The Living Sword 2: The Road Ahead

  The Living Sword 2

  The Road Ahead

  Pemry Janes

  Published by Pemry Janes on Amazon

  Copyright © 2019 by Pemry Janes

  All rights reserved

  First Edition 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious matter. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Cover design by:

  humblenations.com

  Edited by:

  Lynda Dietz at easyreaderediting.com

  Map made by:

  Tiffany Munro at feedthemultiverse.com

  For my mother,

  whose determination I can only aspire to.

  Chapter 1

  The Good Stuff

  A frayed, gray ribbon ran along the entire horizon as far as the eye could see. It was the Mountain Wall, one of the legacies of the Ones Who Came First. Nobody else paid it any attention, not their fellow travelers on the road to Parmenorum nor the farmers tending their fields. To them, it was as remarkable as the road beneath their feet.

  But it wasn’t so for Leraine and Rock. The Mountain Wall was still many, many leagues away. Its base could not be seen from even the highest point of the city’s wall. Leraine knew this because she had tried on her previous stay in Parmenorum. Irelith had followed her up, but she had spent her time looking down into the city rather than trying to fruitlessly peer past fields, forest, and swamp.

  Her fond smile did not last as a foul stench assaulted her nose. It had not been this bad the last time, but that had been in the winter. It was summer now. And they were still an hour’s walk from the outskirts of the city.

  She gave Rock another glance; he looked much better now. After they’d left the Blasted Lands he’d contracted city fever. If not for his strange magics giving him strength, he might have died. And that would have made her debt to him far too great.

  Her hand slid over her new scale armor, another piece of that debt, but prudence had dictated she accept the gift. The lands they were going to travel through were even more dangerous, and facing that danger without any protection was foolish.

  Leraine pressed her lips together. Rock stood beside her in his loose clothes, the sword Misthell peering at the city over his shoulder. He might have his magics, which he insisted were not magic, but relying solely on those for protection was most certainly foolish. At least that offered a way to lessen the debt, by saving him from some of his own stubborn recklessness.

  “Why are so many living outside the walls?” Rock gestured at the city sprawled out before them. “They didn’t in Pelagrianorum. Not even in Linese—and that city is more than four times the size of this one.”

  “They must not expect an attack here. We are far from the Blasted Lands, and Volsom isn’t interested in conquest.”

  Rock shook his head. “That can’t be it. It hasn’t even been seventy years since the Blood Lord Rethoga laid siege upon this city.”

  That sounded familiar. It must have been in one of her tutor’s boring lectures, but she hadn’t paid much attention to those. “Did he succeed?”

  “No,” Misthell answered in Rock’s stead. “He broke the siege when he learned a relieving army came, but got caught anyway. Dragged him all the way to Linese before executing him by mage. His corpse was supposed to have screamed for two days.”

  Rock kept looking at the city. “Perhaps all this was built later, though that does not answer why there’s no wall to protect their homes. Or why it all looks so . . . dirty.”

  Leraine knew what he meant. This had been the first Linesan city she had seen, so she’d had no idea at the time how different it was from Linese itself. The city walls’ plaster was yellow with age where it hadn’t disappeared all together, cracks visible even from where she stood.

  The houses were mostly made from wood, many sagging or leaning against one another with only the occasional coat of paint to give the place any color other than brown and gray. It could not be seen from here, but Leraine recalled that the city inside the walls looked very different, much more like what she had come across in Linese.

  “Linesans are . . . they do not care for each other, not like a tribe should. Sometimes they act as one tribe, and then they turn around and act like many tribes fighting with each other. They are a confusing people.”

  Rock frowned as he looked at her. “They do not see it like that, I know that much.”

  “But you do not know the reason for the neglect here.”

  “No, but when I hear the reason, I will understand it. Even if I do not agree with their reasoning.”

  Leraine could only shrug. “That can wait. First there is a decision to be made. You have told me you traced your parents’ trail to Volsom, which lies to the west. Do you intend to go that way to pick up the trail from there?”

  Rock blew out a breath, his eyes drifting over Parmenorum and to the orchards on his right. “I don’t know if I can pick it up. I do not know anybody in that city, nor the language they speak. After this many years, will anybody remember two people who may have only spent a day or two there?”

  His gaze swiveled back to settle on her. “And you wouldn’t accompany me, would you?”

  Leraine hesitated, then shook her head. There was a debt between them, but she also owed Irelith one last task. “No, I cannot. I must return home. There is no reason for me to go to Volsom.”

  Rock simply nodded. “Then east it is.”

  Despite her earlier harsh words, Leraine felt relieved at hearing that. Traveling alone outside the Nations was not safe, and she trusted Rock to guard her back. He was not of her tribe, not truly even of her people. But by his actions he had proven to be an ally.

  “The next leg of our journey will be the most dangerous one. There are no good roads running through the Barren Hills and while the Linesans claim those lands, too, they have not bothered defending them. The Irelian nobles who are supposed to do that are more interested in securing their tribute.”

  “If you are speaking of the Scindian Range, then there should be two imperial roads. One on either side of the hills.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps on a map, but they are not maintained or guarded. There are constant attacks by wolfmen from the north and elves from the south. And the Irelians will demand payment if they can get away with it. To travel in safety, you need a large group.”

  “Then you propose we find one.”

  “Merchants always welcome a few more capable fighters, especially when they are cheap. It should not take long to find one who is going our way.” Leraine looked up at the sky; there were still a few hours of daylight left. “But we will make a better impression after a hot meal, a good soak, and a full night’s sleep. So let us find an inn first. And I will be paying for my own stay, Rock.”

  “There’s no need—not like I have much use for the money.” Money he’d won after a fight to the death with a san. Leraine wondered if he was so spendthrift with his winnings because it reminded him of that day. “And you can call me Eurik, you know,” he said.

  Leraine raised an eyebrow. “And I have told you that it invites bad luck to share your real name with strangers.”

  “After all we’ve been through, we’re not strangers. And you know my name.”

  “What we’ve been through is exactly what you would expect to happen when you draw the attention of malicious spirits.” She gestured at a group of people carrying billhooks, walking the other way toward a copse of trees. “And there are strangers here. So no, Rock, I will not call you anything else.”

  She would also feel much better if he’d stop
giving his name out. Not that she’d ask again. He was stubborn, his name well earned, but he was capable of learning. Eventually.

  ***

  Parmenorum did not smell or look any better to Eurik the next day and he wondered how long he could stay clean in this press. The streets were narrow and crowded. The only thing people got out of the way for were the carts rattling down the middle of the street, pulled by shaggy-haired mules.

  Their innkeeper hadn’t known about any merchants seeking extra guards, but she did direct them to the neighborhood where many of them stayed.

  “It will probably be best if you speak for us,” Eurik said. “I have no experience with this sort of thing.”

  “The secret isn’t what to say, but what the other party wants. If they have no need for us, then it doesn’t matter what I say. The trick is finding someone who does have a need.” Silver Fang stopped and so did Eurik, only to almost be bowled over by the people behind them. Her head snapped to the right. “Or find someone you know.”

  Silver Fang veered off into a quiet side street and quickened her pace. He followed and looked ahead to try and find who had caught the Mochedan’s attention. Her destination appeared to be a short man dressed differently than everybody else. Blue robes that reached to his knees, pants that billowed with every step, and on his head he wore a white linen flap that flowed down to his shoulder blades.

  He walked in the same direction they were, but Silver Fang’s long strides quickly ate the distance between them. “Ghajir Senan Aldhoub,” she said, drawing the man’s attention.

  The man’s turning around revealed that his shoes curled upward into two points and there was a weapon of some sort tucked into the shimmering red sash tied around his waist. Stranger still, there was a thin metal frame perched on his nose which held round, dark glasses in front of his eyes.

  Above the glasses the man’s eyebrows shot up as startlingly white teeth flashed into a smile beneath a braided mustache. “Broken Fang, is that you? My, my, it has been a long time since I saw you. What are you doing here of all places?” Ghajir’s voice had a high pitch, and he strung the words together like they were one very large word.

  “Not that long. You visited my mother’s hall no more than a year ago.”

  “A year, she says, like it is nothing. Far too long is what I say. And who are your friends?” Ghajir said, tilting his head to observe Eurik. “They have such unusual appearances.”

  “Eurik.” He bowed.

  “And Misthell,” the living sword said from his back. Then he lowered his voice to a hiss. “You do realize you are talking to a dwarf, don’t you?”

  Eurik straightened up. “You’re a dwarf?”

  “Ha! Never seen one before, have you? Your sword is correct, I am a dwarf,” Ghajir declared as he stroked his mustache. Then he turned his attention back to Silver Fang. “But you did not answer my question. What are you doing so far from home, with someone like him in tow? Did Raven Eye send you on some mission? Or did you fall in love with Eurik here and run away from home?”

  “No, none of that. I’m . . . I was looking for my first mate with Irelith, though I did not treat my journey as such. Now I return home bearing her sword and with the blood of her killer on my hands. I am Silver Fang now.”

  Ghajir hummed. “Irelith?”

  “You would have known her as Viper.”

  The dwarf’s expression cleared. “Ah, her. My condolences for your loss.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “And return home, you say. That means you are planning to travel along the Neisham Hills to the Inza Road. Dangerous. I think you have an ulterior reason for approaching me.”

  “I do. Are you going east, or west?”

  “East. My business here is almost concluded and I prefer to be home before the first snow falls on the mountain slopes.” Ghajir straightened up, his expression more solemn. “You seek passage.”

  “We seek employment,” Silver Fang replied. “The roads there are always threatened, and you could use two extra guards who you don’t have to pay in metal.”

  “You, yes, you have skill. But what about your companion? What does he bring?”

  Eurik decided to forego words in favor of a small demonstration. He let the earth chiri flow up his body and raised his right arm. The ground beneath Ghajir rose up, lifting the dwarf up. As he lowered his arm, the mass of earth sank back into the ground, leaving no trace that it had been disturbed.

  “Unusual,” Ghajir said, looking at his feet. “Never heard of a human with stonesense before.” Looking up, he clapped his hands together. “I am interested, but this is no place to do proper negotiations. Come, follow!”

  Without even waiting for their agreement, Ghajir set off with Silver Fang following in his wake. Eurik hastened to catch up to her. “That was abrupt,” he said. And what did he mean by stonesense?

  “The Mochenak are direct and dislike wasting time,” Silver Fang said, her voice so low he could barely catch it over the noise of the city. “They feel they have little of it, which is true when compared to you or me.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “Senan Aldhoub regularly visits our lands to buy our vaemac. He is a trader of liquor.”

  “I buy whiskey from them,” Ghajir said over his shoulder. “My people have brought many wonders into the world, but a decent drink isn’t one of them. Do you know what the traditional dwarvish beverage is?”

  “Ah, no.”

  “Fermented goat’s milk. You will find few defenders of its merit among my people and none among those who have access to my wares. I import fiery whiskies from the Mochedan, the bitter ales made in the Oathfellowship, sweet mead straight from the Orcish Isles, fine Linesan wines, and golden cider from Ir Serom itself. A drink to please every palate. For a bit of metal.”

  “You mentioned metal, so did Silver Fang. Should I refrain from using the word ‘money’ around dwarves?” Through Silver Fang’s lessons he’d acquired a new appreciation for how easy it was to offend someone.

  “Money is a concept of the longer people.” Ghajir made a gesture with his left hand and looked forward, just in time to hop out of the way of a lean dog chasing after another canine that had something in his mouth. The dwarf muttered something under his breath, gripping his weapon as he stared after the running animals.

  He sniffed and spoke louder. “You humans like living in untidy places, but this one is the worst. Filthy, noisy, badly built. Let us hurry to my camp, come!”

  Eurik turned to Silver Fang. “Did I offend him?”

  She shook her head. “No. Money is certainly not an offensive word to a Mochenak, but they put little value in it. It is metal they value. They see it as something that is lasting. Something more permanent than their own short lives.”

  “But . . . money is made from various metals,” Eurik countered.

  Silver Fang shrugged. “I did not say it made sense, only that it is so.” Her forehead furrowed as she tilted her head. “They do not see money as a separate thing, I think. To them, it is decorated metal and nothing more.”

  “Ah, that makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Of course, doesn’t it to you?”

  “No, it is not that simple. Money is much more complicated than that. Mother spent a lot of time making sure I understood that. Among many things.” Silver Fang looked ready to stab something.

  “My education was focused on other matters.”

  “The wrong books,” she said, shaking her head.

  Chapter 2

  Weigh & Measure

  Ghajir’s camp turned out to consist of a crescent-shaped row of round tents made of white felt, with an enclosure to the left that held a number of goats the size of small horses. Men and women—some dwarves, some not—bustled about with most of the activity centered upon one of the wagons parked between the enclosure and the tents.

  Large barrels were lying on the ground behind a wagon that had been flipped over and was missing one of its thr
ee sets of wheels. The other wagons had a covering over their beds, shielding their contents from the weather and Eurik’s sight.

  There was little acknowledgment of Ghajir’s arrival, as he and Silver Fang were getting more attention than the dwarf. Ghajir walked straight to the middle tent, only stopping to remove his shoes before ducking inside.

  Following Silver Fang’s example, Eurik crouched down and removed his own worn boots before crawling into the tent. There was little room to stand inside; it was clearly made for people of Ghajir’s height.

  The dwarf himself sat behind a low table, propped up by a number of red and blue cushions embroidered with geometrical patterns. He’d removed his eye coverings and now studied the two of them with large dark eyes. Eurik knelt down at the table while Silver Fang crossed her legs.

  “What do you offer?” the merchant asked.

  Eurik glanced at Silver Fang, letting her know she should speak for them.

  “The offer depends on your route. Do you intend to take the northern road or the southern one?”

  The dwarf’s forehead rippled as he considered the question. “Given current conditions, I have judged the southern route to be safer.”

  “Then we offer to guard your people and your property until you get close to Vanha Forest. Rock has questions for the Immortal.”

  Ghajir stroked his mustache for a moment, his attention turned inward, and then he gave a sharp nod. “The elves don’t venture that far east, but there are rumblings in the Irelian Empire. I cannot convince you to accompany the caravan as far as Glinfell?”

  Silver Fang didn’t even look over at Eurik before shaking her head.

  Ghajir’s hand stilled. “Payment?”

  “Safe passage, food, and medical attention should we need it.” She rattled off the list without hesitation.

  “Those terms are acceptable, provided Captain Slyvair has no objections. He commands the mercenary company I hired, so you would be under his command,” Ghajir explained.