Chapter 57

Sweeten it With Whiskey

“What’s your name?” Rowan asked, crouching down next to his brother.

“Tanlor,” he mumbled in response, his eyelids heavy.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Daegan only half listened to Rowan as he continued the series of questions he’d been asking Tanlor every hour since the man had regained consciousness.

Tanlor was propped up on one of the fitted seats on the raft, his head dressed with a blood stained bandage. Another strip of linen was wrapped tightly around the gash on his leg.

“You’ll be fine,” Rowan patted his shoulder, “you can rest a little more, brother, I’ll wake you in an hour.” Tanlor’s head bobbed in response and he was soon slipping back into sleep.

“You lads get head injuries a lot?” Daegan asked Rowan.

“A few, it’s the line of work, I guess,” Rowan responded, looking out at the horizon.

It was a strangely disquieting sight, in all directions there was nothing but pure whiteness. The ice that the iceraft glided along was dusted in pure white snow. The low hanging cloud made the distinction between land and sky impossible. The raft could’ve been soaring through an empty void if it weren’t for the jostling the thing made as it was propelled forward by the winds. Once the sail had caught the winds in full, Ardy had pulled on a mechanical lever that retracted the wheels that were fixed along the runners. The wheels pulled up allowing the runners to glide easily along the ice. Daegan felt the contraption was more like a giant sled than a raft.

Ardy moved about the iceraft with surprising grace. Hopping up on the mast to adjust the sail, walking along the edges of the runners to the rear to work the rudder. He was like a one man sailing crew, always moving about and tinkering with something on the raft. The Aeth man had a sour tone in his voice when he curtly responded to their comments. He’s not used to fleeing for his life from a murderous runewielder. Daegan himself had acted like a bitter child in the days after his assassination. It was strange thinking that was only a few weeks before. He’d felt that he’d been on the road with Tanlor and Rowan for far longer than that.

He looked to Rowan who’d taken the seat next to Tanlor. He’d come back. And at just the right moment. Daegan’s hand still trembled with the memory. The impending horror that Ferath was going to kill them all. Ferath had reacted quickly when Rowan appeared, barrelling down the jetty. He’d rolled off Tanlor and jumped into action. Daegan had taken the chance to pull Tanlor into the iceraft and given Ardy the push to put up the sail. He hadn’t had a clear shot of Ferath when he was fighting Rowan but he’d taken it anyway. He couldn’t just leave Rowan to his fate. It had given Rowan the precious time he’d needed to catch up to the iceraft and jump aboard as they’d made their escape.

Rowan had explained how he’d returned to Crossroads, how he’d seen Ferath on the road without realising it was him and how he’d spent the past five days in a relentless pursuit. Daegan found himself grinning despite the recent attack and Tanlor’s injuries. He was happy to see Rowan again. He was happy that he’d saved their lives. That he cared enough about them to risk his own in saving them. Tanlor was his brother and Daegan couldn’t ignore that the man surely had a sense of familial duty but he liked to think that Rowan had come back for him also.

“There were some Reldoni in Megarstown too,” Rowan said after a while, “small group of ‘em. Trying to pretend they weren’t fighters but,” he shrugged, indicating they weren’t very good at pretending.

“What did they look like?” Daegan asked, his interest piqued.

He’d given the letter for Lukane to the Archduke to send for him. He’d been expecting a team of royal guards to come looking for him eventually. He’d outlined the plan to head north in the letter to his brother, he hadn’t known then the specifics of the journey then, only that the Archduke believed he’d be safer there than remaining in Rubastre. The descriptions Rowan gave him didn’t match any of the royal guards he’d known from the Palace.

“Their leader—well she acted like it—a tall woman. Red hair, kept short, shaved at the sides like a warriors.” The description could’ve matched many women in the Reldoni military. All Reldoni were tall compared to Rubanians and dark red hair was common enough.

“She had a scar though,” Rowan went on, “Just over her eyebrow.” Misandrei. He could be wrong, it wouldn’t exactly be strange for soldiers to have scars. But the description was a bit too perfect.

“Misandrei,” Daegan voiced his suspicion, “she’s a bloodshedder.”

“That don’t sound pleasant.”

“Elite runewielders,” Daegan replied, “it’s a class my brother formed a few years back.”

Not that Daegan had been paying that much attention to his brother's deeds as Lord Commander but it was impossible to ignore sometimes. His little sister Allyn had been very interested in it, and often brought it up before Daegan had left for Rubane.

Misandrei had been a decade older than him, maybe more? They’d never trained together but he knew that she’d trained under Swordmaster Garld’s tutelage—like himself. Like Ferath had. The woman had also served alongside Ferath during the war with the Reinish. They’d both been part of Landryn’s retinue. There were too many coincidences.

“Elite runewielders,” Rowan whistled, “you think this Ferath fellow was part of ‘em?” It makes sense. The man had runewielding abilities far beyond anything Daegan knew was possible. Was this what Landryn had been up to? Training a legion of super soldiers? If they’re working for Landryn then why the fuck are they trying to kill me?!

“I think you did the right thing,” Daegan said, looking at Rowan, “not telling them about me.”

“You think you know who sent ‘em?”

“I’ve my suspicions,” Daegan replied, a large part of him disgusted and confused by the thought of it. “These are my brother’s soldiers. Ferath himself… he… he was staunchly loyal to Landryn.”

“Shit,” Rowan shook his head, “you said your family was ruthless but…”

“I just don’t understand it,” Daegan said with a bitter edge to his voice, “why?” He wasn’t asking Rowan, just voicing his frustration. They’d barely spoken since they were youths. Not since… He shoved down the memory but it was too late. His throat caught and before he knew it he was coughing violently, phantom stoneblades pushing against his larynx.

“You alright, lad?” Rowan asked, moving to him, his face heavy with concern. Daegan nodded and tried to say he was fine but he coughed more. Rowan patted his back and eased him into one of the seats. Daegan felt the familiar warmth seeping through Rowan’s hand.

“My family,” Daegan started quietly, stealing a glance at Ardy who was at the head of the iceraft. He couldn’t hear them over of the wind. “They disdain me,” he said, “they always have… maybe not at all of them.” He thought of his kind little sister. Her joyous laugh and her charming demeanour. She was also an exceptional runewielder and he knew that even she was ashamed of him. They couldn’t all want to kill me? Could they? He’d suspected it before and he felt it mounting now, stronger than ever. His father. His father hated him. For no other reason than being what he was.

Inadequate. Weak. An embarrassment.

His eldest brother Lukane was cut from the same cloth as their father, but he’d never shown any outright hostility to Daegan. The man had simply ignored Daegan’s existence. Did they all conspire to do this? Had Lukane, Landryn and his father all wanted him dead so as to no longer be a stain on their precious family name? He refused to believe that Allyn had any part of it. Not sweet and kindly Allyn.

There was also still the possibility that Ferath was acting alone or had been compromised. Misandrei’s team could still indeed be a search and rescue party.

“Maybe I shouldn’t return to Reldon,” Daegan thought aloud, “but I don’t know what I’d do otherwise.” He rubbed the balls of his palms into his forehead.

“You want to continue with the Archduke’s plan?” Rowan asked.

“What is there up north for me?” Daegan sighed, “I’m not like you and Tanlor… I can’t survive on my own.”

“You seem to be doing alright,” Rowan granted, “I mean you’ve got some lunatic chasing you down relentlessly, if not for that you’d be fine.” Rowan’s words sounded genuine but Daegan couldn’t shake the feeling he was just humouring him. Trying to raise his spirits.

“Getting Tanlor to a healer should be our priority,” Rowan continued, “I’m not worried about his head, he’s had worse hits. The leg too will heal up quickly enough but I’ve no doubt Ferath will be soon across after us. We need Tanlor back to his full game if we’re to make any distance across.”

“Where will we find a healer?”

“What’s our skippy’s name again?” Rowan nodded towards Ardy, still adjusting ropes on one of the runners.

“Ardy,” Daegan replied.

“Ardy!” Rowan called over, “you reckon you could swing this rig east to Twin Garde?”

“‘S’pose,” Ardy considered, making his way lithely atop the runner back to the main body of the iceraft, “wind’s are angling that way. If they keep up, we could make it there in two days. It’ll cost you.”

“Another thirty coppers fair?” Daegan asked. Ardy made a face as though he’d taken a bite of a sour apple. “Hardly,” the Aeth scowled, “ain’t no one say there was a deranged murderer chasing after you. I ain’t ‘bout to risk my life for a measly thirty coppers. I ain’t taking you anywhere unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Daegan and Rowan shared a considering look. Daegan might have spent the past week drinking with the Aeth but that hardly made him a trusty confidant. In fact, from what Daegan had seen; Ardy was incredibly unreliable and fickle. Daegan could admit that—at times—he enjoyed alcohol a little too much, maybe even relied on it. But Ardy was on another level, he was the ‘sell out your own mother’ type of drunk. He shook his head slightly at Rowan, Daegan didn’t trust him with any measure of his secrets. Ardy would betray them in a heartbeat for a few bottles of that nasty blue drink he loved.

Then, Daegan remembered his flask—recently topped up—still in his cloak.

“It’s better you don’t know,” Daegan said, taking out the flask and popping the lid, “but how’s this. I’ll pay you two silver marks if you take us as far as Twin Garde, another two if we need to travel on from there.” To sweeten the deal, Daegan proffered the flask to Ardy. With the prices of drinks around these parts, a single silver mark could keep the man intoxicated for a month, assuming he didn’t gamble it all away on the first night.

Ardy’s eyes fixed on the flask, Daegan could see the hunger in them. It didn’t matter what Daegan offered him, all he wanted was the contents of that flask. And that is why Ardy can’t be trusted.

“Duke’s men will hopefully arrest the fucker,” Ardy said leaning forward and taking the flask. He took a long, hearty swig. Daegan was impressed, it was pretty strong whitewhiskey in there. After he finished, the Aeth grinned from ear to ear, “aye, fine. I’ll take you to Twin Garde and wherever the fuck else after that. But listen here, that madman catches up to us, you’re on your own, y’hear?” He pointed the flask at them both as he spoke.

“Deal,” Daegan smiled and winked at Rowan.

“Let me see the silver,” Ardy grumbled. Daegan reached into his coin pouch and pulled out four silver marks. When Ardy reached for them, he pulled his hand back.

“Two when we get to Twin Garde,” Daegan warned, “two when we get to our next destination.”

“And where’ll that be?” Ardy probed.

Daegan and Rowan shared a look—a moment of understanding passed between them. “I’m with you,” Rowan avowed, “whichever way you decide, Des, if you want to head home, the quickest route will be getting a ship from Nordock.” Daegan felt a knot release in his shoulders.

“West, then,” Daegan said confidently, “to Nordock.”