and focused on the task at hand, cleaning and polishing their gear to a brilliant sheen, doing his best to put his adventuring companion at ease. It was obvious that as far as his friend was concerned, nothing was wrong. There was no point in troubling Alacabar further.
Malek would do what he had to do alone.
“Well that’s that, then.” Alacabar gave a satisfied nod at which point they gathered up all their armaments, safely stowing them in their assigned and carefully sealed quarters. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“I thought I’d go explore Barlton for a bit. See what there is to see.”
Alacabar flashed his teeth. “You do that. I think I’ll head over to the exercise yard and see if I can get in a good match or two.”
Malek gave a bemused shake of his head. “Considering how badly you bruised the last adventurer who agreed to take you on, that might take some convincing.”
His companion of the fierce red beard managed to look innocent. “It was a friendly bout, and he healed up just fine after a good night's sleep, as we all do. You wouldn’t want me to teach them bad habits that come from lazy practice, now would you?”
Malek laughed. "I know better than to answer that. Enjoy your bouts, my friend. Perhaps I shall test your mettle on the morrow."
“Now that would be a good fight! Honestly, you and Morlekai are the only whelps that give me any challenge around here!”
Malek grinned at that, lounging upon his bed with journal and quill in hand while his friend donned his now oiled and clean smelling armor presently shimmering like blood in the reflected light, Alacabar whistling a merry tune while selecting a couple favored practice weapons before heading to the practice yard at last, Malek only dropping his relaxed pose when his friend was well and truly gone.
He carefully donned
a fine woolen cloak over his own Shadowforged armor, knowing that there was no way he could hide the nature of his massive blade, even as he strapped on the specialized sheath. No common citizen would ever be permitted to wear such a weapon within town limits. The serpentine blade was as much a polearm as sword, after all, designed for shattering the wooden shafts of spears and pikes in addition to its obvious powers as an instrument of death. Wearing such would confer his status as a knighted lord or Delver without question.
It would make discrete questioning near impossible, yet the idea of parting with the blade Jess herself had reforged for his use when they were both lost to the madness of Shadow was well-nigh unthinkable. Fortunately, he thought, as he made his way through a side door whilst ignoring the politely questioning glances sent his way, guardsmen of Barlton knew better than to impede Guild business.
Besides, he was wearing the cheerful sock today, his sword hilt covered with the colorful patchwork wonder more befitting a jester than a Squire of War, gifted to him by a grateful child some months ago. He was sure it looked nothing less than absurd, which was the point. It was hard to fear death coming towards you when he was wearing a jester outfit, the hood of his cloak also a deliberately colorful affair, though Morlekai himself had given him a reproving shake of his head when Malek had mentioned securing bells to it. "Soothing the commoners is all well and good, but there are limits, Malek," was all he had said. All he needed to say, really.
-You are a fool to think this could possibly work. Look at the way they stare at you!- Malek grimaced, pushing the thought away, apologizing to the young woman he spoke to, her gaze trembling, when he politely inquired as to what she might know about apprenticeships or missing children. He could smell the sudden fear as she stepped back, raising her hands in mute apology.
Gods of Shadow and Flame Page 33
