Untalented (6 page)

Saroya awoke, disoriented. The moon had set and the campfire embers glowed a dull red. Men shouted and horses whinnied in fear. She threw off her blanket. The clashing clang of weapons shot fear down her spine, and her stomach clenched. Nalini crouched by the fire.

“Bandits, I think,” Nalini whispered. “What do we do?”

In the dark, soldier, thief, and student were indistinguishable. Except for the king’s men, none of the travelers had weapons.

Saroya made a quick decision. “Let’s get the horses to the woods.”

Nalini’s wide eyes glistened at her from across the fire. “What?”

“We’re better off out of the action. Keep your mare between you and the fighting. Grab a piece of wood from the fire and if anybody tries to hurt you, skewer them with it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Got a better plan?”

Saroya grabbed her horse’s halter and sliced through his hobble with her belt knife. Keeping a calming hand on the bridge of his nose, she led him off to nearby scrub. Stumbling in the gloom, Nalini followed close behind. A few yards into the woods, the sounds of fighting faded. Saroya stopped and handed the gelding’s lead to Nalini.

Cocking her head, Saroya listened to the night sounds for a few moments. Good. Nobody had followed. “Stay here and keep the horses quiet.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to bring others.”

“Saroya, it’s too dangerous!”

“I’ll be careful.”

She slipped off in the direction of the struggle.

Peering out into the clearing from behind a tree, Saroya could make no sense out of the scene. Horses milled about, straining at their hobbles. Several boys screamed, and a few girls cried hysterically. At least two groups of men fought, but Saroya could not tell soldier from enemy.

Saroya fought to control her breathing, and the urge to hightail it back to Nalini. There! On her left, the dying glow of a campfire backlit Tarmi’s blocky silhouette. Tarmi the Fat excelled at battle and military strategy, although given his well-deserved nickname, Saroya could not imagine him as a soldier. Then again, the Adepts of the Cloister were not versed in the arts of war—Tarmi had been over the moon at the prospect of training in U’Veyle, with the king’s hosts.

Tarmi had encircled a small knot of girls with their horses, and waved a large stick back and forth in front of him, warning off potential attackers. Saroya crept around the edge of the clearing, drawing even with his group. She snuck out of the woods and crouched behind a large, fallen trunk. She tossed a rock at Tarmi’s feet. He whirled to face her, brandishing his stick in front of him.

“Tarmi, it’s Saroya,” she hissed at him.

“Quick, get in the circle.”

“Nalini’s hidden in the woods. I can take these girls there. They’ll be safe. But we have to be quiet.”

Tarmi glanced at the main fight, then back at her. He nodded then ducked into the circle of horses. She heard whispering then a frightened girl appeared, leading a small roan mare.

Tarmi jogged up to her. “Where in the woods?” Saroya gave him rough directions. “Good. I’ll see if I can gather any others. Meet me back here.”

Saroya shushed the three girls then gestured for them to follow her. After a brief trek, Nalini’s pale face loomed out of the darkness. Saroya sensed more than saw her relief. Leaving the girls with Nalini, she headed back to Tarmi. He waited for her at the edge of the clearing, with four more students, but he hadn’t escaped unscathed. Blood from a cut on his cheek dripped onto his tunic.

“It’s nothing,” he replied to her question. “I misjudged someone in the dark. Thought it was Callor. Managed to cut me before I whacked him over the head with the log. Guess he misjudged me.” Tarmi grinned at her. “But now I’ve got this.” He held up a short sword then glanced back at the waiting group. “I told them to leave the horses this time. Too close to the action for disappearing mounts to go unnoticed.” He turned and pushed one of the waiting girls towards Saroya. She grabbed the girl’s wrist to lead her off.

“Don’t touch me you filthy Untalent!” Martezha’s shriek resounded across the clearing. Saroya flinched. Tarmi’s head whipped around.

“Will you shut up? You’ll get us all killed!” Saroya hissed.

Martezha ripped her arm out of Saroya’s grasp. “Tarmi … are you going to let this scum speak to me like that?”

Tarmi shrugged. “Go with her or not, but don’t come whining to me when you get your head lopped off. I’d take her advice and shut your yap if I were you.” He jogged off into the darkness to find more students. Saroya hurried into the woods with the three others before any brigands could pinpoint Martezha’s voice. She almost wished Martezha wouldn’t come to her senses, but the singer hurried after them. Nothing like being alone in the dark to change one’s mind.

With two more trips, they rounded up a dozen students. The next time Saroya returned to the clearing, no one waited for her. She squinted at the skirmish. Two clusters of men still fought, grunting with each parried blow, but now Saroya could make out Tarmi’s large form. He was surprisingly light on his feet. The huddled shadows on the ground must be either injured or frightened students. She clenched her fists, and wished for a weapon. She wouldn’t know what to do with it, but at least she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable.

Abruptly, it was all over. One man let out a last hoarse cry, then several shapes milled about, prodding the slumped figures at their feet. Should she stand up? A large shadow separated itself from the tree to her right. Startled, she spun around.

“C’mon. All’s clear. Let’s go get the others.” Tarmi followed her into the woods as she tried to slow her breathing.

Arriving back at the camp, rescued students in tow, they found Eiden Callor’s men relighting the campfires and tending to their wounded. Nalini searched for her stash of healing herbs in her saddlebag. Two of the five soldiers were hurt, neither seriously, but the brigands’ horses had trampled two students, and blows felled two more. Nalini enlisted help setting a broken arm, so she could tend to a bleeding head wound.

Saroya was applying a poultice to Tarmi’s cut when Eiden Callor found them.

“You did well, Tarmi. A bit rough with your sword handling but the right instruction will improve that. I will see to it that Master Kivik speaks with you when we arrive in U’Veyle.” Tarmi beamed with pride at the mention of the king’s swordmaster. “Good thinking removing the others from the battle. They were safer in the woods.”

Tarmi glanced at Saroya. “Actually, sir, I can’t take credit for that. It was her idea.”

“Indeed?” Callor looked at her with frank surprise. “Well done.”

Saroya shot Tarmi a grateful look. Someone thought she’d done something right!

Sleepless tossing and turning plagued the camp for the rest of the night. Every branch swishing in the breeze sounded like reinforcements sneaking up to avenge their dead comrades.

The next morning the soldiers laid out the bodies of ten brigands in a row at the edge of the clearing. Callor’s men built rough cairns. They saddled up, Callor giving the bodies one last contemptuous glance. “We’ll have to let the local council in the next town know about these.”

They entered the low foothills of the coastal mountains. Callor planned three days to wind their way through the passes, but their wounded hampered their progress. Saroya didn’t mind. She preferred her mount’s slower walking gait to his jouncy trot, and the slow pace kept Nalini relaxed. They avoided the topic of last evening’s conversation.

The rugged wildness of the passes took Saroya’s breath away. She had never seen mountains such as these. Unlike the gentle rolling embrace of Adram Vale’s hills, the coastal range thrust upward, daring travelers to pass. Snow capped the peaks and eagles screeched, circling high above, spying out fish in the alpine streams. They climbed higher, and a chill settled into the air. Saroya dug her cloak out of her saddlebags. At night, she and Nalini huddled together for warmth. The king’s men remained unfazed by the cold.

At midday on their third day through the mountains, after they spent the morning leading their horses up a narrow goat path, Callor stopped and turned around to face them. “We have reached the peak. It grows warmer from here.” They picked their way down until the track widened. Downhill was more difficult in some ways than up. By the end of the day, Saroya’s knees ached, and her muscles stiffened from trying to keep her balance on the loose shale. Callor was right, though: by the next morning, she no longer needed her cloak. A tangy breeze replaced the crisp alpine air. Saroya couldn’t identify the smell yet.

They rounded the flank of a hill a day later and the coast opened up before them. That strange smell must be the ocean’s salt aroma. It was so big! Far off in the distance, the white sails of a trading ship shimmered on the edge of the blue expanse. Closer in, the eastern foothills tapered off onto a low-lying plain. Where land met ocean, the pink-yellow stones of U’Veyle’s towers rose up. From the northwest, the great river Aghrab poured down from its humble beginnings in the interior of Veyle. U’Veyle sprawled across the Aghrab Delta, stone bridges and canals criss-crossing its many tributaries and backwaters. Saroya drank in the sight.

“Impressive, no?”

Saroya started at the voice beside her. Eiden Callor sat astride his mount, gazing down at the city.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Before the Founders came, nothing existed here but marsh and bog. All the buildings are on piles, driven deep into the mud.”

“Why go to so much trouble?”

“The marshes are impassable without a local guide. Makes it hard for an army to invade.”

“I’ve never been anywhere so … so grand. I’ve never been outside Adram Vale.”

Callor allowed a small smile to lift the corners of his mouth. The softening of his features made him appear younger than she’d judged until now. “I think you’ll enjoy U’Veyle. A clever person can find plenty of opportunity.”

“Clever, maybe. But Untalented?”

“Quick wits and an industrious nature can overcome many obstacles.”

He nudged his mount with his heels and moved towards the front of the convoy, leaving Saroya pondering his words, and why he would bother giving advice to one such as her.

They trailed down from the pass and joined the main north-south coast road. Farmers and merchants carting their wares into the capital drew aside to make way for the king’s men. Their motley and bandaged charges drew curious stares. Saroya stared right back, fascinated. Shepherds in homespun woolens herded their flocks up roads shared by noblemen’s carriages driven by liveried coachmen. A rich merchant in a fur-trimmed cloak rode a fat mare in the opposite direction. He followed a cart piled high with wine casks.

The grassy plain soon graduated to marshy bog. Rushes lined the raised road. Saroya marveled that such a road, so straight and dry, was even possible in soggy terrain like this. In a pool off to the side, a heron, immobile on its stilt-legs, fixated on its fishy prey. Saroya hoped the fish escaped the trap, like she’d escaped the mines.

They arrived at the South Bridge, a massive structure crossing over the southernmost arm of the Aghrab River. The clatter of the horses’ hooves on stone changed into a muffled clop over the wooden center span. It could be raised to deny entry to the city. Eiden Callor hailed the watchman, who waved them through. The babble of conversation echoed off the walls as they passed beneath the imposing arched gate. The students clustered their mounts closer together, like a herd of deer closing ranks, seeking the safety of numbers. Craned necks, wide eyes, and gaping mouths gave away the group’s newcomer status.

Just beyond the arch, the main road split into three diverging forks. Callor pointed to the westernmost fork. “That’s the best route to Galon Ford. It bypasses most of the city. Over that way,” he pointed to the east fork, “is the port and the Vergal Quarter. You may all want to avoid that area for now. It’s not known for its savory reputation.” They took the central path through the Market District.

They passed over myriad canals. How could all these people—many in hovels wedged between warehouses, barns, and storerooms—live in once place? The spicy smell of cooking foods mingled with the less pleasant odor of offal. Muddy rivulets of sewage ran down the street. Saroya wrinkled her nose at the stench.

Saroya could only gawk at the market itself. Merchant upon dealer upon peddler hawked wares everywhere she looked. The whole square teemed with people, like some great school of numberless fish. The crowds moved and flowed like fish as well, in no apparent pattern, yet somehow with no collisions either. Ahead of Saroya, Tarmi shrank back from a man clutching at his leg, proffering pastries in his other hand. Tarmi shot a pleading look at Saroya. “He won’t take no for an answer!” Tarmi kicked at the flank of his horse, dislodging the seller, and moved ahead, wedging his horse between two girls’ mounts. He gave one final worried glance at the man, like a mouse peeking out of its lair to ensure the cat hadn’t followed.

Saroya tried to point out a jeweler’s stall to Nalini, but her friend was practically bouncing in her saddle, staring off to the northeast. “Captain Callor said the Healer’s Guild’s down that way!”

“Soon, Nalini. Don’t worry.”

“It can’t be soon enough!”
 

At another major arm of the Aghrab, the character of the city changed. The buildings grew more opulent. Harried students and apprentices on their way to full mastery of their Talents flowed through the doors of guildhalls. Family House sigils over the doors of stately mansions heralded the centuries of noble history within. “Look!” Nalini said as they rode past one particularly opulent building. “It’s the headquarters of the Order of Adepts!” Saroya made a note to herself to avoid that one. She wanted as little as possible to do with Adepts these days.

The road paralleled a waterway Callor named as the Dalcen Canal. Elegant barques floated past, poled along by barquiers with House crests sewn to their livery. An ornate barque glided along in the opposite direction, and Saroya caught Martezha eyeing with envy its rich passenger’s flowing silk gown. Turning to stare after the woman, Martezha would have ridden her horse right into the canal if one of Callor’s men hadn’t noticed and grabbed at her reins just in time.