I am so lonely.
Remembering the anguish that had pervaded that beloved voice, though it was but the product of a dream, the words she had spoken pierced his heart.
He wept, long and bitterly.
Outside the window, the earth turned from black to gray as the sun, somewhere in the east, unseen behind the clouds, found the sky. The enormous flakes yet fell from that sky, lazily, gently.
Brenyn sat up and wiped his eyes.
He sat on the edge of his bed, watching the white feathers of snow float down past the glass, while the last vestiges of the dream faded before the growing, though tenuous, light of day.
What would he do, he wondered?
What could he make of a life that could not include the only woman he would ever love? For he knew – he would never give his heart to another.
He had told Captain Murlet the truth; he had no heart in him to give. That desolated organ that even now beat inside his chest could only ever be touched and moved by the memory of her that was lost to him forever. The love he had lost was irreplaceable.
The light grew and the snow continued.
Standing, Brenyn decided to get dressed and go to the public house for breakfast. He had no desire to speak with anyone, but he realized that he could not remain alone in the room, where the memory of his night vision, a product of his misery and loneliness, persisted.
At breakfast, he was greeted by a few others in passing but otherwise left to his own thoughts. Afterward, he decided to climb the hills behind the town and seek an interlude of solitude. The heavy snow yet fell. Upon the ground, even here, beneath the trees of the forest, it had accumulated perhaps a foot of depth. He looked up toward the top of the rock – the thinking place – as he passed by, but Murlet was already there on this cold, snowy day. Needing to be alone, Brenyn moved on, deeper and higher into the hills.
He found a place where a grove of tall, ancient firs with wide sweeping limbs huddled together in a shallow swale. The feathery snow had not managed to penetrate the barrier presented by the limbs of these giants and the ground was bare, even dry.
Brenyn sat down with his back against a massive trunk and allowed himself to remember the dream. Though saddened by the content of the dream, he did not weep, for he understood that every aspect of that terrible vision was no more than the produce of his own forlorn and inconsolable heart.
Gradually, as the sorrow generated by the dream began to fade, he found that the fury that it had engendered at the last, when the great black shadow had consumed the vision of Emi, remained in him.
And, as he thought of the darkings that had taken her, that fury grew and intensified. He considered the darking, whose death had been caused by something that he, or his weaponry, had done. He thought then about the words that had been spoken to him by Prince Taumus of Merkland; “It is the greatest thing in the world, of utmost importance, that you discover how it was done.”
But – how had he caused it?
And how would he discover that which he – or the weapons crafted by his mother – had done?
Prince Taumus was right, he conceded – he must discover the truth of himself.
And he must start now.
He realized then that he had not brought his sword or his shield, or even his bow, with him. Even so, he had the dagger she’d made, for it was ever stuck into his belt. And it had been in his hand when he’d been “tested”, and the magic awoke. Brenyn stood, drew forth that blade and examined it, as he had a hundred times before.
The runes carved upon it flowed and whorled, making him think of the snowflakes that even now fell, out beyond the influence of the limbs of the great fir trees. In whatever language, whatever ancient tongue the runes were wrought, they had been beautifully written. Once, that language must have been his mother’s.
He had never looked upon his mother, but his Gran had oft described her as strange, fairy-like, a “child of nature”. Who had she been? In what mysterious corner of the world had his father found her and convinced her to return with him to Vicundium?
Was she, as Clef Echols had suggested to him, a member of that mysterious race, the Sylvans?
What were the Sylvan folk?
And where, in all the wide world, did they dwell?
He considered his father, then. What sort of man traveled to the ends of the earth, especially as the world now was, filled with war and death and ruin, to seek a wife? Captain Grizeo, who had known Fynn Vagus best, had described him as “a man of fierce and indomitable will”. Brenyn’s father had undoubtedly bequeathed similar attributes to his son, but it was his mother who had given him the gift, if such it could be named, of magic.
But how was that gift to be summoned?
Holding the dagger in his hand, Brenyn closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself in danger, as when the black shadow had enveloped Emi in the dream. He thought of the moment when the darking’s power had blasted against his shield, flowing around it and finding his flesh. But neither of these memories caused a ripple or a stir inside him.
He tried then to conjure the sight of Jed, when the line had been breached by the Thalians, and the sword of an enemy had struck to within a hand’s breadth of Jed’s neck ere the “gift” awoke inside him.
Nothing. He opened his eyes and studied the blade in the wan light of the winter’s day.
The carved runes, though beautiful, did not glow or gleam as they had upon the blade of the sword that day. There was no hint of magic either in him or the weapon. Frustrated, he replaced the dagger in his belt and frowned out at the falling snow.
There was something in him – and in the weaponry – that was powerful, be it magic or not. But if it could not be summoned at will, if it only aroused at random when he or someone for whom he cared was in danger, then he was simply the repository of that magic, and not its master.
Prince Taumus had stated that, if only Brenyn could master this strange and unknown power, and learn how to summon it at will, that he might then “alter the course of the world” for good and that it would be a ”better and finer destiny than any man had ever known” in the history of the world. And Brenyn could think of no better destiny than to rid the world of the darking scourge.
Drawing the dagger forth once more, he closed his eyes and concentrated again, trying desperately to invoke a sense of danger. But it was to no avail. Nothing happened.
Did the danger have to be real, he wondered, for the magic to awaken? Must there, in fact, be a real enemy nearby? If so, then he must, as he had considered in the fall, go forth into the world and seek out the enemy. He must confront another darking, face to face, if he were to learn anything. Perhaps, then, in that moment of mortal danger, he might learn to properly employ his powers.
He replaced the dagger in his belt and sat back against the tree. If that were the state of things, he decided; if he must confront evil to learn how to destroy it, then, when spring came again and the band went forth, he would keep his senses open to stimulation, and actively seek out the presence of darkings.
If he could but free the world, one wicked fiend at a time, it would suffice. Perhaps then, as Murlet had worried, the darkings might then seek him out. They would come to him and he would destroy them as they came.
It would save him from a lifetime of journeying throughout the world, finding and slaying them one at a time.
A thought came then that troubled him – if he were hunted by darkings, if they sought him in this valley, would not that bring extreme danger to Captain Murlet, Jed and his family, and the rest of the band?
The only honest answer was – yes, likely.
Brenyn realized then that the time would inevitably arrive when he must leave the band and go forth on his own – once he had discovered how to destroy the darkings – so that they would be drawn to him and away from those for whom he cared.
All he needed, while he was yet with the mercenary band, was to encounter another darking.
And, as Murlet had sta
ted, such an event was inevitable.
35.
That winter, though not terribly cold, brought prodigious amounts of snowfall into the valley. Spring came leisurely and late, and the snow melted slowly. When at last the warming sun shone upon earth that was greening with the growth of new grass, Beran Hile saddled his mount and went forth to find work for the band. The men went back to drilling with renewed urgency, preparing for the deadly labor that they all, for various reasons, had chosen.
Beran was away for several weeks. Spring waned and the days warmed toward summer before he returned. He arrived late one afternoon and spoke privately with Captain Murlet. When the men came in off the drilling ground and put their horses away for the evening, Murlet summoned Brenyn, Kristo, Dessen, Clough, and Byre to the upper room in the tavern.
When they were all seated and the door shut, Murlet looked at Beran. “Tell them,” he said.
“We have two offers of work,” Beran said. “One is from the new prince of Illnius, Urdogan, who would have us commit various acts of sabotage against the outlying provinces of Merkland. He – Urdogan – will pay one hundred gold, up to five hundred total, for actions that result in enough mayhem, damage, burned buildings, granaries, and the like, or death, that Prince Taumus is forced to dispatch troops to the region, thereby weakening his forces.”
Beran paused after this announcement, and looked around at them, noting in particular the frowns of disapproval that made their way onto the faces of Murlet, Kristo, and Brenyn.
“The second charge tendered to us,” Beran went on, “is from our old friend, Helvard of Gruene.”
“Helvard!” Byre blurted. “He robbed us of three hundred gold – why would we consider working for him again?”
“I did not seek this commission,” Beran replied, “but rather I was sought out by Helvard’s legate, Count Baffor, who was more than a little desperate to find a mercenary band willing to take up the charge.” He spread his hands. “I do not decide which charge you will take; I only find them and report. And as I stated, this one found me.”
“What is the charge he offers?” Dessen asked.
Beran leaned forward and folded his hands upon the table. “None of you, perhaps, has ever seen her,” he said, “but Helvard has a lovely young daughter – Cailen is her name – and she is a pretty woman indeed. It seems that Princess Cailen has caught the eye of Prince Larus of Ranlonwald, a very wealthy principality that lies immediately upon the east of Gruene. Indeed, it is said that the wealth of Ranlonwald rivals that of Merkland, and it seems that the prince is willing to expend a sizeable amount of that wealth to buy Cailen from Helvard as his wife.”
Brenyn frowned. “Buy her?”
A look of mild disgust briefly found Beran’s features. “Larus and Cailen,” he went on, “met one another when Larus came to her father’s palace to sign a non-aggression agreement with Helvard on behalf of his father, Prince Kallen, and evidently they fell in love. Kallen was killed recently in battle with Cordiander, to the south – they have been fighting each other for years – and Larus assumed the throne.”
The look of disgust flitted across his face yet again. “Larus proposed marriage with Cailen to Helvard. Helvard, it appears, is fighting for his very life once more, against Thalia, and this time he is getting the worst of it, for he can find no mercenaries willing to add to his strength. So, when Larus came before him, smitten with desire for his daughter, Helvard saw an opportunity to gain much-needed resources in his ongoing struggles with Thalia – money.”
Kristo scowled and grunted with contempt. “He decided to sell his own daughter?”
Beran nodded. “That seems to be the extent of it.”
“How do we come into this?” Murlet asked.
“Due to the conflict with Thalia, Helvard has but few troops to escort his daughter to the frontier with Ranlonwald where an exchange will be made,” Beran answered. “He needs more armed men to be present at the exchange point.”
“What exchange?” Kristo wondered.
Beran smiled. “A carriage will bear Cailen to the frontier, escorted by Helvard’s soldiers and a small band of mercenaries, where she will be exchanged for a signed treaty that guarantees peace with Ranlonwald which will then be taken back to Gruene. Twenty of us, should we agree, will accompany a like number of Helvard’s men to guard the paper only so far as the river gorge. From there, Helvard’s troops, the few he can spare, will escort it on to Fergus. And for this,” Beran went on, “Prince Helvard will pay four hundred gold, to be remitted at the edge of the gorge, ere the troop escorting the treaty goes on to Fergus.”
“But will he truly pay?” Clough wondered.
Before Beran could respond to this, Brenyn frowned at him. “Four hundred gold to escort a treaty? – a piece of parchment? His daughter, I can understand, though if Larus truly loves her, he will allow no harm to befall her. Why the large sum? – if, indeed, he will truly pay?” He leaned forward. “Is there but a treaty in the box, or perhaps a large sum of gold instead? – the price of his daughter?”
Beran smiled. “You are as perceptive as always, Brenyn.” He nodded. “I agree – there is no parchment in the box but rather a substantial amount of gold.”
“How much gold?” Kristo wondered.
Beran shrugged. “I cannot know,” he replied. “Whatever sum Helvard believes a fair price of the virtue of his daughter.” He sat back and looked at Murlet. “Those are the commissions I have found thus far,” he concluded.
Murlet nodded and looked at Kristo. “I will speak my mind at the last,” he said. “First, let me know your minds. Sergeant?”
Kristo frowned. “I do not favor the offer from Urdogan of Illnius,” he said. “For two reasons, cap’n – we are not marauders, nor have we ever been, and we do not attack civilians. Secondly, I do not wish to trouble Prince Taumus. He seems a decent man.” He looked at Murlet. “It would be almost like attacking you, Johan.”
His frown deepened. “But neither do I like Helvard’s offer. As we all know, he cheated us. Indeed, he yet owes this band three hundred gold for the last time we rode to his aid.”
With that, Kristo went silent and glanced at Brenyn, who sat to his left.
Murlet looked at Brenyn as well. “Brenyn?”
Forgive me my bluntness, Captain,” Brenyn answered, “but I will not engage in any action against Prince Taumus of Merkland. The world suffers a shortage of good and decent men, especially when in positions of power. I agree with Sergeant Kristo – it would be as if we took violent action against you.” An expression of anger wrinkled his brow. “And Urdogan asks that we commit assaults against common folk? I will not do it.”
Murlet nodded at this. “And what of Helvard’s offer?”
“I find it interesting,” Brenyn answered.
Kristo frowned at him. “You wish to be cheated yet again?”
Brenyn smiled. “If he will pay four hundred gold for twenty men of this band to escort a piece of parchment from the frontier with Ranlonwald to the outskirts of Fergus, then we can all surmise that it is not simple piece of parchment.”
He looked around the table and then addressed Murlet. “I say that the entire band takes up this assignment, captain.”
Murlet frowned. “The entire band? – but Helvard asked for twenty only.”
Brenyn nodded. “And twenty of us will go to escort Princess Cailen to the border and escort the “treaty” back to the river bridge. But there, I say that the rest of the band meets the carriage.” His gaze hardened. “Helvard’s captain will pay us the four hundred – and the three hundred that is owed us besides – for we will make it plain to the captain that if he refuses, we will take it all.”
At this a broad smile spread across Kristo’s face. “Now that is a plan that I can get behind,” he said. “Hear, hear, Brenyn.”
Dessen, Clough, and Byre, each in turn, grinned and nodded, and spoke their agreement.
Beran smiled as well. “Agreed,” he said simply.
“With Brenyn’s plan, we will at least make certain to collect our four hundred, cap’n,” Kristo answered, “unless Helvard means to cheat us of that as well. And, should he try, with the whole of the band there, we will simply appropriate seven hundred gold worth of Helvard’s horses and let his troops walk home. Let him fume – we are not likely to work for the bastard again, anyway.”
Murlet considered this and then nodded and looked around. “All in favor of Helvard’s offer? – and Brenyn’s plan?”
There was unanimous agreement.
Beran nodded. “Alright – I will go and tell Prince Helvard that twenty men will come to his aid within the week, and then I will go on and seek another assignment.” He smiled. “Should this effort succeed, and we can procure another legitimate charge; it may turn out to be quite a profitable summer for us, Johan.”
With that, they went downstairs and Murlet presented the proposal to the band. There was no dissent – this time, even Clef Echols agreed.
“Alright,” Murlet said, “I will choose twenty that will escort the princess and lead that group, and Sergeant Kristo will bring the rest of you a few hours behind. Kristo will set a watch. Once we have gone past the junction with the princess, Kristo and the rest of you will go to the bridge and await our return. We leave the day after tomorrow, at dawn.”
Brenyn was in the company of twenty that, three days later, in the early morning, met the carriage bearing Princess Cailen at the bridge over the gorge. Cailen was a small, pretty woman with curly blonde hair and a sweet, genuine smile, though that smile appeared rather tenuous as she examined the rough-clad men that had come to join with her father’s troops in escorting her to the frontier with Ranlonwald, where her new life would begin.
The captain of Helvard’s eighteen member troop, a slight, small-eyed man named Nivin Hemp, greeted Murlet and his men sourly; “Let us hope that we meet with no robbers in this wretched wilderness,” he muttered, and then the carriage moved off through the forest of giant trees toward the border with Ranlonwald. Three hours later, they arrived without incident.
A Plague of Ruin: Book One: Son of Two Bloods Page 32
