Chapter 20

Day Seven – Morning

A violent hurl drove Torm up. He had fallen asleep fast and didn’t wake up even once. That’s how exhausted he had been after that day. Right next to his mentor, who was bending over sideways, turning his insides out. Tonna was assisting Zaber, grabbing his unusually silky hair and holding a jar. A surprising sight for Torm, he had not seen that bum this clean in nearly a year, and even less so throwing up.

“What’s happening?” asked Torm, shocked.

The older woman patted her patient on the back and nodded her head in the vomiting rhythm. “No need to worry,” said Tonna. “He’s done that a couple of times this night.” Zaber spat out chunks of his breakfast. Dry bread and a deliciously reeking fish sauce. “As you said, he gulped up gutter. And the oil we gave him is doing the rest.”

The room was unchanged, except for the food and pitchers of water. But there was a regular ‘thud’ coming from outside. Thyra also woke up and stretched herself out of her bed with a big yawn.

Torm slipped out from under the furs and rolled to the side. It felt pretty warm already, so it had to be a late morning. When he stood up, he saw Buron chopping wood outside, accompanied by his unreasonably tall partner, whittling away on a piece of wood.

“’aight,” said Zaber after a sip of water. He looked terrible, worse than on his worst days. Sunken cheeks, giant bags under his eyes, and barely any color on his skin. Tonna had proven herself less of a conversationalist and sang to him without pause. At peace with himself, as long as the juice worked, Zaber had a lot of time alone. “Now that y’all are awake, let’s gather outside. I’ve got a plan.”

“Another one?” asked Torm, trying to infect Zaber with a smile.

It wasn’t hard for Tonna to keep Zaber on the floor, pressing him down on his good shoulder. She put two fingers into her mouth and whistled sharp and loud, startling Thyra for a brief moment. “Come in,” she yelled. “Your captain wants to hold a war council.”

Zaber looked at Tonna’s hand on his shoulder, angered, and put it aside. His entire skin ached and the last thing he wanted right now was to be touched. “I was a corporal,” he said. “And we’re all the same now. We’re all in this together.”

Flicking away Zaber’s hand, Tonna stepped aside and hugged Thyra. She handed over the bread and sauce before turning around again. “Oh, you are so obviously in charge. I don’t care for your petty titles.”

“Good,” replied Zaber and scratched the scar along his jaw. “They’re horseshit.”

His two friends, Buron and Breg, entered the hut. The unreasonably tall man wore some robust, old linen, as he felt no threat that metal could prevent. With a much bolder choice of clothing, Buron went shirtless. Nothing but rolled-up breeches. He had small cuts on his body that were nothing in comparison to Breg’s or Zaber’s. The scar on his left knee though overshadowed them all, short of Tonna’s hands and neck. Breg’s simple, yet sturdy, pair of boots were contrasted by the bald one’s bare feet.

“She’s right,” smiled Buron, taunting, and sat down next to Zaber and Torm. “You are in charge.”

“Tell us–” said Breg and knelt at his broken friend’s feet. “My general, what is our objective?” Under all the hair rested a face carved from stone.

The two veterans stared at each other, one more serious than the other. Torm knew that kind of gaze from Zaber and that it had a different meaning to Breg. For their bald companion, this wasn’t anything new, but the boy felt uncomfortable after a while. Until Zaber and Breg smiled at the same time.

“Fuck you,” said Zaber. “Start by handing me my blade.” He nodded over at the lange messer by the entrance, where it had rested all night. And Breg did as he was told.

“Hold on.” A dramatic contralto filled the air with vibrations, even without much effort or volume. “There is no need for that,” added Tonna and walked in front of Breg, eyeing every man in the room.

“There is,” said Zaber coldly and reached for the blade.

“No there isn’t,” emphasized Tonna once more and blocked the colossus’ path. “We are no threat to you, I don’t want any of you to be armed in our home.” She tried to take the lange messer away before it was handed over, but Breg anticipated that easily and passed her. The blade laid on the fur, between Zaber and Torm, opposite of where Tonna and Thyra stood. “What kind of coward are you?”

The apprentice saw his mentor’s hand twitching for a moment. Back in Teblen, this would have escalated already, but he saw how Zaber held back. “Please, let him have it,” said Torm. “He needs it.”

Stepping away, Breg moved out of reach. He stroked his beard with both hands and sought eye contact with Buron who just shrugged it off and rubbed his knee nervously.

“You didn’t need it tonight, why now?” asked Thyra, nibbling on some dipped bread.

“Don’t play damned dumb you gave me that juice,” barked Zaber and his head snapped to the side. “Which I need more of.” He scratched the scar on his jaw even more, but lowered his hands to rub the scar on the back of his hand instead. His neck felt hot, sizzling hot.

Tonna saw how the broken veteran’s hand wandered to the hilt, just to feel it. Have it by his side. She had never seen a man as tense as Zaber, which had to be worse with the effect of the medicine wearing off. But his shoulder was relaxing, now that he felt cold steel again. Even his posture slumped down. “Not today,” she said and sighed. “You haven’t slept at all and your body needs to get back to normal first. Now put that blade aside, you should feel better already.”

Teeth grinding, Zaber clenched a fist where Tonna could not see it. He felt Torm’s hand on it and closed his eyes frustrated. “You ain’t understand, I need this.”

“I do.” There was no gap between their words. “You are hurt and on the run. But we are hosting four grown, armed men. Your friends have made it evident that they are capable and willing to hurt us.” Tonna knelt down and put her hands on Zaber, gently, looking into his eyes. “I’ll put it at the entrance, this was the deal I made with the boy.”

Retracting his hand, Zaber’s thoughts were written on his face. She did not understand. But she was still right. Obliging to the rules of others was something he had sworn he had put behind himself. It couldn’t be helped… for Sagir. “Boy,” he said and glanced at Torm. “Put it away.” There was a yearning in his eyes, skeptical, following his blade to the entrance afar. He turned back to Tonna after his apprentice had returned to his side. Grinding his teeth one last time before quenching the urge with a piece of bread. “I ain’t gulping the juice right now. I need it for when we leave. We’ve got much ahead of us and I wanna be prepared for the worst. If you give us some, we can roll out tomorrow,” said Zaber and sought out Buron next to him. “Where are the horses? Don’t tell me we lost them.”

“They ain’t lost,” said Breg and knelt back down again, scrapping the theatrics. He pointed vaguely into a direction outside. “At a glade; plenty grass and no wolves in this bog lik–”

“You need at least four more nights of good rest,” interrupted Tonna. She walked up to her daughter, who was half-asleep, but listening closely.

“Six,” said Buron, shaking his head like a know-it-all. “At least six. Walking isn’t enough, we need to be combat-ready.”

“He’ll be good soon enough with our song,” said Thyra, munching on her last piece of bread and taking a sip from the fish sauce. She grabbed a tin cup and walked to a small pot above their fireplace, filling it with hot nettle to drink. Her face was easy to read when she noticed the stern look her mother gave her. Tired and confused.

Torm, Buron and Breg looked at Zaber and each other, brows high, eyes widened. The broken veteran exhaled painfully tense. “I was about to get to that,” said Zaber. “No interruptions anymore. I thought about this all night.”

“Fawn,” interrupted Tonna one last time. “Let’s have a talk.” She grabbed her daughter at the cusp of her patched together flax skirt. “Outside,” she added and pulled Thyra away, only able to grab a bone comb. She nearly spilled hot water on herself as she was dragged outside.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Zaber waited until they’d left and looked at his friends. With a curt nod, he sighed before speaking up. “I’ve lost good men,” he said gloomy. “And a woman.” His eyes wandered outside, following their hosts.

“And Asher,” said Breg, choking up for a moment. Even all that hair in his face could not hide that.

“Not confirmed,” said Zaber, staring at his own lap. “He wouldn’t die sitting down. It looked like a fight, but he was sitting. He’s too good to–” Zaber halted when Torm rested his hand on Zaber’s bad shoulder, provoking an irk from his mentor. Rubbing the scar on the back of his hand that mirrored the scar Asher had, clenched to a fist, he grumbled. “Shut up,” he said to no one.

“Zaber…”, mumbled Torm, but his hand got cast aside by his mentor jerking his shoulder, hurting. “C’mon.”

“I said shut your damned mouth, and listen.” The broken veteran avoided looking at Torm and instead focused ahead. “It’s just the four of us now. The closest arcanium mines are somewhere in the Elbian Mountains, east. With heavy wagons, the transport will at least take to the next red gibbous moon. We can make that in half the time, a bit longer if we take through the wilderness,” said Zaber. “After our ambush, it’ll take them two days or so before they roll out. If we saddle up soon, we’ll–”

“We’ll be ahead of them in a couple of days.” Buron finished the sentence for their leader. “But as you said, we are just four.”

“And I lost good armor,” added Zaber with a curt nod.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Torm, looking down. “I had to–”

“Don’t,” interrupted Zaber and forced a smile. “It was the right call. I made the promise to fix this and I am set to fulfill it.” He put his hand on the boy’s upper arm. “We gotta make good on the Yesilians who died for Sagir. They took a shot at their freedom and they all knew what they were in for.” Halting for a moment, a thought intruded Zaber’s mind. A thought, spoken by a sizzling voice. “We gonna kill that line magician for them.”

The unreasonably tall man and his bald companion nodded determined and smiled at the sight of their friend. “But–” said both at the same time and stopped. Exchanging gazes, pleading the other one to continue, Breg took the initiative first. “They’ll up the guards. No way they’re not expecting you.”

Zaber scratched the scar on his jaw. “They already have. I would double or triple the escort and put my best men on the line if I were them,” he said and grabbed the breakfast knife close to him. Just to hold it. “We got some armor left and Breg can still be tinned from head to heel. We need to look out for an armorer and switch out the horses if we can. They’ll take the King’s Road for sure, or lose even more time.”

“Wait, does the King’s Road even go east?” asked Torm, dumbfounded. The High King’s residence was far north on the Nornberk peninsula. Old Iridian roads were claimed as the King’s Roads too and made up most of the network. But the old Albinian saying that everybody knew was: Those who travel north stand protected. Similar idioms were spread throughout the princedoms, but many of the ancient pathways weren’t maintained well and thus barely comparable to what the King claimed as his own.

“The Archduke of the Elbmarch is the King’s cousin. The road was built to protect the southern border. We’ve traveled it once, shortly after it was constructed,” said Zaber.

“You; we didn’t,” replied Buron. “That was before we joined.”

“Damned–” Pausing to think, Zaber looked at the other two veterans. “It really was. Couple of years even,” he said, staggered. “But you two know the region better anyways. You’ll have to take the lead on this.”

With one hand, Breg pulled on his own beard, thinking. “We’ve done escort jobs over there, but never full length,” he said and threw a glimpse at Buron to take over.

“There are halmets on the way where we might get new gear,” said the bald veteran and rested his hands at the back of his neck, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling. “Can’t get too close their Lords and Master, though. I’d imagine the Margrave sent out word. Most stables and inns aren’t safe, except one close-by. So, the hedges it is.”

“You make the calls, I trust you,” replied Zaber and nodded at everyone. “We’ll leave some coin behind for the troubles, then we’ll head out. Gather intel about a pompous caravan with prisoners. Should be impossible to miss for the locals.” He rotated the knife in his hand so that the dull side pressed inverted against his arm, hiding it. “They ain’t crashing in the wilds, too dangerous for them. Wayside taverns will be too remote and small either. Quartering among the peasantry is their only option.”

“If you say double or triple,” said Torm, rubbing his wrists. “What can four accomplish that eight couldn’t?”

“Small war tactics.” Breg folded his arms before his chest and nodded determined. His arms and chest looked especially big at this moment.

Zaber pointed at his friend, emphasizing a correct answer. “We ain’t winning a direct hit, even as an ambush. We shock and awe them, over and over, until they mess up,” said Zaber and raised the knife and stabbed the air in front of him with a smirk. “Hit and run, make them chase us. We gotta scout them first and see what we’re dealing with.”

While the voices from inside were planning in agreement, the four companions did not heed to what happened outside. Tonna walked her daughter away, far enough that they couldn’t hear the men anymore. The morning was still chill, but temperatures were on the rise. Thyra’s rugged hair was even more wild. She was about to tame it with the little bone comb while sipping on her nettle cup.

“What is it you want to talk about, mother?” asked Thyra in high spirit, tilting her head to tame unruly mane.

“Would you mind not telling them all our secrets?” said Tonna and sighed. She waited for a reaction, but joined her daughter shortly after and braided her hair. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation last night.”

“Come on,” gasped the young woman. “They’re also in hiding. Their secrets balance ours out, shouldn’t they?” Turning around, she lowered her head for her mother. Neither of them were tall for Albinian women, but Tonna had a couple of inches on her daughter.

“This isn’t the same, fawn. These men will leave us and we will never know what happened. Who would we even tell?” said Tonna, pinching her lips while getting a nasty knot out of Thyra’s hazel thatch. “You heard the man, they’ve killed before. Believe me, they are survivors. They would do and say anything to save their hides or venture.”

Thyra waved at the spot she met the nightskrat, between two trees. The two women planted themselves at their roots in the still wet grass, leaving behind a trail with their patched together skirts. “They’re saving a friend… I don’t think they’re bad folk,” said the younger one.

A long sigh preceded before Tonna halted her hands and stared at the burn marks. “Fawn,” she said distraught. “Didn’t you listen? It doesn’t matter if they are bad or good, they are capable of unimaginable things. I have seen men like them,” she whimpers and chokes up. “Men like them brought us here. You don’t understand and I don’t want you to learn this lesson.”

“Mother,” said the fawn to the doe. “How can’t I be excited to talk to them? Tell me, how could I not?” she pleaded.

“Please, fawn.” Tears rolled down Tonna’s cheeks that she pressed against Thyra’s back. “I can’t do this. Not again.” Her hands were shaking and her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

The emotions spilled over and Thyra turned around to embrace her mother. “I know you’re in pain,” she whispered into Tonna’s ear. “I hear you whisper in your sleep, I am not that naive. I know plenty.” They split and looked into each other’s eyes, still holding onto the other’s shoulders. “I can’t live like this anymore. My world cannot just be you, the bugs and the books.”

Wiping away her tears first, Tonna took her daughter’s hands into her own burned ones, still trembling. She inspected them and Thyra’s, the calluses and the cuts from cooking and working on the hut and little accidents. Indeed, her daughter was not a delicate flower, easy to break. “I know, but this is between you and me. They have nothing to do with this,” said Tonna with half a smile. She swallowed, loud and clear. “Treat them nice, talk as you please… but we have to think about our safety.”

“You are right, I–” Thyra stopped and thought about her words carefully. “I do not understand what he means when he talks about–” she halted again, because she did not know how to finish. “I also know that it was the poppy juice. But I would lie if it wasn’t interesting,” she continues. “Mother, Torm and Zaber want to save a friend. And the way the big fella and the funny one look at each other… I can see you in them, and that makes them good to me.”

“Not the boy,” said Tonna, laughing aloof. “He has more in common with you. I only–” She also struggled for words.

“Don’t worry. I’ll never run away from you. Let me make friends, there is nothing more I ask of you,” smiled Thyra and hugged her mother one more time. “But please, take me with you next time you leave. I want to meet the others, and visit a market.”

“Guess I can’t put it off any longer, can’t I?” Tonna turned her attention back to her daughter’s rugged hair. “You can only read about the world for so long until you have to see it.”

“There is so much I want to do.” Thyra’s mezzo voice pitched up and she turned around to lean against her mother. “I want to see showmen and acrobats. And drink in an inn, maybe start a brawl!” she said and flailed her fists around in mockery. “And I want to have sex. And a passionate kiss with a woman, like in the books.”

Braiding her daughter’s hair, a woman in her mid twenties who hasn’t seen anything yet, Tonna smiled. “Sure, fawn,” she uttered. “We’ll see about that.” She was giving Thyra the same braids she used to like as a child. Life has not been easy around the marshes, but it was safe and happy. Away from a world that hated them, it was time for a change. The box had been opened…

“Oh, see,” said Thyra after a while, breaking her mother’s thoughts. “Skratty left us eggs. I gave him a bone pin when he visited, he must’ve brought them later. I think he was concerned.”

The older woman reached for the quail eggs, neatly resting beneath a tree. Half a dozen, as if the nightskrat had counted their guests. Tiny and fragile, Tonna weighed them in her burned hands. “Let’s fry them with onions and our fish leftovers,” she said, sunken in thought. “Open the wine I brought back last time. I don’t want to be accused of lacking hospitality.” Her faint smile turned hopeful. “Who knows, this might be their last.”