Post 20

Smoke danced beneath him, and he distractedly reined him in, looking down the small slope at the veritable army camped below. Bard’an was approaching, mounted on his leggy bay gelding, and Jared and Veyga waited patiently. “Good morn, my Lords.”

Veyga glared a little at that, and Bard’an cleared his throat. “Good morn, my Lord Holt, Master Veyga.”

Jared hid a smile by wiping his mouth, but Veyga looked appeased at least. The younger man had woken in a foul mood, and no amount of gentle cajoling from Jared had helped to improve it. Maybe it was because Veyga had slept too late for a proper meal to break his fast, and had had to make do with stale biscuits and a small handful of cold sausages. Jared suspected that Veyga would have eaten a cow whole if one had happened to wander by.

“A few more than you had mentioned, Bard’an.” Veyga looked out over the little valley, where easily two hundred mercenaries were camped. The older man shifted in his saddle, but didn’t drop his eyes.

“I never specifically mentioned numbers, my- er- Master Veyga. If you came to different conclusions, then I apologize.”

Another quicksilver glare, and then Veyga was wiping his face blank as a few more riders approached. Jared suppressed another smile. Bard’an would do well once he got over his awe.

Veyga watched the approaching riders closely, turning Smoke a little to keep Bard’an in the corner of his left eye. He had admitted to Jared that one disadvantage to his eye patch was a blind spot on his right side, and he rarely liked having anyone there. Jared tried to gauge where that place was, and he tried to keep the ‘hole’ plugged with his own body.

Three more horses, one a rangy long-legged pale gray stallion with a darker mane and tail that blew nervously toward Smoke. This one reached them first, and the man on the back of the gray saluted Veyga in the way of mercenaries, his left fist crossed over his chest. “Lord Veyga welcome, my name is Jiasin Farstreak, and I am the Captain of this mercenary band. We would pledge our troth to you, if you would have it.”

Veyga nodded solemnly. When would these fools quit calling him a Lord? If he hadn’t been hung for treason already, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be in the future. He gave the Captain a quick once-over, noting the mane of riotous black curls for caught up at his nape with a leather thong. Calm brown eyes that didn’t quite meet his own, a plain face except for an equally unruly beard several inches thick. The man was probably huge off his horse. His biceps were the size of tree trunks and his large scarred hands looked like they could crush a man’s skull. He handled his horse well though, even though the stallion was rolling his eyes at Smoke who was prancing and blowing hard. Veyga applied a little pressure with his heels, and Smoke settled somewhat.

The second rider was just a step ahead of the third, both women on near-matching calm nondescript brown mares. That was where the similarities ended. The first woman was tall and lean, boyish almost, in the plain light green robes of a priestess. It had been so long since Veyga had seen a priestess that he was nearly taken aback. She met his gaze with a curious one of her own, but her washed-out blue eyes were serious. The priestess wore her hood up, and all of her hair was tucked under a green scarf.

The third rider was something else altogether. She must be the record keeper, with her ink-stained fingers, but there was nothing else studious about her with her curvy, compact figure and her short cap of dark brown curls as rebellious as Captain Farstreak’s. Her brown eyes flashed defiantly as she eyed Veyga from tip to toe, a satisfied smile curving lush lips beneath a pert nose. This one would be trouble, and Veyga would stake his life on it. She already had her velvety eyes pinned him, and not a flicker toward any of the other men, including Jared. To top it all off, she wore men’s gray breeches and a short waist-length gray coat over a white blouse. The fabric clearly hugged every curve, and she was certainly aware of it.

Veyga suppressed a shiver as she continued to eye him, feeling like the canary to her cat. Even Rayna had never given him looks quite that heated. He gave her what he hoped was a quelling stare, but she just smiled smugly, her gaze not wavering. She would bear close watching.

Captain Farstreak motioned sharply to the two women as they reined in beside them. “My Lord Veyga, this is Priestess Feyona Rasha, and Palace Record Keeper Mel’awn Farstreak.” Veyga nodded to each of the women, noting the shared name.

“My Lord Veyga, I understand that you have restricted us to no more than two score soldiers,” a brief tightening of the Captain’s mouth showed his displeasure, “so I have taken the liberty of hand-selecting some soldiers for your review. If you would give me the honor my Lord Veyga, this way please.” He turned his stallion’s head toward the far north of the encampment, and sharing a quiet look with Jared, Veyga turned Smoke to follow. Jared was sure to keep his gelding close to Smoke’s right flank, especially when that smug record keeper tried to knee her mare up closer to Veyga.

They skirted around the outside edge of the encampment, and the soldiers below them quieted as they passed. When they neared a smaller group set off a little ways from the rest of the group, those soldiers scrambled forward to fall into place shoulder to shoulder in four smart rows at salute, their left fists thrust to their right shoulders. It looked like pains had been made to clean them up, and each man wore clothing in a similar shade of gray; as close to a uniform as many mercenaries were willing to get.

Captain Farstreak halted close before them. “Salute!” Barely a man moved, having already fallen into formation. “My Lord Veyga, before you are the best of the Farstreak Mercenaries.” He called off their names, and as the Captain announced each one, they dropped to one knee, bowing their head. Veyga let the names wash over him for now; he would learn later, when he could remember a face to go with each name. As he looked out over the precise lines of men, he blinked. Most of them were suddenly outlined by the strange auras he’d seen before, at Wensellas Manor. Only a few were not, and he glanced out across the rest of the camp, where he saw only a few more men with the aura, those standing out clearly even among the other eight score men.

Captain Farstreak dismounted from his stallion, casually passing his reins off to a young boy that ran up to take them, then he bent his own knee in salute as well. “My Lord Veyga-.”

“Captain Farstreak, I must interrupt before your troth. I realize that it is in poor manners, but I must insist.” He had to put a stop to this Lord business now.

“First of all, I would to change a few of your choices. Most of these men are suitable, but there are a few I ask that you change.” He pointed out the half a dozen men who were not currently wrapped with the silvery blue light, and then turned to peruse the main part of the camp. He described the half a dozen men among the eight score as well he could, hopeful that that would be sufficient. For whatever reason, he was completely certain the changes had to be made.

The Captain was red-faced, but from his blank face it was impossible to tell if he was furious or embarrassed. “As you wish it, my Lord Veyga.”

“Next, I am not a Lord, Captain Farstreak. If rumor has not reached this far,” the twist of his lips showed how much he doubted that, “then you will know that I was nearly hanged for treason, for declaring myself at a rank I had not earned. I would prefer to avoid that noose in the future, if at all possible.” He worked hard to keep the tone of his voice dry. No one here needed to know how much the idea terrified him. Jared knew, and that was enough.

The Captain was pale now, face completely bloodless. He didn’t stammer, though, and Veyga was willing to give him credit for that. “My sincerest apologies, my L- er-, Master Veyga.”

“Accepted. Continue, Captain Farstreak.” He swung carefully from Smoke’s saddle, passing the reins to the same boy who was holding the Captain’s stallion. The boy eyed the two stallions who were watching each other cautiously. Veyga strode forward until he was standing just in front of the Captain, and when the Captain made his troth, he placed his palm on the back of the man’s head. The Captain jumped a little, but then relaxed visibly beneath the touch. Veyga wasn’t sure exactly why he had been drawn to do that, and a little frown creased his brow as he stared down at his hand, pressed lightly into the black curls, soft curls, springing up to wrap around his fingers. What was he doing? Something… strange. He could feel the Tendrils flowing from him. Wait… Tendrils? Of what? They slid from his chest and through his shoulder, down his arm and into his hand. From there, he could almost see a warm blue-silver light flood across those curls, dancing around his fingers, and settling into the Captain’s head. His voice was only a whisper. “I accept your troth.”

Veyga looked up, to stare blankly at Jared, who was frowning softly at him. With a start, he lifted his hand from the Captain’s head and took a stumbling step back. The Captain looked up at him then, and Veyga was certain that he saw that strange silver-blue light flicker in the man’s eyes before he met Veyga’s gray stare with complete adoration and respect. “I thank you, Master Veyga. I will defend to the death.”

Veyga’s heart stuttered, and he spun on his heel, yanking his reins from the boy’s hand and scrambling into his saddle. With a shout, he kicked his heels sharply into Storm’s ribs and the stallion squealed as he dug his hooves in and threw off clods of dirt as he galloped up the little hill and over the edge.

Everyone was just staring, stunned. Captain Farstreak had surged to his feet, looking off in the direction Veyga had gone, and Jared glanced one more time at him, questioning, weighing, before turning his own gelding. “Wait here.” Thrown over his shoulder, his order was clear as he cantered after the younger man.

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Veyga didn’t look down from his perch when Jared rode up below him. He ignored him pointedly, desiring nothing more than to be left alone. But he knew Jared had a stubborn streak; after all, he’d married Eithna. “What do you want, Jared? Leave me be.”

“You know I won’t do that, Arius. Will you come down, so we can talk?”

Arius dropped his head back against the tree trunk at his back, dropping his hand from the grip on the branch above him. “I’d rather not.”

A heavy sigh from below, and then some scrambling and cursing, and then Jared’s head popped up beside Veyga’s thigh where it was stretched out along the heavy heart-branch. “Move off, let me up.”

With a wry twist to his lips, Veyga scooted as far as he was able, and Jared pulled himself up on another heart-branch beside him. Shoulders touching, they sat in the tree spans above the ground. Then Jared breathed deeply. “Wow.”

Veyga only nodded, returning his gaze out across the valley spread before them. The massive oak he’d climbed had grown almost to the edge of a cliff with a drop of several hundred spans. The view was breathtaking, out across that valley with a shining ribbon of water weaving from one end to the other. They could see for miles and miles, all the way out to the mountains in the distance, pale purple and wreathed in mist. It would take nearly a full span of seasons to reach those mountains, and here they were with a view all the way across.

“I like to get up high sometimes. It’s strange, I suppose, but being all the way up here makes me feel small, and it helps me to put the rest of the world into perspective. I’m just a little bug; I’m not important to the bigger picture. If I were to be stepped on tomorrow, it would be okay, and the world would spin on without me.”

Jared grunted. “That makes sense, actually.”

A long pause, then a deep sigh. “It’s been a philosophy I’ve kept all my life. But now I’m not so sure; I’m not feeling much like a little bug anymore, Jared. I’m not certain I can handle that.”

Jared turned his head a little- just a little- to look at Veyga’s profile. It had been by chance that Jared had climbed up on Veyga’s left- he was able to watch that gray eye carefully before asking, “What happened back there?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain. I can’t even tell you how it happened, or why.”

Something had clearly happened. Jared sighed a little and shrugged carefully, grabbing a nearby branch to keep his balance. He’d never been one for climbing in trees. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he can’t be that little bug anymore, Arius. Maybe it’s when he becomes a husband, or a father. Or when he becomes a leader, or even when he realizes he just has to step up and quit being that little bug.”

A little chuckle. “You’re so tender, but so unyielding at the same time.”

“I try.”

Veyga turned his head a little too, meeting Jared’s gaze. “I’m a coward, to run from this. How can I ask those men to swear their troth to me when at the first sign of…?” He hesitated, and Jared would have given anything to be able to read the thoughts flashing behind that gray eye. “At the first sign of something not as I expected it to be, I run away?”

“Sometimes the best defense is to run away and regroup, Arius. Every good general knows that.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Probably.”

Veyga laughed with a little more humor this time. “Thank you, Jared.”

Jared carefully eased away from the trunk. “I’m going to head back, and get things in hand if that’s all right with you. Will you come back when you are ready?”

Veyga nodded, steady stare returning to the valley and the mountains beyond. Somewhere out there was Polien. He knew that if nothing else, he had to reach Polien.

Jared carefully levered himself back down through the branches, until he had to drop the rest of the way out of the tree, trying to use the thick trunk to steady himself as he went. He dusted himself off and glanced one more time up at the quiet young man, then mounted and turned his gelding back to the camp.

Bard’an and the two women were in folding chairs beneath an open-walled tent, out of the warming sun, talking quietly. They looked up at Jared’s approach, and the same boy from earlier dashed up to take his horse’s reins. Jared waved off one of the mercenaries who offered to bring another chair, and folded his legs beneath him at the edge of the tent, resting his wrists across his knees. Bard’an gave him a cautious look. “Will he be returning?”

Jared nodded. “He will. He needs a little time alone right now. He is still recovering, from the Sa’san. I’m afraid it will be a few days until he’s fully on his feet again.” Hopefully that was fairly close to the truth; it sounded good anyhow.

The Captain approached on foot, saluting Jared. “My Lord Holt, is there something I can do for Master Veyga?”

Jared studied him closely. The Captain looked a little frantic around the eyes, in spite of his steady face. “No, he’s all right. He just needs a little quiet right now.” It wasn’t his imagination that the crease between the Captain’s heavy brows relaxed, and the straight slash of his shoulders eased a little as well. “It’s been a trying few days for Master Veyga, and I fear your candid dedication to him quite overwhelmed him. He’s thankful for your troth, and you did nothing wrong, but a fortnight ago Master Veyga wasn’t even sure he’d be alive today. I’m sure you can understand how that could feel.”

The Captain snapped off another salute. “Please, my Lord Holt, call for me when he is ready.”

Jared nodded, and the Captain returned to his men. He felt someone staring, and turned his head to meet the gaze of the palace record keeper. She didn’t say a word, but soon enough she was looking away, and Jared was certain her gaze was arrowed in on Veyga’s exact position. She started to get up, and Jared held a hand out. “I wouldn’t, record keeper. He needs a little privacy right now, more than you can imagine.” She settled back into her seat, but her gaze never wavered.

“My Lord Holt, were you present for the Sa’san?”

He turned his attention to the priestess, frowning a little. “I was.”

“Will you tell me about it? Bard’an was there, of course, but he was near the front of the room and missed much of it due to the crowd. Did you have a better vantage point?”

Jared had nearly dashed up the aisle at Veyga’s first whimper after donning the helmet, and even High Lord Gregor had not ordered him back. He had watched Jared instead, his gaze considering, as he questioned the younger man kneeling before him. Every cry, every wail, every murmur, had made Jared flinch. He had been right there, almost close enough to touch, with Rayna at his side, watching for the two marks it had taken to complete the Sa’san. They had rushed forward when the helmet had been removed, but not quick enough to catch Veyga as he had collapsed on his side, mouth working and eye staring sightlessly. Jared had worked incredibly hard to keep his face blank as he’d helped Rayna to pull Veyga up enough to drape his arms across their shoulders. She hadn’t bothered, and had glared daggers at the High Lord and the two guards who had been ordered to hold Veyga. The room had been silent except for Veyga’s agonized wheezing as they had carried him out. “I’m sure I can’t” -won’t- “tell you anything you don’t already know.”

She sniffed imperiously and tipped her chin up, looking down her nose at him. He could have laughed, if there had really been any hilarity in the situation. “What I don’t understand is how does the Sa’san even work? I don’t see why a man should be absolved of all of his sins just because he admits them in public. That simply makes no sense.”

Jared glanced at the record keeper, curious if she would comment, but she just kept staring in Veyga’s direction. He shrugged. “I probably know less than you. Master Veyga tried to explain it, but I’m not sure he knew much more than me. Record Keeper Farstreak, do you know anything more?”

The record keeper jumped. “What?”

“We were discussing the Sa’san.” Jared met her eyes steadily, and she shrugged a little, uncomfortable. Satisfied that he had made a point to her, Jared wondered for a moment if he could talk Veyga into teaching him the trick of his own impressive stare. How did a man do it, with just one eye? Or was that the trick?

The record keeper apparently got the message, because she left off staring towards Veyga and smiled prettily at Jared. “The Sa’san. Oh, I can’t believe it even happened! What a miracle, in my lifetime. I wish I had witnesses it for myself.” She gave a little pout with those full lips. She missed Jared’s frown as she continued. “It’s been more than a hundred years since the last demand, and I don’t think that time it was even granted. If you’re not an Anyonian citizen, it doesn’t have to be granted.”

Jared shivered. He hadn’t known that detail. It might have a little luck on Veyga’s part then that the High Lord had apparently considered Ragged Valley within the borders on Anyon, fealty or not.

“Well how does it work then, Mel’awn?” The priestess had recovered from her snit, she was all goggle-eyes now as she leaned forward in her seat, fascination on her face.

The record keeper shrugged charmingly. “No one is quite completely sure. There are a few fragments of records, but the Sa’san is older even than Anyon. We’re not even sure what kind of metal it’s made from, but it shows not a bit of wear for its age, so it must be something we’ve never seen.”

Jared remembered the helmet. It had looked like a simple conical silver cap, engraved with strange symbols. Nothing else had seemed extraordinary about it, but he’d seen the results first hand.

“Regardless, it’s an object of magic and it works, and that’s about all we know.”

“Well-. But why can be a man be freed of his crimes just for wearing a silly hat?”

Mel’awn laughed. “It’s certainly not just a silly hat, Feyona. And a man isn’t just ‘freed’ from his crimes. They are absolved, that’s certain, but for every crime a man commits, that ‘silly hat’ tears a man’s soul apart just a little bit. That’s why I’m so amazed that our Master Veyga survived it. I know about the list of his crimes, I helped to print the scrolls. Such a very long list.” She swallowed hard, but there was a gleam in her eye that made Jared nervous. “And the Sa’san only frees a man who truly committed those crimes for a greater good. If he were just a simple criminal, just a bad person, then the Sa’san would have killed him. The records indicate that several men that have died during the Sa’san had their brains melted in their skulls.” She shivered a little, but that gleam was a little stronger too. “We’re also not sure where the Sa’san came from originally. It could have been made in the Dawn of Time, for all we know. I want to know how Master Veyga knew about it- very few do. I didn’t even know until I was put on the case soon after his demand. We had to scramble to find all the records on it. If the High Lord Gregor had not already known what it was and where we needed to look, it would have taken full moonturns to find everything.”

Jared looked up at the sound of an approaching horse. He watched as Smoke picked his way down the little slope, was stopped by a sentry, and then turned away from their group and toward a little grove of trees nearby. A movement to their left caught Jared’s eye, and he glanced over to see Captain Farstreak at full alert, watching Smoke carefully. There was no way the man could have heard Veyga’s approach from where he was, so how had he known? Was it just happenstance, or was it something more?

Mel’awn was on her feet, and Jared caught her wrist when she would have walked past. She glanced down at him curiously and he shook his head. “Not now, Record Keeper.” She frowned and jerked her arm away from it, stumbling a little when he quickly released her. Now all three of them were staring at Smoke, and Jared stood, brushing off the seat of his breeches. “Please, let him be for a little longer. When he is ready, he will come and speak with you.”

The priestess and Bard’an nodded concurrence without hesitation, but Mel’awn scowled as she dropped back into her chair. Jared found some small satisfaction when the foldable chair wobbled beneath her and she gasped. He turned to meet Smoke on his own.

Veyga could feel Captain Farstreak nearby. It was like a little buzzing in the back of his head, nagging at him. He purposely did not look in the direction the buzzing was from, and headed toward the little copse of trees where the sentry had directed him. Smoke picked his way neatly down the little slope and into the trees, then into a small tidy clearing where a tent was being erected hastily by three mercenaries. They looked up when he neared, then snapped a salute and at his tired nod finished their job. He waited to dismount, not certain his legs would hold him. There was no sense in giving anyone any ideas about his lack of strength.

The three mercenaries were just tying off the last guideline for the tent when Jared approached on foot. He stood at Veyga’s left stirrup watching as they snapped another salute and hurried away. It was just the two of them for a few moments, and Jared placed hand on Veyga’s leg and stared up at him with a question in his eyes.

Veyga sighed deeply. “I’m not sure I can get down without falling.”

Jared grinned a little, stepping back. “I’ll catch you.”

Veyga laughed, but glanced around to be sure they were still alone and then forced his leg over the cantle of the saddle and slid down. As he’d expected, his knees buckled, but Jared was there to catch his arm and help him find his feet. With a thankful look, Veyga forced his legs to cooperate and hold him up on his own. Jared stepped back just in time as several more mercenaries hurried into the little clearing, burdened with a cot, bundles of bedding, and even a foldable table and washstand. One of them men came up to them and saluted before unfolding the chair he carried and setting up right beside them. He saluted again. “Master Veyga, Captain Farstreak thought you might appreciate a seat while your tent is set up.”

Veyga shared a wry look with Jared, but inside he quailed a little. And how, exactly, had Captain Farstreak known that? “Thank you.” He suspected that it had something to do with what had happened when he’d placed his hand on Captain Farstreak’s curls.

Veyga slowly lowered himself into the chair. Jared was right at his side, not close enough to make it obvious that Veyga might need help, but close enough that if he did collapse he’d at least have help. Once he was settled into the chair Jared took a place on his right, directly within Veyga’s blind spot. It was reassuring to have someone he trusted there.

Soon enough the mercenaries cleared out, and the one who had brought the chair came to stand before them again, snapping another salute. “Master Veyga, your camp is complete. If there is anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. We are setting sentries, five at a time for now.”

“What is your name, soldier?” Veyga nearly tucked his hands beneath his legs, not wanting to touch the man, remembering what had happened with Captain Farstreak.

“Kazadrey, Master Veyga.” He looked a little surprised at the question.

“Thank you Kazadrey. Please, relax and talk with me awhile. What is your role here among the Farstreak Mercenaries?”

“I am just a soldier with the Farstreak Mercenaries, Master Veyga.” The man clearly wanted to salute again, but Veyga had told him to relax. Jared looked him over closely, wondering at Veyga’s questions. The soldier was of an average height and weight, plain even features, short brown hair and brown eyes. He could blend in among a small crowd, and the eye would probably pass right over him. There was literally nothing about the man to make him distinctive.

“Can you read, Kazadrey?” Veyga’s tone was mild.

The soldier nodded hesitantly. “A little, Master Veyga.”

“All right. Thank you, you are dismissed.”

The man did salute then before walking away. Again, they were left alone and Veyga relaxed back into his chair carefully. Jared chuckled when he heard a faint rumble. “Shall I see what I can dig up for you to eat?”

He earned a sharp look for that, but also a grudging nod. “I’d appreciate that. I think this gods-awful hunger has something to do with the Sa’san, with the Searing.”

Jared stepped around to stand in front of Veyga, dropping to his haunches and catching that gray gaze directly. “The what?”

Veyga’s brow furrowed. “The Searing. Now where did that come from?” Strange ideas were still popping up, still surprising him. Unfortunately, a description did not accompany the term, and he still didn’t know what the Searing was, just that it was associated with the Sa’san. There had been a brief hint when he had been speaking, but as soon as he concentrated on it, it slipped out of his reach. “Jared, do me a favor. If you notice something like that, something slipping out, pay attention to what happens, and let me know later. I’m afraid that I may be going a little mad.” He laughed a little, but the sound was stressed and forced.

“The record keeper knows a little about the Sa’san, Arius. It might be best to ask her what she knows.”

Veyga nodded, but his gaze was turned inward and Jared wasn’t sure he really heard. Jared shook his head and stood, determined to find a meal for his friend. Fortunately, he didn’t have far to go, as one of the sentries just outside the thicket of trees eagerly took over the task.

Veyga had disappeared into the tent when Jared returned, and he scratched on the outside. When no answer came, he lifted the flap over the doorway and ducked his head inside. The younger man was stretched out on the cot, one knee bent with his foot on the ground, and his arm up over his eyes. He’d loosened the laces on his shirt, and his scabbard was laid out across the foldable table, the belt wrapped around it. Jared hesitated for a moment, and then cleared his throat.

“Food is coming, Arius. Should I keep everyone clear for the rest of the day?”

Veyga mumbled something, and Jared couldn’t quite hear. He stepped inside the tent. “Arius?” No response. “Arius?” He crouched beside the cot, reaching a hand out to gently touch the man’s arm. No fever, at least. But no response either. Then a soft snore escaped between Veyga’s lips, and Jared chuckled softly, sagging in relief. He would let the young man sleep, at least until the food came.

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