The Outcast, page 38
part #2 of A Knight's Journey Series
“It would make life easier,” Al’Rhun said. “But then, so would a great many things. If you were to leave though, you could no longer fight in the arena and earn this one money.”
Rowan wondered what political pressures Al’Rhun faced as his sponsor. The man feigned friendship very well, but financial well being was all that truly mattered to him. Rowan again wondered if he needed Al’Rhun’s sponsorship.
“I should take my leave of you now, so that others may have the pleasure of your company,” Rowan said, leaving Al’Rhun with a bow before the merchant could protest. In his time with the man, Rowan had become quite adept at speaking without giving offense, a necessity given his required attendance at events with Al’Rhun.
He backed away and began to make his way across the grounds, hoping to get some fresh air in the gardens where there would be fewer people. He found the edge of the party and breathed deeply of the night air.
He glanced down towards the shore, where Nel would be waiting for him again, just like before. He desperately wanted to leave but had to restrain himself, both to keep her safe from the vengeful Ishtars and to keep himself in check. He knew that he had nothing but pain to offer a girl like Nel. He was a broken man and she deserved better.
Rowan turned his attention away from the lake and back towards the party. He strode along the garden path, making way for a couple seeking privacy as he had, though likely for very different reasons.
He was watching a pair of men speaking when he caught the sound a familiar voice—one speaking in his own Atlean tongue. He turned and froze. A short distance away, speaking with Al’Rhun, was a ghost from Rowan’s past. Lord Evans.
Chapter 39: Rowan / Nel
What is he doing here? Rowan panicked. Did he follow me this far?
At that moment, Lord Evans looked in his direction. His gaze swept across the room, but Rowan felt it linger on him. The man had to know. What other reason would he have to be there?
Rowan immediately turned to go. He risked Al’Rhun’s sponsorship by leaving, but he couldn’t stay. It was far too dangerous. Not because he would be exposed—that prospect, dangerous though it was, he found potentially liberating—but because he felt an overwhelming anger boiling within. Perhaps if he’d worn his sword… But no. He would die before he could kill Evans.
It was then that Al’Rhun called to him.
“Come here, Parren-nihm.”
Rowan froze at the mention of his name. He could see his escape path…he could still leave. It would complicate things, but it would be easier than facing the man behind him. But in an instant, his way was blocked and Al’Rhun was at his side, pulling him back.
“Come, Parren-nihm. This one has someone that you must meet. A man from your own homeland.” Al’Rhun’s grip was like an iron vice, pulling Rowan back.
“I must go, Al’Rhun. I do not mean to be rude, but someone is waiting for me. Please let me go.”
“Nonsense. Your young lover can wait. For now, you belong to this one.”
Rowan straightened and pulled his arm from Al’Rhun’s grip, causing the merchant to gasp in surprise. He didn’t run though. Instead, he turned around and walked with Al’Rhun back to where Lord Evans stood waiting politely.
Rowan steeled himself and met the man’s eyes. It was all he could do to hold himself back from assaulting the man right then and there. This monster had been right there with Gannon on that darkest of nights. He was involved in whatever was happening near the border. There was blood on his hands.
Strangely though, Lord Evans did not seem to recognize Rowan.
“Is this the one you were telling me about, Al’Rhun? The one they call Tattercloak?” Evans asked in perfect Lauratrean. He spoke the language as well as—possibly even better than—Rowan did himself. There was only the barest hint of an accent.
“Yes, yes. He is a Greenlander like yourself and has been fighting for me in the arena. And winning too—quite spectacularly. His name is Parren.” Al’Rhun turned back towards Rowan and gestured to Evans. “This is an acquaintance of Al’Rhun’s by the name of Lord Evans. A very good trading partner and source of information and connections. He has been very interested in you, young Parren-nihm. Begged this one to meet you.”
Lord Evans bowed his head and extended a hand. Rowan looked down at the proffered hand. He reached out his own and tightly squeezed Lord Evans’s. The man didn’t wince or say a word, just as he didn’t seem to recognize Rowan. How very puzzling.
“It is as Al’Rhun says. I have heard much about you, Parren. Your victories in the arena are the source of many rumors. I hope very much that I will be able to see your next fight.”
“I fight often. I am sure that you will have your chance, just as I am sure that we will meet again.”
Lord Evans nodded politely. Rowan studied him, searching for some spark of recognition, but found nothing. Was it possible that the man did not recognize him?
“Do you have any news for this one from your homeland?” Al’Rhun asked Lord Evans.
“Not much, I am afraid. Very little that you will not have already heard. Nothing but talk of war and fighting.”
“Yes, yes.” Al’Rhun nodded. “It is so very unfortunate that your King Alden died. Now your country is in the hands of one who is only a child.”
“Yes. Princess Eliza is a wonderful girl, but she changed profoundly with the death of her father. She is full of rage and and blames your country for his demise. Sadly, she seeks to avenge his death by declaring war on Atlea, which I terribly regret. I do hope you understand that, despite my origin, I am not a significant part of the politics. War is not what I want.”
Liar. You helped to instigate this war.
Rowan wanted to loudly denounce Lord Evans for his lies, but held his tongue. It was not the time for accusations
“Al’Rhun understands completely. War can be bad for trade. Very bad.” The merchant, too, lied. But his was a small lie. “Besides,” Al’Rhun continued, “you will lose if it comes to war. When banded together, the High Houses cannot be stopped.”
Lord Evans laughed lightly. Had Rowan not known the true character of the man, he would have believed the man’s smile. Would have believed that he didn’t care. But he knew better.
“I am sure that your confidence is well-founded. But Atlea has a masterful Lord Commander and a very large army.”
“So you do believe that it will come to war.”
“Yes.”
“Then we agree, as do most of the wealthy in Lior. Many hunger for it, some even wishing to provoke tensions. And you have come here to make a profit?”
“Among other things. There is much that interests to me in Lior. I suspect others would have come too, had the border remained open and the climate more hospitable. It is too dangerous now, especially given the attacks along the border. Such a tragedy, those are.”
“Dansool Lanachlen is dealing with those very raids. They are, after all, his lands that are being attacked,” said Al’Rhun.
“One of the High Houses has acted already,” Lord Evans breathed. His eyes flashed with interest. “That is much faster than I had anticipated. Have any others made a move to follow?”
Al’Rhun and Lord Evans continued to trade information. Rowan could no longer listen as his rage continued to grow, tempered only by fear of detection. He still could not believe that Lord Evans did not recognize him. Standing there silently while the two men talked of war, Rowan decided to leave before his real identity was discovered.
“I must go now,” Rowan said, excusing himself. He gave a slight inclination of the head to Al’Rhun and then left without a word to Lord Evans. He made his way through the crowd and found his way out.
At the back gate, he bumped into a man who practically growled at him. Rowan turned to apologize and had his second shock of the night, as he saw the mercenary that had tried to kill him in Atlea. Dagget.
Rowan ducked his head and quickly walked away before he was recognized. Once he’d completely left the grounds, he began running.
What had Lord Evans been doing at that party? And why had Dagget been there, too? The man had promised to exact revenge upon Rowan, but he could not have tracked him this far.
Suddenly it came to him. The man had been brought here by Lord Evans. Whether Evans knew that the mercenary sought Rowan, he could not be sure.
Why was this happening now? He was struggling to deal with High House Ishtar and their allies. This was just too much. And Dagget was nothing next to Lord Evans.
Rowan walked the streets, quickly making his way toward the public housing near the waterfront. He needed to be alone. He needed time to think about what had just happened. There were things he’d thought false which might actually prove to be true. What would all of this mean for him?
He had turned his back on his past but it had now come back to face him. Would he face it? Would he run?
Above all, he wondered whether the rumors of Princess Eliza could possibly be true.
‘Princess Eliza is a wonderful girl,’ Lord Evans had said. ‘The death of her father has changed her.’
The man had spoken of the princess in the present tense. He’d said that she was alive. Not dead, but alive. It had to be a lie. But if it wasn’t….
What would he decide to do?
* * *
The sands at the shore of the lake were soft. They shifted beneath Nelliel’s feet as she walked—giving way and enveloping her, then solidifying as she tried to pull away. It made walking difficult, which was why she had removed her sandals. She didn’t mind, though. She liked feeling the sand between her toes and the water at her heels—even if it was cold.
Nel glanced back towards the city, seeking the site with the brightest and most colorful lights. The sky was beginning to grow dark, making the lights glow that much brighter. That was where he would be.
She wondered what he would be doing at this very moment. She had never been to an event like the one he was attending, and had no idea what it would be like. The food must be extravagant, and the drinks, too. She wondered idly if there were many pretty women at the party. They would likely try to speak to Rowan. Probably even try to take advantage of him, seduce him.
They would not succeed, though. Nel was sure of that.
She shook the thought from her head. For all that he protested, she knew that he cared for her. He was a stubborn challa, but he had promised to meet her when his night was done. She would wait until he did.
He needed her.
Chapter 40: Andrew
Andrew stood tall among the carnage. All around him, men were shouting triumphantly. They had just won their first battle.
He did not share their excitement. There had been little honor in their victory. What was left of the village was in ruins. Homes and shops destroyed. Wares looted. Occupants all dead or fled.
They had attacked the village early that morning. It was supposed to have housed a small Lauratrean army. There had been soldiers present, but fewer than fifty. Nothing that could have been called an army.
Andrew’s thousand-strong force took the village with ease. The Lauratrean soldiers fought while the families fled, but Andrew had not seen a single person escape with their life.
It sickened him.
He had fought alongside his friends and fellow soldiers against the enemy soldiers, but he would never take the life of an innocent. It left him questioning the honor in what was happening—this war.
“You look pale, boy. You gonna sick up?”
Andrew turned and saluted Borrs, his lieutenant. The officer waved it away.
“Your first fight?”
“I’ve fought before.”
“But you’ve never killed before,” Borrs stated. “You haven’t seen the death on a battlefield like this.”
“Was this truly a battle?”
“No,” Borrs answered honestly. “But for you, it’s close enough. You did well not dying.”
Andrew grunted, accepting the compliment. It was sincere, he thought. It was hard to tell with Borrs. The man acted callous towards him. But even so, Andrew and the other boys had been ordered to stay back as a support unit. They hadn’t seen any actual combat themselves until the fighting was practically finished.
Borrs hadn’t said anything, but that placement could only have been his decision. Andrew knew that some of the other groups of younger boys had been placed at the front of their unit to act as an expendable shield.
The man didn’t know what to do with his charges. They were technically soldiers just like any other, but none had finished their training. He saw them as a liability, but at least he didn’t throw them away.
“You should go and see to your friends,” Borrs said. “Find out who made it and who didn’t.”
The lieutenant left without acknowledging Andrew’s salute. Andrew held it until the man was gone. He was one for protocol, even if it wasn’t observed by anyone else. Order should always be maintained.
He turned and walked away.
“Ho, Andrew!” Damien called when he saw him. The boy was bloodied and bandaged, but seemed otherwise all right. He stood over Soran, who sat on the ground with his sword across his knees. Soran seemed to be staring at something very far away, his eyes hard and expression slack.
“Is he hurt?”
“No. He’s fine, just a bit rattled is all. Not everyone made it.” Damien gave Andrew a look that told him the news wasn’t good.
“Who?”
“Eight wounded and two dead.”
Andrew recoiled. Two of his friends were dead. They had died to take a small Lauratrean village near the border that held little to no significance. They had died for nothing.
“Who died?”
“Darrow…and Heath.”
“No. That can’t be right.”
“I’m sorry,” Damien said. “Heath was a good person. I know you two were friends.”
“Was it bad?”
“No.” Andrew stared at his friend and couldn’t tell if he was lying. He didn’t want to know. Not really. This day had been hard enough as it was. Better to believe that his friend had died honorably and easily.
“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Damien said.
“This is just the start. I imagine that the real war will be worse. Much worse.”
He looked down at Soran.
“Let’s get him to a tent and see who else we can find.”
Chapter 41: Rowan
“The girl who likes you has been coming by. She is looking for you.”
“Oh,” Rowan said. Of course. Nelliel would be after him. He had forgotten about her. They had promised to meet by the lake after Al’Rhun’s party a few days ago, but after encountering Lord Evans, he had fled the party and forgotten to meet her.
“Is that all you have to say?” Barra asked him. “You did not forget her, I hope.”
“I’ve been…distracted. Nel will have to wait,” Rowan said.
“I understand. The news coming from the borderlands has been serious indeed, and all of it after the death of your nation’s ruler. These are dark times, there is no denying it. And now that Dansool Lanachlen has marched to war….
"You are worried by this thing," Barra continued cautiously. "It is only natural, for the greenlands are your home. Now our two nations will soon be at war. The proclamation was one thing, but now the fighting has begun."
Rowan continued to stare ahead, his gaze unfocused and eyes unseeing. He sat on his bunk with Barra standing over him. Erza idled nearby, doing her best to pretend that she weren't listening. They were both worried by his reaction to the news.
It had not been sudden. Rumors of a gathering Atlean force had abounded over the past months. There had even been reports of several attacks. Dansool Idris Lanachlen had marched to war and not long after, the Lauratrean High King had declared war. But now the fighting had begun, and soon they would be required to answer their calls to conscription.
Rowan had known all of this. It had troubled him, but what could he do? He had already failed to stop it.
She lives. He finally believed it.
Barra and the others thought it was the prospect of war that troubled him. They were wrong. Once Gannon had gained control of Atlea, war became inevitable. It was what the man wanted. No, what troubled Rowan were the rumors concerning the princess. He had dismissed them before, but now... Now, things had changed.
Rowan shook his head.
"You can trust me, Tattercloak. I will share your burdens."
Rowan looked up. There was true concern in the man's face--in his friend's face.
"I cannot do that, my friend. They are mine to bear. I cannot share them with you."
"They needn't be secret, though. Such things are not meant to be kept, but shared. Holding them inside, it will only increase the weight."
"It is not that I do not trust you. I just cannot speak of my past. Not yet. There are things that I must do first."
"You cannot intend to fight!? You will be imprisoned if you try to return home. I will follow you if that is your path, but I cannot—"
"No," Rowan interrupted. "I do not intend to return to my homeland." It felt odd to so openly acknowledge where he had come from. He did not speak of his past. Not to anyone but Nel, and even she did not know the full truth of it.
"What is your intention then?" Erza asked, giving up the pretense of remaining politely uninvolved.
"Does it matter?"
"Of course. Your decision affects us all!"
"I have not yet chosen a path," Rowan said. As he spoke the words, he knew them to be untrue. He did intend to fight for his country. Not against the Lauratreans, of course. He intended to fight the true enemy. Gannon. The man who had killed his master. Eliza. The king.
"I do not think this is true," Barra responded. He looked ready to say more, but Erza did not give him the chance.
"It matters not whether you go or stay. I will follow until you fall to my blade!"
Rowan almost smiled. Almost.
He nodded to Erza and Barra, rising to his feet.
