Travelling in unwelcome lands

A shattering truth is close at hand

The last leg of their journey to Sunsee was a long and dismal one. Even though they were only two or three hours away from reaching their destination, Ferrian had the detached feeling they could walk this road for days and never get any closer. The landscape remained unchanged since that morning; the forest passed ghostly and still on the left and a deep fog clung stubbornly to the coastline, although the rain had dissolved into a fine, cool spray that stuck to their faces.

Shortly after stumbling across Ardance in the forest, Commander Trice had led the party out onto the Great Ocean Road; while they were more exposed to anything that might be following, the visibility was slightly better, as was the footing. Several times during the afternoon unnerving shadows appeared in the mist ahead and behind, but were only merchant travellers or farmers going about their business. None spoke or spared more than a glance at Ferrian, Cimmeran or the Freeroamers as they passed, although the sight of Sergeant Aari caused a few raised eyebrows and second looks.

No one offered assistance, however.

Ferrian trudged gloomily beside Ardance. The mist seemed to be leaching the resolution and life out of everything it touched. A stubborn ache had settled into his calves and he had to concentrate hard to keep awake. He fought his weariness, trying to remain alert, frequently checking on Aari's condition to keep his attention focused.

The Angel was unconscious again, slumped over Ardance's neck. Broken, muddied feathers trailed down her flanks. He had stirred half-awake a few times, only to mutter incomprehensibly, sometimes in Angelican, his native language. Often he shivered as though freezing, but his temperature, when Ferrian checked it, was dangerously high. Frustratingly, there was little any of them could do to help. Sirannor had given up what remained of his Freeroamer tunic to be torn into strips, soaked in cold seawater and wrapped around Aari's forehead, but it didn't seem to make much difference. At least Grisket had managed to make the Angel drink some of the rainwater he'd collected in his waterskin.

A cold darkness filled Ferrian as he looked at his injured companion. He desperately hoped that the healers in Sunsee would be skilled enough to help.

If they can't… a small voice whispered at the back of his thoughts.

Ferrian's throat tightened and he silenced the thought angrily, sensing the darkness and self-loathing that lurked just beneath the surface if he allowed himself to dwell on what he was feeling. He forced himself to study their new companion Cimmeran instead, speculating on the circumstances that had brought him here.

The servant's bony hand was wrapped firmly around Ardance's rein. He kept very close to her, as though the horse's presence brought him comfort. Gradually, Cimmeran had become less watchful and nervous as fatigue enveloped him, and now simply dragged himself along with the others, staring at the ground with a glazed expression.

Ferrian wondered how he managed to walk at all. The poor man looked almost emaciated: his clothes – or rags, for that was what they most resembled – were literally hanging off him, his sunburnt skin was tight and shrunken around cheekbones that were disturbingly pronounced. Beneath a bedraggled mess of hair, strange golden eyes glimmered within dark hollows.

After some deliberation with himself, Ferrian decided to attempt a conversation to break the monotony. He cleared his throat. "Your master must be pretty powerful to have sent Murons after you," he said. "I thought those creatures never take orders from anyone?"

Cimmeran did not respond. He was silent for so long that Ferrian began to suspect that he had completely withdrawn inside himself and hadn't heard the question, but the servant eventually lifted his head with a look in his eyes so unnervingly fierce that Ferrian took a startled step sideways. "He is… not… my master… any more."

Ferrian nodded quickly and avoided his gaze. "Sorry," he apologised. After a moment he added, somewhat hesitantly: "It… must have been difficult to escape…"

Cimmeran stared at the road in front of him. "I thought he was dead," he said hoarsely.

"But he's still alive?"

"He…he…" The servant's face contorted and he put his free hand to his head as though the thoughts inside were causing him great pain.

Bad topic of conversation, Ferrian thought, taking a deep breath. "Do you have any family?" he tried, deciding to change the subject.

The servant lifted his head and frowned at Ferrian in confusion, as though he had spoken in a foreign language.

"Family?" Ferrian repeated. "You don't have any parents or siblings? Relatives you could go to for help?"

Cimmeran continued to frown at him. "No… I…" He paused. "I don't know. I don't… remember…"

Ferrian blinked. He doesn't remember if he has a family? Then it occurred to him that Lord Arzath might have done something to his memory, altered it somehow with magic. Or perhaps he was simply an orphan who had never known his parents…

Ferrian nodded slowly in understanding. "I don't remember my family either," he said quietly. "Not my real family, at least…"

His voice trailed off until there was no sound save the crash of invisible waves in the fog, the splash of boots in the puddles and the clopping of Ardance's hooves. His gaze wandered off into the mist and his thoughts drifted. Images appeared upon the swirling ether, mingled memories of the past and possible futures, among them the much-fantasised faces of his parents.

As always, a great longing accompanied those faces, and a hundred thousand questions. So many questions; so many truths hidden. So much of himself that he did not understand, and perhaps never would…

A sudden grunt from Grisket broke his daydream, the colourful silent pictures dissolving into the grey gloom. At the head of the party, the Commander straightened and adjusted his hat. "Here comes trouble," he growled.

A group of bright shapes materialised out of the mist ahead, their silver armour and rich blue cloaks striking a resplendent vision upon the washed-out landscape. Their horses were immaculately groomed and decorated with ornate chamfrons and tasselled blankets bearing the royal arms. Affixed in saddle-holsters upon the left-hand flanks of each mount were long halberds with twin scythe-like blades at their ends, the metal so highly polished it flashed even in this dim light.

"Blue Watch," Grisket muttered in explanation. "City soldiers. Probably on their way north to Sel Varence." He half-turned to Ferrian and Cimmeran, and said in a lowered voice: "Keep still and quiet, and don't answer any questions. I'll do the talking."

Unlike most of the previous travellers they'd encountered, the Watchmen regarded their party with intense interest, even outright suspicion, as they approached.

Cimmeran gave a jerk and shrank against Ardance as though trying to hide in her mane. Ferrian stared fixedly at the lichen-crusted stone in front of his feet, not daring to make eye contact with any of the Watchmen. He didn't know if they were as superstitious as the Outlanders were, but he didn't care to take any chances.

The lead rider drew to a halt beside Grisket, lifting a gauntleted hand to signal his own party to stop. His midnight-blue gaze swept Ferrian's group officiously, then settled on Commander Trice.

"My, my, look what the storm dragged in," he said. "A little out of your jurisdiction, aren't you Outlander?"

Grisket stared at him in silence, and made no reply.

The Watchman seemed to take his lack of response as an insult. He lifted his chin haughtily. "What business have you in the Coastlands?" he said.

"Freeroamer business is none of your concern," Grisket replied with equal brusqueness.

"I am Commander Wen Tarrow of the Blue Watch, Commander Trice, and this is my territory. Everything that comes, goes, or opens its mouth in insolence is my concern."

Their eyes locked like two hawks trying to stare each other down. Eventually Grisket nodded at Ardance, without breaking his gaze. "One of my colleagues is seriously injured. We're escorting him to the nearest infirmary."

Commander Tarrow looked Aari up and down. "Oh indeed? Do you not have adequate infirmaries in your… ah… land?" He said the last word with such mocking distaste that Ferrian felt anger prickle inside him. It was all he could do to restrain himself from glaring at the officer.

Grisket took the chance instead. "The Outlands are no less a part of this country than your blessed Coastlands, and its people deserve no less respect!"

"Its people," the officer said contemptuously, "are vermin. The Outlands are a breeding ground for criminals and vagabonds. Be grateful for the King's pity, for it's more than you deserve."

Ferrian was saved from uttering something he would have regretted by a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Captain Sirannor standing right behind him. He did not glance at Ferrian, which was just as well, for the gaze he was directing at the Watchmen was icy and fierce as a snowstorm. It was the same look he'd had during the battle with the demon-wraiths in the Barlakks… if anything, it was even stonier.

A chill passed up Ferrian's spine, and he was suddenly glad that the Freeroamers had lost their weapons, though he would have given up his own knife again without hesitation if either of them had asked.

Grisket's expression flickered and changed as he fought to control his anger. To his credit, however, he merely replied in a tight voice: "If you've finished your interrogation, we need to be on our way."

The Watchman regarded him in silence for a moment, as though expecting a scathing rebuttal. When one didn't come, he gestured at his men to move on ahead of him. As they passed, he leaned down and spoke to Commander Trice in a very low voice. Ferrian could not make out the words through the clatter of hoofbeats and clank of armour, but judging from the expressions on both Commanders' faces, they were not nice ones.

Commander Tarrow straightened, and with a final look of unmasked hatred at their party, he spurred his horse after his men. He did not look back.

As soon as the soldiers were out of earshot, Ferrian quickened his pace to catch up with Grisket, who was walking with renewed determination. "He can't talk to you like that!" he exclaimed heatedly. "You’re a fellow officer!"

Grisket kept his gaze fixed ahead. "The Freeroamers have no authority in the Coastlands," he replied.

"Neither have Imperial soldiers from Siriaza, but I'll bet those Watchmen would have treated them with more respect!"

"Assuredly so. But Siriaza is a separate country with its own, very well trained military. It bodes well for the King not to offend his neighbours."

Ferrian scowled. "But being rotten to his own people is acceptable? That Watchman called us vermin!"

"Aye," Grisket replied, "and I call the Watch foul-beaked peacocks."

Ferrian smirked. "You should have told him that to his face. Or better yet, punched him off his shiny horse."

Despite himself, Grisket chuckled. "The thought wasn't far from my mind, believe me!" Then his face once again became humourless, and he shook his head. "But that's exactly what he was hoping for. He was itching for an excuse to arrest me."

Ferrian sighed. "But… why? Why do those Watchmen dislike you so much?"

A strange silence fell. Ferrian listened to their footsteps, waiting for a response, but none came. Grisket seemed to be purposely avoiding looking at him. A heavy frown had settled on his face and there was a shadow in his eyes that Ferrian had never seen before. He glanced over his shoulder and caught Sirannor staring intently back. The Freeroamer said nothing, but he didn't need to, his look spoke for him:

You should not have asked that question, it said.

Uneasiness stirred within Ferrian. There was something wrong here, he could sense it. Whatever it was, it was important, and Grisket and Sirannor were keeping it from him.

The Watch commander addressed Grisket by name, he thought to himself. That meant they had met some time in the past. Had something happened between them that left the Watch with a permanent grudge against the Freeroamers?

It irritated him that neither Grisket nor Sirannor would tell him what was really going on, especially when he had been truthful with them about everything. He had told them about the Winter, and what little he knew of his past: things he had never dared reveal to anyone else before. He had trusted the Freeroamers implicitly, yet apparently they didn't feel he deserved their trust in return. Aari was the only one who had talked to Ferrian freely about his life. Sirannor was like one of those trick boxes you found at markets: you could hear something rattling around inside, yet there was no lock or apparent way to open it. He had only learnt of Grisket's tragic past through Sirannor's good faith…

But it wasn't enough. There were too many secrets.

Ferrian stopped walking.

Sirannor stopped as well, almost in unison, as though he had predicted what was about to happen. Cimmeran passed them leading Ardance, but a few steps on he hesitated, realising that Ferrian did not intend to follow. Hearing his companions' footsteps halt behind him, Commander Trice turned.

"I want to know what you're keeping from me," Ferrian said.

"No, you don't," Sirannor murmured from behind him. There was an unmistakable warning tone to his voice.

This, however, only annoyed Ferrian further. An angry glint sparked in his silver eyes and he whirled on the Captain, forcing himself to meet the other's piercing gaze. "Yes," he said determinedly, "I do."

Silence fell upon the party. The mist thickened and closed around them, deep and damp, sealing them away as though they were the only people left in the world. Cimmeran looked back and forth between them like a bewildered spectator.

"You want to know why… the Watch despise us?"

Everyone turned in surprise. It was Aari who had spoken.

The Angel had pushed himself into a half-sitting position. His face was pale and stark beneath his rain-dark hair, giving the impression of a ghost. Pain glazed his eyes, but he was fully conscious and coherent.

"Sergeant!" Grisket growled, taking a step towards Ardance who lifted her head and eyed him warily.

Aari looked at Commander Trice, his eyes fierce. "He… has a right to know!" he insisted. "We should have tol– told–" He gasped and shuddered as fresh pain flowed through him. His hands clenched tightly in Ardance's mane, causing her to shift restlessly until Cimmeran soothed her and stroked her nose.

Ferrian's heart was pounding now. His throat had gone dry. "Told me what?" he asked.

Again, silence.

"Aari?" Ferrian said desperately.

But the Angel was on the verge of passing out again, and did not seem able to speak.

Sirannor and Grisket exchanged glances.

Ferrian looked from one to the other. "Tell me!"

Finally, Grisket sighed, but still seemed unable or unwilling to meet the boy's gaze. "The Freeroamers… we're not who you think we are," he replied quietly.

Ferrian shook his head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

It was Sirannor who answered: "The Freeroamers are not part of the Watch, nor are we officially endorsed by the King as law enforcement officers…

"Because we are all criminals."

It was as though the world had stopped.

Ferrian's life, the whole of time, seemed to grind to a halt in that instant. He could do nothing but stare at Captain Sirannor, speechless.

Eventually, when no one seemed willing to move or speak, he found his voice. "What do you mean, you're criminals? You're… you're the Freeroamers! You protect the Outlands and uphold the law in a place forsaken by the King, a place no one else…" he stopped.

"No one else is prepared to govern," Commander Trice finished quietly.

"Why didn't… why didn't the Watch arrest you?" Ferrian went on, desperation in his voice. He didn't want to believe that this was true.

Grisket sighed and shook his head. "We were given a reprieve." He looked up and met Ferrian's eyes at last. "All of the Freeroamers have in some way broken the laws of their respective countries." He nodded at Aari. "Sergeant Aari is an exile, as are Cairan and Raemint. The others… have taken actions they regret. And some have taken actions they do not regret, but we all have one thing in common: We should rightfully be locked in the King's dungeons."

He paused, giving Ferrian a chance to respond, but the boy was too stunned to speak.

"We would be there now," Grisket went on, "if it weren't for the King's daughter, Princess Minoa, who penned an agreement in which we would have our convictions suspended on the condition we remained in the Outlands and scoured it of its 'undesirable occupants'. We were to use any means necessary to achieve this result.

"Before the Freeroamers existed, the King sent many patrols beyond the mountains to establish a Watch and enforce the law, but all of them disappeared or fell to corruption. The Bladeshifters were running amok; the Outlands were falling into anarchy. The King was tired of wasting good soldiers. So he looked through his prisons instead, and found a solution that left everyone's consciences intact."

Grisket tapped the blue sleeve of his tunic. "It's not often you get a second chance to make up for your mistakes, my boy," he said. "We are free, and will defend that freedom with our lives. And whatever you may think of us, we are not bad people."

Ferrian stared at the Commander in silence for awhile, then turned to Sirannor. "You lied to me," he said quietly. "You told me that Grisket formed the Freeroamers after his family–" he caught himself. He had promised Sirannor he would not reveal that he knew of Grisket's past…

But Commander Trice looked neither angry nor surprised. "You told him?" he asked the Captain.

Sirannor nodded. "I felt it was necessary for him to know," he replied.

Ferrian glared at him. "But you didn't feel it was 'necessary' for me to know that you're criminals? I can't believe," he said, his voice rising in anger, "that I apologised for not being completely honest with you!"

"Sirannor did not lie to you," Grisket said. "There is nothing false about my love for my country or my desire to protect it. But it's true, yes, that he didn't tell you the whole story."

"And what exactly is the whole story?" Ferrian demanded, his words flying now like sparks. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know, but there was no point asking for only part of the truth. "What did you do to become a Freeroamer?"

Grisket hesitated, but only for a moment. He looked away, and when he looked back, his gaze was firm. "A man died by my hands…"

"You mean you murdered him?" Ferrian snapped.

"No," Grisket replied, but a flicker of doubt passed across his face. "It was unintentional. I… had just lost my family. I'd been at the tavern several hours… he provoked me…"

Ferrian closed his eyes and turned away, not needing or wanting to hear any more. He opened his eyes and stood with his back to the Freeroamers, staring into the mist as though trying to catch a glimpse of the sea beyond. He took a deep breath of misty air, letting all he had heard sink in to his mind. He couldn't even begin to try and understand it, not yet, not while betrayal burnt so fiercely inside him.

Without another word, he started walking along the highway; north, back the way they had come.

"Ferrian!" Grisket cried, starting after him, but Sirannor's calm voice stilled his steps.

"Let him go, Commander," he said.

They watched Ferrian in silence until he had vanished into the mist.