Farmers & Mercenaries (37 page)

D
reams plagued Alant Cor while he slept, causing him to toss and turn on his hard, thin mattress. Dreams of being taken, cast into a large, dark pit. After one such dream, he lay upon his back, only half-awake. A noise from the hall roused him fully, sending shivers running along his spine. Slipping from the warmth of his bed, ignoring the chill of the bare tile floor on his uncovered feet, he crept to the door. Careful not to make a sound, he lifted the small latch that held his door shut and cracked it open. The hallway sat empty except for the long shadows cast by a lone brazier flickering at the end of the hall. Straining his ears, he stood in the doorway holding his breath for long moments.

You are jumping at shadows, you fool!

Chastising himself, he pushed at the door to close it, just catching sight of a large shadow moving at the end of the hallway. He froze, door still ajar by the merest slit. The shadow detached itself from a wall and moved toward him. In the dim light, the shadow coalesced into a monstrous shape that nearly brushed the ceiling some four paces above. Gray skin, glinting in the light cast by the brazier, stretched taut over rippling muscles. The Gralet’nar lumbered into the Human quarters. Sightless eyes scanned the corridor, stopping to look directly at Alant peeking out from his doorway. His breath caught, and he felt, more than saw, the Warrior Servant pass his door, sending him reeling toward panic. An image of the large creature smashing into his room washed over him, and he could not stop his knees from going weak.

A click echoed through the silent hall followed by the quiet swish of a door opening. The hairs on Alant’s head stood on end.

Quiln’s door! May the Twelve protect him!

Risking discovery, Alant opened his door enough to allow him to see more of the hall. He could not see further down the hall toward Quiln’s room unless he stuck his head out, and he was not brave enough for that.

Straining his ears, hoping for some sound he could use as an excuse to step out of his room, knowing he would not even if it came, he stood rooted. No noise came—no outcry, no sounds of struggle. Within moments, the large Gralet’nar’s broad back and shoulders filled his vision again. The guard strode down the hall toward the exit of the Human’s quarters with Quiln closely following. The boy plodded along as unconcerned as if he walked the gardens under a noonday sun, fully clothed in his white Initiates robe. His golden slippered feet made a quiet rasping sound on the white-tiled floor as he passed. He followed the Gralet’nar as if he knew where they were headed, not looking to either side as he passed. Alant was about to step out, to ask if Quiln was all right, when a third form gave him pause. Vanria Delmith reached out a thin, gray-blue arm, pushed open Alant’s door, and stepped into his tiny room.

The Elmorr’Antien held his teardrop shaped head cocked to the side. He looked at Alant as if what he saw was a mystery. Cold laced the Tarsith, and Alant fought the urge to grab at it. The Vanria’s mouth twisted as if he tasted something disagreeable. “You, Alant, are an enigma, yes? I should be able to perform a Chi’tar upon you, yet, I cannot. And I have tried many times since you came here. Why is this, hmm?”

Thinking his pulse could not race any faster, Alant was shocked to find it could. “I—Chi’tar, Vanria Delmith?”

Delmith continued as if Alant had not even spoken. “You say you read of the Mah’Sukai at the Chandril’elian of Mocley, yet you will claim to me now that you know nothing of the Chi’tar, hmm? To my knowledge, neither word is known outside of our tongue.”

Alant could not think of anything to say. He had not heard of anything called a Chi’tar.

The Tarsith oscillated from cold to normal. At each instance the scowl upon Delmith’s face deepened another notch. “I like a good mystery, yes? Yet this is not the time for it. Mayhaps you should return to your bed, hmm?” With that, the Elmorr’Antien pivoted and glided down the hall.

Swallowing hard, Alant closed the door to his small chamber and returned to his hard bed.

This is insane! What is going on? I should have done something.

He let out a sniff and shook his head. “You are a fool, Alant Cor! What can I do? Thousands of leagues from home—surrounded by the most powerful beings on the Plane of Talic’Nauth—what
can
I do?”

For many long aurns, he tossed under his thin blanket. Questions plagued him—questions he could find no answers to.

What are they doing to Quiln? What power can he gain over the Essence? And if
this Chi’utlan simply helps someone gain power, why all the secrecy?

Scores of theories raced across his imagination, yet none seemed viable. Finally, exhaustion overtook him and he dropped into a restless sleep.

A knock sent him sitting bolt upright. “Alant?” Shaith’s voice drifted in from outside his door. “Alant, do you be awake?”

“Aye.” Alant scrambled from his bed, wiping sleep from his eyes, donning his robe and slippers before opening the door. “Where is Quiln!” He had not meant for it to sound like a command.

Shaith took a step back and shook her head. “He be at firstmeal where he do belong. It be you—hey!”

Not waiting on her to finish, Alant brushed past her and ran from the Human quarters. The small room where the Humans took their meals sat just across from the kitchen, so he only had a short distance to travel.

When he burst into the room, his golden slippers sliding upon the polished tile floors, Jerith looked up at him. “Well, you did drag yourself out of bed, finally.”

Stopping, Alant glanced over at Quiln then back to Jerith. “Is he… Is he all right?”

Jerith looked puzzled. “Who?”

Stepping next to Quiln, Alant leaned over the table to see more of the boy’s downturned face. “Are you all right?” Quiln did not stir. “Are you all right, Quiln?” The boy still did not move, and Alant laid a hand gently upon his shoulder, causing the orphan to flinch away. Cupping a hand under the boy’s chin, Alant forced Quiln to look at him. A gasp escaped Alant’s lips and he took an involuntary step back.

His eyes! By all the Gods, his eyes!

Shaking uncontrollably, Alant covered his mouth with his hand. The orphan’s eyes stared back at Alant, yet they held no recognition in them.

They are… vacant!

Yet, it was not the blank stare that caused panic to rip through Alant to the point he wanted to flee. Slashes of red swirled through the whites of his eyes and lanced even into the dark brown centers.

The laugh that sprang from Jerith seemed so foreign and out of place, Alant looked at him as if he was some monster out of a bard’s tale. “What do you be going on about? The boy did sleep poorly, that be all.” When Alant’s face did not change, Jerith pointed at Quiln. “Just look at his bloodshot eyes if you need more proof.”

Gazing into Quiln’s red streaked eyes, Alant swallowed hard and felt as if he might sick up. “You think his eyes are bloodshot? Are you mad?”

“Aye, he be mad.” Standing behind Alant, Shaith peered around his shoulder. “Alant, what be the matter? You do look like you saw the dead rise.”

“I—”

“Yes, Alant.” Spinning around, Alant was shocked to see Vanria Delmith standing in the hallway behind Shaith. “Please, do tell us what is the matter, hmm?” His tall, thin frame looked even thinner by the presence of the huge Gralet’nar standing to his right.

Mouth going dry, Alant franticly looked for an escape route. His pulse quickened when he came to the realization that the tiny room in which he stood had only one exit—past Delmith and his Gralet’nar. “I—”

“If you will kindly step aside, Alant, I need to collect Quiln.” Without waiting on Alant to move, the Elmorian brushed past him. Slipping a gray, three-fingered hand under the orphan’s arm, Delmith helped the boy stand, and led him out of the room.

Shaith curtsied and slipped out of the Vanria’s way when Delmith entered, yet as he left, she stretched out a hand and placed it tentatively upon his arm. Snatching it back quickly, she rubbed her fingers as if they hurt. “Where do you be taking him? If I may ask, Vanria.”

Pausing in his stride, he tilted his head slightly and smiled at the girl before looking directly at Alant. “You may. A message came late last eve from Mocley. It seems that Quiln has been called back to study with his kinsmen, yes? I informed the boy as soon as I was notified. He did not take the news well it seems, and has only just stopped crying.” A smile flicked over the Vanria’s features as he caught Alant’s eye. Turning, he led Quiln down the hall, the large Gralet’nar shambling along behind.

“That boy should have done been sent home.” Jerith wrinkled his nose and sat back down before his plate of fruits and warm bread.

Rolling her eyes, Shaith turned to Alant. “You still no look well. What be the matter?”

Glancing from one dark-skinned youth to the other, Alant could not fathom why neither seemed affected by the events unfolding around them. Alant wanted to scream at them. Yell until they opened their eyes and saw what was happening around them. Yet, he did not want to raise any more suspicions toward himself. “It—It is nothing. I do not think I slept well last eve myself.” Slipping past her, he walked in a daze down the hall towards his room.

Mayhaps I am imagining all this. Mayhaps Quiln’s eyes were bloodshot. As my Papa always said, ‘If
you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.’

And mayhaps I have already let the Krugour out of the bag. I doubt it will be easy to put the beastie back in.

F
or much of the ride, Arderi Cor sat in silence. The horrors of the Nektine, the death of Master Rillion, the mystery of whatever the Tat’Sujen are and how it involved him, all weighed heavily upon his mind. The Shaper, Jintrill Deln, never struck up a conversation with Arderi, instead preferring the company of another of his kind who traveled with the caravan.

Just past midday, they arrived at the gates of Hild’alan. Sier Deln had convinced the wagon master of their need to spend the eve at the stead, which Arderi felt both grateful for and apprehensive about. The gold ta’narian Arderi had given to the man had also gone a long way to easing the burden of delaying their arrival to Mocley by a day. As the high walls of Arderi’s home stead crept into view, he felt the full weight of his actions press down upon his shoulders. Hefting his pack—Clytus’ sword, Dorochi, and the collector, both wrapped tightly inside it—he caught the eye of the driver. “I would like to walk in, Mir’am Dorgnit.”

Mir’am Dorgnit, the teamster on the reins of the wagon in which Arderi rode, nodded. “As you wish, young Master Cor. Just be sure to catch us up in the morn before we head out. Though you travel with the Shapers, the wagon master may still leave you behind if you are late.”

Flinching inside at the honorific—Arderi had never corrected the old wagon driver in his assumption that Arderi was more than he really was—he knew the sword at his hip was as much a status symbol as it was a weapon.

They see a young man with a well-worn sword on his hip and they assume I have earned it. Yet more lies that I have buried myself under.

Holding Master Gartin’s sword so it would not hinder him, Arderi hopped from the wagon and stood to the side of the road until the caravan had passed by. Stepping onto the road as the dust settled, he walked heavy footed toward the gate. The walls looming over his head did nothing to lessen the strain of returning home.

“I seem to remember seeing a young fielder who resembled you leaving by this gate on many an occasion. Yet, the man walking in now, I do not think I recognize.” Flinnok Nime stepped out of the guard shack and limped up to Arderi.

“You are hurt, Master Nime?” Arderi felt an odd sense of equality with the old Guarder Captain he had never felt before.

Mayhaps it is not just the sword at my hip that is new.

“Bah, just a small thing—a run in with a testy mare. I will be fine in a few days. It is why I am here on gate duty, however, and not out in the fields.” Inclining his chin toward the boy’s hip, Flinnok questioned the sword resting in its scabbard. “That seems a bit more than a fielder would normally carry.”

“Aye, Master Nime.” Arderi looked down at the blade and rested a hand on its worn leather. “It belonged to a great swordsman who instructed me for a while. It was given to me after the man’s death.”

A laugh escaped the guarder’s lips. “You have been gone only a few moons time—a fact, by the way, that has caused your folks a great deal of grief.” Flinnok rubbed his chin and stared at Arderi for a moment. “Yet you sound as if you have grown by winters. So, since we have all been mistaken, and you are not dead, where have you been all these moons?”

Smiling, Arderi chuckled and shook his head. “I am unsure you would believe me if I told you. I will only be here one eve, however, and I would much like to see my folks. They will not take kindly to me after what I put them through, yet, it is not right for them to think me dead a moment longer than needed.”

Master Nime slapped Arderi upon the shoulder. “Aye, in this I find you are wise. I do not envy you facing your Ma’s wrath, for Mis’am Cor’s temper is known well by many, yet I think you are right. They will be glad to know you have not passed into the aftermore. Also, there is some trouble brewing with the fielders this day. I think you may be in the center of it. It seems you have arrived when you were most needed.” The old guarder stepped to the side and raised an arm. “Hurry along with you, then.”

Dipping his head to the guarder, Arderi strode through the main gates and into his home stead.

Arderi walked the cobblestone street toward the public house where his family lived. Every person he passed, be them known to him or not, stopped and gawked at his passing.

Granted, a man wearing a sword on his hip who is not a guarder is odd, yet I would not think it should cause such stares!

“By all Twelve Gods!” Instinctively, Arderi’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he spun toward the shout behind him. Riln took a step back, his arms raised and his eyes wide with fear. “Take it easy, Arderi! By the Twelve, it is only me!”

Feeling like a heel, Arderi relaxed. “Riln. It is good to see you.” Awkwardly, he held out a hand. Riln eyed it, yet did not take it. After a moments more hesitation, Arderi let his arm drop. “Have I changed so much?”

“No fielder I know of carries a sword and reaches for it without thought. Where have you been? Everyone is saying you are dead. That your body has just never been found.”

“I joined a band of mercenaries who stopped here for the eve. They were headed—” A loud wail resounded through the street, and Arderi’s heart leapt into his throat. Spinning back toward his home, he saw his Ma rushing at him—her skirt and apron flapping out behind her in her haste.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. When she reached him, he started to speak yet was cutoff when she engulfed him in her arms. “My son has returned to me! The Twelve be praised, my boy is home!”

Arderi let his Ma hold him for several moments. He then gently extracted himself from her embrace.

After wiping her eyes clear of tears, she gave him a stern look. “You have a lot of explaining to do, young man. Yet first, I am sure your father will be just as glad to see you in one piece as well.”

As they entered the public house—his Ma still smothering him under one arm—the elderfolk who sat on the front porch surrounded him and assailed him with questions. The small group entered the dining hall and Arderi was astonished to see the large room packed to the breaking. Not only did he see his whole family—his two sisters, Tary and Baith stood in a group of girls their own age at the edge of the crowd, and Siln held little Rik on his lap, both sitting next to their father, Tanin—he also found everyone else who shared the public house with them in the hall. Looking around in awe, it seemed that every fielder from the entire stead was in attendance. When they entered, several men were shouting—Arderi did not know at whom or what—yet the room fell silent once they noticed Mis’am Cor leading her third eldest son into the crowd.

A lump welled up inside Arderi’s throat once he caught his father’s eye sitting on a bench next to Siln, and for a long moment they just stared at each other across the silent room. Tanin Cor sat there, a look of grief, relief, anger and disbelief all warring for dominance over his features. Finally, his lower lip started to quiver and he quickly crossed the room to embrace his son. The man let out an ear-piercing sob that rippled remorse through Arderi’s heart with such pain as to be almost unbearable.

There could be no greater punishment than hearing Papa cry like this!

Tears streamed from Arderi’s eyes as the two stood there holding each other. “Forgive me, Papa. Please forgive me. I have failed you in so many ways.”

Pulling Arderi from him, Tanin looked deep into his eyes. “Nix, lad! Nix! You are home. The Shapers have not taken both our sons! You have nothing to be forgiven for!”

Wiping the tears from his face, Arderi took a step back and stood at his full height. “Nix, Papa! I have wronged both you and Ma. Yet, I have learned much over the past few moons. One lesson was not to run from the consequences of my own actions.”

Mis’am Cor strode forward and put her arm around Arderi. “How can you be expected to take responsibility for what the Shaper’s Order did to you?”

“The Shaper’s Order?” At first, Arderi did not understand what she meant. Then, looking around the room at all the faces of the people gathered, it dawned on him. “You think the Shapers took me the day of my Testing? Is that why everyone is gathered?”

A stern look fell upon Tanin’s face. “By the tone in your voice, I assume that we are not correct in this.” He reached over, pulled out a chair, and motioned for Arderi to sit. “I think the time for speculation is at an end, at least in your case.”

“What do you mean, my case?” Arderi sat.

Shaking his head, Tanin raised a negating hand. “More of that later. Tell us your tale.”

And so, Arderi poured out the events that had happened to him over the past several moons. His failure of the Test, stowing away on the wagon train, the journey into the Nektine—this received gasps even from the oldest in the room—the death of Master Rillion, and the flight home. It all flowed out of him as if a dam had burst, and the emotions that were released felt as sweet to him as a fresh rain.

When all was said, and those who asked questions were answered, Tanin leaned back in the chair he had procured for himself and let out a long whistle. “Well, my boy. It seems that you have had more adventure than everyone else in this room combined. Still, you are home now. Safe. And that is the way I mean to keep it.”

“Nix, Father.” Arderi stared at the spot on the floor he was grinding with the toe of his boot. “I will only be staying the eve. I leave at first light.”

With a loud clack, the chair that Tanin sat in slammed to the floor as his father jumped to his feet. “You can put any thoughts of leaving out of your head right this instant, boy! I thought I had lost two sons. Now that I have one back, I am not about to give him up again!”

Slowly rising to his feet, Arderi looked directly into Tanin’s eyes. Never before had he done so to his father. The fact that he did it with a sword hanging at his hip made him feel both foolish and cowardly.

It is too late to remove it, yet damn the blade! I made a vow and I will never break one again, regardless of the consequences!

“Nix, Father. I must travel to Mocley on the morrow. I will not allow anything to stop me.”

Clinching his jaws, anger burned deep within his father’s eyes. “If you think just because you wear a sword at your side I will stand here and let a child of mine speak to me thus—”

Putting a hand on his father’s shoulder, Arderi shook his head. “Nix, Papa, that is not my intent. I do not wish to disrespect you further. Still, I have made a vow. If I do not go to Mocley, a young boy will die. Master Rillion’s son, Sindian. I vowed, as he died in my arms, that I would complete his task.”

Brushing between the two, his Ma took Arderi’s outstretched hand in hers and cupped them to her breast. “Surely, you have done enough? Let someone else take this collector back to Mocley. It is no longer your burden to bear.”

Remaining silent, Arderi stared at his father.

Finally, Tanin reached out and placed his hand on his wife’s arm. “Nix, Mel’Ona. This is not the same boy who disappeared a few moons ago. Arderi is correct—he has a vow to keep. I did not raise any of my boys to break a vow. Besides, I do not think it is our place any longer to tell him what to do.” He held out a hand to his son.

A warmness filled Arderi as he took his father’s hand and shook it—not as a boy—as the man he saw reflected in his father’s eyes. His face flushed and he fought back tears, yet the chaos of his mind reached out and grasped hold of a question. “Papa, what did you mean when you said you thought you had lost two sons to the Shaper’s Order?”

Mis’am Cor brought a hand up to her mouth and Mir’am Cor’s face went grave. “We received a Crystal from the Shaper’s Order of Mocley. It arrived this morn. Your brother, Alant, is dead.”