“What a horrible story,” laughed Lhiasa. “You want me lose interest in your horrid tale and rest.” Lhiasa squeezed Leonine’s leg reassuringly. “If that’s what you really desire then I willingly concede. Your efforts will not go unnoticed.” She closed her eyes. “Tell me what happens next.”
Leonine reached out and squeezed his wife’s hand. “You see right through me, my love.” He looked down and began to read again.
Lyon awoke, inhaling sharply. He looked around in confusion, teeth bared. It was quiet save for a whistling through a small crack in the room’s window. Lavara was huddled against him, her hand gently squeezing his. Lyon looked at the battle scarred woman as she reached her other hand up to his face, caressing his rough cheek. She shushed him and pulled him closer. His heart finally began to cease its incessant thundering when their lips met; his heart now beating heavily for a different reason. Lavara soothed Lyon at least four times in the darkness before collapsing into an exhausted sleep. No demons chased him this time as he closed his eyes. Their hands clasped together as their chests rose and fell rhythmically through the rest of the night.
When he awoke the second time the room was still shrouded in darkness. His hands rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes while his legs swung over the edge. The sun, as well as his friends, were far from waking; however, Lyon was not about to squander these few extra hours. After having such dreams he remembered the days long past; when he ran to the night’s embrace, following the trail of utter disgrace. He remembered when the hawk, the eagle, and the pig talked, quite at length until the king balked. He remembered the last hours of the marquis, where he would find his prey. His salvation.
Some time passed while Lyon sat in the lobby of the inn, back against the wall and a scowl on his face. A plan formed in the back of his mind while the hours passed and the sun started to rise. The innkeeper saw the restless soldier and served him a thick soup and a weak ale, but Lyon was surprised. Actual pieces of meat floated alongside bits of vegetables. The ale was weak but had a palatable, almost enjoyable taste. Lyon raised an eyebrow towards the innkeeper.
Noticing the innkeeper laughed, “I’ve been brewing myself recently. I can’t get the stuff to be too strong without ruining the whole batch, but every barrel from Trael has been butchered. Thought I’d give it a go.” Lyon raised his mug to the innkeeper as rays of light appeared through the windows. “Thanks, soldier. You can your company have pulled your weight around here. Brought a lot of travellers here. Not leaving too soon are ya?”
Alas, Lyon was committed to catching his prey. The innkeeper was disappointed at the news of Lyon and his company leaving but he was anything if not understanding. He walked over and clasped Lyon on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile, something Lyon would have to acclimate to, it seemed. “I thank you for what you’ve done. You’re good people.” The innkeeper went about his daily duties as Lyon sat there trying to reconcile his disbelief.
There are good people in this world. Lyon sat in silence for many minutes before he scoffed. He wasn’t one of them.
“Awake at last,” Lyon gibbed as his companions started filing down the stairs later into the morning. “Awake at last.” Berik more fell than walked down the stairs, his feet touching just a few more stairs than just his hands, Ferik following suit. After them came Lavara, Bern, Hietzler, Kilvnet, and Openduis. From the four corners of the known world they found Lyon. Berik and Ferik had latched onto Lyon at a young age when their home was destroyed. Lyon become their protector and they became his arms. Any shortcoming in intelligence they had was more than made up for in strength.
Openduis was from Magnhild. Berik and Ferik were large men but Openduis could have been mistaken for a marble statue. The corded muscles on the man were like slabs of stone, hard and impenetrable. Where the Erik brothers were conceited, Openduis was humble. Lyon knew he could tell the man anything and the words would never be uttered again. Unassuming and taciturn, he was often found whiling away the night looking at the stars.
“Lyon, tell us what curtailed your adventure into the city proper,” said Openduis, an obvious look of worry wrinkling his face.
Lyon heaved a great sigh. He drummed his fingers upon the table he sat at, looking about the room at the other early risers. “I found him.”
“Found who?” spoke Hietzler, who was usually quiet.
“Him!” emphasized Lyon. Every bleary eye turned to face him. All their eyes trained upon his lips so they could maybe see the words formed before the sound filled their ears. “However, I lost him.”
Gasps of disbelief and curses fell from everyone’s mouth with the exception of Openduis; his eyes lazily traced the floorboards as was his wont. Although the curses were not directly placed upon Lyon they had the desired effect of scorn and disdain.
Lyon growled and stood, hand resting upon his sword. “Enough. Your mouths forget their place.” The lot of them settled. “As I was previously communicating, I lost him. I was about to say ‘I know where he is going’.”
“Pray tell,” said Bern. Lyon looked at the small, hairy man squinting his eyes. Lyon’s knuckles were still slightly bruised from the last time he had struck the smaller man. Bern smartly added, “We should be off at once to collect.” The others shook their heads in agreement.
Lyon betrayed his calm countenance with a slight sneer. “Of course.” Lyon bent down, as if someone might overhear. “He said to me that he was going to the capital itself.”
Murmurings flowed between the other companions. Talk of crimes they once committed there punishable by death and those they once knew. “Going there would be suicide,” spoke Kilvnet. “We would be arrested, tried, and executed before words would ever spring from our throats.”
“Except Lyon,” grumbled Ferik.
“Yes, except Lyon,” agreed Kilvnet. “He would just be tortured and eventually handed over to the Easterners. Then they would commence to kill him.” The group looked suspiciously at Lyon.
“Listen friends,” commanded Lyon. “Listen to what I am saying. Our bounty worth a thousand kingdoms is slowly heading towards the capitol. We can catch him. He has no horse and I forced him from the city before he could gather supplies.”
“How do you know he’s not still here?” challenged Kilvnet. “What if he just outsmarted you? Why would he even tell you where he is going?”
“Yes, that is a strange bit of information to procure,” said Openduis. “How, exactly, did you manage to gain it? You did not just ask him.”
A laugh rumbled out of Lyon’s chest. “That is exactly what I did. He is known for his honor and I only used that.”
Shaking of heads followed the point. They each shared their opinion no one would willingly give away their position just to uphold something that did not even exist. Even loyal Openduis shared his doubts of such loyalty to one’s own principles. Lyon tried to assuage their doubts, but each attempt was met with resistance by one of his band. He gritted his teeth and growled, “We head to the capitol. That is final.”
Kilvnet stood. “You call and expect us to—“
Metal slid against leather and cleared the sheath before the sword stopped barely a fingerbreadth away from Kilvnet’s throat. Lyon’s steady sword was complimented by his cold, deadly eyes. “Leave it, Kilvnet.” Kilvnet bared his teeth and moved his hand to his sword. “Leave it,” warned Lyon as the others held their breath. .
Kilvnet’s hand relaxed slowly from his pommel, the hard look fell away from his face slowly, cracking like stone. “Of course,” smiled Kilvnet, and then added, “My friend.” The rest of the group slowly began to breathe, their hands moving away from their own weapons. The butting of heads between Lyon and Kilvnet had become frequent occurrences and even now, with Lyon’s sword drawn, no real fear of blood being spilled entered anyone’s mind. “How ‘bout I get us some ale. Do us good. Put some life back into these bones.”
Kilvnet turned his back on the drawn sword prompting Lyon to sheath it once more. Uneasiness, as always, followed their exchange. Sweat beaded off Kilvnet’s forehead; his smile turning into a snarl, but Lyon seemed more and more rash in his decision to challenge him and may not believe his visage of confidence the next time. The thought of letting Lyon’s blood run freely across the floorboards made Kilvnet breathe erratically. Lyon ground his teeth, thinking about how best to end the thorn in his side. Both, however, always saved their bloodletting for another time.
“As I mentioned before,” huffed Lyon, “Abel is off to the capital.” Bern, with his usual haughtiness, opened his mouth. Lyon quickly added, “He did not tell directly. I was given a riddle.” Bern’s formerly puffed chest decreased in volume quietly. “His honor and stupidity betray him: he thinks he can outrun us.”
Kilvnet spoke up. “Then we have already wasted an entire day. Why was no word mentioned earlier of this?” The others voiced their agreement. They could have left immediately the night before.
Gritted teeth let Lyon’s words pass through. “I had only figured his nonsense for something of worth this morning. I am usually slow to understand nonsense.” He pointedly stared at Kilvnet. The other only shrank into a chair he had procured on the other side of the room.
“When do we leave?” asked Openduis, always sensible.
“This moment,” grimaced Lyon.
After an hour of preparation, Lyon and his band were able to leave the stinking city and its denizens behind. Horses were mounted and equipment was secured before the plan was able to come to fruition. Haggling of the extortionate price of Lyon’s horse broke out into flashes of steel until a stain of red spread across the snow. Nobody so much as sniffed at the passing of the stable master. The only hint they even knew he existed at all was their insatiable need for oats and saddles and other various items a stall master would sell. Without hesitation, the band took their coin back, as well as a few more handfuls of oats in the frugally filled bags.
“Best be off now,” Ferik said.
“Now, we best be off,” said Berik with a smile. The humor was unappreciated by the rest.
“Do we have enough food?” asked Lavara checking over the saddlebags one last time.
Lyon mounted himself upon his horse. “Enough to get us to the capital? Of course.” He started to walk the horse away hastening the rest to follow suit. Without turning to face the man, Lyon said, “Kilvnet, you will ride by my side.” The other sardonically saluted.
Trael’s city guard rarely manned the crumbling watchtowers so their exit went unnoticed by all; Berik’s and Ferik’s noises and banter only waking the spirits of the long dead. Snow crunched beneath the horses’ hooves, the cold trying to breach the heavy cloaks keeping the riders warm. The capital was filled with cutthroats and barbarians who had sprung up from the Far East: their numbers no longer being watched by the kingdom under constant threat from both the East and the West. Farsung, the capital of Thirce, had become a place of dark dealing and death instead of the strong asylum it once was. Nothing was really as it once was.
One thing was for certain, ten days south of Trael was a warmer climate where their heavy cloaks could be sold or stored, no longer inhibiting their movements or weighing them down. The road was hard near Trael but became easier as the travelers became more numerous in the warmer climates of Farsung. First, the band would travel through Durren, a small town that could be reached within the next day. After Durren, the air would be tempered enough to sleep on the bare ground. Another five days of traveling would take them to a small lake travelers used in abundance. Traders could usually be found here, hunters as well. There they could restock on supplies. Four days of easy travelling followed their last stop. All of this, of course, was dependent on how long their horses were able to keep pace. Horses from Trael rarely lasted long.
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Fate happened to let them enter Durren without much undue duress. The threats and injuries they did receive were from much due duress received from their daily stealing and occasional killings. Through Lyon’s mass and the size of his band he was able to commandeer an inn for the night. The guard was not able to uncover any sign of the perpetrators until they left the next day, now long down the road, out of reach of the most foolhardy watchman. Durren’s inhabitants dealt with cutthroats and criminals all the time, being so close to Trael. The deaths Lyon’s band instigated only engendered a small amount of grief. Death came for everyone eventually.
On the way to the Lake of Yiparash—an homage to the Great Yipar whose plays are still told, even with most being lost during The Great War—the band of thieves met some resistance.
“Lyon, do we have to ride so hard?” asked Kilvnet, his usual belligerence sending blood coursing through Lyon’s veins. “It isn’t so much of a hurry, is it? Our quarry has had a day start on us, you know. There is no way to catch him before he rides his pretty little horse into the safe gates of Farsung.”
Openduis spoke for Lyon before a burst of rage issued forth from the latter’s mouth. “We aim to become somewhat lucky, Kilvnet. Maybe he ran his horse too hard and is now stranded on foot, forced to weather the unforgiving land by himself. If this is true-”
“‘If’ is always a horrible word to use, my dear Openduis,” interrupted Lavara, smiling slightly.
Openduis smiled in reply and did not continue his hypothetical situation. Instead, Kilvnet spoke up again. “Thank you, Openduis, for instilling such an amazingly well thought out ‘if’.” Bern chortled at the insult. “Now Lyon, as I was saying, the likelihood of finding him before he reaches Farsung is slim, if anything at all. Now can we slow our pace?” To emphasize his question and point, Kilvnet pulled back on the reins of his horse, slowing it.
Turning around, Lyon stared icy daggers into Kilvnet. Lyon’s one grey eye made the air escape from the other in a quiet breath. “Openduis’ assumption was, indeed, correct. However, we can absolutely slow down.” Lyon’s grim frown turned into a smile. “Once the land is prosperous and war no longer ravages man.” That said, Lyon started his horse forward once again.
“Come on now, Lyon,” pleaded Ferik, wiping the sweat away from his forehead. “Anything not covered in sweat is instead covered in ice but yet we still press on harder? It is not too much to ask to slow down, only a little?”
Berik nodded. “I think my brother is right. Our horses could use the break. They are from Trael, after all. Moreover, the snow will be melting soon. Let’s relax.” Lyon turned his horse once again to face his companions. His cool eye piercing their souls.
“Now Lyon,” spoke Bern, “I think the four of us can agree that we need a little rest.” Bern looked at the band for support, which was given in looks of approval and nods. “What are the chances we catch him tonight? Listen to reason.”
Kilvnet slowed and stopped entirely before he dismounted. “I for one am not moving until I feel otherwise. We all need rest. Our limbs grow weary. Agreed?” Concurrence sounded across the small road. “See, Lyon?”
Now dismounted, Lyon put his hand upon his sword. “Openduis, are you with me?”
“Always,” he said, taking up position next to Lyon.
“Lavara. Hietzler. Are you with me?”
The two silently took up position next to Lyon as well.
“Now Kilvnet, I have given you every chance, every chance to stop your impertinent, blustering attitude. Enough is enough, though. Your insolence will go no further, this I can promise you. A choice, however, is now presented to you. Live, and stand respectfully by my side. Or die, and be forgotten by all except by my blade’s metal.”
Berik and Ferik looked nervously at each man, not wanting the man who they saw as their father to strike down another they saw as a brother. Bern stood defiant, as always, against the threats issued forth from Lyon, only looking back into the eyes of the livid man. Whatever Kilvnet did, Bern followed.
Eventually, Berik and Ferik moved towards Kilvnet and stood against their benefactor. “Lyon,” pleaded Ferik, “we just ask for some time to rest and Kilvnet means no harm in what he says. He’s tired. We’re all tired. The Trael horses will give out if we push them too hard.”
Berik whispered into Kilvnet’s ear, “You’re newest. You can’t challenge Lyon as much as you have been. Be like Openduis-”
“I’ve had enough of this!” spat Kilvnet. “Lyon expects us to follow every order he hands down to us like loyal soldiers. To him, we’re just fodder. Not even Harlock’s Hill changed how you saw me.” Lyon grimaced at the name. “You’d be dead right now if not for me! Everyone would be dead right now if not for me!” Berik tried to grasp Kilvnet’s shoulder but Kilvnet twisted the other’s wrist and shoved him away causing the brute of a man to fall into the snow on all fours. “I don’t need your protection, Berik. Yours either, Ferik. Don’t anger your commander. Otherwise he might idly threaten you.” Kilvnet spat at Lyon’s feet. “Come Bern, we don’t need these fools.” A smile spread across Kilvnet’s face. “Who knew the Tiger of the East had fallen so low?”
As Kilvnet and Bern turned to leave, Lyon’s sword flashed almost imperceptibly. It was over in an instant. A single pained cry cut off right after it began echoed across shadowy night. Dark lifeblood spattered the white ground. Berik and Ferik had time to flinch before their eyes gave away their fear. Bern showed open surprise and disgust. Openduis, Lavara, and Hietzler relaxed into a dismal state. Lyon’s always cool grey eye settled into a grim satisfaction. Kilvnet’s blood pumped beat by beat out of his neck, his head almost severed from the rest of his body.
“Anyone else?” snarled Lyon. “Does anyone else want to taste my blade?” He searched the downcast eyes of the three before him. Berik, on all fours, started to weep. Ferik grimaced while he shook his head, clenching his teeth. Bern, Ferik, and Berik would never again question their patron’s word. Lyon looked down at the bleeding body. He had become a useful tool.
“We leave him here. No dishonorable man deserves a proper burial. He can be feasted on by the crows; his flesh will probably kill them with the infection of his soul.” Lyon wiped the blood off his sword on the dead man’s cloak. “Take what you can from him.” Lyon unbuckled the sword from Kilvnet’s body. “Do not leave supplies we can use. Yiparash is still far. We need them.” Mounted once again, Lyon started to gallop down the road. The remaining companions searched their departed companion for his paraphernalia.
Silence was tangible as they rode down the road. Eye contact was a rare thing and quickly let go if ever caught. Bern was the only one who urged them to properly bury the man, but his arguments fell upon deaf ears. The remaining seven raced down the road, hooves pounding against the beaten path to Farsung. Stopping became a great relief as the days wore on. The horses were becoming more and more fatigued, as were the riders. Eventually, during a short rest, Lyon broke the somber silence that had engulfed them for four days.
“Friends,” said Lyon, his hands out. “We have travelled down this hard road to catch our prey. Do not forget why we have come: Abel, a man with more gold on his head than most countries own. We must press on.”
“Was Kilvnet your friend as well?” asked Bern, a snarl beginning to form on his face.
“Not now, Bern,” commanded Openduis. “It is as Lyon says; everything comes down to catching Abel. Being able to acquire him outside of the city would make our job many times easier.”
Lyon nodded in thanks. “Much has been lost during this journey. After this, however, we will gain much, much more. The world will be ours for the taking. Think of it: servants to wait on your every need, any armor or sword to adorn you, and a manor within a place that no danger can ever get in. We could even buy into one of the Telrulian.” His ideas of grandeur made the rest of the band momentarily forget their recently lost companion. “After that, who knows? It would be what we have always wanted. Power.”
Greedy smiles mirrored those of Lyon’s except Openduis, who said, “Not everything is wealth, Lyon.”
“True, however, most of it is,” countered Lyon.
Openduis pursed his lips together and grunted in response. Lyon took it for agreement.
Ebbing away was their guilt and pain for Kilvnet, now giving way for the many splendors their imagination could fathom. Buzzing flies and rotting flesh of their once friend pushed aside by mountains of gold and renown. Silent ponderings of what was to become of this band flew around only in Openduis’ head. Someday, he would stop trying to resurrect the long dead man he once knew. The honorable man was now replaced with this cold, uncaring thing. Openduis sighed. Someday.
It was Lyon, however, who held the most sorrow for the decision made. Long ago, Lyon knew he would have to destroy his companion but not so soon. There was also a small corner of his mind that wished he talked Kilvnet down as he always did. Nevertheless, Lyon had ended his life which weighed heavily upon his heart. No matter what he said about him, Kilvnet had saved his own life many a time over. Openduis’ recent looks of concern and sadness worried Lyon, as well. He could not show weakness, not even to his closest ally, while others were around, and the others were always around.
“To the largest riches one could ever dream!” shouted Lyon gesturing off towards Farsung, their ever closer objective.
“Aye!” shouted the others back.
Briskly they moved in upon Yiparash during the night to find many campfires and temporary stores. The snow was nonexistent, except for patches, this far south. Yiparash was filled with many travelers; campfires were strewn about and a lute could be heard playing in concert with a singer of extreme skill, weaving intricately the lute’s lilting tune and her resounding voice. Loud cheers sounded whenever a song finished. Traders were busily haggling, moving about trying to keep their prices up until both sides felt cheated but satisfied. Fifty or more different groups had settled at the lake that night to enjoy a drink with a pleasant stranger and learn of recent gossip. Being at the center of the country seemed to make the lake a very profitable place to be. Luck had changed in their favor.
“We make camp here,” said Lyon. “Hietzler, get us some wood for a fire.” Hietzler turned around, ever silent. “Oh, could you also spread word that we are looking to sell a sword?” Nodding Hietzler turned and left. “Berik and Ferik-“
“Aye, we know,” they interrupted. Ferik continued, “You’d think we’d know by now how to set up a few pieces of cloth to keep our clothes from getting soaking wet.”
“Of course,” said Lyon. “Carry on.” He paused a moment. “Lavara, try to acquire the supplies we are lacking. I have not been paying close enough attention to our stores to readily give good estimate to what is needed.” She left without complaint. “Openduis, keep the inquiries unobtrusive when you go around asking for the whereabouts of a small, redheaded man.”
“Inquiries such as this rouse even the most moronic man, but I will somehow manage.”
With Openduis’ departure all that remained were Lyon and Bern; Ferik and Berik being preoccupied with setting up the tents. Firelight from other camps lit the ground, sending dark shadows sprawling across the ground. Bern sat upon the shadowy ground, his arms crossed in deep brooding. Devastating as the blow was to Bern, Lyon still needed the man. Lyon knew Kilvnet would only create more discord, but if Bern rebelled against him, as well, the whole group might fall apart, destroying any chance they had of catching Abel.
“Bern?” called Lyon grimly. When Bern did not reply immediately Lyon continued. “It was an unavoidable and contemptible action. I only ask . . .” He took a moment to compose himself. “I ask that you forgive me.” Still Bern did not speak. Lyon only shook his head. “I am sorry, friend.” Bern grunted in reply. Satisfied, Lyon went off to take care of his own darker responsibilities the rest need not know about.
He crept through the mass of people, trying to find his target among the camps. Solitude encircled Lyon’s mind as his silent feet pressed down upon the grass and small patches of snow. Everything was riding upon the scant hope of catching Abel before he reached the capital’s gates. If Abel were to make it in the gates before Lyon, the city guards or any other denizen of Farsung could easily pick him up.
Running about was a boy. Dirty rags hung about him, a hard look upon his face. Lyon grabbed him as he passed with an iron-like grip. Fear, then defiance showed in his eyes. Even better.
“Child, I will give you a copper penny to see a parcel sent off to the right man,” said Lyon fiercely. “Once it has been delivered more recompense may be possible.”
“Aye, sir?” asked the child, the defiant face now becoming one of suspicion. “How much would you pay me for this?”
Immediately the child had recovered his bearings. He had to have been living on the streets for many years, ever since he was a small child who could barely understand language, let alone how to survive. Maybe the fates really had turned their smiles upon his little band.
“A silver barb,” said Lyon smiling. The boy’s face went alight before he was able to master his features once again. A silver barb was something a travelling urchin was unable to acquire during most of their lives, however short they may be. Truthfully, Lyon could have settled for a much lower price but he was in no mood for bargaining.
“A gold thorn, nothing less,” said the boy firmly.
Hard skull was met by even harder knuckles. Lyon’s first drew back for another blow. “A barb, nothing more. Boy.” The lesson of humility learned well, the boy struggled to his feet and nodded, a small cut on his forehead glistening with red. “I am glad we have come to an agreement.” Lyon rifled through his cloak until a small, folded piece of paper was pulled from it. “In the next town, take this to the Duhn legate. Tell them an animal with a great mane sent you.” The boy nodded. “Remember those exact words, an animal with a great mane.” Again, the boy nodded before running off to whatever mischief he desired to commit.
His business done, Lyon crept back to his camp with a small smile spread across his face. When he arrived everyone had completed their tasks and a strong fire was on its way to fruition, gently being cared for by Hietzler, his dark eyes looking deeply into the fire’s heat. Bern, sullen, stared deeply into the fire, deep orange crossing across his face in the shadows. Berik and Ferik were lazily punching each other on the shoulders, exemplifying their tired bodies: Berik and Ferik never did anything lazily. Lavara was unpacking certain necessities she had acquired around camp while Openduis was busy contemplating the information he had gathered.
Lyon looked upon his band of thieves, killers, and ruthless bargainers. Everyone had earned the others’ respect. Even now, Bern saw why Lyon had killed his friend but could not yet accept is fully. This group had the mettle to find the man separating them from their fortune. This, Lyon was sure of.
Looking into the fire’s brilliance, Lyon pondered his options after the mark was caught. Thoughts of his son, Aleksandr, surfaced while he contemplated the best move. He clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white. A familiar scowl covered his face. Duhn would soon be getting Lyon’s reply. He looked up at the faces of his companions, the only people he trusted. His stomach dropped as he mulled over what must be done.
Fate, on the other hand, had another plan for Lyon. As Lyon looked up from the fire’s smoldering heat, Abel’s eyes made contact with his own. The white of Abel’s teeth showed before he disappeared into the night. Lyon bolted after the vanishing form.
This could end it. He could catch Abel here and now.