"And the other half?"
"The other half know you use me to whittle your gangs down because you only like to split loot with yourself."
Morai chuckled. "Go on, I'll try to keep my feelings and ethical sense under control."
"Most kind of you." I drank a mouthful of wine—a hearty Janian red—and continued. I quickly decided how much information I could trust Morai with, and tailored my story accordingly. "I am here because rumors suggest a power struggle may take place after the coronation. Various factions want to control who the Princess will marry to promote their plans for the future. I need to know who they are and what they have in the way of resources."
I hung my head and watched the fire. "I'm stuck dining and dancing in the company of the men who might be plotting a revolt against the King while I should be out learning who's been hiring troops or"—I smiled at him—"excellent thieves to steal symbolic items."
Morai sat silently and stared off beyond me. He placed his winecup on the table and steepled his fingers. "I've heard nothing substantial, but then I've not been listening. Someone must be hiring mercenaries—there have been enough in the city lately—but I don't know who it is."
"Will you check into it for me? I need that information desperately, and you are the only one who can get it for me."
He laughed and watched me through slitted eyes. "Yes, I will get it for you, and professional ethics be damned. After all, it won't be the first time we've worked together, will it, Talion?" He laughed so hard he fell to the floor.
My shoulder throbbed with pain.
Chapter Sixteen
Novice: Solitaire
Leaving Ring presented me with a grand problem. To my knowledge no one had ever done what I did before—I was fairly certain if someone had we would not have been told about it—so I had no idea of what sort of reception I'd have in Talianna. The worst possible situation was one where Ring rode straight to Talianna and Lord Hansur sent riders out after me.
I didn't really think Ring would be all that anxious to advertise our parting, and because I still had six months in my Journey year, I decided to travel until that time was up or someone found me and forced me to return to Talianna. I took a small amount of satisfaction in that a solo Journey would really prove my ability to survive in the world, and even if it incurred the wrath of my superiors, it should still count for something in their eyes.
My biggest problem was funding. Ring had been able to get money from the various Lancer and Warrior troops scattered throughout the countryside. If things were really difficult, he could draw up a note sealed with his skull tattoo that could be exchanged by the bearer for local coinage, but I could not produce one of those notes—at least not honestly. I further resolved to stay clear of Talion billets to avoid any recall notice, but that likewise cut me off from a ready source of money.
I resorted to the only solution I could think of: I spent a great deal of time working at farmhouses. In exchange for a few days' hard work I could get lodging and enough food to get me a little further on my way. I rode from Leth into Ell supporting myself in this manner, then got a job as a caravan guard that took me into Boucan and paid me enough money that I could travel more freely.
I rode north from the trail's end and always wore my uniform. I wore it so the people could see me and come to view a Talion without abject terror. I wanted them to know someone out there would protect or avenge them and yet that same person could stop and help with crops or cut wood. Presenting that image of a Talion became very important to me, and I knew I worked hard at it so I could stop Ring's image from winning the day and representing all Talions whether they agreed with him or not.
For the most part the journey was uneventful and the things I was asked to do were simple. In a couple of places I helped find lost children or animals, and in one other I fought with, but did not kill, a tyrannical carpenter who abused his apprentices. I heard rumors of a bandit group running about a week ahead of me, and tried to catch up with them, but they proved very elusive.
In northern Juchar I rode into a village just hours after the bandits raided it. A half-dozen men had ridden in, beaten up the men who dared oppose them, and stolen the money the villagers had collected to pay taxes. While that account did not differ from what I'd already heard in other villages, the scene that presented itself in the village square was unique. Three burly men wearing the livery of the local Baron had stripped the clothes from an older man and bound him into a pillory. One of the Baron's men was tying a cestus onto his right fist and chuckled as the bound man sobbed incoherently. For a moment or two I thought these men had captured one of the bandits, but then I noticed none of the gathered villagers were jeering at the captive. In fact, most of them looked terrified.
I rode Wolf into the center of the crowd and pulled some black gloves on. "Hold, what goes on here?" I sat tall in the saddle and tried to look official.
The man tying the cestus on snarled at me, then saw what I was and became a bit more civil. "Leigh says bandits stole the tax money we're here to collect. He's lying and won't tell us where he's hidden it, so"—he shook his fist—"I'm going to beat its location out of him." He shrugged, took one end of a thong in his teeth, and pulled the last knot tight.
Leigh, the village headman in the pillory, had two blackened eyes from the raid. He looked up and saw me. His tears stopped instantly and he shouted to me. "You, Talion, you must find the bandits, you must get the money back. We had a good harvest and had all our tax money until they took it." The pain in his voice shot through me.
The man with the cestus swung his fist through the air a couple of times and smiled. "Stop your lying, Leigh. Lie to a Talion and he's likely to give you worse than I will." The Baron's man looked to me for confirmation.
I shook my head. "Don't hit him."
He stepped closer to Leigh and slowly let the frightened man examine the cestus. "I have my orders, Talion." He never turned to look at me. "I get the taxes, or I administer a beating."
I dismounted and the crowd spread back away from me. "Are you out of your mind? Are you trying to tell me you're planning to beat an innocent man when the bandits that robbed this village and others near here are riding away?" I shook my head in disbelief. "That makes no sense whatsoever."
The tax collector just shrugged. "I just follow orders." He took one quick step back behind the pillory and buried his fist in Leigh's stomach. The headman vomited and sagged.
The thug grinned as he turned to me. "See, I just do what I'm told."
I stared at him. "Then leave him alone."
A wicked grin slithered across his lips. "And what do I tell my master? I tell him I let this man off because a Talion told me to, and he'll say to his torturers, 'Make Marko here talk and tell me where he's hidden my taxes.' Not me, Talion, they won't do that to me 'cause I'll give them no reason to do it."
I peeled the glove off my right hand and held my palm up for everyone to see. "I'm not a Talion yet, Marko, but I'm still telling you to leave him alone."
Marko nodded to his two companions. They closed from both sides and I stepped back just before they reached me. Each man pulled back to avoid colliding with the other. I kicked out with my right foot and caught one in the stomach, then lashed out with my left hand to hit the other on the side of the head. The kicked man collapsed, holding his stomach, but his partner needed another blow to the chin to knock him out of the fight.
I stood triumphant over his companions and stared at Marko. "I know Justices who would kill you simply for setting your friends upon them, and I know others who would repay you with ten blows for every one you give to Leigh." I held my open hands away from my body. "I am far more reasonable. Leave him alone and you need not face me or an angry lord."
Marko watched my face and tried to figure out what sort of trap I'd set for him. "I'm not going after those bandits."
I shook my head. "You don't need to. I'll deal with them and you handle your Baron."
"Fine, a
fair deal." He reached over and released Leigh while I crossed to his horse. I rummaged around in his saddlebags and found a folio with loose sheets of paper pressed between its covers. I drew one out and asked someone to find me ink and a quill pen.
Marko looked over to see what I was doing. The pen scratched out a receipt for the villages taxes and I signed it with my full name and a flourish. "Give this to your Baron, he will know what it means and what to do with it. He will accept it as your money."
"Now your masters will be angry." Marko looked at the receipt and laboriously read it. His lips moved with every word. Satisfied, he looked up at me. "How will you pay off this much money?"
I smiled without feeling even close to as confident as I tried to look. "I'll just have to get it from the bandits."
* * *
I pursued the bandits as closely as I dared and cut their lead from half a day to half an hour by pushing Wolf and myself fairly hard. I felt uneasy, because they made their trail painfully simple to follow. They visited no other villages and made no attempt to conceal their passage. It seemed to me that they wanted everyone to know where they had gone.
We traveled north, which took us close to the border with Venz. I thought, in fact, they meant just to run north and cross over into Venz's western marches, which were known for their lawlessness, when they surprised me and turned west. It wasn't until I crested that last hill and saw them disappear into the forests below me that I believed they'd ever escape me.
From that hilltop all I could see was an ocean of dense forest. My pursuit had taken me through the woodlands of northern Juchar, but they might as well have been treeless plains when compared to the timberland below me. Nothing in the world could match Woodholm.
A few islands of gray granite broke through the treetops, but aside from those barren hillsides, I saw no clearings or open spots from my vantage point. The trees drank in the sunlight for life, but did not let it penetrate that canopy with anything more than token strength. The whole tenebrous forest brooded like a living creature and defied men to enter it.
I could almost hear the bandits' laughter. No one would follow them into that forest. It was Woodholm. Even the Talions refused to follow Kiritan the Mad into those verdant depths. In the Aelven grove's shadow they felt safe from all the dangers they could think of, and probably thought themselves brave enough to deal with anything the forest would beset them with.
Woodholm swallowed the bandits. I waited on the hill and listened for their screams, but I heard nothing. Then I tipped my head back and laughed aloud. "You know, don't you, Woodholm? You feel me waiting and watching. You won't destroy them until I enter your demesne and join them, will you?" I spurred Wolf forward. "Very well. I accept your challenge."
I grew more and more apprehensive about Woodholm as I rode toward it. Even as far away as Sinjaria I'd heard stories about Woodholm. I knew, like The Forests nearer my home, Woodholm was an Aelven refuge. Even though many stories told of Aelves helping human heroes fight the epic battles of the past, I knew whatever sense of kinship the Aelves once felt for men had long since died, and that intrusions into either Aelven preserve were for the insane or foolhardy.
The Aelves in the stories stand tall and willowy, yet they are lithe and wiry instead of fragile or sickly. Their eyes are slightly enlarged so they can see clearly in the dark forest. Their skin is reported to be very pale because the sun never touches it. All the stories describe the Aelves as very beautiful and, to the consternation of the human heroes in these tales, report Aelves would never consider mixing their blood with that of humans.
In the very center of Woodholm there supposedly grows a massive tree that is home to all the Aelves. They have a city woven into the tree's branches and it is connected to other trees by high, swinging bridges. The Aelves have maintained the tree through powerful magicks, and use those abilities to enhance every aspect of their lives. They always wear silk garments that change color like a rainbow and never get soiled. Their whole life is peace and beauty.
But no human has seen that city, and all attempts to reach it have been savagely repulsed by the Xne'kal.
The Xne'kal are Aelves in reality, form, and blood. Unlike the Aelves, though, the Xne'kal are openly hostile to humans. The Xne'kal dress in skins, and arm themselves with spears and throwing darts. They haunt Woodholm and The Forests in great roving bands that destroy any trespassers into their domain.
No human has ever offered a definitive explanation of the Xne'kal enmity toward humans, but there is one widely held belief that makes more sense than all the others. At one time Aelves were common throughout the lands encompassing the Shattered Empire but, even before Clekan established his empire, their domains had shrunk drastically and men encroached on them everywhere. I believe the Xne'kal chose to oppose men and keep them back so the Aelves could continue to live in peace and practice their arts without human intrusion.
The Xne'kal are known as fierce fighters. Their weapons are often poisoned and many a hero has died at Xne'kal hands. Even so, they rarely attack out of their forests to harry human settlements. Some people even report Xne'kal returning children who have wandered into the forests, but they regularly butcher cattle any farmer releases to forage in Woodholm.
I stopped at the edge of the forest and dismounted. I fished my own paper, pen, and ink from my saddlebags. I wrote a quick letter to Lord Hansur about where I was and what I was doing. I folded it and drew as good an imitation of a Skull on it as I could. I tied the message to the saddle, then pulled my saddlebags from Wolfs back and carefully discarded everything I would definitely not need in the forest.
From that pile of soiled clothing and odd-looking stones, I selected one dirty stocking and filled it with dirt, grass, and a small piece of tree bark from Woodholm. I tied that to the saddlehorn to give the Wizards a means of locating the spot where I entered Woodholm, then turned Wolf so he faced due east and slapped him on the rump. "Go on, Wolf, get out of here. Go to Talianna."
I don't know if he understood me, but he wasted no time getting away from Woodholm. I watched him disappear over the hilltop and laughed, "I wonder which of us is really a dumb animal?"
I picked up the saddlebags and tossed them over my shoulder. I felt lonely without Wolf, but I knew he'd have been of little use in Woodholm. From their tracks I saw the bandits had dismounted soon after they entered the forest. The tightly packed trees had too many low branches to make riding possible. In fact, much of the undergrowth had to be chopped away to make passage anything but impossible. I consoled myself with the idea that I could take one of the bandits' horses after I captured them.
The midmorning sun warmed me outside Woodholm, but it might as well have been midnight, it was so dark and cold within the woods. If the bandits had not cut such a wide path and left it strewn with freshly trimmed branches, I would have missed their trail completely. The trees only allowed enough light in to cast confusing shadows, and more than once I started at what I took for a Xne'kal warrior, but ended up dismissing as nothing more threatening than a pine or oak. Still, the occasional call of a bird or chirp of an insect gave Woodholm an edge over the Darkmaze for feelings of danger and impending doom.
I discovered, totally by accident, a narrow trail running roughly parallel to the bandits' course. I moved onto it and quickly pulled abreast of them without revealing my presence to them. All too clearly I heard them cursing and crashing through the woods.
A mousy little man stopped to catch his breath. "Dav, this idea of yours was not that intelligent."
"Shut up, Giac," the bandit leader snapped at him in a harsh whisper. "We make a little loop through these woods and we're into Venz with no one believing we're alive. We're off free." The leader's voice was strong and confident. The glimpses afforded me through windows in the underbrush showed him to be a strong, bald man with a thick black moustache.
Another man spoke. He wore his salt-and-pepper beard and hair long. He was lean, grizzled, and clearly the eldest of
the group. "What about the Aelves? They aren't going to like our little journey through their woods."
A black-haired youth who looked to be about my age answered him. "If we get out fast enough they won't have time to get us. It's a gamble, but one with time on our side. We'll be fine, Elston."
The older man smiled and shook his head at the youth's confidence. "I hope you're right, Morai, for your sake. You've got a lot more living left in you than I do."
Steely fingers sank into my neck from behind and ended all interest I might have had in the bandits' conversation. I dropped to the ground in a crouch and rolled back. That broke the grip on my neck and, even before I could see who my assailant had been, I continued the roll and kicked both my feet up into my attacker's chest. I completed my backward somersault and whirled to face my foe.
My kick had knocked the Xne'kal warrior over and back down the trail a body length or two. The red heelprints from my boots stood out livid on his chest, and two ribbons of blood from where my spurs caught him trickled down between his breasts. He wore a loincloth and armband cut from a mountain leopard pelt. Even before he tried to stand, he reached an incredibly long, thin arm out for the spear lying in the middle of the trail.
I dove on him and landed on his chest, but he backhanded me with a short, sharp blow to the side of my head. I flew from his chest and rolled to a stop at the base of a tree. I flipped myself over to a prone position, pushed off and back to avoid his first spear thrust, and stood quickly enough to draw my sword in time to parry his second attack.
He circled me and his long white hair flew. I caught a glimpse of pointed ears, but concentrated on his wide, black eyes. Erect, he stood only a foot taller than me, but was so thin he seemed much bigger than even that. His hands only had three fingers in addition to the thumb, but the aches in my neck told me those slender digits did not lack for strength.
The Xne'kal lunged straight forward and closed, because he expected me to back away from his attack. Instead I slapped his spear down with my sword, then slashed backhanded without retreating a step. He walked directly into my attack and the blade slit his throat effortlessly.