By Ways Unseen Read online

  Haydren’s breath caught, but if Ketteran understood the message, he hid his knowledge well.

  “The keeper knows you are coming,” Ketteran continued. “Use your names. In eight days I will come back for you.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Haydren said. “May I ask one thing?”

  “It is the first day of Haschina,” Ketteran replied. “You spent five full weeks in the Woods.”

  “The Earl knows much,” Haydren commented.

  Ketteran searched Haydren’s face for insolence, and, finding none, said simply: “He does.” He touched the brim of his visor. “Fare well.” The troop turned and clopped slowly away.

  Sarah paused and glanced back. “Thank you for seeing me safely back,” she said. “Fare well to you, whatever happens next.”

  “I think you suspect what happens next,” Haydren replied.

  Sarah turned her head slightly, then smiled and followed Ketteran without response.

  Haydren turned to his companions with raised eyebrows. “Shall we?”

  The Sage knew the companions were coming as well, it seemed, and had the poultice already prepared with instructions written in Cariste and Rinc Nain.

  “Do you suppose he knows we’re Rinc Nain?” Haydren asked as they left the shop.

  Geoffrey shook his head. “He wouldn’t have also written it in Cariste if he thought so. More likely they are the two major languages in Burieng, and in such a cosmopolitan setting he writes in both, just in case.”

  They soon reached the Dancing Piper and found the common room packed with guests, and uproariously loud. The walls were lined with benches and long tables, and scattered smaller tables and chairs dotted the main floor. Chandeliers of deer-antler hung by chains from the ceiling, with smaller antlers acting like sconces on black wooden posts.

  “Happy New Year!” a stranger shouted as they entered. Three mugs of ale were thrust upon them, with shouted encouragements to drink up. Haydren rolled his eyes at Geoffrey.

  “Our timing is impeccable,” he said.

  Pladt hoisted his mug. “Absolutely!” he said with a smile. “What other day could we come and get free drinks?”

  “You don’t think we have more important things to attend to?” Haydren asked in as low a shout as he could muster while still being heard by the jovial archer.

  “Bah!” Pladt returned, pausing to take a long swallow, to the cheers of many of the patrons. “Save it for Haschina second.” He gave Haydren a meaningful glance. “It will quiet down a lot by then,” he said, putting his mouth near Haydren’s ear and speaking quietly. “What can you possibly hope to discover now?”

  Haydren glanced at him with a new respect. He looked again at Geoffrey, shrugged helplessly, and downed a quarter of the mug with one draught. The patrons nearest him cheered loudly and thumped him on the back.

  By evening, the crowd had thinned a little, and the three companions found a moment to speak to the innkeeper. A tall, barrel-chested man named Terak (who was at turns beaming from ear to ear, and gruffly shouting orders to his hirelings), he did not quite fit the model of innkeeper Haydren had grown accustomed to.

  “Probably puts the unruly patrons out on their ears himself,” Pladt commented after they were shown to their room.

  Thoroughly exhausted, the trio fell asleep in their beds while the sun’s last rays still spilled over the western battlements. The long journey from Hewolucs was nearly complete. Tomorrow, Haydren decided as his eyes fluttered, he would find Lintasur Guinad and discover the meaning of the letter. If all went well, that was.

  *

  The days passed in fruitless searching. One After-Noon near the end of the week, Haydren came into the room and collapsed onto the bed, his head falling against one of their packs. Something fell with a ringing clatter, and Haydren twisted to look at the floor; his red dagger sat accusing him of its displacement. Haydren picked it up and regarded it.

  It was almost funny; its red surface and damaged appearance always made it seem like it needed to be tended to – that it had been used and put away dirty. Sir Cullins would have had several things to say about keeping a dirty weapon, including: “run, student! Run faster, and cleaning it next time will not seem such a bother.”

  Sir Cullins might have much to say, if he were here and could tell what Haydren was thinking. But he was not here. It was possible that he was not even in Hewolucs, not even alive.

  The pits of the red blade drew Haydren in; seven years, he had been trained daily to protect the Earl, and the Province. And there was only one way he was meant to do that – by the blade. And Haydren had been fine with that way, had followed it several times. What had changed? Was it the fear in the eyes of the men? No; the bandits had shown fear when Haydren was not as easy a mark as they had thought. When he made death more real to them than perhaps they had previously known, of course they were afraid. But still their swords came out. No; it was the soldier in the grove, the one who last held this dagger. It was the look in his eyes.

  Remorse. Fear had been there, too; but behind that was sadness, and a realization that his choices had caught up with him. Haydren had recognized a little of it at the grove, and was not triumphant over the taking of the dagger as he knew Geoffrey thought he should be. But Haydren did not fully understand the remorse until Paolound, for then he felt it for himself. The fear of death had invaded Haydren like Paolound’s heavy breath. Paolound’s weight had crushed his armor; realizing it was his decisions that brought his friends to the brink of death had crushed his soul. As far as the soldier in the grove had been concerned, Haydren had been Paolound; except, Haydren had succeeded where the dragon had failed.

  Haydren blinked, and the dagger blurred a little in front of him, becoming even more fluid – even more like blood flowing from a hilt. Was that it’s point? Did it hide the blood of its victim, seem more harmless and innocent? To soften for the wielder the blow of the work he had just done, to make the taking of life less of a strain? Once one became used to its appearance, the stain of blood would be almost entirely unnoticeable. More liquid, perhaps, as it seemed now: but no more red or gleaming.

  Geoffrey came in just then and looked at Haydren. “You have not found him?” he asked.

  Haydren put the dagger quickly in the pack and returned his gaze to the ceiling. “He has not made himself easy to find, which I would expect if he had truly sent for me,” he said, swiping at his eyes as if tired. He cleared his throat. “I inquired at a number of the largest inns, according to what Terak told me; I’ve even begun asking random merchants. No one even recognizes the first or the last name.” He sighed and closed his eyes. The floorboards creaked as Geoffrey moved across the room, saying nothing. After a time, Haydren drew a breath. “Where’s Pladt?” he asked.

  “Stocking up on arrows.”

  Haydren’s eyes opened and he turned his head to gaze quizzically at Geoffrey. “Why?”

  “We’re not staying here forever, are we?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Aren’t you?” Haydren said. “I thought this was as far as you were going, at least.”

  “Are you going further?”

  Haydren looked at him several moments longer, and returned his gaze to the ceiling. He remained silent as Geoffrey continued to watch him patiently.

  “Geoffrey, I…” Haydren shook his head, sighed, and closed his eyes. “I’m just so tired.”

  “I know.”

  “And…I’m sorry.” His eyes slid open; Geoffrey only gazed at him. He turned back to the ceiling. “I’ve turned away from everyone, except those who cannot help me anymore. I’ve tried to ignore your advice, and Pladt’s too, all the while wishing for parents and friends that weren’t there. I don’t want to do this alone, and yet I’ve done everything to make sure that I am.”

  “Do you think I would not have opposed you if I thought you were doing something utterly wrong?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I suppose I might have taken that from your silence, but it felt more like you were just l
aying all responsibility on me. And I know I’ve been making the decisions all along the way, and I may have even seemed like I knew what I was doing, but…” He paused again, and shook his head. “I really have no idea.”

  “Haydren, you got us across Kelian Province, through the Kalen Woods, and all the way to Frecksshire,” Geoffrey said.

  “Nearly getting us killed in the process,” Haydren interjected.

  “Well this country is teeming with dangerous beasts a little more than most, as I’ve already noted,” Geoffrey said with a grin. “If you want to take us somewhere with less danger, then we’d better start looking for a boat. What exactly are you expecting of yourself?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind making at least one informed decision,” Haydren replied. “All along the way, what choices have I had? I’ve felt just as I did in the forest: I had just enough light for the next, what, ten steps? Beyond that was darkness. And now,” he said, gesturing in frustration toward the ceiling, “now, I have no idea what to do next. Without Guinad, I have no idea where to begin looking for my parents – if I even should! I should probably just accept Mickel and Maerie as my parents. But if I don’t, the best place to begin looking for my true parents is probably on the other side of the continent, back on the Eastern Shores. And how much time have I spent running away from there? And the only thing that might possibly suggest we’re on the right track is this…” Haydren stopped mid-gesture and trailed off, pressing his lips together.

  Geoffrey cocked his head. “’This’ what, Haydren?”

  Haydren glanced at him and took a deep breath. “I’ve been…there have been these times…” He stopped, sighed, and spread his hands. “Let’s call it ideas – thoughts that come to me every now and then. It started simply enough, when I decided to come to you for help; but even then, it was kind of like a thought, but still different. Then, when we were approaching Devil’s Thumb, it came again, warning me to stop – and, almost like a whisper, prodding me to go into the camp.” He paused again, wary of Geoffrey’s knowing glance and nod. But, quickly, his gaze turned inward again. “There was a man, when I was twelve I think, who attacked the Inner Tower with just a dagger. I think it might have been the day Guntsen had locked me…Anyway. The man claimed he heard voices that wouldn’t go away until he had nearly run himself onto a guard’s halberd. My father’s friend left for here, for Frecksshire, actually, mostly because of that incident.”

  Now Geoffrey’s gaze was quizzical. “Haydren, why—?”

  “When we were in the Forest, after my torch went out, I heard a voice telling me to look up. It was in much the same manner as the other times, except it sounded like someone speaking, clearly and loudly, right next to me – I thought it was Sarah at first, but…” Haydren paused, piercing Geoffrey with his gaze. “It seems like this – whatever we want to call it – is looking out for me; but what if it isn’t, suddenly?”

  “I think he is, Haydren,” Geoffrey said quietly. “I think he has been for a long time.”

  Haydren rubbed his forehead, ran his fingers into his hair, pressed his eye; this was not the answer he sought, and he knew it would come from Geoffrey. Why had he even started talking about it? He wanted Geoffrey’s advice, his companionship; but not this: not losing his ability to choose before a God who already knew what he would do.

  “Have you whispered to the God of All?”

  “Geoffrey, not right now,” Haydren said wearily.

  “Is there a better time?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” Geoffrey asked quietly.

  “Not right now!” Haydren sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “The last thing I want to think about right now is that I’m somehow bound to some quest that some all-powerful God has in store for me.”

  “I would find it most comforting,” Geoffrey said. “Would his plan end in your death, do you suppose?”

  “I wonder how many martyrs asked that question,” Haydren said with a snort.

  “Everybody dies, Haydren.”

  Haydren turned and looked at him coldly. “Do you suppose I am less likely, or more likely to be aware of that, Geoffrey?”

  Geoffrey bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Haydren.”

  Haydren’s gaze returned to the ceiling. “I still have some hope,” he said quietly. He turned and regarded Geoffrey with a tired grin. “Not much, but some.”

  *

  Two days later, after taking early baths and changing into clothing that Pladt had purchased them the day before, Ketteran returned to the Dancing Piper to retrieve his charges. On horse-back once again – by now, Geoffrey’s ribs only pained him occasionally as they rode – they threaded their way through streets marginally less-cluttered than what had greeted them at New Years’.

  The keep was no less impressive in person despite its diminutive comparison to the walls which protected it. Surrounded by a second moat and outer gatehouse, the keep had only a few windows near the base, and those barely more than arrow slits. In its upper reaches, larger windows let much daylight into what Haydren supposed – correctly – to be the throne room. But if there were any catapult able to make it this deep within the fortress, he knew it would not be sufficient to loft anything more than a pebble to such a height as the windows above.

  Just inside the gate, there was a small courtyard with stables. Here the company dismounted, and a stable-boy took their horses to feed and water. The captain led the companions in through massive double doors set on great black hinges. The Earl’s aide met them inside, thanked Ketteran, and led them up the many flights of stairs to the throne room with barely a word of comment.

  They reached another set of double doors, these guarded by soldiers in full armor polished to reflect the torchlight like mirrors. Without a word, the soldiers opened the doors; the aide stepped forward and announced his charges.

  Haydren led, with Geoffrey and Pladt a pace behind and to his left and right. Sarah stood off to one side, resplendent in a cerulean dress with silver scrollwork around the bodice. Freshly scrubbed and with her hair pulled back into a half-braid, she showed her strange mixture of youth and maturity more clearly than ever before.

  But Haydren’s eyes were quickly drawn to Earl Forion Durdamon, who rose from his throne to stand atop the short dais. He towered over the three companions at a height Haydren judged to be well over six feet. He was older than Earl Junei, as Haydren best remembered, though his hair was not as gray. His garb was far simpler than his eastern counterpart: dark brown, supple leather encased him, and a rich mantle of red velvet almost like a day-journey traveling cloak he kept thrown behind him, that flowed down to his waist. He was obviously powerfully built, and Haydren imagined the sword at his side was not simply for duels of honor.

  Reaching the foot of the dais, the three bowed deeply. The Earl inclined his head only marginally.

  “So, you are the few who have done, what?” he boomed, in Cariste, gesturing them to rise as he returned to his throne. He tapped his chin for a moment as he glanced at Sarah, then began counting off on his fingers. “You traveled safely through the Kalen Woods, killing the Cerberus of Kalen after escaping its depths; and upon journeying across my moors, met and fended off the dragon Paolound; and this after several, minor skirmishes in the east.”

  Haydren, flabbergasted still at the extent of the Earl’s knowledge, could only nod. “Though,” he said, finally finding his wits. “Our journey through the forest did not feel entirely safe to us, Excellency.”

  “Nor will much of your journey outside it feel so,” he said, straightening a little. “There are many grave threats upon my lands, and a band as hardy as yourselves should not be wasted. I wonder if you might help me,” he said generously.

  “I’m not sure how much choice we have, Excellency,” Haydren said cautiously.

  “You have a great deal of choice,” Forion replied flatly. “You may serve me, a Rinc Nain like yourself; or you may return to your Cariste master, Guntsen, who is very eager for your return. Though,”
he added bitterly. “I should warn you he has formed an alliance with Lasserain.”

  Haydren’s jaw gaped, and he could not bring himself to breathe. The Earl regarded him wordlessly for several moments, and then nodded.

  “Any doubts we had about the King of Burieng allying himself with the mage has been erased; it seems many lords are pledging allegiance to him, for any number of causes. Three-quarters of the continent now lie under his command; and the beast army we have been trying to repulse now guards Kelian’s border. Whatever may be your Earl’s reasoning, it is far beyond the guess of any of my spies.

  “Geoffrey, you have a similar choice,” he continued, moving on quickly and maliciously. “I’m sure the King of Rinc Na would be most pleased to discover you still alive. If you wish, I may deliver you to him. I owe him a certain amount of allegiance, and paying him such an enormous favor will undoubtedly work in my benefit.”

  It took all of Haydren’s willpower not to look back at the old swordsman. “And Pladt, Excellency?” he asked instead, his words whispering across a dried tongue.

  The Earl smiled, and laughed. “Actually, Grecce would put me in his debt; he seems to be the only pure soul among you.”

  “My father would have it no other way, Excellency,” Pladt replied with a bow.

  “I am certain,” Forion replied. “So, gentlemen; what will it be?”

  “What are your Grace’s wishes?” Haydren asked without pause.

  Forion Durdamon did not smile victoriously as Haydren imagined he would; rather, his brows drew down in thoughtful concern. “You carry a letter,” he said. “Two letters, actually, that when read together become very troubling. And I may have concern for the first, as it contains knowledge that I could have used months ago,” he added with a glance at the sorceress. “But that is a matter for another time. And even though we have not found any hints similar to your second letter, aimed at Coberan, the breadth of it by itself cannot be ignored.”

  “Excellency, I cannot help but be amazed that you know that,” Haydren said, unable to contain himself.