"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"You already know the other members of my team," Jarod continued, his tone lightening. Daron breathed a slight sigh of relief. He'd have to figure out some way to undo the damage of showing up so late. He kicked himself in silence. What a first impression.
"We're taking a coach into Gathon," Jarod said, hoisting his own pack up to his shoulders. The backpack was a heavily worn and patched canvas sack on a frame that had seen quite a bit of use. "From there, we'll be taking a riverboat to Upper Terrin."
"We've been given an assignment already?" Aiden asked.
"We'll discuss that on the way," Jarod said, nodding. "Now that we've got our fourth, I think we can finally leave." Jarod had said it with a straight face, but Daron could feel the edge to the words, and felt his shoulders sag. His new commander was already looking down on him and Brynn was giving him icy stares. Things were off to a wonderful start.
Jarod flagged down a coach from the waiting lines of transports, ready to take the men and women of the Order where they needed to go. Even this early in the morning, there were dozens waiting, with one being claimed every few minutes. Daron caught himself. Late morning, almost lunch. Before he forgot again, he yanked his pocketwatch out and wound it, matching the time to the great clock that towered near the expansive chapel that took a quarter of the grounds.
The coach Jarod chose was rickety, with most of the once ornate paint peeling off. One window didn't close fully. The coachman, a squat, overweight fellow in an oddly clean and well tailored tunic, tapping two fingers to his throat with a nod as he accepted payment, but didn't pull open the door for them. The inside was in marginally better condition than the outside, though there was a smell of something stale deep inside the wood.
"Glad you could make it," Brynn said a little too sweetly, clapping him hard on the shoulder as Daron climbed into the coach, Aiden seating himself beside Daron. His head throbbed to the tempo of his heartbeat, but he forced a smile onto his face.
"I went by your room this morning," he said, taking a seat beside Aiden, laying his pack across his knees. She tossed herself onto the lightly padded bench across from him. "Wasn't sure when I'd see you again."
"That's fairly obvious," she said, staring out the window. Daron craned his neck and looked out, seeing nothing but the whitewashed walls of the citadel. He collapsed back into his seat and sighed. He wasn't getting any traction with Brynn. It wasn't even worth the effort, at the moment. Maybe after she's stewed for a while she'll be more receptive, he thought.
Jarod slid into the seat beside Brynn, dropping his pack at his feet. He glanced between Daron and her, noting her icy and deliberately avoided gaze, and gave Daron a sympathetic shrug. Daron was glad for that, and wisely kept his own mouth shut. He was already in a precarious position with his new commander. Best not to let him see them bicker moments after meeting him.
As the carriage rolled away from the Order, Jarod fished a leather bound book from his backpack and flipped through the pages for a moment. They were yellowed and tattered at the edges, crackling slightly as each was turned. There were areas on the front and back where the leather had been worn to a lighter color.
"We'll be heading out to Upper Terrin to meet with Justice Tel," Jarod said, settling on a page nearly two thirds through the book. "He's been stationed there for six years, by himself. The Lord Commander would like us to aid him in any way possible."
"What is he doing out there?" Daron asked. His first assignment. Justices did a multitude of jobs about the kingdom, from giving advice to dispensing final justice if needed. They were, quite literally, the hands of the gods, handling their business, answering to few. Daron flushed with excitement. What sort of job had the Lord Commander given him for his first task?
"Integrating with the local populace. Watching. The Lord Commander gave me only vague details. He's keeping an eye out in a trouble area. A few reports have come that Jacob feels needs more direct attention."
"The Lord Commander," Aiden corrected. Jarod regarded him for a moment, and then nodded.
Daron frowned. "Trouble area?"
"Upper Terrin had some very strong anti-monarchy and anti-Order grumblings about fifty years back," Brynn said, not bothering to turn away from the window. "Didn't quite spark into rebellion, but the population there never really meshed well with everything when the kingdom was established."
"Six thousand years is a bit of a long time to hold out, isn't it?"
"Upper Terrin is one of the oldest cities in the world," she said. "There's fragments of records going back almost seven thousand years, long before the Order was even a whisper. They tend to be a bit stiff about things, and didn't take kindly to being forced into the kingdom."
"Forced is a pretty strong word," Aiden injected. "The Order brought stability and an end to wars. It gave over rule to a monarchy forged from the people. It was the best possible choice."
"If you call 'yield or be slaughtered' a choice," she said.
"It is. One with a clearly correct response."
"And Justice Tel is looking for further signs of rebellion?" Daron asked, steering the conversation back. It seemed a strange idea. The Order had established the monarchy and founded the kingdom five thousand years ago, sweeping every inhabited region under once single banner. While some provinces hadn't ever fully integrated and were subjects to the crown practically in name only, he'd never heard of any actual rebellion. The lords of each province still answered to the king and the Order. Only fifty years ago? Where had that been covered during the countless boring months of history that had been taught? "If the Lord Commander is sending us, he must feel that something is happening enough to warrant sending a full group in to investigate."
"Peasant uprising," Aiden said blandly. "That sounds miserable."
"Not necessarily," Jarod said with a shake of his head. "This is my first pass at being a commander in six years. My last group all moved on to lead their own teams. He feels that this would be a good first test of our group."
"We're babysitting?" Daron asked, incredulous.
Jarod shrugged, reaching up to loosen his tie. "To use a blunt term, possibly. You don't expect to be handing out advice to town mayors or dispensing final justice on your first day, did you? I spent my first three years doing cantrips to help water crops."
"I wasn't really sure what would happen, sir," Daron said. "I wasn't even sure I was going to be granted leave to be a Justice until late last night."
His new commander watched him for a moment, unflinching eyes meeting Daron's own. Something moved behind the stoic mask Jarod wore, though he couldn't tell what it was. Did Jarod know something? More likely he was just as surprised as Daron was about the assignment together. A venerated commander like Jarod can't be thrilled to be stuck with someone as lousy at the blade as I am, Daron thought with a sigh.
"Moving away from preconceived notions is an important thing as a Justice," Jarod finally said. "Be ready to form your own opinions."
"Following the tenets of the Order is the most important thing to keep in mind when acting in its stead," Aiden said. After a moment he blushed, and added, "Sir."
Daron saw the faintest sigh escape Jarod. He'd almost missed it. He glanced at Brynn and Aiden, both of whom were apparently oblivious. That was odd. If Jarod hadn't wanted Aiden on the team, surely a commander like Jarod with exemplary service under his belt would be able to pull strings and get the team. For that matter, Daron pondered, where did that leave his own reason for being on the team? He thought long and hard as they rode to their destination, but couldn't come up with a reasonable answer.
Chapter 6.
Leah counted a pitifully small amount of coins out into her hand. She stood before the inn, weighing how far the last of her coins would get her. She stuffed the rest of the coins back into the pouch with a sigh. It wasn't looking good. She mopped her wet and bedraggled hair away from her eyes and pushed open the door, thankful to be out of the cold.
The common room of the Happy Hearth was tiny, holding only four tables and a couple of stools as the well worn bar. Electric lights lined the walls, casting the room in a harsh yellow light, causing her to squint as she staggered in. Blue pipe smoke rolled through the air, the acrid smell mingling with the aroma of spices and freshly baked bread. Her mouth began to water, and her stomach reminded her it had been far too long since her last meal. None of the patrons glanced up at her as she entered. That was something, at least.
She hadn't seen any signs of pursuit in the score of days since she'd fled from her home, but that didn't slow her pace. Sure, she had no idea where she was going, or even where she was, but as long as she was moving, it didn't matter. She could rest and figure out what to do after she was sure she was in the clear. It had been far too many nights sleeping under trees or in alleyways of smaller towns, though, and she needed to warm up and dry her clothes off before she grew sick. Her coins had dwindled rapidly. Alarmingly so. Things cost so much more than she'd ever thought possible beyond the tiny bubble she'd lived in. She'd have to chance an inn if she was going to stave off sickness. Or worse.
Weaving her way through the half packed room, she all but collapsed on the edge of the wide stonework surrounding the roaring fireplace. The flames danced and wove, as if driven by a strong wind from within. She slid a few inches further away from the fire, eyes flicking around to the other patrons, who still ignored her. The warmth was instantly gratifying, seeping through her damp clothes and deep into her skin. She fought hard not to fall asleep nestled against the heat infused bricks.
The innkeeper was a short, thin man who threaded his own way through the tables to approach her. Never trust a skinny innkeeper, her uncle had said. A proprietor that didn't amply sample their kitchen goods was a person who valued coin over service, he'd said.
She flinched instinctively as the figure approached, but chided herself and stood to meet the man. Not everyone could be after her. He probably took her for a vagrant, she figured, though that wasn't terribly far from the truth. Her muscles groaned in protest at use after being subjected to the warmth of the stone. His eyes flicked to her sword before returning to her face, a practiced smile growing with each step. She'd discovered once away from her farm that few people openly wore swords. Apparently it was considered poor fashion. She scoffed. Protecting ones self was never in bad taste.
"Good evening, lass," the innkeeper drawled. He stopped for a beat when he got close enough to see her eyes. She cursed silently, but held his gaze firm and unwavering. She still hadn't gotten used to people's reaction when they saw her up close. The innkeeper shook his head slightly as if clearing a thought, and bowed slightly.
"Might I offer you some food, or a room for the evening?" he continued. "It's a miserable night out, by Julen's divine grace." He glanced her over, judging and analyzing.
"A bit of whatever the kitchen has left," Leah said, nodding. "And a quiet room for the night, please."
The innkeeper nodded thoughtfully. "I've some roast peppers and a bit of mutton still going, and a few slices of fresh bread left. Three copper nobles for the meal, and five silver chips for the room."
Leah nearly choked. Five silver chips? That was practically all she'd had left. She'd never had to rent a room before, and hadn't spent much time in towns to know the average rate, but that seemed absurdly overpriced. If she paid for the room, she'd have nothing left for food inside a week. She cursed silently.
"Just a meal then," she said as evenly as she could, trying not to let the weariness bleed into her voice. The innkeeper nodded again and started away. She dropped back to the stones by the hearth in defeat. He stopped after a few steps, and turned back, wringing his hands, uncertainty on his face.
"I've got a loft above the stable," he said in a hushed voice. "It isn't much, mind you, but it's warm enough and plenty dry. You could stay there for a silver chip, if you see yourself gone before breakfast in the morning."
"I don't mean to impose," she said. Her strength was rapidly fading. The warmth was putting to rest all the objections her mind could raise. It would be a night dry, at least.
"Oh, aye, I know you don't," he said. "But I'd hate to give an accounting of myself before Allene upon my death and have to explain why I sent a wet, bedraggled snip of a girl out into the cold to her death."
Leah could only nod, whispering an emotion filled thanks, and fished out the coins for the generous innkeeper. He flashed an uneasy smile at her and wandered off to the kitchen. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she wiped them away with one sodden sleeve. It had seemed a lifetime since she'd met anyone that cared. She'd stayed away from civilization as best she could during her flight, but the cold and hunger had emboldened her. Perhaps her luck was changing.
A short time later a youth brought her a plate heaped with seasoned bell peppers, piled atop a generous slice of mutton, along with a half loaf of thick crusted bread. She barely managed to mutter her appreciation before she found herself wolfing the food down. As she shoveled the succulent banquet into her eager mouth with hunks of bread, she scanned the common room.
Most seemed laborers, enjoying a drink after a long day of work. A handful of merchants in finer cut clothes huddled at one table, playing at a game of cards for golden coins. Her eyes boggled at so much wealth being casually traded in a game. No one was paying her any mind still, and she relaxed a bit.
She wasn't even sure where she was. It was the first full city she'd entered, and it seemed large to her country eyes, with well paved roads and buildings reaching three or four stories tall, electric lamps dotting each street corner. All she knew was that she'd been heading east since climbing out of the river. Had she crossed out of Amatha Province? She was reluctant to ask for directions, or interact with anyone that she didn't have to. She had no idea who could be after her. It paid to be cautious.
Briefly she considered searching for her father. She had no idea where he could be, other than somewhere southwest. Her mother had been adamant that her father, a merchant of some type, was an exceptionally disreputable man. She had little but vague memories of him. He'd always been gone on some business venture, rarely ever spending time at home, though she did recall several times he'd taught her some swordplay with wooden fencing swords.
Thomas. The name wafted through the haze of memory. His name was Thomas. She had no idea if he was even still alive. It was bordering on thirteen years since she'd seen him.
It seems like she'd been on the run often in her life. Her mother had stolen her away from her childhood home and father when she'd been little more than nine, fleeing one winter night. She pushed the memory away. Her mother had died shortly after that as well, leaving her alone.
Finishing the food and savoring the warmth that finally came from inside for once, she laid back against the stones beside the fireplace. Her clothes were rapidly drying. Fall rains had continually followed here wherever she had gone. After a while of soaking up the heat she moved to the other side of the hearth, drying both her sides.
She startled awake from a hand on her shoulder. Unconsciously she snapped one hand down at her sword as she struggled to wake. The innkeeper danced back a few steps, holding his hands up in supplication.
"Whoa there, lass," he said. "Figured you might be looking for a more comfortable spot to sleep."
Blinking her eyes to drive the sleep from them, she saw that the common room was devoid of all patrons save the merchants, still gaming over a small fortune of coins. The polished wood and copper clock above the bar read that it was near midnight. She nodded and rose, finding her neck stiff and sore. The innkeeper held an old oil lantern in one hand, the shield drawn over the glass to prevent light from pouring out, and motioned for her to follow.
Once out into the rain filled dark, he slid the barrier away, letting the light forth. The flames within spluttered, though there was no wind. He muttered something disparaging about the lantern and led her to the stables. Under the eaves, a boy of perhaps fifteen rested in a chair, his seat kicked back on two legs and leaning against the wall of the building. He smiled as the passed.
"Jorgen, my stableboy," the innkeeper said as they entered the stables. There was only a single horse in one of the many stalls, watching them as they entered. "He won't be much trouble, but he'll be here just after dawn to wake you." The innkeeper smiled in the flickering light, which threw a sinister cast to his face. "Don't be drawing steel on him when he does, mind you."
"I'm sorry about that," Leah said sheepishly. "It's just that -"
"None of my business, now," he said, waving a hand irritably. She smiled and nodded. He nodded to a ladder leading up to the loft above, where the hay was stored.
"Up there, now. Welcome to rearrange how you like to get comfortable. It's only hay." He hung the lantern on a support beam a few feet away from the ladder, blowing it out, casting them into darkness that was only pierced by the faint electic light that streamed in the open doors. "I'll leave the lantern here, but don't go dropping it, mind you. Don't want any accidental fires."
She climbed the first few rungs and paused, glancing back at the innkeeper. He was already halfway out the building, a dark shadow against a slightly brighter backdrop.
"Thank you," she called. He just waved a hand at her without turning, tugging the doors closed behind him. The stables plunged into complete blackness.
With no light to work by, she didn't bother moving any of the bales, instead stretching out on some loose piled hay near the ladder. Carefully she laid down her sword, grabbing it quickly in the darkness to remember the location. Satisfied it was in reach, she settled back. Despite the dozens of places it poked and scratched, she fell quickly back to a deep, dreamless sleep.
"I told you flashing the kid a bit of silver would pay off," a voice rumbled in the darkness. "Grab her and let's go." Leah snapped awake, confused and disoriented. Something creaked. The ladder. Someone was coming up the ladder. Her mind fought to push the fogginess away. Had he mentioned a kid? Jorgen, the stableboy.
Her heart started pounding frantically. The only way down was the ladder. She didn't dare jump in the pitch blackness. It had to be nearly twenty feet down, and a twisted ankle or snapped leg would leave her helpless against her assailants. She'd have to fight.
As slowly as she could, she slid herself closer to the ladder. Heavy boots ascended towards her, and a moment later a second pair joined them. At least two men, probably more. She swore silently. Her hand fumbled around in the hay for her sword, but found nothing. She must have shifted during her brief sleep. Panic began to claw at her throat. How had they found her?
The creaking on the ladder stopped. She held her breath, trying to hear over the sound of her frantically beating heart. There. She could hear the first man crawling onto the loft just inches away from her. Leah steeled herself, exhaled as slowly as she could, and kicked.
She wasn't sure where she connected, but it felt like a leg. The man grunted in pain for a brief moment, but the force of her kick had thrown his legs right off the ladder. The upper half of his body fell forward and slammed into the loft floor. Another grunt, but this rose into a howl as he slid off the upper tier, sailing down to land with a heavy crunch.
"Gert?" the second man called, still halfway up the ladder. Leah frantically slid her hand through the hay, and found her sword by ramming one hand into the blade. Pain lanced up her hand, and she felt wetness welling there. Finding the hilt, she pointed it at the top of the ladder. Should she just wait there for the next attacker, or try to take the fight to him? Could she get past him and out the door before he could grapple her? Fear fueled her indecision. Her uncle had taught her how to fight, but this was entirely different.
"I'm going to break both your arms for that, girl," the other man snarled. Boots continued up the rungs at a much faster pace. "Yolen says I've only got to bring you back alive. I'm going to make you howl, girl."
The voice was closer to the edge now. She waited a few more seconds, and then swung her sword. It landed with a resounding ring against another blade. He'd been waiting for such a strike. Before she could react, he charged over the edge and pounced. Her sword dropped and clattered to the wooden floor. Rough, calloused hands pawed at her face, before sliding down to her throat, clamping on solidly. She grabbed at sinewy wrists, but couldn't force them away.
Warmth began to flood into her as she lost consciousness. It was almost pleasant. Though she couldn't see, the surrounding blackness began to fade to gray. She struggled to keep conscious, but the spreading warmth beckoned to her.
Letting go of her attackers hands, she felt the bulky form before her with one hand. She felt his worn jacket, and then above that, sweaty, almost sticky skin. With her other hand she made a half fist, knuckles slightly forward. They found a home in his exposed throat. Cartilage cracked under the force of the blow, and he dropped down heavily on top of her, sucking in wet, gasping breaths.
Working her knees up, she managed to roll the man onto his back. She quickly found her sword, and descended the ladder awkwardly, cradling it in one hand. Leah sprinted across the stables and flung open the doors, dashing out into the rain.
Three more men stood facing her, lit from behind by a flickering electric lamp jutting from the building across the alley. Each were well armed with a thick, short sword. They looked startled as she stumbled out into them, and she took the momentary advantage so plant her feet in the mud, sliding a few inches before pushing into a sprint, away from the inn.
Heavy footfalls pounded the sodden pavement in close pursuit. She dashed out of the side street and into the main thoroughfare between flickering electric lamps. Very little traffic was out at this hour, with no sign of city watch or the constabulary anywhere in sight. A few horse drawn carriages plodded through the vacant streets. Leah glanced about frantically, but no safety was in sight. Her only choice was to outrun and lose them. She was in excellent shape, but her legs were far shorter than those of the men pursuing her. With a quick glance behind to gauge the distance to her pursuers, Leah sprinted into the night.
Chapter 7.
The autumn night air was refreshing, even with the rain. Daron strolled through the dimly lit streets, the rhythmic splashing of his footsteps sweeping thought away. He'd been unable to rest, having slept through until late morning. Coupled with the excitement of his first day as a Justice, he just couldn't get his mind to wind down for the evening. Not that it had been a particularly eventful first day. A carriage ride, some shopping for supplies, a slightly awkward meal at an inn together, and then retiring for the evening.
Jarod had announced they'd be taking a steamboat to Upper Terrin. That alone set his teeth on edge. A boat. It would mean days on the water. An extremely unpleasant scenario. He wandered the slumbering city, enjoying his last few hours with solid ground beneath his feet. Why had no one bothered to run rail from Gathon to Upper Terrin? Surely linking the Order with one of the oldest cities was a good thing.
Brynn was still a frustrating enigma. She'd hardly said more than a sentence the entire day. Shouldn't their first day as fully graduated Justices together be something special? The activities didn't matter. It was a day they'd talked about for years, but it has passed in abrasive silence.
Daron ground his teeth. He'd obviously done something to put them at odds, but he'd be damned to the void if he could figure out what. Wasn't graduating supposed to come with a better life?
The city of Gathon had a moderately active night life, as he'd come to know over the years nestled near by. As daylight dwindled, the arterial streets of the city began to empty, with new life beating through them shortly after the sun vanished. Now the sounds of music and laughter, of women calling suggestively from the alleyways for a night's entertainment filled the streets near the heart of town.
Daron shied away from it all. After last night, drinking was the furthest thing on his mind, and it was impossible to concentrate on anything with his thoughts intruding. No, tonight was about solitude and quiet, he decided. As best as could be found in a city, anyway. He wondered how soon until he was given some leave time. True solitude could only come surrounded by the sweeping hills and dense forests of his home.
His quiet musings vanished as he heard the sharp staccato of boots on the empty cobble streets, splashing through the tiny pools dotting the road. Daron turned, and spied a young woman sprinting from between two buildings, across the street under the humming electric lights, and into another alleyway. A heartbeat behind ran three armed men, in long coats that flapped out behind them covering thick shirts that buttoned all the way to the neck. They flashed from sight as quickly as they'd appeared.
His Oathblade was in his hand before he'd fully registered the scene, and his feet quickly followed suit. Daron sprinted after the trio, towards an alley where the lighting was rapidly swallowed by the night's dark embrace. Steel rang against still, high and wavering, sending a shiver down into his arm. This wasn't a practice yard, with sneering students watching on as he stumbled through his daily paces. He could hear the whispers, just loud enough to be deliberate, nipping and biting at his ego.
Daron snarled and pushed them away. Aiden and Brynn had said that he thought too much. If he could just step out of the way and let the gods work through him, he'd be able to tackle anything that came his way. Guide me, he prayed silently. There was no answer he could see, and he felt no different.
He rounded the corner of the alley, already whispering another prayer. The pristine whiteness of his blade sprung into incandescent light, putting to shame the wan electric lights that dotted the city streets, throwing back the shroud of darkness about the alley.