A Whisper After Midnight (40 page)

She hadn’t slept well since leaving Venheim. The Giants made her comfortable with their mild manners and easygoing attitudes. Some of them at least. She enjoyed spending time with Groge. The youth was wide eyed, still capable of finding the good in things when so many others doomed themselves to ill will and twisted thoughts. Maleela often thought of leaving in the middle of the night and going off to find a new life. As much as she wanted to go back into Aurec’s arms, the more she became convinced he was dead. There wasn’t anything left in either kingdom for her. She needed a new beginning.

Her mistrust of the others grew daily. Bahr was the only true family she had left, but even he wasn’t enough to keep her in the north. The street urchin, Skuld, was turning into a Man before her eyes. Maleela knew he’d make someone very happy if he managed to break away from the heavy macho nonsense surrounding him. The combination of Boen, Anienam, and those two sell swords was certain to ruin young Skuld. He deserved better. They all did.

“I don’t know how people can stand this weather,” Skuld said from behind her. “I can’t feel my fingertips.”

She smiled despite her earlier misgivings. “I used to stand on the walls of Chadra Keep and let the winds blow through my hair. There is purity in the wind.”

“We used to stare up the hill towards the castle,” Skuld replied. “We watched the guards patrolling the walls and thought only of taking what was within. Chadra Keep represented evil as far as we were concerned. I wish there was a way to go back and tell people how wrong they were.”

“Perhaps they weren’t wrong at all.”

He looked offended. “I was being serious. You shouldn’t mock me.”

Maleela turned, sadness in her eyes. “I wasn’t. I was being truthful. What fools we were, to think we were better than the people. I should have seen it sooner. Darkness festered in my father’s soul. Did you know he blames me for the death of my mother? Like I wanted that! She died in childbirth and he’s never forgiven me. I’ve spent my entire life being ostracized as a result. There is no love in the wooden halls of Chadra Keep, Skuld. It has grown lifeless and decrepit since my brother’s death.”

He went to stand beside her. “I remember his funeral. Even for a street rat it was very impressive. That’s how I became involved in this mess.”

“I don’t understand.”

Skuld grinned sheepishly. “I wound up following Dorl and Nothol, overhearing their conversation about adventure and treasure. I think I was the fool. Their tales captured me and I had to follow. Life in the streets is hard. You have to fight for every scrap of food, for clothes, for a dry place to sleep. Bigger, tougher kids are always trying to hurt you and rob you. What kind of king allows such conditions to thrive right under his nose?”

“You’ve grown since this journey began,” she said appraisingly. “Badron never cared for the lower class. They were a means to his rule, nothing more. Life or death meant less to him as time went by. My uncle tells me it wasn’t always like that. He said that he and Badron once viewed the world with open hearts. No one can say what changed. My father grew spiteful, choosing to covet what others had rather than cultivating his own holdings. He always wanted more. The world isn’t made to live that way, Skuld. He let greed and avarice consume him until nothing remained but bitterness. My brother’s murder finally consumed him.”

“It’s not too late. We can reclaim Delranan. You are the heir to the throne.”

“There hasn’t been a queen in Delranan for nearly a hundred years. I can’t see the people accepting one now, especially the daughter of the worst tyrant in our history. They’ll string me up and leave my body to the crows.” She paused, lost in terrible thoughts. “I hate him.”

He shuffled his feet, unsure how to respond. He’d always thought her lucky. She had a father, albeit one who hated her, and a roof over her head. He didn’t know his parents. Hard life on the streets raised him into the Man he was today. Not that it was much to brag about. Without a coin to his name, no family, home, or idea of what he wanted to become, Skuld stumbled through life hoping something good would fall into his lap. Only in the last few weeks had he learned that a Man needed to make his own way in life, not wait for fortune’s kiss.

“I trust Bahr. He says it will all work out once we get the Hamr and stop the dark gods,” Skuld said.

She fixed him with a dubious stare. “Do you truly believe that nonsense about the gods returning? Why is it always the dark gods and never the light? Are we supposed to blindly accept the fact that any god willingly stepped away from his creation and allows evil to flourish? What separated dark from light if that is so?”

“I never believed in any god. There wasn’t any point in putting faith in something no one could prove existed.”

“Precisely! The wizard would have us believe that the gods of light are not interested in this world any longer and have disappeared, leaving the gods of darkness to reclaim what they’ve always been denied. His reasoning is suspicious at best. I have trouble placing faith in anything I can’t see.”

“Why are you here if you don’t believe?”

She smiled. “I could ask you the same question, though I suspect our answers are similar. We are the same, Skuld. Homeless and without family. What choice do either of us have? Stay away from Anienam. I don’t know why exactly but he leaves me with an ill impression.”

Skuld left her, already lost deep in thought. So much had changed since he snuck aboard the
Dragon’s Bane
he wasn’t sure of much anymore. Once, he wanted to be like Boen: hunting down the wicked and reaping the rewards offered by kings and queens. His dreams of being a famous hero adored by the public and having to push the affections of women away ended quickly the day the first crewman was found headless on the decks.

They’d never figured out who was responsible, though Skuld had suspicions. He’d been seeing strange shapes in the sky since leaving Stouds, what seemed a lifetime ago. It wasn’t until the battle in Fedro they learned a trio of Harpies were tracking them. Skuld’s imagination was never great, making it more incredulous as time progressed. He’d seen Giants, been captured by Dwarves, hunted by Harpies, and hounded by a great evil for months. Nothing in his life on the streets could have prepared him for any of it. The longer the quest went the more convinced he became that he wasn’t going to survive the end. Especially if what Anienam alluded to was even half correct.

Exhausted from thinking of the possibilities, he went to find a warm place to curl up and sleep. He’d had enough of frozen wastelands and the sloshing waters of the Fern River. Skuld took the time to slip his favorite horse, a large roan mare, a small apple from his pocket. The mare snickered and nuzzled against his arm. He smiled. Sometimes the animals were better company than the others.

Rekka’s blade danced off of Boen’s much larger and heavier broad sword. The Gaimosian grunted and took a half step back. Sweat covered them both. The small woman from the southern jungles attacked Boen with cunning, precision, and unmatched skill. His size and indomitable power kept her at bay, for the moment. After an hour of sparring, Rekka lowered her sword and bowed gracefully.

“You are a worthy partner,” Boen admitted. He rolled his massive shoulders, driving out the ache before inspecting the nicks on his sword.

“Your words are kind, Boen. I thank you for sparring.”

He grunted, knowing she would have rather sparred against her newfound love, Dorl. But he was wounded and not in any condition to fight, at least not for a while. This quest was taking a heavy toll on them all. Boen wasn’t half as young as he used to be. Every morning he awoke with fresh aches and pains. Old wounds haunted his movements. Though he’d never admit it, he was tired beyond anything he’d ever felt. The Gaimosian was beginning to think he’d finally met his match. The idea that this quest would be the end of him seemed almost pleasing after a lifetime spent fighting, questing, and watching friends fall.

“It is rare to find one capable of matching a Gaimosian,” he went on to say. “Are all your kind so skilled?”

Rekka wiped her blade down with an oiled rag. Salt and spray from the river threatened to ruin the steel if not properly taken care of. She was used to humidity, not the unforgiving cold of the north. Each environment presented unique challenges. “Only those chosen by the dream masters.”

“I have been to many lands, but I have never heard of yours until now,” Boen admitted. “What is Teng like?”

She paused, the question taking her off guard. Rekka had been away from home for so long she forgot many things. The harsh discipline of the sword masters. The mysticism that often made little sense of the dream masters. Her entire people lived to serve the gods of light. Preventing the dark gods from returning and counteracting the Dae’shan were their ultimate purposes, though she wasn’t sure how she was going to succeed in a task after so many already lie deep in the ground from failure.

Rekka sheathed her sword. “Teng is a difficult land. It is a hidden kingdom, deep in the jungles of Brodein. Those chosen are raised almost from birth in either martial arms or to interpret dreams. We are given no choice.”

“A hard life,” he agreed. “It is said my people were given no choice either. Becoming a warrior was expected if you wanted to eat. I understand where you come from, Rekka. It is an honor to serve alongside you.”

She bowed, waiting for him to ask the inevitable question everyone wanted an answer for. A woman with little need to divulge her past, Rekka stayed in the shadows. Waiting, watching. Her life lost meaning, transforming into a metaphor. Lesser disciples cracked long before the training process was complete. Rekka was one of the few from each generation strong enough to abandon home and family and become something more than herself.

Boen, sensing her mild discomfort, asked, “What can we expect once we reach Trennaron?”

She blinked, taking a split second to decide how much to say. The secrets of Trennaron were known only to a handful. Secrets so great small minds burst, rendering those unfortunate ones insane or worse. “The citadel is deep within the jungle. Each year we learn of those foolish enough to go in search of it. We find their bodies partially devoured soon after. There is no record of anyone ever reaching Trennaron and returning alive.”

“I am not afraid,” Boen grunted. “Death is a Gaimosian’s companion. We do not fear what awaits us.”

“You should,” she replied softly. “Darkness surrounds the citadel. Fell powers spring forth from the center of the world and are collected there. The dream masters say Trennaron is a reservoir of hostility. Only the guardian keeps it from spreading across Malweir.”

The big Gaimosian scratched his jaw. “This guardian, whose side is he on?”

“He doesn’t take sides. The guardian is neutral.”

“Then how do we know he’ll help us?” Boen asked.

She had no answer.

Day turned to night without incident. The barge continued downriver. Bahr and Anienam argued with the captain, wanting to press on while the crew thought it wiser to put to shore. Neither side wanted to work together and their argument nearly came to blows. A lifetime spent on the waters gave Bahr better understanding of their situation but he struggled to find a way to communicate effectively with the river Men. Plenty of people called him a pirate, though in truth he was anything but. The river Men, however, weren’t ashamed of the name.

“What dangers await us should we continue?” Bahr pressed. Anger tinged his voice.

The captain grimaced and shook his head fiercely. “Rapids! Not safe to traverse in the darkness. Barge will capsize or worse. You want to kill us all!”

“Nobody’s going to die, you daft bastard,” Bahr snapped. “We’re more than capable of getting through a set of rapids.”

Barking a maniacal laugh, the captain asked, “How?”

Bahr passed a sidelong glance to Anienam but the wizard merely shrugged and shook his head.
Lovely. So the old buzzard isn’t inclined to help
. “Let me take the helm. I’ve sailed on worse waters in worse conditions. There’s not a cloud in the sky damn it.”

“I know you, Sea Wolf. But this is not the sea. River is very dangerous. You either do as I say or you can get off my barge.”

The soiled captain folded his arms across his chest and gave Bahr his most defiant look, daring him to cross him. The urge to place a heavy fist in the river captain’s face nearly won before Bahr managed to calm down. He wasn’t accustomed to taking orders from others. Some were born to follow, others to lead. Bahr prided himself on individuality and the ability to successfully manage his affairs with minimal difficulty. The river Men’s obstinacy tests the limits of restraint. Compounding his plans was the decided lack of support from Anienam. He briefly wondered what the wizard was hiding from, if anything at all. Ever since the morning of the battle of Bode Hill Anienam appeared reserved, uncharacteristically quiet.

Frustrated and without a clear plan of how to escape his quandary, Bahr relented. “How many days at this pace until we reach Brodein?”

Pretending to think, the smaller Man rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “Difficult to say. Four, maybe ten days. Weather is big factor.”

“Ten days?” Bahr all but shouted.

Anienam quickly followed up, “Easy, Bahr, the journey would take weeks on land. We will still arrive in plenty of time.”