The Path of the Sword (17 page)

Daved, as usual, was already up and about long before Jurel had stirred from his bed, but on that morning Jurel was certain he knew where to find him. He did not bother going to Galbin's house where his father was most certainly finalizing the shopping list with Galbin. Instead, he made his way to the main barn where their horse and cart would be waiting. But when he entered the barn, he almost panicked. There was no cart, and one horse was missing. He spun and ran back outside. His father had promised. He had gone ahead and left without Jurel. But it was so early! And he had promised! Certainty gripped him as he ran toward the main house: his father had left before sunrise. He would have wanted to be off so that he could be back for dinner. He should have risen earlier. Why did his father not wake him? He should have-

“Jurel! Come on lad. We need to get going.”

Daved appeared from around the corner of the house, glaring impatiently at him. Relief washed through Jurel, left him dizzy on wobbly legs.
He's always glaring. Even when he's happy, he's glaring,
he thought and laughed out loud as he trotted up to his waiting father.

“What were you doing? We need to be off. No time to go playing in the barn.”

“Sorry father,” Jurel muttered in his new deep tenor. “I thought to prepare the horse and cart for our adventure.”

Daved grunted, mollified. “It was a good thought but I prepared them almost an hour ago. I've been waiting here for you to drag your lazy bones from your bed for that long.” He chucked Jurel in the shoulder, his knuckles digging in and Jurel had to rub the soreness from his arm. “And there's no adventuring going on. We're going into town, getting supplies, and coming back. So I'll have no running off from you, chasing imaginary brigands and ogres.”

“Yes father,” Jurel responded and he could not suppress the resentment that flared up in his chest. He was not some boy to go running off playing foolish games. He was nearly a grown man.

Seeing his son's scowl, Daved grunted again. “Now don't go getting all offended on me boy,” he growled. “I know you're nearly a man grown but you're not yet. You still have a few of those boyish tendencies and I'm heading them off before they jump out of you and make you do something silly.”

When Daved hopped up onto the driver's seat, Jurel rolled his eyes.

“Get on up in the back, Jurel. You'll be more comfortable there.”

“Can I drive?” Even as he asked the question, a vagrant thought made him wonder how many teen aged boys asked that same question of their fathers.

“I don't think so.” How many fathers had uttered the same response?

No point in arguing about it. His father was not one to reconsider once his mind was set.

When he was settled in the back of the empty cart, Daved clicked his teeth and gave a light snap of the reins. The cart lurched as the stocky gray mare pulled on the traces and they were on their way.

His excitement returned, replacing the resentment his father had called forth, and he looked to the road ahead. What would a town look like? Vague memories, broken bits and pieces of the city he had lived in with his real parents, did not answer his question. They were too dimmed by time. Any memory that came to mind—a stone building with a wooden sign hanging in front showing a red shield, wide cobbled streets teeming with horses and people, a green grassy flat area where he spent some days while his parents watched with tolerant good nature—were seen as through dense fog; washed out and gray, fading into and out of memory like birds flying through clouds. No matter how much he concentrated, he could not even remember the name of that place. He could ask Daved but his father was not fond of remembering those days and rarely ever spoke of them. He did not wish to bring up any bad memories.

It was with a darkening of his mood and a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air, that he pushed away that train of thought, instead deciding to live in the here and now, to enjoy the view of the passing countryside. The great impenetrable and haunted forest that filled the center of Threimes kingdom and cut off the road some distance west followed the south side of the road. Great trunks rose high, and so closely together that he could not see more than a few paces into the trees as if they guarded some dark secret, some grim view that no mere mortal was allowed to set eyes on. Their branches mingled and intertwined higher up; it was as though the trees were embattled in an ancient mel
é
e and even leafless they formed a canopy so dense, they would keep all but the most stubborn snows from the ground.

As children, Jurel and his friends had spent many hours recounting tales to the younger ones, tales of hapless travelers who lost their way and wandered into the forest, never to be seen again, taken as they were, by the ghosts and monsters who were storied to reside in its shadowy depths. The stories were meant to frighten the younger children and they did; Jurel was honest enough with himself to admit that he had experienced his own shivers and goose-pimples. Sometimes. His father always scoffed at those stories, calling them superstitious drivel for fools and children, but looking at the gloomy wall of wood and shadows, Jurel could not help but wonder.

Where the south side held deep darkness to it like a mantle, the north was wide open and airy. A few trees spotted the ground in clumps but they were as interlopers in the vast farm fields, now barren for the season, their crops picked clean, and the soil turned. It was as if the narrow track of mud that passed for a road, rutted by farmers running the same kinds of errands that they were, was a border of sorts, a battle line drawn between the mortal and the eternal, the known and the unknowable.

He gazed at a farmhouse similar to Galbin's, as the cart trundled and bounced its way through the ruts and Jurel started in surprise. He had never before seen that house and the realization dawned on him that though they were no more than maybe twenty minutes from their own farm, thirty at the outside, he had never been out this far. Words formed in his mind, floating up from the depths like errant bubbles from a drowning man:
provincial farmboy.
He had not thought of Kurin in quite some time but now as he watched the new scenery pass him by, still virtually on his own doorstep, he had to concede that the strange old man might have been right after all.

He felt like a child all over again—a feeling he did not much like; he was nearly a grown man after all—as he discovered for the first time lands and sights that had probably been unchanged for decades, maybe even centuries. He saw a herd of cattle grazing in the yellowing grasses of a lea while an unfamiliar boy a little younger than Jurel tended them, playing a simple, haunting tune on a reed flute as he watched them trundle by. Another mile passed, and he saw the remains of an abandoned barn, moldering in a skirt of weeds that reached halfway up the gray, rotting hulk. He watched as every once in a while, another house or barn or silo came into view only to disappear behind them, all of them looking almost exactly as the previous ones and before too long Jurel began to wonder if someone played a cruel prank on them, making them ride the same stretch of road over and over again. It did not take very long for him to feel the first stirrings of boredom.

“Are we there yet father?”

“We've been on the road for perhaps an hour. I told you it's a three hour trip,” said Daved over his shoulder. “Besides, do you see a town surrounding you?”

“No but is this all there is to see? Farms and trees? I can see those things at home.”

“Well what did you expect? Parades of singing elephants?” Daved snorted and shook his head disdainfully.

“I don't know. I just...well, I thought things might look different out here than they do on the farm.”

“Now why would that be? It's farmland we're passing through. One farm looks much like any other. Sit back and be patient. We'll be there soon enough then you can get your fill of new things to see.”

With a sigh, Jurel sat back and resigned himself to a long boring trip. He gazed unseeing at the passing landscape (farmhouse, white...silo, missing part of its roof...cows...farmhouse, a little less white...) while his thoughts drifted. His remembrance of Kurin's words brought more memories of that treetop conversation of so long ago. Kurin had told him that he could leave the farm. Indeed, he had pointed out that Jurel might be forced to leave if Valik ever took control. Now Jurel was nearly a grown man and he wondered. Would he leave? So far, being off the farm had proved to be disappointing. Could he leave?

“Father, would you ever leave the farm?” Jurel asked even as the question sprang to mind.

“Haven't we?”

“No, no. Not just for a bit. Not just for supplies and then go right back. I mean for good. Would you ever leave forever?”

Daved turned in his seat to regard his son with raised eyebrows and asked with distinct incredulity, “Why would I want to do that?”

“Well,” Jurel hesitated and considered his options. He could suggest that Daved might be bored and want some adventure, but he rejected that quickly, certain that his father would call it a childish notion. Perhaps then to do something new, to change his surroundings. But no, Daved had told him on countless occasions that he had enough of exploring the world. That left only one option. “What would happen if Galbin died? Wouldn't Valik...?” Jurel broke off, not wanting to finish the unpleasant thought out loud.

“Now that's a grim thought. Where did you come up with it?”

Daved sighed and fell silent to stare out at the road ahead. He was silent for so long that when he finally said something, Jurel started.

“I don't know lad. I really don't. I suppose it would depend on whether Valik can become the man his father is,” he said quietly, pensively. His tone changed then, becoming more a growl, and he continued, “At his age, I begin to doubt anything can redeem him. He's the complete opposite of his father. Why do you ask?”

It was Jurel's turn to remain silent as he formulated his answer. Leaving the farm, striking out on his own might have been more interesting than plowing and digging, even if what he had seen so far of the outside world was less than riveting. On the other hand, the farm was not all that bad a place to live. Food and shelter were always close at hand and his relationship with his friends had improved over the last couple of years as the old memories faded further and further until they were dusty with disuse.

Then there was Erin. It seemed that, lately, whenever he thought of her, his mind went blank and his gut tightened. When she looked at him from under those impossibly long lashes and smiled her delightful smile, he felt dizzy, felt he might sick up, and his tongue seemed to rebel, turning him into a blathering idiot. Somehow, the discomfort was not entirely unpleasant. It confounded him so much that even as he tried to see her at every opportunity, he tried to avoid her too.

“I guess the thought of seeing new things, of doing something else
is just tempting.”

Daved nodded understandingly. “There is an appeal to the thought, lad. I grant you that. Keep in mind that before we settled on the farm, I led another life. I saw things and did things that you cannot begin to imagine. Some, I remember fondly. Others, I would rather not remember at all. That's the trade off. On the farm, things are easy and safe, but it is often a tedious existence.

“Out there,” he gestured, spreading an arm in a wide gesture to take in all the world, “you can experience wonders and excitement to boggle the mind, but there is an equal share of terror and sorrow.”

Jurel pondered his father's words, wondering if the excitement would mitigate the danger. Daved had made his own choice obvious. But as he watched the world pass by under its gray blanket, cool and serene, he wondered if it was really so bad. And it came to him that he was singularly unqualified to answer that question. He had no experiences of his own off the farm—well none that he really remembered anyway. He had no idea what was out there. How
could
he decide?

As always when he pondered these questions, his mind began to tumble in circles, turning the same thoughts over and over until they began to blur and make little sense, and he was no closer to his answer.

Chapter 14

“Take a look, lad.”

His father's voice cut into his mental stalemate like an arbiter at a tournament and he rose to his knees to look over the driver's seat. They crested a hill and Jurel followed the narrow road as it ribboned its way down a gentle descent, still bordering that interminable forest. There had been a brush fire at the far reaches of the farm the previous year, a raging inferno that spread so quickly that it seemed to sprint across the dried fields. Jurel remembered how the hands had cut a wide swath along the edge of the fence. His father had told him that it was a barrier to keep the fire from spreading. For some reason, the road almost seemed to serve the same purpose, only it was the forest itself that was kept from spreading, as if the forest was the fire that needed curbing.

Perhaps a half mile ahead, the road disappeared into a different kind of forest. Tack Town, a village inhabited by maybe as many as a thousand people—so his father told him, but he found it hard to imagine that many people in one place—mostly tradesmen, traders, or minor merchants and their families seemed to huddle. It was an outpost, a tiny speck, fearful of the vast enemy that encroached on its southern flank, but gamely standing in its way.

Wooden buildings with thatch or slate roofs (depending on the success of the owner, no doubt) crouched close to each other but there seemed no order to their placement as if some giant child had dropped his favorite building blocks. Streams of smoke rose from a hundred chimneys, thin ribbons of ash that rose into the mid morning sky to merge with their larger brother above. Even at this distance, Jurel could make out movement in the narrow streets, the hustle and bustle of townsfolk out and about on their daily business like a hive of bees.

Seeing his son's expression, Daved could not help but smile sadly. Jurel did not register it. He was far too busy taking in the sights in front of him. All those buildings pressed side by side, so close that it seemed impossible anyone could get between them. And all those people! Jurel had never seen anything like it.