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    Chapter 29


    Salt the Earth Behind You


    Urundock was the gateway to the lands beyond the Nortara Sheet—the enormous lake that stretched out across the horizon was in a permanent frozen state. The town had originally been home to a community of fishermen who would travel out onto the ice and bore holes in the ice to fish. When the Archduke had decided to build outposts along the northern shore in efforts to reduce the number of Rakmen coming south, Urundock had become the central hub for making the trip across. Over the years, the town had grown with traders often moving through.


    That was the problem with towns that were grown out of necessity rather than any real desire for people to live there. What you end up with is people who are too poor to turn anywhere else. People with bad luck, bad choices—or both—all congregating together to carve out a tough life in a hard place.


    Most of the inns were also vicedens, catering for all the traders and miners that passed through. Daegan didn’t have any issue with that, but the quality certainly wasn’t what he was used to, so he didn’t argue much when Tanlor insisted that they stay at one of the very few respectable places. The Stag’s Head had the skull of a Great Elk mounted above the fireplace, its antlers spanning almost to either wall.


    “You ever see one of those in the wild?” Daegan asked Tanlor as they walked inside.


    “Once,” Tanlor replied, not even looking over at the thing. Daegan waited for more and then sighed when Tanlor kept walking on to the innkeeper.


    “Where? When? What were the circumstances?… Tanlor, you do know how conversations work, don’t you?”


    “The Balfold. When I was twelve. Father wouldn’t let me or Rowan shoot it, so it ran off,” Tanlor surmised quickly, and then with raised eyebrows back at Daegan, “Happy?”


    Daegan wasn’t sure why he even bothered.


    “Whitewhiskey, please,” Daegan asked the innkeeper as they approached the bar.


    “You boys need a room too?” the woman asked.


    “Aye,” Tanlor replied, “and that yard out back, can we use it for some training?” The woman eyed Tanlor’s greatsword and then scanned Daegan up and down.


    “You boys mercs? Some of the inns down the docks might be more to your tastes.”


    “No,” Tanlor grunted, “we’re not mercs. Just travellers looking for passage across the sheet.”


    “You heading to Twin Garde? Some trouble up there the last few weeks I heard… you Duke’s men?”


    “No,” Tanlor said firmly and left it at that, “do you know any ice rafters that might take us across?”


    “Snow’s have been getting heavy, you won’t get many looking to risk their raft if a storm rolls in. You might be waiting a few weeks.”


    “Surely there’s someone that will make the journey?” Rowan prodded, prompting the woman’s face to scrunch up in thought. She nodded after a moment, “Ardy might… the sod owes me twenty copper marks. Along with half the taverns this side of Nortara. He might be desperate enough to take ye.”


    “He here?” Tanlor asked, scanning his eyes over the few men in the common room.


    “Nah, he’s not welcome until he has my coin. You might find him down the street at Miner’s Rest though. Their ale’s more water than drink but it’s cheap, I’ve spotted him coming and going there.” Tanlor thanked her and sorted the costs for their rooms. She eyed Daegan again, eventually asking, “and where ye lads say yer from?”


    “We didn’t,” Tanlor cut her off, “thank you.”


    “You know I can speak without giving myself away, you know,” Daegan said once they were out of earshot from the woman.


    “Words spreading that the Reldoni Prince is missing, people might start putting the pieces together. Last thing we need is Ferath picking up any scent of our trail,” he whispered to Daegan before heading out of the inn.


    It was cold outside, as was to be expected. Daegan struggled to remember a time in the last few weeks he hadn’t felt a sharp chill after stepping outside. He followed Tanlor through the street. Boots, cartwheels and hooves had packed the snow mixing it with the crusty earth. As they walked down the street, Daegan spotted a store with a sword and an axe hanging over the door instead of a sign.


    “A weaponsmith,” he guessed, “I might see if I can pick up a sword. Might as well start training with real blades.”


    “Good idea,” Tanlor conceded, “your form is improving. But your balance will be off if you keep training with sticks. Alright, we’ll—”


    “—No, no,” Daegan waved dismissively, “you go look for the drunken ice rafter. I can handle this.”


    “I’m not sur—”


    “—I’ll be fine, Tanlor,” Daegan insisted. In truth, he really just wanted to get some time away from the man. The past few days had been filled mostly with awkward silences. Tanlor sighed but gave a resigned nod, “be careful.”


    “Well I’m hardly going to start a fight with some stranger now, am I?”


    Daegan felt a slight relief when Tanlor kept walking down the street. He was a little surprised that the other man was allowing him out of his sight. He had been overbearingly diligent in his bodyguard duties and Daegan wanted just a few moments on his own. I don’t think I’ve been out of the man’s immediate sight since Crossroads. He breathed a sigh of relief when Tanlor kept on walking. Surely he wanted a break from Daegan too.


    The weaponsmith had the stock you’d expect to see of a remote trading hub; all strong Rubanian steel with sharp edges. Swords, axes, spears, maces and crossbows amongst a plethora of other killing utensils along with varying armours to help prevent being killed. None of them were ornate or had intricate patterns along the blades. No gemstones inlaid in the pommel or dragons shaped along the hilt. Just simple plain steel swords in Rubanian style; long, straight and double edged.


    Daegan hefted one from the rack and tested its weight in his hand. It had been a long time since he’d held a real sword.


    Thirteen years.


    He coughed, clearing his throat of the scratch that came up. His free hand rubbing at it. The noise drew the attention of the weaponsmith.


    “Bad cough there, lad. It’s cold out,” the blond man called over from where he was inspecting a helm with a broken visor. “A sword’s good for making sure rakmen or raiders won’t kill you, but the cold will kill you just as easily. You heading up north?”


    “Yes,” Daegan replied, his voice a little croaky. The door opened and a frosty chill swept in as a cloaked and hooded man entered the store.


    “You got furs, yet?” the weaponsmith asked, ignoring the newcomer, “my brother sells furs down near the docks. He’ll give you a good price. Bears, mammanth, wolves, ferrax, whatever you need.”


    “Ferrax?” Daegan asked, intrigued.


    “Aye, a ferraz pelt’s worth its weight in silver,” the man winked, “ain’t nothing better to keep you warm up past the sheet.”


    “Aidan don’t have ferrax pelts no more than I do,” the newcomer said, he had a slightly strange accent. He drew back his hood to reveal long scraggly grey hair and a pale sunken face, like he’d had the life sucked right of him.


    “He does,” the weaponsmith countered, “trader brought ‘em down three weeks ago. A whole raft-full. Didn’t say where he’d traded ‘em, mind you,” he looked to Daegan, “ain’t nobody willing to trade with those that make coin with the rakmen but if a lad comes through peddlin’ ferrax furs well…” he shrugged.


    Morals until those morals aren’t good for business, I get you. “I get it,” Daegan replied, “I’ll check it out.”


    “What you need anyway, Ardy?” The weaponsmith resumed his inspection of the helm without looking at the newcomer.


    “Axle broke on my last run, I need someone to fix it.”


    “Plenty of metalshapers down the docks,” The weaponsmith said, flatly, “I make axes and swords.”


    “I’ll have better luck trying to fix the damn thing myself than convincing any of them to do it,” Ardy grumbled, scratching at the side of his head. Daegan caught sight of a long pointed ear under the tangled grey hairs. He’s an Aeth!


    “Maybe you should start paying back some of yer debts and people might be willing to do work for you again,” the weaponsmith sneered, “you still owe Aidan, for that sail he mended for ye a few months back, ye know.”


    “Aye, I know, I know, you think I don’t? I’ll get to ‘im.”


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    The Aeth man had a gravelling voice that matched his dishevelled appearance. Daegan had seen—and smelled—men like him a lot around vicedens. The kind that didn’t have the endless supply of gold needed to keep up with their habits, but he’d never seen an Aeth like that before.


    “Come on, Ronan. I thought we were friends, we’re friends aren’t we?” the Aeth flashed a smile, he was missing a few teeth.


    “Ugh,” Ronan the weaponsmith sighed, “I’m not doing no work for free… but if you can find some parts that might be of use to ye in the scrap over there you can take it. But that’s all yer gettin’!”


    Ardy mumbled again under his breath, and then grumbled a thanks before moving to sift through the pile a scrap metal. Daegan’s curiosity was far too piqued to resist walking over to the Aeth.


    “I would never have expected to see an Aeth out here in…” Daegan tried to come up with a suitable reference to the place.


    “…the back arse of nowhere,” Ardy offered, glancing up at him with his dark sunken eyes.


    “Yeah. I thought you guys would turn to dust or something if you go too far from Evier.”


    “I’m still here, aren’t I?” he gave a lazy flourish of his hand, “not many Reldoni out here either,” he continued rummaging through the metal pieces, “aren’t you lot supposed to be invading some kingdom somewhere.”


    “What''s your name?”


    “Ardy.”


    “Really?”


    “Really.”


    “Most Aeth I’ve met, their names are, you know…” again Daegan was a bit lost for the words he was looking for. Their names tended to be grander.


    “Flowery?” Ardy offered.


    “Kind of, yeah,” Daegan grinned.


    “Well… it’s just Ardy, and yours?”


    “Dessie,” Daegan replied, a name he was getting used to introducing himself as. Desmond the Cartographer. Quite the renown Dessie was building for himself around these parts he might add. “Why won’t the metalshapers fix the axles on your… carriage?” He guessed.


    “Ice raft,” Ardy corrected.


    “You’re an ice rafter?” Daegan felt his eyebrows rise, “would you be able to take me and my friend across the Nortara Sheet?


    “And why the fuck a man like you want to go up there,” Ardy scoffed, “you know the rak will as soon as kill you as a trade with you.”


    “I’m a cartographer, I’m going to map the region,” Daegan said with such enthusiasm that he almost believed it himself.


    “That’s a fool''s errand.”


    “All the same,” Daegan shrugged, he’d gotten quite used to people having that opinion of the task. He enjoyed the optimistic persona of Desmond that he donned when chatting with the locals. “Can you do it?” Daegan asked.


    “My last run,” Ardy replied, with a bitter edge to his voice, “I was bringing some … let’s call them soldiers back from Twin Garde. Didn’t spot this sneaky fucker of a boulder peeking up through the ice. A blasted boulder! Can you believe it? Anyway… the thing busted up my axle.”


    “… And that’s why you need a metalshaper.”


    “Aye.”


    “And what? Folk around here racist or something?”


    “Let’s just say, I’ve got some bad credit with the metalshapers round here,” He swayed slightly as he spoke.


    Likely most of the taverns too.


    “How much do you usually charge for a run across the sheet?”


    “For two people?—twenty copper marks before we leave. Twenty when we get there.”


    “And how much do you need to fix your axle?”


    “Maybe about thirty copper.”


    This man didn’t even have thirty copper marks!


    “How about I front you the money and you take us across the sheet for thirty?”


    The door banged again, followed by yet another cold breeze. This time it was Tanlor. He didn’t look happy, but then again, Tanlor rarely did. His eyes quickly met Daegan’s and he strode over to him.


    “Couldn’t find the ice rafter Ardy that the woman at Stag’s Head told us about,” Tanlor said with a note of frustration, “apparently the guy’s a drunk anyway so probably not the best idea to trust him to get us across safely anyway.”


    “Shelly’s talking shit,” Ardy looked Tanlor up and down, “I ain’t no drunk.”


    “Tanlor,” Daegan beamed, “this is Ardy, our ice rafter.”


    “He is?” Tanlor’s eyes widened and Daegan couldn’t help but enjoy the man’s embarrassment. “You’ll take us across?” Tanlor asked Ardy.


    “Will take a few days to get my raft fixed,” Ardy replied, “and it’s really not the best season to be crossing… blizzards come in hard and fast between now and midwinter. Most rafters hold off until after Lua Nova.”


    “We can’t wait until the new year to cross. We need to leave as soon as possible,” Tanlor insisted.


    “You lads running from something? Not that I care much, mind you.”


    “We’re just looking to cross is all,” Tanlor replied.


    “Aye yeah… and salt the earth behind you. If my raft gets damaged in a storm, thirty copper marks ain’t going to cover it.”


    “If that happens,” Daegan interjected, “we’ll cover the damages.”


    “Will ye now… How do I know you’re not just going to run off the second I land you on the north shore.”


    Daegan and Tanlor shared a look. Daegan wasn’t sure how to move forward, he would normally rely on his name as a Tredain as a collateral for any deal. Even in vicedens, no one was going to argue against a Prince’s ability to pay his debts.


    “We’re leaving our horses stabled at the Stag’s Head,” Tanlor told Ardy, “paid up for six months'' board. I won’t give you the writ for them but I will sign a contract that says if we’re not back before the writ expires, they can be released to you,” Tanlor offered.


    “Two good horses are worth a whole hell of a lot,” Daegan added.


    Ardy scratched at the side of his head again. He looked back at the scrap metal he’d been rummaging through.


    “You lads are desperate, aren’t you?” A predatory grin appearing on the Aeth’s face, “alright then, deal. Thirty copper marks up front and I’ll take ye across.” Ardy held out his hand and Tanlor shook it.


    “You got the coin on you now? You’re staying at the Stag’s Head, you said? I’ll come find you when the work’s finished.”


    “No, no,” Daegan shook his head, “we’ll come with you now to find a metalshaper.” He didn’t trust Ardy to not take their thirty marks and bring it straight to the nearest tavern.


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    ***


    Daegan dodged a swing of Tanlor’s blade, still sheathed in its scabbard. He rolled and came up quick enough to block another swing with his new sword—also sheathed. It made the weapons heavier, sparring like this but it also meant that Daegan was unlikely to accidentally cut himself. Tanlor had puffed a laugh when Daegan had also turned the catch on his scabbard preventing the sword from being accidentally drawn, “you won’t get a cut on me,” he’d scoffed.


    Daegan had made it his goal to make sure to get at least one hit on the man before the session was done.


    “Good dodge,” Tanlor conceded, but then twisted his sword down which pulled Daegan’s with it. Tanlor then charged him with his shoulder, knocking Daegan to the ground and disarming him. Sparring seemed to be the only times where Tanlor was actually enjoying himself and Daegan had taken to it vigorously. As a boy, his training had made him uneasy. He had been forever compared to his brother’s advances in both swordplay and runewielding, and compared to how his father had been at his age. His brothers, his father, his grandfather and all of his bloody ancestors it seemed had all been far superior fighters than he had been as a child.


    Now, in the frost-crusted earth behind an inn in ‘the back arse of nowhere’ as Ardy described it, Daegan could finally just enjoy the heat of the activity. The clash of swords, and the excitement he felt when he’d almost land a hit on the other man. Tanlor was far—far—beyond his skill level, the man might be about the same age as him but he’d spent the last thirteen years training and fighting. Daegan on the other hand had spent those same years drinking and wallowing in self-pity. He was done with the latter. The drinking however… well he didn’t see any need to stop that.


    His flask of whitewhiskey was replenished since arriving at Urundock. He took a hearty swig after getting to his feet. He felt it tingle in chest as it made its way down.


    “Ah,” he gasped with pleasure, hopping back and forth on his feet and letting the alcohol fuel his adrenaline. He took a lunge at Tanlor who easily sidestepped. Then he attempted a manoeuvre that Tanlor had been teaching him, spinning around and bringing his blade up but Tanlor was waiting for it.


    Of course he would be, he taught it to me.


    Instead of bringing his blade up however, Daegan dropped to the ground and kicked out his leg against Tanlor’s ankle. The man grunted and lost balance.


    “What are you doing?” Tanlor growled.


    “I got you,” Daegan grinned up at him from the ground, “I got a hit.”


    “But you’re dead,” Tanlor replied dismissively, pointing the sword down at him, “you hit the ground like that you’re as good as.”


    “I still got a hit.”


    “This isn’t a game,” Tanlor rebuked, “I knew men who would drink like that before a battle, I can tell you not many of ‘em survived long enough for a second or third.”


    “Rowan never cared about me drinking,” Daegan objected, climbing to his feet.


    “Well Rowan’s not here anymore,” Tanlor snapped, obviously annoyed at the mention of Rowan.


    “And who’s fault is that?” Daegan threw back, equally agitated by Tanlor’s tone.


    “Look, you want to get yourself killed for reckless silly mistakes? I don’t think so, not on my watch,” Tanlor shot at him, “not when it’s my life—my dreams—on the line!”


    “Your dreams?”


    “Doesn’t matter… forget I said anything,” Tanlor walked away from him, back towards the inn, “we’re done for tonight.”


    “No, no—what was that, what''s in all of this for you?” Daegan supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Tanlor had other reasons for accompanying him. The man so rarely ever spoke about himself that it was hard to figure out anything about him.


    “I said it doesn’t matter,” Tanlor replied, more firmly.


    “Listen,” Daegan said, his anger rising up in him, “if you hadn’t tried to kill that kid because he reminded you of your father or whatever—”


    “—You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Tanlor rounded on him, Daegan took a step back at the fury on the man’s face.


    “No?” Daegan retorted, “Rowan told me… it’s alright,”


    “Did he?” Tanlor glowered.


    “Listen, at least your father was a good man—”


    “—You don''t know anything about it.”


    “My father was enough of a bastard. Trust me you had it easy, alright.”


    “You know what, Desmond, you’re not the only person who’s got problems. The whole fucking world doesn’t revolve around you. We don’t exist just for you and your problems,” Tanlor advanced on him.


    “You don''t know shit,” he said


    “You think you''re hard? I''m harder.”


    “You think you''re tough? I''m tougher.”


    “You’ve been living your privileged life, getting whatever you want your whole damn life handed to you. Yeah, it’s shit that someone’s trying to kill you but guess what? People have tried to kill me a whole bunch of times. It doesn’t make you special. It doesn’t make you better than me.”


    “I never said I was,” Daegan shot back.


    “You think it though,” Tanlor went on, “I’m not good enough for your halls, your parties, your daughters because my father was a hunter.”


    “I don’t even have a daughter,” Daegan defended. It was an odd thing to argue on but it was all that Daegan picked out.


    Tanlor looked rattled. He breathed out a long ragged breath, steadying himself and then turned away from Daegan.


    “I don’t need you,” Daegan croaked, his throat burning.


    “Yes, you do,” Tanlor replied, coldly and without looking back, “you wouldn’t last two days without me.”


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