7. Renard #3
Gathering my wits and ignoring the sucking wounds around my heart, I forge on.
“On his deathbed, Morcar summoned me for one last quest. All our mages had failed to find the source and the cure for this new beautiful wasting plague. Every option had been exhausted. Even our allies could no longer support us. We needed to find a cure. Morcar sent me and a contingent of twenty men into the Verge to make our way to Hollowmire. The plan was to entreat with the fae king, to beg for aid and for the knowledge of his mages and ancient library.”
Vireth stills almost imperceptibly, like a rabbit gauging a threat. I could press her, but I suspect if I ask her anything too personal, she’ll simply refuse to answer and we’ll lose this tenuous detente we seem to have struck.
“We had no knowledge of the eastern road,” I tell her again.
“We came the most direct route, through the Verge and up to that damned bog. My men—the best men in Valehar, certainly the bravest—were snuffed out one by one in these cursed fae lands from monsters I’ll never be rid of in my foulest nightmares.
We never found the end of the bog. When my company was down to precious few knights who were utterly insensate after witnessing such horrors, I was forced to abandon the quest and turn back. ”
Vireth’s intense gaze never falters. She worries her plush lower lip beneath her dangerously sharp right fang in a way that’s shamefully mesmerizing, and I feel little fires kindling through my veins despite the fact that I’m dredging up some of the worst memories of my life.
An involuntary tremor shivers through my body—one I’m too nervous to examine.
Then again, I have suffered egregious blood loss recently, which could account for it.
“And then what happened?” she asks, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her head on her hand. “What brought you back here?”
“When I returned, King Morcar had died. The absence of a natural heir—despite his deathbed wishes—led to a coup and the court was thrown into chaos. When a modicum of peace was restored, many of the governing lords had been swayed, or perhaps bribed, to lay the blame of the plague at Morcar’s feet.
Those who would not swear fealty to the newly appointed Regent Arden were cast out.
Thanks to my failed quest, I was stripped of my title, my position, and my lands—exiled outside of Valehar. ”
I take a sip of broth that Vireth pushes forward, reveling in the warm savory liquid that slides down my throat, imparting strength.
She stares off into the forest, distractedly plaiting her hair.
“I’d like to say that all feels rather unfair, but that would be a grievous understatement.
And still, knowing how royal courts can harbor the worst of vipers, it seems entirely unsurprising.
Yet I am sorry for the losses you suffered.
I can tell they are great, and they weigh on you still.
You have not answered my question, though—why did you come back? ”
Why did I come back? It certainly wasn’t for Arden.
Perhaps it was for the removal of my exile and my exoneration.
Perhaps it truly is for the people I swore to protect.
Perhaps it’s morbid curiosity about the Blight Mother.
An insidious voice hisses through me that perhaps I am simply tired of staunching the flow of loss, and facing whatever failure or horror in these woods will see my torment at an end.
I do not say any of these things to this fae stranger.
I purse my lips. “I swore an oath to my king to protect the people of Valehar from all manner of threat. I failed in my quest the first time. When Arden came to my farm to tell me that the plague is worsening, I was moved to act. There is no one who better understands what is at stake, and there is no one who is better suited to cross through these places and find the end to this misery.”
There is a moment of quiet when I think my impassioned story moves Vireth… before she tilts her head back and begins to laugh uproariously. Heat burns my cheeks—a potent mix of shame and embarrassment. I am not amused.
“Forgive me,” she gasps, scrubbing her hand across her face. “I am not laughing at the pain and hardship you’ve endured, nor the losses you’ve suffered. I am simply astonished by your brazen stupidity.”
Once more, I’m stunned into silence, eyes wide and mouth hanging open like a fish. I’ve been called many things in my life—some of them true, many of them not—but I’ve never been called stupid. Especially for standing up to do what I believe is my duty to my people.
“Stupidity?! Now, listen here…”
“Only a human—and a man, at that—would have the sheer temerity to cross into a land he knows nothing about, suffer incredible losses, and then turn right around and attempt it again with fewer resources, fewer allies, and no more knowledge than when he started out the first time—simply because he has an overabundance of confidence, lingering thwarted purpose, and a startling lack of caution,” she chuckles.
“I beg your pardon! How dare you—”
“No, Renard. It is time for you to listen. I will help you search for an end to your curse because frankly, I fear if I leave you to your own devices, you’ll run right back out into that bogunder’s maw.
It would be prudent for you to heed me, brave knight, because I assure you that whatever horrors you encountered are nothing compared to the true evils that slumber in Hollowmire.
If you had encountered them, you wouldn’t be alive to stumble back into the woods.
Rest today, if you can, while I make preparations for the both of us.
Tomorrow morning, we’ll head east for the village. ”
Anger burns through me like a lit wick. Every argument that springs to my lips dies swiftly, however, because I cannot help but recognize the truth in the fae wench’s words.
She dispatched the bogunder with speed and efficiency, knows these woods well enough to find safe harbor and passage through, and—being fae—is plainly well-versed in the land and its people.
Still, acid churns in my belly at looking the fool.
I crossed into the Verge with a sword and a vague direction to aim it at—a mythical monster whose blood might break the bonds of the curse…
and little else. A lifetime of experience prepared me for all but this foreign land that has almost chewed me up and spat me back out twice now.
“I have no time for villages,” I hear myself arguing. “As soon as I can ride, I make for the castle.”
“There’s no one at the castle who will help you,” she says stubbornly.
“They will not care for your human kingdom. The old alliances are dead, and humans are a laughingstock among the wild-folk. If you wish to end the mortal torment of your people, you’ll suffer my company a bit longer and accompany me to the village. ”
Again with the village! Can it be that this woman knows someone who can truly help me? Is there a chance that I will find the answers I sought the first time I came here—an end to the famine—without having to spill the Blight Mother’s blood?
“Do you know of someone who can help me? What’s in this village that commands your attention so?” I ask warily.
She grins at me, showing far too much of her fangs for my liking.
“Of course. I have a prior engagement with a fortune teller.”