Chapter 3
Nerys took the road north as it weaved its way lazily through the low, bare hills of southern Douruh. She kept her eyes on the road ahead, if danger came then it would and she would deal with it. Nerys never concern herself with such trivial matters.
Nerys pulled her long, brown cloak around her to keep back a cold winds that whipped across the land.
Occasionally, Nerys came across a ravaged cart, its good stripped, its mules lay slain next to it. The remains of the owners sat bloodied and rotting amongst the splinters, maggots feasting, happily, on the corpses. A waste of good meat, Nerys thought to herself, keeping her pace as she passed by.
The day went and the hills became decorated with fields, here and there. The crops had become overgrown with weeds as the men who had cared to harvest them had been lost in the chaos. The orchids, thought, appeared to be cared for, still, by some unseen hand and the trees had been stripped of their fruit. A few shoddy traps had been laid to keep away unweary trespassers. Nerys inspected the trigger of a spring loaded trap and look another trap just few feet away, the triggers could easily be switched without much effort, of an amusing game to play on the ghosts that cared for the trees, but then shook herself from her old, small ways. She must stay focused on Finestone.
Dusk grew close, in the distant on top of the largest hill was the town of Finestone ringed by a wall of hard lumber. Without breaking her stride Nerys followed the road to the front gate, her hood pulled over her face.
“Who approaches?” came the voice a man on top of the town wall.
“My name is Nerys, I seek refuge.”
Nerys lowered her hood.
“We are full, you had best keep moving.”
“It is getting dark and the roads are not safe. You must let me stay the night, I will be gone by morning.”
“We do not let strangers into our town, best keep movin’.”
“Who is in charge here? Get your captain. He will see there is no threat here.”
“Captain will be coming by at dusk, you can wait if you want, but it’s a waste of time.”
“I have time.”
Nerys stood at the gate, lifelessly still, the sun continued its dying march across the sky. The guard watched, fidgeting slightly in his place, he seemed to be uncomfortable with his new guest.
“Where have you come from?” asked the guard to break the silent.
“I was using a farmhouse down the road a day as a haven, but I lost it to some bandits. I only barely escaped with my life.”
“You’ve done well to survive this long.”
“I can protect myself.”
The guard cleared his throat and continued to shift in his place, Nerys remained still and silent.
There was a sound from behind the wall.
“Captain, there’s a girl here who wants to be let in,” shouted the guard and Nerys flinched under her robes and gritted her teeth, she hated when Lower Men dared to call her a girl.
There were some creaking of wood and then a solid man dressed in polished, plate mail appeared on the wall draped in a purple silk cape, a shining helm with a large plume of red rested, proudly, under his arm.
“Greetings, lass,” said the captain with a broad smile.
“My name in Nerys,” replied Nerys bluntly, “I seek refuge in your town for the night.”
“The gates are closed and are staying closed til the Heart return. You can camp by the gate, if you wish we will watch over you from here, but by morning you must move on.”
“That is not enough, I seek bread and safety.”
“These times are dangerous, I cannot help every girl who comes begging at my gate.”
A whistling sound cut through the air and a throwing knife was suddenly firmly planted deep in the captain’s right eye. He screamed as his body spasmed and fell back off the wall.
“Stop, where you are or you will be as dead as your captain,” shouted Nerys to guard her right arm holding a throwing blade at the ready, “now get the gate open.”
“Open the gate,” spluttered the guard as he look desperately at the captain’s body behind the wall and then back to the woman that had her blade trained on him.
The wooden gate swung open slightly and Nerys entered swiftly. Two guards set upon her. She met one with a kick setting him off balance and then quickly grabbed the arm of the other, twisting it from it socket, the man screamed and released the sword in his hand.
Nerys looked around and counted, four other men, just as she had thought, the town was not well guarded.
“If you stay where you are you will not be harmed,” shouted Nerys and the men froze, “good, now where is your leader?”
There was silence as the men stood shocked.
“In the hall,” stuttered a young man finally.
“Good, black haired boy, you will take me, the rest of you clean up this mess,” snapped Nerys walking over the captain and held the body down with her foot and wretched the dagger from his eye, he screamed.
“It is best you don’t tell anyone else know about this until I clear this with your leader”, said Nerys hard and firm cleaning her blade on captains cloak, “you don’t need people to find out you could no protect them from a girl.”
The men looked at her, mouths gapped, the captain was still writhing on the ground. Nerys shook her head at pathetic Lesser Men that stood uselessly around her.
“If you can save him, do it,” said Nerys finally, “come, black hair. There is no time to waste.”
The black-haired boy stepped forward the others remained where they were still confused and bewildered.
“Lead the way to the hall,” commanded Nerys and the young guard headed down the road and Nerys followed.
The road that led away from the gate was neatly paved, it led into the town proper. Strong houses that were built of timber and stone flanked the road on both sides, clean and well maintained. They passed a few of townsmen going about their normal activities looked up at the stranger in robes and the guardsman, a puzzled looked crossed their faces, but then went back to their work.
“What’s your name, lad?” asked Nerys.
“Tyman,” the guard replied.
“Have you been a guard for long?”
“Not that long… but long enough.”
The guard struggled with her words for some reason.
“What did you do before you were a guard?”
“I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“It’s ok, Tyman, you have a friend with you,” she said warmly, “now, I don’t want anyone else to die today, do you?”
“No, of course I don’t.”
“Then I need you to listen to me. When we meet with your leader you must stand back and let me speak and if I ask you any questions you must answer them truthfully. If everyone keeps there heads, I won’t need to kill anyone else. Do you understand?”
“The people in this town are good people…” started Tyman.
“I know, Tyman, that’s why I have come. Do you think a handful of guards will keep the outsiders at bay for much longer?”
“We do what we can,” said Tyman angrily, “we just need to keep them out til the Heart to come back.”
“The Heart aren’t coming back, Tyman. That is truth, we have to look after ourselves now,” said Nerys with harshness to her voice, “have you even killed anyone, yet?”
“I have,” said Tyman a defiance in his voice.
Nerys looked at the guard, the face behind the mask was that of a young boy.
“Just one,” he added quietly as the red eyes met his.
“And who was he?” asked Nerys stopping in the street.
“Garrath… He was a town watchmen… He was a good man…”
“Why did you kill him?”
“When the Heart vanished the watch took charge and they…”
Tyman stopped.
“You had to get rid of them, didn’t you?” said Nerys stopped in the street and made the boy look at her.
The boy nodded gritting his teeth.
“You’re a brave lad,” she said and took his hands.
Nerys let her fingers trace over his palm, studying them.
“Educated, aren’t you?” said Nerys with a smile, “you can read and write.”
Tyman smiled back.
“How did you know?”
“You have the soft hands of an educated man,” she said softly, “what were you before?”
“I was an apprentice at Riley and Franc’s Trading, I kept the books in order.”
“Well, Tyman, the watch weren’t your only enemies,” said Nerys, “and you can’t defend yourself without a leader with experience.”
Tyman slowly nodded.
“Please, let us continue.”
Nerys released the boys hand and they continued through the neatly kept streets of Finestone.
“I don’t think the Elder will listen to an outsider though… excuse me, madame, I have not gotten your name?”
“My name is Nerys,” she said and then added, “why won’t he listen?”
“He just won’t. Everyone’s gotten stubborn in these days. I… ah… no ones allowed to talk about… goods… food anymore, but what else are we meant to do, we aren’t fighters, we’re just… us.”
“That is all you need to be. You have shown your bravery and killed a man when needed to keep your Ma and Pa safe. And can do it, again?”
“I don’t have a family,” snapped Tyman with a sudden aggression in his voice.
“Even before?”
“I don’t have a family.”
“Do you want one?” Nerys asked simply.
Tyman was quiet for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Then do not give up, Tyman, for there is still a chance,” she said, “though there will be no place of homesteads and children if we do not set the world back on its correct course.”
“Do you think it really possible?”
“It is, if you help me. I will need you in the coming days, Tyman, and if you do I promise you will have children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.”
“You can do that?”
“You know I can Tyman, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know you can.”
“Then let us do this, together,” smiled Nerys.
“I like you, Nerys,” said Tyman hesitantly.
“I like you too, Tyman.”
The two arrived at the town hall, a manicured garden sat out the front. Stone foundations and stairs held up the expertly carpentered walls, decorated with eloquent carvings of vines and flowers. The detail of each was lovingly crafted by hand, bringing the frieze to life. The roof formed a triangle which was painted a brilliant white which glowed a soft gold in twilight of dusk.
“Real flowers would have been cheaper,” scowled Nerys to the building.
“Lord Pryce, were very generous to us, he made sure every public building was built by the finest carpenters in Douruh,” said Tyman merrily, “the decorations were done by the craftsmen of Quillo and then brought here.”
“The Pryce’s must have been very wealthy.”
“Indeed, we haven’t heard from them since the trouble. Some say they will come with a mercenary army to save us.”
“Do you think that is true?”
Tyman was silent for moment.
“Elder Hornefred should be inside still,” said Tyman his voice becoming empty again.
The entrance of the hall were a large set of ornate doors depicting an elaborate carving showing the wonders of the land. The winery that Valtteri had left to investigate, the iron mine to west, the trading port receiving large numbers of barges, rows of orchids each tree bearing a different fruit. In the centre a large temple with the symbol of Tarenli, the god of madness and chaos.
“What is that temple in middle?” asked Nerys.
“That’s the temple to Tarenli in the hills to the west. Sulla built it in the Age of Men, a lot of pilgrims come to see it.”
“Is there an altar?”
“I don’t know, I have little interest in gods.”
Before the end, saying such a thing so openly would have a had the boy hung by his neck, but the way this young lad now threw around such blasphemy with disregard brought a smile to Nerys’ lips.
Tyman pushed the door open revealing a large hall within. Thin, decorative, wooden pillars held the roof above. An dull, golden corridor of carpet lead from the door to the podium at the end of room, marks of a hundreds of boots had worn into the cloth. The walls held tall windows that went from the floor to the ceiling that let in the golden light. Leafless trees, just outside the window, threw hard shadows of their skeletal forms across the room.
Where there were no windows, murals had been painted on the bare boards. Mythical figures from the Age of Men. Sulla the Fire Babe and Roland the Wild reliving the famous epic The Taming of the Heartland. Rei the Defiant leading the first men into The Stormlands and slaying the Demons who once called it home. Gil the Beautiful leading the first men east and where he seduced the merfolk and stole the Isle of Quillo, the painter had even depicted the underwater kingdom his offspring had founded beneath the waves.
The murals danced with life and colour around the room. Nerys rolled her eyes at the pointless extravagance. At the head of the room, three bare, simple tables sat on a podium in stark contrast to the rest of room. Behind the table was a painting of Thalius the Just, charging out of the painting atop The Horse his sword drawn and raised above his head, ready to bring his righteous justice to those who stood before him.
Nerys had always admired Thalius out of all the other inept and deceptive heroes of Lesser Men, Thalius was a creature much like herself, determined and one minded. Whenever she had found herself staring at one of his many depictions in courtrooms and gaol houses across the land, she had always wandered what it would have been like to meet the man who had tamed The Horse of the gods and slain The Bear with his bare hands. Behind him stood the five gods of the Lesser Men. Zeria, the god of protection, holding the golden crown above his head.
There was a sound at the side of the room. A door opened and a man entered with a sour look on his round face, he had short blonde hair that was cut to his pale skin. In his hands he held several pieces of parchment marked with large, rough scribbles. His body was broad and muscular with a tight, ill fitting suit stretched across it. The man walked uncomfortably, not daring to bend with limbs too far in any direction out of fear of the fine cloth tearing.
“The hall is closed, Tyman, you know that,” said the man in a deep, large voice.
“We have a visitor, Master Flynn, she wants to see Elder Hornefred,” replied Tyman.
“Why did the captain let in…”
“The Captain is dead, Flynn, and I need to speak with the Elder concerning the matter,” said Nerys stepping forward, “I can speak now, Tyman, step back.”
“The captain is dead?” said Flynn his voice bearing no emotion.
“Yes, the captain is dead. Now, we are all looking forward to our dinner, so if you could fetch the Elder we can resolve the matter and get on with our evenings.”
Flynn looked at Nerys, his eyes sharp and aware, but void of emotion.
“What happened to the captain?”
“I don’t like to repeat myself, it is best you get the Elder and anyone else you need to hear what I have to say.”
“Tyman, who is this?”
“Her name is Nerys, she can help us.”
“That’s enough, Tyman,” interrupted Nerys, “Flynn, if this is bit much, you can find me a place to stay and we can meet in morning and discuss, but it would be best to have this done tonight.”
“Do you have any weapons?”
“Several,” said Nerys and removed her cloak revealing her knives and sword.
“Why did you bring her here, Tyman?” scolded Flynn.
“Tyman is no fool. What was he to do? Resist and die like his captain. I hope, Flynn, you are as smart as Tyman and get your Elder.”
Flynn looked at her for moment and stepped back towards the door.
“What do you want then?”
“To see your Elder.”
“Do you want to harm him?”
“Absolutely not, I will leave my weapons in the hall, if you wish,” said Nerys.
Nerys started to remove the knife belt from her chest, keeping her eyes trained on Flynn.
“Do you want them?” asked Nerys.
“No, I don’t want them. Tyman, take them.”
Tyman moved forward and took the knives.
“Now, may I see the Elder?”
“If you do, will you move on?”
“If that is your wish, after you have heard me, then I will move on without an incident.”
“Remain here,” nodded Flynn, “I will return.”
Flynn vanished though the door. Nerys wondered what would happen next, Flynn was a hard man to read, if he was afraid he hid it well, if he was laying a trap for her he hid that just as well.
“You did well Tyman, we may all make it through this.”
Tyman nodded in the dying light.
After a short while the door reopened and Flynn appeared with a lantern.
“This way, woman, the Elder will see you,” said Flynn, “Tyman, stay here.”
Nerys looked at Tyman, in the soft lantern light, he was smiling, unconcerned for her safety. Nerys turned to Flynn and nodded.
Flynn led her through a tight set of corridors that twisted on themselves slowly, slanting downwards, after a short while Nerys knew she was underground. The corridor came to a sudden end with four doors, on each the crest of the House of Pryce was carved into the wood. Flynn led her through one.
Inside, two men waited. One was young, about twenty, uncomfortably slender with light, brown hair and painfully white skin and he had sunken eyes ringed by light, grey circles. He wore a suit which matched Flynn’s, but this man knew how to move in it. He paced the left of the room with a nervous energy, flipping through a book, absentmindedly, not looking at the pages. He lift his head as Nerys entered, met her eyes and smiled.
The other man was only, slightly older, had the deep, golden skin of the Reisu with crazed, black hair that he had grown long and wild. He had deep, brown eyes that peered out of large almond eyes. He was dressed in same suit. He reclined in a large armchair facing the door, relaxed and unconcerned, his arms draped on both the arms of the chair. He smiled welcomingly.
The room was awkward for a moment as Nerys stood looking at the Reisu in the chair.
“Flynn, aren’t going to introduce us?” asked the man.
“That’s Master Bahruun,” said Flynn gruffly gesturing, dismissively, towards to the man with the book, “and this is Elder Hornefred.”
“And this is?” asked Hornefred.
“I… damn it, I don’t know,” shouted Flynn, “I’m no butler.”
“My name is Nerys.”
“Please excuse Master Flynn, he is still getting acquainted with his role,” said Hornefred, “we haven’t had much of an opportunity to greet visitors.”
Hornefred stood up and extended his hand for Nerys to kiss as the lords of the Lesser Man did. Nerys took his hand and kissed it, burying her disgust.
“An Elder?” asked Nerys puzzled.
“It is a just title, as you may have noticed, none of us quiet fit our role,” said Master Bahruun he walked graceful forward and scooped her hand from her side and kissed it.
“That explains your captain,” said Nerys waiting for the mood of the men to change, but it did not.
“How did you kill him?” asked Hornefred curiously.
“The fool stuck his head above the wall with his helmet under his arm,” replied Nerys, “the shoot was easy.”
“I told you the man was not useless, you should have put me in charge,” snapped Flynn, he began unbutton his jacket to let his body breathe.
“Not in front of guests,” growled Hornefred quietly.
“You need a new captain of guard, then,” said Nerys.
“And I suppose you would be perfect for the role,” laughed Bahruun.
“No, but I’ll make it fit for now.”
“No outsiders,” said Flynn from the corner, “it gets complicated, otherwise.”
“Flynn is right,” said Hornefred, “if we let you stay, then everyone starts wanting to let their friends and family in and we don’t have the food or water for that.”
“How much food and water do you have left?”
“Outsiders, don’t ask questions,” growled Flynn, in the half light of the lantern Flynn suddenly looked very menacing.
“Outsiders know you don’t have farms inside these walls and you’re all going to start starving soon.”
“I’m sorry, Nerys,” said Bahruun, “I don’t know what you wanted from us, but we can not accept new visitors without starting a riot. You may stay as our guest for the night, but tomorrow you must be on your way.”
“And what about the future of this town?”
“As a Demon, I’m sure you have seen a lot,” smiled Hornefred, “you know exactly what the future of this town is. We are just trying to make the end as orderly as we can.”
Flynn sighed heavily from the corner.
“It doesn’t have to be that way, Flynn.”
“Yes, it does,” replied Flynn shaking his head, “we know it. We have seen it.”
“This is not what you want,” insisted Nerys, “tell me what you want for your town.”
“There is nothing left to want,” replied Hornefred.
“As the leaders of this town you must desire something for tomorrow,” snapped Nerys.
“This isn’t a town,” said Hornefred, “it’s a burial mound, if you think any different, you will find the coming months quite trying. The Lesser Men are done, Nerys, surely as a Demon you will celebrate this.”
“I have come to help you, Hornefred,” said Nerys, “you must let me help.”
“We do not need your help. We are making the final days as orderly as we can and then when the food is done or the plaques come, we will be ready and the people of this town will move on with peace in their souls.”
Nerys looked at Hornefred, he was not listening, Nerys looked at Bahruun.
“And do you think it is abyss for us all?”
“We all must take that leap into the abyss at some point, my lady,” he smiled, “even those with Demon blood.”
“Are you ready to jump, Bahruun?”
“Please, we are not without compassion, you may stay at my home for the night,” said Bahruun ignoring the question, “it is by the back gate. In the morning you can leave without notice and we can put this strange episode behind us. Hopefully, you will find a safe haven further along the road.”
Nerys studied Bahruun for a moment. The man had an energy about him, unlike the others.
“Then it is done,” said Nerys, “it is a shame you would not listen to sense.”
“Farewell, Nerys,” said Hornefred from his chair, “I do hope you find a place for yourself in these last days.”
“Take the her, Bahruun,” said Flynn, “I need to talk to Hornefred.”
Bahruun led Nerys back to hall where Tyman waited in the dark, he was handling one of the knives.
“I’ll have my knives back,” snapped Nerys.
Tyman slipped the blade back into its leather pocket.
“Are you staying?” asked Tyman, eagerly, handing Nerys the belt.
“No.”
“I knew they won’t listen.”
Nerys ignored him.
“To your home then,” she said to Bahruun.
“Where are you going to go?” asked Tyman.
“Somewhere else,” sighed Nerys annoyed.
“Can I come with you?”
“I do not need a boy at my heels,” snarled Nerys and turned away.
Tyman fell back, quiet and chastened.
“Bahruun, lead the way.”
Nerys retrieved up her robe from the ground and pulled it on as she went. A cold winter air swept into the room as Bahruun pushed the ornate doors open and Nerys left the hall, leaving Tyman in the dark hall.
The paths of the town twisted together until they opened up on a large street with four large estate houses. The roads were lined with several unlit street lanterns.
The second house was Bahruun’s home, painted, pristinely, in blue and white, flowers of the same colours decorated the gates, fences and window boxes. Over the font door painted in fine calligraphy was “The Manor of Franc”.
“This is a very fine house for such a young man,” said Nerys, “did you acquire it after Heart withdrew?”
“No, it’s my family’s home,” said Bahruun as he pushed open the door.
Inside was a tight hallway with several doors leading to the rooms, at the far end a stairway led to the second floor. Paintings, tapestries, shields, swords of all varieties clung to the walls. The house was quiet.
“Where is your family?”
“Quillo, this is just the home I stay in when I come to Finestone for business.”
He led Nerys with a lantern down the hallway and into a room with a large lounge and a bearskin rug. A small fire smouldered in the hearth. Bottles of wine and other alcohols lined the walls reflecting the orange light of the lamp causing it to dance along the floor and ceiling.
“This is the leisure room,” laughed Bahruun, “I use this more and more these days. Do you know how to start a fire?”
“Of course.”
“I knew it,” he declared with a smile, “could you get this going, again? Feel free to drink anything you see, no point saving it for another day. I’ll see what the baker has delivered today.”
Bahruun took up the lantern and vanished into the hallway.
Nerys took to the fire and soon had it burning large and bright, the darkness in the room pushed back into the far corners. The bottles on the walls now glistened like jewels.
Taking her time, Nerys inspected the shelves. A light layer of dust had started to build, it seemed the servants had not been called to clean recently.
After a while, Nerys found what she was looking for, a sweet port from the Ashen Valley in Frys. Port was a perfect drink for the Children, it helped to fight the constant cravings for sweetness and sugar that nagged at their minds, Nerys preferred her own brew of Sweet Water, but this would do.
Nerys grabbed a large mug from the small table next to the lounge and emptied the remaining contents of bottle into it and sat. The lounge accepted her and Nerys felt for the first time the soreness in her feet and the ache in her legs, she had travelled a lot of ground in a short time. Her knife belt dug into her shoulder, still wrapped around her, she unbuckled it and placed it to the side.
Sipping the red, sweet liquid she let her mind drift and relax, the fire was warm and the room was silent. For a moment she thought of Valtteri and wondered how he was doing at winery, he had the advantage of distance on her, but who knows what he found when he got there.
A clattering of dishes on a tray brought her back to the room. Bahruun had reappeared with a plate of bread and dried meat strips.
“This is what I have left,” sighed Bahruun placing the plates on the floor between the rug and lounge, “Dried beef, I think, and day old bread. The baker didn’t come today for some reason.”
Nerys looked at the plate, unimpressed. She had a larder full of good meats back at her manor, real meat not the mellow, cow offcuts that the Lowmen called food.
“Bread, will do,” she said and Bahruun passed her a plate of bread.
“No meat?” asked Bahruun.
“No,” she replied simply and reclined back into the lounge, tear into the stale bread with her teeth.
Bahruun sat on the rug and stuffed a few strips of the meat into his mouth.
“So, what’s it like out there?” asked Bahruun after swallowing his food.
“Quiet but growing louder,” replied Nerys, “everyone is starting to recover.”
Bahruun tore at a small piece of bread and began grinding away at it slowly.
“This bread is terrible,” said Nerys putting what remained of her bread aside.
“The baker is terrible,” choked Bahruun as he forced himself to swallow what was left in his mouth.
“How does a small town in middle of the plains have a bad baker? It’s the life blood of any town.”
“The baker became the carpenter.”
“Pardon?”
“Well, we needed a new carpenter and the only one who knew anything about carpentry was the baker. So the baker became the carpenter and the stable master became the baker,” said Bahruun matter-of-factly, “the stable boy was happy though, he got promoted to stable master long before he was suppose to.”
“Is the baker a good carpenter?”
“Better then no carpenter,” shrugged Bahruun, “well, except the shingle he repaired fell off and struck the poor Jerold in the head. Now the washer woman’s the tailor and we have to clean our own clothes at the well.”
“It is quiet a town you have for yourself.”
Bahruun simply smiled and started to cleaned up the plates.
“We make do with what we have left,