Kevlin traveled steadily all afternoon, periodically peering out over the top of the cliff for signs of pursuit. A thin line cutting along the far horizon might be the highway, but nothing else broke the heavy expanse of forest. On top of the cliff, the forest grew thick enough to provide excellent cover without blocking his path.
For the first hour or two, his spirits remained high and he made good progress, but soon the aching of his feet became impossible to ignore. By mid-afternoon, he had acquired a new crop of blisters that formed just as the older ones began to pop.
Before sunset, his feet were covered in bleeding, oozing sores that flared painfully at every step. His feet had always blistered easily, but never so bad.
I wish Ceren were here.
He doubted she could carry him far, but he could really use some of that painkiller. Another kiss might have helped a lot too. He used the pleasant memory of the first to ward off the pain of his feet.
He plodded on until he could no longer see and started blundering into bushes and trees. When he found a bubbling stream, he collapsed to the ground for the night.
He munched a handful of nuts and washed them down with icy water from the stream. His blanket was in the pack he'd left behind in the woods outside the fort, but at least he had his flint and steel. With a thick branch, he dug a pit and lit a small, well-shielded fire to huddle beside. The temperature fell, and his nose started to drip. It was going to be an uncomfortable night.
Leaning against a tree, he tried to sleep, but between the chill air and his throbbing feet, he managed little more than a doze.
Eventually he gave up and sat cross-legged next to the fire where he passed the night feeding the tiny blaze to keep warm. As the temperature dropped almost to freezing, the little fire couldn’t produce nearly enough heat, but he didn’t dare build it higher. His mind eventually settled into a half-dozed stupor as the seconds ticked slowly by.
At the first gray light of morning, he awakened to a cacophony of noise. Birds greeted the coming day, and small animals scurried through the forest in their incessant hunt for food to hoard against the coming winter. A breeze picked up, smelling of moss and pine, and the forest seemed to glow with the first rays of morning light.
One squirrel started chirping angrily at him from a nearby tree and he began looking for a rock. Roasted squirrel sounded pretty good.
Kevlin rose then nearly pitched forward onto his face.
“Sherah’s teeth,” he muttered at the stabbing pain from muscles contracted during the cold night. For several minutes, he worked feeling and flexibility back into his aching limbs. Only then did he risk standing again and shambling slowly south.
The squirrel disappeared after a final, chittering outburst that sounded far too much like mocking laughter.
Kevlin's breath misted the air in front of him, and within the first dozen steps the pain in his feet flared to a roar. It was going to be a long day.
About midmorning, he crossed a small stream and drank greedily from the pure water before sitting to rest. He pulled his boots off and gritted his teeth against the sharp sting of the fresh air against his open sores.
That sight was as disgusting as most mercenaries' table manners.
He inspected the bleeding, oozing mess, then cut a piece off the bottom of his tunic and bathed his feet with the icy water. He grunted from the searing pain at first contact, but after a few minutes the cold water soothed some of the ache away.
After working his boots back on, he set his jaw and stumbled on. A short while later he again stepped out onto the edge of the cliff. The ground didn't look so far away, confirming his suspicion that he had been walking a gentle downslope for the past hour.
He scraped lunch from the last crumbs of food in the bottom of his burglar pack, and some water from another stream. His stomach complained loudly about the abuse, and it was a relief to focus on that discomfort for a while rather than his feet. If he didn't reach some sort of village soon, or run across other travelers, he was going to have serious problems.
While he walked, he mulled over the situation. Again and again he played out in his mind the events of the past few days, amazed at how deeply his fate had become tangled with Antigonus'. Had he not lived it himself, he wouldn't have believed the tale.
Magic terrified him. Even those who professed to serve the empire and protect the helpless from others were too easily seduced by it, too ready to abuse it. He’d learned young to maintain a wary distance.
Despite his best efforts, he now wore an enchanted amulet that scared him as much as it protected him. Antigonus had named him steward. Unbelievable. No steward had ever carried Tia Khoa through the Hallvarri wilderness with a bunch of shadeleeches and makrasha in pursuit.
It seemed undignified.
What was a steward supposed to do anyway? Antigonus had said he should give the rock to Harafin, so that’s what he’d do. Let the other sentinel figure out what to do with it.
No wonder no one talked about Tia Khoa in detail. It’d lose a lot of its grandeur if everyone knew it was just a rock.
How did it work?
Most rocks were only good for throwing at people, or annoying squirrels. Tia Khoa was supposed to be a mighty talisman.
If only he knew how it worked, he’d turn it on Tanathos in a heartbeat. He was so far in over his head, he didn’t know what to think anymore.
The rock was supposed to be tied to the empire’s defenses, and the Six, the bearers of the magical weapons of the Six Kingdoms. The power of the Six somehow combined with Tia Khoa, transforming into a force the enemies of the empire had never been able to withstand.
None of those legends ever detailed exactly what powers the rock possessed. That had never been a concern before, because of the great stories about the exploits of the individual champions who bore the six weapons of power.
Each weapon chose a champion, its bearer, from among the people of the kingdom it protected. They held that honor throughout their lives. When they died, a new champion was chosen. They might work independently, or fight within the armies of their kingdoms, but the ultimate power of the Six was only unleashed together, united through Tia Khoa.
Each weapon was as unique as the kingdom it protected, and the tales of their bearers were many and varied. As he trudged along, Kevlin recounted his favorite tale to help pass the time.
It was the century-old adventure of Cothric Laistran, the famously colorful bearer of the Bladestaff, and Hakan Dubhara, bearer of the Spear. Those two men, renowned heroes from the last war against the Grakonians, had been sent to negotiate a treaty with Nedikat, the kingdom south of Einarr that often allied with the Grakonians.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Nedikan raiders had been spotted in Einarr, stealing horses and capturing people to be sold as slaves. The two kingdoms had agreed to send ambassadors to the Nedikan border fortress of Albajorg to form a treaty. Hakan had been assigned to represent Einarr, with Cothric an eager companion.
It hadn't gone well.
The peace delegation had been attacked and everyone but the two bearers killed. Hakan and Cothric had fought their way free, although Hakan had been badly injured. The two heroes returned two days later to the surprise of the Nedikans still hunting them.
After sneaking into the fortress, Cothric boldly assaulted the main keep, supported by the wounded Hakan, who despite his injuries managed to climb to the top of one of the towers overlooking the central fortress.
Safely ensconced in that strategic position, he hurled the Spear, unleashing explosive elemental magic upon those attempting to stand against Cothric. The Spear’s power had returned it to the hand of its bearer within seconds, and he threw it again, and again.
Cothric, his speed enhanced by the Bladestaff, fought his way into the keep and killed the lord of the city, the king’s ambassador, and most of the other nobles. So overwhelming was the attack that the entire population of Albajorg fled. The two heroes then returned to Einarr to inform the king that no treaty had been signed.
Such power, such amazing exploits, were the legacy of the bearers of the Six.
Kevlin stumbled, driving one foot onto a jagged rock and generating a wave of pain that shot all the way up his thigh. He gasped and leaned on a tree until the throbbing subsided. He spat a couple fresh curses at Tanathos. Thinking of the story of Cothric and Hakan had helped him keep his mind off the discomfort for a while, but the afternoon was still far from spent.
With a grunt of determination, he resumed his difficult journey. He soon cut a couple of walking sticks to help ease the pressure on his feet, so he no longer had to hunch over like a cripple. Desperate for distraction, he again turned his thoughts to the bearers of the Six, and tried to remember as many of their stories as possible.
Cothric and Hakan had accumulated the most but, as a group, bearers of the Axe and the Mace generated even more than bearers of the Bladestaff. The Axe of Donarr and the Mace of Tamarr were powerful weapons that could launch blasts of energy and endow their bearers with tremendous battle prowess. The Bow of Freyarr rarely played as crucial a role, even though its arrows, imbued with elemental magic, often turned the tide of battle from its support position.
After a couple more hours of painful hiking, Kevlin paused to rest on a fallen log where he could look out over the cliff to watch for signs of pursuit. While he sat, he considered the final weapon, the Pike of Meinarr. The kingdom of Meinarr, his homeland, produced few noteworthy warriors, and those chosen to bear the Pike were often humble and unassuming.
They didn't generate lots of stories. The Pike usually held the center of the empire’s lines, radiating a shield of energy that protected the entire front line of a phalanx.
With an effort, Kevlin rose and resumed walking. There were other powers and capabilities accredited to the Six, but the legends were often contradictory. He had no idea if some were just wrong, or if the Six really did adjust to the skills of their bearers.
Too bad he couldn’t use Tia Khoa to destroy Tanathos and his secret band, but that was fantasy. Only the most powerful sentinels ever wielded the rock’s power, and Antigonus alone had done so for most of the last hundred years.
At least I get to deliver it to Harafin. Maybe I’ll get to watch the next bearer rip Tanathos to pieces.
He’d enjoy that.
With those thoughts keeping him occupied, he limped painfully on through the rest of the afternoon, leaning more and more heavily on the walking sticks. As darkness settled over the land, he took one last look over the edge of the cliff that rose a mere thirty feet, a pale shadow of its earlier mighty height.
Not far ahead, the ridge descended abruptly to meet the ground below. He’d have to be more careful in the morning. His pursuers could come at him from any direction.
Just as he was searching for a place to pass another miserable night, a flash of light drew his attention. He scanned the darkness, ready to flee if it glowed red, the hallmark color of shadeleech powers.
There. A torch was shining through the trees a little to the southwest. It didn't move, and after a moment another torch flared into view nearby, followed closely by several more.
Kevlin grinned in relief. They were being lit along the street of a town. Kevlin rushed forward, grateful the cliff no longer blocked his route.
He hurried through the darkness, staggering past trees and bushes that seemed intent on barring his path, until he stumbled out onto a road at the edge of a town. Ten days ago, he’d been living in Diodor and this nameless town would have looked insignificant.
Tonight, it seemed a godsend.
A large building with a sign of a frothy mug hanging over the door beckoned him on. Inside, a wave of heat enveloped him in its welcome embrace, rooting out the stubborn chill that clung to him. He breathed deep the delicious aroma of roasting beef, and barely suppressed the urge to laugh with joy.
Tables and chairs filled the large rectangular common room, only sparsely filled with patrons. An open fireplace filled most of the wall under the balcony that led to the upstairs rooms. An astonishing array of hooks and pots and ovens were suspended over the coals, and the wonderful smells that had first greeted him rose from those coals in a nearly tangible wave.
A polished oak bar ran the length of the wall to Kevlin's right. Half a dozen men clustered there, all sparing a moment or two to stare at him as he pushed past them. The innkeeper nodded a greeting. The heavyset, balding fellow's gut bulged out around the apron that tried unsuccessfully to hold it in place.
"What kin I do for you, good sir?" the innkeeper asked.
"I need a room, a bath, and a meal, but in reverse order."
"We kin help with all them. We take fur, credit from the lumber purchaser, or coin.”
"Coins. I’ll pay with coins."
That earned Kevlin a happy nod. He then had to hide his surprise at the ridiculously low price the innkeeper charged. In Diodor, he'd have spent ten times as much.
For another laughably small fee, he arranged for the innkeeper’s daughter to purchase supplies for him so he could get an early start in the morning. Hopefully the local stables could provide a decent mount.
Kevlin took a seat in a chair close to the fire, relaxed, and absorbed the heat. The waitress brought him a huge platter of roast beef, potatoes, spice beans, and half a loaf of fresh bread, along with a mug of mulled cider. Food had never tasted so good.
The innkeeper’s daughter, a dark haired girl named Alva, stopped by as he finished his meal. He gave her the list of supplies he needed.
“Tell me about the town, Alva,” he said before she left.
"Baldev be the biggest town on the road to Fiachra from the highway." She spoke with obvious pride. "Lots of trappers an’ hunters an’ loggers bring goods here. The miners bring in a lot of ore from the mountains down south. They float stuff down the river to Ingolf. We got ten merchants living in town.”
“How far is it to the highway?”
“I been told it be about a day’s ride.” She attempted a curtsy before leaving on her errand.
Kevlin followed the innkeeper’s directions to the bathhouse situated in a small courtyard to the rear of the inn. The water was already hot over a glowing bed of coals, and it took only a moment to pour a steaming tub. He enjoyed a long soak before washing as best he could with the rough, homemade soap.
By the time he reached his room, Alva had returned and piled all his purchases at the foot of the bed. He gratefully donned a fresh set of clothing. He’d still have to wear the heavy, padded jerkin that went under his armor, but it felt great to have clean clothes against his skin.
Alva had done well. He smiled while inspecting the pile of foodstuffs, heavy cloak, and new blanket. It took only a few minutes to organize it in the new pack. As long as he could buy a decent horse in the morning, he’d be well on his way to finding Ceren.
After everything was in order, he extracted the rune-covered pouch holding Tia Khoa. He’d thought about it a lot that day and worried about its safety. He felt uncomfortable wearing the pouch around his neck like Antigonus did, but he also disliked the idea of it swinging at his belt or remaining in his pack. It would be too easy to lose.
Finally, he’d had an idea. He wrapped the pouch in a piece of soft linen, pulled off his right boot, and tucked the small bundle up under its overhanging top. Knee-high when raised, he normally kept the boots turned down several inches. The folded top flared and easily concealed the presence of the rock. Using needle and thread Alva had purchased for him, he stitched the package in place and surveyed his handiwork. He smiled. Only rarely did anyone look closely at a person’s shoes.
He was warm and fed, but he’d already spent two days reaching the town. Hopefully Ceren had found Harafin and warned him of the danger. Time was short. Tanathos could be days gone by the time they returned with reinforcements.
Kevlin's room was at the rear of the inn, on the second floor, with a window overlooking the bathhouse, which didn't seem heavily used. Kevlin carefully barred the door and propped the single chair against. He then barred the window. The bed was small but clean, and it felt wonderful.
As he drifted off to sleep, he mouthed a prayer to whichever god might deign to listen. All they needed was a few days and they could restore Antigonus. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.