By Ways Unseen Page 11

  With that, in one swift movement before Haydren or anyone could react, the man drew the blade across his throat. He sputtered, fell, and died.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHISPERS

  “This wrecks many plans!”

  “Oh? Did you not recognize the man?”

  “…By the deeps of Oren!”

  “I do not appreciate your water-wizard’s oath; but it is beginning, now, in earnest.”

  16 Tetsamon 1319 – Spring

  Guntsen rolled the goblet around in his hands, inspecting the jewels set into its surface. A grin slowly appeared on his face as the gems glittered in the afternoon light.

  “You seem distracted,” said Lasserain, entering then; the guards outside quickly shut the doors behind him.

  “It’s my father’s drinking cup,” Guntsen replied, holding it up to the light and noting his smiling reflection in the burnished gold. “I’ve always liked it; he promised it would be mine, as it had been his father’s, and his father’s, and his––”

  “It shows some wear,” the mage said.

  Guntsen’s face sobered; he didn’t need to look to see the missing gem that had popped loose when it struck the wall. The goblet wavered in the air, and he set it quickly on the stand beside the throne. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “Your assassin failed.”

  “As did yours,” Guntsen replied coolly.

  “Mine were not sent specifically for him.”

  Guntsen gazed at him. “What do you want?” he asked again.

  “Durdamon will not long be content to stay in Frecksshire,” Lasserain said. “I want to make sure he does not soon invade. I believe you want that as well.”

  “I can seal our borders well enough, I think.”

  “No, you cannot. Also, my plan may well capture your fugitive.”

  Guntsen glanced down at the empty goblet, at the socket where a large topaz had once rested but now lay pulverized against the wall. “Do whatever you want,” Guntsen said quietly. He did not look up as Lasserain exited, and when he heard the doors boom closed, he shut his eyes and sighed.

  *

  “I told you, I didn’t know him,” Haydren said, leaning forward in his chair. “Ask anyone in here: I was finishing my meal when he approached me. He said a few things to me, and when I drew my sword, he pulled out a dagger and cut his own throat.”

  “We will ask the others,” said the warden. “If they agree, you’ll be free to go. But do not leave this tavern until I say you may.”

  “We’re here until morning,” Haydren offered.

  The warden stopped halfway upon getting up. “You are here until I say you are,” he said again, firmly.

  Haydren bowed his head in acquiescence, and the warden left the table.

  “Touchy,” Geoffrey commented, taking a drink.

  “I didn’t think Werine was so small that such an occasion would seem so important,” Haydren replied. “If I had actually struck that lunatic; then, maybe.”

  “Was he a lunatic?” Geoffrey asked.

  Haydren turned to him in surprise. “You saw him!” he said. “Do sane people cut their own throats?”

  “They do if they recognize they are dead no matter what,” Geoffrey replied. “Though not all sane people do that: just ones under very strong coercion. Or maybe it was a code of honor.” He paused, took another drink, and wiped his mouth. “We cannot ask him, I suppose.”

  “Geoffrey, of everything I need right now, your wit is not it,” Haydren said into his mug as he took a drink as well.

  “Are you sure you did not recognize him?”

  Haydren’s mug thunked onto the table. “Now you? I have no idea who he was; though I doubt he was telling the truth when he said he knew my father. You know, that’s something—!” Haydren stopped and bit his lip. He sighed, and couldn’t help laughing a little.

  Geoffrey glanced at him quizzically. “Speaking of insanity?” he asked.

  “No,” Haydren replied, running a finger around the lip of his mug. “Well, maybe: Guntsen.”

  “The Earl?”

  Haydren pursed his lips. “Guntsen,” he repeated. “His plan, the one that forced me to flee Hewolucs, was to send me on patrol to Werine and have someone here ready to kill me. Playing on my need to find my father would be just like him.” Haydren quickly took another drink; he was not yet ready to tell Geoffrey everything about him, and his slip just then was not going to delay broaching the topic.

  “You mentioned to the man that your father gave you the sword, too,” Geoffrey said.

  He did not ask, Haydren realized; he merely opened the door. No matter what else, Haydren appreciated that. “He did give it to me,” Haydren replied, “then disappeared when I was eight. I go to Frecksshire to seek him.” There, thought Haydren: all of that was true.

  “Very good,” Geoffrey said quietly, and returned to his drink, allowing Haydren to return to his.

  *

  “That is why you are not going with these men,” Kerrik said. The wardens were just now removing the body of the man who had killed himself in front of Haydren. “Trouble follows them, it would seem. And why should you and they pursue it to Frecksshire? Why would anyone from the east want to go west?”

  “Father, please,” Pladt said, cutting Kerrik off in the middle of his rant. “The reason I’m not allowed to go is because Werine cannot protect itself, isn’t that right?”

  Kerrik gazed at him, surprised at his son’s vehemence – and a little annoyed that Pladt had seen through his reasoning. “Yes, Pladt, that is why.”

  “And until the hydras stop attacking, which will be never, I am stuck here, correct? Unless…” Pladt paused, a thought striking him.

  “Unless what?” Kerrik asked.

  “What if Werine could defend itself?”

  “It cannot,” Kerrik replied flatly. “We’ve discussed this; you are the only one who can protect us.”

  Pladt gazed into his drink. There were plenty of men in Werine who were good with a bow: he personally knew nine – maybe ten. But why should they take up their bows? Better to chain one man to a duty than ten of them. “I suppose you’re right,” Pladt said. “I’m feeling a little tired, father. I would like to say farewell to Geoffrey before he leaves, though.”

  Kerrik said nothing, but gestured his permission. Pladt rose and walked to the table where Geoffrey sat.

  “Before you leave in the morning,” he said upon approaching, “I wanted to wish you farewell. Both of you. Haydren, I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you better.”

  “I’m sorry too,” Haydren said, extending his hand. He smiled. “Surely if you were a friend of Geoffrey’s, we could have been friends as well.” Haydren glanced over at Kerrik, noting the look of consternation on his face, as well as a certain look of determination on Pladt’s. “We leave in the morning,” Haydren said just loud enough for Pladt to hear. “We will walk just north of the road to Quaran, in order to avoid bandits.”

  Pladt cocked his head slightly. “You don’t have horses?” he asked.

  Haydren shook his head. “We don’t have the money to. We’ve walked this far; we should make it to Quaran. Then, who knows?”

  Pladt smiled, and turned to shake Geoffrey’s hand. “I wish I could come with you two,” he said. “But,” he added with a shrug, “I suppose father knows best.”

  “He usually does,” Haydren said with a smile and a nod.

  “Well, farewell you two,” Pladt said. “I suppose I won’t see you in the morning; but I think you’ll find Naek’s beds are rather comfortable.”

  “And how would you know?” Geoffrey asked, glancing up at him, his eyes twinkling.

  Pladt set his jaw, and stared at Haydren. “On second thought, I thank the gods I’m not going with you.”

  “Who do you thank?” Geoffrey demanded, glaring at Pladt.

  “The God, Geoffrey, the God,” Pladt replied, patting him on the shoulder. “The ‘s’ slipped. Old habit,” he said with a s
mile and a wink at Haydren.

  “Good,” Geoffrey growled into his mug.

  Pladt sighed and shook his head. “Have fun on your journey, Haydren,” he said with a playfully meaningful glance at Geoffrey. “And good luck.”

  Haydren raised his mug in salute. “Thank you,” he replied. “You too.”

  After Pladt had gone, Geoffrey gave Haydren a brief smile. “So, coming here might not have been a wasted effort?” he asked.

  Haydren allowed a grin in return. “I know; I should trust you.”

  As Haydren lay awake in bed that night, however, that admission eluded reality. He turned over toward Geoffrey’s bed; the time had come.

  “Geoffrey,” he whispered.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve kept quiet for a long time, now,” he said. “And I don’t mean to intrude on your privacy, and I know I don’t have much choice anyway, but I would like to know who I’m traveling with a little bit better. There’s just some things—”

  “What do you want to know, Haydren?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Your house,” he said, thinking to start on perhaps safer ground. “I did not expect to find a water pump in Hodp in the first place, let alone in the home of someone…” He trailed off.

  “It was built by a Rinc Nain, Haydren,” Geoffrey replied. “The people of Hodp did not trust the technology, and didn’t like the simplicity. They were happy when I took it.”

  “Oh,” Haydren said: no help; now for a more difficult question. “Earlier, you berated Pladt for thanking ‘the gods’ and yet…I mean the sword you carry isn’t…I don’t know how…” he trailed off once more, cursing his tongue for misguiding him.

  Geoffrey turned and gazed at the ceiling; that question was far closer to his heart than he knew Haydren could realize, but it pierced just as the raven’s gaze had. It was too soon, much too soon. “That sword was given to me a long time ago, Haydren,” he said quietly. “I could not give it back, though I am a far different man now. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Haydren sighed. “Then that will have to be enough,” he replied. It was far less than Haydren hoped for; he shifted under his blankets, trying to gain comfort but finding none.

  Geoffrey’s eyes fell upon a candle-flame, guttering solitarily; what could he possibly be thinking, running now toward Rinc Na when for fifteen years he had been running from it? That niggling voice that always spoke the truth, the one he had silenced by young pride, told him it was because he had yet to truly pay penance. Running now to the west just might force him to do what he had been avoiding for all this time.

  He blew out the candle; and though his eyes stopped seeing, the images in his mind spun through endless scenarios, only rarely ending in peace.

  *

  “Doesn’t that mountain shine like the red in my sword?” Haydren asked, drawing the item partway out of its sheath to show him. Geoffrey studied it, glanced at Thoret behind them, and nodded.

  “It is similar,” he agreed. “Why does it interest you?”

  “Well I don’t know anything about the sword,” Haydren replied. “I was simply left it. I would like to know more about it – where it was made and the like.”

  They walked for several more moments in silence. “You care much for seeking answers,” Geoffrey said finally.

  “My instructors loved me,” Haydren replied with a smile.

  Geoffrey grinned as well. “I can imagine.”

  Their route took them south as the sun rose unusually warm over the plains. As it reached its zenith, Haydren began looking for a place they could stop and rest for lunch. He hoped to reach Devil’s Thumb, a small abutment of forest they had passed on their way north; but though they spotted it early it was not within reach until After-Noon. As they neared, they came to the base of a small rise.

  Stop.

  Without knowing why, Haydren stopped and squatted on one knee. Geoffrey knelt soundlessly beside him.

  “Something’s not right about these woods,” Haydren whispered. He made his way slowly forward, with Geoffrey following. When they reached the top, they sat and watched the tree-line for several long moments.

  The forest bent into a crooked point a few miles eastward, close enough to skirt entirely if necessary, and if no bandits watched the road near its end. But it was also narrow here, and the shortest route south.

  “Haydren,” Geoffrey whispered finally. “What—”

  Just then, a group of men left the tree-line, skirting it as they made their way east; they would watch the road, and deadly scimitars swung at their hips.

  “This may complicate matters,” Geoffrey said.

  Haydren sat in silence for several long moments. A wind from the east ruffled the grasses just turning green with spring; through the washing of stalks against one another, and almost borne on the breeze, came a whisper:

  In the grove.

  This is the fourth time since leaving Hewolucs, Haydren thought; each time, it grows louder. It was a whisper that had not as yet, it seemed, led him astray: it directed him to Geoffrey, who was – he had to admit, despite contradictory beliefs – a better companion than he should have expected; it had prepared him for the suicidal man at the tavern; and it had just now kept him from leading them straight over the rise into full view of the bandits below. Inexplicable as it was, this – what, he wondered: instinct? – was the best he had.

  “They most likely will be gone for some time, Geoffrey,” Haydren replied. “They may have a camp deeper in, with supplies we might use.”

  “Remember when I said we were a two-stranded rope, Haydren?” Geoffrey asked wearily.

  “It’s the middle of the day, Geoffrey,” Haydren replied, dropping his bag to the ground. “There are bound to be only a few bandits sitting at camp when there are so many caravans to rob. Shall I go to make sure alone?” Haydren asked, stealing forward before Geoffrey could prevent him.

  Muttering curses under his breath, Geoffrey dropped his own bag and followed as best he could. It had been far too long since he required his legs to sneak forward at a low crouch.

  Haydren moved cautiously down the rise, his eyes fastened on the tree-line. The grasses here were tall, and hid him well all the way to the edge. He stood and pressed his back against one tree, slowly peering from behind it, down a deer-trail to where he could make out a small camp. There was a line of brown tents, with horses tied nearby: four, sleek and fast; and a fifth like a draft horse. On the other side of the camp lay a large, tarp-covered pile of something he could not recognize.

  He glanced away from the camp as Geoffrey approached; Haydren waved him forward, and Geoffrey stood and bolted to a nearby tree.

  “You are insane!” Geoffrey whispered fiercely. “If you do not get us killed—”

  “Shh!” Haydren hissed. He peered from behind the tree; a silhouette detached itself from a tree within the camp and moved toward one of the tents. Almost simultaneously, three other silhouettes moved as well, circling the camp. Guards, Haydren realized. He looked at Geoffrey and held up four fingers. Geoffrey blinked, set his jaw, and slowly drew his sword. Haydren glanced at the Follus steel as it glimmered faintly. He realized that any doubts he had about Geoffrey’s allegiance would be proved or disproved now.

  He stepped from behind the tree, moving quietly to another thick trunk deeper in. It was old-growth forest, with deep, lush loam to pad his footsteps. But as he flattened against the trunk, a branch he had not seen squeezed between his back and the tree, and snapped with a loud crack. He gazed, horrified, at Geoffrey.

  “Who’s there?” one of the guards at the camp bellowed. “Come out! I heard you there!”

  Haydren couldn’t help thinking the bandit would feel fairly stupid if he turned out to be a deer. Geoffrey glared his way and shook his head.

  Haydren could hear the guard approaching; this was his mess to clean up. Slowly and quietly, careful to remain behind the tree, he drew his sword. He held it pressed against his left shoulder, his arm high.
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br />   The footsteps neared; in one swift movement, Haydren stepped from behind the tree, sweeping his sword off his left shoulder and around, snapping the blade downward; sword met flesh, and the guard pitched backward, staining the leaves at Haydren’s feet.

  The other guards were still up ahead, staring in mute surprise. With a yell, Haydren ran forward; he drove left, meeting his quarry with furious strokes. Behind him, he heard Geoffrey’s blade ringing against the bandit’s scimitar. There was a cry, and after a moment the sharp pinging of Follus on steel sounded through the grove.

  Before Haydren could close with the final bandit, Geoffrey’s foe fell dead; the man facing Haydren dropped his scimitar, turned, and ran between them to the plains.

  “Go after him!” Geoffrey shouted. “He will alert the others, and we’ll have an entire band of thieves chasing us, as well as the Earl.”

  Haydren started forward, but slipped on a root and fell. He pounded a fist into the ground as the bandit exited the grove and made for the road. As Haydren watched, the bandit’s head suddenly snapped sideways, and the man skidded limply. Staring forward in surprise, Haydren could see an arrow angling above the grasses. With widening eyes, Haydren looked left, and saw a figure advancing on a horse, a bow in his right hand, and a lead in his other hand with two horses in tow.

  “Pladt!” Geoffrey shouted. “You just saved Haydren from a world of disgrace!”

  “Oh I don’t know,” Pladt shouted back, cantering up into the trees with a broad grin on his face. “He still has a mouthful of dirt.”

  “Thank you for stopping his alarm,” Haydren said brusquely, pushing himself up and brushing the dirt off his knees. Without another word, he walked deeper into the camp.

  Pladt watched as Haydren moved among the tents. “Good to see you, too,” Pladt muttered, still grinning. He climbed off his horse and looped the reins over a nearby branch.

  “You did save our lives,” Geoffrey said. “Thank you. But how did your father ever let you go? Does he know you’re here?”

  “He gave me the money for the horses,” Pladt replied. “He knows Werine is in good hands; I finally put together a group of archers – men I had helped train a long time ago, I don’t know why we never employed them. I guess I was enough, and they weren’t exactly going to put more tar on an already-seaworthy ship.”