Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) (12 page)

Her brow furrowed. “King Maerlos?”

“You’ve never heard of him either?”

“Sometimes my mother would take in travelers,” she said. “They mentioned a king.”

“Well, we never would have won that war without his help,” Nerris said. “Maerlos is a great general and warrior, and a hero. He slew Yahd the Enslaver in single combat at the Battle of Culpepper Ridge, which helped turn the tide of the Enslavement War.”

“War,” Len-Ahl said. “Why is it we celebrate the deeds of such senseless waste?”

“There is much atrocity in the world,” Nerris said. “Your mother wasn’t wrong. But there is much good also. You’ll see.” He covered up a yawn. “Since we have a fire, we’ll need to take turns keeping watch. Which do you prefer?”

“Oh, I am not tired,” Len-Ahl said as she glanced up at the stars. “I thought I might be afraid to be so far away from home, but I look up and there are my oldest friends, looking in on me. I suppose it does not matter where I go; the stars will always be there.”

Nerris glanced up. Unlike that morning, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The constellation of Elltan the Warrior loomed overhead, and  farther to the southeast was Xalos the Serpent. “Right,” he said, and rested his head on the ground. But try as he might, Nerris could not go to sleep.

The sounds and smells of Gelnicka haunted his thoughts as they had many a night since leaving Palehorse. He kept seeing the faces of the villagers, Cheld’s victim foremost amongst them. They cast such looks of despair his way as to rend his heart. He had been in command. It was his fault they no longer lived. He was unable to fall asleep, and found himself turning and fidgeting over the next hour.

Finally, he felt Len-Ahl put a hand on his forehead. “What—”

She shushed him and began to hum a slow tune. Nerris felt his eyelids grow heavy, and eventually they shut. Her cadence soothed him, but in the back of his mind Nerris knew it wasn’t natural. He had heard the legends about folk of the forest who could lull travelers to sleep with magic for their own reasons, and he tried to shake off the effect. Len-Ahl merely stroked his hair, and it was as if she wiped away his resistance every time her hand touched his head.

She broke rhythm to speak to him. “If I had my flute, I would play for you, but it was lost in the fire. This will have to do in the meantime. Rest now, Nerris.”

Nerris remembered something, and opened his eyes. “That rabbit... we should get rid of it, or hang it from a tree so it doesn’t attract bears—”

“Shh,” she said, placing her hand back on his forehead. “Everything will be all right, Nerris. Just rest.”

She resumed her humming. Nerris tried to respond, but drowsiness overcame him. He finally dozed off, Len-Ahl’s song filling his mind with a sense of peace.

Chapter Twelve

NERRIS CONCLUDED LEN-AHL was one strange woman. It was not merely the fact she had put him to sleep the previous night with some kind of forest magic. Nerris had run into enough sorcery during his adventuring years, and took it in stride. His superstitious days were long gone. Nor was it her adamancy against eating meat. Again, he had encountered odder behavior over the years.

It was the way she wore the forest, almost like a second skin. Or maybe a suit of armor. Years of traveling the roads, from Locraw to Lhan Del, had instilled in Nerris a certain wariness. One never knew what dangers lurked off to the side, especially in a place with so many hiding spots. But when they encountered the path leading to Haladast, Len-Ahl flitted ahead as they walked, sometimes disappearing around the bend despite Nerris’s cautions. She frolicked freely as if nothing could hurt her. One time, he was convinced he saw her talking to a bird perched on an oak branch. It flew off as he approached, and Len-Ahl smiled, happy to see him as if it had been days.

As they followed the forest path, Nerris noticed markers nailed into the ground, pointing in the general direction of Haladast. The ribbons hanging from the wood meant only one thing. “It looks like there’s a wedding in town,” he said to Len-Ahl.

“Should we not be going the other way?” Len-Ahl asked. “I have heard that in the ancient times, when the faery folk held a wedding, they would put markers in the ground pointing toward a false location. Everyone who saw them knew to head in the opposite direction.”

Nerris nodded. He was familiar with the old superstition. The false markers were to protect the guests from trolls, who found easy prey on the various forest folk who attended. But trolls were stupid and had a poor sense of direction, and they would follow the markers and get lost.

“Well, there are no trolls here, if there ever were,” Nerris said. “Trust me, the path is safe to follow.”

She eyed the Miagamese blade at his side. “I suppose with a sword like that, you do not need to fear anything.”

“A weapon won’t protect you from all dangers,” Nerris said. “How do you know about swords and fables like that, anyway?”

“My mother used to journey out into the world often,” Len-Ahl said. “When she returned, she brought back books. Tomes of history, literature, myth... she taught me to read them. I know a great deal more about the world than you think, Nerris. Of course, I suppose they were all consumed in the fire.” She looked down at her feet.

Nerris put an arm on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Len-Ahl. These accidents happen. At least you escaped with your health intact.”

Len-Ahl smiled at him. “Right.”

The path led down a slope, and they came to a creek, which once must have been a small river, but now had reduced to a trickle. Still, the resulting chasm was wide enough that a wooden bridge extended over it.

Nerris laughed. “I don’t believe it. I had forgotten about the bridge.”

“Why, Nerris, I believe this is the first time I have heard you laugh. It is a pleasant sound.”

Nerris shrugged. “Is laughter that unusual? You would laugh as well if you knew the story behind Nerjhadist Bridge.”

Len-Ahl twirled a lock of her hair. “That name. It sounds like—”

“Yes,” Nerris said. “When we were children, Dist, Jhareth, and I played on the old bridge all the time, along with our friend Melantha. One day, we got a hold of some rope and pretended the bridge was one of those old, rickety ones that extend between cliffs. Melantha was our damsel in distress, and she placed herself on a stone in the middle of the creek. It was Jhareth’s job to swoop down on the rope and rescue her. Well, we disagreed on how we were going to do that, and Dist got mad. He shoved Jhareth off the edge, and he swung around on the rope and his momentum took out the supports on the bridge’s underside. The rotten wood didn’t stand a chance and the south end toppled down into the bank. We hung on and tried climbing up the other end, but our weight strained the supports on that side as well and the entire thing collapsed.”

Len-Ahl giggled. “You broke a bridge?”

Nerris nodded. “The villagers were spitting mad, and made us all help in building a new, sturdier bridge. We concluded if we had to help build it, we could at least name it after ourselves.”

Len-Ahl poked him in the ribs. “You are so serious, but there is a playful side to you, Nerris Bridgebreaker.”

They crossed the bridge, which Nerris was pleased to see did not sway, even after all these years. They ascended the slope on the other side, and as they crested the hill, Haladast came into view. The town had grown a bit over the years. Some of the woodland around the tree line had been cut, replaced by sturdy houses. The homes in the village core looked a bit weathered, but pretty much as Nerris remembered them.

What he didn’t remember was the place being this populous.

People littered the streets, many with tankards in their hands. Heavy laughter filled the air. Even with the slight expansion, the village could not accommodate so many. Were they all here for the wedding?

Several children ran by them in play, and Len-Ahl drew closer to Nerris. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

“I am not afraid,” she stated, “just nervous.”

Nevertheless, she clung to the back of Nerris’s shirt as he weaved through the mass of people on his way to the village inn, which also served as its tavern. Inside, boisterous drunks occupied every table, and a tired-looking man behind the bar poured the drinks as fast as he could.

Nerris approached him. “Young Craddis,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Craddis asked.

“You see how they forget?” Nerris said to Len-Ahl. He turned back toward the barkeep. “My friends and I got our first taste of ale because of you. You used to sneak it out of your father’s stores and we would all go into the forest where no one would bother us.”

Craddis squinted at him and broke out in a grin. “Nerris? By Clystam! Nerris!” They clasped hands. “Well, a hero is among us! How have you been?”

“Tolerable,” Nerris said, glancing at the number of patrons. “What’s with all the people? The village hasn’t gotten that much bigger since we left.”

“They’re here for the wedding,” Craddis said. “I assume that’s why you’ve come?”

“Who’s getting married?”

“Marren’s daughter,” Craddis said. “Melantha. Remember her?”

“You’re kidding me,” Nerris said. “Melantha is the bride?”

Craddis nodded. “She met some bloke from Earthill about a year ago. He’s going to be living here with her, but it seems as if his entire village has come down for the wedding.”

“It’s not why I’m here, really, but that is happy coincidence,” Nerris said. “You have any rooms?”

Craddis shook his head. “I’m playing host to the groom’s family and friends. I hope you brought a tent.”

“Afraid not. How is your father?”

“Died some years back,” Craddis said.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I always thought of him fondly, even if he did chase us from the property every chance he got.”

“He often regretted being so harsh with you after you all left,” Craddis said. “He said you’d never fend for yourselves in the outside world. Little did he know you would become the Thrillseekers!”

“Well, we were young and dumb enough to believe nothing could stop us.” Nerris clasped hands with the barkeep again. “I suppose I better find Melantha. It’s good seeing you.”

“You as well,” Craddis said. “We’ll catch up at the wedding.”

Nerris and Len-Ahl walked back to the door. “This place is a tavern?” Len-Ahl asked.

“The only one in the village,” Nerris said. “That man’s father, Old Craddis, used to own it.” He kicked at a drunk, who had fallen across the threshold. “Out of the way, lush!”

The man crawled to the side, and Nerris and Len-Ahl stepped back into the morning sunlight. “Is it always like this?” Len-Ahl asked.

“No, but they’re likely to be drunk for the next few days. Just your typical Faernan wedding.”

“I think they are funny,” Len-Ahl said as two men passed them, swaying back and forth as they sang a song comically off-key.

“We’ll see how funny you think it is when the fistfights start.”

“Fistfights?”

Nerris headed north, where Melantha’s house stood. Around the corner on the tavern’s outside wall, a group of men had gathered. At a wooden table, a lanky man with jet black hair and a goatee appeared to be luring them in with a shell game, though he used three tin cups instead. He watched as one of the spectators placed a coin on the table and the lanky man covered it with one of the cups. He moved them around, switching their positions so fast it was difficult to follow which one contained the coin. Of course, when the unfortunate gambler picked a cup, there was no coin. The shell game was one of the oldest cons in the world, but it still drew in the marks.

“What is it?” Len-Ahl asked when she saw Nerris staring.

“Wait here,” he told her, and approached the con man. Another villager tried his luck, and of course came up short. As he walked away grumbling, Nerris shoved his way to the front. “I’d like to give it a try, if you don’t mind.”

The lanky one looked him over with a knowing twinkle in his eye. “With a blade as fine as that, a gentleman such as yourself should be able to put down more than a few copper helms. Place a silver sepp down, my friend, and double your fortunes. Unless you think my hands are too quick for you.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Nerris said. “What I really want to know is if I stand a fair chance, or if you’re rigging this game.”

“My friend, you wound me,” the con man said. “Here, we’ll use one of my own coins.”

He flipped a copper coin onto the table, but Nerris swept his hand across, knocking the tin cups to the ground, and heaved the table out of the way. Len-Ahl started forward. “Nerris—”

“Stay back, Len-Ahl,” Nerris said. “Well,
friend
? I’ll leave it up to you. Meet me with blades, or I let you meet the authorities.”

The men around them tensed up and cast nervous glances at each other, not believing the deadly turn their amusement had taken. Len-Ahl placed a hand over her chest as if it would slow her beating heart. The dark-haired man looked down at Nerris’s sword and up into his eyes. His mouth gave a peculiar twitch, and he broke out into laughter. Nerris couldn’t contain it any longer as well, and grinned. They embraced as their astonished audience looked on.

“Jhareth,” Nerris said. “What in Clystam’s name are you doing here?”

“Same reason you’re here,” Jhareth said. “Our little Melantha’s tying the knot.”

“I just found that out,” Nerris said. “I always was the last to know about these things.”

The villagers whispered among themselves at the revelation of Jhareth’s name, and Len-Ahl edged forward. “You’re Jhareth, Nerris’s Thrillseeker friend?”

Jhareth made a show of breathing on his hand and rubbing it across his tunic. “I am, my lady, and if I had a hat on, I’d tip it to your loveliness.”

“Easy,” Nerris said.

“I’m sorry, Nerris, is she with you?”

“Not like you’re thinking,” Nerris said. “Len-Ahl, I’ve been telling you stories for the past day of my times with the Thrillseekers. This is one of my oldest friends, Jhareth Kanave.”

Len-Ahl held out her hand and Jhareth took it and kissed her fingers. “A pleasure, my dear faermaid. Has Nerris been telling you of my battle prowess, my mental acumen, and my dashing good looks?”

“I’ve told her you’re the biggest thief I’ve ever met,” Nerris said.

“World’s Greatest Thief,” Jhareth said. He offered Len-Ahl her unfinished fipple flute.

Len-Ahl’s other hand went to her pocket, which she found empty. “You stole that! I didn’t even feel it!”

Jhareth wiggled his fingers. “Smooth hands. You know what they say: great thief, greater lover.”

“No one says that,” Nerris said. “
You
say that.”

The crowd around them had expanded, once word spread that two of the Thrillseekers were present. Jhareth folded his arms and gave the crowd a cursory glance. “Before our little reunion, I believe you wanted to cross blades, Nerris. I must confess I am not your match with a sword. With a Miagamese blade, you would cut me up into little pieces in no time. How about an exhibition? Does anyone have wooden blades for us?”

A young man ran off and returned a few moments later with two wooden swords. Nerris and Jhareth each took one, and they separated, standing about five paces apart. Nerris took off his sword belt and handed it to Len-Ahl. Jhareth removed two knives from his own belt and stuck them into the ground. He brandished his wooden weapon with practiced flair.

“What you are about to see is the fruits of over three years of training at Gauntlet, the finest school of martial marvels to ever exist,” he told the crowd. “The smart money is on Nerris. When I was a youth, I had eyes only for my knives, but he strove to make me more versatile. Everything I know of swords, I learned courtesy of him.”

Bets were taken, and a slow clap rang from the crowd as Nerris entered a fighting stance. When someone yelled “Fight!” they had at each other, throwing stroke after stroke. Jhareth was no slouch with a blade, but Nerris’s reputation as one of the finest swordsmen in the land was well-earned. He also had a slight height advantage over his friend, and drove him back over the line of the impromptu circle which had formed. Jhareth rolled backward and came to his feet, discarding the blade.

“What say we make this more interesting,” he said. “Does anyone have anything smaller?” Two small boys offered up their own wooden swords, no bigger than daggers. “Thank you, sons.” Jhareth weaved them in front of himself so rapidly the crowd could not follow. He dropped into a fighting stance, and Nerris attacked again.

This time, Jhareth fared much better. Nerris now had to worry about two blades coming at him, and he had to double his own speed to keep up with blocking Jhareth’s strokes. Finally, he saw his opening and drove into his friend. Jhareth tried to roll back again, but Nerris met him with a downward cleaving stroke as he found his feet and Jhareth barely got up his wooden daggers in time. His crossed parry blocked Nerris’s own sword and they stood there, testing their strength against one another.