What Was Forgotten (40 page)

“What about you?”

“I’ll return. Later. But not with you. You’ve built a house out of lies, and I will not enter into it. You can deal with Walrend yourself, but I won’t have him thinking I’m part of your deception. You tell them we never crossed paths, do you understand?”

Zayd nodded.

“Good. Because that is what I will tell Walrend. I’m not a part of this and I never was, and if you say any differently –”

“I understand,” Zayd said.

Barrett turned his back to Zayd and looked towards the gorge. “Then go. Go back to the fort. I need to pray in silence and solitude,” he said as he sat on the rocks.

Zayd began to leave, but he stopped himself. “Thank you, Barrett.”

The knight didn’t turn around; he just sat motionless. “Wasted words. I haven’t done anything for you.” Zayd walked slowly back the way he had come while looking over his shoulder to see that Barrett was still as he was, and before long he was running through the forest following the path made by the carriage. He couldn’t do anything but run; he had been so close to fighting Barrett and, likely, just as close to death.

It was the joy at new life that was infused in him, what gave him the fire to run as fast as he could. And he kept running, for how long – miles? – he wasn’t sure. He only knew he was not tiring, and maybe he never would. All he could hear was the breeze, his heart, and his steps as he went.

And it was why he was instantly face to face with Talazz without warning. The giant seemed almost as surprised as he was, but Talazz wasted no time in drawing his blade.

“Zayd Cothar…”

Zayd began to back away. “Talazz,
no
… you can’t… don’t…”

“By the laws of the Ryferian Empire and by the grace of the Holy Emperor Madriceth, you are found guilty of treason.”

“That’s not possible! Talazz, you know I wouldn’t –”

Talazz took slow, heavy strides towards Zayd. “Yet you did. The mariners returned. Walrend knows what you did.”

“What does he know, Talazz? He thinks he knows, thinks he understands but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what is going on!”

“The order has been given, that is the fact. Circumstance matters not. You betrayed your duty, so I do mine.” The giant stopped for a moment and Zayd felt the briefest spring of hope that he was having second thoughts. “You can surrender and plead your case to Walrend.”

“Talazz, you have to listen –”

“Don’t plead it to me. You are returning to the commander. Alive or dead is your choice. Make it.” Talazz tightened his grip on the handle of his menacing greatsword. The muscles in his arms tensed and flexed impossibly, suggesting limitless strength that was about to be unleashed upon Zayd. Countless times he had imagined what the enemy who faced an En Kazyr might feel, and now he knew, and it was more terrifying than he had thought. Talazz was still a full ten strides away but the greatsword looked ready to cut across that distance faster than Zayd could hope to evade it.

“Make your choice!” Talazz boomed, taking a step closer. Zayd jumped. There was no hope of convincing Walrend from beyond this world.

“I yield,” Zayd said as he held his arms out to his sides, his palms facing up. Talazz paused and looked at the Tauthri, either attempting to discern if the surrender was genuine, or contemplating whether the choice for him to return alive should have even been given. The giant grunted and lowered his sword somewhat. “Alright,” he said, his voice as low as distant thunder. “You walk ahead.” He pointed, and Zayd walked. He noticed as they went that the greatsword was still at the ready, its bloodthirsty tip only a foot, at most, from touching him. If he stopped walking suddenly Talazz could easily impale him.

The forest was different somehow than when he had ridden through it with Sera just hours before. It was menacing, Zayd thought, where before it had been hopeful. But that was just in his mind, and he told himself that the forest was not menacing, and had not been hopeful. It was indifferent. It had nothing wagered on him, and did not care if he lived or died. Was it the same everywhere? Surely not in Tauth, where their old gods had smiled on them through the stars and the trees. Before they gave them up. Home… now so far, so close not long ago.

He heard the kisolark’s song and shook his head to snap himself out of his daydream.

No… it wasn’t a daydream.

He heard the quick-breath sound of the arrow and the giant’s grunt almost at the same time, and, without thinking, ran off the path into the dense protection of the trees.

“Are you hurt,
vahr
?” Tascell called out in Tauthral.

“Who speaks?” Talazz yelled. “Come out!” He began walking, surprisingly fast, after Zayd.

Zayd pressed his back to a large tree, hoping that Talazz had lost sight of him already. “I’m fine. What’s going on? Why are you here?”

“I came to warn you not to return to the fort, but I can see I’m late.” He heard another arrow take flight. The giant grunted again.

“I hope you have enough arrows to bring him down.”

“There isn’t a quiver large enough, but I have enough to distract him while you escape.”

Zayd looked from around the tree to see Talazz turn around and ran in the direction of where the last arrow had been loosed. It was his chance…

So he ran.

He heard a loud crash, as if a hundred trees were felling, and looked over his shoulder. Talazz had swung, was swinging again, and trees were falling all around him. Tascell emerged from the collapse, running as fast as he could, but the giant was close on his heels, not letting him gain any distance.

Zayd drew his blade and veered left to approach Talazz from the side, out of his peripheral view.

“Zayd, go! Get away!”

Talazz swung again as Zayd closed in and buried his blade in the giant’s leg behind the knee. The giant roared out, not in pain – in anger. He twisted and fell, and Zayd lost his grip on the blade, so he kept running, circling back to where he thought Tascell might be.

There was blood on the leaves everywhere. “Tascell!” Zayd hissed. He heard coughing and the sound of Talazz slowly getting back to his feet.

“Come out!” the giant yelled so loud it seemed to rattle the trees. Tascell was sitting, almost laying, behind a fallen tree trunk, his bow resting on his lap. Zayd knelt beside him.

“Were you struck?” Zayd whispered. Tascell was gripping his right side, and he gave Zayd a weak smile. “I think I was,” he said. He moved his hand and blood poured out everywhere. The cut must have cut clean through his ribs, and even as Zayd realized the extent of the injury, Tascell was becoming pale and short of breath.

“I can’t breathe,” he said, and his head slumped to the side.

“Tascell!” Zayd whispered.

“I’ve got one of you,” Talazz said. He was approaching, following the blood just as Zayd had. Zayd was not sure how close the giant was; every step sounded like it would land on top of him. His mind screamed at him to run, and it screamed in Symm’s voice. But his body would not obey. Tascell wasn’t dead. He could not be. There was still a chance he could be saved.

The bow felt alien in Zayd’s hands, like an instrument he had forgotten how to play. Symm’s voice was louder than the footsteps, yet he could tell that Talazz was nearly looming over him.

He stood up straight and saw the giant, saw the rage and determination in his face, and he saw the face change as it looked back at him, looking at the taught bow and the arrow that was levelled at him.

Zayd’s scarred hand trembled and he nearly lost his grip on the end of the arrow. He exhaled, and the arrow was gone. Confusion was frozen on Talazz’s face. He stopped walking, dropped the greatsword, and reached up to his face where the arrow protruded from his right eye socket. His hands were still raised as he fell to his knees, then onto his side.

He stood amid the breathless bodies in the indifferent forest. How could it look upon this carnage and remain that way? Zayd returned to his slain countryman. Gently, he moved Tascell, laying him flat on the ground in a peaceful repose, placed the bow on his chest, and then he sat by him.

“I hope you make it home,” he said. “I hope we make it.”

He sat there until he heard a horse coming down the path from the direction of the gorge. “Follow me home,” Zayd said as he got to his feet and began to run. He went north, into the forest, as fast as he could. Fast enough to outrun the memories of the dead.

Behind him, Barrett Stern saw the slain giant and watched, through narrowing eyes, as Zayd disappeared through the trees

Chapter 25

Cleric Andrican felt the satisfaction one feels when long labour yields an admirable harvest. It had been a long day in a week of long days, but all of them were smaller stepping stones to this: he was going to succeed Vicar Eldon.

It wouldn’t happen for some time yet, but Andrican did not mind. He was a patient man and understood that things within the church took time. Some priests and some clerics did not understand this. They let their egos prevent them from a deeper understanding, and because of it they made themselves into ships sailing into the wind. It would only take time for them to either correct their course or find themselves choking down sea-water as they sank.

He was the most senior of the clerics and, in a way, he had expected to be raised up to vicar, but in the past weeks he had proven that none were more deserving. Because of his scrutiny they had rid themselves not only of an unworthy priest, but a man who was more dangerous than they had realized. Vicar Eldon was unconvinced that Osmun was responsible for Nestor’s death, but because of Andrican’s recommendation, Eldon had ordered the Ardent after him. It amazed Andrican that the vicar needed convincing to begin with – but once he told him of Osmun’s sudden obsession with that imaginary ghost, Eldon’s mind was made up.

And though they had not yet captured the mad priest, which Andrican knew was certain to happen, they had found where he had been hiding, and the body of the Ivesian shaman who had attacked them in a most ungodly way the week before. It surprised him to learn that Osmun would turn to the wicked teaching of a shaman so readily, but that only spoke to the depths of the man’s duplicity and removed any doubts, if any at all remained, that he was an enemy of the faith. Andrican wondered how they had all been fooled for so long to begin with. Perhaps that was how he managed to kill the two Ardent outside that warehouse. The thought of it still soured his other accomplishments, but knowing that those men died in service to the church – fulfilling the pledge they had made with their lives when they had taken on the task – consoled him. There was no death more noble.

Andrican allowed himself a smile despite the small setbacks. Osmun would be captured as surely as Xidius was great. He only prayed it was soon.

The cleric, alone in his study in the Great Cathedral, poured himself a cup of wine, set it on his desk, and walked through the Cathedral halls to the library where he looked through the various tomes of devotionals and inspired poetry. Typically he was not a great appreciator of the poets – he found the odes and the acclamations to be bordering on vain –– but tonight he was feeling inspired, so it seemed appropriate.

The stone halls were warm that night. The Autumn sun would bathe its last warmth of the day on nearly the entire cathedral, and to Andrican it felt like a warm embrace. A message from Xidius Himself… his thanks.

He returned to his room and settled in at his table and took a sip of wine. “Perfect,” he said, just as he noticed a book and a roll of parchment paper before him. They had not been there when he had left…

“It is good wine.”

Andrican nearly fell from his chair. He dropped the cup, spilling out the wine on himself and the floor. He shot to his feet, ready to erupt in anger at whatever idiotic jester thought that surprising him could be tolerated. But when he saw the face, he couldn’t find any words to serve him. Save one.

“Osmun?”

The priest was thinner with a scruffy beard and dark circles under his eyes, the kind won by many sleepless nights. Despite his ragged appearance, he seemed as though he was untouched by any hardship. He had been standing next to the door to the study, and he walked slowly towards Andrican, his hands pressed awkwardly at his sides.

“Cleric,” Osmun said. “You’ve spilled your wine.”

“What do you hope to gain by coming here?”

Osmun stepped forward again, his eyes widened as he grinned a maniacal grin. “Everything. Gain
everything
, cleric.”

“You know you won’t make it out of here, not even to the front door!”

“I don’t want to leave.” Osmun looked around the room, smiling still. “I’m staying. You are going.”

Andrican laughed. “You’ve lost your mind, Osmun.”

The mad priest shook his head and motioned to the desk. “Do you know what those are? The book is the tome stolen from the Compendium.”

“You…
you
are the one who did that?”

“In a way. The letter on the desk will say otherwise.”

Andrican picked up the scroll and unrolled it, keeping Osmun in his sight while he did so. The words were somehow written in his hand and, underneath, signed with his signature. He started to feel dizzy.