These and other thoughts were wandering through his mind when he heard a soft hiss by his left foot. He looked down and saw a small fennel, pressed so low to the ground that its brown and tan fur almost blended with the soil beneath it. It was young, just past being a kit. Its green eyes watched him intently.
“Hssst! Hssst! Darkness!”
Amarian quickly crouched into the wet foliage.
“
Please
don’t call me that.”
“Sorry, Darkness. Sorry,
sir
. So sorry, Darkness.”
What could this runt want? “Stop apologizing,” he told it. “I’ve already spoken with your pridehead. You shouldn’t even be talking to me.”
The creature nodded its enthusiastic agreement but still it continued to look at him. Since it obviously was not going anywhere and he would look a little suspicious talking to the underbrush, he told it to walk alongside him.
“It’s a privilege to talk to you, Darkness. . . .sorry,
sir
,” it continued from under the low broadleaves as they started walking. “Yes, a great privilege. Lord Amarian has never come to the woodlands, no never seen us at our home, no never.”
“I’ve never had cause to.”
“But Bedge is so glad he did, yes, so glad. So glad he came to see our home.”
“And who is this Bedge? You?”
“Oh, yes, I am she. I’m Bedge and I’m—uff!” Her chatter stopped abruptly as the undergrowth shuddered. Bedge had walked into a tree.
“So, Bedge, what is it you want?”
The voice once again issued from the ground, sounding a little winded. “Bedge walks many places, back and forth. Bedge loves her home, yes, but Bedge gets restless. So Bedge walks and walks. One time she walked a long, long way, past the sandy dry land and into the windy land.”
Amarian stopped to look in her direction. “You went back to the Eastern Lands? Back to Donech?”
“Oh, no! Big tower too far. The windy place is very different. Very, very different. Bedge was too scared to stay in windy place for long.”
Amarian couldn’t imagine the Eastern Lands being much more terrifying than during his own reign, but since this was the only news he had received of his realm, he pressed for more information. Yet Bedge grew reticent and her whispery voice started to warble.
“Yes, very different. Bedge too scared to stay.”
“But what happened? What made it different?”
“Bedge left when very young; Bedge does not remember much of windy place. Bedge too scared to say.”
Though he couldn’t see her, he could tell that the young fennel was shaken. In the old days, he would have forced the information out of her. Now he felt a tug of compassion. Whatever it was that she had seen, she was still haunted by it.
“Bedge,” he said, with as much tenderness as he could muster. “It’s very important for me to find out what’s going on in the windy place. I am grateful that you went there and I’m sorry that you were scared. What was it that scared you?”
There was silence in the underbrush for a moment, then a sigh. “Humans. Many, many humans. And big lizards. And. . .” here Bedge almost lost her composure. .” . .
fennels
. Many, many fennels, all moving, moving, and moving. Fennels talked very loud, very
bad
. The humans did not eat. Did not sleep. But all were loud. All were angry. Bedge never liked big lizards but big lizards in windy place even worse. They were not so loud as fennels and humans, but still scary. Bedge did not like it so loud, so Bedge did not stay.”
If he could have, Amarian would have rested his hand on her head to reassure her. Instead, he started walking again. “You did well, Bedge, to leave.” Inside, his thoughts were racing. What on Rhyvelad were so many sentries and fennels doing in the Eastern Lands? He had sent almost all of them ahead to Keroul when he was posing as Commander Hull. The only forces left should have been humans and he knew that
they
would not mobilize unless commanded to. Had some Sentries escaped Corfe to start another resistance? They had never showed that much initiative. Besides, the humans and fennels Bedge was describing sounded very strange indeed.
“Did you see anything else while you were in the windy place?”
“No, Darkness. . .I mean,
sir
. Bedge saw nothing but Bedge felt so scared. The bad fennels made her feel empty. So empty.” Her voice drifted off, as if she was remembering the feeling.
“Have you told Koeb about this? Does he know you’re telling me?”
“Bedge told pridehead everything. Pridehead laughed at Bedge, told Bedge to stop being a silly kit. Said Bedge must stay at home. But Lord Amarian,” her voice brightened, “Lord Amarian has come to see us at home. Bedge
must
tell Lord Amarian; he came to Bedge’s home.”
Amarian did not follow the logic. “You did a good thing, Bedge. But now it is time for you to go home again. And stay home until the bad fennels are gone.”
At this command, Bedge crept out of the bushes to walk by Amarian’s side. Her head barely came up to his knee. He could see that brown and tan fur covered her in swirling patterns that culminated in thick shocks of fur around her whiskers. Her feet and ears were unnaturally large and her tail just a little bit crooked. In short, she lacked anything resembling the dignity of a fennel. No wonder Koeb did not take her seriously. Once again, she focused her big green eyes on him.
“Bedge can’t go home. Bedge is lost.”
Amarian frowned and pointed back down the path he had been following. “Just follow the path back to the pride. I’m sure your mother will find you.”
Still the green eyes. “Bedge has no mother. Bedge can’t go home. Bedge is lost.”
“Look, you can’t possibly be lost. All you have to do is follow the path back and. . .” A sudden, horrible idea occurred to him. “You can’t go with
me
.”
The little fennel flicked her tail, preparing to argue the point. “Bedge will serve Darkness. . .
sir
. Bedge would rather serve Sir
than stay with other fennels. They are do-nothings. Bedge wants to do something.”
He stared at her and scratched his head. What would he do with a fennel kit? “Did you say you didn’t have a mother?”
Bedge shook her head aggressively. “Bedge’s mother was killed by Darkness.” She gave him a pointed look, not bothering to apologize for the title this time.
He had to ask, though he was not sure he wanted the answer. “How?”
“Bedge’s mother was hungry. She went hunting in the trees that were only for the hunting of Darkness’ dragon-beast. Dragon-beast found her and killed her. Darkness approved, said death of Bedge’s mother a good example to other fennels.”
Amarian did not remember the episode, but he did not doubt it had happened. His dragon Ovna had been rapacious and he had easily valued her more than the fennels.
“If Ovna killed your mother, why are you helping me now?”
Bedge looked up at the blue sky through the trees; the clouds had finally dispersed. “Bedge has heard new things about Sir. She heard he is different in many ways. He is good now, like Bedge’s mother.”
“I will never be good like your mother, or like any other creature of Rhyvelad. But it’s true that I have changed. I am a follower of Kynell now, of the Prysm.”
The fennel nodded, appearing much wiser than her cycles. “Bedge knows. She wants to see the change herself. And Bedge has known about the darkness for a long time. She is ready to learn about the light-god.”
It was a reasoning that struck home for Amarian. Still, he found his own response surprising. “You can stay with me. I may not be able to tell you much about the god of the Prysm, but I bet my brother can.”
At his words, the soulful, ancient eyes disappeared, replaced by the buoyancy of a kit. “Truly? Truly, truly? Bedge is very happy to go with Sir! Bedge will take good care of Sir!” She stopped to shake herself. “Can Bedge walk in the path now? Bedge’s fur is wet from the green plants.”
Amarian glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching them. “All right then. But we’ll have to move quickly and quietly. Amarian doesn’t want you to get caught.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
The changes that had taken place in Lascombe were more sinister than those perched on top of the thick city walls could ever have suspected. Vancien, bound as he was to the streets, could scarcely believe it. He had known it was no paradise when he had stayed there a cycle before, but now it appeared that its wounds were growing even deeper. It had been little less than ten fortnights since King Relgaré had died, reportedly at the hands of the Cylini during the border wars, although Vancien was certain that Amarian had somehow orchestrated the death. When news of the king’s demise had reached the capital city, the streets had erupted with rioters. Relgaré’s border wars with the Cylini had never been popular and the people hoped that his death would signify an end to the conflict. They endeavored to convey that desire by mobbing in the streets, shouting slogans such as “Let the Cylini be!” “Bring our boys home!” “The House of Anisllyr is Anis-where?” or, more ominously, “The king can have his marsh; we’ll have the city!” Their cries echoed over the rooftops, through the lofty windows of the palace, and past the ears of the young king.
Relgaren had heard their cries, as well as listened to the representatives of the Square. In a rare display of solidarity, all five hundred and one of them had called for a withdrawal from the marshes after Relgaré’s death. It was an easy thing to concede. With the dubious help of Commander Hull, the Cylini had been driven far into their swamplands, where they would be licking their wounds for some time to come. Relgaren had then called the Keroulian forces back home, though at the request of his new advisor, he did not disband the army. Instead, he insisted that they be quartered in Lascombe.
The city’s barracks could in no way accommodate such a mass of soldiers. The citizens were consequently ordered to open up their homes and provide the troops food and shelter. It was an unpopular measure by any standard. Even the Square representatives were horrified, especially since their comfortable lodgings were first pick for the officer corps. The situation was made even more repugnant by the fact that not all of Relgaren’s army was human. Sentries were now wearing Keroulian blue, thanks to the earlier infusion of forces from the Eastern Lands, which meant that many unlucky families were forced to house what they considered a walking nightmare. The result was a level of hostility and suspicion unknown to the city for the last five hundred cycles. Soldiers roamed the streets, ready for a brawl, while the citizens had to work grueling hours in order to feed their new house-guests.
Vancien had no doubt that the girl he had met in the alleyway had suffered greatly from the decisions of both Relgaré and his son, although he did not know how. The thought of her out in the cold weighed heavy on his heart, and he wished he had not told her that it would be four days before he could help her.
“Your compassionate heart is going to get you into trouble one of these days, Vance.” Chiyo said after listening to his report the following night. His long, lean limbs were stretched out beside the booth they occupied and he picked at his nails as if he had nothing better to do. His gently slanted eyes, covered by a deep hood, were the only thing that conveyed the his usual intensity. “I suggest you let the girl alone; maybe she did forget her water bucket, as she said.”
“I’m going to help her if I can,” Vancien replied, ignoring his response. He, too, was trying to look casual, though with less success than Chiyo. “There are so many people we can’t help. . .”
He leaned back, picking at his food and gazing at his dingy surroundings.
Wallow’s Wake and Emporium
was not an upscale establishment. The roof leaked, the tables wobbled, and the food was mediocre. The inn was so named for a man called Wallow who had left all of his belongings, including a rickety building and some brewing equipment, toward the establishment of an inn and drinking house. The
Emporium
part was a sad collection of all Wallow’s earthly belongings, replenished over the cycles with junk donated by generous patrons who did not want to throw their own garbage away. Thus, empty bottles crowded the shelves, boots without partners littered the corners, and an assembly of leather goods, all of them worn and torn, filled too many empty kegs to count. The whole place was a testament to laziness and filth. Still, it possessed the charm of being a long way away from the palace. Nor was it a drinking house frequented by Relgaren’s soldiers. It was therefore the perfect place for Vancien and Chiyo to conduct their operation.
Chiyo decided to change the subject. Despite the fact that few soldiers came into the place, he still kept his hood on and his voice low: only a cycle ago he had been one of the most famous figures in the city. It wouldn’t do for him to be recognized now.
“Let’s forget about the girl. Tell me what you’ve seen these past few days.”
Vancien shrugged. “A lot of soldiers. I came across a pack of them yesterday and was almost recognized. I ran like a scared rabbit.”
“Which is what you should have done. Did they follow you?”