IV. THE GIANT

  Despite his wounds still being quite severe, Aichlan’s impatience with delay spurred the elves to continue their journey. True to their word, the Colby-Nau avoided all towns and villages as they wound their way through the forests along the Tear. They passed through several hamlets and outposts, all abandoned, or sparsely populated by the aggressive and obstinate peasants that made their livings off the land.

  While the march was hard, the broken bones that had yet to heal made it even more difficult. Using a makeshift crutch of a crudely whittled branch, each step was a torturous affair and a lesson in endurance for Aichlan. Whatever grace period he experienced after his return was decidedly over with. Fortunately, he no longer vomited blood. Unfortunately, every muscle was stiff and sore, each breath hurt, and his pace was severely slowed.

  The elves reassured him that the poultices made by the fire haired woman would aid in his recovery on numerous occasions but was still dubious as to their effectiveness. He felt guilty for slowing them down on their journey, especially with his constant need to take rests. He had done hard marches before, and it was more a blow to his pride than anything. Each day did get a little easier, though with each labored breath the broken bones, painfully set and tightly bound, seemed to crack anew.

  An hour or two with a healer had always remedied even his most grievous wounds, even when he had taken a blow from a flail full on, he was up and about just outside of a day. As such, he had no real point of reference as to whether the excruciating pain was lessened quicker with the herbs versus without them. With the ubiquity of The Order, whose primary mission was to heal the sick and injured, he never was but a short trip to a healer.

  He wondered if this had made him weaker in some way, certainly he was more reckless because of it. He very rarely walked away from a battle without at least a couple of lacerations, and his style was built around luring opponents in with false openings, risky advances, and simply battering his opponents with speed and deft strikes. It simply wasn’t in him to be cautious, as often times, it was caution that led to a defeat. As far as he was concerned, there were only two outcomes of a duel, death or victory. Anything else overcomplicated it.

  Yet still, the Colby-Nau had no access to clerics and relied solely on these poultices in combination with their own fortitude, while he found himself barely able to stand at times. Seeing as how they all tended to go shirtless and unarmored, they must have found some balance between skill and aggression, a skill he should probably look into. At the very least, easy access to the miraculous healing powers of The Order greatly lessened the consequences of war.

* * *

  By midday, Kielan called for a rest and the company grounded their gear to take lunch. Aichlan made his way to the edge of the path and gingerly eased himself into a sitting position against a tree. While grateful for the elves assistance, he was keenly aware that he was not one of them. It was best that he gave them a wide berth until they could drop him off at a civilized town somewhere.

  Despite being winded, he forced himself to take short shallow breaths to avoid agitating his ribs. Without a proper healer around, he continued to reconsider reckless all-out offensive fighting style. It had always served him well, but so long as he was reliant on the poultices of the woman, it didn’t seem prudent. This pain was nearly unbearable, something he’d never want to experience again.

  While he never had a death wish, he was not afraid to take a hit if it meant giving himself the advantage. Out here in the wilderness with only herbs and elves, that approach could spell death, either outright or slowly from infection. If nothing else, they certainly had his upmost respect.

  Aichlan absently picked at a hole in his tattered uniform as he took stock of his meager possessions. His sword, his uniform, and a simple necklace with the symbol of The Order were all he had. He eyed the woods nervously at a rustling sound in the bushes, his free hand on his sword. The red-haired woman had not gotten his mail back yet, his buckler was long gone, and they were still uncomfortably close to Elysia and the invading Xanaviens. Though he would be essentially useless regardless, the prospect of going against the Xanaviens again with only a gambeson and tattered surcoat for protection was less than thrilling.

  The sound of boots crunching on gravel caused him to jump up with a start, his sword half drawn, and his face set in a determined grimace. A human man raised his hands and smiled genially. Aichlan did his best to mask the considerable pain he felt as he let his sword fall back into its sheath. It was suspicious as hell for a single man to be walking the back roads, but he did not want to force an engagement unless absolutely necessary.

  “My apologies brother knight, I did not mean to startle you.”

  He spoke Elysian in the Catharonian dialect, though his olive skin, curly black hair and predilection for gold jewelry gave him away before he opened his mouth. His garb was also of high quality and at the height of current fashions. Whoever he was, he had money.

  “There is a war on, and this road is far from the main.” Aichlan said as he eyed the man clandestinely, pausing upon the noticeable bulge at his hip. “Especially for one armed only with a dagger.”

  “Precisely why I’m on it.” The man chuckled and patted the blade concealed at his hip. “A merchant is not impervious; a crazed patron who feels slighted can end a career.”

  The man came to a stop several paces away and adjusted his ruck. The bag was full but did not appear to be particularly heavy; it likely did not hold more than essential travel supplies. Given his apparent wealth, the pack may have simply been enchanted, still, it was odd to see him wandering the back roads minimally armed and alone. It was possible he knew basic combat magic and if that were the case Aichlan was screwed regardless if the man wanted trouble.

  “I’d not expected to see a fellow man out this way.” Aichlan said probingly.

  The merchant looked over his shoulder to the Colby-Nau who stole furtive glances in their direction. “I can see that.”

  Aichlan eased back to lean against the tree once more. “So, what brings a Catharonian merchant so far west? Particularly during wartime with no escort?”

  The merchant gestured to a nearby stump and Aichlan nodded in acquiescence before joining the merchant in taking a seat. The merchant grounded his ruck, watching Aichlan’s pained expression with some concern. The rest of the company was content to ignore the two humans and go back to their meals. His coat and boots were muddy, and he had a tired look, as if he had spent too many sleepless nights in the wilds.

  “Tis the war that leads me home. I was conducting business in Duvachellé and did not wish to become stranded there. As for my escort, the lowborn king of Sorn saw to conscript them. A couple of mercenaries out of Rhodundal, valued coin more than reputation and honor.” He sighed and held out his hands in resignation. “What about you brother knight? Is not the war in Elysia?”

  “I am no deserter.” Aichlan spat defensively, thinking more of his own reaction at seeing a lone wounded soldier travelling in the opposite direction of battle.

  “Nor would I think you were.” The merchant replied evenly. “With such odd travelling companions, it is obvious you are on a mission of some sort.”

  Aichlan regarded the man for several moments. His wit and ease with words likely came from years at the bargaining table rather than some ulterior motivation, but he could not shake his suspicions. His arrival was too odd, and his story had too many convenient explanations. There was also the very real possibility that he was just being paranoid, and this merchant was merely a man trying to get home.

  “I was at Arlien when it fell. I was mistaken for the dead and thrown to the Tear, when I awoke, I made my way to Nassica to warn them, only to find that she too had fallen. Now, I make my way to Marquez to entreat with King Dorso.”

  The merchant nodded. “A good and noble plan; but the old king Dorso has died. His steward, Eluveitie, now sits upon the throne.”

  Aichlan’s already sallow face blanched further. “Laelianus!”

  “You know this new king?”

  “I know a stubborn, arrogant prick of a man with the same name, yes.” Aichlan grumbled. “He was the second son of a nobleman, so he set off to learn the ways of war and make a name for himself as a knight of The Order, while his brother inherited the estate and title. When his eldest brother passed due to illness, he paid off his contract and returned home to claim the rest of his inheritance. That was years ago, I’d no idea he’d wormed his way into court.”

  The merchant smiled and picked at the grass. “If you truly know this man, then his ambition should come as no surprise to you.”

  Aichlan nodded, unable to find fault in his argument. He kept a wary eye on the traveler nonetheless; many a man of ill repute saw times of war as the prime time to come up on some quick coin. If that was the case, Aichlan hoped he was not so foolish as to think he had any to steal.

  “This familiar relationship you share;” The merchant snatched a blade of grass from the ground and began to chew on it, “it should make your task easier no?”

  “Depends on whether or not he’s still a petty child. He labeled me his rival because of my parentage and made everything a competition between us.”

  The merchant chuckled and stretched his legs. “Then I don’t envy you.”

  The two sat in silence for several moments, listening to the bird song and the chatter around the cooking fire. The merchant eventually removed a pocket watch from his doublet and checked the time.

  “I’ve done thirty miles since dawn, and it’s just now one.” He snapped the watch closed and put it back in his pocket. “I’ve made good time if I do say so.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “That’s a hard march friend; if you plan on beating the Xanavien’s through Elysia, I fear that window has slammed firmly shut.”

  The merchant wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I just need to get out of Runandia. Pace can slow drastically when I reach Aes Sidhe and purchase a new escort. Maybe even a carriage.”

  Aichlan winced and grabbed his ribs as he adjusted his position. The merchant watched with a hint of concern. He took a breath and tried to put on a blank face, still uncertain of his new friend’s motives. While Aichlan was more inclined to believe the man was a simple merchant, he still did not want to show weakness. Too bad his body wasn’t interested in complying.

  “You’re in a bad spot brother knight.”

  “Tell me about it.” He snorted. “And call me Aichlan; I detest ‘brother knight’.”

  The merchant perked up at the mention of his name. “As in commander of the Knights of The Order and captain of the Priestess’ guard Aichlan?”

  Aichlan laughed aloud and instantly regretted it as he clutched his ribs. “I didn’t know I had attained minor celebrity.”

  “Minor? Being the son of a legendary general and sword of the Priestess is hardly minor. It’s no wonder you know Laelianus.”

  The merchant suddenly snapped his fingers and held out his index finger, urging Aichlan to wait for something as he began rummaging through his bag. He retrieved a flagon of wine and handed it to him before digging through the sack once more. Aichlan graciously took a drink as the man pulled an envelope from a pocket full of letters and bound ledgers.

  “Are you a merchant or a letter courier?”

  The merchant shrugged as he flipped through the letters. “So long as they pay me, they are one in the same.”

  Aichlan smiled and handed the wine back, and the merchant replaced it with the letter he had just pulled from his ruck. He looked it over, confused as to what it was and why it was being handed to him. The envelope had beautiful script written in Rhodarcian with a stamp of a wolves’ head. Aichlan pulled out the letter only to find more beautifully written script in a language he could not and did not care to read. He was tempted to crumple it up and toss it, but merely shook his head and handed it back to the perplexed merchant.

  “I can’t read Rhodarcian.” He explained.

  “Ah, of course. That war didn’t exactly foster an intellectual and cultural exchange between you two, did it?”

  Aichlan shook his head and forced a smile. If he recalled correctly, it was still a crime in Aes Sidhe to be caught speaking Rhodarcian outside of military intelligence or the like.

  “Well, suffice it to say it’s Osric’s marching route.”

  “How did you come across this?” Aichlan asked as he took back the letter hoping to glean something from the alien script.

  “A green-haired woman in Marquez asked me to deliver it to Elysia, like you, it appears I am too late.”

  “Green-haired woman?”

  The merchant nodded as he took a drink of wine. “Queer, I know. The Rhodarcian Mage Corps do it for identification or some such nonsense. Incidentally, many women in Duvachellé have taken to dying their hair wild colors believing it to be a fad in the east.”

  Aichlan turned back to the letter; none of it made any sense no matter how hard he looked at it. He was about to hand it back when he saw a familiar word.

  “Alighieri, the temple of Catharone is in that city is it not?”

  “Ah, yes.” The merchant wiped his mouth on the back of his hand “That is an interesting bit; it seems this Osric fellow is more interested in the destination than the journey to turn a phrase. Of all the targets in Briternica, the temple was the hardest hit.”

  “He’s targeting The Order?”

  The merchant shrugged. “That’s how it appears, but who can say? Madness usually has no goal but to sow more madness.”

  The men looked up as the flame-haired woman approached carrying a plate of steaming meat and Aichlan’s mail slung over one shoulder. Despite having travelled with them for some time now, he was always amazed at how beautiful she was. She was a full woman; full lips, full hips, full breast. Most importantly however, he was grateful of the interest she had taken in tending to him. He was also grateful for the smile she greeted him with whenever she came around.

  “So, whose yer friend then?”

  “Ah, forgive me dear lady,” the merchant said in halting Aes Sidhean as he stood. “I am Antares Scipione, a simple merchant from Catharone.”

  He took her hand and delicately kissed it, a smarmy grin upon his face. Aichlan could not help but to chuckle as the man’s gaze was blatantly upon her barely concealed bosom.

  “Niver heard o’ either.” She snatched back her hand and none to subtly wiped it on her trousers. “Brought ye some food love, be sure tae eat all o’ it, ya need tae keep yer strength.”

  Aichlan took the plate and nodded his thanks. “It smells delicious thank you…I’m sorry, I seem to have forgotten your name.”

  She placed her hands over her heart and pouted. “Me ‘eart’s so broken I cannae go oon.”

  While he was certain she was having a go at him, he felt incredibly guilty. “Apologies miss.”

  “T’ain’t nae miss.” She said with a facetious huff. “I’m called Ashe.”

  “A beautiful name.” Antares chimed in, eager to not be forgotten.

  Aichlan rolled his eyes at the merchant and raised his fork in cheers. “Well, thank you again Ashe.”

  “Nae worries. As fer ye mister Merchant, if’n ye be wantin’ food as well, ye’ll need tae go by the fire and get yer awn. We’ve got plenty.”

  “Well, if the lady insists.” He clasped his hands and bowed slightly in Aichlan’s direction. “I’ll return shortly my friend.”

  Aichlan gave a half salute as Antares went to join the others, and Ashe took a seat on his tree stump. Aichlan was relieved she had sent Antares away; he wasn’t too fond of how quickly he had turned up the charm.

  “Sorry it took so long, ‘ad tae redo most o’ the links.” She delicately laid out his mail upon a leather mat.

  Aichlan nodded, his mouth stuffed with meat, impressed by the speed and quality of her craftmanship as well as her ability to char a deer. He had not realized before how ravenously hungry he was, and hoped she did not think it rude of him. As he ate, his wounds began to grow warm, and the pain went from a shooting to a dull ache. Ashe seemed amused by how he stuffed himself and was content to let him finish.

  He wiped his mouth off on his sleeve and was both shocked and dismayed to find the plate empty save the drippings of grease and blood. Overcome with thirst and still ravenous, he turned the plate up and drank the juices. At this, she laughed aloud and tossed him her canteen. He smiled sheepishly and mumbled an apology and his thanks before emptying the full canteen in a single draught.

  “Keep that up an’ ye’ll be be’er in nae time at awl.”

  She abruptly snapped her hands and reached into her satchel to retrieve a small ampule of oil. Aichlan watched curiously as she slathered her hands in it and began to massage it into the metal in an almost sensual manner. The metal sang and glittered like polished silver under her expert touch, and Aichlan watched her, slack jawed and awestruck for several minutes. It became easier for him to imagine himself under those hands with each pass she made.

  “There, all lubed up and ready tae go.”

  Aichlan physically shook himself from his reverie and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Thank you again, for everything.”

  “Daen’t mention it.” She said with a smile.

  Aichlan smiled back oafishly and began to blush. He felt as if he was being a child, perhaps his injuries had done something to his mind. However, it had also been quite some time since he had been in the company of a woman, and he wondered if it were just that primal urge within all men running away with reason. He was captivated by her lightly tanned, supple skin and wild locks that fell to past her shoulders. Her ears were a bit odd, but curiously made her even more attractive.

  Eager to be done with the awkward silence he had created, he reached out to take his mail, but she smacked his hand away. He bit his tongue to clip a half uttered swear and took the rag she offered, making sure to clean the grease from his hands as thoroughly as possible, feeling the part of a chastised child. It may as well have been a completely new rig, where once there were gaping holes was now gleaming steel. She had redone all load bearing points and the collar.

  “This is perfect Ashe, how’d you do it so quickly?”

  Ashe shrugged as she chewed on a blade of grass. “I had some spare links in me bag.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ten million.”

  Aichlan laughed quietly, not completely sure if she was joking. “Seriously, how much for do you want? It’s nearly a new piece.”

  “Daen’t owe me money, but if ye wish to repay me then I’ll think o’ something fer later. It may come as a surprise, but I was damn bored and enjoyed the distraction.”

  Aichlan felt a silly grin creep across his face once again. “I think those terms are agreeable.”

  She smiled again and silence fell between them. He struggled to think of something to start the conversation again, but all of his ideas seemed trite. He was overwhelmed with a desire to impress her and gain her favor, something he had not felt since he was a boy just discovering the fairer sex.

  “Do you smith often?” He blurted to end the awkward silence.

  Ashe laughed and he felt all the more foolish for asking such a question.

  “Tis me job, so aye, I smith often. Do ye do much knighting?”

  “You could say that.” He laughed. “I actually have another request.”

  She rested her head on her hand, propped up by and elbow on her knee. It took more willpower than he possessed not to stare into the soft and full cleavage peering back at him. He never knew that tattoos on a woman could be so sexy.

  “Want me tae make ye something?”

  Aichlan cleared his throat and forced his own eyes back to hers. “Yes, a buckler. I’ve lost my previous one in my last battle.”

  “Twelve inches or fifteen?”

  “Twelve, please.”

  He had always preferred the smaller size as they were better acclimated for one on one duels. Given the Xanavien tactics, it was unlikely the tactics and practices of old would come into play in his next engagement, he did not wish to weaken his position by having to relearn his technique when so much was at stake.

  She scratched her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Aye, I can manage that. Ye’ll ‘ave tae wait fer it, ain’t got the tools fer it this far oot.”

  “Of course, that shouldn’t be a problem; my style is flexible enough to do without for a while.”

  She smiled and was about to continue the conversation, but was interrupted by a commotion at the fire. Several men hastily smothered it with dirt as the rest took cover amongst the trees that lined the road. Aichlan stood with difficulty and attempted to see what the cause of their concern was.

  Over a small ridge in the near distance where their road joined the main thoroughfare, men in black armor with black banners flying in the breeze marched westward toward central Sorn. The columns of soldiers spread slowly across the horizon like an angry black line painted by the gods. The small company watched in silent awe and terror as the train of soldiers continued for at least fifteen minutes without end.

  “I wish you luck Aichlan.”

  He jumped with a start and turned to see Antares standing next to him with the same awestruck look in his eyes. He had his ruck upon his back and a forgotten venison sandwich in one hand.

  “How did they even get so many men?” Aichlan breathed, his gaze fixed back on the writhing black column.

  “I’d not thought so many people even live in that light forsaken tundra they call a country.” Antares spat for contemptuous punctuation. “That being said, this is far closer than I had ever hoped to come to the black army of Sarevon.”

  Aichlan turned around as the merchant began to back away. “You can’t leave now! Let them pass first!”

  Antares gestured to the black mass that marched across the horizon. “When? In another day? No, my friend. They head west and my destination is to the east. I thank you for the food and company, but I must be on my way.”

  Antares bowed, remembering his forgotten sandwich and took a bite as he rose. Aichlan sighed, he was not keen on sending the man out on the road again alone, but couldn’t very well abandon his own task to see him home. He looked to the army then back to the merchant with a heavy heart.

  “Be safe then my friend.”

  Antares nodded and looked again to the Xanavien army. “You as well. Pray for my safe return, and I will commission a shrine for you in the Temple Alighieri.”

  Aichlan made the sign of the dawn. “Go in the light, and may Dawn be your guide.”

  Antares waved goodbye and took one last look at the soldiers before he made his way east once more. Aichlan tuned and caught the tail of the army, only for the line of support units and equipment to begin. The Colby-Nau had packed up their gear and were already on their way back to the forest to follow the river west.

  The sparsely inhabited roads along the coast received far less travel. With the curse upon The Sea of Sorrow, only an Aes Sidhean could make a living off its waters, leaving few settlements upon its shores. While the terrain was more difficult, the likelihood that they had run into the Xanavien behemoth that far south was highly unlikely.