Farmers & Mercenaries (9 page)

What am I doing? How can I allow myself to be bound to men who may use me for ill gain? And with a smile on my face, no less!

Clytus, in such turmoil, failed to realize the Grand Elder had come to his feet. “How dare you! How
dare
you!” Spittle flew from the old Sier’s mouth. “Get out, you abomination!” The Grand Elder’s voice screeched through the small chamber. “You have accepted the terms! I do not want to see you in my presence unless I summon you! Do you hear me? Get out!”

Clytus did not remember leaving the audience chamber, nor the academy grounds for that matter. The only thing he remembered was retching in a side alley somewhere outside the Academy. He then put his head in his hands and wept. Wept for his son. Wept for his very existence. Lying crumpled in that alley, tears rolling unabated down his face, time vanished for him, and soon the shades of day deepened into the shadows of night.

Looking up past the edge of the slate that overhung the roof above him, his eyes followed the tiny yellow moon, Traynor, as it crept from one side of the thin alleyway to the other.

Felstar, I am lost and following the only light you have given me. I hope it is not a will-the-wisp.

T
he chanting and yelling of the crowd still rang loud and clear in Klain’s ears, even as dusk fell upon the land. He had finally stopped pacing the small cell. The excitement and adrenalin he felt earlier had been subdued by sheer physical exhaustion. Resting stretched out now on his rag-covered stone bed, he mused at the wooden fingers above him keeping the ceiling at bay.

You did not crush me this day, nor did anything the Julitans of the Games threw at me. Mayhaps on the morrow you will have more luck.

A grin parted his lips and his eyelids drooped, fatigue slowly winning the battle over the elation he had been drunk on since returning to his cell.

The small trap door used to feed him swung open and Klain noticed his Master, Estular Jerts, had come personally to pass him lastmeal, something the Human had never before done. Freshly slaughtered lamb rested on the large platter once more. Rising quickly, Klain whipped up a leg of meat. Listening as Estular paced outside his door, Klain attacked the food with fervor.

“What a magnificent sight!” Stopping his pacing, Estular peered through the bars of the tiny window. “I never dreamed you would survive this day.” Klain heard the man rubbing his hands together in his excitement. “The Julitans are furious! The money they lost in death tax alone must have been—” He stopped. Grasping the bars, he peered directly at Klain, watching him eat. “They say they will not fight you again, you know?” A wicked grin crossed his face. “Well, not against any Human opponents anyway. You have ruined the Games for any future Kith who might want to play.” Estular resumed his pacing. “They offered to buy your death. Can you imagine! They will pay me just to see you tortured and dispatched for the crowd. Glorious!”

The more Estular spoke, the further Klain’s lips rose to bare his blood-drenched fangs. A deep growl erupted at the Human’s last words, and Klain flung the half-eaten hind leg he held at the door. The force of the blow sent Estular fleeing to the far side of the hall. Klain would love to have laughed at the pathetic Human, yet he was too furious for such pettiness. “And what of me, you cur! Have I not done what you wanted of me? Am I now to lay down and die for your amusement?” Paws gripping the bars of the cell door window, Klain glared at his Master who stood pressed against the far wall.

Klain watched Estular regain his composure as the man realized the ironbound door stood intact. “You? You are a beast!” Shoving himself off the stone wall, Estular closed in on the small window, staying far enough away to be out of Klain’s reach. “I purchased you to make me rich!” Contempt dripped heavy in his tone. “You did that this day, yet you did it too well! You are worthless to me now! An expense!” The man’s raised voice echoed in the enclosed space. “Living, you now cost me money. This leaves me with only one option where you are concerned.” Holding up one finger, he pointed it to the ceiling, then jabbed it to the ground. “Death.” With exaggerated effort, he brushed his lavish red coat with his hands and straightened his collar. “Are you such a stupid thing that you cannot see this?” Estular laughed and walked down the hall to the exit.

Madness overcame Klain. Throwing himself savagely at the cell door, he clawed and bashed at it. His roar shook the dust-filled air of the cellblock, shattering the normal silence of the place. His Keeper and several jailers appeared, yelling and screaming at him, though in his enraged state, Klain heard none of their words.

“I will rip Jerts’ head from his shoulders with my bare claws!” His screams were almost an unintelligible roar. “I will feed on his flesh. I will drink—” Reality crashed down on him as if the hand holding the ceiling above him finally had given way. He found himself on his knees, stars shooting through his eyes. He looked up to see a pain staff sticking through the bars of the window. The onyx stick was nothing new to him, having been beaten by it many times in the past, yet this had been different—much more intense.

The cell door swung open and his fat, black-skinned Keeper strode in. “That be max foci, beastie, want more?” The puffy face of the Keeper floated at the far end of the black onyx staff.

Fast as his body would allow, Klain whipped out a paw and grabbed the end of the stick. His brain screamed as pain laced through his hand. The very marrow of his bones scorched with agony. It ripped up his arm with such ferocity that the force flung him backward. His legs folded under him and his head slammed against the stone wall behind him. Vomit filled his mouth and dripped from his face onto his chest. Trying to howl in rage, only a meager whimper came out. Laughter rang in his ears like a bell heard from far away. “It be too bad the Master wants you whole.”

Klain rolled over onto his side to clear his mouth. Cell door banging shut, he listened to the footsteps receding down the hall. He wanted to sit up, yet knew he was far from that. Laying there, breathing in the stench of his own puke, he lost focus and had no memory of the cell any longer.

T
he rest of the day continued normally for Arderi Cor. Raking and hoeing, removing stones and rocks, planting seeds. Riln avoided him, which suited Arderi just fine.

No one understands. I cannot live life as a fielder—locked away in this stead. I want to see things. Travel. Like my brother.

The ride back to the stead was not much different from the rest of the day. Sorn Toln tried a few ribs about Arderi and the Krugour. These got a few chuckles from the others, yet for the most part, the men rode in silence.

The guarder, a man by the name of Ralin, would have died even if his mount had not crushed him to the ground. Ralin’s body now occupied its own wagon. The fielders who had ridden out in it found seats amongst the other wagons. Arderi had caught a glimpse of the corpse as the rest of the guarders carried it across the field. One side of his neck was torn away and bits of flesh and tendon jutted out at odd angles. One man held Ralin’s head while they carried it. If he had not, the head would have ripped off under its own weight.

Earlier, after halfmeal, the fielders had returned to work as if nothing had happened. Reaching the spot in the ground where the guarder had died caused a pang of guilt mixed with remorse to envelope Arderi as he stared down at the large spot of dirt drenched with the man’s blood.

I did not know a man carried that much blood in his body.

It sent a shiver down his spine thinking of it even now on the journey home.

The wagons rolled to a stop just outside the fielder’s gate. The men dismounted silently from the wagons and dispersed, going to their own apartments. Jumping down behind his father, Arderi followed Tanin, who approached the guarder captain. “The men and I will be by to pay our respects after lastmeal. I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Flinnok took Tanin’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Tis our life, Tanin. We, each of us, have our jobs to do. Ralin’s job was to protect the people of this stead, or die trying. He was a good lad. He shall be missed.”

The sincerity in Flinnok’s voice touched Arderi.

His father nodded once and turned toward home.

There was much fuss during lastmeal over Arderi’s near-death experience. His mother would not leave him alone, and made sure he ate a second helping of everything.

As if
she feels guilty for having almost missed the chance to feed me my final meal.

Mag’Oella hounded him as much as his Ma did. Never before had he been annoyed with the redheaded girl. Yet, for the first time he saw her as just that—a girl. Arderi did not like being the center of attention and hated more the fact that he was unable to break away.

I simply want to draw upon the Crystal from Alant, then go to sleep.

When the buzz of Arderi’s brush with death subsided and the dishes had been cleared, Arderi finally caught his father’s attention. “May I go to my room and draw upon the Crystal from Alant now, Papa. Please?”

“Nix, lad.” With a heavy sigh, Tanin rose from his bench at the table, nodding to several other men who did the same. “Not until we return from paying our respects.” Tanin’s face became somber. “A man died this day protecting you, son. It is only right we go bid him well on his journey to the aftermore.”

“Yes, Papa.” Arderi was not sure he wanted to see the dead man again.

He is right, though. Ralin had been there to protect us.

T
orches shone bright, casting dancing shadows around the courtyard, when Clytus Rillion rode up to his villa in Old Town. The shoes of his brown destrier, Starborn, echoed off the small walls enclosing the entrance area. The warhorse had spent the day at the ferrier getting new shoes. It may be a long while before the horse would have the chance again. He had had Starborn now for three turns of the seasons. A gift from his wife, Lilaith, the horse always made him think of her.

Mayhaps the reason she gave it to me. Women are usually wiser than men.

When he dismounted, his master of arms, Ragnor De’haln—a large armed, black-skinned Silawaian—came trotting up to take the reins from him.

“Good Eve, Master. I do hope you found your day productive.” His thick accent marked him from the southron lands of Silaway as much as the man’s jet-black skin—skin with a sheen of sweat covering it as if the man had been working hard, even this late in the eve.

“As productive as it needed to be, Ragnor. Where is the lady of the manor?” Clytus pulled his saddlebags from the rump of Starborn and flung them over a shoulder.

The large brown warhorse nuzzled its nose against Ragnor’s familiar palm. “After lastmeal she did retire with the Young Master. Shall I have the cook prepare you something to eat, Master?”

A rumble in Clytus’ stomach reminded him he had not eaten since firstmeal. “Aye. Something quick would be agreeable, if you do not mind, Ragnor. It has been a long day.” He bounded up the stairs and into his home.

From the entrance hall, his wife’s silhouette was visible out on the patio. She bent to tend her plants. Moonlight washed over her silky-black hair, giving it the appearance of a silver river cascading down her back. He watched her for a moment before quietly heading up the marble staircase on his right.

Reaching the doorway to his son’s dark room, he peered in. The shutters stood open to allow the cool spring breeze to enter. In the dim light, he made out his son’s sleeping form lying on the bed. Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he crept like the breath of a mouse into the room. Standing beside the bed, he gazed down at the boy, drinking in the sight. The sandy blond hair covering the child’s head, which matched his own, lay slightly tussled from sleep. The boyishly round appearance of his face, so prevalent in children his age—the essence of youth—peeked out just above the silk covers. Clytus knelt down and cupped the boy’s face gently in his hands.

Sindian Rillion’s eyes fluttered open. “Father? I wanted to wait up for you. Mother said I needed my rest.” The boy blurted the words out, though Clytus knew his son was not fully awake.

“Shh.” Smiling down at his son, he kept his tone to a whisper. “I would not have you sleep this eve without telling you farewell.”

His son sat up in bed. “Will you be gone long, father?” The young boy wiped his eyes with the back of a hand.

It amazes me how fast a child wakes from sleep.

Leaning over, Clytus kissed Sindian gently on the forehead. “I am afraid I will, Little Bit.” He stroked his son’s hair. “This will be my longest journey yet.” A pang of guilt crept into his heart at the half-truth.

If
Sier Lysentoc’s Foretelling comes to pass.

A gentle cough racked Sindian’s small frame and Clytus enveloped the boy in his embrace. Once the coughing subsided, Sindian pushed from Clytus’ chest and stared up into his eyes. “I will miss you, father.”

“And I, you, Little Bit.” Clytus placed his hands on each of the boy’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Alas, you must be brave for me. You must take care of your mother and the villa here. For you will soon be rid of your cough, and you will grow to be a strong man.”

“When you return can you teach me the sword?”

I will not let the last sight of his father be one with tears in his eyes!

“Hush, now, my Little Bit. It is time you are back to sleep. You are not done with your illness yet. Your mother speaks true, you need your rest.” Clytus carefully laid his son’s head onto the pillow and pulled the silken sheets up, tucking them under the boy’s chin.

“Will I see you in the morn, father?” Sindian’s tiny hand rose to stifle a yawn.

“Nix, my Little Bit. I will set out long before you rise. Now, close your eyes and return to sleep.” Clytus moved his fingers over the boy’s eyes to close them. He stayed, kneeling next to the bed, lightly stroking his son’s brow—etching every smooth curve of the boy’s face into memory. He remained long after the boy’s breathing became deep and regular.

I will miss you most of all, Little Bit.

Lost in thought, he nearly missed hearing the soft steps approaching from behind.

“Ragnor has left a tray of meats and fruits for you in our chamber.” The soft flutter of Lilaith Rillion’s voice caressed the inside of his ears. Her hands did the same to his shoulders. “I fear he babies you far too much.” She loved to tease him about his closest friend.

“We have seen much, my love, him and I. He is the best leftenant a leader could wish for.” He snorted. “As fierce in battle as he is in keeping me happy.”

“A wife could get jealous.” Lilaith’s chide was soft and warm. “Let us retire, my love.”

Clytus reached up to hold her hand on his shoulder. When she started toward the door, he let it slip from his grasp. Turning, he watched her tall, slender form sway under her gown as she left their son’s room. Returning his attention to the boy, he stayed for a few more moments, etching the scene to memory. Reluctantly, he rose and followed his wife.

Entering their private chambers, he went straight to the side table where a large silver platter waited, piled high with food.

Too much for one man’s meal.

He poured himself a glass of honeywine and sat on the edge of the bed. Lilaith wrapped her arms around him. Reaching over him, she plucked a grape from his plate and popped it into her mouth. Biting it in half, she let its juices dribble past her lips to land on his shoulder. She slid his shirt from this spot, bent down, and licked the juice from his bare skin. Clytus closed his eyes and let the sensation of her warm mouth fill him. He felt her shift and found her lips pressed to his. He returned her kiss like a drowning man tasting his last gulp of air. They embraced and soon the hunger in his stomach was forgotten, replaced by the hunger of his desire.

After their lovemaking, they lay in each other’s arms, staring at the dark ceiling, content in each other’s embrace. Time passed without meaning.

However, all things must end, and time will not wait for the likes of me.

“I am leaving Ragnor behind this time.” He kept a casual tone, trying to make it sound normal. Lilaith’s body stiffened, and he knew he should not have spoken at all.

She rose onto her elbows and looked deep into his eyes. The look of pain and fear in her gaze sent a jagged agony ripping through his very being. Finally, she lay back down, burying her head in his chest. Her body tensed and pulsed as she silently wept. Embracing her tight, as if by sheer strength alone he could save her from the future, he fought for any words that might release her from her burdens. In time, her body relaxed and her breathing fell into a rhythmic pace. He held her long into the eve, gently stroking her dark hair and enjoying the smell of the fragrance it held.

You, I will miss as well, my love.