Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (14 page)

Tharid was on his feet in an instant, sending his long black hair fluttering across his back. “I’ve lost nothing but my patience for you,” he said sharply, eyes gleaming down on Jorin from across the table, “and I can be very unpleasant when I lose my patience. Make another insult and I’ll show you just
how
unpleasant. ”

“Now he shows some balls!” Jorin called, chuckling the whole time.

mother’s—long, with a sharp nose, thin lips, and hair overflowing. “War has been the fall of kingdoms greater than this!”

“There is no kingdom greater than this!” Tiomot roared, showing morsels of half-chewed meat between his jaws.

“Then why not preserve it?” asked Tharid as he seated himself back down. “Why not build this kingdom higher instead of tearing it down with war?”

“
War
,” Tiomot shouted, “is how this kingdom was built, and with war, my foolish son, is
how
it will be preserved.”

“Dandil will be a more difficult foe than the mercenary bands of the highlands, Father.” The prince’s voice had lowered to a tone more somber and calculated than before. “He will not give up easily.”

“We do not ask him to,” said Jorin, scratching his black curls with food-soiled fingers.

Tiomot took a long drink of his wine and rose to his feet with boastful eyes. “I am a man of the highlands!”

Tharid dropped his head and shook it faintly, and beside him, Thae sighed quietly and rolled her eyes.

“Us highland men thrive on war!” the king announced, moving his eyes to his brother with a smile. Jorin smirked and nodded.

“We were born into war,” Tiomot continued. “It was war that gave me this kingdom, when I came down through those Durnam hills and took every village I saw, killed every man that stood in my way, had every woman worth looking at!”

Jorin laughed and chuckles started from Banas and Krin.

“It is because of war, my misguided son and wife, that you sleep on silk instead of hay.”

“We do not condemn war, Father, we only believe they should be chosen wisely. You are a conqueror without a doubt—”

“But war with Dandil will not be good for this kingdom,” Thae cut in, seeming to finish her son’s sentence rather than interrupt it.

“I think war can be good.” Another woman’s voice jumped into the debate and Thae rolled her eyes before bringing them to rest on Vacenia. “If it can be done, why not do away with those who oppose us?” Vacenia said, showing big green eyes to her king, her husband, and then to those across the table. “Our Snowstone is so much stronger than Cyana—we needn’t fear them. If they challenge us, why not get rid of them?”

“Praise Padiir, she’s as hard as rock!” said the king with a full smile and gleaming eyes. “Look Thae, hear, learn, a true Snowstone woman!”

“A true follower of her husband,” Thae retorted, “as she always is. So we’ll never know her own opinions—if she has any.”

“I speak the truth as
I
see it,” defended Vacenia.

“You speak to be heard.”

“Kazakus,” the king called, cutting the two women’s dispute short. “You’ve been far too quiet regarding this matter. What is your opinion, man?”

“Forgive me, my king. It’s hard to focus on much else with such delicious food before me.” The man’s face was in semblance of his sister’s, but with darker skin and his hair cut short.

Tiomot grinned. “Eat as much as you can.”

“I will, my king. As for my opinion, I agree with Tharid and Thae on this matter. We should show caution with such a decision.”

“Bah, caution, you disappoint me Kazakus. I was told as commander of the Red Shoulders you never lost a battle. A pity you’ve gone soft.”

“I never lost, my good king, because I chose my battles
most
carefully.”

“Dandil’s army is shit, and so is Dandil! No one can stand against Snowstone!” The king’s shouts bade silence from everyone at the table, and most even stopped moving for a few moments. “And you, doctor?” The king turned to Stroan, his wine-splashed beard boasting a medley of soggy food particles.

“I must be for war,” said Stroan.

“Ah, war! You see? War! Even a doctor wants war!”

It was at the end of the breakfast, when the talk of war had finally passed, and the guests’ stomachs were heavy with food and wine, that Trinik ran into the room with all excitement, yelling, “My king, my king! Someone defies you outside the city gates! He’s a madman, cursing you, cursing Snowstone!”

Tiomot’s face shifted from sheer confusion to disgust in the moment it took him to set down his wine. “Well, have my guards not killed him?”

The steward, looking afraid to speak yet at the same time afraid to keep his king waiting for an answer, blurted, “He’s quite the soldier.”

“Have they not killed him?” Tiomot repeated, this time louder than before.

“They cannot. He’s killing
them.
You must send guards down, the things he’s speaking of—”

“What is he saying?” Tiomot demanded.

Trinik froze, lips still, not batting an eyelash until the king called out again.

“What is he saying?”

“Lies,” the steward finally said. “Terrible lies.”

“I will take some men,” said Tharid who was already on his feet.

“I, too,” said Krin.

“No,” ordered Tiomot. “If it is one man my son will handle it. Would you dispatch the whole guard for one drunk fool? Tharid, take a set down with you and be done with it.”

“He’s bested the guards down below, do take care,”

Trinik insisted.

“If he’s beaten my city guards they deserved to die,”

Tiomot said coldly. “If any are still alive they better have a good reason that the fool still lives.”

Tharid marched out of the room, and his mother followed. Stroan waited until the king had left and slipped out as well, following Banas and Krin who were making their way out to the gates with Tiomot. From the courtyard, Stroan heard the prince and his men mounting up, and he kept on following the group to the castle gates, knowing the prince and other riders would be coming up behind him shortly.

Shouts echoed from soldiers and nobles in the yard, and as Stroan ran forward he saw that the portcullis was already lifted. The horses’ hooves behind him drowned out the sound of his own footsteps, and he moved aside as the prince raced by with a set of guards following.

Stroan had a mind to run right through the gates after them to see what the commotion was about, but didn’t dare do so in front of the king and other royalty, for they were all content to stand where they were at the top of the hill and look down upon the city in the distance. As only the doctor, he must certainly be content to do the same.

Beyond the city, below on the plains that lay outside the gates was a man on horseback whom they all looked at, but from so far away the figure was obscure. Captain Krin passed a looking glass to the king, who looked for a while before giving it to Queen Thae. Thae looked long and hard before handing it to her brother.

Stroan eyed the instrument, wondering if it would ever make it into his hands. After it had been passed to all , including the young lad Antiah, and was never offered to him, he bowed his head. “My king, may I see the face of this treasonous dog?”

Scrutiny still lingered on Tiomot’s brows as he looked down onto the plain. “Aye, have a look, doctor.” He motioned that the glass be given to Stroan.

Stroan put the tool to his eye and brought the distant world close, pulling the sight of the man’s face so close he thought they might bump heads.

All at once Stroan’s heart stuttered, his skin tingled and both eyes widened.
The man from the fire!

15

Yari Thorn flew
through the Clouds
, skipping over ledges and swinging her body nimbly through the rocks. She had paid a quick visit to her aerie to replace the clay-coating on the bottom of her quivers before setting out. No quiver, belt, shoulder or otherwise, would hold arrows in place as one leapt around the cliffs without some sort of aid. Other Condor archers had crafted their quivers with covers that could be fastened shut while flying, and the attached cover flap could be removed when it was shooting time and serve as a normal quiver. But it wasn’t an adequate solution, not for Yari. It meant that flying and shooting couldn’t be done simultaneously, and in the event they were attacked in the cliffs, their biggest strength—which was the ability to run over terrain that most folk could hardly crawl over— wouldn’t count for nearly as much if they weren’t able to attack while mobile. Further, these flap coverings often tangled and got snagged on the tops of the arrow shafts, and the time it took to throw off the flap for arrow access— although not long—may be a few seconds too late in certain situations. Yari’s way was far better. Clay.

The clay was spread in a thick layer at the bottom of the quiver, and when she loaded her arrows she pushed each one gently until the tip stuck into the mud. The conditions at the bottom of the quiver, cool, dark and damp, and with the leather which naturally retained moisture, meant the clay did not dry for weeks. Her arrows were held perfectly in place. Since she had discovered the method she had seen less and less quivers with attached removable flaps, and more Condor flying through the cliffs wearing back quivers with shafts sticking out that didn’t bounce when they jumped or fall out when their bodies were turned flat or upside down.

Yari was down to the rams’ gorge in no time, and after Gargo saddled up her trusty ram, Ivy, she headed east out of the hills toward the woods. The man she sought lurked in Blackwood Forest—he had dwelled there since he had deserted the Condor, or so she had heard. She couldn’t remember much of the man when he belonged to the clan, except that he was a proficient archer. But, he hadn’t been very well known, and Yari only remembered crossing paths with him once or twice. She had now heard he was the best man with a bow in both this land and the next, and to this she had no argument, for
she
was a woman.

The land flattened out as she left the City in the Clouds behind her, traveling northeast over Dorad. On the horizon, tall green trees looked innumerable in the distance. A few hours more on Ivy and she was in the midst of that green, shaded from the midday sun by their cover, and was welcomed by a small stream where she stopped and let Ivy drink. She took a long drink herself, refilling her water skin with fresh, cold water, and snatching a piece of jerky from Ivy’s saddle-bag. A sound caught Ivy’s ear, and hers too, and Yari put the meat back, stepped away from the stream and listened. It was the voice of a man—no—two men. Yari grabbed Ivy’s reigns and led her toward the noises.

She made no effort to be quiet or conceal her position as she moved towards them, and could soon see the figures of the two men as she drew closer and the trees parted into a small clearing where they were making camp. The two men—one was skinning a fresh killed rabbit and the other was starting up a fire—put down their tools and picked up weapons as she came upon them, looking about to see if there was anyone else.

“Who goes there? What do you want?” The man who called out pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back as he squinted at Yari, and laid it against his bow shaft.

“You by yourself, woman?” the other asked, his hand gripping the sword he had drawn from his belt.

“Yes, man,” said Yari coarsely, letting go of the reins in her hand and stepping in front of Ivy. Her left arm was relaxed by her side, gripping her bow.

“A cliff whore,” said the bowman with a snicker.

“You alone?” the other asked again.

“I’m alone, I said,” Yari replied irritably.

“No, you’re not,” said the one, his lips twisting perversely. “Not anymore. We’re all going to find a way to enjoy ourselves.”

“Then you’ll play my game?” asked Yari, standing in the same place in front of her saddled ram, about twenty paces from where the men stood.

“What game is that?” the same man inquired, looking equally perplexed and amused. His bow lowered, and he looked to Yari Thorn with a lewd grin, his eyes gleaming and wide.

“I wager I can shoot you before you can shoot me,”

she said.

The man chuckled. Yari’s arm flickered and the swift sound of chaffing wood hissed. The man’s eye burst as an arrow flew through it and dug out the back of his skull. Blood and fluid ran down his face as his body fell to the ground. The other rushed Yari with his sword and the woman stood still and waited.

Stepping back and swaying away from the blade, she darted up after the swing and laid her bow shaft across his neck. Stepping behind him, she reached her arm around to grab the other end of the bow, and pulled. She slid her hands in closer to the middle of the shaft and squeezed the wood tight on his throat, pressing her knee against his back. The man struggled for breath and Yari pulled even tighter. She smiled, listening to him wheeze as he suffocated. When she was certain he was gone, she released her hold and let him collapse.

“Come, Ivy,” she said. “We still have a few hours until dark.”

The tawny-furred ram walked up and Yari picked up the half-skinned rabbit and slung it over its back. She hopped on and they rode deeper into the forest.

They were in the thick of the woods when the day faded and the slivers of light that crept through the trees turned to shadows. Yari stopped and made a fire, pulled the rest of the rabbit flesh from its fur and roasted the creature. After eating her fill and putting away the rest she crept about a hundred paces from the fire to a dark place and laid a blanket down to sleep. Ivy lay down next to her. Yari stared at the flames afar off until her eyes grew weary of its light.

When she awoke, she unwrapped the remnants of last night’s rabbit dinner and finished it for her morning meal. After she had eaten and Ivy had consumed her meal from the bushes and shrubs around, they continued even deeper into the wood. Yari looked around. She had never been so deep in Blackwood Forest, and thought surely it must’ve been what Anza meant by the “heart” of the wood. She wondered if Anza had been here herself or if she had obtained the information from someone else. Nevertheless, she would go no farther without attempting to reach the man, for this deep in the forest she no longer knew where she was going.

She built a large fire and as soon as it was ablaze she threw leafy boughs on top, so that it sent great plumes of smoke into the air, and she called out with a loud voice into the forest. “Hunter! Hunter! There are men that need hunting! And a great bag of gold for you to hunt them!”

The woman called out several more times before tossing more boughs atop the fire to produce more smoke. She then drew in breath to yell out yet again. The forest rustled on her right side. Ivy shuffled nervously.

“So soon?” said Yari, looking between the trees as a figure wondrously emerged from the growth. The figure moved forward and its shape became clearer, and gradually what appeared to be a moving cluster of foliage parted as legs and arms moved between them.

It was a man that approached—with saplings and vines tied all around him, ferns and bushes amply woven in to obscure him. Yari grinned at the moving thicket, and peered closer. Under the growth he held a bow, an arrow drawn.

“I thought I’d have to call out for at least an hour,” said Yari, trying hard to make out the face within the thicket.

“
I’
ve been following you for
at least an hour,
” spoke a raspy voice from a bronze face under bushes. “You want me to kill people for you? Well, tell me, are they true or are they liars? Are they sweet or bitter, righteous or rotten?

“They are lying, bitter, rotten men,” said Yari with a smirk.

“Where will I have to go? You know I don’t like the cities.”

“I know. It’s a Snowstone encampment just below Wyndor on the Cyanan border.”

“They’re mining for gold,” said the Hunter.

Yari smiled. “You are well informed. Shoot arrows into their camp. Kill some, but not all of them. You must shout praise to Snowstone—loud enough for the survivors to hear.”

The Hunter snickered and the leaves and branches of his thicket rustled quietly around his face. “That’s a big bag of gold you got,” he said, though Yari couldn’t tell if he was looking at the bag she was holding or not. She couldn’t quite make out his eyes under the growth. “But not big enough for me to start a war for Anza.”

“I’ll double it,” said Yari, quickly.

“Look at me, Yari Thorn. Do you think I care for gold?

I could kill every man at that encampment and take the gold they’ve mined for myself if that was what I wanted. Do you see me adorned with fancy cloaks and pendants?”

“I see you adorned in leaves, now” said Yari, “but when you’re finished in the wild—”

“I’m never finished in the wild,” the Hunter interrupted.

“I see. You’re right, Hunter. Now that I’ve met you I can’t possibly think of what you’d do with this bag of gold. I don’t know you, that’s clear. But you know us, don’t you? You know we could make you rich if you did this thing for us, but you’ve made it clear that’s not what you desire. But you also know our rewards are not limited to gold. So tell me, Hunter, what can we give you for payment? Power, position, a
per
son
perhaps? What do you desire?”

“I desire peace!” the man snapped, branches and leaves jumping around him as he spit out the words. “I will not let you start a war between the north and south. I will not do this job, nor will anyone do it for you as long as I live.” Yari’s head jerked up in surprise, and a tingle went across her right shoulder as her arm jittered.

“Don’t be a fool, Condor,” said the Hunter. “My bow is already drawn, and this is
my
forest. I’ve heard you’re as fast as lightning, but even you wouldn’t make it. Turn around, go home, and I won’t kill you now.”

Yari laughed softly as she turned away from the man. “Thank you, Hunter,” she called, as she walked away and grabbed Ivy by the reins. “I’ll tell my lady I couldn’t find you.” She walked another ten paces and dove out onto the ground in front of Ivy. She had drawn an arrow before her shoulder hit the dirt, and she sent that shot right between the ram’s legs, releasing just before her body made impact with the ground. Two more shots she fired immediately after—through the same space between Ivy’s legs— watching the rustling thicket as her arrows plunged through.

Yari strolled up to the brushwood, seeing that her shots had hit the exact area that she had targeted, and parted the plants and vines that blended into the natural, living flora. Her arrows had struck the very center of the growth, and the shafts were tangled in a mess of shredded leaves and splintered saplings. The man, however, was gone.

Yari stood for what she thought to be a few seconds too long before hopping onto Ivy’s back and making haste out of the forest.