“Easy,” the boy croaked.
“Cleo, he’s not an enemy,” Aarez assured, picking himself up off the ground.
“Then what is this?” She gestured wildly with one hand. Judging the boy safe enough, she lowered her weapon, but left her eyes trained on him.
The boy rubbed at his neck as though he had just nicked himself with a blade, though he looked scarcely old enough to shave.
“I asked him how long until civilization,” Aarez said. “Pike’s Cathedral, some one-horse town is over a day’s ride away yet.”
“That’s it?” Cleo asked.
“Uh, yeah.” Aarez kicked a rock into the underbrush, startling the horses.
“You had me worried,” Cleo stammered.
“You were worried about my safety?” Aarez’s face bloomed in a grin. “What happened to ‘I don’t appreciate your kidnapping me, blah-blah-blah, we should be trying to bust Gnochi out?’”
“Oh, please. We both know you’d be just as worried if roles were reversed.”
“Only because I need you alive,” Aarez said, crossing his arms before his chest. “I’ve got a reward that depends on your being in one piece by the time the winteryear oceans break up. Plus, I’m just tired of sleeping under the stars. I’d kill for a roof over my head, and a nice tick below my back. I used to be an adventurer, but then I realized how much I appreciate the comfort of an inn. Roughing it in the elements isn’t great for Lucas either.” He grinned.
“Well, I’ll just be going,” the boy announced.
“No!” Aarez said, clutching the boy’s shirt with a look of desperation in his eyes. “Night’s rising fast. Why not camp here with us tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cleo advised, staring daggers at her companion. The boy mumbled dissent at the same time, though her voice overtook his.
“Why not? Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little more sleep tonight? We could split our time in thirds, instead of halves.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose on you folks,” the boy said. “Plus, you don’t know me at all. I could understand if your girl doesn’t want me sleeping near her.”
Cleo hefted the staff in her hand, feeling its weight. “I’m not the one who should be scared to sleep here at night,” she said.
“Cleo, quit it,” Aarez said, slapping the weapon down with his hand. “That’s no way to treat a fellow traveler. Whether you like it or not, he’s camping with us this evening. So, you can either go climb a tree and be miserable, or you can get scraps for our fire.”
Cleo huffed to herself as she walked along the stream, picking up dried driftwood. She heard the boy ask Aarez about Sir Lucas, then frowned, realizing that a demonstration would follow.
◆◆◆
“I miss the bloody heat!” Roy kicked sand up with his boots. “We’re in the desert. Where’s the heat? Can’t we stop tonight and build a fire in one of Brichton’s buildings?”
“There’s no source of water for Debs and Fester to drink from, so we have to continue,” Harvey replied, eying the distant town.
“Surely they’ll have at least one well that hasn’t dried up yet? Come on. You know you’d rather stay inside as opposed to on the sand under the stars.”
Harvey considered his friend’s words for a moment, then relented. “Fine, we can look, but we’ll have two cranky horses if we come up empty and can’t get them watered.”
The two teens dismounted. They began walking around the deserted streets of Brichton, looking for a well.
Harvey’s breath curled in front of his face in a wispy white steam. The patches of stubble he’d neglected to shave offered minimal heat but gave him a more rugged appearance. This was his intention. Any Lyrinthian officer would, by no doubt, have his description as a deserter. He imagined that it would detail that he has auburn eyes that shine bright orange in the candlelight, and bark colored skin that wraps tightly around a muscular frame. He sat on a stoop and leaned back in resignation, watching the sky as thick clouds shrouded the rising moon and snuffed out pinpricks of light from stars. He had never grown a beard while in the army, so he hoped that it would dissuade any casual recognition. There was little else he could do to alter his appearance.
“Hey, Harv! Come here,” Roy called.
Harvey picked himself up, dusting sand from his wool jerkin and dirty trousers. He found Roy peering into a rudimentary well carved out of the very sand below their feet. His friend was running his fingers through his messy beard in obvious concentration.
A rusted pulley system led a thick coil of hemp deep into the well. “It’s heavy,” Roy said, tugging the rope. “We may have found water.” He moved over to the pulley and began cranking it. Within a few minutes, sweat stains bloomed under his arms and down his spine. “Care to lend a hand,” he huffed between breaths.
After taking over for a few minutes himself, Harvey felt moisture bead down his back, chilling his skin.
“We’ve almost got it,” Roy grunted, pulling with a renewed vigor. “There!” he yelled hoisting a bucket of knotted wood, holding it tight at the apex. “Hold the rope, Harv,” he instructed, peeking under the bucket’s lid. His frown dried out quicker than spittle in the sand below. “For Providence’s sake!” he cursed, dumping the bucket over and spilling a long draft of sand out. He cut the well’s rope with one swift motion from his boot knife and threw the bucket. It ricocheted off a building’s rusted siding, clanging so loud that it startled Fester and Debs, who were nearby nibbling on a rogue desert weed. “Just our rotten luck,” he grumbled. “We’ll have to water the horses with our canteens tonight.”
Harvey’s eyes retreated up to the sky. The clouds had finished coating its entire surface, extinguishing the evening twilight as easily as though it were a thin match between thick fingers. As he eyed the clouds, a slight twinkle, streaking down in the periphery of his vision, caught his attention. He turned, hoping to see the last glimpse of some rebellious star, but his eyes only beheld the soot-stained sky.
“I should’ve listened to you. If we had gone north, around this Providence-forsaken desert, we’d be sleeping safely in the woods now, likely by a stream with all the water our horses can drink.”
Harvey paid his friend little mind. His eyes scoured the sky where he thought he had seen the star in a vain attempt to catch its fleeting escapade. A moment before he resigned to look away, a flake of white fluttered onto his nose. He felt the cool prick as it kissed his skin, then melted. A second flake dropped coyly by his face, racing for the sandy ground beneath. It landed on his open palm where it glistened for a moment before melting.
“And we’re going to have to spend all day tomorrow backtracking just to get out of this place.”
“Roy.”
“I know. I know. It’s a waste of time, but if we continue forward, I fear we won’t have the water to keep our mounts in good health.”
“Roy, look around you,” Harvey said, gesturing with his arms at the falling snow. Only a minute had passed since he had felt the first flakes and it already fell thick, beginning to coat the buildings and sand alike. The clouds loomed overhead and seemed quick to cover up the nighttime sky, as if the mere presence of stars above could halt the progression of the weather.
“Providence above, Harv. It’s the winteryear.”
◆◆◆
Relaxing into a hunched squat, Kiren’s eyes glazed over as she watched the passing landscape beyond the confines of the wagon’s thin tarp. The eastward-bound parcels and postage sharing the ride with her managed to keep much of the freshly fallen winteryear cold from nipping at her unmoving form. During the first leg of their journey east, the waggoneer made swift headway, urging his horses forward at a brisk pace. Since the snow had started falling, their progression each day shrunk.
“They simply aren’t as sure of their footing in the shifting snow,” he said after the first day of continuous snowfall. But Kiren saw that the winteryear was as tough on her driver as it was on his horses. Th
e man, with not an ounce of spare fat on his bones, halted earlier in the evenings and commenced later in the mornings.
Despite his kindness in allowing Kiren to ride in the back during the day, his purse held the final word. The man refused to allow her to sleep by the fire. “That costs extra. More ‘an Cal was willing to pay.” His hollow voice sounded as though he wished for the company.
In frigid retribution, Kiren leafed through several of the letters on her first night alone. It became apparent to her that Dorothea was sending out orders to all city and town leaders. The king sent orders for all winterbush harvesters to report onto the tundra as soon as the oceans froze over, and the first saplings sprouted.
One evening, the waggoneer stopped at a town the size of Blue Haven’s smallest farming hamlet. Kiren gaped at the half-dozen shanties that made up the town, unable to understand how such a small society could function this far from others.
She exited her wagon, leaving its scarce heat, and wandered, eventually finding herself standing at the charred remains of a building with a footprint rivaling Blue Haven’s largest inn. She shook her head, sad that the winteryear had already forced these remote peoples to burn their buildings for heat.
Kiren spied a gravestone in the middle of the remains. She nodded her head at it, in a weak show of respect, then rushed back to the building she assumed was the inn. It, unlike the other crudely formed shacks, had windows, the sounds of merriment within, and a nauseating warmth wavering near the door. She squeezed in.
A few weathered faces looked up upon her entrance, but most were too engrossed with an elderly man talking in hushed tones as he told a story. Kiren sat at the bar and ordered a mulled cider. It arrived steaming, moments later, which she appreciated. Cupping it between her hands, she tuned in to the man’s story.
“This dam’d Ludder had my arms pinned and was working me over with his fists.”
One of the other patrons mumbled something inaudible from across the room. As a result, the storyteller spat as though what he had heard was blasphemy.
“Hardly touched me? See this here scar under my eye?” The man gestured to his face, indicating the pink scar that ran from its tip to his ear. He turned his head so every soul could behold the carnage.
“Rolly!” Another yelled. “You’ve had that scar for years. Face it, you’re no Gnochi Gleeman.”
Kiren almost choked on her sip of cider upon hearing the name. Her coughing fit drew a few stares, but she ignored them. Gnochi was the name Roy mention back when she found him beat up outside their inn.
“Anyway,” Rolly continued, dodging the heckler’s logic, “Ludder was having at me. I heard a scuffle outside, but my mind was too battered to do anything but survive. And here I was, an ounce of pain away from dying. In comes this boy. I shit you not, still wet behind his pale green ears.” Rolly paused to take a long draft of his drink. “Well, I was mustering an insult to hurl at the lad, thinking he to be another Ludder. And thinking to myself that death was coming, so I might as well go out with a smile on my toothy face. Then I realized that he couldn’t’ve been a Ludder, ‘cause the lad had a thick head of hair. He comes over, drawing a sword as long as his arms, I swear. Splits the Ludder’s head dam near ear to ear. I was gunna make a comment, seeing as the bastard had been working me over, but I damn near pissed myself. You don’t see kids with guts like that away from the big cities now-a-days.
“Anyways, the lad helped me up, he did. Led me out to where a pal of his was dueling with the Ludder-stiff. Got a lucky hit in, this pal did, and knocked the leader dead.” Rolly paused, closing his eyes as though remembering a vital detail. “But damn, I gotta tell you folks. The way them two boys left that camp, makes you think they were fighting for a woman. Which they warn’t. Yep. Them boys were silly. Roy especially. But I dam’d near owe them everything. Life included.”
“Excuse me,” Kiren said, surprising herself by speaking. Somehow during the story, she had advanced close to Rolly, standing mere feet from his perch. “Did you say Roy? Was he traveling with a friend named Harvey?”
“Oh, did I say Roy? I misspoke. I never got their names, sorry lass.” Rolly’s face drained its color, paling as though he had erred greatly. He swallowed the remainder of his ale in one draft and stood up. “Well, I’d best retire for the night.” A few moans answered his declaration.
Kiren returned to the bar to settle her tab, then she left the inn, a storm more ferocious than the one dropping snow all around her, raged within her mind.
Chapter 9
“You know, not all ghosts are bad,” Gnochi said, pushing his voice across the hall to Ren. The leader of Oceanmane had not spoken since the guard’s visit, days prior. “In fact, there was a time—”
“Shut up!” Ren yelled from across the corridor. “I can’t possibly think with you spinning your yarn in my ear.”
“Tell me about Jackal and Gideon.”
“Not now.”
“Okay, I guess I’ll have to tell you about—”
Ren drowned him out by screaming at the top of his lungs, the sound sharp and awkward like serrated blades rubbing together. Heavy footfalls sounded as the guard descended into the dungeon.
◆◆◆
Skuddy dozed off during the day’s second council meeting. Excessive amounts of heat spilled from the dozens of braziers sporting generous flames. Within minutes of the meeting commencing, he had already soaked through his light cotton shirt with sweat.
A slight motion brought his eyes to the scaffolding above. When he looked up, a frown formed on his face. Servants were positioned all around the room, fanning the rising heat back down. Skuddy gagged and inched his chair closer to the boarded-up window to his right. relishing the crisp chill lingering mere inches off the wooden surface. With the arrival of the snow, Dorothea had sequestered all council members into his castle to ensure that the government would continue to operate regardless of the weather.
Among the intelligence Skuddy had been sworn to secrecy on was Lyrinth’s hidden communication network, consisting of a series of cables that ran underground and spanned the country. These cables allowed near instantaneous messaging between two locations, and Dorothea was using it to direct his armies with precision. In order to keep up appearances however, couriers and scouts left Blue Haven hourly to carry any non-important mail around Lyrinth.
Dragging his attention back to the civilian complainant, Skuddy listened as she appeared to wrap up her final comments.
Dorothea hunched awkwardly on his throne. A light snore wafted down to the council. He sat up abruptly as the page to his right whispered into his ear. “Yes, yes, that will be all. Thank you. I shall take your complaint into consideration with my council,” he said, yawning as the last dredges of his nap surfaced. A guard ushered the woman out of the chambers. The public viewing of the meeting ended, and within minutes, it sat empty, save the councilors, guards, and the king.
Dorothea laughed. “I’m afraid, I didn’t catch a word that poor woman said. Can someone fill me in?”
A tenured councilor stood to answer but stopped when into the room came one a man. Two guards chased in after him and subdued the man as he struggled to even his breathing.
“My king, I have a message.” His head was pressed onto the cold floor.
“At ease, guards. This man works on a secret project for Blue Haven. Though he knows that he had better have a good reason for abandoning his post in the middle of a shift.”
“Yes, my king. An urgent message for your ears alone. From the governor of the Imuny territories.”
“Out with it. Anything you can say to me, can be heard by my council.”
“Yes, sire, of course, sire.” The man gulped, sweat beading fast from his forehead. “Well it seems that a rather large fleet of warships has been spotted off the coast of Imuny. They are racing the advancing tundra.”
“Are they Oceanmane’s?”
“Well, sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of? Do th
ey sport the colors of the bluebeard? Out with it, lad!”
“They fly the flag of the Pantheon, sire. The flag of Gideon.”
Dorothea sat back on his throne, color abandoning his usually rosy face.
Skuddy watched the council, still perfectly quiet, flood with head-turning and silent conversation. A long minute stretched into two, where silence dominated the chamber. Eventually, the messenger dared to speak again. “Sire, how would you have me respond to the governor of the Imuny territories?”
Dorothea appeared to return to his body. He looked at the messenger, then at his council and smiled. “Tell the governor and any contact you have on your list that the full Lyrinthian army will be mobilized in response. Have him keep me updated on the whereabouts of this fleet.” Dorothea waited as the scribe penned down his words. “Now go! And send word to have my generals brought up to the keep at once. We are at war.”
“But my liege. What of our other agenda items?” A councilor asked. “You were going to rule on the fate of the assassin who is rotting in our dungeons. Now is not a time to slack on punishment.”
“No, sir. Now is not a time for dawdling. Do you understand that if we mobilize and get the armies moving as of first light tomorrow, they will still be a month and a half away from Imuny’s farms? And that’s if they haul their asses. In a month and a half’s time, the entire east coast can burn. And if we lose our people now, especially those on the east coast, we lose our shipments of winterbush. We’ll be screwed. Lyrinth cannot survive a winteryear without the fruits of the tundra.
“Yes, cavalry on a well regimented schedule can cover that distance sooner,” Dorothea said, anticipating the retort. “We’ll also need those cavalry in prime shape for the war. Gentlemen, we have one priority now, and that is to ensure that we hold our east coast and keep our people alive. Lyrinth is at war. Let’s make sure she’s prepared.”
The Harbinger of Change Page 5
