Authors: Thomas Rath
Again, her words caused no small stir. The old woman at her side grabbed her arm forcibly and pulled her in the direction of her home. “Come child,” she demanded in a tone that left no room for discussion. “You have spoken your piece and will have to know patience while your claims are discussed. The heated words that so easily flow when one’s blood pulses from battle are not always chosen with the greatest care. Plus, your wound will have your life if you don’t let me mend it straight away.”
Jne resisted. “I will come,” she sighed, the crowd breaking into smaller groups now to discuss her claims and whether or not they would accept them. “But not before I claim what is rightfully mine.” The old woman let go of her arm as Jne turned back to her mother’s body and gently removed her swords from her already cold hands. With some effort, she removed the sheaths from her back and replaced the swords that she now claimed as her own and carried in her hands. The body was then left for others to dispose of as was proper for a woman of her skill. Though she was beaten, Naye held no dishonor in her death and would be afforded all honor and dignity at her funeral pyre though none would come to mourn her loss. It was not the Tjal way to give ceremony to the dead but to burn the body quickly to keep disease in check and eliminate the smell of rotting flesh.
Jne followed the old woman, her thoughts suddenly dark dousing the inferno of joy that mere moments before had filled her at regaining her honor. The fires of battle were waning now and had almost completely been extinguished by the time they reached the old woman’s dwelling. Leading her past the small foyer, Jne was taken through the cloth that covered the opening on the right into a large room in the back where she was invited to lie on a small couch while the old woman busied herself in gathering water, cloth, needle and sinew with which to stitch the nasty wound that still wept blood across Jne’s chest.
Slipping down into the cushioned sofa, Jne was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Whether from the loss of blood, the afterglow of battle or the release of so much emotion and worry she was not certain though the press of the cold, wet cloth on her wound brought her quickly back to full consciousness. The pain was enough to chase all wariness away as if demanding she fully experience the pain that came with stitching her up.
“I am Soyak,” the old woman said with a smile as she pressed the needle through Jne’s skin in the first of many painful pricks that were required to tie up her flesh. The pain was greater than she’d expected and more than once she whimpered as Soyak pressed the needle through her opened wound drawing with it the striped and dried sinew that acted as thread. How she wished Thane was there to use his Tane and close her gash with a single word. The thought of Thane brought a small smile to her face that was quickly replaced by a grimace as the needle again was pressed through her flesh.
Though her interactions with the crowd had been strained and difficult, she felt certain they would see the error in their thinking and send for others to come and help. It had been a risk to call in question their willingness to fight but she no longer felt like she had the time or the energy to speak with diplomacy. The Tjal were direct, never shying away from what was true and honest. She had merely followed those instincts though she admitted to herself that most likely Soyak had saved her life by insisting she leave when they did. Jne was in no position to fight another person on a question of honor. Another stab to her wound made her grip the cushion as if attempting to wrest the life from it. Each one seemed more painful than the last.
“How many more?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Almost done, child,” Soyak answered slowly, her full attention on her work. “You will have a beautiful scar when it heals,” she added and then bit off the surplus sinew she had just finished tying off in a knot. “There now,” she said as she pushed herself up straight once more. “All finished. Just a little
eola
root juice to keep infections away and then a clean wrap and you’ll be good as new in a week or two.”
Jne forced a smile at the thought. A week or two could be all any of them had left if they failed at Bedler’s Keep. Soyak disappeared into another room and then returned with the root she’d been looking for. No longer than her thumb, it was green and when she cut into it with her knife a thick liquid oozed out which she promptly spread over the stitches and then wrapped a clean linen snuggly around Jne’s chest. “The
eola
will sting for a moment as it works itself down into the wound but will soon sooth away the pain to where you won’t feel it much.”
Jne’s clenched fists were evidence that she understood the stinging part but soon she noticeably relaxed as the pain subsided into an almost numbing sensation. “Thank you,” she finally breathed in relief, “I owe you much.”
The old woman made a face and waved her off. “You
have
been
Jinghar
among the HuMans too long to forget the hospitality of the Tjal.”
Jne smiled back and nodded but then quickly her mood returned to a serious one. “What do you feel about what I have spoken?” she asked without preamble. “Would you fight?”
Soyak’s eyes flashed as if suddenly on fire. “Not would, child,” she said, a warm smile creating added wrinkles to the many that already covered her face, “will! I have waited too long for the chance to leave this world in glory instead of—how did you put it?—wait to be caught by it in my sleep and die in shame.”
“But will the others come?” Jne pressed, still a little desperate about their situation yet warmed slightly by the vigor of this old woman.
Soyak shrugged. “None can know. Each has to choose for himself.”
Jne nodded, her face suddenly very pensive. “You speak truth but I cannot wait any longer to find out. I fear my time here has already been too great and that the battle might already have been fought and decided.”
Soyak bounced on the balls of her feet like an excited child. “I will get my things then and we can leave as quickly as we retrieve our horses.”
Jne gave her a surprised look that swiftly turned into a smile of gratitude and acceptance of her offer as a loud gurgle sounded in her stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for some time.
Soyak laughed. “After, of course, we bid goodbye with a small feast to fill the void that has apparently settled into your belly.”
“And,” Jne added, her eyes suddenly becoming distant, “a certain purchase I must make.”
“What type of purchase?” Soyak pried.
“A
svaj
for the one I will marry.”
It was dusk when the rocs finally touched down a safe distance outside of Aleron. What would have taken close to a week had been accomplished in two days thanks to the strength and persistence of their carriers. The birds were on the verge of exhaustion, as were the six people they bore. Domis fell from Azaforte’s back and practically hugged the ground vowing he would never fly again. The excitement that had originally bubbled out of him at finally being able to ride was quickly sapped and drained from his mind just as the food had been from his stomach. Teek had warned him that it had taken him multiple rides before the changes in pressure and the sudden dips caused by wind flows ceased to bother him. Domis no longer felt the desire to reach that point. He was certain that he’d thrown up everything he’d ever eaten in his life that first day they took to the air. Only Thane’s speech on duty and his part in saving thousands of lives got him onto the bird’s back for the second day’s flight; that and the threat of Jace’s steel. He’d ridden Debipena the first day so switched to Azaforte the second thinking it might help but to no avail.
Jace and Ranse didn’t look much better though neither of them had actually thrown up. Domis figured that Jace was too hardened to allow himself to be sick while Ranse, being royalty and all, probably was not physically capable of doing so in the presence of others. Neither dropped to the ground so unceremoniously as Domis had but neither did they move about much as if waiting for angry stomachs to settle.
The three Tjal clad Chufa, on the other hand, seemed almost unaffected save only for the scowl on Dor’s face. Though he didn’t have the ghost-like countenance shared by the others, he was still nothing like Thane or Tam who almost beamed with exhilaration and seemed sad that the ride was already over.
Thane stretched a bit looking north and then south down the hard packed road that led to and from Aleron. It was empty. “How far?” he asked, addressing no one in particular.
Ranse came up next to him while looking about intently. “From the last we saw it from the air and the area we are in now, I would say about a mile but no more than two.”
Thane nodded. “Good. That will put us there just at dark. The fewer eyes that see us the better. We don’t have time for the normal HuMan to Tjal rituals.”
“We could always take these cursed rags from our heads,” Dor snickered, his voice laced with mischief. “That would certainly eliminate any worry about Tjal-Dihn.”
Ranse smiled while Jace just stared, his eyes cold and unreadable. Dor paid him no mind though, having become accustomed to death incarnate, as he liked to think of him. Jne was cheery and bubbling over with kindness compared to the prince’s bodyguard who only seemed to find pleasure when blood dripped from his sword. Not that Jace was evil or bloodthirsty but more like a craftsman who was anxious to be about his trade; constantly at work to improve his skills.
“As long as there’s a bath and hot meal at the end of our road tonight,” Tam voiced her opinion, her tone still too cheerful for Domis and his angry stomach, “I’ll be whatever race you want me to be.” Domis eyed her questioningly but didn’t put voice to his query.
Thane was surprised at the lack of security that met them when they reached the city’s outer edge. Though the road that carried them was void of any vegetation, allowing the single guard a long look at whoever approached, there was no wall. The whole city was open on the north side. The only visible defensive measure was the river that ran past, which was, in its own right, wide and deep enough for boat travel, but not so much to stop an army with the will to sack the town.
Thane’s questioning look was quickly addressed by Ranse. “The city wall is on the south side, for that is where the danger lies. It is not what might approach on the road but what might come out of the Underwoods that begs for defense.”
“Until now,” Dor spoke softly though all heard him.
They stopped short of the long and high bridge that spanned the water giving easy access to any who decided to enter the city. It was tall enough to allow rafts or oared boats to pass under but not so large as to permit ships of any grand size. Docks with signs touting different venders and wares dotted the south side of the river, though most were empty at such a late hour and a majority of the workers were already sinking their worries into a pint of ale at their favored pub. No other traffic passed them on the road as they met the guard left at the bridge’s entrance.
“State yer business,” he demanded with a sharp accent that Thane had not heard during his time on this side of the Shadow Mountains. He eyed Thane, Dor and Tam without showing much interest in the other three and it was obvious by the expression on his face that he didn’t know whether to draw his sword or run screaming for help.
Though Jace looked as if he’d just as well put his steel into the man’s gut as waste time squabbling with him, Ranse smiled slightly while producing the royal emblem from beneath his tunic. Upon seeing it, the man quickly snapped to attention sputtering out apologies and begging forgiveness while his eyes still darted back to the three Tjal clad Chufa. “My apologies, my Lord. We don’t git, much of royal blood in these parts.”
“I understand,” Ranse said easily. “Where is the city commander?”
The guard hesitated, licking his dried lips while glancing at the disguised Chufa trio. “Well, that’s right hard to say,” he finally said, his eyes hardening as if he at last found a reserve of courage as he attempted to stare down Thane, Dor and Tam all at once. Dor’s slight smile seemed to disquiet him though and his glare strayed quickest from his direction.
Ranse sighed. “I don’t have time for your games or your peacock show of bravado. I am not a hostage to the Tjal, nor do I have the patience or time to sooth your ego, so I suggest you answer my questions forthwith before I have you brought up on charges for insulting the royal family.”
Thane’s eyes widened a bit to hear Ranse talk in such a manner. The prince had always been such a mild soul, especially when it came to his being of royal blood, though he did appreciate the response it solicited as the guard’s face drained of all color.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, my Lord,” he stammered, stiffly bowing multiple times before standing as stiff as he could without causing himself injury. “The commander is most likely having his dinner at the Orc and Swine Inn right about now. It’s just over the bridge and up the road here, you can’t miss it. Best Inn in town, I’d say it were. Might even suit the likes of yer royal self, my liege.” Suddenly catching what he’d just said, and clearly worried he may have offended the prince, the guard quickly added, “Though, I’m sure that nothin’ could actually compare to yer royal courts as is found in our humble border town.”
Ranse smiled at the man, his agitation gone. “Thank you,” he said and then placed a gold coin in the man’s hand. “This ought to cover any inconvenience that might arise from you letting my Tjal friends into the city armed.”
The man looked greedily at the coin, not really hearing what the prince had said until they were already over the bridge and approaching the first row of buildings. By now darkness had almost completely fallen on the city giving way to the long shadows created by the occasionally lit street lamp. Splashes of light from shops that were still open or the infrequent inn or pub lighted the coble street sufficient to make ones way yet leaving many a dark alleyway the safe haven for those who would cause mischief or harm to the unwary passerby.
Thankfully the streets were already barren of those who bustled about making their trade or purchased goods during the daylight business hours leaving only the rare straggler seeking out refuge for the night or making his way to the nearest drinking hole. And even so, no one dared bother a group such as the one that strode boldly up the center of the street. If Jace was not enough to make one think a second time before harassing their small group, three Tjal-Dihn sent people running in the opposite direction.
True to the guard’s word, they soon found the Orc and Swine Inn not too far away from where he said it would be. Two large oak doors with stained glass windows marked the inn as one of greater repute, though seeming somewhat out of place with its surroundings. Aleron was not a city that concerned itself with separating its citizenry into classes and areas as did Calandra. Anyone’s money was good enough whether that person be wealthy or pauper. An orc decorated the window on the left side door, its face pulled back in a snarl while the right held a depiction of a large swine wallowing in the mud. What they had in common was lost on the Chufa as they followed Ranse and Jace into the inn tagging Domis along behind them.
The main room was hazy with the smoke of a dozen pipes that were being dragged on by various patrons throughout the large room filling it with the odor of various scents ranging from hickory to chickweed. Few candles dotted the walls and tables and the fire was somewhat low in the right corner giving the room a hushed feeling. The innkeeper, though maintaining a reputation of keeping to only the finest of clientele, knew that when gambling and ale were mixed, all too often, things got broken. He had discovered that a dimly lit room helped encourage a more mellow feeling in the patrons and so kept the candles to a minimum. Even so, the main hall was not so dark as to conceal the ethnicity of the newly arriving guests—three in particular. An immediate hush fell over the room as all eyes strained to stare at the newcomers without actually looking right at them. Being on the doorstep of the Underwoods Forest created a hearty lot of people in Aleron, but none were foolish enough to test the fragile line between honor and dishonor when it came to the Tjal-Dihn, especially when merely looking at one for too long or in the wrong manner invited steel to one’s throat.
Ranse seemed to ignore the reaction that his friend’s had caused and instead quickly scanned the tables until he found the person he was searching for. Over by the fire, sitting alone with an untouched plate of food and two pints of ale—one already empty—sat his quarry. It wasn’t so much that he wore anything that might mark him as one employed by the crown or even as a soldier, for that matter, but the air he set about him seemed to scream authority as well as the fact that he was the only one looking directly at them. Such a man was either a fool or one accustomed to being in charge and having the responsibility of protecting those around him. Ranse could almost hear the thoughts that surely passed through the high commander’s mind, trying to remember the duty roster and the idiot that allowed three Tjal to walk into town with their weapons displayed, as if in challenge, against their backs.
The prince led the others through the maze of tables leaving cringing patrons as they passed until he reached the commander and dropped into a chair at his table without the slightest word of greeting or a by your leave. “Fear not, commander,” he said as the commander’s eyes darted from him to the four figures that quickly surrounded the prince; poor Domis would not have been noticed had he jumped on the table and reeled a jig while singing
The Master’s Coming Home
. “My friends will not cause any trouble, as long as none is visited on them,” he added as almost an afterthought. “I am Prince Ranse,” he said, using the title he no longer held while flashing the royal symbol that confirmed the station that went with it. “Is there a place more, private, where we can discuss matters of extreme import and urgency?”
The commander’s gray eyes fell back on the prince, though his expression remained neutral. He was older than all of them, though not by too many years, yet his lifestyle had taken its toll on his features marking them hard and worn at the same time. Though probably once a handsome man, the luster of youth had been roughed away by the life of one set to protect the hostile boarders that were Aleron’s southern fringe. The scars of that life were etched all over his body and were too many to count and less noticeable than the one that screamed for attention just below his left eye that ran down his check and finally ended at the side of his chin.
The commander regarded the prince for a long moment, his eyes barely moving to take in his Tjal friends as if trying to gauge what his chances might be to escape a fight with his life. Letting out a sigh, as one recognizing that his fate could not be altered, he leaned back in his chair. “Though the bauble you so easily flash would suggest you are who you say, I have to admit that I have never heard of a prince Ranse in the royal household.”
Ranse’s hand instinctively rose to motion Jace back though whether he did it knowingly or just as a reflex was unclear. The gesture was not lost on the commander who flashed a look at the prince’s bodyguard as if seeing him for the first time. “Nor would you likely since my place in line for the throne is sufficiently distant as to make my life almost without general knowledge to the masses. But,” he continued without the slightest tinge of anger at the commander’s declaration, “this
bauble
, as you so call it,” he said dangling the royal sign once more for added effect, “confirms my claims no matter whether you have heard of me or not. And the information that I have come to pass on to you is even of more import than my genealogy or your doubts regarding it.”
“Be that as it may,” the commander countered, “we here on the boarders have our own issues to deal with and can’t be bothered with the intricacies of the court and its…excesses.”
Ranse could feel, more than hear, Jace’s hand reaching for his sword at the latest insult and he knew that at that point there was nothing he could say or do to stop his large friend from pulling his weapon in defense of his prince’s honor. But what he hadn’t counted on was the speed at which Thane suddenly leaped across the table, drawing his two scimitars while doing so, and then pressing them menacingly against the commander’s throat. Those around the table stood frozen as if made of stone while a sudden rush of chaos filled the rest of the room as the Inn’s patrons quickly fell over one another to reach the large double doors and the relative safety of the darkened city streets beyond. Even the innkeeper disappeared through the swinging door that led to the kitchen at the back.