Avarice Desperation Valley Ch 42

Out of every 1,000 people who start a book, only thirty actually complete it. In addition, only twenty percent of people who write a book actually publish it.

Leaving the Broken

The weeks passed and Aran integrated with Bryn's desperate followers, life was not dissimilar to the past one he had led with Bennett's wild clan. Though if Aran really stopped to analyze his feelings he was indeed a cut above when it came to acts of savagery. These men were not like him, they did not prey on settlements, or those weaker than themselves.

They were merely a group of survivors, still fresh, forging a new order and smarting from their recent losses of property and loved ones. They did not possess the hard edged mentality Aran did, kill or be killed, take or starve, and as the days unfurled the young warrior realized with much resignation it would be most difficult for him to stay amongst these people, well meaning though they were; this could never be his place.

Jhary remained subdued and resigned, he felt trapped with the demise of his trusty mule, and his inability to face the danger of the out lying lands alone. The bard spent his time hiding behind his craft, a delight to all others, inside he felt crushed. Neither man shared their inner thoughts or reservations with the other. Jhary fuming that Aran could have led him here to this, and had not spoken civilly with him since the day of his angry outburst in the canyon. Conveniently forgetting it was he who willingly sought the protection of the capable warrior in the first place.

As for Aran, he had avoided Jhary largely as well, he had made his point that day, and saw no reason to embellish on it. He was torn with his own issues, to stay and have a brotherhood of sorts, or leave for possibly worse than he had now on the vague hope he may rejoin his clan or another more prosperous and fierce one. It tore at him.

*****

One still gray day it came to Aran as he stood at the open mouth of Bryn's cave, that perhaps he had indeed been looking in all the wrong places for the object of his desire and salvation. He cast his mind back to the beautiful archer and the day of their fateful meeting in her village. The thought surfaced that just perhaps she had merely turned her trail south, as a ruse designed to fool him. Then once in the dunes circled north, and had quite possibly headed to what was left of her village.

The idea seemed feasible, with her clansmen dead she really had nowhere to go. A man may have, but a lone, attractive woman? She would have little choice but to lay low and hide. Aran could have kicked himself for not seeing this sooner and this galvanized him from his last few weeks of inactivity. Quietly he prepared to leave.

Aran approached the enigmatic Bryn later that evening as he sat enjoying the simple pleasures of a warm fire, tough meat, and the company of his people. Hardship did not seem to have any outward effect on the ebullient man, perhaps that is why he had been chosen to lead.

Bryn welcomed the blond warrior to sit beside him with an expansive gesture. Aran did so happily, sharing what little stringy meat graced the wood platter before him. He was dreading what he must say, but this bland repast laid before him galvanized his resolve. To stay here and live this way with the barest necessities and little hope was not something he could stomach.

Aran sat on his haunches looking sideways at Bryn, he did not intend to get comfortable for this most uncomfortable of speeches. The fire felt good, the sap fizzed from the green branches it was being fed. Every comfort here was scarce, even dry wood.

"What troubles ye my friend?" Bryn asked. He was indeed astute at judging moods and natures of those that surrounded him.

Aran shot him a look in return through his wild golden mane, his intense green eyes on the dark hirsute man, he grimaced, it was a wry smile yet it was not a smile at all.

"I must leave." There it was said.

Bryn set down the bone he was gnawing on, and sighed. "We all have things we must do." Sounding not at all surprised. He looked across at the golden warrior. "As I knew you would, you are not one of us. Not merely a survivor as we are, no." He shook his shaggy black mane and ran his fingers through his oily, grizzled black beard. "I expected it, but remember you are always welcome by the side of brother Bryn and those he leads." The offer was genuine and well meant.

Aran had no words, they would only serve to cheapen the moment. He just nodded and stared into the fire. Part of him saddened to leave, but the restless warrior in his soul was at last gladdened he had made his intent clear to this beneficent man.

*****

It was far from the most inviting of mornings, the wind howled into the mouth of the cave carrying unwelcome debris into its depths, it would have been all too easy to just remain. However Aran gathered up his few belongings taking one last look over his shoulder and plunged into the screaming cold wind towards he knew not what.

The wind was behind his back as he pressed north, he pushed his errant hair under the hood of his cape so he could better see. He felt the comforting weight of his sword slapping against his thigh, he would be ready for whatever came. It would be many days, possibly weeks before he would reach his destination. He thought of Bryn's men he left behind, he wished he could have made their lives better and offered them more hope. However he was but one man, and had little of his own. Only the promise of a lone woman whom he must find if he was ever to return to his people.

Aran was relentless in his pace, he spent most of the day at a punishing jog covering many miles in his effortless lope. It was easy and advisable in this cold. In spite of this he still missed his horse, not at all enjoying returning to the old ways of foot travel. He did not pause in his efforts until the light faded. He set camp in a small depression out of the wind against some large upstanding stones. It was the best he could do caught out on the endless cold plains that ran almost featureless in every direction.

He lit a modest fire, finding there was little about to burn for warmth, withdrawing some stringy meat from his pack. It was unappealing fare but he ate it hungrily, soon he would not even have the luxury of this ready made meal, and game was very scarce. Aran had not sighted a single living creature all day. Hunting would not be easy in the days to come as he ventured further north, this was an unappealing musing even for one who was fairly adept with a bow.

Let those troubles wait until tomorrow he thought as he bedded down on the hard cold ground beside his dying fire, burying himself under his voluminous rabbit skin cape. Even he as hard and attuned to the elements as he was, he felt cold, but he did not complain; it did not merit him any profit by doing so.

*****

He woke, he had heard something, something that was not the sound of nature. Aran sat up, Blacksteel already sliding from its scabbard. He stood alert and intent. There the sound was again that had first awoken him, a stumbling approach of one who took no care in secrecy. He saw the figure now shrouded in the gloom some distance from him, he stood tall and proud awaiting the careless approach of the man beyond.

"By Lord I never thought I'd catch you." The small flustered man was most out of breath, yet he still found the will to vent profanities.

Aran sheathed his sword with a casualness borne of much practice. He smirked at Jhary in the dark but said nothing. Merely resuming his place on the ground and repositioning his golden head on his pack to resume his sleep.

"Jesus did you run all day? I can't believe you left without me. Leaving me with all those barbarians!"

The diminutive bard sounded very hurt, possibly he was too sensitive for the times Aran mused. He did not understand this most changeable man of music and tales, delighted and affable one moment and screaming at him the next. He rolled over and decided he would ignore his mutterings, dawn would be here all too swiftly and he valued his sleep.

*****

The next morn was windy also, but a little brighter than the day previous. Aran woke first and looked at the slate gray sky in hopefulness, but no the clouds were still solid and completely blanketed the sky above. Jhary stirred looking at his companion expectantly as Aran ate and drank, the large warrior saw this and handed him a morsel of meat and the canteen of water. There was little to spare, and he could not believe Jhary had decided to venture here with no food nor water at his disposal. Proof to him this man of song was none too clever.

They did not speak as they broke camp, there was little to talk of and Aran was a man of few words. Besides Jhary was saving all his breath just to keep pace.

*****

Jormugar crouched examining the tracks of his quarry that led away in the vast field of red sand before him. His large rust colored hound sat obediently by his side panting evenly awaiting his master's next command. He had observed the two men breaking camp early this dawn, the smoke from their careless cooking fire of last evening had been what had first attracted his attention.

Like the beasts he communed with, Jormugar missed nothing. The white of many boars teeth glinted in his ears set against his mop of thick, unruly brown hair some of which was braided to keep it from falling in his eyes. Even in this cold he was bare chested with only a fur cape to cover him, revealing many intricate tribal tattoos on his almost hairless chest, back, shoulders, and arms. He was a hunter, a bounty hunter to be most exact. Employment for men like him was never hard to find. His skills as a master of nature and his abilities as a tracker made him a very sought after individual.

He rose lithe and strong, shouldering his longbow. They were not far ahead. His employers would be most happy with the two new prospects he had located. He lingered on the footprints in the sand once more before parting, a small smile of pleasure gracing his usually unreadable features. The tracks of the two companions one large and heavy indenting the sand the other lighter and smaller, yes they would soon know of their fate.

His lean bay horse waited close by, he mounted it and rode back the way he had come. There would be no need to trail his targets too closely. Jormugar already knew where they were headed, the oasis. He would tell his employer of his find then lead them back to capture their prizes. He was already savoring his ten percent of the spoils when they would be sold into lives of slavery.

*****

Bennett soon discovered many secrets he had previously not been privy too via Nathan's ever watchful form of intelligence. Some of the information came as a shock to him, and some of it was to be expected. Many of the men had spoken of the idea of defecting and heading south. Pig, Todd, Dwayne, and even Will desired this, and they had even begun planning and laying supplies aside for their exodus. Sven knew what they were planning and was vehemently opposed, though he did not bring this information to the attention of his old friend and leader.

Bennett was bothered by this immensely, but was pleased to learn Gareth was still solidly his man. The criminally minded second in command had made is intentions clear, he had been with Bennett long and had prospered by his hand. He was not going anywhere unless his leader sanctioned it. It was good to know he had not strayed.

For once in his life Bennett chose not to exert his immediate hard hand, but sat and waited for the events to unfold, events he was well aware of. He understood the tension the entire group was now under, himself included.

The reason for his delay was both uncertainty and the fact he did not feel his men would turn on him outright. He merely expected their desertion, and he was curious what Sven would do? He had been his closest semblance to a friend in all these long years of strife and war, always there at his right hand however tough the fight or the decision. After all Sven had even accepted his dear brother's banishment from the tribe with the same stoicism he had accepted everything else.

However blood was always thicker than friendship, and possibly this was the catalyst for Sven's aberrant behavior. Bennett could find no other reason why his ex henchman did not reveal to him what he so obviously knew was soon to occur? So for the time being he bided his time pretending ignorance.

The speechless Nathan had proven to be more of a boon than Bennett could have realized. He knew everything about everyone, nothing was hidden from him. Who knew what, who was loyal, who was not. Even amongst the slaves.

It seemed since his amazing recovery from near death he took to attempting to please his Master with the utmost zeal. The boy spent long private evenings drawing his words of betrayal scrawled painfully in the sands one by one, imparting his intelligence to his Master however benign it seemed. Wezley Bennett was indeed in many ways the happiest of men even in the circumstances.

*****

Even a man as self absorbed and merciless as Victor Krosse had difficulty looking out on this tortured and suffering world, locked in man made cold. He used to come here to the tops of the battlements often, but now the sight of this place offended him. He could hardly believe that after all these years and an initial costly war that had already brought the world into complete anarchy, that someone else had seen fit to unleash yet more of the world's arsenal of nuclear death.

In his scholarly mind this had to have been what had transpired, he knew quite possibly he would never know how, or why. Still the stupidity of it irked him, but Victor was easily irked by many things. Lord Lothar's needs, no new opportunities for military action, and of course lack of new captives to feed his medical curiosities. Other than that life in the fortress went on.

Breathing in the gelid air on this calm day felt somewhat restorative though it hurt his sensitive teeth. Victor had spent many weeks sequestered in the dark depths below. Mostly in his quarters or in his secret laboratory. He avoided the oppressive company of his leader as much as possible, it was more than enough he see Lothar once a day for his medications and check up, and the ever tiresome run down of the days issues he was expected to attend to.

*****

The white haired Stephan looked up from the multitudes of books arranged on his desk, there were many but they all held only one of two themes, the Christian religion or the subject of the effects of a nuclear winter on the earth. The candles almost guttered into darkness but resumed their life as the door was again closed pulling Stephan from his study. It was not his beloved wife who entered as he had expected at this late hour, it was instead his head of the guard.

"What can I do for you Captain?" Stephan smiled up at him. The captain saluted his Lord before speaking.

"I thought I would just report to you Sir on the status of the watch before turning in." He smiled back at his leader, Stephan was much loved even by the most stolid of his men. The elderly leader signaled for his man to sit indicating the pitcher of wine and a glass, the man eagerly complied as his watch had been both long and cold.

"All is quiet Sir, no movement at all on the western horizon. People though at large I feel are becoming complacent the Wolf Lord will not attack us Sir."

"It is my hope." Stephan said heavily. "I am sure he has troubles enough of his own at this time." His man nodded. "What of the farmlands?" Stephan continued only too happy to shift the tangent of the conversation to something he had more hope of dealing with.

"Zealotry is still an issue Sir there are always malcontents, so far though it has only been peaceable protest."

"Most fortunate."

"The livestock does not fare well my Lord, we have lost many of the new calves and lambs, and most of the poultry and pigs are now gone." Stephan made a troubled sound. "We are far from famine though Sir. There are many unused stores, the people still eat well."

"Then that is a blessing." The elderly man stated. "Thank you Captain for your report, I am sure you are tired and a good night's rest will be most welcome."

"Thank you Sir." The man stood, downing the last of his wine, he saluted his Lord and was gone.

Stephan sighed, many were his troubles and cares this evening. He was too restless to sleep. On his desk he searched for comfort, his hand straying to the hefty leather bound tome that lie there opened. Taking up his burnished goblet that shone liquid gold in the candlelight, the elderly man imbibed deeply of his wine. It helped him focus and steeled his fraying nerves.

He took up the heavy book in his gnarled hands, a book of such familiarity and love. The family bible. He recalled his grandmother reading this very passage to him when he was no more than a child. The words flowed silently through his mind yet boomed in a voice of thunder. He did not need to read them for he knew the psalm by heart.

"He said to me, You are my son; today I have become your father."

"Ask me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession."

"You will break them with a rod of iron; you will dash them to pieces like pottery."

"Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth."

"Serve the Lord with fear and celebrate his rule with trembling."

"Kiss his son, or he will be angry and your way will lead to your destruction,

for his wrath can flare up in a moment."

"Blessed are all who take refuge in him."

"Son...My Son''. Stephan thought, where are you? Are you safe, are you whole? If only for some word.

*****

Many days Aran and Jhary had traveled. Hunger and cold at every turn, the water they drew from the abandoned wells and water holes brackish and unappealing. The weather at least was not inclement. Aran drove himself relentlessly, he was surprised at the bards endurance, though over the last few days he could tell his companions endurance was not as robust as his own.

The smaller man had begun to falter and have great difficulty keeping pace. Surprisingly he did not complain, it seemed to the golden warrior of few words Jhary had been most careful in his verbal exchanges with him since the incident over the mule in the canyon. Rightly so, Aran's tolerance was brittle at best, he felt he was chasing shadows and yet he had to try.

Jhary was indeed at his physical end, he dreaded each new day trying to keep the pace as much as he hated the frigid nights spent mostly in the open. He was far from home and the places he used to frequent to ply his trade, he had never ventured this far north not once in his life. There was not a day that went by he did not admonish himself for this madness, he should have turned back long ago.

Aran himself had lost count of the days since he had left Bryn's cave. He knew exactly where he was though, he was surrounded by familiar landmarks as subtle as many of them appeared. His pace quickened in unconscious realization he would soon be at the destination he sought.

Jhary had dropped behind considerably, Aran paid him no heed. Why the man of music had chosen to follow him he could not fathom. He would catch up by nightfall, and if he did not so be it. The strong man crested the rise and before him there it lay, the remnants of her burned village.

He put his hand to the pommel of his sword and smiled, his vital gaze raking the vista stretched before him. The steady wind at his back blew his thick golden hair before his eyes, he pushed it out of his vision impatiently. He looked about him turning taking in everything in all directions, he could see Jhary following miles behind, a mere speck in the distance.