Gray clouds hung like a shroud over the sweeping grasslandsof Nyrond, casting a chill shadow on the line of wagons and horses that crept along the rough road. Wet snow and freezing rain fell hard from the sky, driven by the bitter lash of the wind. Even the thick-skinned oxen, normally dull and placid as they pulled their wagons, bent their heads beneath the wintry blasts and let out deep-throated grumbles of protest.
Kaerion pulled the thick expanse of his winter cloak tightly about him, seeking in vain for some protection against the needles of ice that struck painfully against exposed skin. Cold beads of moisture ran down from his matted hair, gathering at the frozen tip of nose and beard. These he swept away with an angry mutter and a swift motion of his gloved hand, but he couldn’tprevent the occasional drop from running down his neck and underneath the bulk of his chainmail. He shuddered once again and was forced to grab hold of the reins as his horse, a powerfully built roan stallion, shifted nervously beneath him, obviously sensing its rider’s discomfort.
Not an auspicious beginning to their journey, Kaerion thought miserably, and ran a hand across the bulk of his saddlebag, absently checking the complement of filled wineskins he’d brought along. The group had awoken wellbefore dawn and made their way from the University to the caravans staging area in the trade district. They spent most of their time during the pre-dawn gloom double-checking their supplies and making last-minute deals with the caravan merchant’s agents, who were only too eager to sell any in-demand item or servicefor twice its price.
They left Rel Mord as soon as the gates were thrown wide against the unrelieved gloom of a forbidding winter sky-though the weather hadbeen kind enough to wait until mid-morning before showering them with its gifts. Now, the expedition plodded forward, six wagons full of food, clothing, spare wood and nails for repairs, pick axes, shovels and other excavating equipment, empty chests for carrying Acererak’s treasure, and all the sundry provisions and supplies required for such an undertaking.
Roughly a dozen drovers and an equal amount of caravan guards had joined them on their journey, sharing crude humor and a rough camaraderie as they went about their business. Kaerion noted the guards with interest. Though most of them seemed like typical down-on-their-luck hired swords, their captain, a steely-eyed woman of indeterminate age, moved with the confidence and grace of a trained warrior. He watched as the woman, who called herself Landra, barked orders that sent the various guards stumbling into formation around the caravan. It was clear to Kaerion after a few moments that her tongue was as sharp as herwit, and he made a note to find out more about her.
Of the nobles who embarked upon this journey, Kaerion was pleasantly surprised to discover that only Phathas remained in the relative comfort of a wagon. Still recovering from his wounds from the battle at the Platinum Shield, the old mage had originally insisted in joining the rest of the group on horseback, and it wasn’t until Vaxor had threatened the mage withbodily harm that he had finally relented.
Though there was little danger of being attacked so close to the capitol of Nyrond, their recent battle had added a cautious element to the expedition. They did not want to leave anything to chance. Thus it was decided that Gerwyth would scout ahead of the caravan, alert for any danger, while Kaerion and a small complement of guards would lag behind, ready to discourage any pursuit. Vaxor, Bredeth, and Majandra wove themselves into the patrols of the remaining guards, roving on either side of the caravan train. Once they left the shadow of Rel Mord, it would be several weeks before they found themselves near the walls of a major settlement or city, and this area could hold dangers beyond that of simple brigands.
A sharp gust of wind blew across the grasslands. Kaerion gasped as its swirling fingers rustled through his cloak, sending shivers throughout his body. He cursed and reached for the edges of his wet cloak once again. He didn’t know if he’d be able to survive the coming weeks and months.Between the bitter assault of the weather and the suspicious silence that had grown between he and Vaxor, Kaerion didn’t know how long he’d be able to last.
He’d studiously avoided the Heironean cleric ever since thenight of the battle, and it was fairly clear that the priest was doing the same. Kaerion thought the cleric might have discovered his secret, and the very possibility had kept him from sleeping ever since. He had shared his suspicions with Gerwyth, but the elf had quickly dismissed them. If what Kaerion had reported to his friend about the Heironean church was true, the elf had suggested, then Vaxor would have been honor bound not to offer any aid, comfort, or sustenance to Kaerion. Vaxor would not have allowed Kaerion to remain a member of the expedition. The elf’s argument was a good one, but Kaerioncouldn’t shake the belief that Vaxor’s silence implied condemnation. The strainof such belief, combined with nearly two days without sleep, had begun to wear upon Kaerion. Already his head ached with the need for strong wine-and it wouldonly get worse. At least, he thought, his insomnia had kept the nightmares at bay.
By midafternoon, the falling rain and snow had eased up, and the grassland winds were, for the moment, held in abeyance. Kaerion sighed and cast a look behind him. Rel Mord still loomed in the distance, a brooding giant. He was surprised to note, however, that despite the brutal weather, the caravan had traveled a fair distance. Looking forward, he saw the undulating tide of grasslands stretch out before him. About a mile ahead, he saw the black line of caravan wagons. From this distance they looked like the great behemoths of the Aerdi Sea, their long bodies cresting across a sea of grass. Patches of white snow dotted the landscape, and Kaerion recalled the whitecaps on the storm-tossed waters of his youth.
He reined his stallion to a halt and stood up in the stirrups, stretching tired legs. Around him, several guards had dismounted and were walking their mounts. Despite the calm in the weather, he couldn’t quiteshake the chill that had gripped him since leaving Rel Mord. His hands shook as he continued to watch the slow progress of the caravan in the distance, though he wasn’t sure if his twitching muscles were due to the weather or his suddenthirst.
Deftly, the fighter dismounted and undid the knot in his saddlebag. He drew forth a skin filled with sweet Nyrondean wine and quickly took a draught. The weather-chilled wine filled his mouth with its crisp texture and he swallowed greedily.
“A bit early to start celebrating, wouldn’t you say?”
Kaerion nearly choked at the sound of the sharp-toned voice. Spluttering, he drew his forearm across his mouth and turned to face the source of that voice. Majandra stood smiling beside the elegant bulk of her horse, a piebald mare with a graceful mane. The half-elf wore a thick green cloak clasped at the neck with a gold-wrought pin in the shape of a harp. A wool-spun doublet further protected her from the elements. Her riding leathers were worn but well made, and she moved easily across the slippery turf in high-topped leather boots.
Majandra shook her head at Kaerion’s discomfiture, and thefighter noticed that for once, the bard’s fiery red hair lay bound in tightlywoven braids that lay about her head like a circlet of bronze.
“This is no celebration, Majandra,” he said, indicating theuncorked skin. “It’s a balm for this damned weather. Alchemists and wizardsaren’t the only ones who brew magic.”
The half-elf laughed and reached for the wineskin. “Thenperhaps you wouldn’t mind sharing a little bit of this potion. My fingers are socold I think they’d shatter on the strings of my harp.”
Kaerion handed over the wine, watching in fascination as the bard took several long swallows and then wiped her mouth, quite improperly, on the sleeve of her doublet.
“What is it Kaerion?” she asked with a smile. “Have you neverseen a woman drink before?”
The fighter shook his head, hoping that the red tint to his face would be seen as a product of the chill wind and not the embarrassment he felt. What was it about this woman that made him feel so off balance?
“Of course I have,” he said, perhaps a bit too sharply. “I’vejust never seen a daughter of one of the noblest houses in Nyrond drink out of anything that wasn’t made of gold.”
If Majandra took any offense at his statement, she didn’tshow it. Rather, the half-elf cracked a thoroughly enchanting and all-too-knowing smile. “Well, now,” she said, her eyes flashing with mischief,“it seems that you have forgotten the fact that you and I have already shared adrink, after a fashion.”
Kaerion stiffened at the mention of his disastrous first evening in Rel Mord, but relaxed when the bard rolled her eyes and laughed in obvious good nature. He was beginning to enjoy this woman’s mercurial wit, evenwhen its rapier-sharp point was focused on him. Perhaps, he thought, this journey wouldn’t be too dull.
Majandra handed back the skin of wine, and the two stood in companionable silence, listening to the sound of the wind as it whistled across the grassland. In the distance, he could see that the caravan line had stopped for the final break of the day. After this, the wagons would push on until dusk, when they would finally make camp for the night.
“I actually came here to thank you for helping us the othernight,” Majandra spoke at last, breaking the silence. “I know you think ourmission is a foolish one, but that didn’t stop you from risking your life tosave Phathas and the rest of us. Without you and Gerwyth, I doubt we could have overcome our attackers.”
“You have no need to thank me,” Kaerion mumbled. And that wasthe truth. Thinking back on the events of that evening, he recalled springing out of sleep and into battle. The rest had simply been instinct. It wasn’t untilthey had regrouped in the ruins of the inn that Kaerion had realized exactly what had happened.
“And I don’t think that your plans, all of this-” hecontinued, indicating the wagons in the distance with a wave of his hand-“arefoolish at all. I tried to tell you that the other evening, but I guess I was a bit too deep in my cups.”
He smiled ruefully and took another swallow of wine. “All ofyou have a tremendous amount of love for your country-and a tremendous amount offaith that the tightness of what you’re doing will see you through.”
“Is that so terrible a thing?” Majandra asked.
“No, I suppose not,” Kaerion replied after a long moment. Hemoved closer to the half-elf, catching her arm gently with his free hand. “Butthings don’t often work out the way we plan. Good doesn’t always triumph overevil. And sometimes, the paths that seem the clearest are the ones that cause us the most pain.”
This last came out in an uneven voice as Kaerion struggled to hide his grief-and failed. He released the bard’s arm and abruptly turned hisattention to his mount, checking saddle knots and stirrups with studious concentration.
The silence stretched out again, this time full of tension. Majandra moved to the other side of the stallion’s head and gently rubbed thespace between its eyes. “Why did you not seek healing after the attack?” sheasked, suddenly changing the topic.
Kaerion continued with his ministrations, trying to find the right words. Despite his earlier comments, he did recall sharing a drink with Majandra. He’d almost confessed his guilt to her right there in the middle ofthe tavern, but fate had intervened. He had another chance now, if only he could figure out how to start. But try as he might, the words didn’t come.
“I suppose I wanted to save the god’s healing for those whotruly needed it,” he said after a moment, immediately cursing himself for hiscowardice. He’d refused Vaxor’s offer because he had been afraid of what thecleric would discover. Instead, he’d recovered his backpack and quaffed ahealing potion while the others were deliberating their next move at the University.
He saw by the look on her face that she didn’t quite believehim. The bard opened her mouth to speak again, but he quickly interrupted her, not liking the direction the conversation was likely to take them.
“I appreciate your thanks, Majandra,” he said as he tightenedthe stallions saddle straps with a quick tug, “but as I said, it’s notnecessary. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to check in with Gerwyth.”
With that, he mounted his horse and urged it forward with a flick of the reins, kicking up a spray of ice and snow.
* * *
Stiff-backed and angry, Majandra watched in stunned silence as Kaerion rode away. When his cantering form was no more than a distant blur, she let out a string of curses that would have shocked any elf that overheard. She had been so very close to drawing the reserved fighter out from behind the wall he had built up to keep most everyone away. She was sure of it. One wrong question, however, had sent him back behind his brusque defenses.
Not that she wasn’t truly grateful for his aid the otherevening. Kaerion’s courage, skill with a blade, and poise under deadly attackhad turned the tide of battle in the Platinum Shield. She was convinced more than ever that Phathas had made the correct choice when he called upon an old friendship in his time of need. Their group would need the skills of Gerwyth and his moody companion if they were to succeed. And so much depended upon their success, she thought, shivering in the chill afternoon air.
Majandra continued to stare out in the direction Kaerion had headed, pulling at her lower lip thoughtfully. What was it that drove this embittered man, that forced him to keep the world and everyone in it at a distance? She’d watched him closely these past two weeks, hoping for some due.One thing was certain: something must have happened during the battle at the inn, something between he and Vaxor. It wasn’t just that Kaerion had quietlyremoved himself from the area when the Heironean priest was offering the healing of his god. The two men hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since that night,and Majandra could feel the tension growing.
Whatever the issue was, she was sure that it was tied up in some way to Kaerion’s impassioned comments about the “clear path.” Something hadoccurred in this man’s past, something truly tragic, and despite his bestattempts, it occasionally broke through the mask he wore. The depth of his pain had surprised her today, but even more disturbing had been the strength of her need to understand him.
What had begun as an instinctive desire to uncover what promised to be an intriguing tale had grown into something much more. Thinking about it, Majandra nearly laughed out loud at the irony. She, a bard and master of many fables, legends, and sagas, felt trapped in a story not of her own making. The truth of the matter was, she finally admitted to the rolling plains and angry gray clouds of the grasslands, Majandra Damar, bastard daughter of one of the noblest houses in the kingdom, was falling in love.
It wasn’t until her mare gave a whuffle of displeasure thatMajandra noticed the wet snow and icy rain, which had begun to fall once again.
The caravan continued through the grasslands for several more days, followed by the blustering wind and freezing rain of the storm. Despite well-built fires protected from the dousing snow and rain by a judicious use of Phathas’ magic, warmth eluded Kaerion. The days rolled by in miserable array,each one more uncomfortable than the last. Even though there were only a few weeks until Readying and the spring thaw, winter still held a tight grip upon the land, unwilling to yield its dominion. After the fourth consecutive afternoon of sleet and hail, Kaerion found himself looking forward to the oppressive heat of the Vast Swamp.
He wasn’t the only one affected by the continually drearyconditions. Spirits had dampened considerably since the expedition had left Rel Mord. The nights were spent in uncharacteristic silence around the fires, with many of the group’s members huddled together for warmth. Even the caravandrovers and guards, whose curses and world-weary comments were usually delivered with professional detachment, had begun complaining in earnest; tempers were ready to snap.
In the late afternoon of the eighth day, during a nasty hailstorm, Kaerion found himself in the midst of a heated discussion. Gerwyth, who had continued to scout ahead of the wagons, had just returned, his winded black gelding blowing plumes of steamy breath in the winter air. The elf had spotted the remains of a burned wagon about a league farther ahead, probably the work of bandits, and was recommending that the expedition circle up its wagons for the evening and make camp, using the remaining light to fortify their position.
“Absolutely not,” Bredeth said. “We still have a fair amountof light left, and I say we push on. We have a long distance to travel, and we shouldn’t waste time. Besides, we have little to fear from a pack of bandits.The scum would be no match for us.”
The incessantly poor disposition of the weather had brought about an equally irritating change in the young noble. The excitement of the journeys beginning had transformed Bredeth into a bearable, if not entirely pleasant traveling companion. He seemed to have left much of his arrogance inside the capital and would often undertake the necessary duties of traveling without too much protest. Unfortunately, the rigors of this trip had brought about the return of the all-too-familiar Bredeth, and Kaerion found himself clenching his fist with the effort of holding back the punch he wanted to deliver right on the highborn snob’s face. Was it possible that many of thenobles he once called friend acted the same way around those they felt as their inferiors?
“Are you so ready to shed blood needlessly?” Gerwyth replied.The elf stroked one hand lightly along his mount’s muzzle. Despite the whistlingwind and the sometimes-painful fall of hailstones, the ranger appeared undisturbed by the fierceness of the weather. “If we are cautious and take thetime to make camp here for the night, we reduce the chances that we will be attacked. Besides-” he pointed to the caravan drovers-“our team is tired. Themen need a chance to rest, as do the animals. We have driven them hard under difficult conditions.”
The young noble bristled as the elf spoke, but he offered no counter argument. Vaxor nodded at Gerwyth’s words. He squinted beneath thewind’s assault, motioning for the grizzled drover who was in charge of thecollected wagons. “Tell the rest of your team that we make camp here, and tellLandra to mount a double watch tonight.” He dismissed the drover with a curtnod.
Bredeth sighed and stalked off, no doubt ready to take his temper out on an unsuspecting guard. Kaerion was about to follow when he caught sight of Majandra, sharing a joke with one of the caravan’s teamsters. He hadspoken very little to the bard since their brief conversation the other day, and he found that puzzling. Since he had arrived in Rel Mord, the half-elf had always seemed a ready companion, willing to share a tale or, more likely, ask questions that he’d rather not answer. Lately, however, he had seen very littleof her-and was surprised by how much that bothered him. He had grown used to thebard’s presence and found himself wondering what she was doing. He’d have toapologize for his rudeness when he had the chance, and hope that she would have the grace to forgive him.
He was about to do just that, when a hand slapped his shoulder companionably. “Well, Kaer,” Gerwyth said, “how about you and I overseesome of the preparations for this evening and then enjoy the comforts of a warm fire?”
Kaerion turned and flashed the ranger a smile. “That soundsgood, Ger,” he said. “I’m tired of this damned snow and ice.”
Kaerion cast a quick glance behind him at the red-haired bard before joining his friend, but not before the elf managed to spot the target of his gaze.
“Oh-ho,” Gerwyth said with an arch of an angled eyebrow, “itseems that our friend has found himself a worthy cause after all.”
Kaerion shot his friend a barbed glance. “Leave it alone,Ger. I haven’t found anything.”
The elf nodded, a half smile playing about his lips.
“So,” Kaerion continued, hoping to change the conversation,“how bad was the wagon you found?”
The hail had finally stopped, and the ranger threw back his hood to run slender fingers through his hair, combing out the knots.
“Heavily damaged,” he said after a moment. “Whoever attackedthe wagon left nothing behind. The good thing is I don’t think they used magic.The damage to the wagon was extreme, but not enough to indicate the use of spells. There were numerous hoof prints. I tracked them for a while before they became obscured in the falling snow. There were about twelve of them, with another six or so on foot. Dangerous, but like our young whelp said, they’renothing we can’t handle.”
Kaerion knew he could count on Gerwyth’s judgment. The elfhad once tracked a small band of goblins that had overrun a hamlet over ten leagues before surprising them in their lair. He’d truly come to appreciate theranger’s skill and fierceness.
“This will be the first of many dangers we encounter,” theelf said. “We’ll have to be doubly on guard once we head into Rieuwood.”
Kaerion caught a burst of red out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Majandra talking with another teamster. She flashed him a bright smile, eyes sparkling. The bard’s smile unsettled him.Gerwyth was right. This was just the beginning. They would face many dangers on this journey. Kaerion only wished he knew which dangers would prove the greatest.