Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) (16 page)

It seemed like leagues of scrambling through the water and choking on it before he finally found himself lying on a muddy bank, coughing water from his lungs and struggling to get back to breathing air again. His head stung in a place that seemed to be deep in his face, just behind his eyes. His blurred vision began to clear as he knelt on the ground, looking at the river beside him, attempting to figure out which way he had come from, and which way he needed to go. The current had carried him a good ways down, and he could hear nothing of the prince or any surviving guards.

He wondered if they still pursued him.

Zar left the river and cut into the forest. If they decided to follow him they would no doubt start by heading downriver, using the water as a guide then searching for tracks away from it. But the prince was wounded and his men defeated, and Zar imagined he was already halfway back to the castle by now. A few large rocks mottled the forest floor to the side of him, and Zar stepped lightly over them to break his trail of tracks, and started off in a different direction. The adrenaline from his fight with the prince and escape into the river was wearing off, and Zar grew weak under the pain of his wounds and the blood he had lost. He staggered along.

Blood ran down his clothes and spilled onto the ground. His vision blurred like when he’d crawled through the river. He strained his eyes to find a secluded place to rest and moved his feet with the last of his strength. If any enemy found him now he would be finished.

Zar stumbled over a root, picked himself up, and staggered into a tree. He thought he heard a noise and spun around to face it, but saw nothing but blurred images of trees fading in and out of his vision. He fell to his knees, too dizzy to stand, and peered through the forest, deciphering indistinct images that he had to focus on intently to make out. A large tree with a black hole—an image he pulled closer and clearer, straining his dimming eyes to indentify. It was a large, old tree, rotting, and hollow at the base. He crawled to it and sat himself inside, his back to the inside of the tree, his body facing out.

Zar fiddled his hand up to his neck and lifted the thin leather band over his locks, pulling out the small bone whistle that hung around his neck and lay over his chest beneath his shirt. He brought the instrument to his lips and blew, and, as usual, he heard nothing. According to Ramla the whistle produced a sharp and shrill call that carried for leagues and leagues. She had made it for Asha and it could only be heard by Asha. Zar had been a skeptic when she’d first presented it to him, but upon his first chance to test the instrument he was made a believer. He’d left Asha with Barek and ridden Dancer into Karthin, and while doing a bit of drinking pulled the whistle out and started blowing it between drinks. He hadn’t expected much to happen that night from blowing the seemingly soundless whistle— besides the few laughs he got from thinking about the whole thing—and the more wine he drank the funnier the whole thing became. It wasn’t until he was leaving the tavern that Zar knew the whistle was exactly what Ramla had said it was, for he half thought he had had one too many as he saw Asha walking towards him.

He blew the bone whistle for hours. Dusk came and darkened the forest air around him, and he continued to blow the whistle. It was in the dark of night that he sat there half awake, half sleep, or dead—he couldn’t tell—blowing the whistle intermittently, when he heard something approach, and looked into the darkness to see Asha coming to him eagerly.

“What took you,” said Zar, his chest hurting. “I need the water.”

Asha knelt in front of the tree and Zar grabbed the water-skin from her saddle. He was reaching for the other sack which kept the dried meats when he heard something else approaching, and saw the light of a small lamp. Zar reached hurriedly for the bow tucked in Asha’s saddle and nocked an arrow, wondering if he had the strength to draw it. The light moved around the trees and beside it the legs of the carrier could be seen. The legs moved forward, and the light floated up higher, illuminating the face it hung beside.

“Is it you?” The face spoke.

Zar pointed his bow at the face in the light, hands trembling. He hadn’t drawn it; he hadn’t the strength to. “My bow is drawn.”

“I mean no harm,” the man called. “I seek only words.” The stranger looked at him with a face of wonder like he was a god, a demon, or some ancient novelty spoken of in books but never witnessed in real life.

“My name is Stroan,” said the man as he slowly came forward, eyes wide and mouth ajar. And you are the man from the fire!”

17

Zar’s eyelids drift
ed open slightly
until he caught the motion of the stranger across from him. His sleepy eyes sprung open and his body jerked up, his chest and left arm stinging as he rose. He smelled venison, and crawled out of the base of the tree he was curled up in, squinting under the morning sun as he tried to remember all that had happened. He eyed the man roasting meat in front of him, feeling that dull and nagging pain behind his eyes like when he had crawled out of the river.
The river!
He had escaped from Tharid into the river. He had crawled out of the water and…and hid himself in the rotting tree trunk. Then that man showed up. He said his name was Stroan.

“You’ve slept long and well,” the man said.

Zar rose to his feet, his balance shaky, and hobbled a few steps closer to the stranger. He kept his eyes fixed on the man until his eyes adjusted to the brightness and the picture of him became clearer. He was a tawny-faced man with short, curly hair sitting on the ground by the fire. Black stubble grew sparsely over his cheeks, and Zar felt he had the eyes of an assassin—not particularly unpleasant, but empty, uncaring. But the man hadn’t come for
his
blood, for if he had, it would have long been spilled while he lay weak and asleep. The man sat still, tending the meat on the spit, turning the pole that the flesh was skewered on, rotating it over the fire.

“I had barely given you my name when you fell. You bled too much.”

Zar looked down at his wounds to find them bound.

His chest had been wrapped all the way around and stung much worse than before. Zar pried through the cloth to find a burn mark instead of an arrow hole. His arm had also been tied tight with cotton cloths. He could feel the pain in both of them with every movement, though his chest bothered him far more than his arm.

“I had to seal it,” said the stranger, watching Zar examine himself. “You woke for a moment when I did it then passed right back out. You’re fortunate it didn’t hit your lung—went right above it.”

“You did all this?”

“Aye,” the man answered. “If you’re dead, I cannot ask you questions.”

“Who
a
re
you?”

“I told you, my name is Stroan.”

“Your name tells me nothing of who you are.”

Stroan’s eyes looked straight into Zar’s, wonder and passion reflected in them. It made Zar curious.

“You burned Tiomot’s storehouse to the ground to save one woman. Who is she to you?”

“I recall saving quite a few women,” said Zar.

“You came to save one,” said Stroan, sounding as sure as if he could read Zar’s mind, “and saved many in the doing of it.”

Zar smiled, intrigued, and replied, “So I did. What is it to you?”

“I want to know why. You owe me that, stranger.”

“Did I ruin your plans?” Zar asked as his hand drifted to the dagger on his belt and rested there. He had left his sword in the tree trunk. “Even as weak as I am I could stick this dagger between your eyes, I daresay.”

“I’m certain you could, stranger, I’ve seen you fight.”

“Been following me, have you?”

“Aye.”

“But not to kill me, obviously, to interrogate me. Has the lecher king sent you? My, that was fast.”

“No,” said Stroan. “You mistake my intention.”

“You’re intention being to ask me questions?” said Zar, eyeing him curiously. “What exactly would you ask
me
? And why?

Stroan shifted restlessly, squeezed both his fists tight and let out a long sigh. Zar could soon hear the man’s breathing, and he looked into his face to find his eyes fixed and staring passionately forward.

“What troubles you, man?”

Stroan pulled his eyes from the distance and let them sink to the ground. “There is a woman…”

“A woman?” said Zar, laughing. “Aye, of course there is.”

“This is no joke.”

“No, it never is,” said Zar, still chuckling. He crawled to the side of the fire until he sat across from Stroan, pulled out his dagger and cut off a slice of meat. “Tell me, what’s her name? Why is she not with you?”

Stroan’s eyes stood grave, and they watered slightly while standing completely fixed without a blink or flutter. “Yuna,” he said with a longing smile, his lips curving at the sound of her name. “She sleeps with Tiomot because I am weak.”

“This is good meat,” said Zar, smacking his lips after swallowing. “Stroan, take meat with me, and we’ll talk about your woman. Really, I don’t see how this involves me unless you think I’m fool enough to storm Snowstone Castle with you. As you can see,” said Zar looking down at his wounds, “the prince alone gave me quite enough trouble.”

Stroan didn’t move. “You gave me hope that night. When I saw you leaving with her in your arms I wondered why I had not done the same. I wondered why I had not risked all for Yuna.
You
challenged the king himself for
your
woman.”

“Not my woman,” said Zar, “but yes, I’d risk everything for her.”

“For me to do the same for Yuna wouldn’t be as simple as what you did in Red Valley, I assure you of that!”

Zar marveled at how the man had snapped at him, looking at Stroan with as much wonder in his eyes as the man had himself when he had first approached Zar. “This is all quite fascinating, I daresay. Might we backtrack to that part about her sleeping with Tiomot?”

“I am not here to amuse you,” said Stroan with a glare. “And I cannot explain the specifics, but she’s in Snowstone Castle. She’s there, I’m here, and I can’t do anything about it!”

“You
can’t
do anything?” Zar questioned, “Or you
h
aven’t
done anything?”

“I can’t!” Stroan snapped. “You don’t understand.”

“Then
explain
,” Zar urged. “Explain why you can’t be with your woman. Explain why she’s with Tiomot instead of you. And
please
explain why you haven’t yet touched the venison. It’s delicious.” Zar pointed to the meat between them.

“Hunger is a trifle,” Stroan moaned, “when she is in my thoughts.”

Zar chuckled. “You sound quite lovesick, I daresay, but unless she is dead, there is no reason to be so.”

“And why is that, stranger?”

“My name is Zar, and I’d like to think we are no longer strangers. You’ve saved my life, and the least I can do is give you a bit of advice. Do something about this. There’s nothing worse than living with regret.”

Stroan’s hands dropped to his side and fell to the dirt.

The man dug both his fingers in and clawed at the earth, shaking his head stiffly. “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”

“I certainly don’t. I don’t know a good many things you haven’t told me. I don’t know why a woman you love would be in Snowstone Castle. I daresay I’m entirely confused.”

“I would have to betray them,” Stroan blurted. “My people.”

“I am by no means an expert in love,” Zar stated, “but you should be willing to betray the world if you love her as much as you say. Isn’t that how it goes? I don’t know, do like the stories and run off with her.”

“You speak nonsense.”

“Maybe,” Zar replied, “but if you’re not a free man among your people, why shouldn’t you betray them?”

Stroan looked up and sniffled, holding his head high as he glared at Zar. “I am a free man.”

“Free? He’s free, he says,” Zar mocked. “Let us say if you wanted to marry this Yuna right now, could you?”

“No. Because she’s not here—she’s in Snowstone.”

“But if she wasn’t,” said Zar. “If she was here right now, could you go to a temple and get married? Well?”

“Not now.”

“Ah, not now. And why is that?”

“There is more to do first.”

“More to do for your people?”

“You know nothing of it!”

“I know only what you’ve told me, but even that is enough. So could you take her away, then? Could you leave your people and take her with you and be with her?”

“Maybe, after—”

“Yes or no, Stroan. Yes or no.”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re no free man, Stroan, and how you’re satisfied with that I can’t fathom. You must’ve been brought up in this, or this situation would seem just as bizarre to you as it does to me. Raise a child in hell and it won’t mind fire.”

“Be silent!” Stroan shouted, rising to his feet while blood rushed through his tawny face, leaving it copper colored.

“Aye, the truth can be upsetting. I do wonder why Tiomot would keep this woman from you. Doesn’t he have enough?”

“It’s not him keeping her from me. I am not of Snowstone.”

“I didn’t think so. If not the lecher king then who has hold of your balls, sir?”

Stroan sat back down while squinting disapprovingly at Zar, but soon replied, “My queen.”

“I take it you don’t mean Thae,” said Zar, looking long and hard at the mysterious man across from him.

“You know I don’t, but I can say no more.”

“You don’t need to. I know enough of your situation to know—”

“You know nothing of my situation,” the man interrupted.

“I
know,
” said Zar, raising his voice a bit, “that your woman is not with you because you’ve done nothing to make it so.”

“Would you have me knock down Snowstone Castle, as you did the storehouse?” Stroan mocked. “I assure you it won’t be as easy.”

“No,” said Zar, sharply. “What I suggest is far simpler.

Leave with her.”

“Leave?”

“Aye, leave. She is in Snowstone so get her out. I don’t see why your queen or your people would take issue with you being with this woman, and you haven’t told me anything so I won’t bother trying to understand it. If they oppose your union then leave. Leave and go somewhere you won’t be bothered by any of them.”

Stroan’s eyes widened and the man looked like he’d just discovered a most pleasant and shocking secret. “To the land across the sea?”

“Aye,” said Zar. “To the land across the sea. That’s where I must go—or be hunted down by Tiomot’s dogs. Then you can live and be happy, and you can enjoy food,” said Zar with a smile, pointing again to the venison.

“Take her with me across the sea?”

“Aye, Stroan. It is not a difficult thing.”

“And Leviathan?”

“Leviathan is flesh and blood, not a demon.”

“What are you saying?” Asked Stroan, eyes focused intently on Zar.

“I’m saying that merchants, smugglers, and pirates cross that blue all the time. Some have sailed and avoided the dragon, and some have sailed and fought it off. Skilled bluemen have made that journey a hundred times.”

Stroan’s hopeful eyes looked at Zar with wonder.

“You know much of the world.”

“I’ve been a few places and heard a few things. Can you get her out of Snowstone?”

“Yes.”

“Is she worth the risk?”

“She’s worth everything.”

Zar sm iled slightly. “And are you willing to give up your life here for her, and, most importantly, does she want the same?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Zar. “Now, please, take meat.”

Stroan stayed still. “Our paths are both for the land across the sea. We must find a ship.”

“We have a ship,” said Zar. “I must make a small detour and pay a visit to a friend. After that I’ll head straight to the Bazhian Coast. You should use that time to free your woman and head to the coast. If you get there before me, ask for a man named Prynner. He’s a shipwright and a friend of mine. Tell him Zar sent you. Tell him we mean to cross the sea.”

Stroan dipped his head in agreement. The man looked as if he’d made up his mind.

“Now that that’s settled, would you please take meat?”

Stroan reached forward for the spit, and pulled one of his two belt daggers from his hip and finally sliced off a piece of the roast. The two ate and rested for a few hours before deciding it was time to head out. Zar shook his head and chuckled after they had said their farewells, and he noticed Stroan walk about thirty paces into the trees and ride off on the back of a ram. It fastened a few loose ends up about the man and gave Zar quite a bit more to think about on his way to Or—as if the whole encounter hadn’t been interesting enough.