The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1) Page 7

  The two warriors wandered ahead. Alfric had no trouble staying behind. Even though he had won the tournament, he was nothing like them. How many nomads had they slain in their lifetime? Alfric had never killed a living thing, let alone another human.

  A small contingent of people had gathered along the parapets of the town's walls. They cheered and waved. Alfric waved back. Then he stopped, hand in midair. None of them knew the truth about Aern's orb. For how long could such a secret be kept in a town like Indham? Truth had a profound ability to reveal itself at the worst moment.

  The gates clattered open again, and Fryda emerged with a pack clutched to her chest. She rushed over to Alfric. Before he could say anything, she planted a firm kiss on his cheek. "Good luck," she said, and thrust the pack into his arms.

  Alfric rubbed his cheek ruefully. "Thanks," he said, feeling unsure. How had Fryda changed her mood so quickly? She'd seemed furious with him before. "You're not upset you can't come?"

  "Of course not," Fryda said. "Why would I be upset? You're a warrior. I'm just a Daughter of Enlil, and a novice at that."

  Before Alfric could respond, Fryda walked away. She swung her elbows in what could only be frustration.

  Shaking his head, Alfric waited while a stable boy prepared a third horse. While he was waiting, he overheard people on the parapet speaking about him. They called him orphan and son of Loric, the god of cursed folk. Their chiding only made him more determined to prove them wrong, even if Hiroc wouldn't be there with him.

  The stable boy finished fixing the saddle to the horse and adjusting it for Alfric's size. Alfric peered back at the parapet. Ignoring the dark looks the people gave him, he searched for Fryda. She wasn't anywhere to be seen. Nor was Hiroc. He was likely too ashamed for having let Alfric go on the quest alone.

  Frustrated, Alfric quickly tied the pack to the horse's saddle. The horse looked to be in good condition, though his evaluation didn't come from experience. He mounted the horse and trotted to catch up with the other warriors. Sigebert smiled when Alfric got in line with them, but Cenred continued ignoring him.

  14

  Alfric

  Sigebert woke Alfric gently. It was the first time in a while that Alfric hadn't been woken by his own screaming. They packed the small camp and continued along the well-trodden path, Cenred riding ahead.

  When they'd been traveling an hour, Sigebert asked, "I heard you yelling while you slept. I think most the countryside did. What do you see in these dreams?"

  "Mostly I'm running," Alfric said. He had no reason not to tell Sigebert. "There's a lot of screaming. At the end of every dream, I'm burned alive."

  "Every time?"

  Alfric nodded.

  "Perhaps you can speak to Hurn about your dreams," Sigebert said.

  "What does Hurn know about dreams?"

  "Some mages can travel to the dream world. Maybe he'll know what ails you there."

  Cenred glared at Alfric. "Warriors aren't scared of night terrors." They were the first words he had spoken to Alfric since they'd left Indham. Although it was to poke fun at him, Alfric was thankful he wasn't being ignored entirely. "If you're going to be a warrior, you have to be brave. Dreams cannot harm you. They are meaningless things of the imagination."

  "Not all dreams," Sigebert said.

  "Bah, you fill his head with mystical nonsense." Cenred drove his heels into his horse and trotted over the hill.

  "He forgets that the aim of this quest is to seek out a mage," Sigebert said. "Would he accuse Hurn of mystical nonsense? I sincerely doubt that."

  They passed over the hill. Below them was a patch of woodlands with wooden structures in its center. A strong wind blew, and Alfric retreated into the cloak.

  "You might look like an idiot," Sigebert shouted above the wind, "but it was a damned good idea to wear that coat."

  "What's that place?" Alfric pointed to the woodlands.

  "Many years ago, that's where the dragons from Grimwald Forest migrated during the summer. Not anymore, though. It now houses the abandoned enclosure where we captured them."

  Alfric's eyes shot open. He had heard how Indham had suddenly become rich after the warriors sold dragons to King Beorhtel. Surprisingly, he'd never seen a dragon up close. When he was younger, he had seen dark figures flying over the town, but that had been so long ago, it almost felt like a dream.

  "When I was a boy," Alfric said, "I thought a dragon saved me from wolves."

  "Aye, I remember that day. I was one of the folk Idmaer sent looking for you. You probably don't remember it was me, but I found you huddled under a tree. I don't know about it being a dragon that saved you, but there were three wolves burned to cinders beside you."

  Alfric palmed the medallion. It was shaped like a dragon. He had never seen it before that day. When he'd recovered from the wolves' attack, it had been hanging around his neck. It all seemed so long ago.

  "No one ever speaks of dragons anymore," Alfric said.

  Sigebert's face flushed with shame. "We captured them from Grimwald Forest the season after we routed the nomads. We thought to use the dragons in case they ever returned, but they didn't. King Beorhtel approached us, and we sold the dragons for him to use in his campaigns. Without the dragon trade, we would have no money. There aren't many farms able to produce up here, and we have little of value to export. Even so, the dragons were a terrible idea."

  They continued riding, not stopping to eat or rest. There were a few hamlets and towns along the way. Alfric waved to the people as he passed, but he couldn't help thinking about what Aern's death meant for them. Soon, they would need help. He hoped that Hurn might provide refuge for not only the people of Indham but all those in Aernheim.

  As the sun began to set, they reached the top of a hill, revealing a small hamlet surrounded by farms that were more yellow than green. Cenred dismounted and began preparing the camp. Alfric began unsaddling his horse. He'd been thinking about the dragons most of the day, and he still had questions. With Cenred occupied, he turned to Sigebert.

  "Didn't the dragons fight back?" he asked.

  "We wouldn't have been able to capture them if they had," Sigebert said. His horse was already unsaddled. Without a word, he went over to Alfric and helped him. "We found suppression stones in the ruins of Babon's Pass. Whoever holds a stone in their palm can force the dragons to obey their every command. It's something to do with dragons being magical creatures. The stones don't work on ordinary folks like you and me."

  Alfric had heard of places where people were enslaved, but this was far worse. "That's horrible."

  "I told the Council the same, but Idmaer gave the final command. Few people wish to trade this far north, and King Beorhtel was more than happy to accommodate us. The warriors who were sent to Lamworth were experts in using the stones." Sigebert made a point of looking northwest toward Eosorheim. "Convincing Hurn would be a lot easier if we hadn't stolen his dragons."

  Alfric could hardly believe his ears. They had taken Hurn's dragons, enslaved them, and then sold them to become weapons of war, and they were expecting Hurn to help them?

  The allure of being on a quest with Indham's greatest warriors had vanished. Hurn might never give them the chance to even speak before he killed them.

  15

  Fryda

  Fryda climbed out from the bushes and stepped back onto the road. The cart's wheels rattled into the distance, kicking up mud. She had considered requesting transport from the man driving the cart but thought better of it. It would be asking for trouble. Even though Aernheim was a peaceful region, women tended not to travel alone. To avoid the fate of those women foolish enough to do so, Fryda had changed into a tunic and breeches before leaving Indham. Anyone who saw her close up would know she was a woman, but she'd avoided anyone on the road.

  Unfortunately, she'd been unable to wrestle a horse from the stable boy. The day she'd been gone from Indham had been slow traveling on foot. All the while, she maintained a good distance behind
the warriors.

  In some ways, it was a benefit that the warriors rode on horses where she did not, lest they discover someone was following them. They were seasoned warriors, after all. She didn't know what they would do if they learned of her, but Jaruman's warning wouldn't be far off. Their quest was too important for them to bring her back to Indham, but they'd likely find the nearest person traveling that way to take her there.

  A map she had stolen from the temple guided her. She would have taken a short spear from Jaruman, but she didn't want to risk him discovering what she'd planned. Using the map, she discerned the warriors' movements easily. They were traveling the shortest distance to the bridge on the border of Eosorheim and Aernheim. Unfortunately, the map wasn't very detailed, so there was no telling when she would come to the next town with an inn.

  After waking that morning from a fitful sleep provided by the hard ground beneath her, she had almost lost the warriors. They'd taken a different direction than she thought they would. The map, however, had gotten her back on track quickly enough.

  Now, she continued on the road. To either side stood towering elms. Even though it was summer, their leaves had started to fall. Rumbling thunder sounded, soon followed by rain.

  Fryda cursed the weather before sighting a small village in a clearing not far off the road. She hiked down the slope. Movement on the road behind her drew her attention. A speck danced across the road, so far away that she could barely make it out. Whatever it was, it had hidden among the trees.

  Was someone following her?

  It certainly seemed like they'd run to the trees to hide when she'd turned to look at them.

  Thinking that it could be one of the villagers, Fryda decided to wait at the edge of the road. She was hidden from view by the overhanging ledge. Squinting, she tried in earnest to make out what it was that she had seen. After waiting for what she guessed was an hour, she circled through the elms until she was in front of where the speck had been.

  It was a man. He had stopped to wait, leaning against a mound. A hood obscured his face, so she couldn't tell whether he had fallen asleep.

  Not wanting to wait to find out, Fryda went back through the forest and came to the village. Wooden fences surrounded a half-dozen huts. Fryda made for the closest hut where a horse grazed in an adjacent paddock. Outside the hut, a middle-aged woman was throwing feed to chickens.

  "Good day," Fryda called out to the woman. "I was wondering if there might be some place for a lone traveler to stay the night."

  The woman produced a broad smile. "There's always a place to stay in Gillian's old hovel."

  Gillian beckoned Fryda into the hut and fed her a warm meal of rabbit and turnips. It wasn't long before they started talking about rumors of what had happened at Indham. Gillian thought that the Holy Order had done something to anger Aern, and that he was punishing them with the storms.

  Fryda simply nodded her head. She couldn't tell Gillian that Aern was actually dead.

  A thought came to Fryda, and she dropped the rabbit leg from her hand, splashing juices over the table. Even if Hurn was to grant the people of Indham refuge, what would happen to the rest of Aernheim? Surely Hurn wouldn't allow an entire region to enter Eosorheim? Besides, Eosorheim was the smallest region of them all. Fryda had seen that clearly from her map.

  She stared at the woman who, without hesitation, had welcomed a stranger into her home. Gillian bore a kindly face. She couldn't be more than forty. If cause called for it, she would be able to travel.

  "Do you have family in one of the other regions?" Fryda asked Gillian.

  Gillian nodded. "A second cousin in Lamworth. The poor old girl got herself married to a blacksmith there. Why do you ask?"

  Jaruman's story about the wraiths made the hairs on Fryda's neck bristle. "The storms aren't the worst thing. Something worse will come."

  "I don't know how you know that, but even if it's true, I can't go to Lamworth. Shelny lives two huts down, and he reckons King Beorhtel said that no one can cross the border. Under pain of death, apparently." If Shelny was right, then Gillian and her village were doomed. "Can't go to Eosorheim, either. That terrible mage killed the last person I heard went there."

  Not wanting to speak anymore, Fryda thanked Gillian for the lovely meal and asked where she was sleeping.

  Gillian pulled out a blanket and laid it down before the fire. Above the fire hung a saddle and a sword. Gillian hadn't mentioned a husband or a son, but from the size of the sword, it wasn't likely they belonged to her.

  "I don't expect you to tell me why you're so far from Indham, but I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't tell you that it's not wise for a woman to travel alone. There are bandits about these parts. They never bothered me because I never had anything to steal. But a girl like you . . ."

  "I don't plan on being alone for much longer," Fryda said. "I'm meeting some friends soon." It wasn't exactly a lie. If she took Gillian's horse, she would be in Eosorheim by the week's end. There was even a saddle she could use. She unpinned her hair and rested the pin beside the bedding.

  "I take it you're not married," Gillian said as she watched her. "You should let your hair down more often. Show off your curls. I hear the young men these days love them."

  Thinking of Alfric and how she desperately wanted to see him again, Fryda smiled and bid Gillian goodnight. The woman retreated into the only other room in the house and closed the door behind her.

  The saddle above the fire beckoned to Fryda. She considered how she would take it down and fit the horse with it. She'd ridden horses before, and she remembered enough that fixing the saddle wouldn't be too difficult. The sword, however, was much too big. But a horse as large as the one outside would probably be able to outride most things she would want to hack with a sword anyway.

  Most things except wraiths, that is.

  Ignoring the terrible thought, Fryda cocked her ear, listening for any sign that Gillian might be asleep. The floorboards creaked, but from within the other room. A shuffling sound came from outside.

  Gillian's door slowly opened. She stepped outside from it, a hatchet in one hand.

  "Did you hear that?" Gillian whispered as she approached Fryda.

  Fryda nodded.

  Gillian's face hardened. "Then it wasn't just me. Go and hide in my room. It might be bandits."

  Without another word, Fryda obeyed. She went into the other room and moved the door so that there was only a crack between it and the doorframe. Peering through the crack, Fryda realized she had cowered while an old woman searched out what might be bandits.

  Fryda's gaze flitted over the room for a weapon. Despite the significant number of random things scattered over the dresser and the bed, she could only find a broken table leg. Without anything else, she gripped the table leg and stepped out from the room.

  Gillian was outside the house, speaking with a hooded man. It was the same man Fryda thought had been following her. Gillian still held the hatchet in one hand, waving it frantically.

  Fryda rushed outside, table leg raised over her shoulder, and slammed it down on the back of the man's neck. The man crumpled to the ground.

  Gillian gasped. "What have you done?" She knelt down beside the man and lifted his head. A bloody gash where Fryda had struck him dripped blood onto his face. Onto Jaruman's face.

  The hooded man was Jaruman!

  * * *

  "I'll let you two speak," Gillian said before retreating into her room.

  Jaruman's expression turned hard. "What are you doing here? You made me a promise."

  "I only wanted to follow Alfric," Fryda replied. "As much as he might think otherwise, he needs me."

  "You're not a warrior. You're a novice with the Daughters of Enlil. Your place is at the temple."

  "He has nightmares, you know," Fryda said. She had never told Jaruman about Alfric's dreams. Jaruman could be a strict man, and if he thought Alfric were plagued with dark spirits that caused nightmares, he might withhold his ble
ssing for their marriage. Jaruman wasn't truly Fryda's father, but that didn't mean she would marry without his blessing.

  "What kind of nightmares?" Jaruman asked, looking intrigued.

  "Terrible ones. Sometimes I wait by his bedside at the spire, stroking his hair while he whimpers. Who will be by his side while he has dreams of such terror? I don't think Cenred or Sigebert will comfort him."

  Jaruman frowned. "I've heard some strange stories about folk they call dreamers. The reason why their dreams feel so real is because they are."

  "That sounds foolish."

  "Now, now, I wouldn't be so quick to reject something you don't understand. There's magic in this world, even if King Beorhtel's inquisitors do their best to scoop it up as soon as they find it."

  "You think Alfric's dreams could be real?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not. I wouldn't be surprised if the both of you have some magic in you. All the Talented can trace their bloodline back to folk north of Babon's Pass."

  "I don't want him to end up like Garmund," she said. Wulfnoth's son had been taken by the inquisitors because he was called by the gods and given their magic.

  "Don't you worry," Jaruman said, lifting Fryda's chin with a stubby finger. "If they try and take him, they'll have me to answer to."

  The way Jaruman spoke filled Fryda with warmth that stretched from her head to her toes. She didn't mind not having a father, not when she had a friend like Jaruman. But even Jaruman would be powerless against a cohort of mages.

  "Besides," Jaruman said, "he has bigger things to worry about than inquisitors." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The wraiths could cross into Aernheim at any moment. But he's chosen this path. As for you and I, we'll be heading back to Indham in the morning."

  "But I've come all this way. You can't make me go back now."

  "We don't have the wards."

  "Those things Edoma painted on their faces?"