23

“It’s a boy,” Endaha whispered. She lay in the barn, blankets wrapped around her and the new child. Cassa sat by her, staring wide eyed at the mewling bundle before her.

“The Exonaris komai grows,” Azios said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Break out the wine, it’s a fine day,” Pavano said, then winced as he shifted on his bad leg.

“Fine day?” Bostarion muttered, glancing toward the military camp and wrecked farmhouse.

“We’re alive, are we not?” Pavano grinned.

“I suppose.”

“What is his name?” San asked. He sat on a stool, wearily washing his hands and face within a bucket of icy water. The sun was beginning to set and the cries of the wounded were still echoing in the distance.

Endaha looked at him and smiled. “Kovass, of course.”

“The first male child is always named after their father,” Pavano said.

“Foolish tradition,” Bostarion muttered.

“Huh,” San said, wiping his face. Although he hadn’t intended it, his own son had been named after himself, but San always considered that little Sanjay had been named after his grandfather, not himself.

The barn door creaked open, causing everyone to reach for weapons.

“I’m unarmed!” Elgava shouted as she saw the weapons. She stood there, in her brigandine and clearly armed with sword and dagger on her belt. “I mean, I don’t have a weapon drawn!”

“How do, Elgava?” Pavano asked, setting aside his crossbow.

“Damned tired, old man,” Elgava said, walking up to the fire and crouching before it. “Came to return this.” She held out a quarter filled glass bottle. “Came in handy last night, nary anyone who drank it pissed themselves in fear.”

San took the bottle and swirled the liquid within it. It had a faint reddish hue to it, as with the Fearless Flame. “I’m surprised there’s any left,” he said.

“Aye, the Mage Lieutenant was all for taking it, but many a solider knew what it did for them. Told him to return it to you in case you got pissy and tried to curse them all.”

“I don’t curse anyone,” San said, setting the bottle aside. “The bottle has more of a sentimental value to me. I suppose I can always make more of the Courage.”

Elgava stared at him for a second. “It’s true then, you’re a Mage?”

“No. I’m a Brewer,” San said.

“Never seen no brewer make Courage before, nor flames that could keep away monsters,” she said.

San only shrugged.

“What’s the Mage up to?” Bostarion asked. “The little shit gonna charge the batto nest?”

Elgava stared at the flames for a long moment and slowly nodded. “Aye, he’s determined to be rid of the creatures. Havatair would have made him wait, in fact, Havatair was counting on the Young Baron to arrive with his soldiers before they moved.”

“Now half of the soldiers are wounded or dead,” Bostarion muttered. “Damned fool child is gonna get the rest killed.”

“We move at sunrise, heading north, across wild land. That’ll be fun with the wagons,” she said.

“You’re taking the mortars?” San asked.

“Aye, best way to kill a nest. Just lob explosive shells into their nests.”

“You have explosive shells?” San asked.

“Aye, did you not know the Mage is an Explosives Mage?” Elgava asked.

“No. No one said anything about that.”

“Still has a lot to learn, but he’s one of the few Explosives Mage we have. The other three are with the Baron in Sentari.”

“What does an Explosives Mage do?” San asked.

Elgava rolled her eyes. “Make explosives,” she said. “He can imbue catalyst rock with Power and use that to cause explosions or ignite stuff.”

“What is a catalyst rock?” San asked.

“Hetvana’s wandering eye,” Elgava said in exasperation. She looked to Pavano and Bostarion who only shrugged. “It’s a rock, clear like crystal, hard, but not too hard. Mages use them to hold extra mana and then use it as a base for their bigger magics.”

“So he makes his own catalyst rocks explode? Is it added to other explosives, like a satchel of blackpowder?” San asked.

“Aye, if you’re mad and want to die, you can do that,” Elgava and Bostarion said together.

“Good in sieges,” Elgava said. “My Pa fought the Empire when we broke away, laid siege to Blackened Bridge and occupied it from the savages. Took only one Explosives Mage to topple those woodland fuck’s walls.” She grinned and then looked embarrassed as she saw Endaha. “Sorry, ma’am.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring into the flames.

“We’re going to have to leave the komai,” San said.

“What? No!” Azios jumped to his feet.

“Aye, San’s right, lad,” Pavano said.

“We can fix the house!”

“Not in winter,” Endaha said with finality. Azios looked at her and then back at the others, his face contorting with barely restrained emotion.

“This is my family’s land!” he shouted.

‘And it’ll still be here come spring,” Bostarion replied.

“No one’s gonna take the komai from you, Azios,” San said. “But you have a nephew there that needs a real roof over his head and a warm hearth to sleep by. This winter is already shown itself to be a difficult one, what will the rest of it bring?”

Azios looked to his nephew and then back at San, his anger ebbing just a bit. “The komai has never been abandoned,” he said.

“Nor is it going to be,” San replied. “You’ll be back, your brother will be back, come spring. Then it will be returned to how it was before.”

“The Exonaris do not run,” Azios said his voice defeated.

“One person can probably live here through the winter,” Pavano said. “But six? The snows will be deep this winter, we don’t have enough firewood and even with the food San obtained, it will not last us more than a month.”

Azios looked back to Endaha, she nodded to him, the small reddish face of baby Kovass crinkling up. Cassa toddled over to him and hugged him, sensing his emotions.

“Aye,” Azios finally said. “Aye, we must find shelter for the winter.”

“We’ll load up everything and you’ll go back with the soldiers when they’re ready to move,” San said to Azios. “Pavano will help you. You will go to White Tower and find a place to stay.”

“You’re not coming?” Endaha asked. Azios stared at him also.

“No. I’m going with the Mage,” San said. “The nest has to be destroyed and…” San shrugged. “It has to be done. The Mage is going to attempt it and I don’t know if he’ll succeed. He might fail, but I will go with him.”

“Aye, me too,” Bostarion said.

“Oh, good,” Elgava grinned. “The Mage told me to see if you two would come along. You’ll be paid, of course.”

“Of course,” Bostarion said.

San only nodded, looking into the fire. He could feel Endaha and Azio’s gazes upon him.

***

“You are a brave young man,” San said to Azios. The boy had a petulant look on his face as he heated a pot of tea. “I’ve never seen anyone your age be so brave. That is why I know when you go to White Tower, all will be well. When I come back, I’ll meet you there. You can tell me about the city and about the people, show me around.”

“I’ve only been there twice,” Azios said.

“That’s two times more than I have,” San said. “I’m pretty bad at directions, I might need a guide. Pavano says Midwinter’s Reprieve is supposed to be a grand celebration.”

Azios nodded vigorously. “It’s the longest night of the year. They have singers that sing from dusk to dawn, regardless of how cold or snowy it is. The Last Emperor’s son sends gifts to the Baron and people, bringing in Imperials from Votaro to celebrate the long night.”

“That sounds cool,” San said, getting a confused look from Azios.

“I don’t know if the merchants will be there. I know Suvanna wouldn’t stop the cultists from crossing the border,” Azios said.

“Cultists?”

“Aye, the main cults in Votaro send emissaries to all the Baronies. Suvanna would be fools if they tried to stop them. Those priests and priestesses have Levels and aren’t shy about using them.”

San nodded and they sat in silence for a while.

“I want you to take care of something for me,” San said. He gestured to two clay pots that held the distiller’s yeast and the unshakeable strain. They were happily consuming sugar and thriving better than San imagined.

“The yeast,” Azios said, looking at the clay pots. “The one that made the Courage.”

“You were there,” San said. “You helped me make it. Now I need you to ensure that it survives until I return.”

“You will return?” Azios asked.

“Of course I will.”

“Just like Brother.”

“Yes, just like Brother. I will come back and we’ll make more Courage together, yes?”

Azios nodded. “Yes.”

San wrapped an arm around Azios shoulder and pulled him close. “Take care of your nephew and niece. Trust Pavano. Don’t let anyone know about the coin you carry,” he whispered. San pulled a sack of coins from his coat. He dropped them into Azios’ hands.

“I can’t take this,” he said.

“Hold onto it for me, like the yeast,” San said. ‘I’ll be back for it. But until that time, spend it wisely. Find a place to stay, food to last the winter, and safety.”

Azios nodded. “Aye,” he said softly.

“Good man,” San said.

***

“I’m sure you’ll know how to turn this into coin,” San said, offering Pavano the gold bracelet he had taken off the white furred creature.

“Aye, I know people,” Pavano said, sighing. “Seems like you’re preparing to die, giving away your worldly possessions.’

“It’s just a tent and a sleeping bag,” San said. “Endaha and the baby need it more.”

“Aye,” Pavano responded.

“I’ll be taking everything else. I suppose I’ll need it on the trek,” San said.

Pavano nodded and sighed once more.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“What’s wrong?” San asked.

“You’re off on a grand adventure and here I be, crippled and old,” Pavano said.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you morose,” San said.

“Happens to any a man. Especially when he’s wounded twice in the leg and now the cold makes his bones ache more than they used to. It ain’t gonna be long before I can no longer travel the roads.”

San was silent for a moment. “Havatair says you’re looking for a god,” he said.

Pavano barked out a laugh. “Aye, they say that the gods walk the land and offer you a chance at redemption.” Pavano let out a grim chuckle. “Life is difficult, lad, and it forces you to make hard choices. I have lived too long and these days I fear my death, Hetvana will dance in my skin and flail me until the world breaks and all the gods die.”

“You have been a good man since I’ve met you,” San said.

“Aye, but I always wasn’t. I wasn’t strong enough to do the right things and think beyond what I could gain for myself.”

“You are a good man, Pavano. I am glad you are my friend. I trust you enough to see after Endaha and the others. I trust you with my life.”

Pavano only nodded, saying nothing.

“About time to leave, San,” Bostarion said from the barn entrance.

San slapped Pavano on the back. “See them to White Tower safely. Find them lodging and look after them until I return.”

“Aye,” Pavano said. “Off with you, now.”

San grinned and got to his feet, the steel cuirass creaking as he rose. He was armed and armored, his hiking pack heavy, and two loaded pistols and a crossbow attached to it. He carried sword, buckler, dagger, camp knife, and the revolver from his world.

Endaha rose from the tent, her bright eyes watching him. He smiled at her and stopped himself from stepping toward her. What was she to him? She was another man’s wife and he was a foreigner with no ties to this land. San wanted to hug her and tell her the same words he had told Azios and Pavano. But that would be crossing a line that should not be crossed.

“Until we meet again, m’lady Exonaris,” San said.

“Until we meet again, Adventurer San,” she said, holding herself formally and nodding to him.

Pavano made a choking sound, but didn’t remark. Azios waved at San and Cassa peered from the tent, watching everything.

“Get your ass moving, lad,” Bostarion muttered.

San nodded and followed him out into the cold pre-dawn morning.

***

“Those big fuckers, like the one that tried to break into the farmhouse, those are the only ones that had gems in them,” Bostarion said as he and San headed to the military camp. “The rest of the fuckers are just sword fodder, little workers that collect food and hunt. They’re only good for the leather of their wings and the poison that can be harvested from their tails.”

San watched as the bodies of the battos littered the ground around the farmstead. The bristle furred creatures were frozen in contorted forms, their last act as they tried to slash, rend, or stab. The ground was covered in a layer of frozen red ichor mush, squelching under their boots as they walked.

“Any gems belong to the Baron,” Bostarion added. He gestured to the massive batto that San and he had killed the day previous. It had been butchered and the gems removed by the soldiers under watch from the Mage.

“Did anyone Level?” San asked, there had been enough deaths, according to the healer. Twelve soldiers had died of their wounds with another twenty injured. That left only twenty soldiers and seven artillerymen who would be going on the excursion to the North.

“No,” Bostarion said. “Death leveling is a fickle thing, it happens or it doesn’t. Usually it’s only the people who have never leveled that level in that manner, not those that already have levels.”

San blinked at that information. He had been in this world for nearly a month and there was a lot he still didn’t understand. It hadn’t really occurred to him, but now the they were talking about it. San really did want to know how the leveling system worked, what the difference between Mages and Leveled people were, and why had the first gem he consumed had been blue?

The questions filled his mind, but he set them aside. The cold pre-dawn morning was not the place to think about those things. The noise of the military camp was muted as if everyone were trying keep quiet in hopes that they would not be noticed. Soldiers moved crates into the lone wagon the would be accompanying them. Food, tents, supplies, and gunpowder, along with one of the mortars.

Five of the artillerymen had been killed or injured, that left one gun unmanned. The Mage had been adamant about the addition of the weapon as they moved on the batto nest, but even he couldn’t force the seven men to manage two guns with any accuracy or efficiency.

Along with the injured, there was also a more pressing fact that there weren’t many woollys left to pull the wagons. There had been six woollys per wagon and there had been four wagons in total. The wagons, San noted, were the same heavy wagons that Sagaris had used when moving furs from Blackened Bridge. They were built to carry cargo and required the strength of woollys to pull them.

Havatair had the wagons pulled into a defensive square during the fight against the battos. How that occurred, San had no idea. During the fight, many of the woollys and horses had been attacked by the battos. Of the twenty four woollys brought, only twelve had survived, with two being unpaired.

Pavano had negotiated with the Mage about using their own surviving woollys to pull one of the military wagons, the six would be able to do that. Another surviving six would pull another wagon and one wagon would have to be abandoned.

The batto nest strike force on the other hand was left with only four woollys and a wagon. Most of the soldiers were still suffering from minor wounds and exhaustion, but the Mage was adamant about not losing any time. The battos had expended a lot of their force against the military camp and they would be vulnerable for the time being. If they waited until the Young Baron arrived, the battos might have restocked their numbers.

San wasn’t entirely on board with the Mage’s plan. He didn’t know enough about battos to agree or disagree. Bostarion merely grunted when asked questions, muttering to himself that he wanted to die in bed rather than out in the middle of nowhere during winter. That did not assuage any of San’s feelings about the plan.

“Foreinger,” a soldier said, tipping his helmet to him in greeting.

San nodded back.

“Foreigner,” another said.

“Real popular, aren’t you?” Bostarion said as more soldiers greeted him.

“I just wish they’d stop calling me foreigner,” San said.

“We must be fucking desperate,” a voice snarled. San looked to see Ilagio standing among the soldiers. The older man’s face turned into a scowl and he spat into the muddy ground. “My ancestors weep at the state we’re in.”

San clamped his mouth shut, choking back a retort. “Good morning, Landed Fomar,” San said instead. “I am glad that you made it through the attack unscathed.”

Ilagio frowned as some men chuckled.

“Bold move, lad,” Bostarion said as they walked away. There was a small burst of laughter from some of the soldiers.

“Why?”

“You did not hear? Ilagio was knocked unconscious in the first minutes of the battle. Ran head first into one of the armored Guards as he rushed out of his tent. Was out the entire fight.”

“Oh,” San said.

They joined the gathered soldiers as they stood around campfires, warming themselves before the cold march into the unknown woods to the north.

“Got anything to warm us up, foreigner?” Elgava asked as she sauntered up to the fire.

“I hear walking is a good way to keep warm,” San remarked.

Elgava grinned. “Zomia is pleased by your drink, foreigner. Moonshine, she says it might really be blessed by Corvanus.”

“That’s good,” San said. “Why is she pleased by it?”

“Zomia’s got the Power to know if a wound will fester or not. Since she’s been using your drink, the wounds of the soldiers aren’t festering.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” San said and grinned.

Elgava shook her head.

“Soldiers of the Sol Savanis Barony!” the Mage Lieutenant shouted, riding up on a painted horse before them. “We are on a great crusade, to defend our land from the monsters that dwell upon the edges of civilization. We are marching into the darkness, with the light of Senta and the courage of our Imperial blood, we will destroy this horror that stalks this land and avenge our fallen. Raise your swords, soldiers. We march!”

The Mage wheeled his horse around and clattered off. The soldiers groaned and Ilagio began screaming orders. The woollys brayed and took their first steps, the wagons creaking in protest and the men already cursing their lot in life.

“Off we go,” Elgava said, frowning. “Off to death like a good Imperial.”

“Aye,” Bostarion said, sighing.

San looked to the north, the high distant mountains that dominated the horizon. The sky was lightening, the deep black moving to blue and the high clouds already haloed with yellow and oranges. The tall trees swayed in a gentle breeze and a distant howl echoed in the silences between cursing, braying, and creaking equipment.

***

Bostarion left San, tossing his pack onto the wagon and heading off ahead of the soldiers to scout. The pace was set by the woollys and the wagon. There were some narrow tracks and areas where animals or people had traveled, making their expedition easier, but that all ended by midday when the ground grew rockier and harder.

The woollys brayed and the men cursed as it seemed that every one hundred feet the wagon would get caught on something. San and Elgava helped put their shoulder into moving the wagon, cursing and sweating alongside the men.

The tall conifers towered over everything, the only open area being along the banks of the creek, which had narrowed and flowed faster as they moved north. They crossed several small streams, forcing men to create makeshift bridges to cross over and by the evening, San wondered if it would have been easier just to carry everything on their back.

“Sweet Senta, foreigner,” Elgava said as they gathered around a fire when they made camp. “You part woolly?”

“Damn near big as one,” another soldier said. “Hetvana’s fiery ass, he damn near pushed the wagon out of the last hole it was in.” The soldier, Genreve chuckled.

“You, you, and you. You’re on second watch,” Ilagio said. San was the third ‘you’ in that statement. Elgava and Genreve were the other two. They groaned and cursed, but Ilagio only glared at them. “We get eaten by fucking battos tonight, you can blame the fucking foreigner.” He left with that.

“Asshole,” Genreve muttered. “Kinslaying asshole,” he added for good measure.

“Ey, best shut your flapping yap about that,” Elgava said. “He’s our boss for the time being, you say that in his presence, you’re gonna be flogged just as bad as Hostin and Shinon.”

“Fucking Ilagio,” Genreve said, “Those two were too fucked up to fight, died in their tents unable to defend themselves.”

“They died?” San asked.

“Aye.”

San looked into the flames, guilt bubbling up.

“Ain’t your fault,” Elgava said. “They didn’t have to drink on duty, especially not that fire water you’re making.”

San nodded. He might not have forced them to drink, but there was always some responsibility for his part. It was one of those things he had to overcome for himself as he had advanced in his career. For all the joy and accomplishment brewing gave him, he also knew it had a darker side. Addiction, violence, and drunk driving were some of those.

A lot of brewers he knew just didn’t think about it. It was one of those things that would lead to a spiraling of thoughts until the only answer seemed to not brew anymore. There would always be people who abused it, that seemed to be the nature of human beings. It had taken San a long time to build up his internal wall to separate what he did with what other people did. He might make the drink, but he wasn’t responsible for the actions people took with it.

Yet it still bothered him, especially when he had seen the results. It doubly hurt as he realized the two men had died because they couldn’t fight due to their injuries. Which all stemmed from them drinking the moonshine he had created.

“We’ll pay those fucking battos back tenfold,” Elgava said and in a lower voice. “Same with Ilagio.”

Genvere nodded.

“Get some sleep, it’ll be a fucking cold night and we got the shit shift,” Elgava said.

***

San jerked awake when someone kicked him in the back. He looked up to see Elgava grinning down at him. Her face barely illuminated by the firelight, giving her a hollowed dead look.

“Up,” she said and then did the same to Genreve. The other soldier cursed and groaned.

San rose to his feet, pulling his blanket off and shivering in the cold. His breath plumed out before him and he wanted to go back to sleep. Elgava gestured for them to follow her. They silently walked the perimeter, away from the firelight and to the edge of the camp. The cold was more intense there, but bearable.

The expeditionary force had camped along side the creek, the easy access to water was the main reason and the other being that there was a large clearing that offered them open lines of sight to spot anything trying to sneak up on them.

The wagon stood between the woods and the creek, with the soldiers camping on the creekside of the wagon. Their fires glowed and the woollys grunted in their sleep.

“Gonna be a cold one,” Genreve muttered.

“Aye,” Elgava said. “You take east, I’ll take north, Foreigner, you take west.”

“You can call me San, you know?”

“Aye, but foreigner just flows off the tongue better,” she said, grinning.

San hefted his crossbow and walked around the wagon, the western side faced toward the dark woods. The east had another open clearing, a duplicate of the one they were in. While the north was as wooded and dark as the west.

What did keeping watch involve? San didn’t know. He had never had to keep watch in his life, well, perhaps the days he had spent in the Cursed City, but that had been more being unable to sleep due to the Flesh Horror wandering around. His trip from Forest River had been walking all day, sleeping during the night, and then doing it over again.

Perhaps it was Wolfram’s presence that had allowed him to sleep so peacefully while in Tribal lands. He knew the woodlanders did not like him and weren’t above attacking him if they thought they could get away with it.

He scanned the woods, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wolf ram. It had been days since he had last seen her, before Pavano had returned. He wasn’t worried about her health, she was a fearsome creature and would survive things he apparently could not. The Flesh Horror’s poison for one. Yet, a small part of himself missed her.

She was not his pet or companion, but she had saved his life more than he had hers. San figured he owed her and it was a debt that he was willing to repay.

For all he knew, she was probably shadowing him and the army. Besides Bostarion, no one here had much experience in woodcraft. Unless there was a obviously clear trail, San didn’t think he could follow anything or anyone through the forests.

He wondered again about the monsters and the beasts of the forests. Wolfram’s species appeared to be magical, but not in the void monster sort of way. She hadn’t been effected by the Fire in the Night spell, whereas it seemed to cause other magical beings to avoid it. What did that make her then? The thought wondered through his mind as he stared at the softly swaying trees.

There was a clatter of cookware that startled him. San looked around and eased himself around the wagon, crossbow held and ready.

The sight that greeted him gave him pause. The soldiers who had been sleeping were all standing up, blankets puddled to the ground and all their eyes staring westward. San shivered as he saw that their eyes seemed to be black voids.

“What the hell,” San said. He automatically crouched down, his gaze still locked on the soldiers. They did not move, they did not speak, they just stood there, staring westward with the black filled eyes.

San took a breath and followed their gaze, looking slightly above the treetops and seeing nothing. He stared for a long moment and then he saw it, a flickering of the stars. No, not a flickering, but a bending of the light around something vast and tall.

As he stared, he could see that the light of the stars was being warped, like looking through a wet pane of glass, or a science fiction cloaking field. Whatever was out there, did not want to be seen, but it was still out there, towering over the trees and it had some effect upon the soldiers.

The figure seemed to be moving toward the camp, there were no booming steps or indication that it was walking, yet it grew larger, the warped light spreading and expanding, even though the trees were undisturbed.

San cursed and rushed toward the campfires. He had been too tired to remember; how many times would he have to curse at himself for forgetting to use his Power as they were in the unforgiving woods.

“Fire in the Night.”

“Fire in the Night.”

Four campfires flared with blue light.

As if a string had been cut, the standing soldiers all flopped to the ground. San grabbed one man as he was about to fall into the fire. He rolled him onto the dirt and he groaned, opening his eyes.

“What the fuck?” the man asked, staring at him.

“You nearly rolled into the fire,” San said.

The man blinked and saw that he indeed was very close to the fire and his blanket was several feet from him.

“Uh, thanks, foreigner,” the man said groggily.

San got to his feet, the rest of the soldiers were groaning and mumbling to themselves, several already snoring as they rewrapped themselves in their blankets and huddled together.

The starry sky above the treetops weren’t being warped anymore. The light shone steady and bright, with no signs of whatever that creature was. San took a breath and turned to see the Mage Lieutenant watching him.

“You saw?” he asked, his voice low.

San nodded.

The Mage Lieutenant didn’t say anything, instead wrapping himself in his thick blanket and lying back down.

San walked back around the wagon, this time dividing his focus on the dark woods and the tops of the trees and stars. The night was absolutely silent.