Brotherhood Saga 03: Death (67 page)

If only they knew,
he thought.

If the truth got out that he did, in fact,
bear Drow blood, then he would surely be persecuted—tied to a pole and stoned or maybe even whipped to death. That would be the day. A champion, fallen from grace, shackled and burned at the stake.

“Ignorant is a good term,” Virgin mused, cracking one eye open to examine the room. “Are you
coming to bed or not?”

“I will in a moment. Why?”

“What’re you thinking about?”

“What would happen if the court knew I was a Halfling.”

“Does your king even know you bear different blood?”

“I don
’t think so.”

“It
’s something you shouldn’t spread lightly, especially if one comes to find that you also hold dark blood in you.”

“Hardly anyone knows.”

“Who does?”

“You, my friend Nova, possibly his wife and father-in-law.”

“That’s two people more than necessary.”

“I know, but there isn
’t anything I can do about it.”

“No, but you
’ll want to be careful with that.” Virgin extended his hand and set it over Odin’s. “Don’t feel like I’m lecturing you. I’m just looking out for yours—and my—safety, which is why I said we were merely merchants securing our way out of the Abroen.”

“Quick thinking on your part.”

“You learn to think quick when your reflexes need to do just the same,” the Halfling smiled. “Come to bed. We’ve had a long day and I’m sure you’re still cold.”

Such a word couldn
’t describe it.

When he secured himself under the covers and Virgin blew the single candle out, Odin turned his attention to the far window.

Outside, snow fell.

The glass would be frozen come tomorrow morning.

“These boys
’ll do you well,” Robert the stable master said, offering the reigns of two fine stallions that towered over Virgin’s six-foot frame by at least another half-foot. “Take good care of them. I raised these boys myself since they were foals.”

“We
’ll take care of them,” Odin said, sliding two gold coins into the man’s hand before leading his stallion out of its stall. “A question, though, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Suit yourself.”

“The innkeeper said Kalen’s Rise was only a day’s travel away from here?”

“That would be correct, young sir.”

“Is there anything we should worry about while we’re on this road?” Virgin asked, reaching up to stroke his black stallion’s snout. “We were almost attacked by wolves last night”

“Wolves?” the stable master frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well… the only thing I can think of is that the critters tend to get a bit upset when the weather gets kind of bad. That shouldn
’t deter you any though—these guys’ll keep you safe. At least, you’d think they would, given their size and all.”

“We can
’t thank you enough,” Odin said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand before vaulting onto his stallion’s back. “You’ve saved us a world of hell by parting with these horses.”

“No need to thank me. These boys weren
’t going anywhere anyway. It’ll do them good to see the world. They’re better off with travelers than sitting here in their stalls or my field all day.”

With one final nod, Odin waved, waited for Virgin to mount his own stallion, then guided them out onto the snow-covered road before turning his horse toward the road that led to Kalen
’s Rise.

“Yo
u doing better this morning?” Odin decided to ask, turning his attention to Virgin as they continued up the road. “You were pretty quiet last night.”

“I
’m sorry if it bothered you. I’m thinking I had a slight case of the chill, but it seemed to settle down once you dried my clothes off and crawled into bed with me.”

“I should
’ve been doing it before we got to Drianna,” he sighed, shaking his hair back behind his neck before reaching to pull his hood over his head.

“Don
’t be stupid, Odin. You and I both know that doing that would’ve just worn you out.”

“I know, but still…”

Rather than say anything further, Odin bowed his head to look down at the ground and fidgeted in his seat, already regretting that he would once more be bound to a horse for the next several weeks.

As they advanced up the road, past the inn and toward the wilderness, he found himself shivering despite the fact that the sun shone high in the sky and the weather had improved substantially. No longer was the snow raging like some angry God pressing itself down upon the earth to punish the mortals for their insolence, so why he shivered he couldn
’t be sure.

At that particular moment, he
found himself missing the coat the mayor of Neline had given him more than anything else in the world.

At least in that I
’d be warm.

Choosing not to concentrate on the slight chill, he raised his eyes to sca
n not only the distant line of trees and the cliffs slightly to the north, but the Dark Mountains toward the south and how, as they continued along, they seemed to grow closer and closer.

“You said that Harpie
’s Summit was the closest human settlement to the Dark Mountains,” Odin said, turning his attention to Virgin when he found himself unable to look at the foreboding peaks. “Right?”

“That
’s right, yes.”

“If humanity was so concerned with the Elves not remaining in their forest, why would they go to such lengths to build settlements so close to the mountains? Wouldn
’t they have been better off letting the Elves expand into the Great Divide?”

“They say that
’ll happen someday, given the fact that the people who live here are growing tired with their lives,” Virgin shrugged, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. “The farming soil’s no good, it’s hard to raise livestock with all the damn wolves and bears, not to mention the Harpies that occasionally come down from the mountains, and the people here are just… well… not suited for this type of environment.”

“I can see why,” Odin sighed.

“That’s not to say that humanity hasn’t made its own triumphs within the past few years. That would be anything but true. But here, in the Divide, and so close to these mountains… it’s like playing with death.”

Playing with death,
Odin thought.

What an eloquent way to phrase it.

“We shouldn’t be worrying about that though,” Virgin said, drawing Odin from his thought before he could fall too deeply into it. “It’s already midmorning. We need to try covering as much ground as possible.”

“Should we run our horses?” Odin asked.

“Might as well get a head start.”

Virgin whipped his reins and kicked his horse
’s ribs.

When his fellow Halfling advanced forward at an astounding speed, Odin couldn
’t help but smile.

Soon after, he kicked his own horse into gear.

They ran until the sun shone halfway in the sky
and when the horses, grunting and panting, slowed to a fast trot. It was in these moments that Odin—worn not only by the hard ride, but the constant jog his head had taken as a result of it—slowed his horse considerably before gesturing to Virgin.

“What is it?” the Halfling asked, falling back into pace beside him.

“A headache,” Odin replied, pressing a hand to his face and peering out at his companion from between his fingers. “I’m fine. I just don’t want to run anymore.”

“The horses don
’t seem like they do either,” Virgin shrugged, settling back in his saddle. “By the Gods. It’s been so long since I’ve been in a saddle.”

“It
’s not bothering you, is it?”

“If you
’re asking if I’m getting chafes, no, I’m not, though I imagine we will be once we get past Harpie’s Summit and skirt around the rest of the Divide.”

That
’ll be fun,
Odin thought, but said nothing.

At the very least, they wouldn
’t have to worry about climbing the Whooping Hills and making their way back down them again—something that, while exotic and somewhat-breathtaking, had been a whole new experience unto itself.

Rather than say anything in response to Virgin
’s testament, Odin drew his cloak around him, rubbed his hands together, then turned his head up and at the road. Though still covered by a slight dust of snow, he could somewhat make it out by the exposed parts where, it appeared, deer had crossed, or something of the sort.

“Virgin,
” he said. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don
’t mind.”

“
What made you want to become a… well, a rogue, when you were a teenager?”

“Ah,” the older Halfling smiled, tilting his head back to survey the almost-white sky. “That story.”

“Do you mind telling me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I can, and am fine with it. Hell, Odin—we
’re as close as two people could possibly be and you don’t know a thing about me.”

“I try to keep my mouth shut when it comes to certain things,” he replied. “That being one of them.”

“Well, feel free to ask anything you want
whenever
you want.” Virgin took a deep breath, expelled it, then reached up push his hair back over his long, very-Elven ear, only giving Odin a precursory glance before setting his eyes back on the road. “About my childhood… most specifically, my teenage years.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m more than willing to, Odin, so don’t think I’m not.”

“All right.”

“Elves exist in a sort of hierarchy like humans do—the poor, the middle-class, the rich, the royals. Living in the outpost town that I did, there was little in the way of jobs. For the most part, you were either one of three things: a jeweler, a farmer or, in my father’s case, a warrior, one of which helped command the outpost towers and make sure that the people going in and out of the eastern side of the forest weren’t doing anything illegal. Crime, sadly, was and still is fairly prevalent among most of the settlements, but it’s mostly caused by the poor who can’t afford to pay for their food or other services.”

“What made you become a thief then?”

“My parents… well… they never exactly planned on having me. I was, essentially, an accident, though a kind one at that. My parents loved me like any parent usually loves their child, but living where we did—with hardly any children and with the food supply minimum—there was high demand to feed a growing boy, which strained my parents to the point where my Elven mother eventually had to go work in the fields, something that isn’t very common among the does of Elven society.”

“So the stags do the work for the does?”

“Not that the does don’t want to work, no—they can work if they like, and it’s well thought upon when a doe does work, but the stags find it a privilege to see their partners concentrate on other things, like their art or personal endeavors. When my mother eventually had to work to help bring in money for the food, well… that’s when I began to realize how twisted things were in Elven society.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lesliana isn’t anything like the other towns that border or even exist within the Forest. There’s plenty of food to go around there, plenty of work, plenty of housing. In the outpost town I grew up in, it’s either you had money or you didn’t, which was why I eventually fell into the art of the rogue when I became a teenager in an attempt to help supplement my family.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“You do what you have to when your family’s starving and giving all their food to you,” Virgin shrugged. “I started stealing food first from the markets by using what my master later began to call ‘easy fingers,’ which is, for the most part, a natural talent to pick things off of people without them noticing. I’d take a wicker basket with me to the market and pretend I was carrying it around picking up stones or something. The guards didn’t pay much attention to me because I was an outpost guardian’s son—which, thankfully, allowed me the anonymity that helped me steal the food and money I needed.”

“Did they know you were stealing?”

“Gods no. My father would have beat me to within an inch of my life and my mother… I have no idea what she would have done, but I know she would have been heartbroken.”

“How did you
get the money back to your family then?”

“There was a local church of Gaia that we attended that had prayer or
‘keepsake’ boxes for the different families. The guardians’ were put on the highest tier, because they were the ones that protected the people. So… on the days we’d go to church, I’d tell my parents I wanted to tag along ahead and went in before the ceremonies began. That’s when I would put the money and food into my family’s box.”