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    Chapter 34


    No Mistakes


    The morning sun broke the mist. The rain from the previous night left the surrounding fields a vibrant green, clearing away all of the frost and snow. The hedges and trees were bare, having already shed their leaves for the winter. In the distance, the Iron Hills could be seen through the morning haze. Daegan sat on a chair on the porch of the inn, his notebook in one hand and a charcoal pencil in the other, drawing out the shapes of the hills on the parchment.


    The sight of Rowan leading a group of four—Tanlor bringing up the rear in his customary position—pulled him away from his drawing. Daegan had found it difficult to sleep through the night. He’d felt exposed even though he the door was locked, he’d felt more vulnerable than when he’d slept in the greenwood clearing the night previous. So he’d taken to working through the night on the second of the tasks that Mendy had given him.


    Tanlor’s hair was tied back but Daegan noted that there was dried blood matted in it and on his cloak.


    “You found them then,” Daegan said as Tanlor took a seat next to him on the bench. Rowan was already guiding the drained and fatigued looking kids into the inn.


    “Yeah, they were at the brewery,” Tanlor responded, he sounded exhausted. “All good here?”


    “Some disputes between the locals on inheritance. But otherwise it was quiet,” Daegan replied and Tanlor nodded in response, “Rowan and I will need to sleep. We’ll get a few hours in but I’d like to be back on the road before midday.”


    “Neither of you have slept,” Daegan accused. He’d also barely slept himself, “we should stay the night at least.”


    “We can’t lose focus,” Tanlor disputed, “we’re still only a week’s ride from Rubastre, we need to make more distance.”


    “Maybe we should discuss with Ro—”


    “—I can’t protect you from Ferath,” Tanlor cut across bluntly, “I don’t know why he fled when he did. Maybe he thought Keltin and the others were closer than they were,” Daegan was taken aback by Tanlor’s abruptness, “what Ferath did was impossible,” Tanlor continued, “if he catches rumours of a Reldoni man out here, we’re both dead.”


    With that he rose from the bench and walked to the door of the inn, “it isn’t just your life on the line here.” Daegan didn’t say anything. He’d never really thought about it, all his life he’d had bodyguards. Members of the royal guard that had sworn their lives to protect Daegan’s family—Ferath himself had taken those oaths. He’d never had to see the dangers of the occupation as there had never been any real threat to him personally. There’d been assination attempts on his father and even Lukane before, but Daegan had only heard about them through the court and not been anywhere near the violence himself.


    He’d never even thought of the lives of the royal guards that had died in those attempts. Or the countless others that died serving in Landryn’s guard in his battles against the Reinish and Altareans. He’d never needed to think about it, how his careless decisions could have dire consequences for someone else. All the times he had pushed Kerala and his other escorts into more dangerous vicedens, he’d never thought of the danger it had posed to them. He had always felt safe and secure in their company, fully confident in their abilities to get him out if he strayed too far. But were they ever afraid? Did his guards that so diligently followed him day-in day-out worry that his recklessly childish behaviour was going to lead them to their deaths.


    Not a glorious death on a battlefield either, but a pathetic one, dying to the blade of some thug because a self-centered fool wanted to drink himself into an oblivion. Was that what had driven Ferath finally? I’d disregarded his safety on so many occasions. I brushed off his ambitions when he wanted to return home. He wanted to be back on the battlefield with Landryn, did he perhaps just grow impatient being at the whims of a hindered moron? He knew deep down that wasn’t the truth. Logically, Ferath wouldn’t have betrayed the royal family for such a mundane self-serving motive. But that didn’t keep Daegan’s mind from spiralling into that train of thought.


    He looked back down at his drawing, the roughly sketched map of the area that Mendy had commissioned. Director of the Royal Cartographers had been the most recent on his tawdry list of meaningless positions he’d held in Reldon. Like the others before it, he’d taken to the role with as much enthusiasm as—well, anything he’d done in his life. Which was very little… He’d enjoyed his time with the cartographers, it was a trivial position in an unimportant aspect of running their Kingdom meaning that he could evade any real responsibility. But between the hangovers he’d actually learned a bit about the craft which was why he’d decided on this guise. The appointment as the Reldoni Consul to Rubane had been a considerable promotion on paper, but Daegan hadn’t exactly cared for promotions. He’d have been happy to be left to toil away, spending his time and money in the less respectable taverns in Epilas. But no, he was here, swept up in a assination attempt as far from Epilas and Pillar as he could be. I need a drink.


    ***


    Rowan yawned as he strode into the inn common room. It was early afternoon so the place was empty save for Dessie drinking a whitewhiskey in the corner. Bit early for that. He hoped the man hadn’t put so much of the stuff into him that he would be a burden on the ride. They’d pushed the horses hard last night getting to the old brewery so they’d be taking it easy for a few days, but they’d be even slower if the lad was pissed drunk.


    He didn’t know the man well enough yet to judge if he liked him yet, normally Rowan reserved a judgement like that until he’d travelled with a person for a few weeks. People like Desmond tended to fall into the ‘not liked’ category; rich folk who didn’t care much about those beneath them. They were a common type of employer, but Desmond didn’t feel like an employer, he hadn’t any inkling of a command about him. He actually seemed rather subservient to Tanlor which was strange as Tanlor was clearly his bodyguard. There was a lot more to the story here, but Rowan didn’t prod. They’d tell him when they were ready.


    Mendy was cleaning glasses at the bar. A common thing for innkeepers to do Rowan had always noted, but it meant they were always there for a chat when he needed them. She would have her minions doing all the other work about the inn. It was her inn now from what he could gather, with the old innkeeper dead and his wife still in a grief-stricken daze. Maybe the daughters might take over once they were recovered from the ordeal. They will need time though, he’d seen it enough times out in places like these. The people were hardy but this isn’t something you can just move on from, it breaks you down and you have to pick yourself up from the pieces that were left behind, sometimes what you put back together is better than what you were before… and sometimes you just stay broken.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He looked back over to Desmond who was immersed in writing something and hadn’t noticed Rowan’s arrival. Could be that’s what was happening to him, maybe something broke him and he’s not sure where he fits anymore. He didn’t think he’d been giving Desmond a hard time, but maybe he should make a little more effort with him.


    “How much we owe you?” Rowan asked Mendy. She looked up at him with a curious expression, “you joking?” She countered, her eyebrows raised “you and your brother got our girls back, you don’t owe us nothing. You’ve also brought back most of what those bastards stole. I think it’s this town that owes you, sir.”


    “Wolfhound’s going to be needing a bed for a few weeks while he recovers.”


    “Thought you didn’t know him?” She asked with playful scepticism.


    “I don’t, but I’d like to think if our roles were reversed, he’d have done the same for me.”


    “Right outta the stories, aren’t you, Rowan,” she said with a teasing grin, “be careful, a lot of folk out there take advantage of good people like you.” She stopped cleaning a glass and leaned against the bar, “doesn’t matter either way, his bill’s been paid too,” she nodded to Desmond, “had yer man there writing up legal papers all night.”


    “That so?” Rowan said with a grin, “You know he ain’t a lawman.” He had to give it to Mendy, she was a fair hand at keeping folk busy.


    “Best we had,” she shrugged, “what’s a map maker doing out here anyway?”


    “Making maps.”


    “It’s a weird job,” she noted.


    “Aye,” Rowan agreed.


    “But I guess useful enough,” she conceded, “folk always passing through here, looking for directions. He’s drawing me up a map of the area that I can put on the wall.”


    “Not a bad idea,” Rowan replied casually. Inwardly, he hoped that Desmond’s imitation of map-making could mimic somewhat decently what a real map maker could do. But then again, what were the expectations of a map maker out here anyway.


    “Where’s he from anyway?” Mendy asked, her eyes were on the glass she was cleaning, trying to feign indifference.


    “Not sure,” Rowan lied, and then added a truth, “I’ve only been working for him less than a week.” Lies felt easier when you surrounded them in a truth. Rowan had enough of them in his life to know what made a good lie.


    “I’ve heard that men from Reldon look like him; tall and tan skin.”


    “Could be.”


    “You know there’s a Reldoni Prince living in Rubastre?”


    “I’d heard.”


    “You reckon he works for him?”


    “Not sure. Why are you so interested?” She gave him a grin with a glint in her eye, “you know how valuable information is.”


    “I’d appreciate it if you kept our passing through here to yourself,” he said, earnestly.


    “I won’t be able to stop the story of what you did for us from spreading. Everyone in the village knows you brought the kids back.”


    “Maybe just don’t mention him if anyone comes asking,” Rowan didn’t say it with any sense of threat, these people had been through enough. He knew he couldn’t control the story spreading. Their names too being the sons of Taran the Hunter, the dots would get connected that they were out this way. Rowan just hoped that whatever this mission was his brother was on wasn’t compromised by it.


    “Like I’d said, we owe you a lot,” she pledged, holding his gaze, “I’ll keep quiet. And so will everyone that works here.”


    Rowan thanked her and walked over to the otherside of the common room towards Desmond, “you’ll be ready to leave in the hour?” Rowan asked as he approached.


    “Should be… I’m almost done here,” he replied, not looking up from his parchment.


    “Not bad,” Rowan noted, looking down at the map that the man was working on, “how’d you know about all these spots?” he asked, pointing at the locations outside of the areas they’d travelled.


    “Mendy,” Desmond replied, “she knows a good bit about the area. People tend to gauge distances wrong a lot of the time though. Some journeys might feel longer than others because of the road or nostalgia… all that skews it. Without going myself it’ll be hard to judge accurately.” Rowan gave him an assessing look, crossing his arms, “are you actually a map maker?” he asked incredulously.


    “Of course,” Desmond smiled up at him, “what else would I be?” This man was a fine liar. Maybe he’s a politician?


    The front door opened, letting in the chill damp air. Tan strode in, garbed in his dark grey travelling cloak, the blood stains already scrubbed out of it. When had he gotten up? “Are you ready to leave?” Tan called over to them. “Horses are saddled and bridled. Let’s have a quick lunch and be on our way,” Tan said as we walked over to them.


    “You’re not finished yet?” Tan asked Desmond as he approached, “we’ve got to get on the road.”


    “Just a few more touches, I’ll be done by the time you’re through lunch.” Rowan respected Desmond for the willingness to finish the job right, he hadn’t pegged him for a man like that.


    “Looks good,” Tan said leaning down, then made an angry tsk sound. He tore a tiny piece of the corner of the parchment.


    “Hey!” Desmond shouted at him, “what are you doing?!”


    “This,” Tan waved the scrap of paper at him, bringing his voice down to a fierce whisper and glancing back at Mendy—who was back to cleaning glasses—pretending she wasn’t listening to them, “is the kind of shit that gets us caught.” He placed it down on the table. The small corner piece had a stamp mark on it. Rowan didn’t catch the detail of it before Tan crumpled it and walked to the brazier and tossed it in.


    “Who else saw this?” Tan asked with accusation. Desmond was quiet for a moment, he looked about ready to explode at Tanlor.


    “Nobody,” Desmond responded coldly.


    “Be more careful,” Tan said with a warning, which Rowan felt was a bit dramatic, it was just a stamp.


    “Don’t forget who I am,” Desmond replied with an edge to his voice, “I appreciate what you’re doing for me. But there’s only so far I’ll allow you to push it, are we clear?” In an instant the Desmond that Rowan was familiar with—uncertain and a little nervous—was gone. What was left was a man who was wholly accustomed to others doing what he asked. He was a politician alright. Mendy was still listening from the bar. Rowan believed her when she said she’d keep quiet but that didn’t mean they should be careless.


    “I can’t afford for you to make reckless mistakes,” Tanlor said with reproach.


    “Maybe ease off, eh?” Rowan put in, sensing the tension building, “we all make mistakes.” Tan looked at him as if he’d forgotten he was there, then swept off. Rowan looked down at Desmond who was clenching his jaw as Tanlor walked off, “Someone’s following us?” Rowan asked with curiosity.


    “Maybe.”


    “How dangerous we talking?”


    “If what you and Tanlor say about what’s ahead of us up north; rakmen and monsters and such” Desmond responded, “Tanlor believes what’s behind us is more of a threat than those… I don’t know if he’s right.”


    Rowan had an evanescent feeling so fleeting that it was hard to determine if it was even his. It had been a long time since he’d felt fear. All of his training through his life and the trips taken with his father as a boy had exposed him to such dangers that fear rarely ever took hold of him now as an adult. And whenever he did feel it now, his mental resilience training would kick in. Foebreakers were uncommon in Rubane—the extraordinarily expensive and precious mindstone made that runestone far too rare—meant that there weren’t many Rowan had faced in a fight.


    His grandfather, Bodh, had been a Foebreaker. He’d trained all of his grandsons personally in resisting the influence of a Foebreaker’s pressure. What had been left was a generation that was incapable of feeling fear, even when those emotions came from within. It was a mental reflex when fear would creep into his mind to acknowledge, release and then force it from your mind. It was something he now did instinctively.


    He nodded to Desmond, and left him to load up his horse and make sure they had enough provisions for the road and while he did so he wondered at what danger was coming for them for it to have his brother so agitated.


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