After the incident, when he had recovered, he had formerly met the woman. She had told him her name, “Ravien’ha,” but the tongue was so foreign to him at the time, that all that he got out of it was Raven. He had begun to call her that, and the name had stuck. Now even Lorre called her Raven. The young regent was off in the field, moving beside the woman. Both swung their qe’rathes, clearing weeds or dead plants, walking along and talking to one another. Lorre had long since mastered the Do’shibu tongue, though Nikolis even now only understood some of the basic words and phrases. It had been nearly a year, and yet he had proven to be no quick study when it came to foreign words.
Nikolis watched Lorre and Raven as they walked. Lorre was dressed in Do’shibu attire, wearing only a pair of short trousers. This was a man that held land and title back in the west, yet he chose to live as he did, here in the east. Something about that struck Nikolis as powerful, and moving, despite what one might think to the contrary.
When the sun was nearly set, they called it a day. Nikolis met up with Lorre and Raven and together they walked back to the main settlement. Soon they were treading past dozens of those curious dwellings, wooden framed structures, overlaid with thick animal hide. These tents were strong and durable, and they kept out the elements. A flap could be opened in the ceiling to let out the smoke of a small fire, but the weather was still nice, and tonight they would cook their meal in the open air.
Kindling and wood were placed in a small pit, bordered with stones, and soon a fire was blazing. Rabbit was roasted on spits over the flames, and vegetables were cut and prepared. The food was good, blander than he had been used to, but seemingly natural. When they were finished eating, they sat back, gazing at the stars.
Ro’bier joined them soon after, sitting down beside the fire. This was their Brujo, and without the bearskin cloak or the greasy red and black paint smeared on his face, he was a lot less frightening. Ro’bier was tall and slender, walking always with a roughhewn staff, and he loved to hear their stories, loved to learn what they would share. Nikolis was almost certain Ro’bier enjoyed his and Lorre’s stories almost as much as they did Ro’bier’s.
Soon others joined them, as they always did, there was no presumption that you would be left alone in this tribe. Gruff Meilare was in attendance this night, and as usual, he only sat back and listened, not willing to share any of his own thoughts.
But for the rest of them, they talked and laughed, sharing their tales, telling yarns both new and old. Language still remained a barrier between them, but they seemed inclined to speak slowly, and in basic words, so that Nikolis could understand as much as possible.
After the stories were done Ro’bier and Raven got up and took hands, dancing about the fire, while the others clapped and beat drums, chanting and singing. Lorre leaned back, sighed, and smiled, watching the dance. Nikolis couldn’t help but do the same.
But then a sudden feeling of melancholy overtook him, as it often did of late, and he left the fire and moved out into the cool, quiet night. He quickly found his way to the lake, dark and vast. From this vantage it looked as though it stretched on forever, the foothills of the tall mountain beyond the only thing cutting into its unknown depths. Nikolis wasn’t sure if he felt quite the same about it as the Do’shibu did, but there was certainly something about it.
He heard someone come up behind him, felt soft hands touch his shoulder. He did not need to turn and look to know who it was. Raven had shared many a walk with him, listening as he spilled the contents of his mind. They both had shared their fears and concerns, their hopes and dreams.
Nikolis smiled at Raven. She was so beautiful. Dark hair and dark eyes, seemingly wise beyond her years. Despite being honest and straightforward, there was a mystery about her. It was almost as if she was destined for something greater, but the weight of that destiny did not bear down so harshly upon her shoulders. Nikolis put his arms about her and they embraced.
When they separated, they stared out at the still water, listening to the sounds of nature all about them. Raven rested her hands and chin on his shoulder, and they just stood for a while. Then he took her hand, and they made their way back to the fire.
“What do you think of her?” Lorre asked, nodding toward Raven, as Nikolis sat back down beside him. The question took him somewhat by surprise.
After a moment’s pause, he said, “She is wonderful. Beautiful.”
“But what do you feel for her?” Lorre prodded.
Nikolis furrowed his brow and looked deep into Lorre’s eyes. There was something there, something he had never seen before in the man. Something honest and fair, yet something he did not entirely like. “It is only friendship we share.”
Though there was a look of disbelief remaining on his face, Lorre’s eyes softened, and then his anger disappeared. “I feel more for her than that,” he admitted, and then he looked away from Nikolis, and back to the fire.
Nikolis had observed in the past, that Lorre’s emotions often seemed to be bottled up to the point of bursting, but he could not blame him. For months after he had come to the camp, he had not wanted to talk about what happened at Seaport. Lorre would ask, of course, but Nikolis remained distant, aloof. Then slowly, after months had passed, a deeper sense of trust had developed between them. After he had told the older man his story, Lorre sought in earnest for news of the west, for what had happened in the aftermath of the attempt on King Alginor’s life. Word had trickled down slowly from sources Lorre had developed. Merchants ran goods up and down the White River, though sporadically, and he found ways to get a tale or two out of them.
They said the king was alive, but not well. He was in and out of consciousness, and no one was allowed to see him save the Prince. Riders had searched the High Road and surrounding wilderness for many months looking for Nikolis. The word had spread that he had accosted and kidnapped the King. When Lorre had first told him that, Nikolis had been angry, wanting to know who else had been implicated, hoping beyond hope that there was some shred of truth to the story that was circulating of what had happened at Seaport. Timmer Garth would have stood up for him, certainly.
Lorre had only shaken his head, saying that he hadn’t heard anything else on the matter other than that it seemed Jerald Camber and Darus Lewin were the inventors of the tale. Seaport was decidedly silent on the matter. The city had been sealed after the event, and very little word, or anything else for that matter, seemed to be getting in or out of the place.
Then, after a period of silence had passed, it was announced by Royal Decree that a price was on his head that would make the most sympathetic man turn bounty hunter. Two thousand golden crowns were in the offing and it had gotten a lot of people interested in finding him. Everyone from lords leading hunting parties, to common men with nothing but a wooden cudgel and the clothes on their back, had set out determined to capture Nikolis Ledervane. Interest seemed as though it had waned recently, but the west was still certainly a dangerous place for him.
When the flames of the fire had died down to glowing coals, Lorre sat back with Raven, Ro’bier lounged on his side, and they got to talking about more serious matters, as they often did. “The harvest should be plentiful this year,” said Ro’bier in his native tongue. It took Nikolis a while to figure out all of the words, but he was pretty sure he understood them.
“Yes,” Lorre agreed. “There should be plenty enough to add to the grain stores we built in the spring.”
“All of the tents have been mended, and the damaged section of the eastern canal has been repaired,” Raven added.
Ro’bier nodded. “Everything discussed at the tribe’s last meeting has been accomplished. All is well.”
Everyone smiled at that, and so it was with a look of shock that they turned on him, when Nikolis next spoke. After a few moments of silence, he sat forward and said, “I think I should be leaving.” He did not bother to mince words or attempt to try and speak in the Do’shibu tongue.
“What?” Lorre
asked, surprised.
“Why?” asked Raven.
“I’ve stayed long enough as it is. I don’t want to bring any trouble to the tribe.”
“I’ve assured any who have asked that I’ve seen nothing this side of the White,” said Lorre.
“You must stay,” said Raven, putting a hand to his leg and smiling at him. Her grasp of his language far surpassed his attempt at hers. “You could train with the Brujo with me. Your eyes are open, like mine. You could learn.”
Nikolis covered her hand with his. “A wonderful thought. But eventually they’ll get curious. Men will come. Perhaps by royal assignment.”
Lorre shook his head. “The King remains alive, though his condition is serious. They’ll lose interest in looking for you.”
“They’ll come for him,” said Meilare in his native tongue. He still crouched by the fire, staring into the glowing coals. “He should go.”
“We have welcomed him into the tribe,” Ro’bier said, as a matter of fact. “We will protect him as we would any other.”
“He is not one of us,” Meilare insisted.
“What of Lorre then?” asked Raven. “Shall we tell him to leave as well?”
“His knowledge has been of great benefit to us,” said Meilare, staring at Raven. “He may stay.”
“As if it is your decision?” Raven shot back. Meilare stared at her for many moments, anger apparent on his face. Then he stood and quietly walked away.
“I will talk to him,” said Ro’bier, standing up. “Do not worry.”
When Ro’bier had gone, Nikolis spoke up again. “I don’t want to cause trouble. It is better that I go.”
Raven leaned over and embraced him. “You cannot go, Nikolis. You must stay with us.” Over her shoulder Nikolis saw Lorre grit his teeth reflexively, and then appear to shake off the anger rising up in him.
Nikolis patted Raven on the back, and then pushed her back to arm’s length. “I must go. I have to.”
“What will you do?” asked Lorre. Concern was apparent on his features. “Where will you go?”
“It is probably best that I do not tell you. There are things I must do that you should be no part of.”
Many moments of silence passed and then Lorre said, “We have discussed this to exhaustion, Nikolis. We cannot prove enough yet, to take action.”
“So, what do we do then?” Nikolis demanded, standing up. “Nothing? You said yourself that things had not been right at Highkeep for years before this happened. That something strange was going on. You saw the truth of what was going on”
Lorre stood to meet him. “Yes, but I have no solid facts with which to make any accusations.”
“Those behind the plot must be brought to justice. I cannot know how deep the conspiracy goes yet, but I can find out little here. I must go back to the west. I must find out for myself.”
“Please,” said Raven, standing between the men and putting an arm around each of their shoulders. “Do not fight.”
Nikolis let his shoulders relax at her words and smiled.
“We don’t fight,” said Lorre, smiling as well. “We only discuss very loudly and with great passion. It is a pastime well regarded in the west.”
“Let us get some rest,” Raven proposed. “We can talk of this more tomorrow.”
The three of them agreed, but before going he said quietly to Lorre, “you can come back with me. We can figure this out together.”
Lorre only shook his head. “I am where I belong. The past holds nothing for me.”
To be so sure of such things, was a something Nikolis envied. But that was not a problem easily solved, so he move away, and headed down a small dirt path toward his tent. Something made him turn back, while only a few steps away from the fire. He watched as Lorre took the hand of the retreating Raven. She turned about with a look of question on her face, but Lorre’s only response was to pull her toward his tent. Raven followed him, and the pair disappeared inside. Nikolis was happy for the man he had come to regard as friend, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel his own pang of jealousy.
Not for Raven. He had not lied when he told Lorre that they shared only friendship. There was a time that both he and Raven thought something more would come from their relationship, but Nikolis could not betray his heart. He had told her of whom he had left behind, that he could not commit to another. She had understood, in that continually surprising way, and they had talked long into the night.
Yes, Nikolis was happy for Lorre, but he couldn’t help but also feel covetous. What Lorre could have, here with Raven, was so much what he wanted. Raven was like a sister to him, but there was another who was not. That person was now so far away, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever see her again.
When Nikolis got to his tent he pushed the flaps out of the way and ducked inside. After little more than half an hour had passed, he emerged with a leather pack over his shoulder. It had only taken a small amount of time to gather up all of his possessions and clothing, find some smoked fish and hard bread, and pack them all neatly away. He called to his ravens, who landed on his shoulders, and then began walking down the small dirt path, passing tents set out in all manner of places, moving as quietly as he could manage.
When he came to the tent that housed Lorre and Raven, he stopped and stared for a long moment. Then he took Mayjen from his shoulder, stroked the bird’s dark feathers, and let him fly. The raven landed on the top of Lorre’s tent, walked about for a moment, stopping now and then to peck at the hide, and then shook its feathers and settled down. “Watch over them,” Nikolis said, and then he turned his back to the camp and walked away.
He didn’t dare take another breath until he was well away from the camp, wandering in darkness, only a sliver of pale moonlight to illuminate his path. Jayjen flapped his wings and flew off, cawing as he went, and then he was utterly alone. It wasn’t until that point that he realized the full extent to which he had enjoyed the comfort, the inclusion, of the group he had spent the last year with. For a time, he almost couldn’t decide why he was leaving it all behind to venture forth into the unknown, to embrace his certain demise.
All night he walked, and through the next day, stopping only briefly to drink from a small brook and take a quick meal. Then he was off again, not stopping, even as the sun once again left the sky. Days passed before he heard the sound of rushing water and knew that he was close to his destination. Without warning one morning, as he stepped out from a copse of small bushes, the White River came into view.
It was magnificent from his vantage, high upon a small rock ledge. Wide and sweeping, winding its way down, cutting through the earth, the water rushing with great force. Nikolis made his way down to the waters, growing more nervous with every step. He knew that there was no way he could cross at this juncture, surviving his first attempt had been pure luck, for the water was fierce. But that wasn’t his intention. What he needed was to get up river, as quickly as possible, before his courage left him. He had allowed too much time to pass already, and there was only one way he could think to accomplish a quick journey with his current resources.
Many stories were told of this river, some of which he had heard more recently, by those who were more likely to know the truth of them. While with the Do’shibu he learned things from them and from Lorre, that he believed would provide the key to his rapid voyage upstream.
When the sun left the sky, and the world grew dark, Nikolis went down by the riverbank and built the largest fire he could manage. When the flames were licking high into the air, he settled down, drew his cloak about himself and waited.
He did this night after night, building a massive fire by the riverbank and settling down to sleep. But despite his best efforts, nothing came of it. Then one evening, as his eyes grew heavy, he heard a sound.
Off in the distance he heard the rustle of cloth, and then the faint dip of oars sliding into the water. Then he saw the source of the sound through slitted eyelids, though it was hard
to make out. A small, dark vessel came into sight from upstream. It looked like a small fishing boat, or perhaps a dinghy, and at first it appeared as if it was going to move past him, that it was not what Nikolis had been waiting for. But then a pair of oars rose and fell into the water, and the ship was steered toward the shore. When it was close enough to the bank, three figures slipped into the water and waded to the riverbank. One of them tied the boat around a small boulder by the shore.
The men climbed onto the grassy shoulder and crept toward his fire. They had unkempt hair and unshaven faces, and their clothes hung loose and worn. Nikolis lay absolutely still. It was clear these men were well practiced at this sort of thing. One, the largest of the lot, drew a dagger and moved toward Nikolis, while the other two hung back. When the man was nearly upon him, Nikolis threw off his cloak and jumped to his feet, sword in hand.
With one quick lunge he stabbed the large man’s weapon-hand, and sent his dagger tumbling to the ground. Faster than he expected the other two men were upon him with drawn weapons. Nikolis lunged at one, parried a stab from the other, and then came back to the first and lunged again. The first man fell to the ground with a cry, and then Nikolis slashed at the second man’s wrist, and he too dropped his dagger. When the large man came at his back, Nikolis deftly circled around him, and brought his sword up to the man’s throat.
“Wh-what do you want?” the large man blustered, as his two companions rose, holding their wounds.
Through gritted teeth Nikolis said, “Take me to No-Eye Nake.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The large man clenched his hands into fists by his sides, his body rigid. He was tall and muscular, with a shaven head and a dark, thick mustache that went from nose to chin. Nikolis still held his sword to the man, who had been identified as Gek by one of his companions, while another man called Lerch rowed the vessel. Lerch was thin in face and body, with long brown hair, and he eyed Nikolis suspiciously as he moved oars out of the water, and back in again. Attending to the sails was a man Gek had called Jones, who was short and dark, with shifty eyes. Nikolis knew that the trio was looking for an opening, any opportunity, any drop in his guard, to attack him. He had to remain alert, attentive.
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