By Ways Unseen Read online

  She stood, smoothing her blue silk dress and wrapping her shoulders in a fur shawl. The Earl only and ever wished to see her; but it would always be up to her how much he saw.

  When she entered the throne room, though, she could tell something was different this time: General Halfeng was there, as well as Thregard and Dewer, his political and historical advisors – but not his bard.

  “You requested my presence?” Sarah asked.

  Earl Durdamon’s gaze did not linger. “Yes; come over here and look at this,” he said, pointing to the map that lay on the table before them. General Halfeng moved over to give her space; the advisors stood on the opposite side of the table gazing gloomily at the map.

  She approached, and looked down; most of it was familiar except a new, thin black line that traced on the opposite side of the Kalen Woods, near the eastern province’s castle of Quaran. That it stood out immediately, though she did not know what it demarcated, troubled her.

  Earl Durdamon nodded gravely to her inquisitive glance. “Yes, it’s a new line. According to reports, it’s where the Woods are now.”

  “’Now’?” she echoed.

  “Yes, it didn’t use to be there – it hasn’t been there in centuries!” replied Dewer. He glared as Thregard scoffed mildly. “It hasn’t. No record says it has, not since the Kalen ruled there – perhaps before!”

  “It moved?” Sarah asked.

  “Grown,” General Halfeng corrected. “So far as we know, the interior has not changed.”

  “The interior does not change, ever,” Dewer muttered.

  “Can magic do that?” Durdamon asked.

  Sarah shrugged. “There is perhaps a way, but certainly not by air.”

  “Can you tell if something else could, if you looked at it?” asked Thregard.

  Sarah regarded him closely. “Perhaps. Has it never grown like this before?”

  “Well it didn’t pop into existence fully grown,” Thregard said wryly. Sarah cast him a withering look.

  “Of course it has,” Dewer answered her question. “But it had been dormant for at least twenty years, just outside sight of Quaran’s walls, so they said. It is said they can see it easily, now.”

  “It sounds like magic, but I’m not sure what kind.”

  Durdamon turned his back on the map and leaned against the table. “Will seeing the Woods help you determine what is happening?”

  “I say again: perhaps,” Sarah replied. “I have affinity with air, so that is what I study.”

  “You also study men.”

  “They confuse me,” Sarah said, barely managing to keep the edge off her voice, and smiling to soften the words even more.

  “If you speak to those near it, they may have seen things to help you understand what is happening.”

  Sarah hesitated. “So I’m not going to this side of the Woods?”

  Durdamon smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Is anyone going with me?” she asked, glancing around the table.

  “Some,” the Earl replied, turning back to the table. “But you have to look like you’re on a diplomatic mission. All three are sending representatives: a squad from Halfeng, and an apprentice each from Dewer and Thregard.”

  “Will Junei appreciate your soldiers entering his province?” Sarah asked.

  “We’ll find out at Fūnik,” the General replied. “I cannot imagine he is that suspicious.”

  “We would be,” Sarah replied quietly.

  “Only because of what we know,” Durdamon said with a nod. “I’m honestly unsure if Junei knows anything at all.”

  “I leave tonight?” Sarah asked, recalling the improper messenger’s comment.

  “If I could send someone else, I would,” the Earl replied, gazing at the map. “I hope I do not inconvenience your studies.”

  Sarah glanced around the circle of men. You would send a wizard if you could, not a sorceress, she thought. “Not at all,” she said. “Some of it I can take with me. I will return as swiftly as possible.”

  “Return with knowledge, if not time,” Durdamon replied with a glance. “Both are precious and in short supply, but I prefer the first.”

  “I understand.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  REMEMBRANCES

  “Do you mean we must let this happen?”

  “There are many things that must happen, Teresh.”

  “Not things that we have the power to stop.”

  “A power only granted to us; it is not solely ours.”

  28 Nuamon 1319 – Spring

  The next day, Haydren awoke with the morning already well advanced. The sun rose behind the house, and the window remained in shadow late, allowing him to sleep longer than he had intended. Swearing something briefly, Haydren leapt out of bed.

  “Jelleth, wake up,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  Jelleth muttered something, snorted, and continued to breathe deeply. Haydren leaned over toward Jelleth’s bed and smacked him on the shoulder. Jelleth’s eyes popped open and he glared at Haydren.

  “Do you want to lose your hands?” Jelleth asked, his voice thick and gravelly.

  “It’s time to wake up,” Haydren said, sitting back down onto his bed and beginning to pull on his boots. “Past time, even.”

  Jelleth closed his eyes once more. “Let me tell you something about the captain,” he said. “When he says ‘first thing in the morning,’ he simply means before anything else he does; not before anything else happens in the world. We have plenty of time. So, unless you want me to cut your hands from your arms, leave me to sleep.”

  Haydren placed his hands on his thighs and pursed his lips. “Oh,” he muttered to himself. He stood up and glanced through the window.

  “So, Jelleth,” Haydren began, a small grin creeping onto his face.

  “Hmm?” Jelleth muttered.

  “This angry-looking soldier on the street, looking toward our window, wouldn’t be the captain, then,” Haydren said, and turned to look at Jelleth. “You know, since he isn’t awake yet.”

  Jelleth growled something, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed. “The one time he decides to…” he muttered, yanking on his boots.

  Haydren belted on his sword – Mickel’s sword – and picked up his saddlebags from beside the bed. “I’ll go out and let him know we’re on our way,” he said, moving toward the door.

  “And I’ll castrate you!” Jelleth barked. “We go out together or you don’t go out at all.”

  Haydren shrugged. “As you wish,” he replied. He stood silently, saddlebag in hand, watching as Jelleth hurriedly dressed and gathered his gear. He opened the door, allowing the soldier to exit first.

  As he moved to the stairs and stood at their head, he noticed Geoffrey’s door stood open and the room appeared empty. Yet, when they went downstairs, Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.

  “Did he really leave us alone in his house?” Haydren muttered. Jelleth was too busy cursing and still fumbling with his sword belt to hear him.

  They entered the street; a little prophetically, it had rained and the road was thick with mud. Beron stood impatiently by his horse as Haydren and Jelleth made their way to the stables in fits of stride as they tried to show they were hurrying without admitting the need to hurry. Haydren’s horse looked at them, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as if laughing at them; seeming to know they were in a hurry, he tried to pin Haydren to the stable wall as Haydren positioned the saddle, and inflated his chest as he made to snug the girth. Haydren glared at him.

  “Did you find anything out?” Beron asked when they finally made their way to him from the stables.

  “His name is Geoffrey,” Haydren replied, now thoroughly weary.

  Jelleth and Beron both gazed at him a moment before Jelleth turned back to look at the captain.

  “I like this kid,” Jelleth said, hooking a thumb toward Haydren.

  Beron snorted. “Yeah, he reminds me of you,” he replie
d.

  Jelleth spread his hands in question. “You say it like it’s a bad thing!” he said.

  “We’re going to scout around,” Beron said, turning to include the rest of the soldiers in his gaze. “Did any of you find anything out from the townsfolk you quartered with?”

  Flies buzzed in the captain’s ear.

  “Did any of you ask?” he pressed further. Still silence.

  “Perfect,” he growled. “What did I do to deserve you guys?” He suppressed a sigh. “All right, we’ll ride around and see what we can find out. We should be on the road home by mid-day.”

  The men brightened visibly at this, and all mounted their horses quickly. Beron shook his head, spat, and mounted as well.

  They spent a few tedious hours around the village, but by noon they had found no townsfolk with any troubles or worries to report. True to his word, Beron had them facing their horses toward Hewolucs before the sun reached its zenith.

  The journey home was as uneventful as the journey to Hodp, and by noon the fourth day the spires of Hewolucs rose over the horizon. Once inside the walls, Haydren relaxed in the familiar bustle and towering buildings of the city.

  Near the middle of town, the students broke off from the rest of the soldiers and returned to the school.

  The main rotunda was strangely quiet when they entered. They were supposed to give a report, Haydren thought; he turned around several times, thinking maybe Sir Cullins was on a balcony. But the school-master was nowhere to be seen. After glancing at one another with quizzical looks, Dillion and Harlan left, intending to return to their rooms. Haydren started to follow, but heard a noise from Sir Cullins’ office and turned back to look. He knocked quietly at the headmaster’s door.

  After a moment of silence, Haydren heard a faint response from within. He entered; Sir Cullins was seated, a hand wrapped around his mouth as he gazed pensively at his desk. His eyes flicked upward, his hand dropped, and a grin forced its way onto his face.

  “Haydren!” he said, but his voice did not echo his smile. “Your patrol is back; that’s good. How was it?”

  “Sir Cullins, what’s wrong?” Haydren asked.

  “Where are Harlan and Dillion?” Sir Cullins asked.

  “They returned to the Apartments,” Haydren replied. “We thought you would be outside to greet us; when you weren’t there we assumed you would call for us.”

  “I am sorry,” Sir Cullins replied. “I guess I wasn’t expecting you back so early.” He glanced out the window, noting the slant of the rays. “Or I didn’t realize it was so late already,” he amended.

  “Sir Cullins, what’s happened?” Haydren repeated, his voice earnest.

  Sir Cullins sighed. “It’s too soon to tell yet,” he replied, wiping a hand down his face. “The patrol to Raka has not sent word yet, that’s all.”

  “Should have they?” Haydren asked.

  “It is only a little further to Raka than it is to Hodp, Haydren,” Sir Cullins replied. “Think of your maps: it is perhaps two days further. And yet you have had time to journey to Hodp and back, and no word has been sent back from their patrol, at all. They were to send a falcon back when they reached the town, advising the Earl as to whether they would continue to Sanir.” Sir Cullins paused, swallowing. “The Earl has received no word yet.”

  “Sir Cullins,” Haydren said, his voice soft. “Kitrel was my closest friend, and he was on that patrol.”

  “I know,” Sir Cullins replied. He sighed. “I know; listen, there’s nothing for you to do until graduation. You may return to your room, and I will send word as soon as I hear anything.”

  Haydren bowed his head. “Thank you, Sir,” he replied.

  Harlan and Dillion were both waiting for him when he reached the Apartments, and he relayed Sir Cullins’ message to them. They all stood in uncomfortable silence for some moments before breaking up and returning to their rooms. Haydren reclined on his bed, not bothering to remove his boots as he gazed out the window at the setting sun. It did not even occur to him, as the sun disappeared below the horizon, to light his lamps, and the room sank deeper and deeper into night.

  As the last of a red glow sat above his window sill, a knock came softly at his door. “Come in,” he said, without moving. When Sir Cullins entered, he leapt to his feet.

  “Sir Cullins!” he cried. “If I had known it was you…”

  Sir Cullins silenced him with a wave. “You could not know,” he said.

  They stood for several moments in silence. “What have you heard?” Haydren asked, already knowing the answer: Sir Cullins would not have brought the message himself if it were good news.

  “A falcon from Raka arrived this evening,” Sir Cullins replied. “The troop was ambushed before they could have been seen by the roving guard. It was not until vultures gathered that they even sent out a patrol to investigate.” Sir Cullins paused, swallowing, and looked at Haydren, eyes filled with compassion – and tears. “There were no survivors,” he said. “I’m so sorry Haydren.”

  The darkness below Haydren yawned open, about to swallow him. Haydren sat back down onto his bed, his eyes unfocused. There had always been a slight possibility of being attacked, but he could never imagine an entire troop being slaughtered. And Kitrel was one of the best fighters in the school! It didn’t seem possible.

  “Who attacked them?” Haydren asked quietly.

  “The message was not entirely clear, but there were a number of dead beasts in the field. It is unlikely bandits were with them,” Sir Cullins replied.

  “Beasts?” Haydren asked numbly. “Is that common?”

  “It is far more common recently than in the past,” Sir Cullins replied. “I told you that before you left.”

  Haydren gazed at the floor now shrouded in shadows, fighting a range of emotions: sorrow, hatred, fear. Mostly he wanted revenge, knowing it would not be for him to have. He looked up at Sir Cullins once more, his eyes hardening. “Should I expect more patrols to Hodp after graduation, Sir Cullins?” he asked.

  Sir Cullins sighed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “Haydren,” he began, his voice a whisper.

  “Never mind,” Haydren said abruptly. “You don’t have to say it. Thank you for coming to let me know, Sir Cullins.” He meant the last part, and hoped his voice conveyed his honesty.

  Sir Cullins gazed at him with compassion a moment more. “Of course,” he replied. “I will send for you when we must start preparing for graduation. You are free until then.”

  With that, he turned and left, shutting Haydren in utter darkness. Coming to himself, Haydren leapt to his feet, fumbling for his tinder box and taper. He extended the lantern-wick on his bedside table and shakily attempted to light it. It flared suddenly, startling him. The flame died down quickly, and sent its diffuse glow across the table. Haydren took a long breath, and the flame fluttered as he exhaled.

  He circled the room, lighting the rest of the lamps and candles before returning to his bed and sitting heavily down upon it. He ran his fingers through his hair; Kitrel had been his only friend – his only true friend. A few others had tolerated him; most hated him both behind and in front of his back. Now Kitrel was dead, and there was nothing Haydren could do about it. He would be on patrols to Hodp forever, because they assumed he was of lesser blood. They assumed it! They didn’t know, they couldn’t know; even Haydren didn’t know.

  His fists spasmed in helpless frustration. He only ever had vague sensations of memories before Hewolucs, as if standing before a locked door and knowing the sun was shining behind it but he was unable to open the door to see it. It had happened in the shed with Sir Cullins’ dog; and the day practicing with wooden dummies, before the Earl came in and granted him a wish; and it had happened at Geoffrey’s house, though he didn’t realize it until now for how distracted he had been then. He couldn’t place it specifically, but it was something in the way the home was designed and furnished felt familiar.

  But he grasped only at wind, o
r the idea of wind; sometimes when he searched the hardest, his memories seemed furthest away.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, grasping a handful and gripping tightly. He wanted desperately to be a good student, and a good swordsman, and maybe people could appreciate that – appreciate him, and realize that he was worth more. Only then could he begin to do things…

  But no: he was in a box built by others, cramped together and unable to move. As hard as he might push on one side, and feel headway, he would end up only rotating into a more difficult and suffocating position. His hand dropped, and he grasped the sword at his side, which he had neglected to take off; even it could not help him, for he was unable to remove it and beat against his compressive walls. And there was Guntsen, teeth bared in the darkness, waiting for him to attempt to escape, to swallow him whole.

  Haydren sighed; he needed to play. The two greatest gifts he had received since enrolling in the School were a small harp and the lessons to be able to play. Often, when frustration overwhelmed him, the music would calm him. He sat up, reaching under the bed to retrieve the instrument. After pulling it out, he leaned back and rested his fingers on the strings. He closed his eyes, and began with a familiar slow tune as he allowed his thoughts to drift.

  The song took him back to a broad plain, with the wind sweeping through the grasses. He was sitting on a newly bundled sheaf, the smell of fresh-cut hay in his nostrils. A few broken bits of straw drifted on the breeze. In his mind, beside him, a man of nearly thirty worked with a scythe; a man with bright chestnut hair, and dark black eyebrows.

  Haydren opened his eyes, stilling the strings. Something was tugging at him, something about the notes he had just played. Still without looking at the harp, and as he tried to return in his mind to the images he had just seen, he played tentatively.

  The notes that followed were notes he had never been taught, but that rang in him with a familiarity that brought tears to his eyes. He knew there were lyrics attached to the song, lyrics about war and grief – but he could not remember them. He played the song over and over, the notes purging him of all thoughts yet leaving him with a sense of fullness that welled in his eyes. He played until exhaustion tripped his fingers upon the strings; he stopped before the discordant notes shattered the delicate construction within him. The notes continued ringing in his ears long after he stopped playing, and they continued to echo through his dreams that night.