Book 7: Chapter 18 - Chasing an Echo (RAW) (Patreon)

Chapter 18 - Chasing an Echo

An echo carries no truth of its own. It merely returns what was given to it.

- Unknown.

We separated as soon as we crossed back into Meridian. The spirits of the Crimson Blades were generally grim despite the lack of injuries among our party, though they had little reason for complaint. The contract had been fulfilled, Lord Fanzazino’s daughter had been recovered alive, and none of them had joined the dead upon the King’s Road. Yet, for all of this, they rode as though returning from a defeat.

Vaska barely looked at me as we parted. Jean did not look at me at all. Roberts wore an expression as if he was personally disappointed by the whole of creation. Kristoff watched me with careful sideways glances. 

Clara seemed smaller than before. She kept to the far side of the group, both hands wrapped around the reins of her horse. Once, when our eyes met, she looked away quickly.

People were strange creatures. They could watch death delivered in all its glorious violence without flinching, yet recoiled when something slower, darker, but no less final did the killing. Still, their opinion of me mattered only insofar as it affected what came next. 

Before we separated, Vaska promised to send word to my residence concerning our next venture. Venturing into a trial called the Echo of the Hills sounded all so rather dramatic, but I was sure the whole thing would prove disappointing. It would, however, serve to keep me entertained while Larynda did whatever it was she was doing in the Academy.

“The appointed morning,” Vaska said, his voice flat. “West Gate, before sunrise.”

I looked at him. “And the particulars?”

“You’ll hear them before. As I said, we’ll send word to your residence.”

“Very well, but remember, I dislike surprises.”

“We’ll leave without you if you're late,” the other man grinned, but there was no humor in it.

I decided to let that pass. The man was still useful, and I had learned that not every small provocation required a response.

And like that, we went our separate ways.

Arriving at my residence, I saw to Theodore’s care myself. The stablehands came forward as we entered the courtyard, but a raised hand kept them at a respectful distance. Theodore had run hard, fought, eaten at least one man, and then carried me back to Meridian without complaint. Such service deserved more.

I removed the Second Horn from its rest first, carrying the immense lance beneath one arm and passing it to two guards who together struggled to bear its weight. Then came the saddle, the packs, and the heavy harness fitted around Theodore’s armored body. Dust had settled into the creases of his hide and beneath the leather straps, while darker stains marked the blunt edges of his beak.

One of the stablehands approached with a bucket and brush.

“I will do it,” I told him.

The man bowed and withdrew with obvious relief.

Theodore lowered himself with a rumbling exhalation as I worked. I brushed the dust from the thick plates of his hide, checked his limbs and feet, and cleaned the places where harness and saddle had rubbed against him. There were no injuries worth mentioning. A shallow cut near one foreleg had already begun to close, assisted by his unnatural Constitution and the many abuses by which I had strengthened him.

He turned his great head toward me as I scrubbed dried blood from his beak.

“You did well,” I told him.

Theodore blinked slowly, accepting praise as his natural due.

I brought him water myself and filled his trough with grain, chopped vegetables, bruised fruit, and several large pieces of raw meat. He began eating before I had finished. Only then did I surrender him to the stablehands.

Afterward, I stripped myself of weapons and armor and availed myself of a bath. The water darkened with the dirt of the road. I rested in the water until the heat began to fade.

There had been no true danger upon the King’s Road. No moment in which I had feared death. No enemy worthy of hatred or respect. Yet I felt tired in a way that had little to do with Health, Stamina, or sleep.

Perhaps Vaska’s expression had irritated me more than I wished to admit.Perhaps the girl’s screaming had.

No matter.

Once clean and dressed in a comfortable robe, I found Larynda in one of the studies. She had colonized the room with remarkable speed. Books were stacked upon the desk, the nearby chairs, and a portion of the floor. Loose sheets of paper lay beneath inkstones, measuring instruments, and several small glass vials whose contents I did not recognize.

She sat hunched over a thick tome, her brow furrowed in concentration. A strand of gold hair had fallen across her face, but she seemed not to notice it.

“Already making progress?” I inquired, leaning against the doorframe with a small, tired grin.

She barely looked up.

“There is so much,” she replied. “Not much of it useful, but still good to know, I suppose. History, dead people, rebellions and revolts. Places I have only heard mentioned in passing. All required reading.”

I grinned wryly.“Institutions do enjoy making knowledge unpleasant.”

“There is nothing yet about my project,” she continued, “but that will come once I have time to examine some of the restricted tomes in the library.”

“That is allowed?” I inquired.

“Not yet, at least.” She finally looked at me properly. “They will not simply open every door because you flash money around, Gil. Some things require trust and earned privilege.”

She closed the book with some effort, trapping a narrow strip of parchment between its pages to mark her place.

“It will take time,” she said. “The Academy guards certain kinds of knowledge very carefully. Some texts are dangerous. Some are dangerous to the unprepared mind.”

I laughed at that. “An academic tradition stretching across the ages.”

Larynda smiled. “But I think I made a friend.”

“A friend?”

There was a pause long enough to make the word suspicious.

“Yes,” she replied carefully.

“Who?”

She hesitated. “Just a girl.”

“Name?”

“Is that important?”

“It may become important if she attempts to murder you, blackmail you, steal from you, recruit you into a religious cult, or convince you that poverty builds character,” I replied with a shrug of my shoulders.

Larynda stared at me.

“You are so strange sometimes. I think I have had enough of poverty. Anyway, her name is Anja if you must know,” she said at last. “She is from somewhere in the western counties. Her family is not especially important, and she does not appear to have any intention of murdering me. She lent me her notes. She was kind, Gil.”

There was a firmness beneath the words, a small warning that I not spoil this for her merely because the world had spoiled so many things for me.

I relented with a shrug. “Then good for you. I suppose I can keep myself occupied by finding ways to put food upon the table.”

She laughed again, more freely this time. “You do that, Gil. I promise I will find what we need. Or find the thing we need to find the thing we need.”

“That inspires tremendous confidence.”

“It should.”

I pushed away from the doorframe. “Well, then, I shall leave you to it.”

“Oh, and Gil…”

I stopped.

“Yes?”

Her amusement faded, though some warmth remained in her expression.

“You know, you should try to live a little as well.”

I touched my chest as if I were checking if my heart still beat. “I am quite alive.”

“You know what I meant. As I said, this may take time,” she continued on. “We will get there. I promise.”

I looked at her, at the books surrounding her. She looked tired, overburdened, but  quietly happy.

“Very well, Larynda,” I replied. “I will try.”

She regarded me with frank suspicion.

***

Two mornings later, long before dawn, I prepared to go and live a little.

Alone, I prepared myself. The exotic underarmor came first, sealing close around the body. Then the black-and-gold plates, each piece settled into its proper place until I disappeared beneath the heavy Adamantium.

I considered bringing the Second Horn, but ultimately decided against it. The new halberd was the more practical choice. It could cut, thrust, hook, crush, and open most things the world might place before me. The two swords of Saint’s Silver hung at one hip, while Zariyah rested at the other. She stirred faintly as I fastened her there, a brief pulse of awareness before returning to whatever passed for sleep within the sheath. The Adamantine bow would be useful in case I needed to pluck an Angel out of the sky, so I fixed it to Theodore’s saddle, along with a quiver of its fearsome bolts.

Parmin waited for me near the courtyard doors.

“My lord,” he said, bowing. “The kitchen prepared food for the road. Dried meat, hard bread, cheese, fruit, and two skins of watered wine.”

“Competence,” I praised. “A rare and precious thing.”

Parmin accepted the compliment with another bow.

Larynda had not risen to see me off, or perhaps she was doing whatever she did at night. For a moment I considered disturbing her, but decided that the girl deserved her privacy, and I had grown distasteful of such maudlin moments. It was not as if this would be our last goodbye.

Theodore waited in the stable yard, already saddled by the hands who had finally learned how to approach him without trembling. He snorted when he saw me and lowered his head enough that I could run one gauntleted hand along the ridge above his beak.

“Today,” I told him as I offered him an applie, “we shall attempt recreation.”

His only response was to swallow the fruit whole.

I mounted, settled the halberd along its fittings, and rode for the West Gate. Meridian before sunrise was a quieter animal than the city I knew by day. Lamps burned along the broader streets, their reflections wavering in the black canal water. Bakers and fishmongers had begun their work, while night laborers trudged home with bowed shoulders. Serenelles moved silently beneath the bridges, their poles touching the water with soft, measured splashes.

Theodore’s tread, a little to my satisfaction, ruined much of the peace.

The West Gate stood open beneath torchlight, dawn yet to breach the sky with its rosy finger. The city’s guards were inspecting wagons and exchanging papers with merchants eager to begin their journeys before the roads grew crowded.

The Crimson Blades waited beyond the walls and they had come prepared for more than a day’s outing. Packhorses stood burdened with tents, rope, tools, and supplies. Vaska wore his patchwork armor, the massive sword across his back. Jean had his shield and mace. Roberts carried the same axe and spear, both secured for travel. Kristoff had somehow acquired even more knives. A lean bowman stood near the pack animals checking arrows one by one, discarding any whose shafts were warped.

Magister Clara waited apart from the others in dark blue traveling robes beneath a short mantle. Her staff was in hand rather than tied to her saddle. When Theodore and I approached, she grew very still.

Vaska watched us come without smiling.

“Bronze,” he greeted, and I raised my visor.

“Vaska,” I greeted back with only the slightest dip of my head.

I brought Theodore to a halt several paces from them. The great Lumashitu scraped one forefoot against the earth, gouging a shallow trench.

“We need to settle something before we leave.”

“Oh?” I replied, fighting back a yawn.

“You can fight, that much is plain, but this is my company. And if you come with us, you follow the plan,” he said firmly.

I held his gaze. “If the plan is sound.”

“You follow it even if you think you have a better one.”

“That sounds rather foolish,” I scoffed.

“It keeps people alive.”

“But then again, so does having a better plan. But I will let you lead. A good leader, after all, must be a good follower first,” I offered with a smile.

Jean muttered something beneath his breath. Roberts looked toward the sky as if asking the gods for patience and receiving none.

Vaska took another step forward. “This is not the King’s Road,” he declared. “This is not twenty hirelings and one middling Mage. The Echo has killed better people than those we fought the other day. Three Guild parties have entered it in the last nine years. None came back.”

“The Echo is dangerous,” Clara warned quietly.

Her voice drew my attention. She flinched but did not retreat.

“Go on,” I said.

She swallowed. “The Trial is old. Older than Meridian, perhaps older than Aranthia. The entrance appears only under certain conditions, and it does not always appear in the same place. Those who have approached it speak of voices coming from beneath the ground. Sometimes their own voices. Sometimes those of people they know.”

“Dead people?” I asked.

Clara hesitated. “Sometimes.”

Something stirred faintly in the deeper corridors of my thoughts. Elwin laughed once, too distant to be real. Enkidu said nothing, but grunted in disdain or approval. It was hard to tell with him.

Vaska continued. “The last group that tried it was the Ashen Company. Six Silver-ranks and two Gold. Good people. Experienced.”

“And they vanished?” I asked in a flat voice.

“None came back,” Jean answered before getting permission.

Vaska gave him a look.

“No word,” Roberts answered, adjusting the strap that secured his axe. 

I noticed then that it had runes running along the blade and haft.

“They could all still be stuck in there for all we know,” the axeman added.

“That is at least mildly interesting,” I conceded.

Jean stared at me with open dislike.

Vaska folded his arms. “The rules are simple. We stay together. We do not chase voices. We do not wander, even if we think we see someone we know. If I order a retreat, we retreat. If Clara tells us something is magical, we listen. If Kristoff says there is a trap, we stop.”

Vaska’s expression did not soften.

“Do you agree?”

The command sat poorly with me. I had led armies, shattered monsters, and fought things from heaven. Placing myself beneath the tactical authority of a man who had spent the previous mission swinging a sword at hired guards was absurd.

Yet Larynda’s words returned to me, live a little.

Perhaps submitting to the temporary authority of another man counted as an exotic experience.

“I agree,” I acceded. “Provided your orders do not require me to die pointlessly or abandon something of great value.”

Vaska considered that. “I can work with it. You are an insufferable little bastard, you know.”

“That is a first,” I replied with a shrug of my armored shoulders.

The tension did not disappear, but it changed shape. That was enough.

Vaska turned toward the others. “Mount up. We have half a day’s ride before the foothills, and I want to reach the old marker stones before noon.”