Chapter Fifty-Six Ruhlin
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Ruhlin
The hour was late and the waves broke white on a darkened shore that held little in the way of invitation.
A narrow stretch of beach nestled between imposing headland led to a wall of trees, their depths seemingly rich in threat as the boat carried Ruhlin and Aleida to shore.
Even so, she spoke no complaint, nor had she done so throughout the long voyage from Nihlvar.
Ruhlin knew she had found parting from Ryma difficult, but the child was well cared for as an adopted daughter to Deyna, newly confirmed as Tuhlvyr of the Citadel.
Before leaving, Ruhlin had expressed his certainty that her authority would soon spread beyond the city and she would be in need of a new title.
“I expect I shall,” she said. “Vortigurn is too burdened by its bearer’s evil. High Tuhlvyr, perhaps?”
Ruhlin had smiled. “I think that will suit you very well.”
Despite her outward levity, Deyna’s mood was dark the day he came to tell her he was leaving.
Guthnyr had departed the day before at the head of his fallen brother’s menda.
Amply provided with boats, they set off for the river that would carry them to a region they referred to as the Swathe and the Nihlvarians the Southern Wastes.
It was said that none but a fool in search of his own death ever trod there, but Guthnyr, as usual, found scant reason to fear the journey.
“Although,” he said when Ruhlin came to see him off, “I would face it with no fears at all if you were to walk it with me.”
Ruhlin had already refused Velkar’s entreaties to return with her to Morvek lands where, as Telchak, he would be honoured for all his days. He gave Guthnyr the same answer he had her: “We have our own paths to follow.”
They clasped hands and Guthnyr clambered aboard the boat laden with the Sea King’s warriors who had since sworn themselves to his brother.
Watching it disappear into the morning mist covering the Great Fjord, Ruhlin was troubled by the nagging certainty that he and Guthnyr would never meet again and hoped it wasn’t so.
Saying farewell to Sygurn was a far more raucous affair.
The smith gathered all those who had survived the trek from Tahrim Kyrn in one of the several abandoned inns close to the docks.
There they drank and revelled until the small hours whereupon Sygurn slurred a question at a far less inebriated Ruhlin: “Fecking Caerith lands. Why th’feck y’wanna go there? ”
“Partly because I told Tuhlan I would,” Ruhlin replied. “And because he told me there was someone there who could help me master what dwells within me.”
“Waste o’pishing time, y’ask me. Come back with us to Tahrim Kyrn.
Loads a’ ore still to be dug out, and the Morvek’ve promised to leave us be.
And—” Sygurn lowered his voice, leaning closer “—get the feeling it’d be best to put a good distance ’twixt us and that Tuhlvyr bitch.
She might be all smiles now, but that won’t fecking last.”
Ruhlin found it hard to contest Sygurn’s reasoning, but when he began to tell him so, realised that the smith had passed out.
He lay with his face on the table, one cheek bunched in a puddle of spilled drink and, perhaps for the first time in his life, a contented smile upon his lips.
Ruhlin put a hand to his friend’s tousled head and left.
He met Ohtera and Fernhyld at the city’s western gate the following morning. Tremyn and the other Kelven lingered close by, casting nervous glances at the surrounding streets. In place of her blindfold, Fernhyld now wore a leather mask with covered eye holes.
“We’ll tell folk I have a wasting disease or some such,” she said. “People tend to shun sickness, and we have a need to be shunned.”
“Will you wear that for all your days?” Ruhlin asked, gesturing to the mask.
“I hope not. I lived for years without one, but those were less perilous times. Once we are settled, I’ll discard it then.”
At her side, Ohtera exhibited the same mix of tense suspicion and wide-eyed interest at the sights, sounds and scents as she had when first stepping beyond the bounds of the Vortigurn’s hall. “Where will you go?” Ruhlin asked her.
“There are plenty of wild places within and without this realm,” she said. “That Tuhlvyr was keen for us to stay. Too keen for my liking.”
“I imagine she would find her own coterie of Ventra very useful,” Ruhlin said. “And is likely to pay well.”
“Pay or not, we’re done being the servants of others.
” Ohtera tensed at the sight of a group of warriors further along the street.
Ruhlin recognised them as Travka clad in armour looted from the Vortigurn’s slaughtered menda, but their mere appearance was enough to put her on edge.
“We should go,” she told Fernhyld who paused long enough to give Ruhlin a warm embrace.
Ohtera didn’t, but she did at least offer a smile before leading her people through the gate.
This time, he felt no doubt at all that he would never set eyes on them again.
“It’s not too late to turn back,” Skahlvyr Estrynlud’s voice shook Ruhlin from his reverie.
The captain of the Silver Hawk, the swift vessel that had carried them through the Fire Islands and across the sea, had insisted on taking them to shore personally.
Having been advised by her brother of Ruhlin’s role in the Vortigurn’s demise, Queen Thera had offered him any reward within her power to give.
He asked only for a ship to carry him and his wife to Caerith lands.
She said she would give him her best and hadn’t spoken falsely.
Guided by a wayfinder only too glad to sail far from his homeland, they successfully navigated the Fire Islands and the passage across the broad ocean in remarkably quick time.
“The Caerith are renowned for their dislike of visitors,” Skahlvyr went on. “Our queen will still welcome you in Skar Magnol.”
“And I thank her for it,” Ruhlin told him, stepping clear of the boat then helping Aleida do the same. “And you, Vellihr. This second ocean voyage was much more pleasant than my first.”
“Well…” Skahlvyr darted a nervous glance at the trees before taking up the oars. “If you are set upon this, I bid you best fortune and the Altvar’s favour.”
They gathered up their packs and waded to the sand, watching the seafarer row back to his ship before turning to regard the forest. “Not welcoming of visitors?” Aleida asked.
“I know a little of their tongue, thanks to Tuhlan,” Ruhlin said. “Enough to convince any we meet that we offer no harm…”
He fell silent when she began to laugh. It was just a chuckle at first, but soon built into hearty peals of mirth as she pressed herself against him. “What?” he asked, laughing himself now, but in bemusement.
Sobering, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and drew back. “Just the notion of you ever being harmless. Or me, for that matter. Come along then.” Settling her pack on her shoulders, she started towards the trees. “Let’s find this… what did Tuhlan call him?”
“The Eithlisch,” Ruhlin said. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds us before long.”
Joining hands, they stepped into the cool embrace of the forest’s shadow and began their search, one that would never truly end.