Ayred

Ayred had trouble falling asleep. He was being forced to put his trust in strangers and thieves and it was nerve wracking. His mind raced with thoughts of his brother and the terrifying army of dead men outside the walls.

His father had sent him to Gaelel to bring the Light Bringers back to Cearazon the moment word had reached them of the horror at the Dragon’s Head Pass and the steadily advancing abominations Malav was leading. He had failed. The way his father had dismissed them they were not eager to come to Cearazon’s aid. He’d thought, perhaps they hadn’t believed him about the army. Isemal’s priestess had disabused him of that notion.

They had known before the army had been raised.

Curling in the hard narrow bed, Ayred shivered and tried to get warm. Between blinks it seemed the night had passed, leaving him as tired as when he had lain down. Lutius prodded him out of the bed and offered him a bowl with something unidentifiable in it. Ayred almost handed it back in disgust but the man had growled quietly at him, “Eat it, Ayred.”

He’d been so taken aback he’d done as he was told. The plain porridge hadn’t tasted as wretched as it had looked but it had been difficult to get down all the same. When the screams began outside, he wished in earnest that he hadn’t eaten anything. His stomach twisted and roiled at the horrifying sounds.

Lutius and Aramen sent him into the cellar with the women and children at Zius’ suggestion. Ayred felt embarrassed but he would have gone anywhere at all that he couldn’t hear the screams.

The doors were opened sometime later and they were all told quietly to come out and follow their guides as quickly and as silently as they could. Ayred asked about Lutius and Aramen in a hushed voice. When he was greeted with a shrug, he asked about Zius. That earned him a grim smile.

Ayred was escorted stealthily to another house where people were watching something anxiously through the open windows. Malav’s angry voice sounded far closer than he would have liked. Ayred cautiously moved himself to be able to look through a window without needing to get closer to it, Lutius helpfully moved to give him a clearer view.

The beggar from the night before was speaking to Malav, and he did not seem pleased by his words. Ayred tried to swallow despite the sudden dry feeling in his mouth. Malav’s servant stepped forward and intervened, and his brother stalked away from them. The servant’s hushed tones did not reach the Prince, but he watched the man carefully, Malav’s command had carried.

A glance to the thieves and Zius, and he was surprised to notice, his own guards, showed that they too were nervously watching. Their demeanor changed as the old beggar tapped the man with his staff. They relaxed. Men began to make odd gestures at one another and slip away out of the back of the house.

It wasn’t long before the beggar and the woman who had been with Malav’s servant slipped into the house. The man stood as if in some sort of a trance for a moment and when he looked up he was baffled. He didn’t spend time searching for the beggar or the woman, he simply followed the path Malav had taken, and Ayred breathed a bit easier once he had gone.

Looking at the old beggar with surprise and bemusement, Ayred had questions he wanted to ask. Not entirely certain where to start he asked, “I don’t know your name. May I call you grandfather?”

The man gave an impish grin and tapped him playfully on the head with the staff. “Thief of princes. Can’t be angry when it’s stolen. Mischief, mischief plays cruel games.”

The words were baffling. He tried again, “Grandfather, how did you know he wouldn’t harm you? Men of Luzoron are loyal to Malav beyond reason. And-and Malav spoke to you, he wanted your help to get his wife back from a Light Bringer? From Isemal? You refused him. You have the influence to do what he asked and you stood in front of him and-”

The beggar began to laugh. Ayred watched him double over wiping at his rheumy eyes as tears of amusement squeezed out of them.

For a brief moment he thought he was being laughed at, until Zius patted him on the shoulder and said, “I think you’ve made a friend.”

“Curious boy can learn.” The old beggar said with a grin as he slipped his staff behind the woman he had brought into the house and pushed her toward Ayred. The sceptical look she gave the old man was paired with an odd clucking noise and the beggar looked exasperated, jabbing at her with the staff and saying with a shake of his head, “Sweet girl, sweet girl! Thief of princes!”

Ayred blinked as she turned to glare at him and made a sharp gesture. It didn’t look polite. She did, however, stay as close to him as Lutius and Aramen, and they made sure to keep Zius and his bird close as well. They followed a small crowd of people being pushed into a narrow tunnel.

It was packed with people who all seemed to move too slowly, and the walls seemed to grow closer the longer they shuffled through. Ayred was sweating and struggling not to shove the people in front of him well before they reached the end. Had people not been telling stories as they walked it would have been unbearable.

It was Aramen’s tale that Ayred liked best, “I have one.” The usually silent man volunteered after the last voice in the dimness had finished. “Prince Malav used to have a few girls try to win him over now and then. They wanted to be Queen but never wanted to have to deal with the ugly son of a-” there was a soft thud as if from a sharp blow to the ribs and Aramen continued, “king. And there was this nobleman’s daughter whose father had been pushing her at the Black Prince.

The girl had been running hot and cold on him and he had decided he wanted her. So he arranged an exposition for her to watch. Show off his prowess. He’s a skilled fighter, but he’s arrogant, cocky. And the soldier he picked he hadn’t fought before. The boy was low born, but he’d come from a line of soldiers and those are the boys who know the dirtiest tricks.” There was a tittering in the dark. “He was told to fight his best to show off the Prince’s skills. And he did. The boy put the Black Prince on his face in the dirt.

The girl he was trying to impress started to laugh, and that was it. The Black Prince was done with her. He stalked off like a -” another soft thud and Aramen sucked in a pained breath.

“I know how he stalks off when he’s insulted or shamed. You expect plants to wilt as he passes and shadows to shrink from him.” Ayred spoke into the pause, “What happened to the soldier?”

There was a coarse laugh and Aramen continued, “He got to bed the nobleman’s daughter when Prince Malav didn’t, and it was worth the time spent looking over his shoulder for that Black Wretch.” He sounded boastful, and there were approving chirps both ahead and behind them before he continued. “When King Iotav heard about it he had him put on guard duty for his younger son, it was always a relief when Prince Malav left Cearaden.”

Ayred couldn’t help but laugh, even through his fear. “You? If I’d known that I’d have paid better attention when you took your turn trying to improve my sparring skills.” That was met with laughter all around and a hand clapped his shoulder roughly.

The lightened mood was short lived. Once they climbed out of the tunnel there was smoke rising through the trees in the all too near distance. Everyone was quiet as they moved away from the burning city of Gaelel.