Exiles of Forlorn (34 page)

The next time I awoke was in the night. I was in the infirmary, but it was packed with bodies. I raised my weary eyes in the dim torchlight and found Antioc sitting there, staring at me. He didn’t notice I was awake right away, but when he did he called for help. Nol and Gargath ran around the bunks of the wounded to reach my side, but by then I’d faded out again.

When I came around again, it was daylight, even though it felt like only moments had passed. There were fewer bodies in the room now. Reiwyn was here, dragging a cold, damp cloth across my brow. “His fever will break, yes?” she asked.

“We must pray that it does,” I heard Gargath reply.

“I think he’s awake!” said Blackfoot from somewhere I couldn’t see.

“Lew?” said Antioc, still by my side.

I opened my mouth to speak, but only a dry whisper came out. “He’ll be thirsty,” said Zin, handing Uller a waterskin. The cork popped from the top and Antioc supported my head while Front-Strider held up my shoulders. Uller poured water down my throat while Hratoe watched silently at the foot of my cot.

“Thank you,” I whispered before falling back on the bunk and losing consciousness.

My dreams were dark, fluid things, pushing me through curtains of light and energy. I dreamt of the Daevas, of the sun and the three moons of Eios. I saw the moons of far off lands like Ket and Ortoos, even though I’d never been there and knew them only from my books. I saw my brothers lined up in clouds, from firstson to last: Olune IV, or Ollie as we called him, in his shining armor with a gleaming sword in hand. Next to him, Ferug, the secondson. My place was empty, but beside it stood little Midth, the smartest and kindest of us. He was a child now, but someday he would be a scholar or priest. He was destined for
meritorious greatness.

And then stood my father. Olune Standwell III, Lord of Standwell Keep. He had my eyes, or rather I had his. He looked at me with them, scanning me in disapproval. Even in my dreams he could bring me low. “What have you to say for yourself, Son?” he asked at length.

“I built a wall,” I offered.

“And it came down, didn’t it?”

I shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting them to have an engineer, much less a trebuchet . . .”

“Excuses! Always excuses.” He pointed at me and shook his head. “You’re as much a disappointment now as you were the day you deserted your post. Do you have any idea the legacy you’re meant to uphold? The history in your name?”

“Oh, here we go.”

“The Standwells have protected the crown for over two hundred years. I fought in the Great War along princes, generals and great knights. I brought honor and pride to my family name. What have you brought besides shame and embarrassment?”

I took a long breath and stared at the clouds around my feet. “I built a wall.”

“You’ve built nothing. You’ve done nothing. And you have nothing.”

I closed my eyes as tears welled. I’d avoided this lecture by getting caught after my desertion. I supposed I couldn’t run from it forever. He was right. I’d shamed my family, brought dishonor to my name, but that wasn’t all. He was wrong. I did have something. I had my friends. I had my own name. I didn’t need his. I was Lew the Wall Builder.

And he was gone, disappeared into the clouds from whence he came. I felt a peace then. No more tears, no more despair. I was free of it. Free of him.

I built a wall.

When I awoke again, I felt a profound sense of lost time, like I’d been under for days. It must have been a while, because I was the only patient in the infirmary. It was late evening, if the purple sky outside my window was any indication. The air was crisp, and the air from outside was full of the heady scent of wood fires in hearths. The only other person here was Antioc, who seemed to be falling asleep.

As soon as he saw I was awake, he sat up and grabbed my hand. “Welcome back, Lew.”

My dry lips cracked into a smile. “How long have I been under?”

“Two weeks,” he said. “You’ve woken a few times in between, but Nol said you might not remember.”

I closed my eyes and rested my head. I was starting to recall waking up occasionally, if only for a few seconds, as Gargath changed the dressing on my wounds or Reiwyn cleaned me with a wet rag. I really wished I could have remembered more of the latter. I’m sure it was pleasant.

“I suppose we won?” I asked. Antioc nodded and smiled. “How many did we lose?”

“Too many,” he said with a grim look. “After you were taken to the infirmary, the Scumdogs retreated through the breech. We weren’t going to wait for them to attack again, so we took the fight to them. We drove them up the White Road.”

“What about the trebuchet?”

“We captured it. Arn wanted to burn it, but Claster and I convinced him you’d want to keep it.”

I smiled. “You know me so well.” My hands slid down over my belly to the bandages tied there. I tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through me, causing me to hiss and moan.

“You need to rest.”

“I’ve
been
resting,” I said, panting as sweat poured down my brow, despite how cold it was. “I need to get up and fix that wall. We’ve only got . . . how many weeks until winter?”

He gave me a regretful look. “Winter will be upon us in two weeks, my friend. The north wind has already sealed the mountain passes. We will be here until spring.”

I sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s just as well. I’m not really in the mood to go stomping through the forest, fighting cannibal giants and Daevas knows what else is waiting for us in the ruins of Xanas Muir.”

He chuckled and rested his big hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and smiled. Sleep took me again as he pulled the wool blankets up over my shoulders.

When I came around once more, the sun was beaming in my window. I looked to the side of the bed and was graced with a much prettier face than the last one. “Well, hello,” I said. Reiwyn sat up as soon as she heard my voice, her blue eyes coming to life as she grabbed my hand and said my name. “I’m glad to see you, too,” I replied, smiling back at her. “How long was I out this time?”

“Just a day. You’re recovering quite well, according to Nol. Should be able to quit lying around and get back to work by tomorrow.” She laughed, a pleasant little sound I didn’t get to hear nearly enough from her. I laughed with her.

“I never got to say I was sorry to you,” I said after a little time together.

“Sorry for what?”

“For those terrible things I said to you by the lagoon. How all you cared about was finding a man to take care of you. Those were awful things to say, and I’m sorry.”

She smiled at me again. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do. Passion makes us say foolish things sometimes.”

“Then thank you. You were already forgiven, but I absolve you of all blame.”

Speaking of passion . . . ”You said something to me, when you thought I was dying.”

Her smile disappeared and she looked away from me. “Did I?”

I grinned. “Something about loving me.”

“Of course I love you, Lew. You’re one of my best friends.”

I nodded and looked at the ceiling, putting my hands behind my head. “Mhmm.” That was all I was going to get from her. Fair, I supposed. At least I knew it was requited. Even if she didn’t know it.

We floated in silence for a while, me lying there with her at my side. I had some more visitors throughout the day. Zindet brought me a potted plant, for some reason. Uller came by to brag about how his master had promoted him from apprentice to a full-fledged wizard. He even had a new robe made to replace the old, torn one from Magespire. I was proud of him, but nowhere near as proud as he was of himself. I fell asleep to Blackfoot chattering on about all the young girls in the colony who wouldn’t leave him alone now that he was a war hero.

When I awoke, it was the next morning. I was alone in the room with Arn, who stood at the foot of my bed. When I opened my eyes, he leaned forward and helped me sit up. “Are you fair?” he asked as I grabbed my side. I nodded. The stitches had been removed days ago and the flesh had knitted, but it still felt like I was being torn when I moved.

He helped me get dressed, offering me a fresh tunic and breeches. “I had these made for you. Your old clothes were covered with blood. Couldn’t have our hero walking around in rags.”

I grinned as he fixed the buttons at my chest. “I’m no hero.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “You could have left. You owed us nothing, you built the wall. But you stayed. You built machines that saved lives. This colony owes you a debt that can never be repaid.”

I winced as he tightened a leather belt around my waist. Red hung from it in a new scabbard made of leather and wicker. I rested my hand on the pommel and tried to breath in my new garb. It was difficult at first, getting my bearings after being on my back for a month, but it felt good to be standing again.

“It’s a shared honor,” I said, humbly. “You and the others did the fighting, I only did the building.”

He grinned at me and straightened my collar. It felt odd, being attended to by a man who could have been my king if he’d chosen a different path. “You did plenty of fighting, my friend.”

“I mostly just got stabbed.”

Arn nodded. “I suppose you’ll be staying with us a while? The mountain passes are frozen. I’m sorry you won’t be able to venture to Xanas Muir until spring.”

I shrugged, which hurt. I had forgotten about the wound on my face until I looked in the mirror on the wall. Ferun had left me with quite a set of scars. One thin one along my cheek, and the big one on my belly and back. I would wear them with honor, though, because I earned them protecting my friends, and my home.

We stepped out of the infirmary together. The colony was alive with activity. People were running along, carrying lumber around to rebuild. Arn pointed at the wall as we passed it. Most of it still stood, but the gate was down, with a great gaping hole in my otherwise impressive wall. The bodies were gone, but the blood stains remained in the wood. How many lives had been lost trying to breech this wall? Arn put the number at over three hundred, including those who died once the wall came down. Nearly half of Burlone’s force, a humiliating defeat that he would not recover from soon, if ever.

“We taught them a lesson,” said Arn with his hand on my shoulder.

I nodded, but couldn’t take my eyes off the blood. Memories of the battle came back to me, freezing my mind. I remembered the fear. I didn’t feel it at the time, but looking back I knew it was there. It crippled me now, leaving me dumbstruck as to how I could have functioned under it. I was just beginning to shake when Arn squeezed my shoulder and brought me out of it.

“Are you fair?” he asked.

All I could say was, “I don’t know.”

“Come,” he said, leading me from the wall. “There are some people waiting to see you.”

We walked, both of us limping a bit from our wounds, until we reached the newly built mess hall, where Arn left me with a pat on the back and a smile. “Enjoy this,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”

There, surrounding our table, were my friends. Their faces came to life when they saw me. Antioc rose and ran to my side, taking my arm and leading me to the table. Reiwyn hugged me, a little too hard, but I wasn’t going to complain. Zin and Uller sat together, hand in hand. Gargath and Hratoe were next to them. Blackfoot jumped on the table, running across it to reach me. When he did, I got a hug from him as well. Front-Strider was there, his arm in a sling and a bandage around his shoulder where he’d taken a crossbow bolt. I was surprised to see Claster and Horvis with them, but they welcomed me as friends as I walked to an offered seat.

We sat together and shared stories, laughing as we told of our brushes with death. We made light of the fear that we shared, and in that communion we found peace with it. Something happened when we all fought together. Something was forged, a chain of indestructible links. These were more than my friends. These were my brothers, my sisters, my family. And this was my home.

After an hour or so of shared tales and folly, I called everyone’s attention to me. I’d been thinking about this for days, but being here with them in this way had shown me my suspicions had been right. It was time to share our destiny with them all.

“There’s something I want to talk about,” I said, looking one at a time at Antioc, Uller, Reiwyn, and then Blackfoot. They all seemed to know right away what I was going to say, and they gave silent nods of approval.

They others stared at me, expectantly.

“I want to tell you about a place called Xanas Muir.”

About the Author

Sean was born in Mesa, Arizona, but has spent most of his life in Missouri. Sean has a B.S. in Sociology from Missouri Southern State University, and a Masters degree in Criminology/Criminal Justice from Pittsburg State University. He is the author of the urban fantasy series
The Dragon's Blood Chronicles
, and
Moth
, the first book in a series of paranormal mysteries
. Exiles of Forlorn
is his first YA novel, as well as his first foray into traditional fantasy.

His literary influences include H.P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, George R.R. Martin, J.R.R. Tolkien, Mark Lawrence, and R.A. Salvatore. Sean has been writing his entire life, but was inspired to begin writing professionally in 2008 after watching a terrible--albeit, popular--vampire franchise film. Sean was so annoyed with the film that he entertained himself by imagining dragons killing the vampires, which went on to inspire his first novel,
The Shadow of Tiamat
, the first book in the 4-part Dragon's Blood Chronicles.

Sean lives in the Lake Ozark region of Missouri with his wife Amanda and several cats. When he's not writing, he enjoys reading, watching films, playing Xbox and collecting firearms.

You can find Sean at these links:

www.seanpoindexter.com

www.facebook.com/seanpoindexter