By Ways Unseen Read online

  Durdamon gazed at him coolly. “Many things can be learned from the wind,” he said simply, with a glance that lingered briefly on Sarah. He turned back to Haydren. “But not everything. Some things must be seen first-hand; which is why Sarah first went to Quaran, and why you now are going to the mage’s home in the Kalen Woods.”

  Haydren’s brows shot up. “Haschina?” he blurted.

  Forion’s fist clenched spasmodically, and he extended a finger in warning. “I would not speak the name so lightly, Loren; not when the Woods are growing once more.” He sighed, and his hand dropped. “But yes, in his village.”

  “I had thought the village was burned twenty years ago, Excellency,” Haydren said.

  “But some reports say Lasserain preserved it,” Forion replied. “In fact, it is more likely that the burning was invented. I believe Lasserain himself began that story to justify his rampage into the Endolin Mountains. He had long been practicing his arts, too far secluded from the rest of the world, unchecked by reason. What purpose could he have for such power except to use it?”

  “What would you have us do, Excellency?” Haydren asked.

  “First, go to Jyunta,” Forion replied. “There is a man there, Corith: a most excellent guide into the woods. Sarah knows him well,” he said with a gesture toward the silent sorceress. “Travel to the mage’s village and see what you can find, and report back to me. But beware as you travel to Jyunta: it has been under assault a number of times, though Lord Garoun assures me he defends it well. I trust you to decide how best to proceed.”

  Haydren kept his reaction to a few swift blinks. “Is that all, Excellency?”

  “That depends on what you find, Haydren Loren,” Forion said testily.

  “Of course, Excellency; I apologize for my tone,” Haydren said, bowing deeply.

  The Earl nodded. “Now, for the one who is not in my debt,” he said, looking at Pladt. “Is there anything you would ask in return for fulfilling this task for me, archer?”

  Pladt shrugged, then glanced at Haydren’s back. “You knew we were looking for someone when we arrived, Excellency,” he said.

  Forion’s eyebrows rose in surprise; Haydren, too, glanced quickly back at Pladt. “What else am I supposed to ask for?” Pladt whispered to Haydren.

  “What precisely would you ask of me, archer?” Forion pressed further.

  “Your knowledge is most extensive, Excellency,” Pladt said, assuming a little flattery could not hurt his cause. “And your spy network is large; Haydren is trying to find out who his parents are, and we came to your castle with the impression that a man named Lintasur Guinad might know something about it.”

  “That is barely a favor to you: I wish to find this man myself. You have nothing else to ask?” Forion said. Pladt shook his head once; Forion smiled. “It will be done,” he said. “Regardless of what information you bring me, I will give you what you ask.

  “Ketteran will continue to be your…guide, as it were,” the Earl said by way of dismissal. “He will give you supplies; I understand Geoffrey may be too weak to travel yet, but remember the timing of the bandit raids in the east. Leave when you are ready, return as fast as you can. I do not believe you will let Frecksshire rest on the brink of annihilation. Fare well,” he finished with a wave of his hand.

  The three bowed deeply, and with one last, swift glance at Sarah, Haydren led the way out of the throne room. They met Ketteran at the stables, and during the entire ride back to the Inn, Haydren said nothing to address Geoffrey. Once they reached their room, Haydren checked the hallways, closed the door, and turned to his companions.

  “Now, Geoffrey,” he said calmly, but firmly. “Perhaps there is something about you we should know?”

  Geoffrey sighed, and gestured toward the bed. “Best sit down,” he said; “this story may take some time.”

  Haydren and Pladt arranged themselves soberly as Geoffrey clasped his hands behind his back and watched. Once they both were attentive, he began.

  “The story I told in the Forest,” he said.

  “Uv Fehn?” Pladt asked.

  “I should have thought that Sarah might remember such a story,” Geoffrey replied. “She told me as much in the Forest, after you two had gone to sleep. I can only guess she told the Earl.”

  “We’re here now,” Haydren said.

  “Right; well, the story I told was true, up to the point of them leading us back home and disappearing. In truth, when our captain began pursuing them once again, in what we thought was sheer lunacy, many of us defected. It took some time to prove ourselves to our new allies, but we did it. I did a better job than the others, and was soon a leader among the Uv Fehn. A very good leader.”

  “Did you receive your sword from them?” Haydren asked, hoping now the door was open, a few more unanswered questions might pass through.

  Geoffrey’s gaze fell, and he nodded. “As far as I know, it was the only one in all of Rinc Na. We acquired it in a raid – a very dangerous mission, that our General believed would not have succeeded except for some of my actions, so he awarded it to me. King Ulgar Furth likely would want me dead for that mission alone.” He paused, his gaze drifting to a different, distant time. “I have made terrible choices, against men I called at different times my friends—”

  The door was opening too wide. “You don’t need to share that with me, Geoffrey,” Haydren said. “Whatever you have done is your own. Some wounds do not heal when re-opened,” Haydren continued swiftly to Geoffrey’s sharp glance. “And I’ll not force you to reopen this one.”

  “But I have done despicable things, Haydren,” Geoffrey said, his gaze dropping again. “Things that friends now should know.”

  “That’s as may be,” Haydren said quietly. “But as long as you promise not to do those things again,” he continued with a gentle smile. “I will trust you. It was another country, at a different time of your life. You have done nothing but aid me for the past two months, far beyond what I possibly expected when I first knocked on your door.” He paused, considering the expression that had appeared on Geoffrey’s face. “Or is that why you did it?” he asked. “To balance what you had done in Rinc Na?”

  Geoffrey regarded him somberly, and nodded. “I recognized you as a Rinc Nain the first time I saw you, as I said; saw in you the same sort of young man I had been. I had hoped by helping you possibly avoid choices I had made when ostracized by my community, I might make right the myriad wrongs I had committed.”

  “And I thank you for it,” Haydren replied, rising to his feet. “But you need not continue with me if that is your only motivation.”

  “That may have been my first motivation, Haydren,” Geoffrey replied. “But it is not my motivation now; I will see you find the information you seek, or die in the attempt.”

  Haydren glanced at him sideways, and grinned. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said gently. “For now, we need to supply ourselves for the journey ahead.”

  Geoffrey smiled, finally relaxing fully. “Very well,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FRIENDS

  “I’m beginning to see what you mean.”

  “Oh?”

  “This started long ago; before Haydren.”

  “It began when time began. This is but a scene in a play.”

  24 Haschina 1320 – Summer

  One evening two weeks later, Haydren found Geoffrey in the stable yard behind the Inn practicing his swordplay. He paused a moment, watching the quivering thrusts and parries of the Follus blade concert with Geoffrey’s grunts and breathing.

  “Getting better?” Haydren asked as Geoffrey paused with his sword raised.

  Geoffrey glanced at him, and pressed against his ribs as he made a few windmills with the blade. He winced a little, still.

  “Well enough to travel, I think,” Geoffrey replied. “Hopefully Paolound can leave us alone for another week or two,” he added with a mixed grin of jest and truth.

  “Do you mind?
” Haydren asked, gesturing to his own sword. Geoffrey waved him in; Haydren vaulted into the enclosure and drew his blade. “First blood?” he asked with a grin.

  “First decapitation,” Geoffrey replied with a smile. “Makes it more serious.”

  They began, and Haydren concentrated on Geoffrey’s body, fighting to keep his eyes undistracted by the humming blade. With each parry, the Follus’ sharp pinging rang in his head and shook his focus; but he held his ground, relying on his foot-speed to keep the ringing blows to a minimum as he danced out of the way of the blade more than he deflected it. He caught, quickly, Geoffrey’s approving smile; but then his eyes shifted a moment and suddenly Geoffrey’s blade rested on his shoulder.

  “I think you’re ready,” Haydren said, quickly catching his breath.

  “I think you are, too,” Geoffrey replied. “I’ve had more time with this sword than many knights you’re likely to meet.”

  “Pladt did say you were old,” Haydren returned with a smile.

  “Where is he, in the room?” Geoffrey asked, his voice mirroring the sudden concern in his eyes.

  Haydren nodded. “He has been quiet of late, hasn’t he?”

  “Since New Year’s, I think,” Geoffrey agreed with a nod; “probably just the strange country. For now we need to get word to Sarah that we’re ready to leave.”

  The next morning, Haydren made his way to the keep and informed one of the guards, who brought him to Ketteran; a place and time was set to meet the next morning, and Haydren returned to the Inn.

  As Haydren was saddling his horse early the next morning, he heard hooves approach, and a voice speaking in Cariste. He glanced toward the stable door, but could only see the back of the stable-boy, who tried to understand the different language.

  “Well find me someone who can speak the language, would you?” the voice said, rising in authority and frustration.

  But the boy still misunderstood, trying to grasp the reins and do his duty; but the other man was determined that he leave specific instructions.

  Rolling his eyes, Haydren moved to the door to try to help. As soon as he exited the stable, he froze.

  It was Semmelle, lieutenant of Guntsen’s Mages.

  “Are you the farrier?” Semmelle demanded. Whether he was distracted by anger, or Haydren had changed since leaving Hewolucs, he didn’t seem to recognize who stood in front of him.

  “Just someone trying to help,” Haydren said.

  “You speak his language?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you please tell him to use the brush in my saddlebags, and not handfuls of dung-filled straw when he brushes down my horse?” he asked. “The idiot at Fūnik made him smell like all the wrong parts of a stall when I passed through.”

  Haydren quickly relayed the message; the boy made a grimace. “I don’t want horse-dung on my hands either,” he said.

  “He understands perfectly,” Haydren said to Semmelle.

  “Good.” Semmelle turned to his saddlebags and retrieved a small book. As Haydren made to duck back into the stable, Semmelle turned to him again. “What was your name?” he asked.

  “Uh, Ketteran,” Haydren replied.

  Semmelle nodded, moving off toward the inn as he paged through the small book in his hand. Haydren returned to the stall to quickly finish saddling his horse.

  Geoffrey and Pladt arrived shortly, noticing Haydren’s hurried movements. “Something wrong?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Semmelle is here,” Haydren said, pointing to the horse that the stable-boy was rubbing down with straw.

  “Wasn’t he the—”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope Sarah is on her way,” Geoffrey said, throwing a saddle-blanket over his mare. He hefted the saddle and placed it gently on her back, then settled it firmly into the blanket. “He didn’t recognize you?”

  “It didn’t seem like it,” Haydren replied, sliding the bridle over his gelding’s head. He patted his horse’s neck, watching as Geoffrey cinched the saddle tight. “How did he follow me all the way out here?” he muttered.

  “You say it like Frecksshire is deep in the back-country,” Geoffrey replied with a grin. “The better question might be how he expects to find you in such a large castle.”

  “Well now he has,” Haydren replied. “Let’s not get started on the odds of that.”

  Sarah entered the stable leading her own horse just as the others were finished preparing theirs. “Ready to go?” she asked.

  “Very,” Haydren replied, hoping his glance and his silence about Semmelle would warn Geoffrey not to bring it up; whether it worked or not, Geoffrey said nothing.

  The morning was chilly for summer, but the fog burned off quickly as the four companions exited the farmland surrounding the castle and entered the Moors proper. Between broad planes of stunted mute-green grass were equally broad but shallow vales marked by breaching rock, and moss where shadows and small springs clung. Groves of trees sprang up, much like the land around Werine; but the trees here were short and scrubby, with bare trunks and high branches that twisted and knuckled and ended in thick pine-like needles that offered little shade as they passed underneath.

  “You’re silent today, archer,” Sarah nodded as they rode toward Noon.

  “So is everyone,” Pladt replied. Sarah grinned.

  “I expect it from them,” she replied; “unless I ask Haydren about history or geography, or Geoffrey about magic.” She winked quickly as they each glanced at her with eyebrows raised. But Pladt only shrugged, and kept his silence.

  After-Noon passed, and it seemed to Haydren that the sun dragged through its long path toward the flat horizon. When finally it neared the end of its journey, a squat stone building arose to the north, just off the road on which they traveled.

  “See, Pladt?” Geoffrey said, pointing. “I told you they would have Inns a day’s ride apart in this country.”

  Pladt smiled, but Sarah glanced quickly at them. “Umm…”

  “What?” Geoffrey asked.

  She smiled grimly. “You’ll see.”

  And so they did; as they neared, they could see the ragged remains of the collapsed roof. Riding closer revealed scorch-marks streaking the stone walls, and what was left of the door hung awkwardly on its hinges. They stopped and dismounted; Pladt approached first and ran his fingers along a set of deep grooves, barely worn by time, clearly made by thick claws.

  “I told you there were not many inns left that withstood the beasts’ uprising,” Sarah said as they stood in glum horror.

  Geoffrey glanced around. “We could still stay here,” he said. “The floor is intact, and the walls will keep off the wind.”

  Pladt let his hand drop from the claw-marks. “That’s okay,” he said, in the closest he had been to his usual humor in several weeks. “I don’t care how wet or windy, as long as it’s far from here.”

  The rest agreed, and they rode until only half the sun showed above the western rim of the moors; they set up as quick a camp as they could as darkness descended on the land.

  The next day began calmly, and they rode with spirits unlimited by a high clear sky. After lunch a light breeze picked up from the west, stirring the grasses and horses’ manes. With satisfied stomachs they rode more leisurely, lulled by cicadas buzzing in the summer sun. As the sun sank against the far horizon they stopped early, hoping to set up camp and cook another good meal.

  But as they prepared to strike the fire, the wind paused, eddied, then blew steadily from the east.

  Sarah stiffened and looked eastward. “Storm,” she said simply, pointing. As the party glanced at the towering midnight-dark clouds engulfing the horizon, Sarah took a step toward her horse. “A big one!” she called, and they all quickly gathered their things and leapt to their horses.

  “Why didn’t we set up camp?” Pladt yelled as they rode.

  “It’s too big for that,” Sarah replied. “We need walls, stone ones. A roof would be nice, but I don’t know if we’re close
enough…”

  The clouds raced onward and erased the landscape below it; lightning fell like rain across the horizon, its breadth of field narrow at first. The companions galloped onward as the wind rose evermore. The breadth of lightning widened as the storm neared, closer and closer; fat drops fell randomly: one hit Haydren squarely in the eye and stung his vision. It seemed the lightning was encircling them: the edge of the blackness like a tide appeared suddenly on the grasses and swept over them with a crash of thunder, and rain pelted them like pebbles as the wind threatened to blow them off their skittering horses.

  They slowed, then stopped and dismounted, circling their horses and huddling near each other.

  “We should walk!” Sarah said, her hair already matted to her face in soggy clumps.

  “To where?” Haydren shouted back, blinking away the rain.

  “There should be a farm soon; he took over an old inn.”

  “Who did?” Geoffrey asked.

  “His name’s Dasillion,” she replied. “He’s…” She shrugged and her voice dropped a little. “He’s Dasillion. Let’s see if we can get there.”

  And so they pressed onward, keeping their horses windward. The lightning flashes slowed, then stopped, sinking them into a soaking darkness like they had not seen since the Kalen Woods.

  They walked without passage of time, every twenty steps sinking further into a deepening ooze. A trickle down the western side of the road became a stream, then a torrent. Haydren, behind Sarah, glanced back to Geoffrey, who glanced back to Pladt, who walked with head bowed, never glancing up to curse the rain and the wind.

  They walked, slipped, got back up and stumbled on. Haydren’s horse, who had kept his head turned toward his owner as they plodded, suddenly swung his head around to look eastward. The rain, no longer shielded, blasted Haydren in the face; grumbling, Haydren yanked on the reins to bring the horse’s head back around – but he stopped, instead. Haydren shouldered him to get his attention, but he ignored him.

  Sarah, who had glanced back, stopped as well. “What’s wrong?” she shouted above the gale.