The fields of Agenthus stretched on for endless miles of wheat. At the turn to autumn those fields bustled with harvest, farmers racing winter for the prize of their crops. And winter seemed to strike a bit earlier every year.
Viego was a border town, once the Empire’s frontier, now a transition from the rich lands of Agenthus to the harsher frontier province of Tenebras to the east. Ouron had only been gone for a few months, but already he felt a pang of nostalgia, almost as deep as he’d felt when returning from the twelve-year absence of his enlistment.
That return had found Viego shockingly changed, the eyes of a restless youth changed to the eyes of a weary veteran who’d lost the use of his arm. Now, it was more shocking how little Viego had changed in the last few months. Even the watch at the city gate were all the companions whom Ouron had left.
Mischief wasn’t much in Ouron’s nature, but even he repressed a grin as the small oxcart he’d hitched a ride on neared the gates.
“Whoa, there!” young Hugo called out, voice cracking a bit and stepping in front of the cart. Still gangly, still clumsily navigating the road from boy to man. Not yet sixteen, just joining the watch as a junior member that spring, scarcely a month before Ouron’s arrest.
The older of the watchguards (only relative; Ham was still a good half-decade Ouron’s junior) drawled, “Prepare for inspection and entry fees.”
Standard practice for the watch. And human cargo was not permitted for peddlers like this one.
Regardless, the peddler’s cart had taken Ouron as far as he needed. Ouron hopped down and glared at the two watchguards, “Hugo! Ham! What are you doing out with your helmets off?! Is that any way for members of the watch to greet a citizen of Viego?”
The two gaped for a long moment before Hugo screamed and made a sign to ward off evil. Ham was more levelheaded, stammering out, “Ouron?! Hells and saints, what are you-” He took another gaping look at the seal on Ouron’s cloak, “Is...isn’t that a sergeant’s seal? You...you were sent off to prison. You’re in the legions again?”
“No,” Ouron replied drily. “I killed a sergeant and took the seal off his corpse.” Further gapes. Right. Slow, these two. “Yes, I’m in the legions again. Now move aside. I need to see my wife.”
“R-right!” Ham saluted. “Gods...” he shook his head and opened his arms. “Hells am I doing? Come here, you bastard!” Ham embraced Ouron in a bear hug. Might have lifted him off the ground if Ouron hadn’t stretched his soul to the anchor the dirt at his feet, Earth Attuenemnt keeping him grounded against the assault. If the man hadn’t been his brother-in-law, Ouron would have shoved him away.
Ouron thumped the man’s back to signal that hugging time was definitely over.
“Hugo! Get the cap’n!” Ham said. “He’ll want to see our prodigal back again!”
Captain Ylva of the Viego watch was the one who’d dragged Ouron out of the misery of post-retirement aimlessness, giving a purpose back in the city watch after Ouron had returned to find a dead mother and dying father all that remained of his old life in Viego. A good friend to see. Not the priority.
“My wife,” Ouron repeated.
Ham waved it off, “Nora’s fine. We’ve taken care of her. She and-” He paused, eyes widening. “Hells, you haven’t met-”
“Just tell me,” Ouron cut off Ham’s stammering.
“She’s healthy,” Ham said. “The birth was...” a mischievous grin. “Well, you’ll see for yourself!”
“Then let me,” Ouron said. “I’ll talk to the captain later.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t make it far before Captain Ylva arrived, half a dozen other off-duty watchguards with him. All good men. Not who Ouron wanted to see.
“Hellfire, Ouron,” Ylva laughed as he clapped Ouron’s shoulders. “You of all people would be the one to get sent to prison and come back with a godsdamn promotion!”
Ouron sighed, “I want to see my wife.”
“Right, of course,” Ylva said, beaming. Then the smile faltered, “Ouron...watch yourself. 29th legion is still here. Along with Corvus.”
Ouron grimaced. Captain Jamos Corvus of the 29th legion was the very officer who’d arrested Ouron. After Ouron broke the bastard’s nose, of course. And several other facial bones, with luck.
“I’m not here for him,” Ouron said shortly. “I’m bringing Nora with me. That’s it.”
“Right,” Ylva didn’t look convinced. “We’ll take care of the luggage, you just...get to your family. Gods know you deserve that.”
* * *
There were a few soldiers with 29th legion uniforms in the streets, but none took any notice of Ouron. A few townsfolk recognized him, but Ouron simply answered their surprised looks with curt nods. He kept moving. The walk was familiar.
When Ouron had returned after discharge, the house had run down nearly to a shack as Father’s health decayed. After Father’s death, Ouron spent hundreds of hours repairing the place, then expanding when Nora informed him the house wasn’t enough for the number of children she had planned. In the very southeastern corner of town, the garden ran up right against the low wall surrounding the town. A quiet, isolated spot away from the bustling main road.
He froze on the path. There she was. Nora tended the garden. Sun-browned skin and hair of autumn fire shining in the mid-morning light. A breeze came up from the south and rustled her skirt and apron. Even in plain work-clothes, she was stunning as a statue of a saint. A wrap held a small bundle at her bosom, but from the path Ouron couldn’t see what it carried. Or who. Everything Ouron endured in Hellfrost was worth it just for that sight.
“Nora,” Ouron breathed softly, throat dry and a lump blocking words.
She heard. She looked up. Hazel eyes widened in surprise, and the trowel slipped from her hand to the soil.
“Ouron,” her voice trembled. “Gods...is it? It’s really...”
She couldn’t seem to finish the sentence, so Ouron finished for her, “It’s really me.” He was moving, crossing the garden. She met him in the middle, hands on his cheeks and lips meeting his. He kissed her deeply, holding her tight, as if to confirm she were truly real. When she pulled back, her hands still cupped his cheeks, and she shook her head with something between a laugh and a sob.
“What are you...how did...?” The questions failed to form on her lips before they met his again.
He smiled into the kiss. He couldn’t stop smiling, even if the tears were threatening to start.
“You’re alive,” she whispered through the tears. “I...I thought...”
“I’m here,” Ouron said. “I’m alive.”
The bundle at her chest stirred, a soft whine emerging. Nora stepped back, holding it up, then looking between the bundle and Ouron. “Oh, Ouron...”
Ouron stared into the bundle, seeing a small face peek back. Soft, red-gold curls, still downy as only babies have.
“This is...our son,” Nora said. “This is Alan.”
Alan. They’d discussed the names when her pregnancy started to show. For a boy, Alan, a combination of his father Alastor and hers Lanis. Carefully, Nora unwound the bundle from where it was strapped to her and offered the babe to Ouron. He held out his good arm, letting Nora rest little Alan’s head on his palm while the stubby legs dangled on either side. From the moment they realized she was pregnant, he’d sought advice on how a one-armed man could carry an infant, practicing the technique as diligently as any spear drill.
Alan blinked up at him, hazel eyes wide with curiosity and confusion. A faint gurgle came from the boy, and he wriggled slightly in Ouron’s grip, arms reaching out to grasp empty air.
Ouron was a loyal soldier of the Empire. He’d fought and killed and bled for Octarnis. Even sentenced to suffer and die in Hellfrost, Ouron told himself that rebellion was for the good of the Empire as well. Now, looking upon the face of his son, Ouron knew he would let the Empire burn if it kept this boy safe. This life, more than any other, was sacred.
“Hello, Alan,” Ouron said, barely keeping his voice steady. “I’m...your father. I’m your father.” He looked to Nora. “He’s beautiful.”
A noise came from the bottom of Alan’s swaddling, accompanied by a decidedly unsacred stench. That beautiful face twisted and began to wail. Nora stifled a giggle as she took Alan back, “That he is, and you have the privilege of his next changing.”
* * *
Alan fell asleep shortly after the changing, and Ouron told Nora the tale of Hellfrost at their dinner table in low tones. Nora listened in rapt attention, waiting for him to complete the tale. She always was a good listener. Patient, attentive, accepting what others said without imposing herself on the conversation. In the past, that acceptance had let her tolerate Ouron’s temper and bouts of bitterness at his lost years of service.
“Then...you’re returning to Hellfrost soon,” Nora murmured.
“Aye,” Ouron fidgeted with the seal on his cloak, marking him a sergeant of the new “Hellfrost Legion” formed under Aven Arvanius’ command. Ouron still wasn’t sure whether the voidtouched was mad, genius, or half-and-half. “I came to bring you.”
Nora hesitated, biting her lip. Ouron waited until she was ready to speak.
“Hellfrost,” she whispered. “It’s...so far away. My...my family is here, Ouron. I’ve...never lived outside of Viego. I’ve never known anywhere else.”
“I know,” Ouron said. He knew, but that didn’t make it easy. “But if I don’t return to Hellfrost, I’ll be branded a deserter. I’d be sent back anyway. Or...” Or killed, if the legionaries didn’t care about retrieving a single deserter. “I only got permission to leave so that I could retrieve you.”
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It was a sacrifice too unfair to ask of anyone. To leave behind their home, their family, to forsake a peaceful life for a hell assaulted by voidspawn half the year and frozen the other half. And to raise a child there...
Ouron still asked, “Please, come with me.”
Nora didn’t look at him for a long moment. “I...will come. I am your wife, Ouron.” She placed her hand atop his good one, squeezing gently, “I’ll follow you, and we’ll raise our son together.”
No words could describe the relief, the adoration Ouron felt in that moment. Even the tears and wordless kiss to her hand could only communicate a fraction of it. Ouron hoped it was enough.
A loud, threatening knock sounded on the door, followed by a shout, “Nora! Open up!”
Nora blanched. It took Ouron a beat to recognize the voice. Captain Jamos Corvus.
“Come on, I just want to talk!” the voice came again. A nasally, unpleasant voice, made more so by a still-recovering nose. And the fact that even mid-morning it was already wine-slurred.
“Leave!” Nora raised her voice, giving Ouron a pleading look and shaking her head while deftly rising to latch the door’s inner lock. “I’ve told a hundred times, I want nothing to do with you!”
Spat, slurred, nearly incoherent curses sounded. The door shook in the frame as Jamos Corvus pounded upon it. Alan awoke, his wails joining the racket from outside the door. The pounding stopped. A long pause followed, before the voice came back, quieter this time, “You want to play like that, you stoneshield’s bitch? While your husband rots, and your child starves? I could give you more than that damn, dried-up ass ever could. I could take care of you. I’ll show you what a real man’s touch feels like-”
Rage broke through Ouron’s discipline. He was a stoneshield. Stone had its limits. Only the fear in Nora’s eyes tempered the rage enough for Ouron to not burst from the door with fists swinging. Instead, he simply unlatched the door and threw it open, standing in the frame.
“Leave, Corvus.”
Corvus stepped back from the door, eyes going wide. Before, some had called the captain handsome, at least until he opened his mouth. Now, with a crooked nose and decidedly asymmetric features courtesy of a stoneshield’s fist, the captain had a permanent sneer far more befitting of his personality. “You?! You’re...you’re supposed to be in prison!” A pause, “Guards! Guards!”
Fate smiled, and it was town watch, not 29th legion soldiers that answered the screams. Ouron waited while the captain shouted at the watchguards to arrest Ouron, to throw him in jail and let him rot there.
The watchguards glanced at the captain, then at Ouron.
“I’m here on a commission from Governor Skal Iraias of Septentrion,” Ouron announced to the questioning guards. He gestured to the seal on his cloak, then retrieved the letter written by Etrani’s hand and sealed with the governor’s mark. A hidden benefit of Hellfrost’s new leadership. Rather than her own authority, Etrani remained merely a representative of the governor. Which meant all decisions she made were under the governor’s oversight but also held the governor’s authority. A mere county executor did not have power outside the province. An imperial governor’s authority, however, held power throughout the Empire. “To bring my wife and son to Hellfrost, where I will be resuming my service as a sergeant of the Hellfrost Legion.”
The guards took a long look at the letter. Then at Ouron’s sergeant’s seal. Captain Corvus had gone quiet. His eyes widened, and his lips pulled into a rictus.
“You’re a damned criminal!” Corvus spat, eyes bulging.
“I was pardoned,” Ouron said slowly, “for service to the Empire in repelling a voidspawn threat and for contributions to the arrest of traitors to the Empire, Executor Yvris Dezbar and Captain Erdrak Skullhammer, vis of the third circle.” He paused to allow the inebriated captain to absorb as much information as his weaselly mind could. “Unless you have the authority to overrule a governor’s commission, then get your snivelling arse off my doorstep, and leave my family in peace.”
Corvus sneered at Ouron. Then, at the letter. He spat, “I know what you are! I’ll see you hanged!”
“Then let’s go to the magistrate and ask,” Ouron said.
Magistrate Triara Vernus was a woman tough as good steel and solid as an oak. She enforced Viego’s laws as faithfully as any magistrate in the Empire. And even as she’d sentenced Ouron in accordance with the letter of the law, she’d privately thanked him for giving Corvus a taste of what he deserved. If there was a single official in all of Octarnis that Corvus would fear to cross, it was Magistrate Vernus.
He wasn’t even that brave. Captain Jamos Corvus turned, face twisted, and stormed off with a trail of curses and threats. Ouron watched him leave until he was halfway down the block. Nora sighed in relief and squeezed his arm as the watchguards congratulated Ouron and dispersed.
The feeling wasn’t one a soldier could be proud of, but Ouron allowed himself a bit of disappointment that Corvus hadn’t tried to challenge him further. Of all Ouron’s dreams of returning home, dreams of giving Corvus what he deserved were only outnumbered by dreams of returning to Nora’s arms.
Ouron was not a greedy man. As the watchguards left and he and Nora were at last alone, he’d take that dream and leave the rest for the future.
* * *
Two days later, they departed Viego for good, gifted a horsecart laden with presents from the watch and from Nora’s family.
They were a few hours out from Viego when the 29th legion ambushed them.
A dozen soldiers waited at the crossroads, Corvus at the lead. Damn the stupid pride that kept him coming back for more. They were so close. The fork in the road split northeast and northwest. Northeast would take them from Agenthus into Tenebras, out of Corvus’ reach. This last bit of land formed the only remaining chance for Corvus to take his revenge.
“Halt,” Corvus announced, the soldiers presenting spears.
Ouron glanced among the soldiers. A few he recognized. The captain’s favoured soldiers, as bad as him when it came to wine, women, and trouble. Ouron had personally arrested a few of them for their behaviour before breaking the captain’s nose. Nora pressed closer to his side.
“You’re under arrest for forging a governor’s seal,” Corvus crowed, sickening smile on his face. “We’ll let the praetor sort it out.”
Praetor of this archon of Agenthus was Corvus’ uncle. No doubt how he’d gained the position of captain in the first place. And this small slice of land was that uncle’s personal domain. Ouron glanced at Nora. Her face had gone ashen. Alan slept in her arms.
“Come quietly, Ouron,” Corvus said. “Wouldn’t want to risk your poor wife and son, now would you?”
The soldiers were ill-disciplined. Even now, with ample time to prepare, their formation was sloppy, an uneven line with half of them still holding their spears at the wrong length. Wouldn’t matter for only one man against a dozen. Ouron had the law on his side. Wouldn’t matter if the one enforcing the law favoured blood over justice.
Ouron raised an empty hand in a gesture of surrender.
Just as the soldiers approached with spears raised, whistling came over the wind. A jaunty tune Ouron recognized as an old bar song he’d not heard in over a decade.
From the road behind, a traveller approached, dressed in rags, with only a patched rucksack, a crooked staff, and a lute on his back. A young man, to Ouron’s eyes no more than twenty, with a freckled face and shock of red hair standing out from his head like a cloud. Bandages wrapped around his head, forcing the frizzed red hair to stand up even further around him. The bandages covered one eye as well, leaving the face looking even more slanted to one side.
The traveller stopped, head tilting as he looked at the scene, “Well, g’day to you fine gentles! What’s all this, then?”
“Move along, traveller,” Captain Corvus commanded.
Another glance swept the scene, “Well, what it looks like to my humble eye is a group of bullies harrassin’ a nice couple and their babe. That the right of it?”
“We are imperial soldiers,” Corvus’ face turned purple with rage. “Arresting an escaping criminal who forged an imperial governor’s signature!”
“That right?” the stranger’s eyebrows shot up, and he turned to Ouron, “You a criminal, then, sir?”
“I’m no criminal, and the commission is real,” Ouron said.
“Then it seems like ol’ Sunshine has a choice to make?” the traveller raised his eyes up to the sky and seemed to address the heavens. “One o’ these folks is lyin’. Can’t tell which. Now, with that in mind, does a good lad side with the bullies, or the lovely lady and her babe?” A smile broke across his freckled face, “Why, I’m thinking the latter. Bards’ tales never favour the bullies, now do they?”
Corvus screeched, “Arrest that vagabond too!”
When a pair of soldiers moved towards the traveller, he shook his head, “Some folks just don’t know the way these stories go.” He tapped his staff twice against the ground. “My apologies, but this might get a tad violent. I’d recommend you shield the wee lad’s tender gaze.”
“Wait-” Ouron protested, but a wave of power rippled across his mind. He could sense it. The stranger’s vis, like the heavy air before a storm.
The soldiers took another step towards the stranger. They slipped. Ouron saw nothing, only felt the faintest whisper of power, as the two soldier’s feet skidded from under them.
The stranger danced between them, grinning from ear to ear, “Bad luck, that.” Almost lazily, the traveller’s stuff cracked each of the fallen soldier’s hands, sending the spears dropping.
The soldiers cried out, cradling their broken hands and looking about wildly. Another pair rushed forward. Another whisper of power, less a rush than a nudge. When the first slipped, he careened into the other, carrying both off the path face first into a festering pile of ox dung out in the field.
“Bad luck, indeed!” the traveller grinned.
All attention turned from Ouron’s family to the traveller. Corvus rushed in, steps of a Swiftfoot vis carrying him towards the traveller like a bolt loosed from a longbow. The stranger didn’t move fast. He barely moved at all, yet the light steps to the side sent the screaming captain flying past. A light touch from the staff landed on the back of the captain’s knees and Corvus crumpled.
“Now, fate’s a tricksy lady,” the traveller said. “Can’t always tell who’s the good guys and the bad guys. Sometimes villains even prosper for time.” He looked straight at Corvus. “But I don’t think y’all’re on good Dame Fortune’s good side, now are ye?”
The remaining soldiers on their feet stepped back. Even the slowest among them realized they were facing a vis, and only a fool rushed at a vis of unknown power.
Corvus proved to be such a fool. The captain screamed, stumbling to his feet and lashing out with the spear. The weapon thrust faster than mere mortals could react. Once again, the stranger didn’t move fast. The tip of his staff flicked up, tapped the speartip mid-thrust. The tip snapped from the haft, flying up into the sky. All eyes followed the glittering tip rising into the noon sun. Corvus squinted as he tried to follow the trajectory, raising a hand against the glare of the sun.
Sunblind, he didn’t see the tip as it landed between his eyes. The captain let out a scream. Corvus clutched his bleeding head, and the spear hafts clattered to the ground.
The stranger leaned forward on his staff, smile still fixed, “Now there’s an unfortunate accident.” He paused, “I’m thinkin’ y’all might want to run along now. Seein’ to your poor, unfortunate captain’s head.”
The soldiers dragged the screaming captain away, the sight of his own blood apparently enough to send Corvus into hysterics.
The stranger turned to bow to Nora, “Sorry for the unpleasantness, ma’am.”
Ouron cleared his throat.
“Aye, sorry to you too, sir,” the stranger straightened. “Can’t go around lettin’ bullies pick on nice families.”
“Those were imperial soldiers you attacked,” Ouron frowned. “The crime for that is imprisonment or death.”
The smile didn’t fade from the stranger’s face, “I’d best not get caught, then. Now, where are you fine folks headed.”
Ouron glanced at Nora to make sure she was well. She gave a tight smile and checked on Alan. The boy was making the usual baby noises against her chest, thankfully more concerned with suckling than anything going on outside the world of his wrappings.
“North,” Ouron said shortly.
“Now there’s a lovely coincidence!” the stranger said happily. “On this road heading north, I too am, in fact, heading north. My mam always said that three on the road are safer than one, wouldn’t you agree?” He bowed in Alan’s direction, “Pardon, four. I’m heading to place called...” he reached a hand into his back, pulling out a piece of torn scroll that looked burnt at the edges, “Hellfrost. Don’t suppose you might’ve heard of it.”
“You’re headed to Hellfrost,” Ouron repeated flatly.
“Aye,” the stranger nodded. “It says here it’s a ‘place of ill-omen’ and ‘where men are sent to be tortured by voidspawn and cold.’”
“I’m a sergeant of the Hellfrost Legion,” Ouron replied.
The stranger raised his hands, “Well, my fair lady has smiled on me again! Don’t suppose I could trouble you good people to take an extra companion on your journey?”
This man was dangerous. Every instinct honed by nearly a decade and a half of combat sounded that alarm. But if the man was going to Hellfrost, they’d meet again sooner rather than later. If he could keep an eye on him, that’d at least give some warning if things turned south. And that power. Ouron couldn’t identify what domain the man possessed, but it was at least of the 2nd circle to turn a dozen soldiers into bumbling toddlers.
Nora gave his arm a squeeze and spoke up, “Thank you, good sir. We’re grateful for your aid, and we’d be honoured by your presence.
The squeeze communicated more than a hundred words. Don’t be so ungrateful and suspicious, it said. Nora was in full hostess form, taking gratitude as priority over caution. Ouron relented. In any case, they needed to get along the road. Once they crossed the border to Tenebras, they’d be beyond Corvus’ reach. All else could wait.
The stranger leapt up into the cart, “Well, I ain’t no good sir, ma’am. I’m just ol’ Sunshine, but I’m pleased to make your charming acquaintance.” That beaming smile turned to Ouron, “I’ve a feeling we’ll be fast friends.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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