Alaric and the others rode for five days, avoiding the sounds of cloudcruisers in the distance, hiding at night, sleeping in caves or under thick patches of pine or cedar trees, until they crossed the border between the realms of Serelle and Resk. There were allies in Resk. Not many, but more than the uninhabited grasslands Serelle had to offer. Still, there were a few hours between them and refuge, and the muscles in Alaric's back and chest had tightened to a point that he had had to stop. He and Therrin sat in the cold grass beneath a group of pine trees watching Shade and Diedro spar in the field before them. Therrin was leaning toward Alaric, his hand through the space of the undone strap on Alaric's suede tunic. The healer's magic poured from his fingertips slowly, like thick honey, but with none of its beautiful color. Pure magic was invisible, something you could feel, but not see; had to believe it existed from the magnificence you experienced around it. Like air. The difference was that the magic was not simply grazing his skin, it was working its way deep into his muscles, finding the pain and somehow removing it.
"You are truly a gift from The Creator, Therrin." Alaric's eyes were closed as he broke the peaceful silence between them.
He turned his head slightly, the way only an extremely exhausted or extremely satisfied man could do. He was both. Therrin's smile was both knowing and bashful.
"We all are. And yet the Lotus Queen wants us dead. It makes no sense to me." There was pain in Therrin's voice, enough to make his voice teeter on cracking. (He still misses his parents. Can't understand that there are innocent casualties in war. That if you really dig down deep, nearly all casualties of war are innocent when considering why the fight is being fought.)
Mr. and Mrs. White were commoners. Brave ones. Some might call them heroes. Alaric certainly thought of them as such. What else could you call two parents that sacrificed their lives to help their children escape capture and certain death? He could still remember his first conversation with Therrin. Never had he been filled with such sorrow and elation when the young man told him what had happened, that his parents had told him and his brother to find Alaric Sampson, the Purist's greatest hope. The compliment was irrelevant to him. Did nothing for his ego. It was Therrin's healing ability that had drawn his attention, sent a surge exultation through him. Near ecstasy.
Alaric's eyes were back on Shade and Diedro, still standing in the field but not sparring. Simply bonding over something both men were born to do.
"Therrin." He waited for the boy to acknowledge him. "Your parents were good people. Great people. Sadly, atrocities occur when the wrong people end up with immense amounts of power. And make no mistake. Iris Everton is evil. At her core. There is no sense in the minds of evil people. None that we can understand that is." His words seemed to seep into Therrin's impressionable mind. His hand slid from Alaric's tunic as he leaned away, pressing his back to the tree, letting his head rest against the uncomfortable bark.
Shade and Diedro were back at it. This time going harder than before. The midday sun shining on them as if The Creator was watching her prized possessions demonstrate just how incredible her brilliance could be. The agile assassin's attacks were calculated at a pace Alaric simply couldn't fathom. So smooth he couldn't imagine himself moving in such a manner. Coordination, speed, ferocity. Shade was unleashing blows meant to kill the unarmed defender. And would have, if his sparring partner wasn't something even more otherworldly. Diedro blocked each thrust with such precision that his hands, elbows, forearms, whatever he used to stop Shade's attacks, all made contact with the assassin's wrists and only his wrists. A deflected thrust here, a wrist grabbed there. A forearm across Diedro's face that kept the tip of Shade's blade mere inches from his nose while his other hand grabbed the assassin's wrist and froze him. Watching the two men engage one another was like watching a choreographed scene from a play. They disengaged. Put space between themselves. Beads of sweat falling in the reflective sunlight that set the backdrop behind them. Again.
Therrin broke Alaric's concentration on the incredible scene unfolding in front of him.
"How does someone so evil gain such power?" he asked. "Don't those around them see what is happening? Shouldn't they choose to stop them before it's too late?"
Alaric had considered this notion many times in his life. What he said next was the only thing he had ever come up with to explain the insanity of tyrants. "That's a good question." He began to fasten the strap on his tunic as he continued. "I believe what happens is that evil has a way of masking itself as good to those who aren't strong-willed or who are too impressionable… And especially to those who have given themselves over to the power of sin… They're consumed either intentionally or before they ever realize it. Of course, that's not to say only the weak-minded or inherently bad fight for evil. Good people find themselves on bad sides in every confrontation. It's simple really. Those who formulate such evil causes wrap it up in something that wholesome men and women can see the logic in. At first. They let the truth of their cause lie dormant until they unveil bits and pieces of it slowly so that the whole is not tainted. Certainly not while their follower's minds are still capable of rejecting the idea." He paused. Nodded his head in a disappointed fashion. "If done well, masses of people can be manipulated into thinking in ways they never would have before. By then, those who may see the faults of the cause are too scared to stand against its power, so they follow along as a form of self-preservation. A vicious cycle, all things considered."
Therrin was silent for a moment. Then said, "You thought that up yourself?"
"Aye. There was a time in my life when I had a lot of opportunities to ponder things like this. But I wouldn't consider it profound. Anyone who stares at bad art long enough will eventually find what the artist was going for."
The sparring in the field stopped. The two Physicalists were bent over, hands on knees, staring at one another in silence. They stood. Diedro looked at his arm as though something was there he never would have expected to see. Then extended his arm and grabbed Shades in the warrior's grip; hand's wrapped firmly on one another's forearms. Eyes locked. (Look at their respect for one another. Together, they are a wave of death. Perhaps I should send Diedro off to DuVale with his new friend when we embark on the grander mission. Let him take out his frustrations about what I had him do to Mrs. Hallstone without me being around to receive the brunt of it.)
"Therrin."
"Yes sir."
"It is important that you understand what I've told you."
"I believe I do, sir."
"No. You don't. Not yet."
Therrin looked confused.
Before Alaric could continue Elgar and Wicket could be heard wandering toward the area they were calling camp. The two less motivated Purists had smoke sticks in their mouths and Wicket had a bottle of whatever alcohol he had pulled from his bag in hand.
Alaric nodded at Therrin. "We'll continue this discussion later."
The southern third of Resk was mostly grasslands, much like Serelle, but with a healthier portion of hills and grouping of trees scattered here and there. The major difference was that wiser people in these parts had made the borderlands of the lawless towns and cities further west home to escape the crime and injustice. Thus, the occasional building peeking over a hill or a farm stretching several acres during their ride. One such building was a lonely little inn that stood out like a sore thumb in a particularly flat portion of the grasslands. A handful of trees stood around the building like guards preparing to stand watch during the approaching night. (Hawk's Nest.)
The yellowish-orange glow of candlelight filled several windows and gave the inn a welcoming feeling. Though, he knew few, if any, guests would be inside. Hawk's Nest was one of his several outposts, or safe houses, as the others liked to call them. The owner was under strict commands not to allow anyone a room unless they were able to prove they were in some way part of Alaric's cause; a soldier, a friend, an informant. It was an expensive decision to buy out inns all over the empire. One Alaric would not be able to afford if his daughter, Camila, was not capable of creating counterfeit gold Leo's with her magic. There was a time when he hesitated to spend Camila's fake coins, as real as they looked, but when some of the keenest eyes in the empire could not detect them, he loosened the purse strings quickly.
Wicket rode up beside him. "Good to be back in Resk," he said. It was true. Resk was not clear of Lotus, in fact, the northern region of the realm was swarming with them, but so many Purists had migrated to the southern third that it almost felt safe traveling there.
"Don't let your guard down," replied Alaric. Wicket looked a tad exhausted with Alaric's constant concern. (He should be thankful that someone is constantly paranoid.)
Elgar approached on his pearl white horse, its fur faded by the darkness of the night. "Is there a reason we're not moving quicker?" he asked sharply and clicked his tongue to send the white beauty galloping.
Elgar led them down the path to the tie-stall behind the inn. To their surprise, there was a horse already there.
"Who would this be?" asked Wicket.
"I'm not sure," said Alaric. In theory, there should have been no concern. He trusted the owner of the Hawk's Nest like family. Even called her Aunt Bethunia. Yet, his paranoia, his constant fear that someone was a step ahead of him, loomed in the back of his mind. (Should we continue on? Sleep outside again.)
Elgar made the decision for him. Something that rubbed Alaric the wrong way.
"I'm getting out of this piss freezin' weather," said the blonde. He was out of his saddle and on the ground before Alaric said another word.
Wicket followed Elgar's lead but the others looked at Sampson first. He gave them a reluctant nod of approval. Except Therrin who was sitting on his horse beside him; Alaric grabbed his wrist. Coyne was sitting in the saddle in front of him, his head resting against Therrin's chest. The healer had an arm wrapped around the silent boy's torso to keep him in the saddle safely.
"How's he doing?" asked Alaric.
"Not a single complaint," whispered Therrin jokingly.
"He hasn't spoken then?"
"Not yet.
(That will make using his magic more difficult.) "Coax it out of him," said Alaric.
The interior of the inn was typical for most inns in Resk. The furniture was big and heavy and the décor consisted mostly of mounted weapons, pelt rugs, and a few paintings of famous warriors that had fought for the realm throughout history. Most of which Alaric didn't recognize. The owner of The Hawk's Nest was an elderly woman named Bethunia Turce. She was standing behind the front counter when Alaric and the others wandered into the lobby. Her back hunched forward, the majority of her weight leaning on a cane made of ash. Her gray hair peeked from beneath a white bonnet and round glasses sat on the tip of her nose. Her eyes were closed.
"Is she awake?" whispered Wicket.
"I'm awake," said Bethunia. Her eyes still closed.
"Aunt Bethunia."
The woman recognized Alaric's deep voice instantly. Her eyes shot open, filling the round lenses of her glasses with excitement. "Alaric, sweetie. You've returned."
"Aye. I have. Brought some comrades of mine with me too. You remember Jameson, right?"
Wicket stepped forward. "Auntie B! How are ya, old gal?"
"Old and tired of working. My feet are swollen, my back is stiff and-" She stopped when Elgar approached.
"Aunt Beth," he said as he leaned down and kissed the woman on the cheek. "I'll be in the pub if ya need me."
Bethunia grinned and patted Elgar's cheek. "Of course, of course. You and your ale. Tell Yallic it's on Old Beth."
Elgar waved to the others who followed him through the door frame that connected the lobby to the quiet pub in the back. Therrin's hand rested on Coyne's shoulder as they walked. The boy had his hands on the straps of his backpack, his head turning left and right as he looked at every detail of the inn.
Aunt Bethunia turned around and retrieved three keys from their homes on wood pegs protruding from the wall behind the counter. To the right of the pegs was a heavy door, arched at the top. At eye level, an iron knocker hung from the talons of a hawk made of black metal. The brass keys clinked together as she tossed them on the counter. Alaric took a coin purse from his belt and undid the cords that kept it tight.
"Your coin is no good here sweetie. You've taken care of me well enough already."
"We've been through this too many times, Aunt Beth. Camila produces gold with her magic. You don't need to give us rooms for free."
The elderly woman heard exactly one word that Alaric had said.
"How is Camila?! That adorable little redhead."
Guilt washed over Alaric. (How long has it been since Camila has been here?)
"Four years since I've seen the girl. Three hells, she's probably a young woman by now."
"She is," muttered Alaric shamefully. Camila had eighteen years to her name now. She was a beautiful young woman, and not just in the eyes of her father. Every man she encountered gawked at her like tactless idiots. Alaric regularly found his hand on a man's chest, telling them to back off his daughter. Much to Camila's chagrin.
"And do you have her playing along with your silly little adventure?"
"It's not a silly adventure, Aunt Beth. We're fighting so as not to be wiped from existence," said Alaric. His guilt was gone, replaced by frustration. (How many times have I had this argument with her?)
"And is that why you and Elgar are wandering the empire with a man that looks like a killer and a boy who looks petrified?" she asked.
Alaric wasn't sure what to say. His life had derailed considerably in the last few years. Clearly that was evident to those that knew him well. It was hard to keep things on track when the number of people that wanted you dead seemed to double every week. Not to mention revenge had driven him into a state of near crazed obsession.
"Aye," he muttered. "But it's something I must do."
Bethunia waved her hands dismissively. "What you must do is find a nice woman to settle down with then take over my inn for me." She turned and looked at the door directly behind the counter.
"There won't be an opportunity to settle down with anyone if I'm dead," said Alaric. His voice was firm.
"Alaric! Don't say that. No one is coming for you." (Half the empire would slit my throat as soon as they laid their eyes upon me. How can she not be aware? Old age?)
As Alaric was shaking his head and starting to open his mouth in rebuttal the door behind the counter opened. A tall, slender woman with long, neatly combed black hair stood in the doorway. Her hips were curved perfectly, her chest full but covered tactfully by her long wool tunic. The strings tied in a floppy bow that was somehow cute to look at. As much as Alaric wanted to ignore Aunt Bethunia's persistence that he take her niece's hand in marriage, he couldn't deny how gorgeous Capricia Turce was. Made even more so by her intellect. She was biting her lip nervously but even still it somehow looked seductive.
"Alaric,' said Capricia.
Alaric shook off his desires and realized Capricia's nervousness was never a good thing. (What has happened now?) "Capricia. All is well I hope."
"I'll leave you two to it," said Bethunia with a grin at Alaric. She snapped her eyes to her niece. "Don't spend your whole evening talking about the farfetched tales that come through this inn."
"Get on old woman," said Capricia with a wave. She looked back at Alaric. "Come Alaric. We must talk."
He turned to Aunt Beth. "Who's staying here?"
Aunt Beth's eyes narrowed in thought. "She called herself Hall. Knew the necessary info. Said she knew you well."
"Aye. She does. Upstairs?"
Capricia answered from behind him. "She's in the pub." (I'll handle that bad news after this batch.)
Capricia's chambers were the kind of organized that only the person that had made the mess could understand. Empty scroll tubes, books, and stray pieces of parchment lay scattered on the floor, a handful of reading lecterns stood in various areas around the room, books lay open across them. Towers of parchment lined one entire wall, nearly reaching the ceiling. A modest looking desk sat near a square window on the back wall. The cool breeze of the night was coming through the three iron bars that kept unwanted guests at bay. Installed after Alaric's purchase of the inn. The wind helped push the smell of old parchment and dust into Alaric's nose. He nearly sneezed.
Capricia picked up a stack of books that were laying on the extra chair in front of the desk and tossed them on the ground with a thump. "My apologies for the mess. Times are a bit crazy… as you well know."
Alaric had never seen the woman's chambers in any other state.
"Aye. I do." He nudged a few items out of the way with his foot and sat down in the empty chair. Straight to it then. "Something bothers you. Does it not?"
"Aye. Deeply," said Capricia.
"Am I to assume that it will bother me as well?"
Capricia nodded.
(Of course. As if planning the end of the Lotus Queen isn't enough to stress over.) "May as well get to it."
So Capricia did. "Your informants are singing like songbirds. All over the empire. To every Lotus officer they can get in an audience with." She paused. Bit her lip. "Half your inns have either been raided or burned to the ground and I don't see an end to that in sight."
Anger immediately rose in Alaric's chest. His fingers gripped the arms of the chair tight. His teeth clenched tighter. He exhaled through his nose slowly. "Which ones?"
Capricia looked at her lap nervously.
"All of my informants?" he snapped.
"Aye," she whispered.
Alaric swept a stack of books and parchment from the desk with a lash of his arm. He stood quickly, knocking the chair backward onto the mess on the floor. Scroll tubes rolled in every direction.
"How do you know?" he snapped. His attraction to the woman buried deep beneath his rage.
Capricia stood and backed away cautiously until her back pressed against the wall beneath the window. The moonlight illuminated the fear on her face. "My gals. When they saw the increase in communication between your men and the Lotus they got their hands on Lotus gambesons. Got audiences with your men. Played the role of Lotus fact finders. Your men handed out information about your plan willingly."
"And you trust your gals entirely?" he asked. He knew the answer but he had to hear it.
"With my life," she said.
Alaric's hand was on the hilt of his sword. The urge to kill was rising quickly.
"Alaric, please. Settle. We can fix this."
"How?" he snapped. "Everything I have worked on meticulously for months! Thrown away by pathetic commoners! How can we possibly fix this in time?! My men and women are set to leave at the end of this month!"
"I know," she whispered. "I understand. I do. But I know where Nathaniel is. Maybe if you can get your hands on him you can find out where Urman is…"
(Urman Gant. Is that conniving scoundrel at the bottom of this?)
"Is Urman…"
Capricia was nodding before he finished his question. "I believe he got to a few of you men."
"Tell me where Nathaniel is."
Hall was sitting at a table with Elgar in the middle of the room. A navy blue table cloth covered it, as was the case with all the tables in the room. The blonde was smoking a smoke stick, the woman was sipping from a cup. When she spotted him she lowered it quickly, revealing an emotionless face. (Looks like I'm not the only one stress has aged.) The wrinkles under Hall's eyes were new. As was the gray in her hair. As he crossed the bar room he glanced at his other men. Diedro and Shade were standing near the sidewall, looking at the banners that hung between the barred windows. Coyne was sitting on the bar, his legs swinging as they dangled between Wicket and Therrin. He was holding a cup with both hands and rocking his head and shoulders back and forth as Therrin whistled and Wicket tapped his fingers on the wooden bar top. The tall, dark-skinned bartender, Yallic, was leaning against the wall behind the bar, bobbing his head to the rhythm the men were creating. An appreciative smile on his face.
(Are they getting him drunk?) Alaric's first reaction was to knock the men's heads together but then he thought about it. (He may just warm up to them that way. Might even speak.) He was shaking his head as he approached the table Hall and Elgar were sitting at. He elected to stand behind the chair to Hall's right rather than sit down and get caught up in one of her hour-long spiels about the state of the empire.
"How are you?' he asked bluntly.
Hall looked at him with her tired eyes. There was exhaustion in her tone as she said, "Been better. I've ridden back and forth across the empire three times in as many months."
He knew better than to give the woman too much sympathy. Doing so was like opening the door for her to ask for more favors than he could possibly provide. As was often the case with old friends you had long lost interest in but had not been able to drift far enough away from to escape. "What are you up to?"
Hall looked offended. "Up to?"
"Aye. What are you up to? No one rides across the empire once for no reason, let alone three times." His reasoning was sound enough to wipe the scowl off her face.
"Trying to stay alive."
The fact that Hall was in danger didn't surprise him, he had heard her mutter the same words tons of times before. Such was a norm for a solo mercenary, assassin, petty thief, and whatever else Hall referred to herself as. But the way she said it this time was unsettling. There was an extra layer of fear in her voice. (Oh, wise Creator. Must you burden me with a personality dead set on taking care of everyone else's problems?)
"Who's after you this time?" asked Elgar. He had been unusually quiet to this point. Mostly from his enjoyment of the fat cigar between his lips. Alaric noticed an identical one resting in the breast pocket of Hall's shirt.
Hall shifted her focus between them. A certain sense of shame permeated from her body language. "The Hounds."
Diedro turned on his stool at the bar. Shade as well. The band of bards at the other end of the bar were too caught up in their music.
"For the love of The Creator, Hall. What the hell did you do to upset them?" asked Elgar.
Hall didn't answer.
"Hall," said Alaric.
Still no answer.
"Hall!" he snapped.
She looked at him. "I might have, maybe… definitely… killed one of them." She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow of her words. "It was an accident though! I swear."
"How do ya accidently kill one of them insufferable fucks?" asked Elgar. Alaric's eyes shot to Diedro, but the man wasn't showing an ounce of emotion either way. Just curiosity.
"Well, I guess accident ain't the right word," said Hall.
"I didn't think so," said Alaric.
She looked at him with a hint of contempt. "It was a good commission." She paused. "Course I haven't collected yet cause I been on the run ever since, but when I get my hands on them Leos, it'll all be worth it. Sore arse and stiff back included."
"What brought you here?" Alaric was furious but he kept his tone calm.
"I didn't know where else to go," she said. 'They didn't follow me. That I can promise you."
"Unlikely," said Diedro from across the room.
Hall turned. "Who are you?"
"Don't matter who I am, matters what I was…"
"Which was?" asked Hall sharply.
"One of them insufferable fucks you're runnin' from."
Hall looked scared. She shot to her feet. Her hand went to her hip. Diedro didn't bother moving an inch. (You're outnumbered and outclassed you old fool.) He had seen the overzealous jack of all trades make foolish choices too often to trust her not to in this case.
"What is this?" she asked. "A set up."
"Everyone relax!" said Alaric. This drew the attention of everyone in the room. Without much explanation, Alaric dished out orders to his men rapidly. "Therrin. Take the boy upstairs and get him settled in. Find somewhere for him to hide if Hounds show up. Meet me back down here when he's comfortable." Therrin nodded and scooped Coyne up off the bar. Alaric continued as they exited the pub. "The rest of you will ride toward Blue Lakes. Take Hall with you."
Blue Lakes was roughly three hours northwest of the inn. It was a small, practically destitute village in the middle of Galahart's Valley. There was no inn there, but Alaric knew the leader of the village well. He would keep Hall safe.
"I'm not riding with him," said Hall and looked at Diedro.
"It's that or I hand you over to the Hounds as soon as they show up here," said Alaric. "I have too much shit piling on me to fight a war with The Hounds over your stupidity." (I'll have my own war with them over Diedro soon enough. That I'm sure of.) Hall frowned.
"Fine." She looked at Diedro. "Don't get any ideas."
"Never been a thinkin' man. Just one that kills whoever needs put in the ground."
"Diedro." He looked at Alaric, the hostility toward Hall was still in his eyes until Alaric's own stare softened him. If it could be considered softer, it was more like the stoic obedience of a man who had been taking commands his entire life. "You must not let them follow you to Blue Lakes. It's too valuable to our cause for the Hounds to be sniffing around there. If you're pursued, I expect you to lead them elsewhere." Diedro nodded. "Shade. You stay with him." Alaric turned his gaze to his brother. Wicket stood not far from him. "Take her to Tolen. He will take care of her," he said to Elgar. "Then find Nathaniel Ames, he's there. Bring him to me in Thronerock. Alive." Elgar, as he only did when Alaric was truly taking control of situations, took the orders without a complaint and looked at the others.
"Well then," he said and the others began to move.
Hall looked at Alaric. "Thanks."
He let the years of his old friend asking for gold, begging for a place to stay, and bringing her trouble to his doorstep melt away as he looked at the disheveled commoner. He extended a hand. "I won't let them get you."