Farmers & Mercenaries (36 page)

Gently, he shook the Shaper. Arderi’s heart leaped when a groan emanated from Jintrill’s lips. Pulling out his waterskin, he sprinkled some over the Shaper’s face.

Come on, Sier Deln. I cannot carry you by myself!

He worked on the Shaper, all the while listening to the sounds of creatures moving somewhere off in the distance. After half an aurn had passed, and the ruckus from what he assumed were other O’Arkins in the distance grew no closer, Jintrill regained consciousness. The young man did not seem to recognize any of his surroundings, though. His jaw hung limp, open to the side, and he could not focus his eyes. Waiting another quarter aurn, Arderi finally decided to wrestle the Shaper into a standing position. Jintrill leaned heavily on him, yet Arderi was glad that he at least stayed on his feet. “Come on, Sier Deln.” Arderi kept his voice to a harsh whisper. “We need to move!” Taking a step forward, he pulled the Shaper along. Thankfully, the Sier took an unsteady step with him.

Half supporting and half hauling, Arderi managed to get the two of them into a steady clip. Down hill took them away from the sounds of the O’Arkins. Since down was the easiest direction to walk while burdened so, down was the direction he took. On more than one occasion over the next few aurns, they lost their footing and tumbled to the ground in a heap. After each fall, once they had slid to a stop, Arderi would force them back to their feet and start them moving once more. When dawn broke, Jintrill could walk on his own, more or less. Exhaustion clung to Arderi like a ragged cloak. Fear became his main motivator as he forced one foot in front of the other.

At some point late in the morn, they collapsed onto a sandy bank beside a small stream they had followed for much of the morn. Arderi’s entire body ached. He had pushed his muscles harder than ever before. Tiny cuts covered his hands and face. Bruises from his fall last eve forced him to hobble like an old man. Bolts of pain cascaded through him if he moved just wrong. He looked over at Jintrill who slumped with his back resting on an old log, his eyes closed. Dried blood and matted hair still covered much of the Shaper’s face. They had not spoken since the attack—each had been too intent on simply remaining on the move.

“How is your head?”

A single eye opened and peered out toward Arderi, and a weak smile formed on the Shaper’s lips. “My head feels like an O’Arkin tried to bash it in with a club.”

A laugh escaped Arderi, and he regretted it immediately when several parts of his body simultaneously complained. “Can you not heal yourself?”

Shaking his head slightly, Jintrill frowned. “Nix. I cannot Meld with my own Essence.” He paused and flexed one hand, the look of pain raced across his face. “I could try and heal you.”

“Nix, I know how drained you are after you heal someone. You need your strength for what is ahead. Here,”—Arderi held out a hand—“let me fill your waterskin.” He crawled over and submerged first one, then the other of the waterskins into the stream. Once both were full, he tossed one over to the Shaper who sat up and drank from it with zeal.

“What now?” Jintrill wiped water from his chin with the sleeve of his tattered robe. “I think we have missed the base camp.”

“Aye, I was thinking on that. And a bit of luck it was as well. I figure the rest of the O’Arkins were rummaging through the camp. I think that is why they did not pursue us. I shutter to think what would have happened had we blundered into the camp to face an entire group of the creatures.”

“Be that as it may, that still does not answer the question of what we are to do now.” Jintrill resumed his reclined position on the log and closed his eyes.

The weariness lurking inside Arderi overtook him and he stretched out on the sun-warmed sand. “For now, I think we should rest.” No reply answered him and his mind unfocused. Sleep fell upon him within moments.

L
oping along at a leisurely pace, Klain took in the sights and smells flowing past him. He especially enjoyed the sight of dusk falling over the land. When the Honored One had taken Klain out to the Vimith villa, they had gone in a closed carriage. Now, keeping pace with the horse trotting along carrying Narn in its saddle, Klain could really enjoy himself.

The countryside surrounding the grand city of Mocley was mostly farmland, plowed flat by the generations upon generations of Humans who fed off plants. The occasional copse of trees dotted the land as well, and these held wonderful smells that wafted through the warm summer air.

His Human companion rode in silence. Skinny, even by Human standards, Narn had smelled of fear since they left the villa. Now that the walls of Mocley appeared off in the distance, the man down right stank of it.

He should be afraid. If
this is some trick… well—my claws are no longer covered!

Flexing his claws in and out as he ran, Klain’s mind drifted back to the villa and young Charver.

The boy-child is a handful! Yet, he has a good heart, like his sire. He will make a good Human one day. And the Gods know that race needs all the good ones it can get!

As the two drew closer to the walled city, the road they traveled became more and more crowded. Almost to a person, everyone stopped in their activities to gawk or even gasp at the large Kithian. They even encountered an occasional scream from some woman or another. Yet, the two traveled on without pause.

By the time they reached the main gates, darkness had fallen across the land, muting all color in shadow. Even at this late in the eve, however, the large cobblestone entrance way bustled with activity. Carts and wagons, people and livestock, guards and carriages, all jostling each other for position and passage. Most headed out of the city, though.

Several guards, dressed in matching uniforms of yellow and blue, rushed forward upon seeing Klain. Narn threw his hands up as halberds were lowered in front of them.

“What is the meaning of this?!” A man wearing much the same dress as the others strode forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He brushed between the men with the halberds until he spied Klain. “By all Twelve Gods!” Taking a deep breath, the man visibly relaxed. “My apologies, Kith. Gave me a bit of a fright, you did.” Turning, he pushed the nearest poleaxe into the air. “Back to your posts! Have you lot never seen a Kith before?” He waved a hand gesturing for them to proceed into the city. “Until the Proctor declares otherwise, Mocley is still a free city to all races! He has just as much right to enter the city as anyone else!” Falling in beside Klain, the man held out a hand. “I am Brue, Hinden Brue. Captain of the Third Watch here at Mocley.”

Klain stared at the Human for several more steps. When it became apparent the man was not going to lower his arm, Klain placed his paw in it and let the man shake it.

“I assume, unless we are getting a migration of Kiths that no one informed me about, that you are the Kith from the Games a few moons back.”

Keeping a steady pace, the trio walked into the tunnel that led into the city. The torchlight played off Hinden’s breastplate. Finally, Klain grunted and nodded once.

“How wonderful! I am so pleased to meet you. I was there the day you competed. It was glorious. I made double this moons wage on you!” The man skipped a little as he said this, tripped, and barely kept his feet.

Letting out a snort, Klain shook his head. “I am happy for you, Human. Is there a reason you are following me like a dog in heat?”

Stopping in his tracks, the guard looked dumbstruck. “Following? Nix, I was…” His face turned a bright shade of red. Spinning on his heel, he hurried back to the front gate.

Glancing over at Narn who now led his horse by its reins, the two chuckled. It was the first bit of communication the two had shared the entire trip.

He does not seem bad for a Human. Yet, why does he stink of fear so? Surely, after two aurns together, he should be used to my presence by now! I may never understand Humans.

Seeming almost embarrassed by the sharing, Narn concentrated on where they were headed and did not look at Klain again.

Trying to keep track of where they had been, and attempting to ignore the stares of those around him, Klain soon admitted to himself that he was lost. If not for his guide, he would not even have a direction to travel. Narn led his horse and Klain followed. Turn after twist, street after alley, shop after house. Everything passed by in a repetitious blur. More than an aurn passed while the two threaded their way through Mocley. At first, they passed huge stone structures, elegantly constructed and adorned with statues or fountains. Now, as the evening grew chilly, the streets became almost deserted. The smell of salt hung strong in the air and they traversed narrow streets littered with garbage. Some of the buildings they passed were little more than shanties. On a few occasions, Klain picked up what sounded like water slapping wood.

Reminds me of my time aboard that Gods forsaken ship!

“Where in this accursed city are we going?” Klain let all the malice he felt about this waste of a trip seep into his voice. “Is there no end to this?”

At his sudden break from silence, Narn jumped. With his thumb, the man pointed up the street they were traveling. “It is just up ahead. At the end of that alley.” Giving an apologetic glance to Klain, he stepped to the side of his horse and mounted. Nudging the animal into a slow walk, Narn moved ahead of Klain, and then turned the mare down the almost pitch-black alleyway. The narrow space ran between what looked like two warehouses, and was so thin, both of the Human’s knees brushed either side as he rode down it.

When they made the turn, something putrid assaulted Klain’s nostrils.

The ground is covered in filth and reeks of dead fish! That is why that damnable Human is mounted!

Looking down the alley, his excellent vision allowing him to see much of the area even in the darkness, Klain grimaced as gunk from the ground squished between his toeclaws. He noticed that Narn had spurned his mount into a trot and had put a fair amount of distance between the two of them. Careful not to slip in the slime covering the ground, Klain sped to a loping gait, trying to close the distance. Upon reaching the end of the warehouses, the area expanded a bit. Narn, well out in front now, moved along at nearly a full gallop.

Klain opened his mouth to call Narn back, when a large, heavy rope net slammed down upon him. It shot forward, scooping him from his hindpaws and bundling him into a tight ball. One of his hindpaws poked through the net to stick out at an odd angle. Once the swinging settled, Klain found that he dangled about a pace from the ground. A mouthful of rotten teeth materialized out of the gloom of a doorway, and a fat, baldheaded, black-skinned man slowly walked up, tisking. It was a face Klain had seen for more than two turns of the seasons of his life, and one he had thought never to see again. “I do think you have had enough free time,
beastie
. Your true profession calls.”

His old Keeper carried a long, black painstick. Agony lanced Klain’s body as the Keeper jabbed it into his side. Howling out, as much from frustration as pain, his roar echoed through the streets like a sonic tidal wave. His stomach emptied and vomit covered his facial fur.

“That is well enough of that.” Estular Jerts joined the Keeper. “There is no need to wake the entire city.” He flicked a finger at the Keeper. “Set it to max foci and let us take our prize home.”

Shoving a paw through one of the holes in the net, Klain lashed out. One of his paws snagged the back of Estular’s shirt and he felt the familiar texture of claw rending flesh. His sight filled with a brilliant sea of colorful lights. Then, pain came crashing down upon him and darkness claimed him in full.

D
arkness fell full upon the land before Arderi Cor awoke. The once warm sand he had fallen asleep on lay bitterly cold beneath him now. Crawling over to the Sier, Jintrill Deln, he shook the Shaper and let out a sigh of relief when the young man’s eyes fluttered open. After a short discussion, they decided to continue following the stream, hoping it would lead them back to the river Artoc.

The four-day forced march out of the Nektine and across the grasslands were grueling on both of them, yet Arderi suspected the Shaper had taken the worst of it. What little food they had left in their packs they had exhausted by the end of the first day, and the two had had nothing except water to sustain themselves on for the remaining three. Without the ability to create a fire, they had spent the chilly evenings huddled together for warmth, sleeping little.

Yet, we have finally made it!

Before Arderi, the great expanse of the Artoc River rolled by. Spanning hundreds of paces across—the waters churned up into a frothy white barrier of death—the far bank may well have been hundreds of leagues away.

”Which way now?” Jintrill collapsed onto the grassy bank of the raging river.

Shading his eyes from the glare of the sun, Arderi estimated they had several aurns of daylight left to them. “We head up river.”

“Why? Civilization could just as easily be down river, and the walk will be easier.”

“Nix. Stillwater is the last town on the Artoc before the river turns…” Arderi waved a hand out over the churning water. “Well, turns into this. No boat could navigate that! The town must be upriver.”

After helping the Shaper struggle to his feet, the two headed off, following the raging river, and away from the setting sun.

Not more than an aurn had passed when Arderi noticed that the river began to widen and the water settled dramatically. Rounding a bend, he almost cried once a small house on the far bank came into view. New life welled up inside him as they both sprinted to the wooden dock that jutted out into the water. A single thick rope stretched from the dock on this side of the river to a dock on the far bank.

The sun had passed halfway below the horizon before anyone noticed the two young men yelling from the far bank. Arderi now stood watching the slow progress of the barge as it made its way to retrieve them.

A short, plump, balding man stood on the front of the barge being pulled through the water by two larger young men. With a deftness that belied his girth, the old man leapt from the barge before it fully reached the shore and bustled up to them.

“Now, by all the Twelve, how is it that a couple of young men, looking like a pair of starved street thieves, come to be on this side of the Artoc?”

“Street thieves!” Jintrill ran his hands over his tattered robe. All the blue had long since faded and any embroidery that had been on the sleeves had vanished along with the sleeves. “I am a Sier of the Shaper Order of Mocley!”

A big grin split the man’s face. “Oh, aye! And me mother is the Priestess of Fatint!” He let out a bark of a laugh.

“Please, sir. My friend speaks the truth. We have just escaped from the Nektine and have not eaten in days.”

A look of horror sprang to the man’s face. “The Nektine? Not with that fool troop that crossed some three moons past?”

Arderi bowed his head. “Aye, sir. We are all who survive.” A strong hand grasped Arderi by the arm and he tried to break free, yet had not the strength.

“Easy, lad. Easy. Tis all right.” Looking up, Arderi saw the compassion in the old Ferrier’s eyes. “Come, let us get you inside. Warm you both up and get some food into you.”

Once the three men helped Arderi and Jintrill to the barge, the two younger ones took on the arduous task of pulling them back to the far bank.

The Ferrier’s home was roomy, though modest. A large, open room sat at the front of the house—heat emanated into the room from the fireplace set against one wall. The kitchen area adjoined this room as well, with a doorway that led deeper into the house. A plump woman, a bit past her prime, greeted them and immediately began fussing over the two weary travelers.

She produced fresh clothing, which hung loosely from their shoulders, as well as thick wool blankets to wrap around themselves. Arderi sat bundled up before the fire, a steamy bowl of stew in his lap.

I know it is just the hunger, yet this stew tastes better than any I have ever had before!

Sier Deln sat next to him holding his own bowl and shoveling soup into his mouth with a flat wooden spoon.

“This is the best stew I have ever eaten!” Jintrill’s outburst echoed Arderi’s thoughts, and Arderi smiled as the young Sier turned to face the Ferrier and his wife who hovered behind the pair. “May I have some more, please?”

The woman bustled forward and took the bowl from the Shaper’s outstretched hand. “It would be my pleasure, Sier.”

Placing his hand upon the woman’s shoulder, the Ferrier stopped her from departing. “With the greatest of respect, Sier. I do not think that wise. Having not eaten in the last few days, if you rush into food it could cause you more grief than good.”

Jintrill nodded to the Ferrier. Arderi did not think Jintrill agreed, yet the young Shaper wrapped himself back in his blanket without complaint.

The Sier has changed much since I met him. I wonder how my family will view me.

With the sudden thought of his family, a pang of guilt slipped between Arderi’s ribs and sliced deep into his heart. “My thanks to you both, again, Mir’am and Mis’am Riel, for all you have done.” Reaching to his side, he started to fish his fingers into Clytus’ coin pouch.

The Ferrier waved a hand to stop him. “Ah, lad, think nothing of it. The story you have told of your time in the Nektine is more than enough payment for the likes of us. I only grieve for the loss of your companions.”

“And for that, Mir’am Riel, my thanks to you. However, our task is not yet finished. We must make all haste back to Mocley. A young boy’s life hangs upon our return.”

“Stillwater is a busy port. Trade goods from deeper within Ro’Arith make their way on a daily basis there. Most days a caravan of some sort is headed to Mocley. I will send one of my boys to see about getting you added to one. I would not think any wagon master will deny passage to a Shaper and his companion, so it should not be an issue.”

“Again, my thanks to you, Mir’am Riel.” Arderi turned back to the fire and lost himself amongst the flames, his meal, and his own troubled thoughts.

Not long after he finished his bowl of stew, the son the Ferrier had sent to check on passage with a wagon train to Mocley returned from Stillwater. The son, one of the young men who had pulled them across the Artoc, inclined his head toward Jintrill before he turned to the Ferrier. “Father, there is a caravan leaving first thing on the morrow. I spoke to the wagon master and he would be honored to have a Sier along for the ride.”

Mis’am Riel stepped forward. “These two are in no condition to travel. They need a few days of rest first.”

“That would suit me fine as well.” Jintrill smiled up at the plump woman. “I never thought I could be so weary.”

“Nix!”

The sternness within Arderi’s voice startled everyone. Shrugging out of his blanket, he rose. “We have no time to waste, Jintrill. We leave with that caravan!”

The scandalous looks on the faces of the Ferrier and his wife as they glanced from Arderi to Jintrill made Arderi realize what he said and to whom he said it.

I
have
changed! I never would have spoken to a Sier that way before.

“Aye.” With a sigh, Jintrill stood and joined Arderi. “Arderi is correct. We carry something that we must take to the Shaper’s Order in Mocley without delay. My thanks, Mir’am and Mis’am Riel, for your hospitality as well as your kindness.” With that, the Shaper stepped past Arderi without glancing at him. “Mis’am Riel, you mentioned something about a bed for the eve?”

The Ferrier’s wife gave a start. “Aye. Aye, of course, Sier.” She cast one last disapproving look to Arderi. “If you will follow me, please.”

We are back in civilization now. I must remember that. Whatever the two of us became out in the Nektine, that is behind us. Here, he is a Shaper, and I am just a simple fielder.

Nodding to the Ferrier once more, Arderi picked up his bundle, which included Master Gartin’s blade. Jintrill had returned the sword to Arderi as soon as they were back in civilization. Arderi paused for a moment to run a hand along the worn hilt. Letting out a long breath, the weight of all they had been through, all they had lost melted from him. Dropping his arms to his side, he followed after the Shaper and Mir’am Riel.