Fifthwind

FIFTHWIND
Ken Kiser

Includes a bonus short-story:
A Foulness in Auldwood

Copyright © 2012 - Ken Kiser
All rights reserved

CONTENTS
Map
Fifthwind
A Foulness in Auldwood
A note to readers
About the author

CHAPTER ONE

A
hint of smoke gathered with the scent of forest pine on a crisp
mountain breeze. Strange, Ben thought, how the first signs of autumn
always managed to conjure up whispering images of a far away place
and a better time. He allowed himself a brief, pensive moment. Then,
with a measure of resolve, pushed the thought aside and reminded
himself that some memories were better left in the past.

He
leaned against the rough, weathered bark of a grandfather elm,
relieved to have finally reached the edge of the forest. He called
back to his lagging companion, "Mason, I think we're here."

Despite
late afternoon shadows that draped like a somber shroud over the
thickets, Ben could see a small village tucked into the valley below.
The partially walled town was nestled snugly between the dense trees of the North Torn forest and the rugged, snow-capped mountains of the
Kreggorian range. Smoke billowed from hard-working chimneys and
scrawled wispy, gray plumes high into the evening sky, signaling the
change of season. And from nearly every direction, well-traveled
roads cut across the hills and meandered through grassy meadows,
lending character to the landscape like lines on an aging face.

Mason
struggled to race up the steep ridge as the path of loose soil and
pine needles shifted uncooperatively under the burly man's weight.
With each hard-earned step forward he slid a step back. Opting for a
steadier hand and toe approach, he eventually made it to Ben's side.
Between heavy breaths, he panted, "Finally—"

He
stopped in mid-thought and a scowl of despondency crept over his face
as he looked down at the small town. After an exaggerated pause, he
said, "This can't be right. We must have made a wrong turn."

Ben
chuckled and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. We're two days north
of Deagon's Bluff, and we've stayed west of the river," he said,
reciting the simple directions they had been given. "There can't be
another village for miles. Besides, any farther and we'd run into
those mountains. This has to be it."

"I
don't know," Mason sighed, unconvinced. He removed his pack and let
it fall to the ground. Rubbing the stiffness from his shoulder, he
added, "I really thought there'd be more to it. The Captain made it
sound... rougher."

Ben
made no attempt to hide his own dissatisfaction. "Appearances
aren't everything, but it looks like a place for old women and
retired swords."

Mason
puffed out his chest defensively and smirked. "And what's wrong
with old swords? This one has kept you alive more than once."

Ben
grinned. "Still, you've got to admit, it doesn't look like much."

"Maybe
not," Mason agreed, then elbowed Ben playfully, "but the Captain
says it's got a nasty temper."

Ben
raised an wry eyebrow and smiled. "He'd better be right. I didn't
come all this way to sit and listen to exaggerated war stories from
old soldiers with failing memories."

"I
don't think we're going to have to worry about that. One thing's
certain, these woods are as active as the Captain said. It might seem
quiet out here, but we've been followed since last night. This forest
is crawling with eyes... and they're close by."

"I
know, I feel it too. Either we are losing our touch, or they're
fiercely skilled. It takes a talented man to go unseen by your eye.
We should have spotted them by now."

Mason
chuckled and reshouldered his pack. He turned back toward the forest
and bellowed, "You're awfully good, I'll give you that! But, we'll
be dealing with you and your friends soon enough! That much I
promise!"

Ben
grinned. "There's not a subtle bone in your body, is there?"

"Fair
warning seems...fair," Mason laughed. "So, do you think we'll see
the Captain tonight?"

"Maybe."
Ben looked out over the valley and chose his next words carefully. He
said, "Mason, the war has been over for two years. Tad Haddaway
isn't your Captain anymore."

Mason
replied without hesitation and quite matter-of-factly, "As long as
I'm taking my orders from him, he's the Captain."

Ben
threw up his hands in mock-surrender. He knew better than to get
between a stubborn, old soldier and his principles. "You've never
been short on loyalty, but we might have a lot of work to do. Simple
road patrols might sound easy enough, but it wouldn't be the first
time Tad has tackled something bigger than himself."

Mason
shrugged. "A little lawlessness is normal in places like this. A
simple infestation of woodland raiders is nothing that can't be
fixed; me and the captain have dealt with worse. If you ask me, he's
a genius. This is the busiest trade route in the east, and a lot of
wealthy merchants come through here. A small fee in exchange for
keeping the roads safe is not much to ask of a rich man. If things go
well, I just might be able to retire after all."

Ben
sighed. "The only thing that bothers me is that a lot of those
thieving along these roads must be soldiers displaced from the war.
Not all that long ago, we would have called them friends... brothers
even. I can't really blame them for trying to survive in difficult
times. "

"I
can!" Mason rebutted. "A man always has choices. Sure, times have
been tough, but it doesn't mean a man has to compromise his honor.
There are always two sides to a fight, and if they chose the wrong
side, then so be it."

"Can't
say that I disagree, but it's still a shame what war can do to a land
even long after the fighting has ended," said Ben.

"Things
will get better. It'll just take time... and a little persuasion,"
Mason said, patting the sword on his belt.

"Just
try to stay out of trouble. There's no point marching down there and
drawing unwanted attention. We'll want to blend in, at least until we
know what we're up against."

Ben
paused to consider his own appearance and almost laughed. Mismatched
boots, a weathered cloak of some long-forgotten color, clothing in
desperate need of repair, and a liberal slathering of road grime was
hardly the image of an imposing figure.

His
short stature, ill-cropped brown hair and somewhat blunt features
were not the least bit threatening. In fact, he looked perfectly
harmless, perhaps even destitute.

He
smiled. It was exactly the kind of first impression he hoped to
present. He looked altogether benign, the one quality that might help
him go unnoticed; anything else would likely get him killed. Only the
sword hanging from his belt could be mistrusted, but he did not
intend to discard the one thing that defined him.

Mason,
on the other hand, could not help but draw attention. Simply put, he
was a big man. He was a full two heads taller than Ben and at least
half again his girth. His chest was wide and his arms, strong.

Mason
was a soldier and, at heart, always had been. Though the war with the
Tanian Empire was over, he still wore the blue tabard of Kreggoria
with pride. It was faded and torn, but the emblem depicting a falcon
over crossed spears was still visible. He was a proud man who
believed in honor, righteousness, and the traditions of great heroes
who had fought and died on the fields of courage. He believed that
honor and integrity were matters of personal pride. To him, nobility
was a virtue attainable by any man, and not a birthright reserved
only for those of a haughty lineage.

Despite
his rough exterior, Mason had friendly, brown eyes framed by
shoulder-length dark hair and a bushy mustache that half concealed a
perpetual smile. At forty-five, the old soldier was twice Ben's age
and possessed a hard-learned wisdom. He understood the value of
kindness and never failed to befriend even the most wary.

"It'll
be good to see the Captain again," Mason said. "Just like old
times."

Ben
breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air, cherishing the moment
before releasing it with a sigh of satisfaction. The breath was sweet
and so much lighter than the salty sea breezes of the western coast
that could sometimes feel heavy and stale. After a month of travel
with sore feet and an aching back, the town ushered in a feeling of
homecoming, an odd familiarity that comforted him. He soon found
himself thinking of old friends, a warm meal and a soft bed.

He
gripped Mason's shoulder and gave him a confident nod. "It'll be
dark soon. Let's get down there and get something to eat."

The
dense evergreen trees of the forest soon gave way to the bright, gold
and red canopy of a leafy hillside grove which eventually thinned to
an open glade as they made their way down a winding path into the
valley. Perched atop the foothills on the far side of the small vale,
the town now looked bigger than it had from above.

Stone
ramparts circled the town but offered little real protection as the
bulwarks were old and in disrepair, revealing large gaps where age or
assault had crumbled the walls. Yet, in spite of its failings, the
town was a welcomed breath of civilization in the wilderness.

Clearly
visible, even in the retreating light, was a tall tower that stood in
bold silhouette over the town like a dark guardian in quiet repose.
Outside the once protective walls, was a sparse community of homes
and shops, many of which were little more than shacks. Twenty-five
years of war had clearly left wounds that would take a lifetime to
heal. Especially in the Eastern Realm, far removed from the
protective hand of the king.

"Kishell
Springs," Mason boomed with contrived flamboyance. With one hand on
his chest like a bad actor, he recited, "The crossroads of the
east. Nothing gets bought, sold, or smuggled, without coming through
here."

Ben
chuckled at Mason's attempt at sarcasm. It was almost an exact quote
of what the innkeeper in Deagon's Bluff had said three days earlier.
Apparently, the locals held this place in high regard. He nodded in
appreciation, but said, "They can say what they want, but it still
doesn't look like much."

The
failing light played with Ben's eyes and made the snow on the distant
peaks look purple. It had been many years since he had last seen
snow, and the clouds accumulating lower on the mountain reminded him
that winter would quickly find this valley.
There
was much to do before the first storms came.

The
two travelers followed a small creek as it snaked through tall,
yellow grass like a serpentine ribbon of silver on a field of gold.
They walked at a pace that would put them in town before dark, or at
least not much after. The meadow was paralleled to the east by a road
that would easily have gone unnoticed if not for a line of carts that
were slowly rolling into town.

"Looks
like we're not the only ones arriving late in the day," Ben said
and altered his course to intercept the group of merchants.

Mason
said, "I'm not sure we'll be welcomed. If the roads are as
dangerous as the Captain says, then they'll surely have their guard
up." Mason pointed at the lead wagon. "That's probably some rich
merchant from the eastern port cities, and by the looks of things,
he's got more than a few good swords guarding his wares."

"It's
still a few miles to town and it's getting dark. If they won't let us
walk with them, then we'll at least walk in the shadow of their
protection. Besides, they've got nothing to fear from us. We look
more like beggars than thieves."

The
sun dipped below the jagged peaks and voracious shadows began to
crawl over the valley, feeding on the last morsels of daylight.
Almost immediately, the orange glow of watch fires lit up the town in
the distance, springing to life one by one from west to east along
the perimeter wall. It was a rehearsed evening ritual that took only
a few minutes to complete.