Westmere
1
Ton-Kel stopped and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, squinting as the road wavered in and out of sight ahead. Fog was never a welcome thing, especially when one traveled so close to the Mists, but this particular occurrence struck her as more than usually ominous. She wondered if some new Mystic ability, a gift from her unwelcome Patron, was giving her a nudge.
But a sweeping glance across the heavy brush on either side of the road, the impenetrable shadows lurking under the trees just beyond, convinced her that her uneasiness could be as easily attributed to ordinary common sense.
This was supposed to be a well-traveled route to an established town, but she and her two companions had met no other travelers in the past two days. Despite the thick forest that threw deepening shadows onto the track, they had seen no animal life in several hours, and the air, which should have been alive with birdsong, was still and quiet. Too quiet.
Paulo stopped beside her and looked around. "So, where are we?" he asked for what must have been the dozenth time in the last few hours.
Ton-Kel didn't bother to answer or even to give him the kind of look he deserved. Some Ranger. Of the three of us, he's the only one with no sense of direction.
It was Baraccus, oddly enough, who replied as he joined them. "An hour closer to Westmere than we were last time you asked." He didn't even sound particularly impatient.
Ton-Kel shot him a look, wondering what he was thinking. Like her, he was glancing around at their surroundings, though if he shared her unease he gave no sign of it.
But then, in the brief time she'd known him, she'd never seen him display anything she could pinpoint as a definite emotion. In a way, he made her as uneasy as their surroundings. He wasn't like any Cavalier she'd ever known.
Then again, she'd made a point of not knowing many Cavaliers, so perhaps Baraccus was more typical than she thought.
She shrugged away the thought and returned her attention to the road ahead and the fog brushing across it, choking the warmth from the late afternoon sun. "Think we should keep going, or make camp and hope it blows away by morning?" she asked, glancing again at Baraccus.
The Cavalier shook his head, the uncertain light catching glints of blue in his ebony hair. "We should be able to reach the town before dark. It can't be that much farther. I don't think we should sleep outdoors here."
"How do you know we're close?" Paulo challenged him, his voice sharp with irritation. Ton-Kel shifted the pack on her shoulder and shot him a frown of annoyance, but Baraccus just shrugged and nodded ahead.
"Wheel ruts on the road. Old cow dung. And someone cut the trees back along here at some point. That says 'town' to me." He paused. "And if Westmere is supposed to be a caravan way station, it can't be too far from the main route."
"Well, I think we're lost," Paulo retorted. "I don't think we're anywhere near a real town."
Ton-Kel was half-inclined to agree with him, but his attitude annoyed her into siding with Baraccus. "As if you would know. You have trouble finding your right hand with your left."
Paulo turned to scowl at her; he was a small man, so their eyes were at a level. "You may have missed the obvious, O mighty Mystic, but I haven't." He waved a hand at the road ahead. "Look. Wheel ruts, yes, but all old enough for weeds to be springing up in them. No one's cut the brush on the roadside back in the last couple of seasons. We've seen no farms, no outlying houses — there's nothing out here. If there ever was, it's gone now." He looked from her to Baraccus and back. "I don't like it. I say we go back and look for another road. Maybe we turned off too soon."
Turn back. Ton-Kel clamped her mouth shut around the swift agreement that rose to her lips, surprised at the sudden lift of spirits the idea brought. She stared into Paulo's grey-blue eyes and saw the fear behind the anger just before they flickered away from hers.
He feels what I do about this place, she realized, and felt the first small spark of warmth toward him she'd had since….
She lifted a hand to touch her forehead nervously. She couldn't feel the mark but knew it was there; three black dots in a triangular pattern, identical to the dots that marked the brows of her companions.
Reason enough they couldn't turn back.
Baraccus was looking thoughtfully down at Paulo. He turned his stare on her and she found herself straightening under that midnight regard. "What says our Mystic," he asked. "Do you agree with the Ranger?"
There he was, invoking his rank as Cavalier. Telling her to do her job. She gritted her teeth and glanced at Paulo. He was watching her, waiting to see if she'd back him, but not expecting it from the way his blond brows almost met over his sharp nose.
She stared as far down the road as she could, stalling, before she finally replied. "I don't like it either. There's something not right." She took another breath; the air had a rich, damp smell, with a hint of rot drifting behind it. She swallowed, wishing she could give some other answer than the one she was about to. "But we can't turn back. This road is where it was supposed to be. If there had been another we'd have seen it, or some sign of it. We were told there was trouble at Westmere, so it makes sense that there's been less traffic of late."
She looked up at Baraccus then quickly away, wishing he wasn't so good-looking. Her own awareness of it irritated her. She pretended to scan the brush for movement. "I don't much like the idea of marching into that fog, but I agree we shouldn't camp out here."
"Exactly." Baraccus smiled, looking from her to Paulo. "After all, we're here to look for trouble. If we find it, so much the better. Don't you trust our Patron, Paulo?"
Without waiting for an answer, he set off, his longer legs setting a pace Ton-Kel knew from recent experience neither she nor Paulo could match without a lot of extra work. Damn the man.
She glanced at the Ranger and caught him staring at the Cavalier's receding back, the same thought written plainly in his sour expression. Their eyes met and again she felt that unexpected spark of sympathy flash between them.
The scowl faded from Paulo's face, and with a resigned half-smile, he slid his bow off his shoulder and gestured for her to precede him. She noticed for the first time that it was already strung. He must have been expecting trouble before they stopped.
She nodded and trotted to catch up with Baraccus, slightly reassured. Paulo might be more competent than she'd thought. Perhaps they'd get along after all.
Her smile quickly faded as she mulled over Baraccus's words. Don't you trust our Patron, Paulo? Surely he was being sarcastic. Either that or he was simply mad. She hoped it was the former, but she hadn't yet learned to tell.
Of course, they'd only been together for — what — four, five days now? How long did a Triad have to be together before they started sharing thoughts, the way the tales said?
On the other hand, perhaps they never would. And perhaps she didn't want to. She'd never much cared for Cavaliers in general, avoided them when she could. She'd always thought of them as stuffy, full of pride and platitudes. Armor-clad mannequins who went about moralizing about honor and glory, ready to die defending some obscure point from their mysterious Code one minute and just as ready to chop you to dog meat the next if you looked at them the wrong way.
Baraccus wasn't like that, but so far she wasn't sure she wouldn't prefer the type she understood. Handsome he might be — too handsome, to her thinking — but his relaxed, almost genial expression seemed frozen into the muscles of his face, and the faint smile that curved lips framed by a neatly trimmed beard and slim mustache never reached his black eyes. It made her skin crawl and roused her street-honed survival instincts to full alert every time he looked at her.
Ton-Kel eyed the black leather-and-armor-clad figure striding through the wisps of fog before her and wondered how she'd ever learn to trust this man with so much as her long-lost virtue, let alone her life.
In a way, it was funny. She'd earned
her bread as a minstrel, singing songs about Triads or telling tales of their exploits for years, but she'd never even imagined belonging to one. Never wanted to. Yet, here she was. And despite her own long-held cynicism, she found herself…not exactly surprised, but — she could admit it to herself — disappointed at how reality failed to live up to legend.
Your Triad was supposed to become your closest friends, closer than lovers, mates, or blood kin — more like long-lost twins than mere comrades. When was this supposed to happen?
She had always wondered what it would be like. She'd never had anyone she felt that way about. She didn't remember her family, and the other street urchins she'd grown up with were all long dead or scattered to the four winds.
As for the troupe of performers she'd traveled and worked with for the past three years…well, she hoped that some of them were still alive. She would probably never know. Any more than she knew what had killed the rest, what would have killed her if she hadn't heard the strange, haunting music, like ghostly pipers, and followed it away from the camp before the screaming started….
She shook her head to break her train of thought. Forget it. The person she had been was dead. She was supposed to be the Mystic of the Black Triad now, whether she felt like it or not.
The trouble was, she wasn't even sure she liked the two men she found herself bound to. And neither of them seemed any happier about it than she was.
Well, at least she was certain Paulo wasn't; who could tell how Baraccus felt about anything. Or if he felt at all.
Ton-Kel turned her attention behind her, listening for the light, occasionally skipping steps as Paulo trotted to catch up, the snatches of melody he sometimes hummed, even when he was nervous. Especially when he was nervous — when he was relaxed, he sang. Stupid habit for a Ranger to have.
Up until a few moments ago, she had dismissed him as a bantam rooster, all scratch and crow. But that brief moment of sympathy made her reassess her earlier impressions. Paulo's rather feral features shifted with his every thought and his blue-grey eyes seemed to miss little. He might not be as easy to look at as Baraccus, but at least he was easier to understand. Perhaps he wasn't a total fool after all.
The trees closed in on the road, throwing it into complete gloom, and she picked up her pace, panting despite the fog's damp chill. Ahead of her, Baraccus strode on without pause, seemingly unconcerned by the concealing shadows that lapped over them.
Her ears tuned for the rustling of brush, she started as Paulo appeared beside her, his head turning like a bird's as he darted quick looks to either side. The faded green and brown of his woodsman's garb, newly lined with black, caused him to ripple in and out of focus as he walked through the dying light.
"Grand place for an ambush," he muttered. "Hard to believe any caravan would come this way of its own accord." He glanced at her. "What do you know about Westmere, anyway?"
She shrugged, softening her usually strident voice to match Paulo's level. "I've never heard of it. I only know what we were told. But it does seem strange that it's supposed to be an important way station, yet it's this far off the beaten track. It just doesn't smell right."
The sudden stench that filled her nose came so closely on the heels of her words it seemed a direct response, and she stopped in alarm. "Ugh!" She covered her nose and mouth with one hand, as much to silence her unthinking reaction as to block the smell, and looked around warily for the source.
Then she caught sight of Paulo's grin. "Come now, are you so delicate?" he asked in mock solicitude. "It's merely a patch of lowly skunk cabbage — it just means there's a bog or swamp nearby. Where I come from, it's a delicacy." He took a deep, deliberate breath and let it out with a sigh. "Ah, the fetid fragrance of home. Dear old Anagni. Now I recall why I haven't been back."
Flushing with embarrassment, she scowled at him and resumed her march, while he fell in beside her. "You must be a child of the city, am I right?" he asked. "Are you from Killaloe?"
"No," she answered sullenly, "Tir. The Docks, actually." She wondered where this was going. They hadn't spoken of themselves much before now. In her case, the loss of her long-time traveling companions, the shock of her own near-death, meeting the other two, and then finding herself face-to-face with…with the One who had Chosen them, had locked her attention inward, kept her unaccustomedly mute.
She assumed it was the same for the others. Silent as ghosts, the three of them. Which, in a way, they were. How did that song go — the dead given life again to serve….
She shook her head to banish the thought and forced her attention back to Paulo. Bickering with him was better than thinking along those lines. "I wouldn't call the Docks much of a city, but I spent a few years in Tir itself as well. And there aren't any swamps in either place, thank you."
"I was raised in the marshes back home," Paulo replied, undaunted by her quelling tone, "a good distance from the city proper of Anagni, as you may well imagine. I've spent the last few years wandering about, but I've never been this far out before. This close to the Mists, I mean."
He reached over his shoulder and pulled an arrow from his quiver. Ton-Kel's heart skipped a beat, but steadied when he seemed content to twirl it in the fingers of his free hand as he walked. "Are you sure they didn't tell you anything more about why they want us here?" he continued. "No dreams or anything?"
She didn't have to ask which "they" he meant. "You heard what I did," she said curtly. "If they want us to know anything else before we get there, they'll tell us. Otherwise, we're on our own."
The exact words used to inform them of the reason for this mission by the Being who had left the mark on her brow escaped her. She remembered only the gist of what had been said, wrapped up in a numbing sense of dread and the image of a horned shadow cast by nothing.
She spoke rapidly to banish the memory. "This place called Westmere is being raided. Caravans wiped out. People disappearing. Farms destroyed. Things like that. We're supposed to find out what's doing it and stop it."
Paulo snorted. "As if it were such a great mystery. This close to the Mists? Look at this place!" He gestured with the hand holding the bow, idly flipping the arrow into the same hand and hooking his forefinger over it so it lay against the bow shaft, ready to slip into place. "If this isn't trolkien country, I don't know what is. And that's what we'll find, mark you: trolkien, trolls, goblins, and probably a grendel or two as well. So why are they sending us instead of an army?"
She caught another whiff of skunk cabbage and blew her breath out before she replied, wondering how anyone could ever get used to the stuff, let alone think of eating it.
Her anger had faded, and she felt vaguely ashamed for maintaining a level of hostility Paulo evidently didn't intend. He was making an effort, in his own obnoxious way. She could at least reciprocate. "Why us at all is the question. Killaloe is supposed to be mostly Green territory. What business does the Black Faction have here? Why send a Black Triad?"
Their muted voices shouldn't have carried, but Baraccus paused in his stride and turned, waiting for them to catch up. "You're right, it doesn't make sense to send just us if this is the work of monsters," he said as they reached him. "So let's assume that may not be the problem and keep our eyes — and our minds — open, shall we?" He said it with a smile, even, white teeth flashing cheerfully in the gloom, but Ton-Kel bristled, sensing a hidden barb.
"Open, or simply empty?" she snapped. "I'm no sheep, to follow orders without question. Our Patron hasn't exactly been careful of its Triads' lives in the past, so I don't see why they'd give a rat for ours. For all we know, we're a bone they're throwing to the Green Faction to keep peace."
She stabbed a finger at the wall of trees that ringed them like prison bars on either side. "You go right ahead and believe there's no trolkien out there. Me, I'm going to take the next chance I get to put a fireball together."
"You should have done that las
t time we made camp," he replied mildly. He studied her for a moment in silence, and she wondered if he was angry or simply laughing at her. Finally he shrugged. "I didn't say there are no trolkien here. I'm just not ready to assume they — or any other monster — are the only problem. Or even the main one. And if you're so concerned about danger, I suggest you get moving instead of standing here flapping your jaws."
Ton-Kel's face grew hot, but before she could think of a properly blistering retort Baraccus turned and strode off, as unconcerned as ever.
"Don't bother," Paulo advised her. She turned her glare on him, but he only shook his head and gestured for her to follow the Cavalier. Well, fine. That was a Mystic's job, wasn't it? Follow the Cavalier and patch him up when his arrogance got him carved to ribbons.
She ground her teeth and stalked after Baraccus, her heels drumming the beaten dirt in impotent rage. The first time that son of a sow got himself cut up, she'd rub salt in it and tell him to not waste breath yelling.
The road disappeared around a curve, and for a moment she thought they'd reached the end, but as they followed it, it opened onto a wide, green meadow, still speckled with sunlight. Baraccus stopped, raising one hand to signal them to do likewise.
Disregarding it, Ton-Kel crept cautiously to his side, while Paulo flanked him on the other.
The road curved along one side of the field, but of greater immediate interest was the wreckage of a building almost directly ahead.
It had the look of a stable, but it was clear that no such use was made of it now. The roof had fallen in and grass and weeds grew tall among the scorched timbers. The remains of log fences still sketched the shapes of pens and corrals, but most of the rails had fallen. The charred outlines of other buildings ringed it along one side, but there was no telling what they had been.
"Look." Paulo pointed up the road, and Ton-Kel followed his gesture to what appeared to be a bridge. It was hard to make it out, for trees grew close around it and along what she assumed were the banks of the river it spanned, but she was almost certain she could see the regular shapes of buildings on the other side.
"That must be it," she said aloud. "Westmere."
Paulo crouched, bow drawn and arrow nocked, and Baraccus's sword hissed from its sheath before Ton-Kel registered the fluttering of leaves to one side. "Stand and state your business," barked a gruff, male voice. Before Baraccus could reply, a handful of men and women in brown tabards emerged from the surrounding greenery and barred the Triad's way, swords, axes, and bows at the ready.
Baraccus's stance did not relax, but his voice was steady. "We are the Black Triad. We have been sent here in answer to your need."
"The Black Triad!" Another figure emerged from hiding, and despite herself Ton-Kel gaped at the size of him.
Baraccus was tall, but this man topped him by a head, and his shoulders had a breadth Baraccus and Paulo standing together couldn't equal. The power of a blacksmith bulged from his brawny arms, and he braced himself before them on legs like tree trunks. "Step into the light, if you will, and show me the mark," he said.
Baraccus straightened from his fighting crouch and approached the giant with a fearlessness Ton-Kel recognized with grudging admiration even while she cursed his carelessness. Fool! It might be a trap!
Paulo, she noticed, did not relax his bow, and his aim shifted slightly to cover the big man. An admirable effort, though what good it would do Baraccus if he got himself surrounded….
But Baraccus wisely stopped just out of reach as a finger of fading sunlight brushed his face.
The stranger immediately smiled and offered a courteous bow, hastily copied with noticeably less enthusiasm by the others. "So it's true!" he boomed. "Well, who would have thought it? You honor us, sir, you and your companions. Welcome to Westmere. Forgive us our caution, but as you have apparently heard, we've been troubled of late."
Baraccus glanced at the burned-out stable. "So it would seem." He returned his attention the other man. "Are you the authority in this town?"
"Ah, my manners have grown as worn as my uniform." He laid a huge hand on his breast and inclined his upper body. "I am Galen, son of Owain. I am the Constable of the guard, and, of late, the highest authority. These—" he gestured to the men and women who stood on either side of him —"are all that is left of my garrison. May we be honored with your name and the names of your companions, sir?"
Baraccus inclined his head so slightly it might have been taken for a mere nod, but his smile was as relaxed as ever. "But of course. I am Baraccus, Cavalier of the Black Triad. This is my Ranger, Paulo."
He gestured with his left hand and Paulo stepped forward, his arrow still nocked but pointed now at the ground. He acknowledged Galen's bow with a graceful one of his own that spoke of much practice. Ton-Kel wondered where he'd learned such flourishes, but the sound of her name refocused her attention.
"And this is my Mystic, Ton-Kel." Baraccus gestured to her with his right hand and she stepped quickly to his side, studying the Constable's face.
He had the look of a man who would be genial in happier times. She was surprised by his good looks; on a smaller man, that face might be called pretty. Skin as smooth and rosy of cheek as a young maid's, with eyelashes a courtesan would envy encircling large, intelligent blue eyes. A trim beard a shade or two more red than his fawn-brown hair hid the shape of his chin, but the smile it surrounded was good-natured and engaging, the teeth even and white.
She offered him her most dazzling smile, then let her large, dark eyes — doe eyes, they'd been called by smitten admirers — sweep over the meadow and the bridge beyond before returning to his face. "I've never been to this part of Killaloe. I did not expect it to be so beautiful. No wonder you do your utmost to protect it. We'll help you in any way we can. Please tell us what you need from us."
She noticed with satisfaction that Galen was no more immune to her charm than were most men. He beamed down at her, blue eyes alight with admiration. "Ah, but I'd be a poor host indeed if I burdened you with our troubles before seeing to your needs. You must be exhausted after your journey. Please, be our guests."
He stepped back and extended an arm to guide them along the road to the bridge. "Westmere does have an inn. My sister and her husband own it, and if I do say so, she is an exceptional cook. And my brother-in-law boasts a cellar that few can equal, even in larger settlements. Come and rest by the fire and sample our hospitality." He stopped just short of offering her his arm.
Ton-Kel laughed, pretending she hadn't seen his near faux pas. No one touched a Mystic without permission — not if they were wise. "Nothing could possibly sound better, good sir. We thank you." She stepped back to rejoin her Triad, noting Baraccus's cocked eyebrow and Paulo's vain attempts to smother his astonishment with smug satisfaction. There. Just let them try and underestimate her again.
Galen led the way, his men falling in on either side of the Triad in a manner that Ton-Kel wanted to perceive as that of an honor guard but that re-awoke her habitual mistrust and left her feeling trapped.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Baraccus's hand resting with seeming casualness on his sword hilt, and Paulo shorten his stride so that he fell just slightly behind, his bow at his side and the arrow resting in his fingers along the shaft.
It seemed their hosts did not yet understand their proper roles. Best get to work on that, since she was undoubtedly best at it.
"Good sir Constable," she said brightly, and saw how quickly he turned to her as he walked. "We were told that Westmere is an important way station along this trade route, yet it seems rather out of the way, if I may say so. I admit I'm not familiar with the caravan routes out here, but aren't you a little isolated?"
"We are indeed," he replied with a nod, "though that was hardly the case only a few seasons ago. It used to be that every caravan between Killaloe and Anagni stopped by. There was never much of a town here, but it was a good p
lace to seek work or trade, so we had a lot of mercenaries, peddlers, and other transients, and there were always some who decided to stay. Those of us who like a little elbow room were happy here.
"But once that last set of border disputes died down between the two city-states, a new route opened up just outside of the Elven Forests. It's shorter and follows a single ley-line, so many merchants choose to pay tribute to the elves and use it instead. Even before all this trouble, we weren't getting nearly the traffic we used to."
"That explains why the road is so neglected," Baraccus interjected. "It caused us some concern. We must be your first visitors in some time, then."
Galen laughed. "Oh, no indeed. Why, the whole town's abuzz with our renewed popularity."
"Indeed?" Baraccus sounded only mildly interested, but Ton-Kel shot him a look, catching Paulo's eye instead. Were these other visitors the trouble? Evidently Baraccus was thinking along the same lines. "Welcome ones, I hope."
"To some of us, at any rate," Galen replied. "It's more honor than one town should expect in a lifetime, but aside from the raiders we've been playing host to a few caravan refugees." He paused. "And the Red Triad arrived three days ago, and the Green two weeks before that."
Shock made Ton-Kel miss a step, and she heard Paulo choke on a gasp.
Impossible, she thought, though she had no breath to say it. Not just one other Triad, but two? It was unheard of.
She quickly scanned through her memorized repertoire of songs, searching for ballads that referred to multiple Triads sent on the same mission.
Well, it had happened before…but not very bloody often. And why here and now? What was going on in this place? Automatically she looked to Baraccus for some hint of how to react.
It was almost worth it to see him look like a real human, round-eyed and slack-jawed with astonishment.
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 30
