Child of Fate (2 page)

“Fine,” the older man said. “Karthor’s just
behind me; he was tending that fool farmer’s family that the
gobbo’s hit.”

Alto’s eyes widened. Another farm had been
raided. He glanced around, noticing that the other two men had
dismounted and were rifling through the belongings of the dead
goblins. Hiding his disgust, he turned to their leader again.

“This Karthor is a healer?” he asked.

“Aye, he’s our priest,” the man
responded.

“Bah, he’s no priest,” Kar said as he rode
up. “He’s a young whelp, barely an acolyte.”

“Priest enough for me,” the wounded man
muttered. Alto noted he looked a little pale and he was clenching
his leg with less strength than before.

“Who’s this?” Kar asked, peering at Alto
curiously.

“Says his name’s Alto,” Tristam offered. He
turned back to Alto and completed the introductions, “That’s Kar;
the whiney bloke there is Drefan,” he said. “Gerald has the winning
smile and William rounds us out.”

“Whiney?” Drefan protested, panic tainting
his voice. “I’m bleeding out here!”

Tristam glanced down the hill and then
smiled. “Ah, and here comes Karthor. Methinks he’s about your age,
Alto.”

Alto glanced down the hill and saw the priest
approaching. The resemblance to Kar was obvious, both in his blond
hair and his build. Unlike his father, the son wore a chain shirt
and tabard, like the others. Unlike the others, the holy symbol of
Leander, patron saint of growth and light, hung from a chain on his
neck.

“Hurry up, Drefan’s gone and got himself
stuck again,” Kar yelled down to him. He turned back to Alto and
chuckled.

“What’s your story, lad?” Kar asked him,
reaching into a pouch and pulling out a pipe.

Alto glanced at Tristam, who seemed more
interested in Karthor’s approach to Drefan. He looked back at Kar
and nearly fell off his horse when he saw the man snap his fingers
and send a spark of flame into the end of his pipe, lighting
it.

“You’re a wizard!” Alto gasped.

“Aye, and if you keep dodging my questions,
I’ll turn you into a frog,” Kar said with a wink and an exhaled
plume of smoke.

Alto gaped for a moment, terrified until he
saw the wry smile on the older man’s face. Still hesitant, he
mustered his courage and forged ahead. “My father was injured by
goblins; he’s waiting for a healer from Monterose. I rode out to be
sure our lands were safe, and tracked the goblins here.”

“Tracker, eh? You’ve some skill then?” Kar
asked him.

Alto shrugged, unwilling to boast since he
had lost the goblins’ trail and only found them from the sounds of
battle.

“Alto! Here lad, here’s your bounty for the
goblin you slew,” Tristam said, riding next to him and holding out
his hand.

Alto took the offering, counting the seven
silver pieces that Tristam dropped into it. He stared at it and
then watched as Karthor glanced at him a moment before dropping
next to Drefan and holding his holy symbol in one hand while he
chanted softly. The religious object began to glow. The light
reached out like a ray of sunshine to touch briefly on Drefan’s
body.

Drefan groaned and dropped his upper torso
back to the ground. He let loose a sigh and looked down at his leg.
His leg was still coated in blood, but no fresh flowed from the
wound. Alto stared in open-mouthed astonishment.

“Tristam,” Alto said, gaining the attention
of the man after he’d already turned away. “Come to my farm and
have Karthor heal my father. You can have this bounty back.”

Alto thrust the money back at the man.
Tristam looked at the coins and then at Alto. He frowned.

Kar chuckled. “Seems there’s something to
this boy after all.”

Tristam shot a dark look at Kar, who only
smiled behind his pipe.

“I’ll do it,” Karthor said, standing up.

Alto turned to look at him, surprised. He saw
a simple honesty in the handsome priest’s face that impressed him.
He knew at that moment that he could trust the man. He suspected
that they could have been friends, had their lives been
different.

“Keep it,” Tristam said, and then glanced at
the goblins.

“We’ll help, but first this mess. Help out,
boy, and your father can be seen to sooner.”

Alto smiled and nodded, feeling a great sense
of relief. “What can I do?”

“Haul those bodies to the hill’s peak; we
must fire them.”

Alto nodded and dismounted Sebas. Kar offered
to hold the reins, allowing the young man to go to the nearest
body. He ignored the gore and grabbed the goblin with one hand. He
dragged the body toward the highest point in the clearing, pausing
along the way to pick up another goblin corpse in his other
hand.

He made the trip multiple times, picking up a
total of twelve goblins. Gerald and William also helped, moving
other dead goblins one at a time. Alto stood back and turned to
Tristam, wondering what was next.

“Stand back, lad,” Kar said, raising his arms
and letting the sleeves of his robe slide down them.

Alto backed up and nearly stumbled when Kar
pushed his hands above his head. Flames poured out of his fingers,
striking the pile of corpses to start a magical conflagration.

He watched as the flames consumed the goblins
in record time, leaving behind only charred scraps of bone and
metal. He tore his eyes away when he heard someone speak his name.
Turning, he saw Karthor offering him the reins to Sebas. He smiled
thankfully and swung up onto the stallion his father had given him
when it had been born six years past.

“Lead us to your farm, Alto,” Tristam said,
gesturing for Alto to take the lead.

Alto glanced at the other members of the
adventuring party and nodded. He flicked Sebas’s reins and moved
the horse forward. He took them through the copse of trees and the
swampy field, and then down another trail that crossed a trickle of
a creek and finally back to the field his father had been plowing.
From there, it was less than a ten-minute ride to his home.

Alto burst into the house and led Tristam,
Kar, and Karthor into his parents’ room. His family surrounded his
father so they could listen to Magdalene, the town’s healer.

“Alto!” Magdalene said, her tone chastising
him. “Are you done playing grown-up? Your father’s badly injured
and may not last the night. Foolish of you to put yourself in
danger as well.”

“Pardon me, good lady, but may I have a look
at him?” Karthor stepped past Alto and into the already crowded
room. With his polite words and actions, he’d prevented the
know-it-all healer from causing a scene, something Alto reminded
himself to thank the priest for later.

Magdalene huffed and rose from the side of
the bed she sat on. She looked at Karthor, her eyes settling on the
holy symbol of Leander he wore. She swallowed loudly and nodded,
stepping away from the bed.

Karthor smiled and moved to her vacant
position. He listened to the unconscious patriarch’s breathing and
gently probed the bruise on his scalp, and then felt for the wound
upon his leg. Eyes closed, he pressed his ear to Halgin’s
chest.

“How was he injured?” Karthor asked, eyes
still closed.

“We don’t know,” Lana said. “Only that his
plow horse brought him back with his foot caught in the plow’s
harness.”

Karthor lifted his head and gripped his holy
symbol. He began chanting softly, his words growing in volume and
strength with each repetition. As before, his holy symbol began to
glow with divine light. The light sprung out, landing upon the
wounded farmer. Karthor struggled, fighting to continue his prayer,
but soon lapsed and slumped in exhaustion as he leaned against the
bed.

He straightened, smiling wanly. Karthor
looked exhausted. He reached out his hand and Kar stepped in to
grab it and help to pull him to his feet. Alto grabbed his other
arm and supported him. Karthor favored him with a smile.

“He will live,” Karthor said, drawing
relieved whispers and tears of joy.

Karthor took a deep breath and lifted his
arms free from the two men. “I have much to learn, I fear. My
mastery of healing and even understanding of Leander’s teachings
leaves much to be desired.”

Karthor smiled and glanced at his father. “I
should still be at the church, learning of my duties, but my father
insisted I aid him and his friends.”

“Bah, cloistered away amongst eunuchs you’ll
learn half as much as you can in the world,” Kar muttered.

“They’re hardly eunuchs, Father. There are
priestesses as well. Marriage is encouraged in my order,” Karthor
said. Alto could tell it was an old argument between the two.

“Priestesses, bah…women that no doubt favor
women, much as the priests favor boys. A church is no place for a
young man,” Kar said, glancing at Alto. “Praying to a saint is all
well and good; it’s the hidebound traditions of religion that ruin
a man.”

Karthor shook his head. Alto returned his
earlier smile, at a loss for what else to say.

“As I said, he will live. He may sleep a
while yet; the blow to his head was serious. His leg was broken at
the thigh and the ankle. The long haul back damaged his hip, I
think. He will be a long time in healing and too weak to help with
the planting this year. If he rests and heals, he may help some
with the harvest, but he will never move as well as he did before
today.”

Alto nodded, fighting back the feeling of
despair that threatened to settle on his heart. “I thank you for
your aid; that he lives is enough for us.”

“If I had proper training, I might have done
more, but that would take me years. Given time to rest and heal,
say a couple of weeks, you could take him to the temple in
Portland. For a price, they will be able to do more for him,”
Karthor explained.

“Portland I know,” Lana said, wiping away a
tear. “How much will it cost?”

Karthor shrugged. “I’m not certain. For such
a restoration and healing, I think they would seek a donation of no
less than a hundred and fifty gold.”

Some of Alto’s brothers and sisters gasped.
Lana blinked and nodded. “My thanks as well. I don’t know what we
would have done without you.”

Alto glanced around and saw that Magdalene
had slipped out. He had no idea where the healer had gone, but
suspected that she refused to stick around while a real healer
proved the insufferable woman wrong.

Karthor and Kar left the house, heading back
out to the front. Tristam followed, though he made a nodding
gesture toward the outside to Alto. Alto followed him until they
were out of earshot of the others.

“That’s a lot of gold, son,” Tristam said. “I
don’t suppose you’ve got that much around here, do you?”

Alto looked at him for a long moment before
he shook his head.

“I could use a strong lad like you,” Tristam
said. “The pay’s an even share of whatever job we’re after, minus
the group cut for supplies. Rate we been going lately, you could
have that much gold in a couple of months.”

Alto stared at him, perplexed. Earning that
much wealth that quickly seemed impossible. He was certain no one
in his family had ever seen such a fortune. Their land might have
been worth it, but he doubted even that. Still, if he were to go
with Tristam, with his father ill, there would be two less to tend
the farm.

“I’m not a soldier,” Alto said, his way of
turning down the generous offer.

Tristam laughed. “Yes, but that’s a good
thing. Soldiers are brainless half the time. No, you’ve got no
training, son, but we’d learn you right. Teach you to use that
blade proper. You’d not be a soldier, but a warrior.”

Alto glanced back inside the house, knowing
he should go back in to be with his family. He turned back to
Tristam, smiled appreciatively, and shook his head. “My thanks to
you, Tristam. For the offer and for the help. My place is here,
with my family.”

“You’re a loyal son. I admire that,” Tristam
said. “But think on this, Alto, you’re what, eighteen, twenty
summers old now? This isn’t your family; it’s your father’s family.
Any time now, you’ll be moving on to start your own life.”

Alto shook his head. “I’m only sixteen,” he
admitted. He was less than two months from being seventeen but Alto
wanted to shock him.

Tristam did a double take, staring at Alto’s
legs, arms, hands, chest, and then finally meeting his gaze again.
“Sixteen and that strong. Boy, I wish you the best in life, but
know that wasting such potential, such strength, toiling on a farm
would be a terrible loss.” Tristam clapped him on the shoulder
companionably. “I respect your decision, but my offer stands. We
headquarter in Portland, near the river Yelb at the main crossing.
We call ourselves the Blades of Leander. It upsets the church and
amuses Kar to no end.”

Alto nodded, and then gripped forearms with
the man. Alto turned to the others already astride their horses and
waved a farewell to them. He locked eyes with Karthor and offered
him a smile of gratitude.

Alto watched them ride away and felt more
than a small part of him wish he was riding with them. He shook his
head, banishing the silly thought. Even after he turned to head
back inside, his neck still craned around for a sight of the dust
their horses left upon the road toward Monterose.

He was a farmer, born and bred. He’d known
that his entire life. He’d never put much thought to it, but
assumed that he would help out on his father’s farm all his life.
Perhaps he would build his own home on the land somewhere, and
maybe one day have his own family.

Alto sighed, hand upon the side of the door.
He glanced once again at the road, where only a faint haze of dust
still clung to the air. If he stayed, his future was one of hard
work and the reward of knowing a simple {job} done well. What
Tristam offered was the stuff of tales told to children and
whispered in the bars by drunkards. He shook the thoughts from his
head and went inside to see to his father.