Wildling (14 page)

After that all he had to do was remove the saddles and bridles from the horses that hadn't bolted, something he did with a knife for speed, and then send them running off into the night. A tiny little roar was enough to get them racing away. Their owners would not be returning in the calm light of the morning to find their horses waiting for them. Those that survived the night and then knew enough to find the camp that was. They'd have to walk to wherever they were going. And hopefully when they got there they would spread plenty of wild stories about demons in the night among their comrades. He also helped himself to a few coin purses he found lying around and then robbed the fallen as well. It might not be a noble thing to do, but it didn't feel that wrong either.

Ten minutes later he left the camp with the three wildlings in tow, feeling remarkably good about his evening's work. More than that he felt like a warrior achieving a mighty victory. He should be standing there proudly, waving his sword at the gods and proclaiming his victory to the heavens.

Even if he was completely naked, didn't have a sword and wouldn't have known how to use one anyway.

Chapter Nineteen.

Morning brought some sanity to the wildlings. Enough that after checking that they weren't going to cry out or run screaming he felt comfortable enough to untie them. They'd slept through the night, mostly, and though he could see in their eyes that they weren't yet completely free of the spell of the white wrath, they were well enough to sit around a fire instead of simply being bound over the side of a horse.

So he freed them and one by one watched as they made their way over to the fire and the rabbit he was busy roasting. He figured that that and some water from the flasks the soldiers had conveniently left in their saddle bags would help them. But he also knew that if they were mostly free from the effects of the powder then so too were the soldiers. Sooner or later some of them might start hunting them, and they were only a couple of leagues north of the camp. He could have run much further as a cat but the horses would never have been led by him. Even as a man they were nervous of him.

They were a surprising group he thought. Two men and a woman all in their early twenties at most. They also were all surprisingly neatly dressed. Further, the marks around their necks from the iron collars were all much the same age. No old scars, just welts that had barely begun to heal. It seemed to him that they had all been together when the elves had taken them, and that had been recently. But he wasn't there to interrogate them.

“
You feel all right?” He asked and one by one they nodded – a little hesitantly. They even accepted the pieces of meat he handed to them.

“
Good.”

They ate in silence after that, each of them lost in his or her own thoughts. And Dorn was glad that their thoughts weren't his. He had felt a little of the impact of the powder the previous night and he knew he didn't like it. It had to be much worse for them. And their pain was his doing. But eventually the rabbit was gone and there was nothing left to do but talk.

“Why are you undressed?”

The girl began with the obvious question, except that to Dorn it wasn't that obvious. He'd forgotten he was naked until she mentioned it. The only time he remembered lately was when he felt cold without any clothes on to keep him warm. But it had been a mild night and the morning air was still and warm. With the sunlight shining down on him through the leaves above he was quite comfortable.

“Shifter.”

“
Oh!”

She seemed surprised for some reason. As if she hadn't heard of shifters and their problems with clothes before. But whether she had or she hadn't he suddenly decided he didn't care. There were things to do and they didn't involve sitting around a fire talking.

“You need to head north east. Avoid the large tracks and trails – there are still dusky elves riding through the land everywhere. The smaller ones will be safer and I can draw you a map. If you can reach Enderly you'll be safe there.”

At least he hoped they would be. He couldn't imagine either the elves or the soldiers of Lampton Heights trying to take the coastal province. Not even together. If they still were together. He hoped however that the alliance would be feeling some strain soon, when the survivors returned to the towns and cities and told their tales. Stories that with luck would speak about the betrayals by the elves. He'd put enough dusky elf arrows into them over the previous weeks after all. And for how long could they keep defending themselves by claiming it was a rival clan's doing?

“We're not going to Enderly.”

“
Oh?”

For a moment Dorn was surprised. Then he understood. They were heading to the temple. A place that was not held fondly in his thoughts. And they'd presumably been captured by the elves as they made the journey. “Balen Rale?”

“Yes.” All three of them nodded.

“
Then you'll have to take the old fisherman's trail running north from Little Rock and turn north north east before you reach the end. After that it's a long hard ride, but if you stay off the tracks and trails you should be safe. I'll draw you a map.”

“
You know the path? You've been there?”

The woman sounded hopeful. As if he might be able to lead them there.

“Yes. But I wasn't welcome.” He looked at them knowing that they didn't understand. And that he didn't particularly want them to. “It's a long story.”

“
You said everyone was welcome?” The woman turned to the bearded man beside him, accusing him of something. Of telling her lies perhaps.

“
That's what I was told. Everyone is welcome. Every wildling.” He looked up at Dorn. “We were told to spread the word to everyone. Go to the temple. There's not supposed to be anyone with the gift left behind.”

Left behind? Dorn didn't understand that. Were they going somewhere? But he understood that there were always going to be some left behind despite the boy's fine words.

“Except me. Except those held as slaves by the dusky elves. Except those who haven't heard because they've fled too far away to hear. Or who are too frail or frightened to make the trip alone.” Someone had to point out the obvious Dorn thought.

“
But they will all be called. The dream walkers are sending their thoughts out every night. The wayfarers are also carrying the word. All are being told, all are being shown the path.”

“
But not all can answer. Tell the glowing people that. But for me you three would be spending the rest of your short lives as slaves. All the messages and dreams in the world could not save you. And many others are already in the clutches of the dusky elves. More than you can count.”

“
But -.”

Never mind.” Dorn shook his head, annoyed. But he knew there was no point in continuing the conversation. “Mount up and I'll lead you to the trail.” He shifted before they could argue, not wanting to continue the discussion. The whole thing was still painful to him. And they also had to move, before anyone came across them.

But still as he led them out he thought on what the boy had said. Not about what was wanted of the wildlings, but rather on those few words;
no one left behind
. He didn't know what it meant. But it made him worry. As if the wildlings were going somewhere. And as if his family if they were still out there somewhere, would also need to go with them.

He had very little time left to find them. And then if by some blessing of Eldas he did find them he might have to escort them to the temple himself. That would be hard. He didn't want to have to face the glowing woman again. And when he got there he didn't want to have to leave his family behind.

Chapter Twenty.

Weeks went by after the attack and life in the fort grew easier for Dorn. Things began to relax. The land around Little Rock had emptied out once more. Peace was returning. No dusky elves patrolled the nearby lands hunting down wildlings and looking to capture towns. Not around Little Rock anyway.

No soldiers travelled the lands either. Those still in Little Rock spent their days their drinking and didn't leave the town ever. Especially not those who had attacked his fort and eventually made it back to the town. They stuck to the town and drank the alehouse dry as they tried to forget what had happened. But best of all the black priests' shrine in the inn had been abandoned and burnt. The soldiers themselves had burnt it. They were still angry at the Dicans' failure to protect them at his fort and if they didn't have any black priests to take their anger out on, they would strike at whatever else they could find.

All that remained of the soldiers in Little Rock were a dozen men at arms. Some had been abandoned by their companions because they were wounded and would slow them down. That spoke of panic as they'd left the region in a rush. Others had returned to the town after they'd gone. Mostly they were those who had been lost in the forests after attacking his fort and who had finally found their way back. They wouldn't wander any further than the main street.

He wasn't sure if the soldiers had left because of him and what he'd done or simply because the invaders had grown tired of Little Rock and had set their sights on other more profitable parts of the wastes. Places where the risks were less and the rewards greater. He was sure though that he didn't care. It was peaceful once more and he liked that.

But there were other changes in the land.

Now that they'd left, and perhaps in part because of it, wildlings were travelling through the land. They were moving northward in numbers through the wastes on their way to the temple of Balen Rale, and people were commenting on it. Commenting because no one had ever seen so many with the gift travelling before. Travelling openly. Beast tongues travelling with their companions. Shifters walking openly in their animal forms. Spellswords marching proudly, many carrying the enchanted weapons that made them even more dangerous.

They weren't just on their own or in pairs either. Now there were whole bands of wildlings travelling, and in those numbers they weren't so afraid. Especially not if they had a single wildcast of lightning or fire among them. Or a spellsword or a shifter. In those numbers it wouldn't be they who were attacked by the dusky elves or the Dicans. It would often be the other way around. In some cases it had been.

Both times he'd returned to Little Rock he'd spent a little time in the Griffin's Nest drinking ale and listening to the stories being bandied about. Now that the remaining soldiers were leaderless and most importantly the Dicans had fled, he felt safe there once more. And he was curious about what was being said. There were stories that while bound to be exaggerated, still suggested that the world was changing. Changing for the better. He liked that. He liked that for once it seemed his people were standing up for themselves instead of being hunted.

But there were also stories that spoke of darker things happening. Of long bridled rage being unleashed. Of the soldiers being hunted down for their crimes. Of Dicans being bound to stakes and burned alive. There was a reason that the remaining soldiers were staying in the town. Between the elves and the resurgent numbers of wildlings travelling through the wastes they no longer felt safe. He understood that. And he understood that there would be those among the wildlings who would thirst for revenge against the elves and the Dicans.

He felt the same way, especially about Dicans. So he could not condemn anyone who had chosen such a path. Not if they had once been the slaves of the elves or had lost family and friends to the black priests. But it still made him nervous. Violence begot violence. It was the way of the world. And the glowing people didn't seem to like that world.

He hoped that not too many more would be turned away by them. What they did at that ancient temple he didn't know. But he was certain that whatever it was it had to be good. For wildlings anyway. If nothing else it seemed like a safe place for them, and there weren't so many of those left in the world these days.

Whenever he came across any parties of wildlings marching north he asked after his family, hopeful that some of them knew something. But none of them did. Which could only mean that wherever his family were they were beyond the knowledge of the wildlings marching north from Lampton Heights. Or – though he hated to think of it – that they were dead. That the Dicans had caught them and killed them all those years ago. Still he asked knowing it was the only hope he had of finding them. And he listened to the tales of those who had heard things, needing the comfort they sometimes brought.

Among all the tall tales he'd listened to there was one that he particularly enjoyed hearing, though the soldiers hated it. It was a tale that most of the people of Little Rock also enjoyed hearing since it concerned them. It was of course, the tale of the soldiers who had decided to attack the ancient fort in the forest. And every time he heard the story it grew wilder. Apparently there had been beasts and monsters without number tearing the heads off those who had violated the shrine. Soldiers also without number had been burnt to ash. The goddess Xeria herself had appeared and struck down the Dicans where they stood.

None of it was true of course, but he still loved hearing it. Especially when he had to gaze day after day upon the blackened remains of his courtyard and smell the soot. The fire had burnt somewhat larger than he had intended, and if not for the courtyard's high walls it might even have spread further. In time though it would heal. The plants would regrow. The rain would wash away the stain on the rock walls and the blackened shrine. He might repair the gate. Someone might even come and build a new altar and offering table. A priest perhaps. But it would take time.

Perhaps in part because of the battle the faith in the old gods had returned a little bit, and some of the altars and shrines in the region were being repaired. Especially the ones the Dicans had destroyed. He'd spotted fresh offerings on many of them as well, and Tiblissi in particular seemed to be doing well. But then this was a province that relied on its farming and crops. The Goddess of the Harvest was always going to do well.

Meanwhile, now that Dorn had the time available he spent it working on his rooftop home. He was also increasing the size of his garden, adding more pipes and water barrels to catch the rain, and building a small chicken coop. If there was one thing he had learned from the past few months it was that life had become more dangerous of late. The elves might return as might the Dicans. He had no idea at all how far away they might be. There might come a time when he had to shelter up there for weeks or months. He needed to be prepared for that.

So he spent most of his time toiling away in the late spring sun, instead of simply lazing around reading his poetry as he would have preferred. But hard work as his mother had always said, was a gift. It was its own reward, while laziness was a sin. Of course she wasn't a cat. Cats didn't just like their sleep, they needed it. He had tried to explain that to her many times as a boy and she had never understood. Still, he would have loved nothing more than the chance to try and explain it to her again.

It was as he was daydreaming that he heard the distant clip clop of horses' hooves and knew that someone was on the trail. That was enough to bring him back to the world in a hurry. And when the noise of the horses stopped, he was suddenly wide awake. If the sounds had stopped then the horses had stopped. And since there was nothing at all nearby save his fort, he knew that it could only mean that there were people in the forest. On foot. And they were heading his way.

Dorn grabbed his longbow to him, notched an arrow and peeked over the nib wall at the forest beyond, waiting to see who would emerge from it. He was sure it wasn't soldiers; they would ride through the trees. And for the same reason he was sure it was neither dusky elves nor brigands. But they weren't all the dangers a man had to face in the wastes. He was also worried that because they had decided to approach on foot, that they might be trying to remain unnoticed. Thieves perhaps, here to steal. Assassins maybe. The Dicans ran a thriving trade in murder, another reason they held such power, and if they had finally worked out that there was someone living in the fort, they would happily send their black hearted agents to do their handiwork. Maybe it was just scouts, looking to find out just what had happened at the fort. Whoever they were though, he didn't want to see them. And more importantly he didn't want them to see him.

Dorn had to lie there in wait a good long time. Whoever his visitors were it seemed that they were in no hurry. He could have walked the two hundred yards or so from the trail in under a minute, even through the trees. For them it seemed to take at least five.

But then when they finally emerged from the trees and he saw the sunlight glint off their white blonde hair he relaxed. He knew who they were if not their names or why they were here. Wayfarers. They were no threat to him. No threat to anyone. Even if it was a strange place for them to be.

So he eased off the tension in the bow string and simply waited patiently as the pair approached the gate. He kept low and silent and hoped that they would do whatever it was they had come to do and then leave. But despite the fact that he was certain they couldn't see him, they evidently knew he was there and a few moments later they crawled their way through the gate to stand in his courtyard and start calling for him.

“
Dorn Clearwater of Lampton Heights, we seek an audience.”

The man called to him by name which was unexpected. But more than that he called up to him, suggesting that he knew that Dorn was on the roof when he couldn't be seen there. How could he know those things about him? But even as he wondered he knew the answer. The glowing woman. These wayfarers had come from the ancient temple.

“What do you want?” Dorn sat up and called down to the wayfarers. He saw no reason to pretend that he wasn't there. After all they seemed to be there peacefully and they knew enough to call him by name. And they probably wouldn't have believed him anyway. Besides wayfarers weren't particularly dangerous people. Some claimed they were thieves, and perhaps they were. Perhaps as they wandered the lands in their wagons they did help themselves to a few things. But he had little worth stealing. On the other hand he was sure that they had come from Balen Rale. That was where their people seemed to be congregating for whatever reason. He didn't like that.

“
To speak. May we come up?”

“
We can speak from here.”

It wasn't that he wanted to be rude or that he didn't trust them particularly. It was just that Dorn had had enough unfortunate experiences with visitors of late. One had brought a harpy with her. Another a patrol of dusky elves. And then some more had come to destroy the shrine. He didn't need any more. Especially not visitors from the ancient temple.

“Really!”

The woman seemed unimpressed as she huffed at him. She even put her hands on her hips like an upset maiden aunt, and he had to resist a smile. She looked surprisingly cute when she did it. But that was not a thing to be thinking at a time like this. “Is this truly the way you wish to treat your guests?”

“You're not my guests and you are free to leave whenever you choose.”

It was rude and his mother would have told him off for it at length, but he didn't care. He had been through too much of late to care about manners and hurt feelings. He should have told them to leave already save that they knew his name and where he lived. Of course he'd offended them, and maybe he felt a little guilty for that as they stared at him, accusingly.

“Clearly common decency and manners were not taught you as a child. But no matter. We will work with what we have.” The man was clearly annoyed but Dorn didn't care. He just wanted them to say whatever they had come to say and then leave. Even if the woman was fetching.

“
I am Eris Erilis of The Golden Path” the man continued, “and this is my sister Sena. We come because the Lady Sylfene of the Light bid us bring you word.”

“
Shite!”

It was exactly what he'd feared. Dorn remembered the glowing woman and her charges only too well. And he didn't want to think what other crimes she was about to accuse him of. He was just glad she hadn't come in person. She frightened him. The wayfarers ignored his curse.

“She has said that you have set about the task of redeeming yourself these past months. That your deeds have not gone unseen. She says that if you seek clemency it is not beyond hope.”

“
What?!”

For a moment Dorn was completely shocked by their words. Not even sure he had actually heard them. And then he realised that he had. That the wayfarer had actually said them.

“Clemency!”

Dorn lost all sense of reason as fiery hot anger suddenly burned in his chest. Burned hotter than anything he had ever known. “I do not seek clemency! I admit no crime and therefore need none! Not from her!”

“I do what I do because I choose to. Tell her that. And tell her this also. She has shunned me. So be it. But as she shuns me so too do I shun her. And there will be no clemency for her until she apologises.”