Ninth of Harvest
King’s Crossing was one of the major resting areas for travellers in Svaleta. Only two main highways led out of Rignar’s Hold. In the east, one ran straight from Larton to the city of Svaleta. For those who had visited the scattered townships in the west, the best journey was through King’s Crossing, so named for the three rivers that connected nearby, as well as the three highways that intersected there. To the south was a thick wood, frequented by hunters who sought the pelts of the deer and wolves that roamed within. There was little stone to be seen, most of the town built from lumber stripped from the forest over the years. It was a place of anonymity, where few questions were asked of travellers and quiet deals were struck between those of less than savoury reputation. Belkai may have acted naïve to Milton, but she had done her research before setting off on her travels. She had almost immediately chosen King’s Crossing as the only major centre that she’d show her face in. She would be just another random face there, unnoticed and disregarded.
Nonetheless, she hesitated before stepping onto the final stretch of road leading into the town. There should be no reason for anyone to recognise her or pay her undue attention, but still she found herself questioning the wisdom of showing her face there. Stick to the plan. No sense getting nervous now. She took a deep breath, then took the first step towards the town. The rest were easy.
She passed by the first few houses to find a crowd gathered around something in what seemed to be the town square. She could hear scuffling in the midst of them, and without warning the crowd let loose a roar of approval. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she pushed through to the inside. She got there in time to see an elf collapse to the ground, barely conscious as he held out a hand for mercy.
“Is that all?” His opponent shouted. “Is there anyone else?”
She was Svaletan, tall even by their standards. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her thick arms dripped with sweat. She glared at the crowd, daring someone to take up the challenge.
A young man stepped forward and called out, “She gets paid win or lose. You get paid big if you beat her.”
The Order had taught Belkai how to kill, but that hadn’t been its focus. The ability to feel the world around them made its followers keen helpers of those in need. Their knowledge made them capable of incredible compassion, and they would regularly go on pilgrimages to serve those in need and comfort the broken. It wasn’t unusual to find them in Tios serving among those whose lives were ruined in the midst of the self-fulfilling lust.
So Belkai tested the Svaletan woman. There was no anger in her, despite her piercing glare. Belkai sensed joy, a true love for the sport. This was a dangerous woman, that much was certain. Her challenge was taken up by a man about Belkai’s height, built like a labourer. He stripped off his shirt and threw it aside before beckoning for the woman to attack.
“The woodcutter takes the challenge!” the younger man yelled out, then melted back into the crowd as the woman stepped forward. The two combatants circled each other, waiting for the first strike. The woman was first. She leapt forward without warning, launching a powerful punch that caught the man off guard. He spun out of the way, the blow slamming into his shoulder hard enough to knock him off balance. He recovered quickly, snatching her wrist as it withdrew and spinning her around for a return strike. Before he could land it, her leg shot out and crashed into his knee. Belkai heard a crunch as the kneecap shattered and he collapsed to the dirt. The woman stepped back, breathing heavily as she waited to see what he did. He tried to stand, but fell back down. He held up a hand, gasping his submission.
“I think we’re done here,” the woman said, then made her way through the crowd. Belkai pushed past the people behind her and saw the fighter enter the nearest tavern. Two men quickly followed her, and Belkai was close behind.
* * *
Davos rode his horse fast, aware of how far ahead his quarry was. Every few minutes he would stop and check the ground. He knew the boot tracks by now, and the scent was as clear as the midday sun now that he knew what he was seeking. It took only a few hours for him to find what must have been a campsite near a brook. The killer had tried to cover up a firepit, but Davos quickly unearthed it and the remains of the rabbits that had been cooked there. Whoever this man was, he was a hardy fellow, Davos thought. Not someone to be taken lightly. He stood and looked around. There was only one viable option from here. To the south the river was unyielding, deadly. The only safe crossing within a day’s journey was King’s. The boot tracks led west, confirming that theory. Davos scratched ‘KC’ into the dirt, then mounted his horse and sped west, staying far from the road, just like his target. He was getting closer. Another day, and he’d find his foe.
* * *
Belkai found that the tavern was quite to her liking. It was well lit from the sunlight streaming through the many windows and it wasn’t too crowded. There were several larger tables through the centre of the hall, with smaller tables lining the walls. Off her to right, she spotted a well-built Svaletan man with a scarred hand who was nursing a drink. Being the daughter of a leather worker, she recognised the smell of a blacksmith. He looked up and as their eyes met Belkai found herself wondering what life would have been like if she hadn’t left her father to pursue magic. She would have had a family by now, she realised, and a husband to share her life with. Things would certainly have been far more peaceful. The blacksmith saluted Belkai with his mug and she turned away as she felt a sense of melancholy, a desire not for him but for the life that she had left behind.
Refocusing her attention, Belkai found the fighter sitting at a table along the far wall, a heavy mug in hand. The two men who’d entered first tried talking to her, but a single glare was enough for them to back off. They may have had bad intentions, but they knew danger when they saw it. Belkai learned the lesson. She got herself a pint of beer and stepped over to the table.
“It was a good fight,” she said quietly, and the woman looked up as she set down her mug. In her grey low-cut top and white knee-length skirt, Belkai cut an attractive, but unthreatening, figure. She waved for her to sit. “Where’d you learn?”
“I was in the militia,” she said tiredly. She gulped down the last of her drink. “I got bored.”
“They missed out then.” Belkai watched her for a second as she stared into the mug. “What are you drinking?”
“Pure honeymead.”
“Your next is on me.” When she got back, she introduced herself. “I’m Belkai. Just passing through here.”
“Loranna.” She raised her glass in salute and took a sip. “So what can I do for you? A drink is never free.”
“You enjoyed the fight.” Belkai watched Loranna’s face as she spoke. Her expression didn’t change as she nodded.
“Better entertainment than what most people offer.”
“Good money?”
Loranna leaned back in her chair and looked over at Belkai. “Reasonable. Now stop wasting my time. What are you getting at?”
“I could use a companion. A warden, if you will.”
Loranna looked at Belkai in a new light, studying her for a moment. “You don’t seem to be in any particular danger.”
Belkai shrugged and finished offer her drink. “Maybe not, but I have my reasons. I entered Svaleta with a guide. He left.”
Loranna recognised the look in Belkai’s eye, knew exactly what had happened. “You chose the right person. When I left the militia I began to hire out my services.”
“The fights are good marketing,” Belkai hedged. Her only reply was a grunt. “What’s the price?”
“That entirely depends on the danger,” Loranna said. “If you’re just heading to the city of Svaleta, it’s going to be cheap.”
“I’m thinking somewhere more to the south,” Belkai replied, lowering her voice. “Somewhere where you can’t see the sun so well.”
Loranna nodded her understanding. She had never entered Narandir, but she had passed by it plenty of times. For her part, Belkai studied Loranna’s heart. She didn’t detect any greed, at least not like the kind that had driven Milton. There was a goodness to Loranna, despite her love for a good fight. A mercenary, then, but only because she was seeking a cause worth fighting for. That was someone that Belkai could trust.
“I already have a route,” Belkai continued. “And I can handle myself in a fight. But I need someone to watch my back.”
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Loranna named her price, and Belkai agreed without any attempt to haggle. Loranna raised an eyebrow.
“I just have one question,” the mercenary said. “Who are you?”
Belkai smiled. “In the night they roam, while eagles soar and water foams. Where they go I don’t know, but I long to follow them so.”
It was an old rhyme known to children, the tale of mysterious pilgrims who appeared in times of distress and faded away when they were sought out. They had many names depending on who told the tale. Some of the stories told of the violence the pilgrims were capable of. Most were far more hopeful than that.
“I thought you people were a myth.”
“We prefer it that way.” Belkai shrugged. “Some people like the mystery.”
“The men certainly would,” Loranna said, glancing at some newcomers to the tavern. “You want my advice?”
Belkai followed her gaze, watching as the new group of labourers sat down across the hall.
“You seem far too tense for one so young. Pick one, enjoy your night, make the most of it. We’ll leave at dawn.”
With that Loranna stood and headed for the stairs to her room. It was only early afternoon. It went against her better judgement, but Belkai turned and glanced over at the blacksmith. Their eyes met again, and he smiled. His heart had instantly accelerated when he looked at her, Belkai knew. She turned back to her drank and took a breath. Maybe Loranna was right. Certainly it would do no harm. You’re getting distracted, a voice whispered, but she pushed it aside. She shook out her hair so that it framed her face and made her skin look that bit softer. Knowing what most men were like, she adjusted her already-low-cut top to give him a better view before standing and slowly walking over to him, her hips gently swaying. She sat next to him and rested a hand on his leg. As he swallowed nervously, she leaned in towards him, smiling as his eyes drifted downwards and lingered.
“Hey. I’m Anna. Want a drink?”
* * *
Belkai was surprised by the blacksmith’s stamina, and stayed with him for several hours. He finally drifted off just as night was starting to fall, and Belkai slipped out of his house without so much as a kiss goodbye. She’d taken the time only to comb out her hair before heading to the inn to get herself a room. She had no intention of sleeping in another’s house and leaving herself vulnerable. One moment of weakness, however enjoyable, was more than enough.
There was only one room available on the second floor. Belkai made her way to the room and shut the door, lodging a chair against it to keep it sealed. She collapsed onto the first bed she’d felt in a week and was asleep in seconds.
The Tormentor came in her dreams. She saw Milton laughing, reaching for her throat even though his chest was gone. The scene vanished, and she saw the raiders that she’d killed. They backed Loranna into a corner, and she screamed as they dealt their killing blows. They came for Belkai next.
She woke with a shout, finding herself bathed in sweat. She whispered a curse and got up to look out the window. The moon bathed the world in an eerie glow, and she closed her eyes and let the breeze clear her mind of the nightmares. She heard the pounding of hooves, the heavy breaths of a horse pushed to its limits. Nonetheless, it was calm, content to try and please its master. She couldn’t sense the rider, but instinctively knew that he was driven by determination, not hatred or fear.
Belkai shifted her attention to trees, listening to the faint rustle in the breeze. Her heart settled and her mind emptied as she let the peace chase away the lingering fear. She stayed there for most of the night, until she headed downstairs just before the first rays of light began to break over the distant mountains. She found Loranna waiting in the street. The mercenary wore leather armour of the sort worn by the King’s Guard. A thick green jerkin covered her torso, fitting snuggly to her body. Black pants covered her legs, a crocodile-skin belt wrapped around her waist. An axe hung from the belt, a large pack slung over her shoulders.
“Have fun?” Loranna asked with a sly grin. Belkai shrugged.
“It’s a short story and a long walk,” she replied, grateful for the darkness that hid her sudden blush. Shame was something that she hadn’t felt in a while. Loranna gave her a knowing look then sighed.
“Well, Milady, we should be off before the sun rises.”
“That’s good craftsmanship,” Belkai said, nodding at Loranna’s jerkin. It wasn’t quite as well-made as her father’s work but perhaps Svaletans were less demanding of their laborers.
“You know leather?” Loranna seemed genuinely surprised. Belkai laughed.
“My father is a leather worker,” she replied. “The irony is that I grew up around the Ikari. They would wear steel to bed given half a chance. But my father still made leather. He made a fair bit of money too.”
“And yet you travel in a skirt and top,” Loranna chuckled.
“I like comfort,” Belkai admitted. The leather was certainly better than steel, she thought. The basic method was to boil the leather and fix metal strips to it. It would stop most blows, though not as effectively as steel plate. It allowed for far more movement, though.
“You want to try not to get in a fight then,” Loranna said. Belkai shrugged.
“I usually manage.”
Loranna gave Belkai a careful look as they walked. There had to be more to this woman than she could see. She carried herself with the confidence of an orc and she dressed like a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. But there was a violence to her, as hard as it was to comprehend. She would be dangerous, Loranna recognised. The only question was, who was the one under threat?
* * *
Siara awoke to the first rays of dawn pouring in through her window. She changed into her ritual dress before kneeling by the window to say her morning prayers. She was halfway through when her door was quietly opened. Someone walked softly towards her, and she opened her eyes as Sashai kneeled beside her and whispered a short prayer.
“You have news.”
Sashai finished her prayer, took a deep breath, then nodded. “The King has humbly requested your presence in his hall.”
"Is that what the messenger said?” Siara asked with an eyebrow raised. Sashai nodded.
“I do believe that your lesson did its work,” she ventured. “If I may say so.”
“If we can’t speak the truth within these walls, then we have no purpose,” Siara assured her. “Tell the messenger I will be down soon. Give him some refreshment.”
“As you wish.” Sashai made her way out, still making as little noise as possible as she shut the door.
When she was gone, Siara let out a quiet groan. She had expected the request, had dreamt of it the night before. She knew the news that the king had received, and she knew the answer that she had to give. It was an uncertain answer, though, and she knew that Farhad would push back as he always did. For now, she had no answer to the questions that would inevitably come. Turning back to the sun, she prayed for wisdom, then began to prepare for her visit.
* * *
“The truth is, we have no way of knowing yet just how the battle went,” Alihad was saying. “All we know is that Aliri forces have attacked.”
“One would hope that the signal fires were only lit because of a significant threat,” the King’s political advisor snapped. “A simple raid is not enough to justify a crisis warning.”
The double doors to the Throne Room cracked open, and the steward stepped inside to announce that the Prophetess had arrived. Everyone stood, even Farhad, as Siara strode into the room. The three handmaidens in their purple dresses stood against the walls, eyes averted from the officials gathered around the table. The Prophetess stepped forward with a confidence that belied her own uncertainty. Farhad dismissed his officials and soon the room was empty expect for Siara and her handmaidens. The King returned to his seat, and in Siara's eyes he looked old beyond his years.
“We have received news of a crisis,” he said quietly.
“The Aliri.”
His eyes widened, but he had the wisdom not to ask how she had known. “Yes. They struck the border yesterday morning. I have no news of the battle, but I know that the defences would not have lasted long. There were too few soldiers on the border to stop them.”
“You spent too much time focusing on bandits,” the Prophetess said quietly, walking over to his throne. She ran her hand along the arms as she continued, “We will pay a price for the complacency we’ve been lulled into.”
“Have you any insight?” the king asked, desperation clear in his voice. The Prophetess took a breath before she turned to face him.
“A prophecy was given to me during the night,” she confirmed. “Of darkness and fear.”
Farhad waved for her to continue. She knelt before him, head bent low, and began to speak.
“From the north a dark cloud spreads. Something stirs the Aliri to take this moment to strike. But I see something else. In the darkness a light goes dim. From the unclaimed woods an evil will rise.”
She lifted her head and looked deep into the king’s eyes. “The Aliri are not your only threat, nor your worse. The Recluse has awaken.”
Farhad’s response came as a whisper. “He truly lives? It is no myth?”
Siara nodded. “For too long he has been content with his dominion. I cannot say why, but someone has stirred him to break his restraint and push his borders outwards.”
“We should have killed him a long time ago.”
Siara’s eyes flashed with anger. “He has served a purpose beyond your recognition. Even in his slumber he has held much at bay. Even if you sent ten thousand soldiers after him, you would only unite the beasts and the ancient magic to destroy your people.”
She shook her head. “No, I sense that you have an unexpected ally in your fight. One that will be revealed in time. Patience may be your greatest weapon now.”
* * *
As Davos rode, his mind continued to run over the bodies that he’d examined. He was certain that he only chased one killer. It was the same set of tracks at each site, with the same faint scent. But who could face raiders alone with a blade and then kill three without a weapon? For all his experience, Davos was at a loss as he continued to race towards Kings Crossing. He was missing something, a key piece of information. The killer had only targeted real enemies, and was clearly moving south. On their own, those facts meant virtually nothing. There were only two main routes out of the Hold, and no killer was going to head towards the capital. But what was his goal? The motive was the key, Davos recognised. But there was no way of finding it until he tracked down his prey.
From the back of his mind a childhood memory forced its way into his consciousness, an old story that his mother had told him about mages who could kill with their minds. “I don’t know if looks can kill,” she had said, “but these people didn’t even need to give a look. The last thing you would see is a green light, and then you’d be in the Beyond.”
Davos could not shake the thought that perhaps he had found one of these mythical mages. Perhaps the stories really were true.
So he rode onward towards King’s Crossing, blissfully unaware that his own progress was being tracked by the breath of the wind in Belkai’s ears. By nightfall he would reach the town. There he just might find some answers.