By Ways Unseen Page 4

  Haydren didn't smile. “Could I talk to you, sir?” he asked. “Somewhere that we can be alone?”

  Sir Cullins cocked his head, then nodded. “Sure. I have to watch over the other students, so wait for me at my chambers. I'll be there shortly.”

  “Thank you sir,” Haydren replied. After he turned and left, Sir Cullins again looked to the window. He could imagine what Haydren wanted to speak to him about – not that there was much he could do to argue with the young orphan. Somehow Sir Cullins didn't think the “orders are orders” speech would go very far.

  When the last group of boys exited, Sir Cullins extinguished the lamps and locked the door behind him. In the rotunda, he descended one of three sets of stairs curving down the three floors of the school. He crossed the main floor where the Earl’s coat was emblazoned upon the tiles, into a hall on the east wing – the only other wing the school had aside from the Apartments. Here were faculty chambers; he could never walk to his office without noting – and smiling at –the bright purple door of Herb-Mistress Felise’s room. He found Haydren patiently waiting outside his own door with his back to the wall.

  Sir Cullins said nothing as he led the way in. On the opposite wall hung a broad tapestry depicting the last great battle between Carist and Rinc Na, and a window bright with sunset threw crosshatched patterns upon a thin carpet of yellow and crimson squares. “Have a seat, Haydren,” the schoolmaster said, gesturing to a chair opposite an ornate maple desk that sat to the left of the door. As Haydren politely refused the ladder-back chair in the middle of the floor, Sir Cullins lowered himself into his cloth-padded chair and leaned back, folding his hands in his lap.

  “What can I do for you, Haydren?” Sir Cullins asked, already preparing his answer.

  “Sir, why did the Earl train me in your school?”

  “Haydren, I've been a soldier for a long time, and orders…” Sir Cullins stopped, cocking his head at Haydren. “Wait, what?”

  “Earl Junei expended a lot of effort, and took a major risk in enrolling me in your school,” Haydren said. “He had to have known how I would be viewed by my classmates. Surely he even viewed me the same way! So…” Haydren paused, raising his hands imploringly. “Why?”

  Sir Cullins sighed, gazing through the latticed window across the room. “Because you're skilled, Haydren,” Sir Cullins replied, returning his gaze to Haydren's eyes. “Whatever else you are – or are not – you are skilled. Taeus Junei is short enough of troops that he isn't going to pass up an opportunity to train someone who may very well protect him personally one day.”

  “So he sends me to Hodp?”

  “Everyone starts somewhere, Haydren.”

  “Others started in Raka.”

  “Haydren,” Sir Cullins said, leaning forward in his chair, “bandits are increasing on the roads; creatures are multiplying at a frightening rate in the wilds – vicious creatures, who do not hesitate to attack men; and more and more patrols are clashing near our borders with Aonan and Frecksshire Provinces. Swordsmen will be needed for more than patrols to Hodp.”

  “So why send us there now?” Haydren asked.

  “Because there is greater evidence now linking those beasts and bandits to Lasserain, and to the king as well. But we do not know where the enemy will strike next. Earl Junei is increasing patrols to all settlements under his rule; Raka and Sanir are more dangerous to soldiers, as is Quaran and the outposts to the south. But Hodp, small as it is, faces a greater risk of small raids simply because of its size. Your mission, and many after this, will be to search for evidence of the enemy’s movements.”

  “So why would he send the more important students where there is greater danger? After all, he is sending Willam to Raka, who aside from Guntsen has the highest rank of all of us.”

  Sir Cullins’ fist tightened: so Haydren was not as stupid as he had hoped. He was silent for several moments, trying to figure out how to respond. His gaze moved to the square of evening light that crept toward his desk, then back at the student so full of promise and passion that stood before him, now only full of disappointment and a suppressed future. He found himself inspecting those singular features that, by now, were sure to follow Haydren everywhere in Kelian Province, forever giving him away as impure Cariste. Though most of his classmates wished not to, they tolerated him because they grew up with him; most seemed to try to ignore that Haydren looked far more Rinc Nain than Cariste.

  Sir Cullins held back a sigh; Haydren’s eyes focused on his, then dropped.

  “I just want to be able to make my own choices, to be and do as well as the skill I have, not the lineage I do not have,” he said quietly. “Is that lineage going to keep me on patrols to Hodp forever?”

  “There are many units under command of the Earl, Haydren,” Sir Cullins replied, hoping time would fulfill his wishful thinking. “Right now, there were only three patrols going out, and nine students to send; he could not send you somewhere more important than where he sent the others. The dishonor to them and their families…” Sir Cullins paused, and sighed. “Wait until you graduate, and are admitted into the Earl’s ranks generally. There will be far more opportunities for you to progress then.”

  Haydren nodded silently; what Sir Cullins said made sense, but something still nagged at the back of his mind, something telling him he would forever be less than what his capabilities provided. This patrol to Hodp was a dark crevice into which he might slip and never been seen from again, and Haydren felt himself inevitably drawn into it.

  “Thank you, Sir Cullins,” Haydren said quietly, looking up. “I should probably begin packing.”

  Sir Cullins nodded graciously. “Good idea. The future is always uncertain Haydren, and you are still young; be patient: see what happens.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Haydren said, straightening his shoulders. He paused for a moment before adding: “I will.”

  Haydren exited with Sir Cullins’ bidding and went to his room. He packed before nightfall, then lay in bed awake till the moon had nearly set. Its broad grin hovered orange over the horizon, trying to assure him as mightily as Sir Cullins that the world was all right. But the moon was content with its lofty track over the midnight skies, and Haydren would not be content with his dusty track through the dregs of life. He rolled over in bed, thought once more of his patrol in the morning, and fell asleep.

  *

  They set out just as the sun slid over the horizon. Besides the three students there were twelve mounted soldiers, and their captain – a broad, scraggle-bearded man in his mid-fifties named Beron. It was a cool morning under clear skies that did not cloud over for three days as they traveled north toward Hodp. Inns were sparse in eastern Burieng, and usually were only found in towns or at intersections of roads. Towns themselves were days apart across the continent: the constant threat of beasts – which had never quite diminished through the centuries of Burieng’s settlement – made it a better proposal to guard wagoners’ convoys than to build the fortified wall necessary in most parts for a town’s survival. Though there were farmhouses manned by stalwart Cariste here and there along the way, more often than not the soldiers slept in tents huddled around fires at night. As the youngest members of the unit, the students were given guard duty with a veteran during the worst watches of the night.

  As the sun climbed the sky on the fourth morning since they had left Hewolucs, the soldiers rode and talked amongst each other – whether bragging or bellyaching, Haydren didn’t care to listen. One of the soldiers, Jelleth, had recognized the coldness of Haydren’s classmates on the first day, and had taken a personal liking to him almost immediately. However, the man was strangely silent today, leaving Haydren alone to gaze at the broad plains around them.

  Haydren stood briefly to relieve the pressure on his backside. After four days, he longed to walk; he was a swordsman, after all, and if he wanted to ride he would have wished to become a knight. As he stood, he saw on the horizon a speck of dark on the bright plains that he recognized
to be a house – probably another of the scattered farmhouses, at which they would invariably pause to inquire about beasts and bandits, as they had for the past half-week. Of more concern to him now was a lone tree to the east, gnarled and bent, that poked its balding head from the otherwise treeless plain. It stood alone but unique, abandoned by the forest which must have surrounded it at one time; hardened by time, it refused to die and stood as a monument unto itself. Though he knew he couldn’t, Haydren wished he could go to take a closer look at it.

  “There it is,” Jelleth said.

  “I saw it,” Haydren replied thoughtfully. “Have you ever had an opportunity to go look at it?”

  Jelleth glanced at him in confusion. “What?”

  “That tree,” Haydren said, pointing. “It’s strange that it stands by itself, with no trees around it. Is it a remnant of some ancient forest?”

  “I meant Hodp,” Jelleth said, and pointed. “There’s Hodp.”

  Haydren gazed forward, hoping to see something he had missed: he saw now the low, wooden wall about six feet high encircling the town. “That?” he asked, disbelievingly. Then, in a weaker voice, he repeated: “That?”

  Jelleth laughed loudly. “You’ve never been outside of Hewolucs, have you?” he asked.

  Haydren sank in his saddle, forgetting how sore he was. Both the tree and the men around him, all were old and hardened; alone, monuments only of perseverance. Was this his fate, then, to only exist, stubbornly clinging to life as everything else fell away? With a bitter sigh of suppressed realization, he remembered his career as a swordsman would probably end when Guntsen ascended the throne.

  Ahead, the houses of Hodp clustered on the junction of Shoreline Road – on which the soldiers approached the town – and Governor Road, which ran south and west along the Ghlande River toward Quaran. There were a few outlying huts and houses; passing one, a mother concentrated on her butter churn as Haydren and the others rode by. The father was leading a pair of oxen out to the field, and a dog was baying as it chased after a young boy. To the east, a squat windmill grazed slowly in the shifting breeze; a clamor near the north edge of the town heralded the forge.

  “How…pastoral,” Haydren muttered. Jelleth chuckled, but said nothing.

  They rode through the hole in the wall that may once have held gates, but now gaped like missing teeth. The road ran to a Y-intersection; on the northwest corner of the intersection stood an Inn, and it was toward this structure that Beron directed his horse. He alighted nimbly for his age and size; but before tying up his horse, he squinted north up the road. Haydren followed his gaze and saw a large plume of dust in the distance.

  “We may have to quarter with the locals,” Beron said, looping the reins around a pole.

  One of the soldiers growled, and the rest of the soldiers looked equally displeased with the idea. The three students only glanced at each other.

  “Why?” Harlan asked.

  “Because we can,” Jelleth replied, and spat. “Those merchants can’t,” he continued, pointing toward the plume. “And they’ll fill the Inn.”

  “Maybe,” Beron said, approaching the door to the Inn. He opened it, took half a step inside, glanced around the common room, then turned on his heel and returned to his horse.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  With several sighs and mutterings, the soldiers followed their captain to a nearby house; built of wood and stucco, it rose unique as one of the few two-story houses in the village. Beron approached the door and pounded, shaking it in its frame. The moments passed, and he raised his fist again. But before he could strike, the door opened to reveal a man with close-cropped, rusty hair, who at first glance seemed stooped with age – his height would come barely to Haydren’s nose. But the man’s back was straight, and despite a years-worn look similar to the captain’s, he retained a certain degree of vitality that Beron had clearly lost many years ago.

  “Doors are expensive,” the man said. “You needn’t break mine just to seek my answer.” His voice was quiet; and though he didn’t assault Beron’s authority directly, Haydren found himself holding his breath for fear of the captain’s reaction to the tone.

  Beron hesitated a few moments. “We require lodging,” he said finally.

  “The inn is across the street,” the man replied. He began shutting the door, slowly; Beron thrust his foot against it. The man pulled the door open.

  “A group of merchants are approaching,” Beron said. “And they have first claim to public lodging.”

  “How unfortunate for you,” the man said with concern, folding his hands in front of him.

  “And for you,” Beron replied impatiently. He was quickly growing tired of this man’s pacific resistance. “We are soldiers of the Earl; you cannot refuse us any less than you can refuse the Earl himself. How many beds do you have?”

  The man gazed at Beron for several moments, then swept his gaze over the rest of the soldiers; his eyes lingered on Haydren for a moment longer than the others before it returned to the captain.

  “Two,” he replied.

  “Very well,” Beron replied. He turned to his troops. “Haydren, Jelleth, you two stay here. We regroup first thing tomorrow morning, right out here in front of the inn.”

  “Aww, captain, you’re not going to put me up with the dissenter and the youth, are you?” Jelleth whined.

  Beron glared at him, but said nothing. Haydren swung down from his horse and removed his saddlebags. Jelleth was behind him, moving despondently.

  “Hey, Jelly, maybe you can teach him some fighting skills,” said one of the soldiers.

  Haydren snorted. “I could probably teach him a few things,” he replied.

  The soldier stared at him. “I meant the dissenter,” he replied, and turned and laughed with his comrades.

  “Tomorrow morning!” Beron shouted over the joviality. Grasping his horse’s reins, he led the rest of the troop to the next house.

  “I have a small stable in back,” said the man of the house. “Make use as you need.”

  They did, and after unsaddling, brushing down, and feeding their horses they returned to find the front door still open, and the man inside near a wood-stove with his back to them. They entered, and Jelleth shut the door with a bang; the man glanced at them benignly and continued with whatever task engaged him.

  When Haydren’s eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, his gaze wandered around a single-room lower floor with dark wood flooring, a black fur rug near the stone fireplace, and a table set just to the right of that. In the far corner, a small collection of cookware hung on pegs on the wall near the stove. To his surprise, a water pump stood against the wall, with a large basin standing next to it. Water pumps were rare enough in Hewolucs; he did not expect to find one in Hodp, let alone in a personal home.

  “Do you live here alone?” he asked.

  “Until now,” the man replied, turning to them finally and wiping his hands on a towel at his waist. His tone was still not confrontational; he spoke merely as if stating facts, with no indication of how pleasantly or unpleasantly he viewed them. A staircase near the back led to the second floor, and he moved toward it now, gesturing for the two to follow him.

  On the second floor, they came up facing a door, and a hallway ran behind them, parallel to the right side of the staircase. There were two more doors on the hallway, and Haydren could see sunlight streaming underneath them.

  It was to the first door on the hallway that the man directed them. He opened it for them, and inside were two cots of straw mattresses; another, smaller fur rug between them; and a small chest of drawers centered under the single window in the room. Jelleth glanced around dubiously.

  “I thought you said you had two rooms?” he asked.

  “I told your captain I had two beds,” the man replied.

  “What’s in there?” Jelleth asked, pointing to the door that faced the stairs.

  “Storage.”

  Jelleth looked at the door dejectedly. �
�Can I store myself in there, then?”

  The man’s expression did not change. “I have two beds,” he said again. “You are welcome to them, or you may sleep somewhere else; but beware, rain can come quickly upon Hodp, and the street floods easily.”

  Jelleth shrugged. “I was only asking,” he said. “Which bed do you want, youth?” he asked Haydren, throwing his gear on the bed on the left without waiting for a reply.

  The man opened his mouth, glanced at Haydren, and shut it. He turned to leave.

  “Sir,” Haydren called; the man turned back, eyes glittering beneath thin eyebrows that Haydren just noticed were dark brown, contrasting his hair. “May I ask your name?” he asked. “I certainly do not want to continue calling you ‘dissenter.’”

  The man paused, considering. “Geoffrey,” he replied. He opened his mouth to say something more, then glanced at Jelleth, who reclined with one eye cocked on him. Geoffrey shut his mouth, turned, and left.

  “Talkative, isn’t he?” Haydren said, turning to Jelleth.

  The old soldier replied with a loud snore.

  *

  In the western province of Frecksshire, at the keep of Earl Durdamon, Sarah glanced up from the parchments before her as a messenger entered her chambers suddenly, and quite unannounced. He stopped short, looking at the aged and curling documents before her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her nostrils flaring.

  “The Earl wishes to see you,” the man said, managing to take his eyes off the table but not quite fasten them onto her eyes.

  “But you do not? Or do you indeed, which is why you burst into my private chambers without knocking?”

  “It’s mid-day,” the man replied with a disgruntled gesture to the bright windows. He flashed a quick smile. “Perhaps tonight, if you’re still around.”

  “You’ve delivered your message; thank you,” Sarah replied. After the man turned and left, she sighed; she could strike a man with lightning, and he would only suggest she help him take off his singed clothing.