XVI. WAYPHEARING STRANGER

  Like the rest of Sorn, the city of Auld Ferrons was completely devoid of human life. One of the larger cities in Sorn, its multileveled homes and shops lining narrow lanes gave off a claustrophobic air. Many of the homes seemed hastily abandoned, but there were also ample signs of struggle. Several blocks were no more than long burnt out husks, and the decayed remains of half-eaten townsfolk littered several lanes. Vance handed the reins back to Zuri and removed the blanket he had wrapped about his shoulders. Leila awoke with a start and looked up at him with wide eyes. He smiled and strapped his sword to his waist.

  “Just a precaution.” Vance said reassuringly. “It doesn’t look like anyone is home anymore.”

  She stretched and craned around to look out to the streets. “Where the hell are we?”

  “A little town called Auld Ferrons.” Vance said, stretching his legs.

  Ahead, Rémann issued a halt and his retinue of knights circled around the hitching posts in a small square. Zuri pulled the wagon up to a halt by a row of stalls and stands, some still containing a mélange of wares, from cheap jewelry to vials advertised to cause anyone to fall madly in love with you. Vance jumped from the wagon and jogged over to join Rémann and his men as they too dismounted.

  “Glad to see ye’re still with us then!” one of the knights said jovially as he slapped Vance heartily on the back.

  He smiled politely and quickly moved away from the knight. He had not let up about the incident with Peanut for over a week, and had even taken to calling him ‘Mario’. He rolled his eyes as he recognized the building they had pulled up to as a pub.

  “A bit of reconnaissance might be in order don’t you think?”

  Rémann unstrapped his rucksack from his saddle and plopped it onto the street. He then proceeded to stretch his back as he glanced about the empty streets.

  “Seems pretty dead to me.”

  “Sorn is known for its unchecked banditry, not to mention those creatures.” Vance said cautiously as he glanced around.

  “We’ve not seen those dusk born filth since the road to the capitol.” Rémann tied his horse to the post and patted it on the neck. “As for bandits, I believe they’d be more interested in our protection than in causing any trouble. This nation is dead, all of her people have either died or fled to Duvachellé.”

  Vance ran his hand through his hair and stared off into the distance with a deep sigh. “Speaking of which…”

  Rémann shook his head. “We can’t take them; we are behind schedule as is.”

  “But this princess—“

  “Duchess.” Rémann corrected. "She is the heir apparent as of the start of this conflict."

  “Right, Duchess, you haven’t exactly exhausted every avenue here. Perhaps she’s in Ciel Errant.”

  “She is with Aichlan, I am certain now,” Rémann said definitively. “And Aichlan would likely head for Duvachellé. If we are to get there before the first snows, we can’t waste time escorting civilians.”

  “I can’t leave them here!” Vance hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Then stay,” Rémann said coolly. “that is your choice.”

  Vance swiped at the air and began to pace, pulling at his hair as he tried to think of an alternative that did not involve him abandoning his friends or shirking his duties.

  “You are at an interesting crossroads Sir Jung. Auld Ferron’s is nearly equidistant from Elysia as it is to Marquez.” He pointed off towards the horizon. “I don’t know what lay ahead, but having already crossed through Elysia, I can tell you it’s a far safer option, and you can just as easily report there as you can in Marquez.”

  “There is nothing left in Elysia!” Vance grabbed Rémann by the shoulder and spun him back around. “Our Priestess is dead and The Order is in shambles! I am not making an absurd request; I only ask to allow them to accompany you!”

  Rémann sighed and slung his bag over his shoulder, shrugging Vance’s hand from the other. “Not without horses, we must pick up our pace substantially; we need to cover nearly a thousand miles in a week. If our mounts even survive the trek, it will be a blessing.”

  “Those are marathon days;” Vance said softly, stunned that they would even consider it. “you can’t expect a war mount to complete that.”

  “I’ve not much by way of alternatives. We will be stripping to the barest of essentials and giving them a full day of rest, but after that, we must go. You and your wards are of course welcome to take on any equipment we chose to leave.”

  Vance muttered thanks and turned to the cluster of horses. They were Coursers, typical of the Aes Sidhean Knights; it was a stout and reliable breed, known for both swiftness and mettle. Nevertheless, it was madness to take a warhorse on an endurance run. The poor beasts’ hearts would implode outside a day or two, even if the riders were only lightly armored.

  “So you plan on getting drunk until it’s time for your little death march then?”

  Rémann shrugged. “Why not? You are more than welcome to join us.”

  Leila and Zuri slowly made their way over, their arms burdened with bundles of supplies and their few meager possessions. They had no food left, what they had been able to scavenge on the road barely got them here to begin with, and they were in desperate need of new quarrels for the crossbow.

  “Perhaps later Master Coventide.” Vance paused to take one of Leila’s bundles. “We need to go scour the ruins for some supplies before it gets dark.”

* * *

  The city proved to be a veritable treasure trove of supplies. Several ice boxes held viable produce and frozen meats, and the grocers had sacks of still fresh grain hidden away in the cellars. When Vance and company returned to the pub, a rowdy atmosphere befitting a crowd three times as large as what was present greeted them. One of the knights had a hurdy-gurdy, an odd string and crank instrument that Vance had never seen before, yet found the sound pleasant and very fitting of the stereotypical images one had of Aes Sidheans. Another had a set of bagpipes whilst Rémann provided his voice in song.

Our mother’s have gone

To yon hill o’er dale

And she’ll nay let us in till our gods’ been forsook

So I’ll till in the soil,

And take up iron tae boot

I’ll go in the world,

Deposing tyrants and crooks

But she’ll nay let us in till our gods’ been forsook

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

And we’ll die on the pavement, ignominious an’ pale

For takin’ up irons and unfurlin’ our sails

So we’ll piss on the sun and uncover our rears

Soon we’ll be on our way from this hell to Magh Meall

  A couple of red-faced knights hurriedly bustled Vance and Zuri off to the bar and had two tankers of dark ale poured for the both of them. Vance gladly took a drink of the cold, frothy liquid, surprised by Rémann’s lovely singing voice. Even if he could not understand a word of what was being sung.

  “What is he singing there?” Vance shouted over the clamor.

  The knight smiled and twisted his mustache. “An old fey song Brother Knight, ‘tis oft sung before battle or when death is expected.”

  Vance nodded slowly; many cultures had similar songs. “What is ‘mag mell’?”

  The knight paused for several seconds as he downed his mug in a single chug. He finished with an exaggerated sigh of contentment and wiped his mouth off grandly on his sleeve before slamming the mug down on the counter for a refill.

  “The land of our ancestors!” he said with a cheer.

  The other knights all raised their glasses in unison with a loud shout. Vance raised his own as well; their good cheer was infectious.

  “What’re ya drinkin’ there?” a voice to his right asked in Elysian.

  Vance took a sip and attempted to discern the draft. “A porter I think…”

  His blood chilled and he nearly dropped the mug upon seeing the hooded and cloaked figure sitting at the bar besides him. The man removed his hood, revealing lanky, silver hair and pale grey eyes. His face was scarred and his beard patchy, certainly, he was not one of theirs. Vance had his hand on his sword ready to draw when he noticed a full figured nun step from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her habit.

  “What the hell?”

  The pale man rapped on the counter. “I’ll have one of those.”

  The knight turned bartender paused and put his hand to his sword as the music slowly died down. The pale man looked up and glanced from face to face as the nun took shelter behind him. Vance recognized her garb, the cloth and colors worn by the Priestesses’ inner circle, and her face was insistently familiar to him. He held out his arm to stay the other knights as swords were drawn. They circled the pair slowly, though made no moves against them.

  “Look, I just came in for a beer.” The pale man said.

  Vance snapped at a sudden realization and pointed an excited finger in the woman’s direction. “You! You were with the Priestess when we first marched to Therion.”

  The knights halted their advance and exchanged bleary-eyed glances. Vance put away his sword and held out his hands as he approached the pair.

  “Yes,” She said cautiously, backing into a corner, “do I know you sir?”

  “Sir Vance Yung, we spoke briefly whilst traveling through southern Elysia.”

  “I vaguely recall…” she said, stepping forward a bit. “But why are you here? Therion was a massacre, and those that survived now travel with Grandmaster Aichlan.”

  Rémann whistled and made a gesture with his hand, causing his men to sheath their weapons and stand down.

  “I tried to flee with the lady, but was waylaid by the Xanaviens.” Vance explained with both relief and shame, unsure of how much he should disclose. “I awoke adrift in the small fishing vessel I sought to ferry her in, and eventually made my way here.”

  Rémann snapped his fingers in the direction of one of his men and they hurriedly scurried over to the pile of rucksacks.

  “What about you, Grace, how did you escape?” Vance briefly glanced over his shoulder to see what the knights were doing. “And is it true that the Grandmaster still lives?”

  The knight tossed Rémann the small memory stone from his sack. Rémann caught it mid-stride and thrust it out to the pale man and his companion.

  “Pardon the interruption Madam, Sir; I am on an urgent mission from King Céolsige of Aes Sidhe to find his missing cousin. She was on tour in the region and is presumed to be traveling with Aichlan, Son of Garrick presently.”

  “The king’s cousin?” Emarosa said with more than a hint of confusion.

  The pale man reached over the counter and retrieved a bottle of whiskey. “He’s talking about Alice.”

  Rémann closed his eyes and let out his held breath. “If you would please verify that the woman you speak of is the same as the one in this stone.”

  The pale man took the stone and closed his eyes as he placed it to his temple. “Yeah, that’s Alice alright.”

  He unstopped the bottle and took a long swig from it. Emarosa took the stone from him and placed it to her temple as well. After a few moments, she smiled and held it back out to Rémann.

  “Yes, that is indeed the Lady Alice. She traveled with Grandmaster Aichlan long before either of us joined up with him and his group.”

  “His group?” Vance interjected, holding out his hand to cut off Rémann. “Are their others of The Order that travel with him?”

  Emarosa shook her head. “No other knights I am afraid, but he has amassed an army of Colby-Nau and others who are sympathetic to his cause. Osric released the majority of the captive clerics in southern Sorn; we made our way west and eventually met up with him.”

  “West? Why west?” Vance asked incredulously.

  Emarosa shied away and seemed uncomfortable in answering the question. He wished to press her further, but Rémann stepped between them.

  “Where are Lord Aichlan and the Duchess Templeton now?” Rémann said rather tersely.

“Probably in Marquez by now.” The pale man said. “We ran into a bit of trouble in Port Romance, but last we heard they made it out and were held up in Ophelia.”

  Vance perked up at the mention of his hometown. She knew something, and was holding it back for some reason, what that reason was however remained to be seen. He certainly would not rule out malicious intent, or more likely, she had simply hired this man to aid in desertion.

  What was most surprising was how far the Grandmaster had gotten. He always knew he was a capable man, but had assumed he was only interested in the proclivities the other high ranking Knights indulged in. Here it was, less than a year after the invasion and he had already gathered an army and was in Duvachellé to petition for more.

  Rémann tried and failed to hide the smile that crept across his lips. “And you traveled with them both, miss….”

  “Bishop actually, Bishop Emarosa.” She gestured towards the pale man on the stool. “This is my escort, Francois.”

  “Gods damn it,” The pale man muttered. “I told you not to call me that…”

  “And why are you here?” Vance persisted. “If the Grandmaster lives, he is essentially the leader of The Order, I daren’t think what unspeakable horrors the Priestess went through before they— “

  “The Priestess is alive.” Emarosa said flatly. “Osric did not kill her, merely captured her. My escort and I travel to Catharone to inform them of what is happening in the west.”

  Vance folded his arms over his chest and grumbled unintentionally. Something about her did not speak of truth, and her ‘escort’ looked like a common thug. Vance exchanged a knowing glance with Rémann, who apparently had similar misgivings about the woman and her story. He was certain she was who she said she was, but there was unquestionably more to the story than she let on.

  “I have met with lord Aichlan before; he is a prudent man, but also one of pride.” Rémann paused to take a sip of his beer, not breaking eye contact with Emarosa. “For such an important task, he would take it upon himself before sending an unarmed Bishop and her bandit escort halfway across the world.”

  “Hey, I resent that.” Francois said indignantly before taking a swig of whiskey.

  Emarosa placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled. “True, which is why I took such a mission upon myself.”

  Vance shrugged as Rémann looked to him once more. The Grandmaster had always lead by example, which was just the kind of man he was, he demanded excellence, but was also an agreeable person. He would not have sent anyone on a suicide run unless he personally led it. Which in retrospect, was probably why he took the Arlien assignment to begin with.

  “Catharone is…some ways off.” Vanc said after several moments of palling silence. “Through hostile territory at that.”

  “This is true Sir, and I must admit, I would be most gracious if another were to join us.”

  Vance smiled sheepishly and kicked at the floor. Technically, he was obligated to assist her, and ordinarily he would have jumped on the chance to offer assistance; however, the cold glare Leila had directed at him urged him to say otherwise.

  “Brother Jung has other orders, as do we.” Rémann said, not missing the signals. “Our destinations lie in Marquez.”

  “It’s just as well,” said Francoise, “this job’ll be a helluva lot quicker with just the two of us.”

  “Well,” Rémann raised his mug, “you are welcome to stay with us in the interim, though I am afraid me and my men shall be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  “Then how about somebody pour us a couple of fucking drinks?” Francoise quipped.

  Rémann nodded to the younger knight that had previously been tending the bar. “Of course, if you are willing to regal us with tales of your travels.”

  The pale man raised his bottle in silent toast and took a long draught. “Where to begin, friend?”

  “You can start with how you came to know the Grandmaster, and how it is you came to Sorn.” Vance said and took a drink of his forgotten beer.