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Warlords of The Dreaming God – Chapters 1 and 2:
Chapter 1: A Simple Mission
“On your feet, coward.”
Termaris looked up, squinting at the torch light which shone through the window of his cell. The guard sneered at him, hawked and spat through the window.
Termaris ignored him and cradled his head in his hands. He let out a muffled sigh. It felt like an angry bear had made a lair inside his head. Events of last night began to return to him. But the anger had gone.
“I said, on your feet,” repeated the guard. “You have a visitor.”
The guard watched as Termaris rubbed his eyes. “I heard that your locks were already cut when they arrested you,” he said, laughing at Termaris’ short blonde hair. “No fool would wear it like that through choice. So you must have been a criminal already. Or dishonoured? Scum, either way.”
Termaris remained silent. Realising he could not bait his prisoner, the guard walked away. His footsteps retreated along the corridor and gloom descended upon the cell once more. Sounds carried from the distance. Other miserable souls locked up down here. The guard’s whiny prattle. Another voice, which he recognised. He drew off his gauntlets and examined his hands in the scant light. His skin was pale and cracked, so rarely did it see the sunlight. Intricate red tattoos covered every inch of his hands and fingers, a personal torment which he was forced to hide.
Why can you not just disappear? You mean nothing anymore.
He reached for a small pail of drinking water which had been left in the cell, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the surface. A grim vision. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and still accused him. His once handsome face was lined with fatigue, made worse by the scars he had accumulated in his thirty seven years, full of battle and bloodshed.
He splashed water on his face, letting the cold seep into his skin and awaken him. He pulled his gauntlets back on as memories returned, nightmares from the early hours, as he lay here against cold stone and rotten straw in a drunken stupor.
The sky black with clouds, raindrops falling like spikes against bare skin.
The door swung open and light flooded the cell. A shadow stood over him.
“Please give me a moment with him,” said the visitor, his voice a low rumble.
Termaris heard coins clattering together. The guard grunted and walked back along the corridor. The visitor sat upon a stool inside the cell, facing Termaris. Grey braids hung like ropes to his shoulders. His plump face was cast in shadow, and he wrapped his purple cloak around himself to ward away the chill. He frowned.
“So, this is the end for you, is it?”
Broken lances spearing the earth. Banners spattered with blood, torn by the bitter wind.
“You were about to draw your sword on the queen’s soldiers, for calling you a coward,” said the man. “They taunted you for not having the guts to fight the invaders.”
Insects crawling over shattered armour, seeking their next meal with tiny feelers. Slithering through cracks, to the corpses inside.
“I said, are you listening?”
The black nightmares retreated and Termaris looked up, finally awake. “They made it personal, Kellan.”
“What stopped you?” asked Kellan. “You could have killed them all, even drunk.”
“They did not deserve to die.”
“Ah,” replied Kellan. “You display a startling self awareness. Why should you care what they think? You are after all, a mercenary. It is rather late to develop morals. Why didn’t you sign up? The crown is offering a good rate.”
“I no longer care for wars,” said Termaris.
“You no longer care for any work from what I have seen,” replied Kellan. “You had the best reputation. Now you piss your pitiful earnings up the wall and get arrested for stupidity.”
“So why are you here?” asked Termaris, turning away.
“Someone has asked for you again, only the gods know why.”
“Tell them I am busy,” said Termaris.
“Doing what?” snorted Kellan. “Rotting in this place? You test my patience. A simple mission for a small band. Two weeks work, forty five silver keltas.”
Termaris turned to Kellan. “Sounds like too much money for a simple mission.”
“What other options do you have?” asked Kellan. “A suitable donation will convince the guards that your actions were just drunken foolery. If I don’t pay for your release, none of your men are minded to, you let them down too many times. Now my reputation as a swordbroker is at stake. You will not drag me down with you. If I cannot convince a mercenary to take an easy job with excellent pay, my name is ruined. Fifty silver keltas, my final offer. You can die in a ditch after this for all I care, but you owe me this one.”
Termaris smiled. “To think, we were friends once.”
Kellan scowled. “Then a word of advice to an old friend. Stay off the bottle, do this job for me, then find another way of life. If you have lost the stomach for this work, get out before you get your men killed. I hear they are already looking to go their own way.”
“Heard from whom?”
“From your right hand man, Guildain himself,” replied Kellan. “This money would get them all back on your side.”
Termaris was silent for a moment. “This last time, I accept. What do you want us to do?”
“Go to the Velderwood Forest, to the village of Torlenmere. Bring two old friends of the client here to Ormrburg as soon as possible.”
Termaris nodded. “Who are these people?”
“One is an old man. A magician called Jerechai,” replied Kellan. “The other is a girl called Ethné, his apprentice. You know the forest is lawless territory now. The magician has trouble with raiders.”
“Maybe the client should go himself?” said Termaris.
“He is tied up with important things,” replied Kellan. “More important than his friends, it seems.”
“Name of the client?” asked Termaris.
“None of your business.”
“It sounds suspiciously easy, but the pay is good,” said Termaris. “Better than fighting the Tiragardans. We will need a retainer.”
“The hell you will!” said Kellan. “Your retainer is being spent on getting the charge against you dropped. You get your pay when you bring Jerechai and Ethné back alive. Now, I have something for you.”
He opened a leather bag hidden beneath his cloak and handed Termaris a scroll case polished like silver.
“This is for Jerechai,” he said. “A message from the client. I believe there is some spell upon it. Magicians’ business, not for the likes of you and I.”
“I will make sure he gets it,” said Termaris.
“Good. Meet me at The Hunter’s Hawk inn when you return.” Kellan stood and turned to go, but hesitated at the doorway. “This is your last chance Termaris. Use it well, for your sake.”
Termaris bowed his head, his thoughts once more on the nightmares that had returned to his life. Which even drink could no longer suffocate. When he looked up again, Kellan had gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Outlaws ahead, to the left of the road.”
Termaris raised a hand and his mercenaries reined in their horses. He nodded to the man who rode toward them, an archer in leather armour, who wore a brace of throwing knives across his chest.
“How many, Guildain?” he asked.
Termaris looked at the ancient kaluri trees on either side of the track, and the dense undergrowth in between. This damned forest is the perfect place for ambush. It may as well be another kingdom, not part of Arkavia.
Guildain drew his horse alongside and placed his bow back in its saddle sheath. “I count seven,” he said. “Though I overheard that they lost a couple of men today. They stopped a couple of wagons, one going in our direction, the other coming this way. Merchants, looks like they killed them and their guards. They hauled the wagons and bodies off the road to hide them.”
“How far away?” asked Termaris.
“Less than half a mile, still only a couple hundred yards off the road, checking their takings.”
“They are bold to stay so near the road,” said a younger man with a thick blonde beard and bright blue eyes.
Guildain shrugged. “None of the queen’s soldiers come in this far, Stefan. They know they are safe.” He ran a hand through tangled blonde braids and scratched his head. “They wouldn’t trouble us. But…”
“What?” asked Termaris.
“I saw the outlaws breaking open a chest of silver,” said Guildain, his blue eyes twinkling. “The merchants are dead, Ihlok bless their souls. That money could be ours. Who will miss it?”
The mention of silver had the other men talking quietly. Termaris’ smile was grim. “Well spotted,” he said. “That sounds like a job for us. Killing men for money seems the only thing we are fit for these days.”
“Come on,” said Guildain, frowning. “Profitable, and a good deed, ridding the forest of their like.”
“It is a sign from the Lady of Luck,” said one of the men, a lean mercenary with greying hair and a scar across his nose and cheek. He raised his eyes to the heavens and winked. “Maybe even a sign that Termaris is still the man to lead us.”
“If he can call on the gods’ blessings,” said Stefan, “Then he’s the captain for me.”
Termaris snorted. “Dir, Stefan, you keep on blaspheming and Lady Arezhel will seal those whining holes shut for all time. Keep your wits about you, they could have a lookout.”
The group dismounted and tethered their horses just off the road. Termaris ordered Guildain and three others to circle behind the outlaws, lying in wait for a frontal attack from the remaining five. After waiting for Guildain’s group to move off into the trees, Termaris’ group crept along the road.
They passed two covered wagons which stood empty, their horses still in harness and tethered to stop them bolting. Beyond, dumped in the undergrowth were eight bodies stripped of anything of value. Most looked like warriors and the rest middle aged men. Termaris shook his head at the sight.
He heard faint sounds of conversation and signalled his men to crouch, using the lower bushes as cover as they approached silently. The seven outlaws seemed unconcerned at the prospect of being found. They huddled around a collection of chests, sacks and bundles laid out on a fallen tree trunk. One chest in particular drew their attention. A wiry dark-eyed man sorted through its contents, his nimble fingers stacking coins of silver which shone through the gloom.
“How much is there?” asked one of the outlaws.
“Plenty,” said the wiry man, grinning to reveal missing teeth. “Our best haul for a long time.”
Termaris crept two steps forward and leaned against the nearest tree. “A busy day you boys have had,” he said. “How many poor fools have you killed?”
They looked up, slack-jawed. But when they realised that only one man stood before them without his weapons drawn, they smiled. “We aren’t finished yet,” said the wiry man, as his men collected their swords and bows, sniggering. “Just one more fool to kill.”
They started toward Termaris, but their smiles died as arrows rained upon them from behind, taking three of them in the back. Termaris drew his swords as the other mercenaries appeared and fell upon the survivors. The wiry man aimed a wild cut at Termaris, hoping to put him on the defensive. But the mercenary deflected the sword to the left and brought his other blade around in an arc. The outlaw’s body and dismembered head tumbled to the ground. The other outlaws followed swiftly.
Termaris wiped his swords clean on the man’s clothing and sheathed them. As most of his men gathered around the outlaws’ haul, he noticed an exchange going on between Guildain and another of his men, Edarga. He was still young, built like an ox but less experienced in battle than the others.
“A problem?” asked Termaris.
“He got cut,” said Guildain, taking off his pack to find something to bind the wound. “Just a small one, mind.”
“Stupid lad,” said Termaris. “Watch yourself in future. Guildain, look after it.”
Guildain nodded and Termaris walked on. A noise behind the fallen tree drew his attention. Like feet kicking against the wood. He drew one sword as he walked around to the other side, and saw two figures in dark cloaks, gagged and tied against one of the branches.
“Mmmph! Remeaph uph!” one tried to speak through the gag, as they both struggled with their bonds.
Termaris approached, sheathing his sword and drawing a knife to cut the ropes. He hesitated mid-stride as he realised they were women. He approached the first, a pretty woman in her thirties with grey eyes, dark hair and golden skin. He carefully cut the knot on the gag and stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said. “We owe you our lives.”
She spoke Arkavian like someone from Kiran, the southern part of the continent, her accent more rounded than the clipped pronunciation typical in the north. From the Empire, if I am not mistaken.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, moving on to cut her bonds.
“No.”
As Termaris turned to free her companion, the first woman stood and opened her cloak, revealing a white robe and a symbol on a chain around her neck, an open hand on a disc of gold.
Termaris blinked. “You are priestesses of Ihlok?”
“I am,” she said, raising her chin as she regained her composure. “Nishaela here is one of our acolytes.”
Termaris nodded his head in respect. “You are lucky we were passing, Sister. You should be more careful.”
“We are travelling to Ormrburg from the Far Coast,” she said. “It is the shortest route, and we concealed our robes to attract less attention. We had four guards, I thought we would be safe. But they were upon us in a moment.”
“A mistake, that,” said Termaris. “The outlaws killed the other folk they robbed. You are the fortunate ones.”
“They didn’t realise who we were at first,” she said. “When they did, they argued over what to do with us. They worried Ihlok would curse them if they killed us. So they just robbed us of our silver.”
“Ah, so that is yours?” asked Termaris.
“Yes,” she said. “They complained that the poor merchant they robbed and killed had little of value to them. There isn’t much they can do with leather. We are glad the queen’s soldiers found us.”
“Soldiers?” asked Termaris. “Excuse me a moment.”
He turned and walked around the tree to join his men, who had started counting the coins in the chest. “Leave it,” he said.
“What?” asked Stefan.
The men turned to look at him, disbelief in their eyes. Then they looked behind him, and Termaris realised that the priestess and her acolyte were watching. As her gaze swept across the band he saw her expression change. He had seen that look before.
From those who think we are animals with no morals.
“I thought you had come to rescue us,” she said. “Now I realise… What do you mean to do with the temple’s money? Do you want a reward, perhaps?” The two women kept their distance from the mercenaries.
Termaris turned to face her, his face flushed. “We had no idea you were here, Sister,” he said. “My men dispatched the band that took you captive and would doubtless have killed other travellers. We freed you. I just ordered my men to leave the money, once we realised who it belonged to. You seem ungrateful for our help. You think we want to rob you?”
The priestess was silent for a moment, trying to judge the mood as the mercenaries put the coins back in the chest. She raised her hands. “I apologise,” she said. “We are grateful that you saved our lives, and… you deserve a reward. This silver is destined to help the needy here in Arkavia. But please, take a donation for your act of generosity. As… as much as you want.”
“You can keep your money, Sister,” said Termaris.
He immediately regretted the bitterness in his tone and turned away, angry with himself.
Why should I care what she thinks of us?
He walked back to his men, who were bringing the horses up to the camp.
“Consider this our good deed to your temple,” he said over his shoulder. “My men have some principles, we are not the thieves you think us. We hate to leave you unaccompanied, but we must be on our way. Your caravan is not damaged and you should reach the edge of the forest by nightfall if you hurry. We hope our intervention was welcome, have a safe journey.”
The mercenaries rode away from the camp. Termaris ignored the dark looks his men gave him, and spurred his horse faster along the trail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Now, concentrate,” Jerechai instructed his apprentice. “Feel the heartbeat of the hawk, fast and strong. Become one with it, feel your senses entering its mind. Then close your eyes, and you will see out through its eyes as it looks down upon us. There, can you see?” He studied his apprentice closely, watching her silently incant the spell.
She was a young woman of some twenty-one years. Her long dark hair was tied back in a simple braid, and her blue eyes narrowed against the afternoon sun as she looked into the sky at the hawk.
Ethné closed her eyes, trying to visualise what the hawk could see as it flew high above, circling the forest trees. She could feel its mind as it hunted for food. Yet she could not look through its eyes. Her brow furrowed as she tried harder, but it was no use. She released her hold on the magic and opened her eyes.
“I can’t do it uncle. Something is missing, I am sorry.”
She frowned, watching the bird in frustration as it flew away. She turned to her uncle, a clean-shaven man in his fifties, dressed simply in a black robe and cloak. He smiled, and she felt the weight of failure bear down upon her again.
Her training had never seemed so hard, but despite every effort she could not master even the most basic of enchantments. Or ensure that she could rely on the effects they produced. She had trained with Jerechai all her life, who was an able mind magician, and she knew the theory of magic in depth.
It is just in practice that things go wrong.
Even when she cast a spell correctly, it seemed a random occurrence. She had innate talent for magic since she could remember. But she recalled times when as a child she used her powers subconsciously to disastrous effect at moments of emotional stress.
When she began training under Jerechai she learnt to control those impulses. Jerechai told her that it was extremely rare for someone so young to display power without teaching. It was also dangerous, because she could harm others as well as herself. Once her training began she developed this control, but found herself unable to focus her powers to any effect.
She sighed and sat down. She gathered her grey robe about her and frowned at her focus, the device she used to draw her power together for magic. She ran her hands over it, two feet of intricately carved kaluri wood, painstakingly crafted and dedicated by her over several months. She reflected on the procedure for focusing power again, as she had a thousand times before, seeking some clue. Something she could do better.
Nothing.
Jerechai sat down next to her, putting a comforting arm around her. “Now,” he said, “Have I ever told you how long it took me to master the most basic principles of mind magic, the theory?” He watched her, a friendly but chiding look in his eyes.
“Yes, uncle.”
She began to repeat the words by heart, smiling despite herself. “You were twenty three before you could master your first spell, and your own teacher was a man of little patience. You told me many times. Something is not right though, my mind rejects it at the last moment. What if mind magic is not the form I was destined to learn? What if it is another form? Maybe that is why I fail.”
“Nonsense!” Jerechai spluttered, his bushy eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Stop talking rubbish girl. You know as well as I that the Five Forms are not determined by birth. Yes, I admit that the dedication required to learn any one form makes it difficult to study another. But there is nothing preventing you from choosing mind magic. The only thing stopping you is what is going on in here.”
He tapped the side of his head. “Have patience, one day it will all make sense. Jendis also found it difficult, but look at him now.”
Ethné smiled at the thought of Jerechai’s former pupil, who sometimes came to visit from the League Arcana. “He is late this time, when do you think he will arrive?”
Jerechai’s face dropped, but realising Ethné was watching he shrugged off his concern and raised a smile. “He was due a week ago, but I am sure he will be here soon. Think of these days as more time to practice. You should be on your best behaviour to deserve that copy of the Codex Arcana he promised to bring. But no doubt when he gets here the pair of you will be up to all sorts of mischief.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied coyly. “Are we really going to travel with him this time? You promised before, but we didn’t go.”
“This time we are going,” said Jerechai, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Just think, while we are on the road you can speak Kiran and Old Arkavian with him, makes a change from me being the only one you can practice with.”
He paused for a moment. “I feel bad that you have never seen the world outside the forest, but Torlenmere is a good place to grow up. There are many people up to no good out there.”
Ethné shrugged. “I know uncle, I just want to see the things that you and Jendis have seen. Thank you.”
He smiled, then rubbed his face and looked around the clearing. “Well, we better head back to the village. That is enough practice for one day.”
The pair stood up, Jerechai extending a hand to help Ethné to her feet. They made their way out of the clearing, heading back under the thick canopy of leaves that formed the roof of the forest.
“I will go for a walk on my own,” Ethné said after a few moments. “I will be back later.”
“Very well,” he replied. “But no brooding on your training?”
“I promise.” Ethné turned off the path, waving at Jerechai as he made his way back to the village.
Before long, Ethné reached a secluded glade beside a stream, where she sat down upon her favourite rock. She wrapped herself in her warm cloak and watched the bubbling waters of the stream as they cascaded down into a rock pool. This was a place she knew well, her refuge when she wanted to be alone.
Many rare plants and herbs grew here. She knew them all, knew their properties and how they could be used to counteract poison and illness. Jerechai had taught her many things during her life, most of her earliest memories were of him. He had always been there for her, teacher, friend, and guardian since her parents both died when she was only a child. She had no memory of them, although Jerechai told her that they were from the Greylands, where she was born. Her first memories were of her uncle and their journey here to the forest when she was still young, to the village where he had been raised. Jerechai had said she was six at the time.
Ever since, there had been only this. Her studies, a few friends in the village. When Jendis returned he was like a spring breeze waking the village from sleep, reminding them that there was an outside world, one she had never seen. He was like an elder brother, a kind and good hearted man, fun to be with. He always brought news and presents like paper, ink and books she could read. But she had been restless for a long time, bored of endless study, and the failure that ate at her confidence.
She sighed and stood up. Walking to the edge of the pool she picked up small stones and tried to skim them across the water. She turned at the sound of footsteps and saw a young man walking down the path into the glade, waving to her.
“Tilain!” she said, smiling as he approached.
His long blonde hair was braided and he wore a short beard which made him seem a little older than he was. It suits him well though, she reflected as her eyes skimmed over his broad shoulders and worn leather armour.
He tilted his head and frowned as though assessing a difficult problem, then he grinned. “When I saw you this morning, your face would have soured milk,” he said.
She smiled half-heartedly and turned away. “I just don’t know what to do any more,” she said. “Nothing works for me.”
“If I lived three lifetimes I would not understand what Jerechai is teaching you,” he said. “But I suppose some things take time to learn. Is that why you are going away and leaving your friends?”
“Don’t say it like that,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “I don’t think so, I don’t know where we are going, but… I don’t expect it will be for long. I have pestered him about seeing the League and other places for ages, I suppose he grew bored of listening to me. To be honest, I am a little afraid to go now.”
Tilain’s eyes lingered on Ethné. “I understand there isn’t much here for educated folk. Maybe one day I will lead the village after my father, you could be a doctor like your uncle,” he said hopefully. Then he shrugged. “Mind you, Jendis left here when he had a chance. I understand you may want different things in life. I… we would miss you, like. Not just me, Firgon, Ahlvir, Edela… all of us.” He shuffled from foot to foot then decided to pick up some stones to skim.
She held her breath for a moment, realising this was the closest Tilain had ever come to admitting he had feelings for her. Some of the village folk were suspicious of magic and kept their distance, but he saw past that. Gossiping Edela once whispered that she thought Tilain had a crush on Ethné. But it isn’t like that, we are friends. Aren’t we?
“You know, my uncle says strange things sometimes,” she said to change the subject. “He says what he does is important.”
“Helping people in the village? It is,” said Tilain.
“No, I mean when he talks to Jendis. They talk all night and I don’t understand a word of it. They look at scrolls and drink wine but he never actually does anything. Maybe when I go with them I will find out.”
“I suppose you will go any day now,” said Tilain hesitantly. “Even if you leave here for good one day, we will always be friends, won’t we?”
She smiled, all awkwardness forgotten. “We will. I am coming back, you know.”
They laughed and looked at the pool for long moments, enjoying a comfortable silence. Then sounds came from beyond the glade.
“Horses,” said Tilain, as though waking from a dream. “Coming fast.”
He led the way to the tree line and the pair picked their way between the gnarled roots of ancient kaluri. They crouched at the top of a slope which tumbled down toward the main track some fifty yards away.
Something moved below. Between branches and leaves which obscured her view they saw a band of warriors riding briskly along the trail, heading toward the village. None of the men were familiar to Ethné, and she cursed under her breath. Sometimes outlaws attacked the village, killing those they found outside the walls, stealing money, livestock or food. But these men looked different. They looked more like soldiers, with shields and armour.
At a silent signal from Tilain, they turned and ran for home.
Chapter 2: Magicians’ Business
“My name is Termaris. We bring a message for Jerechai.”
“I doubt he expects you,” replied the warrior. He watched the mercenaries from safety behind the village palisade, while several other men gathered and armed themselves. “Wait here. Is your message written or spoken?”
“Written.”
“I will take it to him,”
“You will not,” replied Termaris. “We will wait.”
The warrior seemed put out by the affront, but considered the seasoned look of the mercenaries and chose to ignore it. He signalled to one of his men, who ran back into the village.
The warriors continued to face each other without speaking, as the blood red sun sank below the trees. Termaris glanced left and right, assessing the village defences. A protective earth wall topped by a rough wooden rampart. He judged it sufficient to ward off a band of outlaws, but no more.
Before long the messenger returned, and spoke quickly with the leader, who turned to the waiting band.
“One of you may enter,” he said. “Once Jerechai is sure your message is genuine, the rest of your men can enter.”
Termaris nudged his horse forward as the gate was opened for him. The upturned faces of a few curious villagers greeted him as he rode along the dirt road with three of the village warriors, past crooked houses, pens of livestock and patches of tilled earth.
The group reached a wooden lodge with shuttered windows and a lazy plume of wood-smoke rising from the chimney. Termaris dismounted, intently watching a man who sat upon the steps waiting for him.
The man was wrapped in a black cloak and casually smoked a long stemmed pipe as he waited, watching the sunset. Braided blonde hair fell to his shoulders, and despite his apparent age of fifty or more, he had the strong build of a blacksmith. He appeared relaxed, almost nonchalant at the prospect of speaking to his unexpected visitor.
To many, this is all they would have seen. Yet Termaris’ expert eye saw differently. He noticed that the man’s eyes took in every inch of him, alert and cautious. How his body was tense, ready. For what? His right hand was tucked away in his robe, most likely clasping a weapon.
Termaris walked the few feet that separated them. “Good evening, sir. I bear a message for Jerechai, and have travelled far to deliver it. Have I found the right man?”
“You have,” replied Jerechai. “Though it has been a long time since outside folk wanted to bring me anything. Go on,” he added, gesturing with the pipe before putting it firmly in his mouth once more.
Termaris handed the scroll case to Jerechai, who took it from him, intrigued. He examined it then stroked the scroll case, whispering words strange to Termaris’ ears. He nodded, presumably satisfied that he had disarmed any spell upon it.
He opened one end, withdrew a piece of parchment and proceeded to read, puffing clouds of pipe smoke into the air. His expression became troubled. After a few moments he rolled the parchment up again.
“Well, I suppose I had better offer you some hospitality then. Ethné!”
He turned his head toward the door. It opened a moment later and a young woman stepped out, dressed in a grey robe. She was pretty, with raven hair that flowed down her back like a curtain of midnight. She watched Termaris with suspicion.
“Set some water to heat for our guests,” said Jerechai. “I must beg Almric’s hospitality, we are short of both food and space for so many. Can you go over there in a moment and ask him for me, or Tilain if he is not there? There’s a girl.”
Ethné nodded and went back inside the lodge. As the village warriors also departed he returned his attention to the old man still sitting before him.
“Our thanks, but do not trouble yourself on our account. My men will sleep on the ground if necessary, and we have some food.”
“Nonsense,” said Jerechai. “Now, are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to ask you?”
“My name is Termaris. You seemed too preoccupied for introductions. Bad news?”
“Yes,” replied Jerechai. “Not strictly your business though. The message says you are here to escort us?”
“Just so,” said Termaris. “Back to Ormrburg. I do not know who your friend is, I was instructed by a swordbroker.”
“You are mercenaries then? Interesting times.”
“Who were you expecting? The queen’s own guard?”
“It would be nice,” said Jerechai. “Anyway, we should prepare if we are to be off tomorrow. You better go and get your men.”
“Very well,” replied Termaris and mounted his horse again. He turned his reins toward the gate, but looked back over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the look on Jerechai’s face as he walked up the steps to the door. He looked tired, resigned to something Termaris could only guess at.
This is more than outlaws. The old man and I have some talking to do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Termaris and Guildain sat and talked with Jerechai at the table, enjoying the stew their host had cooked for them. Jerechai had earlier examined Edarga’s wound and offered his help. Ethné would gather herbs early tomorrow morning to make a poultice which would ease the pain and assist the healing process. Termaris thanked him for his help, and the conversation gradually turned to other matters.
Although Jerechai seemed sensitive about some topics, Termaris saw that he had a sharp wit and seemed at home in lively discussion. He was obviously a man of high education and standing, and did not seem to fit here. Then there was Ethné, she too was out of place. He noted the colour of her hair, her skin, the shape of her face. Hers was not the look of most other people in Arkavia.
“Please do not be offended,” said Jerechai, “Would you not be more comfortable taking your gauntlets off to eat?”
Termaris considered his answer while holding a chunk of bread in one hand, and noticed that Ethné was watching him too.
“At the risk of offending your hospitality Jerechai, no I would not,” he said finally.
Jerechai shrugged, “I am sorry to pry.” He looked back down at his stew and helped himself to another spoonful.
After the meal, Jerechai stood. “Alas, I must break up our discussion. The hour is now late, and we must pack for tomorrow. You may stay here at the lodge to sleep, or you can join your comrades at Almric’s house.”
“We will stay with the others, but thank you for the offer,” said Termaris. He and Guildain stood and made ready to go.
“A good night then. See you early tomorrow,” said Jerechai.
The warriors made their way out of the lodge, crossing the centre of the village and heading for the hall of Almric the Elder. Out in the darkness, Termaris made a show of looking up at the bright stars in the sky and pointed one out to Guildain.
“What do you make of them?” he asked, his thoughts in reality far from astronomy.
“They don’t seem too troubled by outlaws to me,” Guildain replied. “Maybe we can get the truth from him.”
“I will ask him tomorrow,” he said. He smiled, and slapped Guildain’s back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they went into the village, Ethné watched them through a window. She looked over at her uncle, who sat in a trance, using magic to observe the mercenaries. A moment later, Jerechai opened his eyes and noticed Ethné’s scrutiny.
“They are men to be trusted,” he said. “The man who leads them is intelligent and skilful, he will see us safe.”
“Uncle, why are they here? Has something happened to Jendis?”
“I am sorry,” said Jerechai. “Please, sit down. I have had such difficulty coming to terms with this, that I have given little thought to your feelings. Of course you are alarmed.”
He sat down on a chair next to her and placed an arm around her. “The message is from a man named Loranar. We go back many years, though I have not seen him for a long time. He believes that we are in danger, but I do not know why, or from whom. He says it may be connected with information I sent him in the past through Jendis, though he did not mention Jendis or his whereabout in the letter.
“He asks that we seek him out. I have known the man for years, I trust his words and so should you. It is possible that we can return home soon, but for now we head west out of the forest to Ormrburg. Do not mention Loranar’s name to the mercenaries.”
He smiled, trying to reassure her. “Now, is that better?”
“Yes, but I cannot understand why anyone would wish you harm,” she said. “Anyway, I am finished here so I will go to bed. Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“No, my child. Go to sleep, I will finish here. Good night.”
“Good night, uncle,” said Ethné. She stood and turned to go.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Jerechai said, stopping her. “There is something.”
He smiled, walking over to where she had prepared her backpack, and placed something on top of it. A small leather pouch with a shoulder strap. Whatever it contained was hidden underneath a small flap, buckled tightly over the top.
“I want you to keep this with you at all times,” he said. “Wear the strap over your shoulder, and the case beneath your cloak. Do not leave it with your pack, or on your horse, it is very important, and I want you to keep hold of it. I will trust you not to open it. This is something that we must take to Loranar, it might be connected.”
Ethné stared at the pouch. “What is it, uncle?”
“Something you need not know about just yet. I will explain when we have more time. Now, can you carry it tomorrow?”
Ethné nodded, her eyes still on the case.
“Good,” he said. “Now, off to bed with you.”
“Goodnight.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ethné pointed to the path leading into the glade. “This way,” she said.
Termaris and Edarga followed her down, stepping over gnarled roots into a sheltered circle of ancient trees, through which a stream bubbled and danced.
“Hurry,” said Termaris. “The sun is already up.”
“Does Edarga want my help or not?” asked Ethné.
She stooped to pick some of the plants that grew near the water, intent on creating a poultice for the mercenary’s wound. Termaris looked around, taking in the wonderful serenity that this place emanated. He watched as Ethné gathered different leaves, moving decisively among a bewildering array of shrubs.
Then shadows moved between the trees.
Termaris rested his hands on his twin sword hilts as four horsemen entered the glade from the other side. They wore leather armour and carried swords and bows. They dismounted and one nodded in greeting as they led their horses to the stream to drink.
“Good day,” said the first, his features only dimly visible beneath his helmet. “We will not disturb your peace. We will take water, then be gone.”
Termaris nodded in understanding, but walked toward Ethné, who gathered herbs not far from the newcomers. Understanding Termaris’ caution, Edarga followed.
“I believe there is a village not far from here?” asked the first man. “We seek a man named Jerechai, will we find him there?”
Termaris reached Ethné’s side, and opened his mouth to reply, but he was too slow.
“Why do you ask?” said Ethné.
Termaris cursed under his breath. He stood before Ethné, pushing her back. “Get away from them!”
The four warriors drew their swords and darted forward. He drew his own blades just in time to parry a cut meant to decapitate him. Edarga reached his side quickly, and the ring of steel filled the glade as together the mercenaries took the attack.
Termaris glanced up as he saw movement from the slope behind the warriors. A man stood there between the ancient trees. Middle aged with blonde hair, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers with a green cloak. His face was lined with fresh scars from brow to chin, as though from ritual punishment. At his side sat two black mastiffs, their sleek coats rippling with muscle.
The man raised his arm and pointed at the mercenaries. The huge dogs bounded into the glade, heading straight for Edarga. As they came closer, Termaris realised they were fearsome creatures indeed, as large as any war dog he had ever seen, standing over four feet high at the shoulder.
Edarga’s opponent rolled out of the way, leaving the mercenary to face the mastiffs. His first thrust caught one along the chest, but its momentum forced the blade aside. Its jaws fastened around his wrist, dragging his sword down, while the other attacked from the side, its long teeth closing around his throat. He went down in a brutal embrace, unable even to scream.
Termaris fared little better, trying to keep himself between the warriors and Ethné. As he parried the blades of his two opponents, the other warriors edged around the glade, trapping her against the stream.
“Run, Ethné!” said Termaris.
As the dogs tore Edarga’s body apart, one of Termaris’ opponents became distracted and the mercenary took full advantage. He sliced his right sword across the man’s throat. As he went down, Termaris span on his front foot, ducking beneath a wicked slash and thrusting his left sword into his other opponent’s midriff.
With his two opponents’ dead, Termaris looked around. The two remaining warriors were closing on Ethné. But the two dogs had tired of savaging their dead prey and ran toward Termaris.
As the first darted forward, he side-stepped, hacking down with all his strength upon the creature’s exposed neck. His blade cut cleanly and severed its head. The second was only a moment behind, and caught Temaris before he could move out of the way. He brought up both swords, bracing himself for the impact as it leaped toward him. A weight like a horse fell upon him. The stench of its foul breath filled his nostrils as he struggled to prevent its jaws snapping around his throat.
He levered both blades against its chest, cutting into its body. It roared in pain and the mastiff struggled to free itself from the metal blades. But it was trapped against him. The roars became whimpers, and it finally lay still as the points of his blades bit deep.
Ethné faced the remaining warriors, her heart hammering in her chest. She tried to make her body obey her commands to run.
Use your magic.
She tried to remember, but the words of every incantation were erased from her mind. The two warriors closed in on her. One smiled cruelly and licked his lips.
“Just kill her,” said the second warrior.
Ethné found herself backed against a tree. Any thought of using her magic was long gone. She dropped her focus.
“No,” she said. “Let me go. I cannot harm you.” Her eyes were locked with the warrior’s.
He smiled as he listened to her pleading, and moved closer. He wrenched one shoulder of her robe away, and the other warrior cursed him.
“Gut her now, or there will be trouble!”
Ethné froze, unable to comprehend what was happening. Her vision narrowed till she could only see her attacker’s face, everything else was a haze. She felt as though she was rising up into the air, then she no longer felt her body. A sound like the rushing of a powerful wind surrounded her. Her attacker’s mouth moved as he spoke, but his words were drowned out by the tempest. Then everything was black.
It had been like this when she was a child, when the magic carried her away. As though transported to another place, she recalled moments when she had moved objects with her mind, or mysteriously set fire to things without a single touch.
The magic called to her now, and animal fear choked her mind, wanting only to be free of danger.
Her eyes opened and she uttered a scream of deafening intensity. The warrior reeled back, his eyes wide. He appeared to be choking and dropped his sword as he lifted his hands to his throat. A few moments later, his face turned blue as he fought unsuccessfully to breathe, and he dropped to the ground, writhing. Then he lay still, and the glade was silent.
Ethné looked at the other warrior, who stood with his mouth open, then turned to flee. He ran straight into one of Termaris’ swords and ran himself through.
Termaris turned to find the scarred man, but he was gone. He stood by Ethné’s side as she began to sob uncontrollably. He looked at the young girl, wondering how she had managed to kill an armed man without even touching him.
“We must leave here,” he said. “They may have friends.”
“Who were they?” she asked. Her tears had ceased, but she was still numb with shock.
“I will try to find out,” he said. “Stay here.”
He approached one of the bodies and examined the man’s armour and equipment. After a few moments he sat back on his heels and shook his head, surprised.
“What is it?” asked Ethné.
As though not listening, Termaris looked closely again, to make sure he was not imagining the symbol painted onto the left shoulder of the leather armour. Crude but legible to those who knew what it represented. A wolf’s head. Termaris checked the other bodies. They all wore the same symbol.
“I said, what is it?”
Termaris walked back to Ethné, wiping his swords clean on a cloth rag he had torn from one of the bodies.
“These men wear the mark of Askalder’s Wolves, a mercenary band from the Far Coast. The last I heard they were going to fight the invaders, so would be making their way east to Ildenburg.”
“Why are they here?” she asked, retrieving her focus from where she dropped it. Her hands shook. “Why… Why did they want to kill us?”
“I have no idea. But they knew to ask for your uncle, perhaps he knows. We must leave the village now. I wager that we have not seen the last of them”
Ethné nodded, looking at the dead bodies and blood.
Termaris finally realised that he was acting as though this was an everyday occurrence, which clearly it was not for her. He approached and smiled,
“Come on. This way, is it not?” he gestured back toward the path. Rewarded with a vague nod, he guided her out of the glade.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Outlaws?” said Termaris. “You people must have a difficult time if they all fight like that! What is going on?”
He and Ethné walked toward Jerechai, who prepared a pack by the door of the lodge. The magician looked blank as he turned round to stare at the mercenary, who was covered in blood and still had both swords drawn. A few villagers had also noticed the commotion and followed from the village gate.
“What happened?” asked Jerechai, looking around for Edarga. He dropped the pack, and came to Ethné’s side.
“You tell me!” said Termaris. “Four warriors on horseback, and some man with a scarred face and war mastiffs. Do you know who they were?”
“I have no idea,” said Jerechai, calm in the face of Termaris’ anger. “Are they gone?”
“I dealt with most of them,” said Termaris. “One of my men is dead, and your precious niece killed one of them and frightened the scarred man off with some sorcerous enchantment. They wore the symbol of mercenaries, Askalder’s Wolves. But I have a feeling you already knew. They knew to ask for you. Be honest or we walk away now.”
“How many times?” replied the magician. “I do not know them. We should leave immediately, there might be more.”
“That is something we both agree on. Yes, we leave now.” Termaris walked off to muster his men.
Jerechai looked at Ethné, concern adding many years to his strong face. “I am so glad you are back safe,” he said.
Ethné allowed him to take her in his arms and comfort her. Sobs racked her slight body as her thoughts returned to the attack, while her uncle stroked her hair to calm her as he listened to her story.
“I told you that you had talent,” he said. “I am glad it came to you at the right moment. Do not punish yourself for taking this man’s life, he meant to kill you. We will talk more about this later, now we must go.”
The pair took their packs outside and walked to their mounts. Jerechai had bought them from Almric that morning, and Ethné dreaded the thought of riding. Although Jerechai had taught her to ride some time ago, she was out of practice.
She eyed the smaller of the two ponies suspiciously. One of Termaris’ men had already saddled her. Termaris waited impatiently, holding the reins of his own horse, and Ethné realised this was no time to be cautious.
Many of the villagers gathered about the lodge including the village leader Almric, a giant man with greying hair. Tilain came at a run, her other friends close behind.
“We heard you were attacked,” said Tilain.
Ethné nodded, but could not form words.
“Yes,” Jerechai replied for her. “Our friends here saw them off, but there may be others. I do not know who they are, but we must leave the village for now. It is for the best.”
“But you have been here so many years,” said Almric. “It is the only home Ethné has ever known. How could you be in such trouble? We heard you were going to travel a while, but where will you go now?”
“We will seek out family and friends to the north, but we will come back, do not fear.”
Ethné looked at her uncle, but he gave a sharp look which kept her silent.
Jerechai smiled at Almric. “If more warriors should come, protect the village. Do not try to protect us. I would not see harm come to any of you on our account.”
Jerechai stepped forward and the two men embraced.
“Goodbye my friend,” said Almric. “Have a safe journey. Take care of Ethné.”
Jerechai nodded, then turned to mount his horse. Ethné faced Tilain, dark haired Edela, witty Firgon who looked finally lost for words, and moody Ahlvir whose face was a thundercloud. She wept as they came to embrace her, asking a hundred questions she could not answer. Finally she drew back and wiped away her tears, appraising each in turn, dear friends that she would miss.
“I must go,” she said. “I will be back soon, look for me.”
They nodded and waved their farewells in stunned silence as she walked back to her uncle.
“Why did you lie to Almric?” she whispered.
“If these attackers are powerful, they could find out where we go, and follow us.”
She shook her head. “But they would have to defeat the whole village to do that.” She paused for a moment. “You think there are that many of them?”
Jerechai placed a hand on her cheek. “No, I do not, but it is a sensible precaution. Say nothing.”
She nodded, but was unhappy with the lie. One of the mercenaries helped Ethné with her stirrup, and feeling like she was perched on top of the world, she tentatively gathered her reins. As the others turned to leave, she tapped her heels and urged the pony forward.
They rode toward the gate, which stood open for them. Outside, The Velderwood beckoned, and in the sky above dark clouds gathered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Termaris led the band into the forest, his shoulders tense with anticipation of further trouble. Guildain scouted ahead on the road periodically, and the group’s two charges were placed in the middle, with two of the strongest swordsmen, Dir and Stefan guarding them on either side.
Before long, the dark clouds opened, and the forest became full of shadows. The mercenaries rode in silence, accompanied by the patter of rain on the forest canopy, and the churning of horse hooves on the muddy track.
“Who is Askalder?” asked Ethné after they had travelled a few miles.
“A mercenary with a bloody reputation,” replied Termaris. “Bloodshed, fire and death follow in his wake. We came across him a few years ago, fighting for Duke Ulrainn against the northlanders.”
“Rumour has it that Askalder sold his own family into slavery,” added Guildain. “I believe it. You look into his eyes, they are dead. No spark of a soul left in them. A dangerous enemy.”
Ethné nodded, unsure whether she should have asked.
“Here we are,” said Guildain, indicating a fork in the road ahead.
Termaris pointed to the right hand trail. “This was where we came from, leads back toward the river and the ferry crossing?”
Guildain nodded.
“Would that road not be the obvious place for others to find us?” asked Jerechai.
“Yes,” replied Guildain. “But if we go any other way it’s a week of extra travel to get out of the forest. Worth the risk.”
Guildain rode further ahead as they moved into the thick tangled boughs. More than once they were forced to duck under low branches. The trees grew more densely here, with only thin shafts of light filtering between.
“Ambush!” came Guildain’s voice from ahead.
He rode back into view, keeping his body low against the back of his horse as it galloped toward the group. An arrow grazed past him, cutting his shoulder. Warriors appeared from the trees, yelling as they charged. Some had bows and prepared to fire.
Termaris drew one of his swords, whilst his other hand reached for a shield that hung from his saddle. He blocked a cut from the first warrior to reach him, and brought his sword hammering down on the man’s helmet, splitting it open.
Warriors wearing the wolf symbol were suddenly all around him. He cut and stabbed as they tried to hack him from his horse. Two of his men came to the rescue, striking down warriors that surrounded him.
Jerechai raised his hands toward Askalder’s men. One of them suddenly shuddered, as though possessed. The warrior plunged his sword into a comrade’s back, then moved to attack another, but was cut down by his own men.
The magician then looked toward the archers and made a circular gesture with his right hand. Arrows were deflected in flight, striking the ground away from the mercenaries. By his side, Stefan and Dir stared wide-eyed at this display of his power.
Askalder’s men pushed forward to encircle the group. Dir cried out as a blade slashed along his arm, and another mercenary was cut down defending Ethné.
Jerechai turned to her. “Flee with the others,” he said. “I will protect you from their arrows!”
Ethné obeyed and began to turn her horse, but saw the scarred man riding toward the battle. A sharp pain ripped through her mind as he raised an open hand toward Jerechai. A moment later an arrow pierced Jerechai’s mystical shield, striking him squarely in the stomach. He doubled over in agony.
“Uncle!”
She was about to help him when Termaris grabbed the reins from her and pulled her pony along with his horse. Around them, the mercenaries fought to keep Askalder’s men at bay.
Jerechai fell from his saddle. “Do not lose what I gave you!” he cried.
Termaris finally saw Askalder himself, as he rode into battle beside the scarred man. Recognition grew in Askalder’s eyes and he grinned at the unexpected pleasure of seeing the mercenary here, fighting for his life.
The scarred man unleashed two war dogs, as large as those that killed Edarga. They ran straight for Jerechai as he sat dying on the ground.
Termaris turned away, and saw a flash of steel as a blade arced toward him. He raised his shield just in time to parry the blow, and saw that several men had worked their way behind him.
But within a heartbeat a green fletched arrow took Termaris’ opponent in the neck, and he fell to his knees. Then another arrow struck a man in the back, throwing Askalder’s force into confusion. Termaris looked around, knowing it was not one of his men that had fired.
“Ride!” said Termaris, leading the charge through the line of men in their path.
They broke free and galloped back along the track toward the junction of trails, with Askalder’s men close behind.
“Ethné!” said Termaris, turning to find her.
She had fallen behind. Her pony was not battle trained, and shied as warriors surrounded her. An arrow pierced the pony’s side and it reared, almost throwing her from the saddle.
Termaris watched helplessly, as she tugged the reins to regain control. But the pony ignored her and ran for the safety of the unknown trail, away from Termaris and his men.
Ethné looked behind at the warriors giving chase, unable to see a low overhanging branch ahead of her.
“Look!” cried Termaris.
She turned but struck the branch hard, rocking back with the force of the blow. Her hand became tangled in the reins, keeping her in the saddle, but the pony ran even faster along the track and disappeared into the trees.
Guildain rode in beside Termaris. “We cannot save her!” he said.
Termaris nodded in resignation. He turned his horse away from the battle and dug his spurs into its flanks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
