It was not until they stopped to rest a little less than halfway to Winecastle when Roy thought about leaving and taking Reyen with him. Whatever the quest of the others was, Roy contemplated, I have no place in it. Yet, he could not ignore the dark wonders that happened the night before. The trees had whispered, and the raiders continued to fight even though their hearts were pierced through.
What had made him spur his horse to follow along with a golden-haired demon and a timid girl who mounted monsters? Perhaps it was merely for survival. Dark times are ahead, Ulmissi had preached. Death at the hands of Rayhanei's dark brood was likely had they headed to Lesser Vior alone at night. What was the Waif's game? When he and Laird met her twelve years ago, bathing in that pond, she was only a heatheness in the woods; a leader of about twenty men and women with outlandish beliefs. Now her numbers had grown brave enough to take villages. And her pets … The last time Roy saw her, she only toyed with the flesh of rats and sparrows.
Ebernathy had no doubt given himself to the Waif; Roy recalled what the black-haired boy had said. You know he won't kill me. The boy must be as important to the Waif as the girl. Roy glanced at the silver-haired girl. Her name was Larissa; Reyen had told him so. She was sitting by the fire, happily telling the boy a story about winged serpents and the warriors that worshipped them. Reyen kept interrupting her to ask questions about the legacy of which she spoke. She has eyes like Laird's, Roy silently mused, and hair just as silver. What did the Waif want with these children? What did she want from Laird? From Victorya and Reyen? Roy could never forget the Waif's deal. "The mother or the child," the Waif had told him, "This family is special … I will spare one but need the other for my studies. Tell the woman my offer."
Roy could feel his head spin just thinking about Waif's plans. But of all the questions that needed answers, he realized he never asked why Reyen ran off. Pyran had returned from foraging, a sack full of berries, nuts, and mushrooms. The nepher, as his mysterious kind was called, went out to meditate and promised to return with food.
When Reyen came to take his ration, Roy called out to him. "Rey," he grumbled, "come here."
"What?" Reyen said impatiently. "Issa is telling me a story."
"Just answer me one thing, yes?" pleaded Roy. "Why did run off … run off and join them?"
"They'll help me find mother." Reyen turned and hurried towards Issa. "What were you saying about the tahnyn knights?" he asked her cheerfully.
The boy left Roy in a daze. He let the cloth square fall from his fingers, spilling his nuts and berries onto the muddy earth. My Victorya, thought Roy, she lives? He smiled like a stupid child but then remembered the Waif's nature. She may live, but as what? If she was one of the raiders … Roy's joy quickly melted into sadness. The path ahead of him was covered with black fog; truth, lies, and his own guesses murmured within to bedevil him. But he would not turn back. He couldn't, for he had seen too much, knew too much. Though he knew naught of fate as much as Jaiden of Hornwell had, he felt it grip at his soul here and now. Roy need not gaze at the stars nor hear the ramblings of a Carlaneus priest. Destiny coyly hid from those who sought it and revealed itself naked whenever it felt the need. The day he and Laird found that pond in the middle of Moris's Wood was the day he fate fastened its collar tight around his neck. Or had I always been wearing it? The leash tugged him down the path and its murk, and he could not disobey.
"Is something amiss?" Someone said to him. It was Pyran. Larissa and Reyen had stopped to stare at him as well. Roy realized he sat as still ice for a long while, his eyes on the mess that had been his dinner at his feet.
Roy grunted. "No, all's well," said Roy, bending over to gather his meal, "without sleep, my mind oft wanders." Foolish thoughts, Roy reflected bitterly, when have I ever thought of such things?
The night was cold, and sleep was rough. The children were spared some of the harshnesses; the boy had found a large and dead cottonwood. Its hollow was big enough for Reyen himself, Larissa, and the babe. They huddled together as they slept, sharing cloaks and blankets. Roy had slept on a bed of leaves near the same tree, his feet to the fire. His body was stiff and sore; he rose and stretched.
He reflected on a dream he had: a terrible memory relived. It was the day he killed his closest friend. "Fight me, bastard," Laird had screamed at Roy. "Who are you to keep me from my son?" He would never forget the madness in his eyes. To this day, Roy told himself the man he cut down that day wasn't Laird; Rayhanei had corrupted him. Laird had joined her flock and wanted to offer Reyen to his new mistress. The notion had sickened him. When Victorya had tried to calm him with gentle words, he drew his sword and swiped at her belly to keep her away, calling her an adulteress. Roy had stepped, drawing his own blade. A few of their friends at Beggar's Keep had tried to keep Reyen and the other children away lest they see blood spilled. Most rushed to watch, circling them, finding joy in the fight. Laird had been savage, a hatred in his soul that burned for the man he had once called a friend. "I see now. It was you that told them," Laird had accused. "Those damnable dogs of Carlaneus … you've informed them, didn't you?" Roy knew nothing about the holy swords. Three of Rayhanei's worshippers had been given to the pyre. It had only been until after the fight when Roy found out. Roy had even heard the vicar of Aventyne had left Virtera to come to Roum. The man had blessed and purified the grounds where heretics were executed. The dream had ended with Laird's life. He had not wanted to kill him, but Roy could not stop Laird from falling on his blade. Reyen had broken through the press to watch his true father pierced through. Roy had apologized, uselessly, as he held Laird, their blood and sweat mingling. But his friend had not forgiven him, nor did he call out to his family for comfort. "Ast Rayhanei," Laird had said with a bloody mouth as he shut his eyes of gold, "ast nahyl."
It was still dark; Roy judged the sun would be up in a few hours. The nepher was away; his steed circled the children's tree as if it was keeping watch. The beast had wits that surpassed those of its lesser kin—surpassed most men Roy had met, to be sure. The destrier nodded and snorted at him as he passed; if the horse could talk, it may have bid Roy a good morning.
His bladder full, Roy took himself farther away from the camp to relieve himself. After he found a good tree to wet, he saw Pyran farther out. The nepher was striking a boulder with his bare fists. Out of wrath? Roy wondered as took his piss, no, training most like. Roy looked at the Sarazzalean sword at his belt. It'd be wise for me to do the same.
Under Ashferth's employment, he had grown fat and lazy. There had been a few of Wylder's men that needed a beating or helping a stubborn merchant understand his gang lord's offers. It was closer to vagrancy, to be sure: smashing windows, destroying wares, and one time, poisoning a gluttonous weaver with a pinch of ground rat crystals to make him ill but no so much as to give him a lengthy recovery.
Roy approached Pyran; the nepher seemed to sense him coming. Turning from his stone, he greeted Roy with a stiff nod.
"You are well-rested?" Pyran asked. His golden hair shined in the moonlight. Despite the cold, his exertion had his muscled arms and chest awash with sweat; never had Roy seen a man possess such might of mien. For a moment, the fire in his sky-blue eyes flashed, a radiance that paled the moon's own radiance. The Dreaded Dawn, Roy mused silently.
Roy swallowed his spit. "I did," Roy responded. "I must ask you something."
"Speak your thoughts," Pyran encouraged gently.
"My boy—" best stop with that, Roy silently chastised himself, "Reyen told me you are helping find his mother. I … the Waif took her. Is it true that she lives?"
"You believe her to be dead?"
"I've been ready to accept that she was." Roy twisted his face in disgust. "I've seen the woman kill her own followers, sometimes do worse to them. It was for the sake of her studies, she would say."
"The Waif, Rayhanei, had vile fascinations with flesh and life. Such fascinations were why the other nepheri rebuked her."
"Other nepheri? You are kin with her?"
Pyran nodded, his face solemn. "She is nepher, truly, but we saw her as a blight on our isle. The practice of her mystery was cruel, and it frightened us. Mistake us not for allies."
"I do not doubt that," said Roy, smiling wryly, "I've seen you fight in that village in the woods, you and the green one."
Roy noticed damage on the boulder the nepher was striking; it had begun to split.
"Reyen knows not the truth of his mother's departure?"
"Victorya had told him she would be visiting her ailing father in some village far away. Her father had been dead for a few years from that day, in truth. When she never returned, Reyen grew older and had heard different things from our neighbors at Beggar's Keep," Roy frowned. "Some said she married a merchant she met on the way back home and sailed to Virtera with him. Some even said I had her killed out of jealousy, but Reyen wasn't fool enough to believe that. As far as I knew, no one but me and another knew about the Waif, the folk in her shadow." Roy never did find out who informed the inquisitors.
"The boy will learn the truth when we meet our mistress, the Lady in the Elms, as human legend names her. As his guardian, however, it is more fitting for you to tell him, would it not?" Pyran sensed his uncertainty. "Reyen is strong of heart," he assured, "though he believes it not of himself. Fear not when the time comes to reveal the truth."
"Aye," muttered Roy. But I have a fear of my own, chose not to say, what if Victorya had joined them. What shall we do then, when we meet her? For a moment, they stood in silence. Roy rubbed the back of his snore neck and gave a rueful smile. "Never had I thought myself to be a good father, taking care of Laird's boy … I don't see how how a man could be any worse." Roy chuckled lightly. Though he meant to only jest, Pyran was not in a jocular mood.
The nepher turned his head away, and Roy feared that he had offended him in some way. "Have you ever slain one of your children?" Pyran asked flatly despite the weight of the words. "Have you felt their life's blood fill your hands as you held them, knowing you were the beast who drew it? Despise yourself not, unless your sins are equal to mine."
Roy bristled; never had he thought this creature, of such solemnity and restraint, to be a kinslayer. Roy could not find the will to answer. He had a few bastards in his time as a mercenary, to be sure; he had never killed any of them, nor had there ever been a reason to. Only the cold winds roared to fill the silence between them, and far out in the rocky hills, the nightly beasts howled.
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