Farmers & Mercenaries (30 page)

D
awn had crept upon the land before Clytus Rillion crested the small hill that separated him from a hot meal and a warm sleeping mat. He had been out for well over a tenday, and the days spent alone amongst the peaks of the Nektine had taken their toll on him. His back ached, his limbs felt like lead, and the chill of the high mountains had seeped into his very bones.

And all this time I have still not gotten any closer to finding one of those damnable beasts! At least I will have a decent eve’s rest in camp…

Looking down at the camp below, his mind reeled. Digging his heels into Starborn’s side, he galloped down the small slope, reining hard at the edge of a smashed tent. Numbness fell over him like a fog. Starborn jerked to one side, becoming skittish of a dead body, congealed blood pooled below a large gash in the man’s side. Without thought, Clytus slipped from his saddle.

Everywhere his eyes fell, death surrounded him.

Men and horses, or the remains of them, lay strewn amongst the shattered remnants of tents and wagons. Black carrion birds had already found their morning meal. They feasted upon the bloating corpses of man and beast alike. Walking aimlessly through the carnage, Clytus thought he recognized the clothing of Alimia on one such body. Thin of waist and hip he knew of no other it could be. The body was missing much of its upper half, however, and he would need to roll her over to be sure. He did not think he could stomach the task. Pulling his eyes from the corpse, a clump of broken wood, barely recognizable as the remains of several wagons, drew his attention. In the center of the rubble, he found the body of Master Gartin, sword still in hand, upon a heap of half a dozen men.

At least you had your last stand, my old friend. I hope you made it count.

Not far from the pile, the body of Trilim Grith lay crumpled next to the scattered remains of his cook fire. Clytus fell to his knees next to his old friend. A tear traced its way down his cheeks. The old cook’s lifeless eyes bore into Clytus. Whatever had caused the man’s death had torn through flesh and bone alike. Reaching out, he gently closed the lids.

Sleep well, old friend, your travels have been long. I will miss you.

Clytus remained on his knees as a rage swept into him like the waters of an icy-cold river. He let the current of pain and loss, of anguish and grief, fill him till it overflowed the banks of his mind. His grief turned to tears that spilled from his eyes and poured down his cheeks.

They all trusted me, and I have led them to ruin!

“I led them
all
to ruin!” His scream snapped the silence of the valley, echoing off the high mountain walls and causing several of the carrion birds to take wing. His words resounded back, mocking his pain and slicing through his very core.

Bowing his head, he ran callused fingers through his hair and grasped a handful in his fist. Clearing his mind, he concentrated on the slight pain he caused to his scalp—felt how each hair hung onto his head, and how, collectively, they rooted themselves firmly in place. The more he tightened his grip, the more he focused on the pain, clearing his mind of all else—trying to wipe away the image of his men who lay all around him—yet knowing he never would.

When a snap of a twig penetrated his mental shield, Clytus launched to his feet, sword in hand. Facing in the direction of the noise, he stood there, unsure if he hoped to kill whatever had done this to his people, or to allow it to kill him and release him from his guilt. There, some thirty paces away amongst the tree line, the young Shaper, Jintrill Deln, stood leaning heavily on a branch. Blood caked the side of his head—his brownish hair matted over that ear. A look of horror filled the young man’s face.

Rushing to the Shaper, Clytus took his full weight from the tree and helped him toward the lakeshore, away from the destroyed campsite. A small rise separated the lake from the camp, and shame filled him even as the relief of not being able to see his dead troop eased his mind.

Setting the young man down on a log, Clytus dipped a rag into the cold water and began cleaning Jintrill’s head wound, trying to determine how serious it was. The young man did not flinch under his ministrations. The Shaper simply sat there, his eyes staring far off into the distance.

“The wound is not deep, yet this lump will take many a day before it fully heals.”

At the sound of Clytus’ voice, Jintrill looked at him for the first time since the boy emerged from the forest. “My thanks to you.”

“What happened here, Sier? I saw no discernable tracks.”

Looking over his shoulder, Jintrill stared in the direction of the base camp for long moments. “Black death—it came from the sky…” The young Sier’s words came flat, without inflection. “…as if the darkness itself had grown fangs.”

Laying a hand on the Shaper’s cheek, Clytus eased the young man’s head to face him. “This was no boogieman, Sier. Something attacked this camp. I need to know what it was.”

A voice sounded from behind Clytus. “I think it was your Drakon.” Further up the beach, Clytus saw the boy, Arderi, clothes soaking wet, limping toward them. The boy’s left arm hung limp to his side. Arderi winced as Clytus took his right arm and helped him over to the log where the young Shaper sat. “The Sier is correct, sir. The thing came out of the dark like a horror.”

“Why do you think it was a Drakon?”

With another wince of pain, Arderi carefully pulled his injured arm into his lap. Clytus could see the break just below the shoulder, and marveled at the inner strength of the lad. “It fit the descriptions of the bard’s tales I have heard, sir. Cat-like body, serpentine neck, large wings from its shoulders.” The boy shivered in the cool mid-morning mountain air.

Rising to his feet, Clytus pointed to Jintrill. “Stay with the Shaper. I will only be gone a moment.” He headed over the small hill that led to the base camp, and was assailed once more by the visage of carnage that he beheld. Focusing on finding what he needed, it took him only moments to rummage through the wreckage of the wagons to find what he sought. Returning to the two young men, Clytus first wrapped a blanket around Arderi, then Jintrill, who’s glossy eyes continued to gaze off into the distance. With a little coaxing, Clytus pulled the Shaper off the log and laid him next to it. The Sier’s eyes never so much as blinked.

Hefting his waterskin, Clytus handed it to Arderi, who gulped down the water. Some spilled out from between the boy’s lips to wet the blanket tucked around his shoulders.

“My thanks, sir.”

Taking the skin back, Clytus made to offer it to Jintrill. Yet, the young Sier continued to stare off with vacant eyes, so Clytus pushed its stopper into the mouth and re-hung it at his hip. “I can clearly see you have been through a lot, yet I must know, boy, what happened here?”

“It all happened so fast, and I was so frightened.” Arderi’s voice trailed off.

“Easy, lad.” Clytus reached out and patted the young boy’s shoulder, yet stopped when a gasp of pain escaped Arderi’s lips. “Start at the beginning.”

“One of the scout teams—Tylin’s group, I think—found and killed a baby Drakon. They brought it in on a litter behind one of their horses. Its parent must have followed, for as soon as they made camp, it struck.” Arderi looked into Clytus’ eyes for the first time since the boy had appeared on the beach. “I am sorry, sir, Alimia is dead.”

Clytus nodded, knowing the boy spoke true, and not just about Alimia. “I know, lad. I know. They are all dead” Standing, he turned to look out over the vast, beautiful lake—a shimmering glass pool, almost a league wide. The far bank, skirted by a thick layer of evergreen trees, created a shaggy green coating up much of the mountain slope. These gave way to a silky, snow-white blanket that followed the majestic peaks up to the very sky. A crystal-clear sky, without a single cloud to mar its beauty, so blue it seemed to have been created by a master artist “There are far worse places to have as one’s final resting place.”

Reaching out to the young Sier, Arderi hesitated, then dropped his hand back to his lap. “Do you think the Sier will be all right?”

Jintrill still stared off into nothing, yet Clytus had seen people in worse shape. “Sometimes what a man sees can be as hard on them as a physical wound. Still, I think he will be fine soon enough. When he is up to it, we will see if he can tend to that arm of yours.”

Pushing himself into action, Clytus busied himself by creating a small mini-camp on the sandy shore. He built a fire, set up two tents, and helped both young men into resting spots near the warming blaze. Turning his attention to food, he built a make-shift spit and hung a pot of water to boil for stew. While rummaging for ingredients amongst the destroyed base camp, he was delighted to find his small store of Oolant drought. Opening the reinforced wooden box his heart sank finding only one vial still sat intact.

It will be enough to heal the boy’s arm, at least.

Returning to their new campsite, Clytus knelt down next to Arderi. “Here.” He helped the boy into a sitting position. “This will mend your arm so the Sier will not have to.” Removing the stopper from the small clay vial, he held it out for Arderi.

A convulsive look racked the boy’s face as the odor of whatever lay inside assailed his nostrils. “What is that, sir?”

“It is Oolant. An Essence enhanced liquid that will mend the break in your arm in much the same way the Shaper would—if he were awake and able-minded.” Clytus pushed the vial closer to the boy.

Reaching out with his good hand, Arderi took the vial and brought it to his nose. He shot his arm out to push the foul smelling container away, and eyed it with a look of disgust.

“Aye, lad. I know it smells. It is a single dose. Drink it down all at once, it is easier that way.”

A warm feeling filled Clytus as he watched the boy force the thick, bitter liquid down.

My little Sindian hates that stuff, as well.

Pain entwined itself through the dredged up memory of his son, and Clytus’ face hardened. “Now rest, boy. The Oolant is no faster at mending wounds than a Shaper is. It will be several aurns at least until that break mends.” Standing, he turned to walk away.

“Commander Rillion, sir? Are you leaving us?”

The fear in the boy’s voice reminded Clytus how young Arderi really was. Turning back to him, he calmed his features and forced a smile. “Nix, lad. Those men were my responsibility. I will not let them spend eternity under the open sky. I recommend that you rest now. The Oolant will help you fall to sleep, and when you awake, it will have finished its job of mending your arm.”

Cresting the small rise that separated the destroyed base camp from the makeshift one he created on the lakeshore, he steeled himself for the task at hand, and kept walking, knowing that if he stopped, he may not start again.

I will pay what needs be paid.

D
ays rolled into tendays that had almost reached a moon’s turn, and Alant Cor had achieved a kind of rhythm to his life. Being schooled at the Hath’oolan Chandril’elian was not exactly what he had envisioned in his daydreams during the boat trip over the Great Ocean. Although the work was grueling, he had become more adept at Melding the Essence during this short span than he had in both turns of the seasons he had spent at the Mocley Chandril’elian.

The Elmorr’Antiens push relentlessly! It is no wonder there are so few Humans allowed here. The pace they set would crush most
of
the Initiates back in Mocley.

The Human Quarters of the Chandril’elian at Hath’oolan consisted of a small hallway of adjacent rooms crammed into an area behind the kitchen. The hallway was narrow, the rooms were small, and for most of the day, the air was hot and dry from the ovens located on the other side of the wall. These rooms were everything that the rooms the Elmorr’Antien students occupied were not. Not that Alant, nor any Human student for that matter, had ever been allowed to enter the Elmorr’Antien Quarters which sat on the upper floors of the school. The rooms, however, were still a hot topic of conversation amongst the Humans when they were alone and out of earshot of any of their hosts.

Still, the small room assigned to Alant was little different from the room he had occupied in the Chandril’elian at Mocley, and he was unaffected by its bare furnishings and cramped living space. He spent little enough time there anyhow, much preferring to use his free time in the garden area at the center of the school building, with its lush foliage, billowing fountains, and huge, winding hedge-maze.

The weather on the Isle of Elmorr’eth was a treat. The entire time Alant had been on the island, he had seen nothing except blue skies. The climate, always warm and wonderful with a cooling breeze, remained pleasant even into the late aurns of dusk. When he first arrived at the school, he assumed that the lushness of the gardens must have been Essence enhanced—something that was regularly done at the Chandril’elian of Mocley—yet, the more he visited the gardens, the more he realized that the weather of the area was simply conducive to plant life.

“I did hear the Elmorr’Antien students have private bath areas in each of their rooms and tubs lined with gold.” Jerith De’thane, a skinny, ebony-skinned young man about the same age as Alant, sat on the edge of a stone bench bouncing a small silver coin from his homeland of Silaway on one palm. Alant still found the thick accent of the Silawaians hard to follow.

“Oh, Jerith, you do have money on your mind at all times.” Shaith Ku’rin reached out, snatched the coin from mid-air just as it left Jerith’s hand, and slapped in onto the bench next to him. The jade-green eyed girl—by her claim a Princess to some kingdom in Silaway Alant had never heard of—had a mischievous streak that Alant found added to her allure. “They be Initiates just as we, if their quarters be a bit larger than ours, well, they be Elmorr’Antiens after all.”

All of the Human students at the Chandril’elian—there were only four—had gotten into the habit of taking halfmeal together at one of the larger entrances to the hedge-maze. Here, several stone benches—ornately carved and formed from the same smooth white stone like all the other structures on the Isle—as well as a small matching table sat under the shade of a large, broad-leafed tree that Alant did not recognize.

“Aye, mayhaps. Though, I know when I am unwanted.” Quiln Garfer hailed from Ro’Arith, like Alant. Yet their similarities ended there. Alant felt little affinity with the boy, and not just because Quiln was several winters younger than himself.

He is about the same age as my little brother, Arderi.

The thought brought on a pang of homesickness, which Alant ruthlessly pushed away, though a wariness lingered.

Arderi should have been Tested by now. I
felt
the power in him. Sier Sarlimac said he would notify me once my brother arrived in Mocley. I hope he has not gone and done something foolish!

The main thing that bothered Alant about Quiln was the fact that the boy was not very skilled with the Essence.

There is no doubt the boy can Meld the Essence. He will even make a fine Shaper one day. Yet, why he was summoned to Hath’oolan remains a mystery. I was more skilled than he when I arrived. He has been here near a turn
of
the seasons already, and is by far less skilled than the rest.

Never knowing his parents, Quiln had grown up an urchin on the streets of Orlis. When the Siers discovered his ability to manipulate the Essence, they whisked him away to the Chandril’elian of Mocley. Alant did not know of the events that had led the boy here.

“Tis because even your own whore mother did no want you.” Jerith scooped up his coin from the bench and shot a hard look at Shaith before he slipped the coin into the side pocket of his robe.

The dark-skinned girl rolled her eyes and glanced back to Quiln with a mother’s look of concern. “Do no pay any attention to him, Quiln. The Hek’kie say they do hate that we Mu’shadar look down on them like inferiors, yet it be they who be quick to cut down any they see as beneath them.”

“Nix. Jerith is right.” The orphan never sounded confident no matter the situation, yet whenever the subject of his parents arose, he was even more self-deprecating than usual. “I know my Ma was probably of a profession that most find repulsive.”

Alant had no misunderstandings about the other two’s right to be here. They matched his learning turn for turn, even though the two from Silaway had been in Hath’oolan for several turns of the seasons. Jerith had the same dark-chocolate colored skin as Shaith, and they were both about twenty winters, yet they were as different from each other as he was from Quiln. Jerith came from a small village he called Kasu’yama, deep in the heart of his homeland of Silaway. His father, some type of soldier, fought in a civil war both he and Shaith referred to as the Great War. His home village was supposed to be famous for it’s warriors, and supported a side referred to as the Hek’kie, which Jerith claimed meant ‘Of the People.’ Shaith said she belonged to a group called the Mu’shadar, or ‘Shelterers of Life’—a disapproving snort came from Jerith when he heard her give the translation. Both he and Shaith agreed that the Great War had been raging for generations, although it was apparent that each had very different views on the reasons for the war itself. It was a topic Alant quickly learned should not be discussed when both were present.

Not wanting the conversation to head anywhere near the “Great War,” Alant returned to the one topic everybody loved to complain about. “I still say our rooms are not that bad.” Ripping his eyes from Shaith’s mesmerizing smile, Alant turned his attention back to his meal and plucked a grape from the basket. “They are much the same as I had in Mocley. Besides, I am here to learn how to Meld the Essence, not for the accommodations.”

Adjusting her position on the short-trimmed grass, Shaith held Alant within her emerald gaze, reached out and took a grape from his food basket. Rolling it between her long, dark fingers, she smiled a smile that had Alant blushing. “Oh, aye! A country bumpkin like you mayhaps knows no different. I, however, be used to a finer stature of life!” If her words held any sting, she washed it away with the twinkle in her eye and the smirk upon her lips.

Feeling his cheeks redden, the way they always did when she picked on him about his fielder upbringing, Alant studied the grape he held with more intensity than it warranted. When he thought his emotions were once again under his control, he popped the grape into his mouth and looked up. Shaith was still rotating the grape between her thumb and finger, and that wicked grin remained on her lips.

My Gods, she is beautiful!

A laugh broke out from Jerith. “Do leave Alant alone! No everyone have the chance to be raised in a palace,
Your Highness
.” Even though Jerith displayed a graceful bow when he used her title, he always made the honorific seem more an insult than compliment. The two Silawaians had never shown any physical aggressiveness toward each other—they both said violence here in Hath’oolan would betray something they called ‘The Code’, and hurt their honor, as well as the honor of their families. Still, Alant suspected it would not take much to have them go to blows.

Without even looking at her black-skinned countryman, Shaith waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “This be between me and Alant, Jerith. Go and seek the statue of the Chandril’chi tree that be in the center of the hedge-maze. If you can no find it, at the least, you can get yourself lost in there! Mayhaps then Alant and I can have some peace together.”

Jerith barked a laugh, catching Alant’s attention. “I do think it be your creamy white skin she finds most attractive. Very few of your kind make their way across the Great Ocean, fewer still travel inland when they do. Yet, I will bet five gold draughts to copper, her father would be burning mad if he found out she had eyes for you.”

Looking back into her eyes, Alant melted under the girl’s piercing gaze. Alant racked his brain for something to free himself from her stare.

She has not stopped pursuing me since my first day here. Her forcefulness borders on the point
of
being indecent! Not a girl I could take home to Ma. Though, not due to the color
of
her skin. The girl’s look is almost obscene!

“I have always wondered about something, though.” Alant flinched inside when his words squeaked out, forcing him to clear his throat.

Continuing to look at Alant like a falcon eyeing a field mouse, Shaith held the wicked grin that raised one side of her lips in place. “Aye?”

Feeling the redness spring once more unbidden to his cheeks, Alant rushed his words. “Why have we never been instructed by anyone other than Vanria Delmith?” He forced himself to settle and slow his words. “In Mocley, I had nearly half a score of Siers instructing me.”

“None except Vanria Delmith did ever instruct us since I did be here, and that be longer than any of you.” It was not the first time Jerith had made the claim about being here before Shaith. The subject was another irritation between the two and one that usually sent Shaith to fuming. This time, however, she let the insult slip from the conversation unnoticed.

“Aye, yet for what reason?” Alant had never received an answer that satisfied him as to why only Vanria Delmith instructed them.

Why would they not spread us around more? Why always the same instructor?

Shaith finally ate the grape she had taken from his food basket. “Do you feel that he no teaches us enough?”

“It is not that.” Alant really had no objections to the Vanria’s teachings.

I feel that I have gained much and will gain even more under Vanria Delmith.

“It simply seems odd that we have such limited contact with the Elmorr’Antiens—though we live in the middle of their largest city.” Setting his food basket down on the grass beside him, Alant fiddled with the golden rope belt tied around his waist. “We Humans are relegated to staying only on the first floor. Our living quarters, classrooms, even the small room we use to take meals—all on the ground floor. I have yet to have a conversation with one of the other students here. When the odd chance happens that I pass one in the hall, they do not even glance my way! The only circumstance that allowed me upstairs was my arrival when you took me to see the Hon’Vanria, and I have yet to see him again!”

Reaching out, Shaith patted his hand in a way Alant thought was meant to be comforting. Yet it only managed to bring his thoughts back to the softness of her skin. “They do treat all of us such, and I be sure the Hon’Vanria be busy.”

Jerith snickered. “Oh, Aye. They be too busy for the likes of us.”

Shaith continued as if she did not hear Jerith’s interruption. “This be my third winter here, and I have rarely spoke to any except Vanria Delmith. Still, he seems nice. All of us learn more here than we would from our home Chandril’elian.”

“Aye, you three have.” Head hung low so he seemed to be speaking to the stone tabletop, Quiln sounded more depressed than normal. “I can barely keep pace. I do not understand why they even keep me around. You three outpace me by leaps and bounds. Even Alant! And he has just arrived. I was not even considered at the top of my class back in Mocley. It shocked all the Siers when I was invited to study here.”

The boy is correct. Half
my fellow students there had more ability with the Essence.

Alant tried to keep any pity from his voice. “Still, you are here. There must be a reason. Mayhaps Vanria Delmith knows. Have you spoken with him?”

The boy looked horrified. “Nix! I do not wish to bring more attention to myself. Mayhaps he just has not noticed me. If I open my mouth, they might figure out that I do not belong here and whisk me back to Mocley.”

Letting out a giggle, Shaith turned to stare at him. “I be sure Vanria Delmith has no missed you in a class of four! I do agree with Alant, you be here for a reason. Mayhaps they think your ability will grow. Vanria Delmith always be kind to us, even if no others share his attitude.”