The Path of the Storm (33 page)

"We're going to Wengwai," she said. "We need to find the Alchemists' Guild. There's a poison we need to find a cure for."

"Not for someone close to you, I hope?"

Amber's throat caught. "My son."

The long-bearded man turned sorrowful eyes on Amber. "I am sorry. I hope you find what you are looking for."

"Where are you bound?" Miro asked.

"Wengwai, of course," the long-bearded man said, as if it was obvious.

"Why… why are you going to Wengwai?" Amber asked.

"You don't know who we are, do you?"

"We come from lands far from here," Miro said hurriedly.

"We are members of the Order of Flowing Water. We are healers and helpers, musicians and madmen, or so the common people say. We do not take vows of silence, but we prefer not to speak. We do not eat meat, but we are lovers of food. We do not dance, but we are lovers of music. More than anything, we treat wounds and heal sickness. They say a great darkness is on its way to Wengwai, and many will die. We go wherever we are needed, and perhaps we are needed there."

The long-bearded man seemed to run out of breath after his long speech. His brothers accompanied his words with nods and smiles, but none said a word.

Miro saw the healer with the large spoon filling wooden bowls. Another brother handed out the bowls, and gave one to Miro with a smile. The scent made his mouth water, redolent with herbs and onion, mushroom and nuts. Amber also held a bowl and two spoons, giving one to Miro with a smile.

Miro began to eat, unable to stop himself. He looked up at the healers, hoping he hadn't caused offence, but even the man with the gourd had stopped playing his instrument, and all twelve men were eating with gusto.

Amber swallowed, and then turned to the long bearded healer. "Can we travel with you to Wengwai?"

"That depends," he said. "Can you cook?"

Miro saw Amber's eyes light up.

~

I
T WAS
pleasant to have company, and the journey north was made lighter by the kind-hearted healers' wild food and strange music, their warm fires and the knowledge they were headed in the right direction.

The first time Amber cooked, the healers cleaned every plate, and the next night they silently begged her with their eyes to cook again. From then on she was the nominated cook for the group, while the bearded brothers returned from their evening foraging with armfuls of wild onions and herbs, berries and roots.

Miro couldn't believe these gentle men went wherever battles raged, where violent men fought each other with weapons of death. Their courage was of a kind he'd never encountered before, and his respect for them grew.

"Do you ever fight?" Miro asked the long-bearded man one night. He'd asked the man his name but been given only silence.

"No. Never. It is against our nature."

"What do you do if you're attacked?"

"Why would people attack us? We have no wealth, and we exist only to help."

"People aren't always good."

"Even violent people have good in them. They have simply allowed the darkness to dominate, if only for a time. Who are we to judge which side of a man's nature is stronger, whether on the scales of life he will have given the world more violence than love?"

Miro thought about all the men he'd killed. He had difficulty sleeping that night.

~

T
HE FIRST
week saw the group of fourteen make their way through a land of rolling hills and green pastures. Villages and hamlets dotted the landscape, and the road was paved with smooth stones. Gokan was evidently a wealthy nation, with a large farming industry and a mill in every village.

The refugees told another story.

Frequently the party moved to the side of the road to let them pass. They travelled in groups large and small, with wagons pulled by lumbering beasts loaded to tilting point. These weren't just merchants and nobles — those who could take their wealth with them — their numbers now consisted of poor townsfolk and peasant farmers, who'd left everything they had by fleeing from their houses and farms, shops and mills.

On the eighth night, they were attacked.

It was a small group of men, barely Miro's age, come to see whether the travellers had anything worth taking. Miro was familiar with war-torn nations; he knew the sense of chaos provoked young men into thinking their deeds could go unpunished.

As they challenged the group, voices coming out of the darkness, Miro came forward. He knew their type. If the camp had consisted of rich merchants, they would have been robbed, and if they were women, they would have been raped.

He felt his blood rise, but remembered Amber's admonishments, and recalled the words of the long-bearded healer. These were young toughs, with a long life ahead of them. Yes, they were here to do harm to the defenceless, but Miro was a capable warrior. He could send them running, but let them live.

Miro returned to the camp after ten minutes, out of breath, but with a clean sword.

"I'm proud of you," Amber said later as they lay together beside the fire.

"I hope I did the right thing," Miro said. "What if they go on to harm someone else?"

"They won't. You scared the wits out of them."

"I hope you're right."

Amber reached out and squeezed his hand.

~

"
W
ENGWAI
lies ahead," said the long-bearded healer.

Miro squinted, but he couldn't see anything.

"When we turn here, we'll be on the main road."

"I thought we were on the main road?" Amber said.

"No, this was just the road connecting Maelan and Wengwai. The main road travels from Wengwai north to Monapea, capital of Narea, and south to Renton, the main border crossing into Veldria."

"How far?" Miro asked.

"To Wengwai? We'll be there tomorrow. Get some good rest tonight, tomorrow will be a difficult day. Have you ever been close to a battle?"

Amber looked at Miro. "Yes," she said. "We have."

~

W
ARY
of the refugees, they moved deeper into the forest, but there were cliffs barring further ingress, and they were forced to make camp only an hour's walk from the crossroads.

Miro knew it was their last night with the bearded healers in the blue smocks, and silent as they were, he felt he'd come to know them. Each had a face that was as expressive as a child's; they could raise their eyebrows high, or curl their faces into fierce scowls. They may not have spoken, but they laughed, in great big guffaws and girlish giggles.

That night, Amber made a special meal. She had three pans in the fire simultaneously, working and tasting in a finely orchestrated dance, sprinkling spices here, adding herbs there. She caramelised wild onions and sat the mixture on a flat circle of sliced root she'd baked earlier. After the savoury morsels she served a stew of mushroom and wild rice, seasoned with herbs and spices, rich and fragrant. To conclude the meal she ground nuts to make a coarse flour and added water, frying circles of the mixture to make pancakes. Amber topped the cakes with berries, handing them out to each of the healers in turn before giving one to Miro with a smile.

"That was the finest meal I've ever had," said the healer with the long beard, leaning back against a fallen log and rubbing his belly with a sigh. "I could die tomorrow and know I'd lived well and eaten the best."

Amber blushed, and Miro grinned. He stood and walked around the circle, taking each man's bowl and walking down to a nearby stream to wash.

When he returned, the musician with the gourd was plucking at his strings, filling the air with soothing music. The rest of the healers had fallen asleep around the fire.

Miro chuckled and saw Amber smile up at him.

They would part ways the next day. Miro decided that this was how he would always remember them.

~

M
IRO
jumped awake with a start, suddenly on his feet as he realised there were people everywhere. So many of them! They weren't looking for the camp, that much was clear; the camp was simply in the way.

He could see even more people, over in the direction of the crossroads. They were all running in the same direction. What was happening?

Miro sensed Amber beside him. "Draw your knife," he said, as some running men kicked one of the logs that lay over the fire, sending sparks in all directions. "Be prepared."

Miro held Amber close as he led her up a slight rise beside the encampment, beside some trees where they would be out of the way of the running men and women.

A group of soldiers came out of the trees, running with the others, holding the barest amount of military discipline together. There were at least twenty of them.

Miro swore. "Deserters. They'll be dangerous."

"Stop," one of the soldiers ordered his fellows. "We're on the run now, you all know that." He gestured to the camp. "We need food, blankets, gilden... Whatever they've got."

The brothers were awake now, and most were standing, faces showing confusion. They moved closer together while the soldiers searched the camp.

"No food," said one of the soldiers.

"Just a few blankets," said another.

"You," the leader said, pointing at one of the bearded healers. "Where's your food?"

"He's a brother of the Order," a soldier said. "He won't answer you."

The leader spotted Miro standing with Amber nearby. "These people aren't brothers. Search them."

Miro knew there were too many soldiers for him to take on alone. He wondered if they would be able to talk their way out of the situation.

The long-bearded healer suddenly walked forward and shoved the leader from behind. "Run!" he cried.

Miro had no choice. He took Amber's hand and ran.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the leader of the deserters stumble and then spin on his heel, an expression of rage on his face. His sword cut through the healer's chest, sending a spray of blood into the hair of his long beard. Some of the soldiers turned to give chase, but others channelled the fear they all felt into anger. More of the brothers were cut down by the scared deserters.

Miro held Amber's hand as they ducked and weaved past both trees and running people. He knew if he let go of Amber's hand she would be swept away by the fleeing Gokani. They reached the crossroads heaving and panting, but there was no one behind them.

"The brothers!" Amber cried. "Did you see if they escaped?"

Miro thought about the bright splash of red he'd seen as he looked over his shoulder. He knew from experience that when scared men saw blood their fear would intensify.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Miro lied.

31

T
HE MAIN
road to Wengwai was wide and level, with sloped fields of grass at both edges. This close to the Gokani capital the smooth stones had been laid in a pattern of alternating colours, pleasing to the eye and easy on the foot.

Today, the stones of the main road couldn't be seen through the river of people, all heading in the same direction: to the border crossing at Renton, and the perceived safety of Veldria.

Miro and Amber didn't try to travel on the road, instead keeping to the sloped terrain to the side. It seemed they were the only ones heading to, rather than from Wengwai.

"How can there be so many of them?" Amber asked.

"I don't think they're all Gokani. See, the Gokani wear fitted clothing, carefully stitched. The women often wear those pointed hats with tassels, like that woman over there. A lot of these other people must be from Narea. They would be the ones with the furs. The Emir said Narea was a large nation, with Gokan small in comparison."

"So the people of two nations are heading south."

"It looks that way."

The healers had said they would be at Wengwai before nightfall, but Miro hadn't asked how far away that meant they were. Then, around noon, directly ahead he saw a large hill in the middle of a plain, with irrigated farmland on all sides.

As he grew closer he saw it wasn't a hill; it was a city.

"I think that's it," Amber said. "It must be Wengwai."

Wengwai, capital of Gokan, had obviously been built with defence in mind. A thick wall the height of ten men encircled the city, while round towers were interspersed regularly along the wall's length. The buildings within the walls rose on tiers, an effect caused by each inner ring of structures being a story higher than its neighbouring ring. In the centre of the city rose an immense tower. It was the tallest tower Miro had ever seen.

Miro and Amber were forced to walk through farmland while the fleeing people thronged the road. In the distance Miro saw Wengwai's huge gates standing wide open, facing onto the main road. The gates were feet thick, made of hard wood bound with iron.

"What do we do now?" Amber asked.

"The Alchemists' Guild has its headquarters in there," Miro said. "We go in."

At that moment a horn blasted, the sound reverberating through the distant hills, so low Miro could feel it in his stomach. The sound came from the city.

"What was that?" Miro asked when the horn blast finally faded away.

"Lord of the Sky," Amber breathed, grabbing hold of Miro's arm. "Look!"

Miro saw a distant dust cloud in the north, unmistakeably caused by the steps of a great many feet. The cloud grew larger and closer, and Miro now saw the tops of siege towers poking above. The billowing dust came from the north, extending from one end of the horizon to the other, moving to encircle the city within its arms.

The barbarian horde was here.

The horn sounded again, the intensity of the blast setting Miro's teeth on edge. The city's massive gates began to close.

Instantly the people on the road began to scream. They were too late to get away now; anyone heading south on the main road would be caught in the horde's grip.