Brian Anderson - The Sword of Truth

“Stop thinking about it,” Lee scolded as he climbed up beside Gewey.

“What do you mean?” Gewey responded, startled. ‘Surely Lee can’t read my mind,’ he thought.

“You know what I mean, boy,” said Lee. “If you think about him, he may be able to find you. Until we figure out how he located you in your dreams, we must be cautious.”

Gewey didn’t reply. Instead he focused his thoughts on the sound of his breath and the movement of the wagon. It was three miles to Lee’s estate, which was situated just north of the village, next to the river.

It took them a little more than an hour to get there. Several roads had been built leading to Lee’s home; this was more than the village council deemed necessary, but since Lee was willing to both pay for construction himself and use local labor, they raised few objections. It did, however, lead to rumors about his eccentricities. Some folks had even said that he had built tunnels, but Gewey had always ignored such gossip.

Lee’s estate was built across fifty acres-a small property for a man of his apparent wealth. But the land was among the finest in the area, with most of it dedicated to the keeping of his many horses. The house itself looked modest from the outside. It was adorned simply in northern fashion. The single story dwelling had been built mostly of stained cedar with cherry inlay surrounding each window, and the roof was made from red tile imported from the north. Symbols of the Nine Gods were carved into the stone driveway that led from the main avenue to the front door. Although no blooms could currently be seen, a well-tended garden had once dominated the front yard; at its center stood a statue of Gerath, patron god of Sharpstone. Three horses waited in front; two were saddled, and one was packed full with supplies. The large oak door was already open and Millet, one of Lee’s servants, stood just inside. He was holding a small box wrapped in silk cloth.

Lee stopped the wagon and leapt down. He retrieved his sword from the cart and placed it in its scabbard, attaching it to his saddle. He walked up to Millet and took the box, whispering something in the servant’s ear. Millet disappeared into the house.

“Saddle up,” Lee said to Gewey. “I won’t be a moment.”

Lee turned and ran into the house while Gewey grabbed his belongings. He’d barely had a chance to stow his gear and mount his horse when Lee returned, dressed in a soft leather travel outfit and a black wool cloak. He carried a long sword sheathed in a plain brown scabbard. Lee walked up to Gewey’s horse and attached the sword to his saddle.

“I’d invite you in, but time is short,” said Lee, and he climbed onto his horse. “You’ll have the pack horse in tow for now. If we meet anyone we know along the way, we’ll say you’re accompanying me as I visit relatives in the north. People will get suspicious after a week or so, but Millet has instructions to keep the deception alive as long as possible.”

“Where are we going?” Gewey asked.

“West,” answered Lee, and pulled the hood over his head.

Gewey pressed the issue. “West where?”

“Save your questions for now,” he replied. “We’re too close to home, and I won’t risk drawing attention. Believe me, boy; what I have to tell you is worth waiting to hear.” Lee checked up and down the avenue, and seeing no one, urged his horse on, heading north.

“I thought we were going west,” said Gewey.

“Don’t be stupid,” replied Lee irritably. “If anyone sees us, they need to see us heading north. There’s a river crossing used by smugglers not far from here, but we can’t be seen making for it. It’s the long way around, but there’s no choice. Now be quiet, we have a lot of distance to cover before dawn.”

To Gewey’s relief, they met no one along the way. The cold night air kept him from dozing off. The moon was new, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Gewey looked up at the stars and searched out the constellations his father had taught him when he was small. Posix, Goddess of the Dawn, shined brightly in the darkened sky, and Gewey thought about the nights that he and his father had spent stargazing.

“Gewey,” Lee said suddenly, shocking him to attention. “Dismount.”

Lee and Gewey led their horses into the woods on the west side of the road. The forest in this area was thick and treacherous. Gewey could barely see a thing, but Lee seemed to know exactly where he was. The ground was rough and uneven, and Gewey tried not to curse aloud as he tripped over roots and walked headlong into low hanging branches.

It was nearly dawn, but the thickness of the trees blocked out the light. The air was still and damp, and the only sound he heard was that of their footsteps and the heavy breathing of the horses.

“We’re here,” Lee said.

Gewey nearly ran into Lee’s horse. At first, he couldn’t see where “here” was, but then he spotted dim light shining ahead where the forest opened into a small clearing. As they entered, Gewey could see that it was at most half an hour past sunrise. The soft grass was drenched in morning dew, and Lee began unloading the pack horse and setting up camp.

“We travel at night and rest in the day for the time being,” said Lee. “It’ll take a couple of days to get used to, but I don’t want to risk being seen for now.”

Gewey found his own pack and pulled out the loaf of bread. He offered some to Lee, but he refused.

“At least we won’t need a fire,” Gewey joked, plopping down on a blanket.

Gewey munched on the bread, watching as Lee finished setting up camp and checking the horses. He’d thought of everything; they had blankets, pots, rope, food, and even a small tent in case of bad weather. Gewey wondered how Lee had prepared in such a short time.

When Lee finished his preparations, he pulled out a small sweet cracker from one of the bags and sat across from Gewey.

“Well…” Lee paused. “I guess it’s time to tell you want you want to know.”

Gewey leaned forward, determined not to miss a single word.

“I guess the best way to start is by telling you a bit about my life, and how I came to live in Sharpstone,” Lee began. “Despite what I have told you, I was not born a northern lord. I was born on the coast of the Western Abyss in a small fishing village. My father was a fisherman and died at sea when I was eight. My mother was a beautiful woman, but full of spite and anger. She resented being a lowly fisherman’s wife, and hated my father for it. When he died, I think she hated him even more. After his death, she joined the Temple of Saraf, God of the Sea, as a novice. Without a husband and burdened with a child, she was left with no other options.

“The Temple sent us both to the city of Hazrah, north of the Razor Mountains. Though I think my mother would have preferred they hadn't, I was made an acolyte so I could stay with her."

“For the first three years we lived in Hazrah, I hardly saw the city past the Temple doors. I hated it there and longed to leave. One day, Lord Dauvis Nal’Thain came to the Temple looking for a personal attendant. His last attendant had been killed, defending him from an assassination attempt. The High Priestess was reluctant to provide assistance, but could not refuse a lord, especially one as powerful as Lord Dauvis. She told him that he could pick an acolyte, as long as he agreed to pay all his wages and compensate the temple for the loss. She invited Lord Dauvis to stay the night so he could observe us at work, at a banquet in his honor.

“None of the others wanted to be chosen, but I was eager. Temple life was dull, monotonous, with endless days of cleaning and scrubbing, and endless nights of prayer and fasting. At the banquet, I did everything I could to be noticed, but Lord Dauvis barely looked at me. I remember how upset I was that night. I just knew I’d be stuck at the temple forever.