Of Bones and Blood
An original work of fiction by Alek Wise. Any characters resembling real people in this work are pure coincidence, as are any events or situations relating to real life. Please feel free to comment (constructive, positive comments only please. Negative comments will be disregarded) at your leisure by emailing me directly at alekwise84 (at) gmail (dot) com. Enjoy!
Chapter Five Riders from M'Lora
Brande Tholwilde had been woken much too early. The door of his bedchamber had been thrown open harshly and his brother rushed past the accompanying guards to cross the threshold in frenzy. Clearly alarmed by the intrusion, Brande bolted upright in his bed.
"The Council you so nobly serve is directing riders from M'Lora to my court!" Talis yelled as he marched to a nearby window where he planted his palms firmly upon the rough, stone sill. "They will no doubt arrive soon," he finished in a more tolerant tone as he gazed onto the waking mountainsides beyond the city that dove steeply toward the banks of the Naga River.
Brande yawned and began to stretch. He clearly did not share his brother's dislike regarding the Council's decision. Brande placed one foot on the cold, stone floor and quickly drew it away as though he were a duckling taking his first winter swim.
"This is ridiculous." Talis spat as he turned to cast a glare at his brother.
"Why, brother, have you resigned yourself to stress?" Brande asked groggily as he climbed reluctantly from his warm bed and stood on his toes. He held his arms high and stretched his aching muscles. Talis paid him no attention and instead instructed the guards to wait outside the bedchamber.
"The dove arrived this morning," Talis answered in a grave tone that was laced with mild aggravation. He continued to speak once the large oak door had been securely closed. "The Council sends word that Southland has fallen." Talis did not look at his brother while he spoke. He knew the expression Brande would wear. Instead, he began pacing as he spoke. "Riders from M'Lora have been instructed to trek the mountain pass beyond the Dead Road. Their destination is now the mountain prison. They will bring darkness upon us, brother. It may follow them in or it may drive them out, but rest assured the lurking evils will find us by the prodding hands of the Gael N'Aem." Talis then turned to look at Brande with folded arms.
Brande had been struggling not only to absorb his brother's ill news but also to thrust himself into a pair of leggings. He fought with his clothing for some time before finally settling into his garb. Talis had since returned to the window.
"We must send word," Brande began. "Recall all those deployed to offer aide to Southland and-"
"It is already done, brother," Talis snapped under his breath. "Our fastest riders and several doves were dispatched at dawn." Brande nodded and rubbed his brow.
"I must know the details of this situation. Roan Vyce has no doubt heard from his brother in the south." Brande was going to speak again, but instead paused to study his brother for a moment. Then, "What troubles you?" he inquired as Talis gazed through the window. "You consider defying the Council?" It was a statement of revelation more than a question, a statement that earned Brande a sigh from his brother. "You would turn them out into the Myst?"
"I think only of the safety of our people," Talis rationalized.
"Talis," Brande stepped closer to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know your burden. I feel it as well, but do not make the same mistakes Father made. We have proven our devotion and hold a seat on the Council. That is far more than he accomplished. Do not destroy the bonds we have created." Talis turned to face Brande and he set his jaw as he stared into his brother's eyes. Brande continued, "If the darkness continues to rise, we may require help to survive."
"The Gael N'Aem? You would turn to the wizards of M'Lora for aide?" Talis said in a shaken tone.
"If the need arises. Who better to defend us?" Brande stated plainly.
"Where were the Gael N'Aem during the Great War, Brande?" He held his arms wide to punctuate his query. "Where were they when innocent blood was spilling into the streets and the rivers ran black with the foul taint of evil?"
"Rebuilding a broken order--"
"Yes," Talis muttered with a gloss of disappointment on his face. "That is what they would have us believe. I wish only that I could understand the faith you have in their ways." Brande did not appreciate his brother's tone, nor did he favor being spoken over.
"Do not cast disapproving visages as me, my brother," Brande said boldly as he pointed a stern finger toward his brother. "You speak of the needless spilling of blood and tainted waters when only one day past you beheaded a starving man and tossed his corpse into the Naga." Talis looked away from his brother, his gaze settled on the stone floor as Brande's words lashed at him. He held his tongue despite his want to defend his actions. "The barbaric punishments must cease," Brande ordered, "lest you wish our Council seat vacated!" Talis looked at Brande, who wore a mask of resolution that Talis rarely saw on him. Having heard enough from his brother, Talis marched calmly to the door of the bedchamber.
Brande tried to contain the disappointment he felt toward his brother. He remembered a time when he and his brother were not burdened with the trials of maintaining peace. Their father tended such matters while they had spent their days wandering the Mysts, against parental advisement of course, and jesting with the townspeople who spared them the time. Brande remembered a time of innocence before the stain of spilled blood had tainted his brother's heart and mind. He wished for that time to return to them so they might leave the madness of court duties to those who truly welcome such torture.
"I will afford the riders shelter for two nights," Talis declared as he turned one last time, "one when they pass through and the other for their return journey. That is all. I sincerely hope your faith in the Gael N'Aem is not sorely misplaced, Councilor."
The door slammed solidly shut behind Talis, which drew a breeze as cold as Talis' words into the bedchamber. Brande could feel the tremors caused by Talis' childlike stomping as he marched down the corridor. He was left with consuming thoughts and growing fears.
He turned to the window for consolation and fresh, chilling air. There he gazed onto a waking city. The brilliant light of the morning sun was chasing the mist from the rooftops, and the dew-covered mountainsides beyond the city walls glimmered like precious jewels. Merchants were arriving with trade goods and the townspeople had begun to step from their homes onto the cobblestone streets. It was a refreshing vision, and he was thankful the bloodied court square was not within sight.
Brande's brief moment of peace and clarity was shattered when he heard the muted cries of the city guards as they undoubtedly chased another of Talis' criminals through the winding streets. He closed his eyes and sighed. Frustration brought wrinkles to the surface of his forehead.
"I pray you are stealthy," Brande mumbled as he thought of the trails awaiting the fugitive should he be caught. The townspeople below either did not hear the guard's cries or did not care. Brande expected they were likely numb to the exclamations of his brother's minions.
Brande turned, rubbed his brow and attempted to prepare himself for a truly long day. He adjusted his clothing and calmed his racing thoughts before finally exiting the bedchamber.
...
Lanse sat motionless beside Adoran, who lay unconscious on a cot in the great court of Brandyshire. Wounded from the farthest stretches of Brandyshire had been brought to the court for healing. Lanse had been at Adoran's side since he and a guard carried him from the inn. Lanse waited patiently for any indication that the Gael N'Aem would wake. Adoran had slept for hours without offering the slightest indication that he might stir, and Lanse began to wonder if he would see Adoran wake at all. Lanse sat playing with his hands in silence. The bustling of the healers and the injured that surrounded them added to his distaste for the situation.
To elevate matters to a higher level of disturbance, Lanse noticed the twins had disappeared as the last of the wolves were defeated. Their whereabouts remained a mystery to everyone. Lanse pondered their role in recent events. He suspected the twins were either tracking any remaining wolves or were leading them far from Adoran's location. Regardless, Lord Plaseharold had dispatched all remaining court guards to the walls of the city. There they remained on constant watch. Archers and swordsmen roamed the streets of the city on patrol, and townspeople with healing experience were called to the court to help tend to the wounded.
Lanse reflected on the perfection that defined his days in Southland before the winter storms arrived. He puzzled over the changes he had undergone and the challenges he would no doubt face in the future. A hint of amusement struck him when he realized how easily one could be torn from an ideal life only to be tossed into a chaotic nightmare, but that amusement faded instantly.
Events from the previous night began playing in his mind. The haunting image of the dark beast lurked in his memory. Before them had towered a terrible, unnatural sight, and Adoran had assumed a defensive stance against the encroaching evil. He recalled the heinous expression on the beast and the sudden burst of light, heat and sheer force that both saved them and pulled Adoran into the deepest of slumbers.
Lanse let his eyes rest on Adoran at last. The Gael N'Aem's face grew paler with each passing hour. Lanse wondered if the powerful, handsome being before him would succumb to a terror of his own design, and he further wondered why he, himself, had not endured similar consequences.
He gazed at Adoran's resting eyes and felt the seed of fear sprout deep in his mind. He feared a future he may be forced to face without Adoran at his side. Lanse began to wonder if the twins would aid him still? He feared the horrors waiting in the growing darkness. The idea of riding with a Gael N'Aem had, at first, terrified him. Since that day however, he had found protection and an unexpected sense of comfort in a stranger.
Lanse leaned in closely to the cot that held Adoran and let his hand rest delicately on the naked skin of Adoran's forearm. In a soft voice he queried, "Why do you sleep?"
"Two horses wait in the court stables," said an unexpected voice in a stern timbre. Lanse stood abruptly and pulled away from Adoran in a frantic manner as if he had been scorched by flames. He turned to find a man in his early twenties standing patiently behind him. His hair was wildly curled and he wore the robes of a Lord. Lanse took a moment to steady his still-racing heart and rid himself of a panicked expression. "It's likely that the beasts you ride are the reason the wolves found you. If the stories I hear bare truth then they will continue to track you as long as you ride them. My horses will carry you swiftly to the City of Smiles, and hopefully they will also mask your trail."
"Thank you," Lanse responded kindly with a nod.
"How is he?" Lord Plaseharold asked as he motioned toward Adoran.
"He sleeps still," was Lanse's mild response. "The healers can do nothing."
"I suspected as much," Plaseharold admitted in a mild tone. "Trust that he will wake soon," he told Lanse confidently. "He is nothing if not stubborn. I will see you both to the gates when he rises." Lanse watched as Plaseharold walked quietly away and disappeared into the mass of townspeople that occupied the court.
Lanse sighed and closed his eyes tightly. He took his seat once again and rested his head in his hands. He wanted badly to sleep but his mind raced with thoughts, and an unforeseen concern for Adoran grew by the hour and would allow him no peace. He longed for a warm, sunny day on the beaches of Southland, for cool surf and coarse sand and for a time before magic and dark terrors.
Lanse found the strength to open his eyes again. When he glanced up he found a young girl clothed in blue standing over Adoran. She looked curiously at Adoran's face and then her eyes scanned over his chest and abdomen, and then his legs and feet. Her calculated movements caught Lanse's undivided attention. She inspected the underside of Adoran's arms and then felt his forehead for a moment. Lanse considered questioning her but thought better of it suddenly.
"He will wake soon," the girl said confidently, suddenly, as she tended to Adoran.
She appeared no older than Lanse. Her sleeves were rolled almost to her shoulders and blood stains tinted her pale skin nearly as high. Her auburn hair flowed from her head as molten metal might from a smithy's fire. Her blue eyes danced in the dull light of the court and around each slender wrist she wore a golden, lattice tatto. Her expression was plain and utterly innocent.
"How do you know this?" he finally managed. The girl walked around Adoran's cot and stood next to Lanse.
"He bears no physical wounds," she answered plainly, sweetly. "He is not at risk of bleeding to death, nor does he appear malnourished. There are no bruises or broken bones to speak of and no lumps on the head." Her childlike observations brought the beginnings of a smile to Lanse's lips. It was nice to hear something positive even if it seemed far from possible.
Still, Lanse regarded the girl with curiosity and more than a bit of caution. If he did not know better he would have thought her tattoos seemed to revolve, to move across the surface of her skin as if they crawled around her wrists. He resigned such notions to a sleepless night and dim lighting.
"How does a girl so young become an expert in healing?" he queried. The girl perked her eyebrows and thought briefly about his question.
"How does one so broken find solace in a stranger?" Lanse wore a look of shock and confusion.
"I—No. I— " Lanse fought for a complete thought but the young girl was quick to cut his chain on nonsensical words.
"See?" She motioned with a nod of her head to Adoran. "He wakes."
Lanse looked to Adoran. His eyes had begun to flutter open and then tightly seal shut again. He cleared his throat and tried to breathe deeply but began a coughing fit instead. Lanse turned back to the girl only to fine she had gone. He stood as tall as he could manage and looked around the large hall. He saw many women dressed as the girl who had just spoken to him, but none with her young figure or fiery hair.
"Fates," Lanse thought. "My mind must be growing weak."
"What is the day?" Adoran inquired softly through clenched teeth.
"The 38th day of the 9th month," Lanse answered as he turned back to Adoran. With a helpful hand, Lanse aided Adoran so that he could sit upright on the makeshift cot where he lay. Adoran looked around the court as his eyes swirled with fatigue and weakness. "Fires broke out in several areas. The wolves toppled lamps and lanterns as they pillaged. Our inn was among those that burned. Though, you did a fair amount of damage as well." He watched as Adoran processed the information and turned to look at him questioningly. "You were out for many hours," he added. "I was beginning to fear the worst."
"We are not safe here," Adoran managed. He appeared to disregard Lanse's last comment. "We must leave." Adoran gazed absently amid the court as he spoke. Lanse shook an unspoken notion from his mind and presented Adoran with a cup containing a cold, cloudy liquid.
"Drink this," Lanse instructed. Adoran lifted the small, clay cup to his nose and sniffed cautiously. His face contorted into an odd expression and he shied away from the cup before throwing Lanse a look of disapproval. Nonetheless, he brought the cup to his lips and began guardedly sipping the liquid it contained.
"Tea the healers left for you hours ago," Lanse explained. "It should work as well cold as hot."
Adoran looked carefully at Lanse and then grinned despite his wearied state.
"I suspect heat would only amplify its odor," Adoran said softly. Several minutes passed as he sipped the disgusting liquid but eventually he managed to finish the tea. He was sitting taller and, Fates be kind, looked pinker amid the cheeks and eyes. Adoran had downed nearly half of the bitter liquid when Lanse interrupted the silence and his thoughts.
"What happened?" Adoran turned to look at Lanse. "Last night I thought I was going to die," Lanse managed after a moment. "At first I thought the wolf would be my end but then I felt your power. I felt terrible pain but I bear no injury to prove it." Lanse swallowed hard and then laughed uncomfortably. "And I thought you were going to die as well." Adoran was silent for a few moments. He searched in his empty cup for an answer.
"I was foolish," Adoran answered as he continued to play with the cup he held. "The darkness holds many terrible horrors. When I faced the wolf I reacted hastily...recklessly. If I had been fully rested or born anew..." Adoran sighed heavily and placed the cup gently on the stone floor beside his cot. Lanse wore a perplexed expression.
"Born anew?" Lanse questioned.
"We must leave soon," Adoran responded in a more determined tone. Lanse sensed he was purposefully steering the conversation astray. "We must reach the City of Smiles." Lanse's curiosity remained peaked. He wanted desperately to know more about the events that had caused Adoran's condition but he sensed Adoran's unsettledness and thought it best to let the topic rest.
"Plaseharold has horses waiting in the stables to carry us from Brandyshire," Lanse began after clearing his throat. "He believes your companions are the reason we were attacked and recommends other means of travel."
"I fear he may be correct. The twins have distanced themselves from Brandyshire. Their presence in my mind is faint. Come," he said as he swung his legs slowly from the cot, "we must ride."
"You must rest," Lanse instructed. "You are in no condition to travel."
"Rest will not cure my ills," Adoran responded in a bleak tone. "I require healing beyond the capabilities of common medicine."
"I do not understand," Lanse said with a furrowed brow.
"I brought this condition upon myself," Adoran explained. "The cure lies not within these walls. Go to the stables and ensure the horses are ready. My strength returns. I will follow in a moment." Lanse hesitated. He wore a look of disapproval. "Go," Adoran repeated weakly. Lanse turned, against his better judgment, and set out to find the horses Lord Plaseharold had promised to them.
...
"May I enter?" Sha asked of Roan as she stood patiently waiting at the threshold of his bedchamber.
"Of course," Roan answered as he returned the truthstone to the jeweled case. A wave of his hand saw the case securely locked.
"The Chief Councilor has dispatched aide to Brandyshire. A dove arrived this morning and its message is dated 09-38-021."
Roan turned to regard Sha in disbelief. His hands fell to his sides.
"They have attacked Brandyshire? How many have fallen?"
"It is unknown. Lord Plaseharold's message was brief." Sha approached the foot of the bed and sat delicately upon it with a soft sigh. "The King sends word as well. He travels from the Jade City as we speak and will arrive in the coming days." Sha swallowed and then hesitantly stated, "I fear your brother and his charge may not last the distance to this city."
"We must trust that we are in our rightful places." Roan tried to remain confident, but his assurances were transparent at best. Sha thought his resolve admirable, but secretly she hoped his youth and naivety would not betray him. Roan continued, "Adoran will arrive with the young Lord and the riders will inspect the prison. We will know the truth of things before the moon is spent."
Sha nodded slighted but kept her eyes trained on the floor. "I fear the truth, Roan," she said hesitantly as she rubbed a dull pain from her knuckles, "and the coming darkness. I fear these attacks are merely an overture to a lurking cataclysm."
Roan sat next to Sha and adjusted his mouth while he thought. The two of them looked out the window of Roan's bedchamber at a brilliant sky set ablaze by a falling sun. "I do as well."
...
The tall wooden doors of the small court swung open with great protest. The Gael N'Aem who crossed the threshold were remarkably dressed, even for riding sentries. Two stood stall, their muscular frames and square jaws were accented only by the Temple robes they wore. The third wore an identical robe, but stood several hands shorter and appeared several years younger than the other two. Their party seemed, according to the betraying thoughts of Talis, a cruel joke tailored by the Fates themselves.
Talis stood over a young man who lay crouched on the floor. The young man bled from his mouth and a vibrant purple coloring swelled around his right eye. His tattered clothing and unkempt appearance shouted his social class to all who dared look upon his form. Talis towered over the disheveled youth and kept a boot pinned harshly to the boy's shoulder to assert his dominance. He had been interrogating the boy before the Gael N'Aem arrived. If the expressions on their faces were any indication, the sight clearly troubled the Gael N'Aem.
"Rides from M'Lora, my Lord," one of the Lord's guards spoke loudly from beyond the threshold.
"Leave them and return to your post," Talis barked in annoyance.
"What crime has befallen this boy?" the oldest of the three asked in a husky voice without delay. The wizard appeared no older than Talis, but he was clearly seasoned by the weather of the Great Kingdom. His lack of patience shined brilliantly in his assertive tone.
"He was caught stealing a dove from the King's riders," Talis explained. "His sentence is pending." Talis looked at the young man on the floor, who appeared to shrink further into the stone to escape the horrible gaze of Lord Tholwilde. A wide grin spread across Talis' bristled face.
"This boy is no thief," the youngest Gael N'Aem spoke with unexpected confidence. "He is no criminal."
Talis appeared taken aback by the bold statement. He cocked his head and pointed an accusing finger at the youngest of the three. He seemed to stutter over a thought, obviously weaving a display of his authority.
"You would enter my court," he began arrogantly, "and question my judgment?" His tone was lined with cynicism and overconfidence.
The second of the three was quick to defend the youngest. "It is written plainly upon him, your Lord."
"His mind does not lie to us," the youngest added while looking into Talis' chilling eyes.
Talis removed his boot from the young man's shoulder, but was smart enough to rethink challenging the three Gael N'Aem whose abilities, truth be told, frightened him to his bones. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice from an unnoticed visitor cut him off before he could further humiliate himself.
"You will have to forgive my brother," Brande said as he strode into the court from a side entry. The redness in his cheeks shouted that he was obviously mortified. "He is not often presented with the opportunity to leave Mystvale, or to entertain such honored guests."
The three watched carefully as Brande walked to stand near his brother. Talis glared at him. Heat rose to his face and settled in his cheeks and forehead.
"The Gael N'Aem are truthseers, brother," Brande explained. "The accusations placed against this boy must be erroneous—the accuser's motives obviously questionable." He starred into his brother's eyes. Tallis craved to lash out, to reprimand Brande for mocking him in his court. Talis thought better of it, however. He buried his burning anger deep within him and remained as calm as the situation would allow on the surface.
"It had escaped my notice that the Gael N'Aem catered to common thieves. If it is to his kind your affection and attention are so preferable, then you will see that he follows you from my gates when you depart." Talis spat upon the disheveled boy and marched confidently from the court. "You will leave at dawn," he stated firmly before disappearing from the threshold.
Brande starred at the closed doors through which Talis had exited. He sighed and rubbed his forehead to ease his embarrassment. Brande longed for the City of Smiles, for the Council of Eight, where the burden of family never surfaced—where Talis remained hidden from the world.
"There, my friend," the elder of the three Gael N'Aem finally broke the silence. "Your brother has a role to perform in this grand tale just as you do."
"Just as we all do," the second eldest spoke and stepped forward. He offered a smile and an outstretched hand. Brande shook it and returned his smile with some effort.
"Nonetheless, I regret that his display will be the first memory you shall have of our home." Brande watched the three, but the youngest more than the others. The youngest had no doubt established a link of some sort with the injured boy, or young man rather, who still remained curled in a defensive position on the cold floor.
Brande walked calmly to the young man and crouched beside him. He spoke softly, "My apologies for my brother's mischarities."
The young man diverted his eyes and tried to right himself, to stand or at the very least, kneel. He managed only to adjust himself to a semi-sitting position and even that was only possible with Brande's help. He looked first to Brande and then to the three Gael N'Aem with reddening eyes. Stray locks of black hair dangled messily over his eyes. He shook them aside to reveal the purple bruise on his forehead, and the crimson stain of blood on his chin and swollen jaw. Brande set his jaw and sighed. His contempt regarding his brothers actions was no doubt read clearly by the Gael N'Aem.
"We will see you safely from these walls, traveler," the eldest Gael N'Aem spoke assuredly. "Then you will be safe from Talis' maddness."
"What is your name, friend?" Brande offered.
"I am no thief." It was a simple, low response.
"Of course," Brande sympathized. "We know that. We also know you are not a citizen of Mystvale. You are a foreigner here." Brande motioned to his clothing, his shoes and his unusually vibrant blue eyes. "Tell me, friend, where do you call home?"
"I am no thief." The young man repeated with some resolve and swallowed hard.
"What is to become of him?" the youngest asked in regards to the young man. "Where shall he spend this chilling night?"
"You are welcome to sleep in the court," Brande offered with an outstretched hand. The young man curled his lips in a revolting fashion, and then turned his head so that he would not have to look upon any of them. "Fear not. I may share my brother's blood but I do not share his lust for cruelty. This is the least I can offer you. You will be safe under my watch. I cannot guarantee your protection otherwise."
The young man hesitated, but eventually nodded. All the while, he kept his eyes diverted. "Splendid," Brande said standing and turning back to face the Gael N'Aem. He adjusted his robes before speaking.
"We have arranged private quarters for each of you. I hope you will find everything to your liking. Court servants escort you to your chambers and see that your horses are well fed and tended this night."
"Our sincerest gratitude," the eldest offered. "Our journey has been long, and I fear times will only grow more difficult. The slightest of comforts are welcome gifts."
"It is settled, then," Brande stated. "Let us retire. Dawn comes early these days despite the growing cold."
"Indeed," the eldest confirmed.
"I will see our young friend to his chambers and meet you at the stables at dawn for your departure." Servants then entered from the same door Brande had used minutes before. "Sleep easy," Brande said as the Gael N'Aem were escorted from the hall.
Brande spent several minutes helping the young man to stand. He allowed the youth to use his shoulder as a crutch while they walked steadily from the court.
"I am truly sorry," Brande said again as the two navigated various halls to reach the bedchambers. They eventually stopped at a large oak door. The young man, still relying on Brande to stand, waited nervously in the looming silence.
"Here we are," Brande said at last. He helped the young man into the bedchamber and sat him easily onto the bed. After lighting a nearby lamp and a few extra candles, Brande walked to the window and drew back the curtains which hid the moon and a stunning view of the city below. "I can arrange for you to leave in the morning if you so desire," Brande offered with a smile as he turned back to the young man. The response was a prompt nod. "So be it. The Gael N'Aem will escort you safely from Mystvale."
Brande then pointed to the entryway. "The doors of the noble chambers have a bolt and can be locked from inside. A team of Arishvale oxen could not break their hinges. Feel free to make use of it." The young man nodded again and looked about the large room hesitantly. "I have the next room if you require anything. I'll send a servant with food, fresh clothing and warm water."
Brande turned and walked to the threshold. "Will you not tell me your name?" Brande inquired one last time as he look back for a moment. His black hair and shining blue eyes were a bizarre and utterly beautiful combination. He knew the young man was not from Mystvale. Brande had dozens of questions he wanted to ask, but he feared he would only alienate the young man further. He wanted to know his home, his reason for travel, and why he had been thought a thief.
When the young man did not respond, Brande turned to leave him for the night. However, he was halted by an unexpected response.
"Evoran," the young man said softly, timidly. Brande turned to look at him once again from the entryway with a reassuring smile. "My name is Evoran."