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No faces registered, no sounds, only a buzz in his head as the Ember Sword was led out of the Obsidian Palace. This time he was not given his space and freedom. When he’d descended the grand stairs, guards joined his already overly attentive entourage. They silently took him to the barracks, where he was given his clothes and pack of supplies - all but his sword this time.
His former name was on the lips of the tyrant. It had not been spoken aloud since Dimos had taken it away. It sounded the way one felt waking from a nightmare, and with it came memories he did not care to relive again.
Memories of her. Memories of who the Ember Sword had been when he had her.
His purpose. The very warmth of his beating heart. The air filling his lungs. The very pain that twisted and tore at him inside now. She’d been the last to say his name before the fire swallowed who he was. She’d been the one to, again, give him life. A life that she had given him every day that he had been Marat.
They had not bound his hands upon bringing the mounts to the courtyard. Around him, men were strapping down their things and bringing out fresh blankets for the horses. The atmosphere was that of soldiers dreading a long road ahead.
And, he meant to spare them that.
He applied slight pressure to the horse, right behind the girth. His hands subtly pulling at the reins, he suddenly took off.
It had been unexpected, as none of his things had been attached to the saddle. The rope that connected the horses upon bringing them to the yard broke. And, the row of sentries on the walls had all seemed to fire their arrows - and miss.
The speed with which he left Volkograd behind was impressive, even to the Ember Sword. The animal beneath him had been slim and smaller than he was used to. But, it was swift in the snow, and after a day of driving it full speed, it had not frothed at the mouth.
When you ride a mount, it will not collapse beneath you, no matter how far.
A blessing and a curse. The animal would die once they reached their destination.
The Ember Sword entered the North many times after the war began. With the borders closed down and roads manned by soldiers, he still managed to get through.
Only the High Templar knew that the Ember Sword had consistently disobeyed the crown, leaving Sudraj’s capital. Dimos had told him that Valeria was nowhere he would find, and to look was to waste the state’s precious time. But Iros had known better than to say anything as he watched the man ride off in the middle of the night.
He looked for her in every one of the small villages and towns that branched off the main road. He looked for her in cities. He looked for her in Volkograd, afraid that she had been captured. He looked for her in the forests and deserts. He looked for her in the Deep Wood. He even looked for her in the graves of cemeteries.
But Dimos had been right. She was nowhere that he could find. Not yet. But she was somewhere in this world; if he could not find her, he would make sure he made the world better. For her.
I promise, where you go, I’ll go. I’ll find you there.
He’d heard the words when he was already in the dark. He heard them as a whisper so far away he had to question if it had been words at all - but he was in a space where sound did not exist, suspended in the void of the world. Yet, there they had been. The last of her words that he heard.
Seven long years.
There was no chance that even a messenger from the capital would pass him now.
He was in the vast, empty steppes. Hardly any trees grew there, and no cover could be found. That is when he saw the small outfit of men moving through it - flying the three-headed serpent of the North on their banner.
He’d made a mistake, and now there was nowhere to hide. If he saw them, they’d see him too.
He sized up the unit; there were only ten men. But he still had no sword. A test of his luck then.
And so, he waited. He waited as they drew near. He saw their bows at the ready, the men’s swords drawn. When they were close enough to see that he was unarmed, one had shouted for him to dismount.
He complied and stood beside the horse, showing them his hands had been empty. One of the men rode up. He was easily in his sixties and weather-worn with ever-suspicious eyes.
“You do not wear colors. You’d better speak lest I assume you are a spy. It is only by the grace of the gods that you are unarmed, or I would have already shot you down.” He said, evaluating the horse, no doubt for his collection.
Before the Ember Sword could speak, a booming voice sounded over the men.
“Ah! He i-s no s-py.”
He’d recognized it and could not help but grin. From the back of the procession came a horse clearly unhappy at the weight of its rider.
It was the red-bearded man.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I know him, look at him. He rode with u-s to the River C-ities. Got all me-ssed up in the fire.” He lisped through his broken teeth, waving a hand dismissively. “I know him, S-argeant. That-s Bogdan of Chernograd.”
The man furrowed his brow and considered the Ember Sword carefully. But, he seemed to be satisfied with the explanation.
“Tell me, Bogdan of Chernograd,” he said, “why are you here in the wilderness, alone?”
“I carry messages to the Midtrade City.” He answered with as much confidence as he could muster.
“Where is your seal then? The letters?”
“Afraid the information I carry is best not written down, lest a band of highwaymen or Southerners capture me. I would not have a chance if I were to carry the Serpent on my person.” He said.
His eyes met Yaro’s in thanks.
The Sergeant looked him up and down again.
“It is a military horse.” He glanced at the mare. “You say you know him, Yaro?”
“On my very life.” The red-bearded man answered. “Ju-st had a beer with him in Volkograd, that would be mighty far North for a s-py. Cleaned me out at card-s, too.”
“Midtrade City.” The Sergeant repeated. “It just so happens we patrol a pass. We’re due to hit it in a day’s time. You would be welcome to ride with us until then.”
It had not been an invitation but a test.
“You have my thanks.” The Ember Sword answered. “I would be grateful for the fire and the company of my countrymen.”
As they rode, the red-bearded man fell behind, and the Ember Sword followed suit.
“Why did you do that?” He asked in a hushed tone where the rest of the party could not hear.
“You bought me a beer.” Yaro shrugged. “I liked that you made me feel like a fair maiden in compari-son to your ugly mug.”
“Why do you ride with them?”
“Why not? I care not for the war.” The big man answered. “I knew the S-ergeant from my younger day-s. I am fed, I s-pend my day-s hunting and playing card-s. Which, now that I’ve s-aid it, you better be good at.”
The Ember Sword smiled.
“I owe you my life.” He said.
“You owe me another beer.”
True to Yaro’s promise, they stopped early in the evening - drinking and gambling by the fire. The Ember Sword found that all the men except the Sergeant had been conscripts from small villages scattered around the countryside. Some of them were young, some were old, but all were grateful for not having to be on the front lines.
Many of them had not seen as much food in their lives as the military had provided. They expressed the wish to be able to send it back home - but for the time being, their meager soldier’s wage would have to do.
For a moment, he even thought of taking off in the night. But, if he gave them a reason to give chase, then he would be doing Yaro a great disservice. That, and he did not wish to have to harm these men should they catch up.
“Is this ten-man patrol the only one that comes through? Surely not.” The Ember sword asked Yaro as the other men drank to their pleasure - far more than they should have.
“Nah. We’re here for s-crap-s. S-o far no one ha-s made it thi-s far.” He shook his head. “There i-s eight hundred men a league to the s-outh. They have a blockade.”
It was expected, but still grim news. It would be one of many, and it was more than likely that they set up an outpost. The Ember Sword considered it for a moment.
“You were a hunter, right?”
“Retired.”
“Right, right.” The Ember Sword nodded. “But, if you were to consider coming out of retirement, I could use the help - it looks like I will have to go at least a league into the Deep Wood to avoid them.”
To call the look on the man’s face ‘surprised’ would have been an understatement.
“It’ll turn you around; you could be in there for day-s - month-s even,” Yaro said.
“I have to get to the South. I’ve been lucky to have gotten this far. I cannot further risk being captured.”
The red-bearded man considered this for a long moment.
“I gue-ss I better figure out how not to be a craven de-serter then.” He said finally. “Hang on.”
He picked up a skin of beer and walked up to where the Sergeant and three men had just started another round of cards. As if swaying to the side, he poured the beer onto the Sergeant’s hand.
“For fuck-sake!” The Sergeant bellowed. “You cost me a coin! And now we have to wait til the next town to get a new set!”
He stood, squaring up with the big man.
“I sshould have you beaten to a pulp!” He slurred, his eyes half closed in his drink.
“Ah! You can try!” There was a false slowness to Yaro’s speech.
The Sergeant grabbed him by the shoulders, and the two men struggled to bring each other to the ground. Finally, in a surprisingly agile move, the Sergeant decked Yaro in the jaw.
The man fell back a step.
“Watch the teeth!” He shouted. “There ain’t s-o many left!”
The Sergeant stood breathing heavily. He pointed a finger at Yaro.
“Tomorrow morning, you will ride ON YOUR OWN to town and get uus a new set. Gods help you if you return empty handed-ed.”
By the next afternoon, they reached the pass.
It was a span of grassy fields that ran between two thick sections of the Deep Wood. You could see from one side to the other, so hardly anyone could have snuck by without someone’s notice. Yaro had been forced to leave a few hours prior, his horse disappearing in the distance before they even took off.
The Ember Sword had been delightfully surprised by the big man’s ingenuity and further relieved that he’d taken him up on the offer.
Soon, he’d parted with the company, and the men wished him well on his journey as he continued south and they west. When they’d gone far enough, he’d veered the mare to the East toward the dark outline of the Deep Wood on the horizon.
Yaro had been patiently waiting there, a whole deer strapped to the back of his horse and a large mace across his back.
“Had time to pick s-omething up, why s-o s-low?” He said and produced a shortsword from the other side of his saddle. “Here.”
It was not anything significant, a standard military-issued weapon. But to a man who had none, it was everything.
“I greatly appreciate this, brother.” The Ember Sword said. “All of it.”
“Ah!” Yaro waved him off. “He didn’t even know how to u-se it. U-sed to be a cobbler. I was ju-st getting fatter there. Plu-s, mayhap-s we come acro-ss a wood nymph here.”
They entered the Deep Wood on foot, setting the horses free. One did not bring a horse into the trees, lest they attract its beasts far faster and in greater number.
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