By Ways Unseen Page 6

  *

  Down the hall, Guntsen awoke with a start, blinking rapidly; he had not lit a candle, or left one lit: it might’ve burned the school down. He glanced quickly around the room.

  A man in a traveling cloak sat in a chair against the corner of the room, near the door.

  “What are you doing here?” Guntsen demanded, dropping his head back against the pillow.

  “Do you actually care?”

  “Did you change the orders, to put Willam in danger?”

  “Did you send Haydren to Hodp, to keep him out of it?”

  “That’s not how I want it to happen; I want it to be all my doing, not yours, and I want him to know it.”

  After a long period of silence, Guntsen twisted to look at the man; his eyes smoldered, but his body remained as still as a shadow of moonlight. “Don’t look at me like that; it never works,” Guntsen said, settling himself into his pillow again. “And don’t attack my friends; I remember things like that.”

  “There are two ways to go about this, child,” the man said quietly. “I have graciously chosen the former; I can easily make it the latter, and my soldiers will be…indiscriminate. They are very good at that.” There was another silence before the man spoke again. “You are taking the next steps already?”

  Guntsen gazed out of his window. “Yes.”

  “You question them?”

  A longer pause. “No.”

  “Perhaps you should.”

  “I might fail.”

  “Failure at this point is the only option.”

  Guntsen twisted swiftly, but the candle was snuffed and the man gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  VISITS

  “Do we know what he plans?”

  “Destruction.”

  “I hoped you would be more specific.”

  “It is a start.”

  33 Nuamon 1319 – Spring

  Haydren woke with a start the next morning, barely catching the harp as it began sliding from his lap. He yawned, rubbing the heel of his palm in his eye. With a long sniff, he glanced at the harp, and the memories of last night rushed back at once. Just to make sure, he played the song again; the haunting melody was still there, still resonating in his mind. He knew it came from his life before Hewolucs; he knew it was from his true parents.

  Tucking the harp away, Haydren rose and extinguished what few lamps still burned; most had used up their fuel and had gone out in the night.

  He needed to find more information. Hodp – complete with Beron, Jelleth, and the dissenter Geoffrey – was all he had to look forward to if he couldn’t prove he was worth more; now with something to go on and the time to pursue it, perhaps he could.

  He rose and threw water on his face from a basin in the back corner of his room. He glanced at himself in the polished steel, the red-brown hair and black eyebrows that irrevocably set him apart from his classmates catching his attention anew – but still, it was not the contrast he had seen of the man in his vision; closer, perhaps, to Geoffrey. Surely he couldn’t be – Mickel and Maerie were both originally from Hodp, but they would have said something. The house had seemed familiar, somehow…

  He leaned a little closer to the steel, trying to think. He focused suddenly, as weary green eyes inspected back frankly at him. He peered closer: not green, gray. Even his eyes were not changeless. He threw a little more water on his face, and wiped it with a towel. There were too many questions; he would ask Sir Cullins for permission to see Mickel, and maybe he could find some answers there.

  After some searching around the school, he found Sir Cullins walking the halls alone. The schoolmaster quickly granted Haydren permission to leave, saying he would send a messenger if anything arose. After a quick breakfast, Haydren walked through the streets to a home where he had only infrequently visited since beginning at Sir Cullins’ school so long ago. His studies had kept him busy enough, with little time for anything else.

  He arrived at the door to their house, hesitating before finally knocking. After a few long moments, the door opened to reveal his adoptive mother. She stood for several moments, gazing at him, smiling, her eyes glistening.

  “You’ve finally come,” she said at last.

  “I’m graduating soon, Maerie,” he replied. “We have some time to ourselves before the ceremony, and I was hoping to speak to you and to Mickel.”

  Maerie blinked each time Haydren referred to them by their proper names, but said nothing. Of course she had hoped Haydren would not grow up knowing he was an orphan, but the Earl’s discovery of his existence had shattered that hope. The least she wished for now was for them to be seen by Haydren as his parents; clearly, that had not happened yet.

  “Of course,” she said, her smile as persistent as her love. “Mickel hasn’t gone to the towers yet. I’m sure he would love to see you.”

  Haydren stepped inside. Maerie closed the door and gestured for him to sit while he waited. Haydren glanced around the room as he moved to a chair; since Mickel had been reinstated to his position within the Guards, the conditions of the house had certainly improved: the floor had been scrubbed bright recently, and a padded chair near the brick fireplace was new. The looming, dark portrait of Mickel’s father still slanted away from the yellow wall, as if the patriarch were leering down at whomever Haydren’s adoptive family was entertaining. It was clearly one of the more inferior pieces by one of Hewolucs’ many alley artisans.

  His adoptive father entered, just then, a broad smile on his broad face. “Haydren!” he boomed, grasping his hand and pulling him from his seat into a massive embrace. “Good to see you back, son. Maerie tells me you’re graduating soon?”

  “Uh, yes, indeed,” Haydren replied, smiling awkwardly in Mickel’s clutches. “I was hoping to talk to you, if, you know…” He gestured, indicating the predicament Mickel put him in.

  Mickel released him finally, still grinning widely. “Of course! Any time you need me, son—”

  “I was wondering what you could tell me about when I arrived here,” Haydren said abruptly.

  Mickel’s grin faded just a little. “Anything in particular?” he asked, glancing at Maerie. She had quietly taken a chair against the wall. Haydren spread his hands helplessly, finding his own seat again.

  “Anything that might help, that might tell me who my true parents were, where I come from…” He sighed. “Anything.”

  Mickel cleared his throat, and lowered himself onto the creaking chair. “I’m not sure how much there is to tell, Haydren,” he said. He enunciated the name, perhaps a little more than he’d wanted to; he continued without a pause. “We had heard about the ambush against the caravan, but you arrived well after the last survivor straggled in. We – rather, I – am not entirely sure that it was your caravan.” Mickel’s eyes clouded over. “I don’t know how you could have survived for that long.”

  “Where was the caravan from, though?” Haydren asked.

  “Westide, Haydren,” Mickel said heavily. “Which means it carried passengers and produce from Gintanos, Salmea, Andelen, the Clanaso Islands – if you were even part of that caravan, it wouldn’t help in determining where you were from. The possibility exists of you traveling from even further away; from Rinc Na or Carist. You would have had to come through any one of the other countries I’ve mentioned to reach here.”

  “But not Hodp?”

  Mickel cocked his head. “Why there?”

  Haydren explained his questions; Mickel shook his head slowly.

  “That house must have been built after we left…”

  “I think they were starting to work on it,” Maerie said quietly. “But I don’t know whose it was.”

  “And we’ve never gone up there?” Haydren asked.

  Mickel shook his head emphatically. “Once I joined the Guards, we’ve been here.”

  Haydren sighed, gazing out the window. “What about what I had on me when I got here? Was I carrying anything significant?”

  When Mickel did not answer,
Haydren glanced back at him. Whatever expression was there was gone before he could read it, and Mickel shook his head slowly. “Nothing really; just the clothing you were wearing, which was badly tattered. You were covered in blood, though it wasn’t your own. That’s why we assume you were in the caravan. But still, none of the other survivors who were still in Hewolucs recognized you.”

  Covered in blood, Mickel said; as he had been after killing Sir Cullins’ dog. Haydren rubbed his nose and sighed; this was not giving him any help. He gazed at the floor for several long moments. Finally, Mickel cleared his throat, and Haydren looked up.

  “Why this sudden interest, Haydren?” Mickel asked, his eyes hedged with concern.

  “A friend of mine was…” he paused, biting his lip in thought. “I will be stuck on patrols to Hodp for my entire service to the Earl, because they only see me as an orphan,” he said. “I was hoping, if I could prove I was more than that…”

  “Mickel,” Maerie whispered, leaning forward in her seat. “What about that letter?”

  “Of course!” Mickel exploded, slamming his palm on the arm of the chair. “He jumped right into questions about his past, and I completely forgot about it!”

  “What letter?” Haydren asked, straightening in his seat.

  “Someone delivered a letter the other day for you,” Mickel said. He paused, scraping his chin with trimmed fingernails. “In fact, it almost looked like my old friend, from the old Guard; but it couldn’t have been him.”

  “What is this letter?” Haydren asked, gripping the arms of his chair tighter.

  Mickel looked at Maerie, who got up and left the room. She soon returned with an envelope and gave it to Haydren. The seal in red wax bore a crest Haydren was unfamiliar with: a circle quartered, with a flame and a tree in opposite corners, and flowing lines which were nearly similar but uniquely different in the other corners. Haydren’s first name only was in flowing script directly above the seal, which he now broke as he unfolded the letter. The body of the letter was in the same writing as the address.

  My Dear Haydren,

  Twelve years ago, when our caravan was attacked, I thought we were done for; when we couldn’t find you even a week after, and were pressed to continue on without you, I couldn’t imagine how. I never thought, so many years later, I would be sitting, composing a letter to the student I thought was long dead. I still cannot believe it. And yet, I don’t have time to sit and wonder.

  We are in dire need, Haydren. It is a difficulty we cannot trust to anyone, nor is just anyone capable of handling it. I can only hope your training continued, there; I would not normally hope for such a thing, but what I know to be true is already beyond belief, so why not? That, and I pray you still have your extraordinary possession. You must bring it with you.

  Please hasten, Haydren. The enemy moves soon, perhaps too soon. Come to Frecksshire with all haste. Even by waiting for you, we are endangering the country; but there seems no other way. Please hurry! More will be explained once you arrive.

  Yours in gratitude,

  Lintasur Guinad

  After reading it several times, Haydren lowered the letter. Frecksshire: capital of Coberan Province, home to the Rinc Nain on Burieng; mistrusted enemy to Earl Junei, whom Haydren was supposed to serve. In Frecksshire was his former instructor, the reason he had such skill when he arrived; there lay his answers, a link to his past and a key to his future; there, beyond his reach.

  His fist gripped in a spasm. “I’m about to graduate,” he mumbled with a sigh. “I doubt the Earl will let me go to Frecksshire; he would probably try to send someone else, if at all.”

  “What’s that?” Mickel asked. Haydren handed him the letter; after he read it he gave it to Maerie and cast his eyes in thought. She read it, and looked up.

  “You might ask Sir Cullins,” Maerie offered, handing him back the letter.

  Haydren shook his head. “They won’t even let me go on a real patrol,” he replied. “I’m attached to a unit whose only mission is to go to Hodp and back.”

  “Didn’t you say you saved the crops from destruction?” Mickel asked, sitting forward. “And this is how they repay you?”

  “I’m afraid that debt has been paid, Mickel,” Haydren replied drily.

  Mickel was silent for a moment. “My reinstatement?” he asked quietly. Haydren glanced sideways at him with pursed lips. Mickel sagged just a little. “Haydren, about that…”

  “Please,” Haydren said quickly, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything about it.”

  “But, Haydren…”

  “No! Because you don’t…just…” Haydren paused, rubbing his forehead as his eyes gazed blankly at the page. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, dropping his hand and focusing intently on the letter once more. His brow furrowed, and he looked up suddenly.

  “How did he find out about me? How would he know my name and that I was still alive?”

  Mickel paused, scratching a finger. “Well, if it was Jeyetna who delivered it,” he said slowly, “he might have come across this…Lintasur …in Frecksshire – he went out there a few years ago,” he added with a nod. “And Jeyetna liked stories; he might have told the right story around the right ears, and this Lintasur asked him to deliver the letter.”

  Haydren scowled. “That sounds like an awful lot of coincidences.”

  “The God of All can do far more than that,” Mickel replied.

  Haydren rolled his eyes and drew a breath. “But why wouldn’t he use my real name?” he asked. “Surely it’s a different name than I have now.”

  “Haydren is not a Cariste name, though,” Maerie said; “which is what we wanted to give you. But it is the Teacher who gives names to the adopted, and he whispers to the God of All on what to name the child.”

  “So you’re saying the God gave the Teacher the same name I had before?” Haydren asked, his voice thick with scorn. “If the God is even real, I hardly believe the Teacher does more than act on his own thoughts.”

  “But the God is real, Haydren,” Maerie said, softly pleading.

  “Then he has certainly abandoned Burieng,” Haydren shot back. “And he certainly cares nothing about orphans!”

  “He works as he sees best, not as we do,” Maerie replied quietly.

  Haydren’s lips grumbled, and the room grew silent for several long moments. “I should be getting back,” Haydren said finally. “There are still some things I should do to prepare.”

  Haydren folded up the letter and stood, and Mickel and Maerie stood as well. He hugged them, promised to come more often once he was officially a swordsman, and left before they could press him further.

  Haydren could neither fathom nor accept the idea that his life might be in the whimsical hands of some controlling force; not to mention he had almost come out and told Mickel, the man to whom he owed his entire life, a secret he had kept to himself for over two years; but Haydren was far from ready to admit aloud why he had wanted Mickel reinstated.

  He sighed. That letter could have been different. What was he supposed to do with ‘an extraordinary possession’ which he didn’t still have? Even as a free soldier able to act on such a thing, the claim was ludicrous: even Earl Junei, with generals and armies, could not seem to stop the enemy.

  No, the best thing he could get out of the letter was the possibility of finding his parents, or at the least finding out who they were. He would cling to that only, and seek the opportunity to pursue it.

  Upon reaching the school, he went first to see Sir Cullins.

  “I wanted to let you know I’ll be back in my room,” he said.

  “You went to see your parents?” Sir Cullins asked. “How are they?”

  Haydren glanced at him quickly. “They’re fine,” he said. “I received a letter, it came last week sometime.” He paused, considering. “What are the chances of my going to Frecksshire any time soon?”

  Sir Cullins smiled until he realized Haydren was not joking. He cleared his throat.
“You know the two earls are not on good terms, Haydren,” he said. “The Earl of Frecksshire seems to feel he is the new king of Burieng, even though he controls less land and has been in power far fewer years – and that beside the fact the west is Rinc Nain – which, I guess, is why they want more land: even centuries—” Sir Cullins cut off with a tight grin; everyone had heard it all before.

  Haydren nodded. “I thought as much,” he said, his eyes dropping to the floor.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The letter is asking me to come to Frecksshire,” Haydren replied. “It seems to be from someone who knew me before Hewolucs, who might know my true parents.”

  “That’s great news, Haydren!” Sir Cullins said, his eyes lighting up. “I will speak to the Earl,” he promised. “I can request some time for you, say it’s for trying to determine your lineage, which every vassal has a right to prove. The Earl is also not unsympathetic to your situation: he may permit you, even as one of his newest swordsmen. However, he may wonder why I am requesting as much time as you would need to travel to Frecksshire. If I must tell him where you are going…”

  “I’m sure you’ll do what you can,” Haydren said with a smile. “Thank you, Sir Cullins.” Haydren reached out, shaking his hand. “Thank you so much, it would mean so much to me.”

  “It’s the least I can do for you, Haydren,” Sir Cullins replied, smiling warmly. “I will send someone for you as soon as I know anything,”

  Haydren turned and left, his step quickening as one concern lifted from his shoulders. There were plenty to take its place: his armor would need to be well polished for graduation. He could almost see it now, shining brightly in the noon-day sun as he officially became a swordsman of Hewolucs. It was, he had to admit, far more than an orphan should expect, regardless of the darkness surrounding the events that made him one. Surely, with such fortunes as he seemed to have, the Earl would grant his request to go west.