Lysander's head snapped up from the place it had been resting on the tree. He winced at the soreness in his neck. He looked around. Thomas and Andrew were sprawled on the ground, faces pressed into the mud. He looked towards the two strangers who had set up their small camp slightly away from theirs. The woman sat kneeling on the ground, hands working a pestle relentlessly into a mortar. She had shed her cloak and pinned her hair into a hill on top of her head, dark as the night sky. He watched as she poured water into it from her waterskin and stirred it with the pestle. She turned towards the older man and Lysander noticed he was awake. The man drank whatever the woman gave him and lay down. The woman turned around to put the utensils into the saddle bag on the ground and their eyes met. She arched her brow and Lysander turned away with a sigh.
He did not know where the two strangers intended to go or if they had been locals from Medlar. He snuffed out the latter thought as soon as it came.
Locals don't take up residence in an inn, you idiot.
The only logical conclusion he could draw was that the two were travellers. Yet, their faces were oddly familiar, like a memory sitting in his reach that he was failing to grab from the recesses of his mind. He'd have to ask Thomas or Andrew if they had the same suspicions or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Maybe, his paranoia was finally catching up to him. He looked towards his sleeping friends. He had forgotten to disguise them as they went. He couldn't do it now. It was too late.
How could he have been so stupid? He had changed the colour of his hair the minute they had left the hold. He knew it drew too much unwanted attention. But, he had forgotten to change the features of his two friends who were in as much danger as him. He hoped against hope the two strangers did not pay too much attention to the newspaper. They would be doomed otherwise. An owl hooted somewhere and he looked up. The sky was turning brighter. He had to wake everyone up. It was better they were out of Medlar's periphery as soon as they could. There were soldiers marching city to city and they could not let themselves be detected.
All traces of their camp were gone within minutes as they got up. It was decided without any words that they would continue on their separate journeys; it was no use getting in each other's paths. It was when Lysander took the reins to their mare that Thomas spoke up.
"I know who you are."
His voice was loud and rang over their small group in ripples that caused the father and daughter to pause. Lysander stared at his friend. Thomas looked at the pair with a frown settled between his brows. Lysander saw as the two companions shared a wide eyed, their eyes appearing strikingly similar. It passed as fast as it had come.
"I'm afraid we've never met before," the man said. His eyes appeared bored, all traces of the instantaneous panic dusted away from the planes of his face.
"No, we haven't met," Thomas continued. "However, you've been all over the newspapers, I'm afraid. And on the walls."
Lysander saw the colour rise lightly in the woman's cheeks and she tugged her cloak closer towards her and shivered despite the warmth of the ending twilight. He looked closer, inspecting the delicate yet fierce features. At the very least, he knew he was not going mad. If Thomas recognized the two people, then he knew them too. He just could not remember. Neither the father nor the daughter jumped to protest against the claim.
"You're the ones who fooled Toluer into thinking that you had escaped to Nirrin. And now... you're on the run for the murder of Redmord Elyane."
It clicked in his mind at that moment. It was James and Rueen Blake. He saw the woman's jaw tighten and the man's hand clench at his side.
"That's a false claim," James spoke up and his hand slowly crawled towards the hilt of a dagger poking out of one of the saddlebags. Lysander lowered his hand to the pistol in his belt. He did not want it to come to blows, but there was no harm in being prepared. He did not care if it went against all his beliefs.
"Which one?" Andrew asked with a tilt of his head.
"We did not murder the blue-blooded hag," Rueen said, lifting her chin. "He was vile and debauched but his blood is not on our hands."
"But you still managed to manipulate Toluer and the entire cantonment of Pyropa," Thomas said. "How did you pull that off?"
The father and daughter looked at each other. It made Lysander's mind spin as he tried to fathom out what appeared to be full conversations the two held with their eyes. He wondered if he and his parents would have been able to do the same.
"We have our -"
Rueen's words were drowned by the loud bugle call that rang through the air.
"We need to go," Andrew said, staring off into the distance where plumes of dust were steadily thickening. "Where should we head to?"
"South," James said as Rueen settled herself behind him.
"There's nothing south!"
"That's the very point," Rueen said.
Before any of the others could say anything, another horn sounded and with a huff, Lysander kicked the sides of the mare with his boots. They set off as fast as they could, with the two mares carrying, twice the load they were used to carrying. He curled his fingers at his side and looked back. A smile unfurled on his lips as the air blurred in the haze.
They travelled for three hours, crossing the Ilardio River and trotting over the planes surrounding Sytha. They kept away from the main road that led to the city. They dare not travel within sight of the villages surrounding Sytha and stuck to the grassy and rocky plains extending around the place. Twice they stopped to give the horses respite. That evening as they stopped and tethered the mares to a tree, James pulled out dried strips of venison from one of the saddle bags. Together Rueen and Thomas, who had seemed to be on each other's throats all through the course of the day, managed to turn the hard meat into something edible that they managed to down with water. They sat around the fire as the night darkened, the silence getting deeper and deeper as the birds retreated to their nests till an owl hooted from above their heads.
"You're heading towards Smanri," Lysander said after the silence and the chirping crickets became too much for him to bear. Rueen looked at him from the opposite side of the fire, face washed gold in the firelight, before she lowered her gaze back to the flames.
"How'd you figure that out?" James asked with a tilt of his head. He genuinely seemed curious.
"You read the message, didn't you?" Rueen said with a bitter drawl to her words, her teeth baring in a sneer and for a moment her eyes lifted up, reflecting the flames in front of her. She looked absolutely feral.
"Which message?" Thomas asked and Lysander recounted the tale to the boy in a low voice; all the while the woman glared at him.
"I wondered where your third partner was," Thomas said once Lysander had finished. "Smanri is beyond the Vakhor border. Surely, she doesn't mean to head into the Vakhor territory?"
"No."
The silence reigned over them once more and they sat with the sound of the fire crackling over them and the music of the crickets reminding them of their unfamiliarity with each other. There were many things he wanted to discuss with Andrew and Thomas but the presence of the Blakes made him hold his tongue.
"You three young men do know that if we are to be travelling together, we'd have to know your names," James cut through their thoughts and Lysander looked up.
"Andrew Drakhay," Andrew spoke up before Lysander could stop him and he had a deep urge to smack him over the head. What was the purpose of their aliases if Andrew was going to spew out his name without a second thought? It did not matter that people only knew their faces and not their names. It was still a risk Lysander did not want to take.
"Sander Parth," he said, sticking to the name he had made up for himself. He knew Rueen would notice the change in Andrew's name; she probably remembered the name he had given to her only two days ago. She had her eyes narrowed at the younger boy. She said nothing.
"Thomas Hale."
Lysander noticed the sudden stiffness in James' shoulders. The man stared at Thomas for a few moments before turning to look at Lysander with a frown. Lysander's heart fluttered nervously. Had Thomas given away something? The man looked away after a few seconds but the wariness did not disappear from Lysander's mind, circling like a vulture over his sanity. The fire crackled again in the silence and the stillness once again, was tense. And then James spoke up once again.
"I knew someone of that name once."
He felt Thomas go taut as a bow beside him. Lysander's own spine seemed to have been doused with ice and he looked up. The man had his eyes fixed on the fire but his face reflected an odd expression of confusion.
"Who?" Thomas' words were stoic and strong as he spoke but Lysander could see the knuckles of his hands standing stark white as he dug his palms into the mud below.
"A boy," James said. "A small boy. A newborn. The son to a handmaiden."
The night seemed to deepen with the words. He could see the frown on Thomas' face, could see the emotions sparring with each other in his eyes. Confusion, curiosity and desperation. They all warred for dominance.
"What became of him?"
James shrugged. "They disappeared without a trace."
"When?"
The tremble of Thomas' voice made Lysander look away from the young face that seemed like a wilted rose, something that would disintegrate to dust with the lightest touch.
"Nineteen years ago."
Thomas' hand twitched and the sharp intake of breath that came moments later floated away like a shard of glass. Lysander turned back towards James. His own blood had run cold with dread.
"Where did you last see them?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level.
"Coler. Elena Hale and her children were never seen after the sinful night that took away Edwin Parr. Many people had the same fate. Half the staff went down."
Lysander heard the gasp from Andrew as if from a dream. The fire in front of him was suddenly brighter, burning higher and higher till it crested into an inferno that raged and all he saw was the blinding orange, till all he felt were the wings of the ravens caressing his skin, and all he could hear were the terrified screams and the smell of ash and burnt flesh. He knew. He knew how the night had been a massacre. Knew how many lives had been lost.
Knew, because his parents and sister perished in the fire. He knew because he had waited for them, huddled in the trees, till the ravens had disappeared, the smoke had cooled down and the sun of the next day was at its peak. And then he had run, sprinted away from the acerbic smell of burnt flesh and leather, away from the screaming city and into the depths of the Avor. He had run till he had passed away in the middle of nowhere and had later woken up in an unknown camp of trappers and travellers. Besides, he remembered Elena Hale. His mother had been friends with the handmaiden.
The light pressure on his wrist was what brought him back. The fire lowered, but they were still in the forest and he wanted to bolt. He looked towards Andrew who had a hand on him and his eyes were round warning him, telling him to control his thoughts.
Besides him Thomas' breathing was shallow and Lysander expected him to snap with how hard the lines of his shoulders were.
"That's my mother's name," he said. "Elena Hale. That's the one thing I remember about her. I got separated from her when I was three."
James nodded and lowered his head, picking up a stray branch and dragging the blade of a dagger across it. He was disappointed, Lysander realised. He didn't understand why. Had he expected Thomas to know something about his mother? Was there something the man wanted from Elena Hale?
"I didn't know her much. Just that she was a kind woman. I took care of you when you were born. Just that you were too small and too fragile. Helwigs and I had to spend two nights looking after you so that you could be brought to a stable condition," James ended with a soft smile in Thomas' direction and the Troyanruža gave one in return. "We have a long day ahead. You need sleep."
"I'll take the first watch," Lysander said. The others were in their bedrolls within minutes, leaving Lysander to stare into the fire. He pushed himself slightly away from the heat. He did not want the memories to return. He heard Andrew's snores about half an hour later, followed by James' light puffs of deep breaths. He flinched when he heard Rueen speak up from her spot on the other side.
"You're scared of fire."
It wasn't a question. Lysander kept quiet.
"And you're not too fond of Coler either," she said softly, eyes narrowed at him.
Lysander did not reply and kept glaring into the flames, wishing he could use one of his silencing spells to stop the woman from talking.
"You're a strange man, Parth. Strange and troubled. I pray that you find peace."
With that she rolled over to her side, facing away from him and he was left to the darkness and his thoughts. This was going to be a tough alliance if Rueen was as perceptive as he had made her out to be.
**
They continued their journey before dawn the next day, passing along the terrain with their mares and loads slowly. They dodged two patrols about ten miles from Sytha as they headed towards the barren land heading towards the Vakhor border. They did not rest or stop. They barely managed to get out of the third patrol's sight; Lysander had to deflect them with Draedech. They found themselves hiding behind a cluster of small village houses as the men passed, silent like wraiths, their metal-clad feet heavy on the mud, their jeers and cheers ringing along with the screams of villagers.
By the time they had passed, Lysander could feel the sting in his legs from crouching too long. The scene that met them made Rueen turn her head away, her eyes clenched shut. Bile rose to Lysander's throat and he grimaced.
"It's a warning to the rebels," James said, eyes tracing over the head mounted on pikes and the pile of bodies on the ground, bloody and cold. The stone eyes looked at him, some full of fear while others had lingering sadness behind their eyes and for some reason, Lysander could not look away, could not turn his eyes away from the vile scene in front of him.
"Ashiyan aac amnane foys. Ashiyan ac barthe aun akhram dersidhkain ahaart id. Bannack ud le eart aus maet irtan."
Rueen's voice was strong as she said the ancient prayer, one Lysander had heard too many times over the course of his life. One, that was chanted in the prayer houses and the battlefields to ask for the forgiveness of lost souls from The Creator. It was the one and same for everyone, no matter what their sept or their belief. It was a chant of despair and good luck.
Lysander looked around. He could see the houses that had been burnt down. The charred wood of the barns crumpled down in a heap. He could smell the ash in the air. A caw came from above and Lysander's stomach churned at the sight above. A flock of crows circled above.
"We need to bury them," he said, turning to the others.
"We cannot. Every sept has its own rites. We don't know all of them," Thomas whispered, voice low with melancholy.
"Let us just bury them, please. We can't leave them here. Their sept doesn't matter. They need a decent burial. We can't leave them for the crows to feed on." Even as he said it Lysander shuddered.
A flick of his hand and the dead men floated a few inches above the ground, lining up in groups. It was an eerie sight. With another twist, the mud flew out forming the craters and Lysander gently lowered the villagers into them. The mud fell over them once again, forming mounds and small mountains. And then in a fit of fury, he twisted his hand and a bright glare ran across the ground. His companions gave gasps of surprise and warning. It was gone as soon as it came, leaving behind a burning mark in its wake; an eagle with its wings spread wide, a crown on its head. It burned bright like a diamond in the sun's glare, between each and every grave and Lysander's jaw clenched.
"Let this be a warning to the King," he growled. "Let him know there are people who shall fight back. Let this be the mark of the rebels."
And he turned around with the others following him, with their heads still turned towards the symbol. Behind him, the sigil of Edwin Parr flared silver.
.·:*¨༻ ༺¨*:·.
Start connecting the dots guys. Come on! Let's see who gets it right in the end.