Farmers & Mercenaries (18 page)

A
bitter wind raked Arderi Cor’s skin. Despite a nagging voice in the back of his head telling him to go home, he continued to wander aimlessly through the stead. Goose-pimples sprang up on his uncovered arms. When he left the house this morn, he had not expected to be out after dark so had not dressed for the chill of the late eve. Early spring eves could still get nippy, and this one turned out to be no exception.

The desire to avoid bumping into anyone who might know him, forced him to wander away from the fielder public housing district and into areas he had rarely been. The tall, whitewashed public houses of the hearders cast the alleys between them into total darkness, causing his imagination to wonder at what lay hidden inside. Even the dimness of the main streets, lit only by a smattering of oil lamps, hung an ominous gloom over his spirit.

Tracing the southron wall, losing himself in the simple sounds and smells of the animals as he wound through in-stead pens and the odd barn or feed silo, he was startled to find a large group of men making camp on the fairgrounds. Curious, he snuck closer, crouching down in the shadows of a corner fence.

Across from him, standing in opened-eyed wonder, stood a group of young herders gawking at all the goings on. Hidden, he watched the camp take shape. Many tents had been raised and a cooking fire blazed away in the center of the area. A large pot dangled over it and the aroma of a stew drifted out. Scores of horses stood picketed on a rope line that stretched between the fencing. A cluster of wagons rested on the far edge of the grounds nearest the main road.

They look to be fighting men. Still, they wear no uniforms so they cannot be soldiers. Mayhaps they are mercenaries!

Arderi’s mind raced, remembering the tales he had heard in this very field from bards who came during festival times. They told of the free ranging fighting men who would sell their swords to those who could pay. He turned and sat, leaning his back against the fence post, and pulled his knees to his chest. Imagination took the better of him and he dreamed himself living the adventure of a bard’s tale.

They
must
be heading to Mocley! Those wagons look stuffed full of the treasure they acquired on their journey!

For well over an aurn he sat huddled up in his shadow, listening to the bustle of the camp, daydreaming.

Arderi awoke with a start. He did not remember falling asleep, yet knew he had. Looking around the camp, he saw that all was quiet. The fire had burned low; snores and snorts emanated from the dark mounds that littered the area closest to him. All the tents sat dark and silent.

As Arderi stood, pain shot down the back of his neck. Remaining in the position he had drifted off in had caused his muscles to stiffen and tighten. With no moon visible in the sky, and since he had never learned how to use the stars as guides, he had no idea how late it was. A pang of guilt ripped through him. His parents would be upset since he failed to come home this eve.

They must be worried sick!

Even with this realization, he could not bring himself to start the journey home.

I am a failure. Better that I never return than to see the look of shame in their eyes.

Casting his gaze over the sleeping camp, with its tents and men, horses and wagons, his heart hardened with resolve. Melting into the shadows of the southron wall, he stalked like a cat. Skirting the animal pens so as not to disturb their occupants, he made his way around to the far side of the camp—and more importantly, to the wagons.

Breaking from the dark cover, he crept across the last bit of ground that separated him from his goal. His breath caught in his throat when a small stone shot out of the darkness to his right and skidded across the ground, coming to rest directly in front of him. Dropping flat to the ground, he strained his ears, listening for any sound. Footsteps followed the stone from the direction it had come.

Someone draws near!

Glancing back, Arderi knew he could not make it back to the safety of the wall before whoever approached discovered him. Hardly a wisp of air escaped him. He lay prone in the chilly darkness, listening to the footsteps draw near. The shape of a man materialized out of the gloom some twenty paces away. The guarder used a spear as a walking stick, and bore a line that would take him directly across the spot where Arderi lay. Pressing hands to dirt, Arderi prepared to rise and bolt.

“A bit of crock, I say!” A loud whisper came out of the dark from off to the left.

The man with the spear stopped and turned, scanning the area. He nodded, and a second man’s form came into view. “Aye.” The first man nodded his head. “I see no reason for a third watch inside these walls either. Yet, we do as we are told. Master Rillion is in charge and it was by his order. Even Alimia voiced against it.”

“Aye, I saw the exchange. Better her than me in dealing with that man, I say. I have yet to meet a man such as him.” The new man gave a grunt of a laugh. “He walks among us like a lion surrounded by sheep.”

“Aye, tis true. Alas, I have seen the man fight. We are all sheep compared to his skill with the blade. I am not so sure I believe all the bard’s tales about some mystical Tat’Sujen Order. Yet, if they are true, Master Rillion is not far from the telling.”

“Mayhaps, you will—” A quick wave of the hand silenced the man. Whipping his head around, he looked directly at the spot Arderi lay. Panning his gaze off toward the animal pens, he turned back to the other guarder. “You will have to tell me what you have seen over lastmeal one eve. For now, keep to your rounds. That demon of a woman seems to know when to show up, and I will not risk her wicked tongue if I can help it.” He slapped the other on the shoulder and broke away, disappearing into the darkness.

Arderi watched the first man stand for a short time, then head off as well, toward the main cobblestone street that ran along the northron side of the fairgrounds. Not realizing he was holding his breath, he let it out in a slow, quiet, quivering stream. When he was sure he was once again alone, he let his muscles relax as well.

That was close!

Rising up on all fours, he scrambled across the field and slipped underneath one of the wagons. Trying to regain control of his breath, Arderi listened to the sounds surrounding him. He forced himself to wait a half an aurn to insure he had gone undetected. The guarders made two more passes by his hiding spot during that time, yet raised no alarm.

After the guarders had passed him for the third time, he slipped to the side of the wagon and studied the jumble of gear and supplies that filled its interior. Working quick and quiet, he adjusted the crates and barrels, sacks and bags, until he created a small tunnel into the interior of the pile. Twice during his excavation he was forced to take cover beneath the wagon for fear of discovery by the roving men with spears. When satisfied that all was ready, he took one long panning view of the only place he had ever lived, steeled himself, then slid feet first into the small compartment he had created. He sealed off the entrance with a large sack of grain put aside for that purpose.

Unsure of how long he laid there—his mind chasing stray thoughts like a cat dropped into a room full of mice—exhaustion overcame him and he fell into a deep sleep.

Alant, I will be with you soon, brother.

T
he morning started out normally. Klain awoke just after sunrise and immediately made his way to the kitchen area to break his fast. Grabbing the plate of raw meat that always awaited him, he strode out of the villa and into the garden area.

Sitting at the bench and table, eating his food from a serving fork as opposed to off the dish directly—or off the floor as he had done until recently—still made him feel odd, as if this new life were merely a dream that he would wake from at any moment. As always, the food tasted incredible.

Everything in this new life is incredible.

The warmth of the morn spilled over him. Spring had fallen full upon the city of Mocley, and Klain enjoyed the sun’s rays penetrating his lush, spotted fur. Distant smells of fruit and fauna filled his nostrils with their fragrances. After devouring all that lay on his plate, and about to return the dish to the kitchen, he noticed Sarshia step out the back door.

“Ah, Klain, I trust you slept well, hmm?” Sarshia glided across the crushed gravel and sat down opposite Klain. Yerina’s mother followed her out of the villa and placed a silver tray of fruit and cheese upon the table. “My thanks, Friaya, this will do nicely.” The dark-haired woman curtsied and withdrew back inside.

Eyeing the pittance upon her tray, Klain waited until Sarshia settled on the bench before answering. “Aye, Honored One. I slept well. I was unaware you were in the villa. I thought I heard your carriage leaving early this morn.”

“I had things to attend to for my journey home.” Skewering a cube of cheese, she lifted it to her dark gray lips. “I was also able to meet with Rohann Vimith, the merchant I spoke of.”

An uneasiness fell over Klain. “Aye.”

“He was in town earlier this morn. He has since left for his villa in the countryside. I would very much like him to meet with you and discuss your employment before I depart Mocley for my homeland. If we leave within the aurn, we should be to his villa just before halfmeal.”

A blue bird flitted out of a nearby tree and landed on the gravel path that led deeper into the garden. Klain took a moment to gaze at it. It pecked around in the crushed stone looking for its firstmeal, and he thought back on his own life. Himself no more than scratching in the dirt for his food. All that had led him here. At his hesitation in seeing it come to an end.

I knew I could never stay here. The thought of losing my freedom however…

“Employment is not slavery, Klain, yes?” The Elmorr’Antien set her eating prong down on the table. “You have come along well, and are not the beast you were when you arrived. You see how things fit together, yes? I think this is your greatest ability. Under the employ of this merchant, you will gain much, I think.”

Casting his gaze across the villa grounds, the loss Klain felt grew. “Gain? What is there that I need?”

A smile touched Sarshia’s lips. “Again, I will state that employment is not slavery, yes? You will do as the merchant says, yet in return for your loyalty and hard work, the merchant must give to you as well, yes?”

A snort escaped Klain’s nostrils. “So he will feed me. Even my old Master did that.”

The odd look of amusement took hold of Sarshia’s features for a moment. “Yes, he will feed you. He will also have a room for you to stay in and pay you a wage. You would like to have coin of your own, hmm?”

“Aye. Yerina’s mother has taken me shopping in the markets. I understand the use of coin well enough.” Klain still found the practice of trading something as worthless as a pretty coin for something you could use such as food to be absurd.

Letting a moment pass, her penetrating stare held Klain silent. The Elmorr’Antien reached out and placed a three-fingered hand on Klain’s arm. Her touch, something Klain had never felt before, was ice cold. It penetrated the thick fur of his paw instantly, yet he did not pull away for fear of offending her. “He will also be there to teach you.”

Using the excuse of showing her his strength, he pulled his paw out from under her hand and flexed it. He always admired the way his claws extended and retracted.

It gives me power over the weaker races that surround me.

“I have been taught. I proved that in the Games.”

“Oh, yes. You did at that. I am not doubting your physical skills. Yet, would you not now like to learn to read, hmm? Or to write?”

Waving into the air, Klain shook his head. “Why would I have need of such things? I have the claw, the fang, the sword if I am given one.”

Bowing her head, Sarshia blinked. “This may be so, and those things will serve you well, yes? I think, however, that you are clever enough to know that if you are going to have a future, you will have to know more than just brute force.” Pushing herself up, her thin arms flexing, she stood. “Come. We need to meet Rohann. And I have one final gift for you before we leave.”

Following her into the villa, they passed through the kitchen. Little Yerina peeked out from behind the doorway that led to the servants’ quarters at Klain, yet would not come out into the open with Sarshia in the room. Cutting through the main dining hall, its marble floors enhancing the sounds of Klain’s claws as he padded along behind his host, they entered the entrance hall. The tall main doors stood open to allow a cooling spring breeze to flow throughout the residence. Fresh flowers arranged in vases lined the walls, adding to the allure of the place.

A deep redwood box rested on the center table. Sarshia glided up to it and opened its lid. Stepping back, she indicated for Klain to come forward and look inside. Lying in the box, nestled in soft folds of purple cloth, lay a sword. Jets of black streaked through its length. At first, other than the color, Klain saw nothing unusual about the weapon. Upon further inspection, he realized that its hilt was unlike any he had ever seen.

The hilt, capped with what looked like a metal claw, was split in twain, as if someone had driven a wedge through it, bowing out one side.

“This was not something easy to come by, yes?” Sarshia’s voice snapped Klain from the almost trance-like state he had fallen into. “These weapons, a Mi’nathe blade, have not been made for millennia. Not since your race was more abundant upon Talic’Nauth and had more influence in civilized matters, yes?”

A cold shiver slammed through Klain as if he had been struck. “My race? I thought the Kithians were scattered out amongst the northron wastes. It is said they are more rare than diamonds.”

Sarshia tilted her head slightly into a nod. “That is true now. Yet, in times past, the Kithian race was a force helping to carve the future of many races. Mayhaps now is not the time for history to be told, yes?” Holding out a hand, she indicated the box. “The hilt is designed to fit around a Kithian’s paw. Try it, hmm?”

Klain reached out and scooped the sword from the box. It was heavier than he had expected, easily twice as heavy as any normal sword of this length he had wielded. The black streaks he assumed were part of the blade’s structure, shifted as he lifted the blade.

As if
the blade absorbs the light.

Hefting the weapon, Klain ran a paw down its length.

It is the length of a long sword, yet twice as thick. A slashing weapon, then.

Slipping his fingers into the gap in the hilt, he found that the bowed portion rested comfortably around the back of his paw. His thick fingers wrapped around the triangle-shaped grip, the ridged portions slipping between his fat knuckles.

It fits my hand like a second skin!

Taking a few practice strokes, it amazed him at how well it complimented the attacks he had learned with the sword.

Except, with a sword made for Humans, I always felt as if
I would lose my grip. This…

“As I said, it was made for the paw of a Kithian.” A twinkle lit Sarshia’s liquid-black eyes.

Not wanting to offend his host, Klain returned the sword back to its box. “It is masterfully made. I am sure you are happy to have one.”

A thin smile split Sarshia’s dark lips. She reached out a bony arm and plucked the sword from the box as easily as a child picking up a dry stick. Holding it before her, she bowed slightly. “The Mi’nathe is meant for you, yes?”

Klain was speechless. Reaching out, he cupped the sword in his paws. His vision blurred, irritating him because it took the weapon out of focus. He could not understand what would cause that until a drop of water fell onto the blade. He looked up. “Is the roof leaking?” Something had caught in his throat as well, causing his words to come out in a croak.

Smiling, Sarshia reached out a hand and wiped a tear from the side of his cheek. “No. You are.”

Dragging the back of a paw over his eyes, Klain was shocked to see it come away wet. Embarrassment filled him at his show of weakness, and he fought to control this new and foreign emotion. Returning his attention to the sword, he slid a paw into the split, V-shaped hilt, marveling once more at how snug it felt. He glanced back into the Elmorr’Antien’s black eyes and tried to speak, finding that no words would escape his lips.

Sarshia bowed her blue-gray, teardrop shaped head, her strange look of amusement enhanced beyond any Klain had seen before. “It is my pleasure to have given this to you. No words are needed, yes?”

Clinching his jaw, Klain remained at a loss as to what to do. He bobbed his head in quick succession, reached back into the box, and withdrew the belt and scabbard that sat next to where the blade had rested. Slipping the sword into place in the sheath, he belted it around his hips.

Even the belt fits me well. This will not rub me as one made for a Human does.

Stretching to his full height, Klain had never felt so proud. “Sarshia, Honored One, I am grateful for your gift.” Hot tears rolled down the fur covering his cheeks as he said the words. He felt no shame in them now. The knot that had lived in Klain’s core his entire life seemed to loosen.

Smiling, the Elmorr’Antien tilted her head slightly. “Come, it is time for you to leave and start the next chapter in your life, yes?” Raising a thin, gray-blue arm, she pointed back toward the kitchen door. “Say your goodbyes.”

Turning around, Klain caught sight of Yerina hovering in the doorway. Tears streamed down the little girl’s face, and she stood with her arms wrapped around her thin waist rocking on the balls of her feet. Klain took a step toward her and the little girl ran to him. Falling on one knee, he wrapped her in his strong, furry arms as she slammed into him crying harder than before.

“I will miss you, my little Human prey.”

Nuzzling her face deep into his spotted fur, she hung on as if for life. “You will come back and see me, will you not, Klain?”

Glancing up at Sarshia, his eyes asking the question he did not trust his voice to speak aloud. At Sarshia’s nod, he pulled Yerina out to arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “Aye, my little cub. You shall see me again.”

Giving him one more long hug, the girl slipped from his grasp and ran deeper into the villa. Klain stayed in his kneeling position watching her go, then stared at the empty doorway she had disappeared through until the Elmorr’Antien laid an icy cold hand upon his shoulder.

“Come, my carriage waits outside.”

It was the first time Klain had ridden in the carriage. He had not ventured out of the villa except a few times during his stay there—those being simple trips to the market down the street. Yet, every time he ventured outside, people gawked and stared at him. At first, this had upset him since it reminded him of his days with the ménagerie. Sarshia had calmed him with the explanation that there had never been a Kithian in Mocley before, so of course they would stare. They stared at her all the time since Elmorr’Antiens were rare walking amongst Humans as well.

Now I understand why she travels in this carriage!

This small box on wheels was not unlike the cage he had grown up inside.

Yet, this has no bars and the door is not locked.

Thick, blood-red curtains covered the windows so if anyone stared at the carriage as it passed, Klain was unaware of them. The two sat in silence, and for this Klain was glad. Inside his mind a war raged.

Who is this Rohann Vimith? What could he have done to earn the Honored One’s debt? How will I fit in with the Humans who have done nothing for me except give me grief, pain and agony?

This, and much more, raced through Klain’s head while the carriage rolled through the streets of Mocley. It took well over an aurn for them to reach their destination, yet finally, the carriage came to a stop. Sarshia slipped out first into the bright light of the early midday sun.

Joining her, Klain found himself in a wide, open courtyard at the foot of a massive set of stairs. The stairs ascended to a patio lining the front of a villa. A villa so large it put Sarshia’s to shame. It was a three-story monstrosity of stone with stained-glass windows covering most of the second and third stories. At intervals between the windows, large evergreen trees, twisted into spirals, shot up to just below the clay-shingled roof. A fountain, its water streaming high into the air, sat in the center of the cobble-paved courtyard where the carriage now stood.