Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Aftermath ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Aftermath

Chapter One: Six Months Later

 

A sickening crunch splits the air, making even S'raiya grimace, despite the fact he is the one who enacted the killing blow. He glances down at his kill with disgust, and crouches to begin the arduous task of collecting the proof of the kill. A hand is usually all it takes, sometimes more depending on the particularities of the bountyman.

 

The tiharire doesn't even twitch as he mechanically completes the grisly task. He has to make a living after all, and with the kingdom in its current state, there are few occupations to go around. Hunting down the remaining ruhin is one of the more lucrative professions, and Rai happens to be damn good at it. All of his experience helps, not that he goes around shouting his deeds or anything. In fact, he prefers no one knew.

 

Standing up straight, bones creaking in his back, S'raiya turns away from the corpse and picks his way back across the ground to his horse. Flynt is patiently waiting behind the next rise, chewing on sparse grass that populates the once-flourishing road between K'gakma and Weirth. No one really travels it now. Most are too afraid to do so.

 

As he walks, a familiar throb in his shoulder sets him to rubbing. His thumb digs into the muscles of his right shoulder, soothing away the cramps and pain that he still hasn't grown used to. The healer has told him it will never completely heal and he will be forever bothered by the stiffness and the pain, especially when the seasons change. Rai hasn't been able to be angered by the prognosis, since it is still several steps away from death. Not to mention he can still use the arm, and that is all that really matters.

 

Flynt nickers as he nears, but doesn't stop in his crunching. The stallion is probably hungry and Rai lets him munch as he finds the leather-lined pouch he carries with him for the purpose of holding his bounties. Holding his breath, he flips up the flap and drops the appendage inside before quickly closing it. The smell is terrible, as always, but so long as he doesn't breathe in the initial opening, he can handle it.

 

Cargo secured, Rai returns his sword to the sheath that he keeps attached to the saddle, taking a moment to wipe the pale blade clean of blood. The wind kicks up then sending his dark red hair into a flurry around his face. He impatiently tucks it behind his ears, fingers catching on one of the rings piercing the cartilage. The wind carries a chill to it, reminding him that the sun will be falling in the better part of an hour. Sure enough, a quick glance to the sky shows him an array of oranges and reds darkening the horizon. And he plans to not spend another night camping out.

 

Patting Flynt on the shoulder, he heaves himself into the saddle and contemplates his bearings. It is a shorter ride to Weirth, but he really has no desire to return to that city ever again. Not if he can help it. Even six months later, the taste of blood and death is all too weighty on his tongue. Not that other towns are completely without memories. But in Weirth, the nightmares are worse. He doesn't know how Haiden handles it.

 

His decision pretty much made, Rai urges Flynt towards the east and K'gakma with the cluck of his tongue. The ale is better there anyways, and his tongue feels parched. He wants nothing more than a warm meal, a cold drink, and a bed at the end of the night. Funny that his ambitions are much the same as they were before he helped a group of strangers destroy the ruhin determined to make ruin of their kingdom. His desires from life are all the same and if it is just a bit shallow and lackluster, he doesn't care enough to notice.

 

Rai keeps his eyes and ears open as he rides through the open countryside, ignoring the shifting colors of the trees as the seasons change into late Autumn. The ruhin are still very much prevalent within the kingdom, attacking singularly or in large groups. Some have taken to hiding, the weaker, light winged ones like the mazzikim and the lilin, but the rest are as bold as ever. And they have no qualms about attacking lone riders. Not that Rai is particularly worried. After defeating their leader, he's pretty certain he can handle whatever they try to throw at him.

 

Luckily, though the ride is longer than it would have been to Weirth, it is only a little past dark by the time he makes it to K'gakma. He easily melds into the thin stream of populace entering the town, which closes its gate the moment night becomes firm and the sky turns black. As he passes by the guardhouse - manned by locals who have banded themselves into a defensive militia-- he hears the bell dong its final call for entrance. He is lucky he hasn't missed the gate entirely.

 

The guard lets no one in once it closes the gate, for the safety of those within the high walls. Some of the ruhin are capable of flying over the ramparts true, but it is much easier to set a watch upon the fence then it is to leave the town open to anything walking upon the ground. Rai understands their paranoia, the ruhin being a very vicious and bloodthirsty race of beings. Even more vicious since they have been cut off from their only route home and are now trapped within this world they despise.

 

S'raiya nods at one of the guards, who he has come to recognize due to his frequent visits to K'gakma and has Flynt pick up the pace once he is out of the immediate crowd. He turns away from the main focus of the town and heads to the left, where he can find someone to pay the bounty for his full sack. Even as he rides, he can see remnants of the before where the ruhin had indiscriminately attacked and killed.

 

Destroyed buildings. Charred homes. Places where they haven't bothered to rebuild because right now they are all simply trying to find their feet again. Rai remembers his mother's fairy tales in these moments, because they are all such nonsense. The happy ending that the conclusion always boasts never truly reveals how it really is afterwards. When the magic fades and the evil is vanquished, it doesn't immediately become a celebration. He wonders how many decades it will take before his kingdom is even close to where it was before.

 

The bountyman's building is tucked into one of the more darker corners of K'gakma, and the light burning in the window is all the proof Rai needs that she's available. It isn't the kind of profession that closes after dark anyways.

 

Rai rides around the back and dismounts, tethering Flynt to a post that has been thrust into the ground for that purpose alone. Patting the horse assuringly on a meaty shoulder, he unhitches his pack from the saddle and slings it over one shoulder. It bumps against his back, and a foul odor briefly wafts out, wrinkling his nose. Ruhin smell no better dead than they do alive.

 

He circles around the front and pushes open the door, a thick cow bell jangling to announce his entrance. It is empty of other patrons, and the giant counter set up to the right is unmanned. From an open doorway just behind it, however, a response floats his direction.

 

“Coming!” A female voice practically sing-songs, and her approach is marked by the sound of heavy boots clomping over the thick boards of the floor.

 

Rai steps the few feet to the counter, and lets the door slam shut behind him, cutting off the breeze of chill air. It is almost unbearably hot in the building, the fire in the hearth behind him crackling loudly and merrily. And there is a faint scent of incense, tickling his nose. He slings the pack onto the cracked counter with a heavy thump as a form appears in the threshold.

 

The woman, dressed in a plain robe that is gathered to accentuate every perfect curve on her form, is one of the few females that have managed to garner Rai's respect. Tough as nails with a mouth that put many men to shame, Cilva is the best bountyman that Rai has ever met. Her network of information is vast, and it is often because of her that he finds the best places to hunt. For her age, a scant few years more than Rai's own, she is an enigma. It is rare to find a woman in her line of work and Rai would hazard to guess that she is the only one.

 

“I should have known it would be you,” Cilva practically purrs at him as she grins his direction, pale eyes sparkling.

 

His fingers work quickly at the clasps. “Surely I'm not your only hunter,” he responds, perfectly bland as he upends the pack and dumps it onto the counter.

 

Cilva doesn't even blink as the hands drop into a soggy, half-decayed clump in front of her. The smell must be nauseating, even Rai feels a need to take a step back. She, however, simply leans against the counter, elbows on the wood, and eyes him with interest.

 

“No, but you are my favorite,” she responds easily, and her expression is very clearly a hint. Her gaze drops to his catch and she arches one brow. “Quite a haul this week.”

 

Rai shrugs, dropping the now empty pack to the ground. “They're getting bolder.”

 

“Makes your job easier, though.” She pokes at one of the hands with a carefully painted fingernail, grasping a claw and lifting it to get a better look. “A zafrire even. These are notoriously difficult to kill. Once again, I am impressed.”

 

He taps a finger against the table, unsurprised by her smooth praise. He knows he is one of her better hunters, and while he is proud of that fact, he doesn't need to be reminded. It is almost pathetic how easily he can see beneath her approval to the true meaning of the words.

 

“How much?” Rai asks, mentally calculating what he thinks will be an appropriate figure. He knows he has enough for thirty gold coins, possibly more considering that he has managed to slay several of the rarer ruhin.

 

Cilva hums as she pokes through the gathered appendages, one hand propped up on her palm as her elbow balances on the counter. “There's what... a good twenty kill here?” she murmurs to herself, eyes calculating efficiently. “And several of them are zafrire. And shedim. A fine haul indeed.”

 

His patience has always served him well, but it has been a long day for Rai and he is more interested in finding that warm meal and bed. He shifts in his stance. “How much?” he repeats, hoping to urge her into accounting just a bit faster.

 

She clucks her tongue at him and draws up straight, shaking her head. “Is it truly so bad to spend a few extra minutes here, Rai?” Cilva questions, her voice coy as she props one hand on her hip, a clear invitation. “It's been a while. A girl gets lonely.”

 

There has been a time when Rai has been interested, when he has taken Cilva into his bed. By her invitation first, of course. And she has been good for a tumble, but it isn't really an experience he cares to repeat.

 

Raking a hand through his tousled hair, in desperate need of washing, Rai rolls his neck and hears the bones crack. “Another time perhaps,” he evades easily, thinking that it might have been easier if he had gone somewhere else. Though, that other place might not have given him as good a price as Cilva.

 

She rolls her eyes at him, full lips pulling into a disappointed pout. It is a look that serves her well in the bedroom, sultry and inviting. He remembers well the feel of those lips on his flesh, and her pliant body shuddering against his. And for a moment, Rai reconsiders her offer. The pleasure of a woman's company is another thing he has done without recently.

 

Cilva is an attractive woman, and her skills are enough that no man would leave her bed unsatisfied. But she is also voracious, and demands the same apt attention from her lovers that she herself gives. Rai is simply too tired to handle her exacting standards at the moment.

 

“Thirty-five gold,” she abruptly declares, one hand making a vague gesture. “And perhaps a couple of silver.”

 

It is more than he has anticipated, and more than he will need for a night at the inn, a warm meal and bath, and a comfortable place to sleep. It is enough to last him for several weeks, as well as paying for Flynt to be reshod. He is satisfied by her offer and inclines his head.

 

“As much as I expected,” he replies, and their hands clasp to seal the deal.

 

A ruby-painted fingernail taps on the counter. “Wait here. I'll be right back,” Cilva explains airily, and then breezes into the back room. One hand is already dipping into her pocket, pulling out the key to her safe.

 

As she disappears out of his sight, Rai takes the opportunity to distance himself from the decaying appendages, some more advanced than others. He still isn't sure why he's chosen this profession, except that he really isn't skilled at anything else. He doesn't enjoy hunting the ruhin, but he doesn't particularly dislike it either. It is simply something to do, to occupy his time while he watches his country struggle to put itself back together. A task that could take some time.

 

Half of the kingdom's cities, especially those directly surrounding the capital, lay in shambles. A drought has settled over the entire land, drying up rivers and leaving them sluggishly crawling through their banks. The crops are failing for reasons unknown to the farmers, and much of the game has vanished. The ruhin were only steps away from destroying Umbra completely.

 

“Heard any rumors from the capital?” Cilva calls to him, her voice floating from the back room along with the sound of her moving things aside.

 

He makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. “No,” S'raiya answers, moving closer to the fire despite the heat that is already stifling, and admiring the blade that hangs above the hearth. “It's been weeks since I've been near Weirth.”

 

“Avoiding it, as usual,” she replies, and he knows that she is only teasing. Cilva knows nothing of his exploits in Weirth or against the ruhin king. She only knows that he seems to always skirt around Weirth, and find reason to avoid the city whenever possible. “You know, someday you will have to return.”

 

He snorts, idly considering if his hands are even large enough for the wickedly curved sabre. “Not this day,” he retorts, mind more occupied by wondering just whom this blade had belonged to. He doesn't remember seeing it in the room before. “Whose weapon is this?”

 

“That?” Cilva questions, her voice closer than before. He realizes that she has emerged from the back room and is now circling around the end of the counter. In her hand, a small brown sack clinks invitingly. “It was my father's. I finally pulled the dusty thing from the chest. You like it?”

 

Rai turns back towards her, hand stretching out to take the leather satchel from her hands. “Not enough to trade in my coin for it.” The bag swiftly disappears into one of the pockets of his cloak, and he barely notices the added weight of it.

 

“Too bad,” she responds dismissively, waving her hand at him as she sashays back behind the counter. “I think he would've liked you, Rai. It's almost scary how much you are alike.”

 

“Almost,” he concedes, though he has no knowledge of the female's father. It is faintly disturbing that she compares him to her sire, when they have been intimate together.

 

Shaking off the odd thoughts, Rai turns towards the doorway. “Thanks for the gold. I should be back again in a couple weeks.”

 

“I know,” she calls back to him, standing over his kill and beginning to sort them out. They will need to be delivered to the main bounty office in Weirth at some point and Rai doesn't envy the man who carries that duty. “You'll breeze in whenever you feel like it. I'm wiser than to actually believe you'll commit to anything, Rai.” The touch of bitter sarcasm nearly burns.

 

He pauses at the threshold, one hand already holding the door open for him and spilling increasingly cold air into the room. He ponders her words as he cocks his head to the side. He wants to say something, perhaps even deny her insinuations. But he knows she is probably also right. He has done nothing but wonder since that fateful battle. He hasn't even made himself a home, merely flitting from inn to inn, always on the move and on the hunt. Rai has done nothing in his life to inspire permanence. He half-wonders if that has been intentional on his part.

 

He frowns, the action pulling deeply at his lips. “Commitment is overrated,” Rai retorts, and then he slips into the crisp night, letting the door bang shut behind him.

 

The streets are deserted on this edge of K'gakma unsurprisingly. He tugs his cloak tighter around him, the chill all the more apparent now that the fire isn't glaring at his back. Autumn always falls swiftly in this region, and with a vengeance, as though angry it is only an afterthought and a prelude to the viciousness of Winter. The air has a faint, clammy sense to it and Rai knows that a storm is heading in. A glance to the sky proves the greying over, clouds shifting to cover the pinpricks of light that serve as stars. Best to get a move on.

 

He retrieves Flynt, but rather than ride the stallion, he leads the horse alongside him and heads back into the main portion of K'gakma. The central road is what he's looking for, and his favorite inn which stands on this primary street. The Lumbering Bear has always proven to be popular.

 

The crowds return as he steps into the main road and merges with the press of people, out in the open despite the bitter taste of fear that lingers over them like a bad smell. They are laughing and joking with one another, but their eyes are constantly shifting from side to side. Pretending at being sure of themselves. The chatter is a dull roar on the edge of S'raiya's senses and he only half-eavesdrops, his attention caught by key words.

 

Haiden has been mentioned more than once, as has Ryn - better known as Rynneth now. But he hasn't quite managed to hear the whole story yet. Rai suspects the rumors will be just as rampant at The Lumbering Bear. He will wait until he is seated at the bar, mug and meal in hand, before asking questions.

 

The king has also been mentioned, as well as the fall of Weirth. He hears whispers of the current monarchy, and how it is lucky that the prince is safe from the fate that had befallen Weirth. But the prince is too young, and the entire kingdom knows it. Which leaves the leadership up to the winner of the currently squabbling factions. Speculation runs high, causing the murmur of conversation to grow louder and louder.

 

He keeps what knowledge he has gleaned on the edge of his thoughts as he finally locates The Lumbering Bear, and leads Flynt around the back to the stables. A young boy moves to greet him, taking the reins and offering the stallion a cupful of soft oats. Flynt is all too eager to snort them up and after leaving strict instructions for the kid, Rai gathers the only saddlebag he'll need and leaves the horse in his hands.

 

Rai chances a glance upwards, remarking that the clouds are rolling over the sky. It will indeed rain tonight, hard and fast if the rate of the coming storm is any indication. He is glad that he decided to head for K'gakma rather then weather it out on the open plains.

 

Stepping into The Lumbering Bear, his body is greeted by a wash of gently warm air and the smell of freshly baked meat pies. His mouth nearly waters at the thought of something cooked rather than dried for the sake of lasting longer. The murmur of conversation smacks him in the face as well, and in the far off corner, a group of men who are rapidly on their way to intoxication are laughing.

 

Rai shifts his saddle bag on his shoulder, winces when the right one twinges, and picks his way across the floor to the bar where he has spotted one empty seat. He has to weave through the crowd, always large for the inn's popularity, especially now that The Lumbering Bear managed to weather the ruhin incursion relatively intact.

 

“... Lord Tennyson has managed to sway the council, or so I hear. Not that it tisn't to be expected.”

 

The offhand comment floats to Rai's ears and he ever-so-casually listens in as he drops his saddlebag at his foot and climbs onto the stool. He waves one of the busy barmaids his direction and waits for her to come as he eavesdrops.

 

“Not that it really matters,” the other man in the conversation retorts. “One lord is as good as another. This kingdom seems due for destruction.”

 

“Aye, so it seems. Though Tennyson has one good thing going for him.”

 

“What? His daughter?”

 

“Evenin', Rai.”

 

His attention is grabbed by the arrival of the barmaid, a sweet woman he has met on several other occasions. Large, golden curls are the first thing he always notices about her, as well as a smile that has yet to be tainted by her occupation. She is young, however, and so being able to recognize her is as far as their knowledge of one another has gone.

 

“Back again this month, I see,” she continues with a pleasant smile, one hand occupied by a nearly full pitcher and the other carefully balancing dirtied plates. “You want the usual?”

 

He nods and reaches up with one hand to undo the clasp to his cloak, the warmth in the room making it unnecessary. “Yes,” he answers, dropping the thick fabric down onto his saddle bag, though he is careful to keep the pouch containing his earnings close at hand. The thieves have become even more prevalent now and he doesn't have any interest in losing his coin. Another consequence of the fallen monarchy and scattered guards.

 

She shifts position as one of her plates rattles ominously, the grace of a barmaid one of the first things learned. “Be out in a few minutes. We're a bit packed tonight.”

 

He waves her off. “Not like that's different from usual.”

 

The barmaid chuckles. “How very true. Be back soon.” And then she is easily melding back through the crowd, pausing to drop the pitcher off at a table before weaving towards the kitchens.

 

Left to his own devices once more, Rai casually begins to listen in on the conversations around him once more. He has found that the best way to gather information is to frequent all the best inns and taverns in any city. And sometimes, to sneak into the worst, if one wants to know specifics in anything. In this manner, he can usually find where the hunting is best.

 

“--and Violine's the worst. It might as well be inhabited by ghosts for--”

 

“--they call themselves the Marauders, like they need to advertise their--”

 

“--foolish. As if anyone cares about a wedding in this day and age. Tennyson is just as bad as the king--”

 

Hearing Tennyson again perks his interest and Rai chooses to follow that conversation. He should have known that Rynneth's father would have been the one to gain control over the remnants of the monarchy. Like daughter, like father, after all. And while he doesn't know much of the man himself, having only met him for the span of a minute before leaving Weirth, he knows the daughter all too well. If there is anything as frivolous as a marriage in the works, it is most likely her doing.

 

Their declaration of war against the ruhin all those months ago had never fazed Ryn. She had joined them, merging into their group, but never fully understood what they were doing. Even at the final strike against the king, she didn't comprehend the danger. She wasn't prepared to risk her life, treating it as some sort of game, with a prize to be won in the end. And her silly habit of wanting to be rescued, just like the princesses in Rai's mother's stories, had been annoying at best, leaving Rai to want to strangle her on more than one occasion.

 

Unfortunately, Haiden had always stepped up to the task. While Rai would have been satisfied with letting her get out of the situation she had gotten herself into, Haiden jumped to the rescue. Usually with Suerte at his side. The young boy's hero complex had been worse than Haiden's, and it was further tainted by the cowardice he had hidden so well.

 

A mug drops to the table in front of Rai, pulling him from his reminiscence. “It'll be a few more minutes for the food,” the barmaid explains lightly.

 

He nods, curling his fingers around the tankard and pulling it to his lips. The rich brew is smooth and cold, just as he likes. As she leaves to continue her other duties, he pulls the mug from his mouth.

 

“Wait.” Rai waits until he has her attention before continuing, waving demonstratively towards the other patrons around him. “Rumors are strong tonight. What's this about Tennyson?”

 

She rolls the question around in her head for a moment before brightening. “Oh, you mean the announcement! We got the missive this morning and it's been all the talk. Tennyson's been chosen as the proxy for the prince.”

 

“I understood that much,” S'raiya replies dryly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “I meant the casual dropping of marriage.”

 

Momentarily distracted by one of her tables calling her, the barmaid rushes to explain. “It's Tennyson's eldest daughter. Hearsay claims she's marrying that mercenary. The one everyone believes took down that crazed ruhin.”

 

“Haiden?” The name slips from his mouth out of sheer surprise before he can stop himself. It betrays his connection to them, a fact he has been carefully hiding to avoid the prominence of hero, but luckily, the barmaid doesn't realize the significance of his slip-up. “You mean Haiden?”

 

She purses her lips. “Yeah, I think that was his name.”

 

Rai can only blink in astonishment. Haiden is going to marry Rynneth? Had the world truly lost all semblance of sanity? Is that what a six months absence from his friend's life does? Makes him lose all sense of rationality and reason? He hadn't even known that Haiden liked Rynneth, much less care for her enough for marriage.

 

The knowledge sends a twisting knife through his gut and for a moment, he feels vaguely nauseous. It disturbs him, thinking of the two of them married. And he hasn't even realized that he disliked Rynneth to that extent. His stomach churns with something unpleasant, an emotion he can't quite name. All he knows is that he doesn't like the sound of it. Not one bit.

 

Another call from across the room gives the barmaid another start. “Sorry, Rai. I have to go help them. I'll bring your meal by soon, okay?” And then she is gone, but S'raiya scarcely notices, his drink all but forgotten in his shock.

 

He is aware that Haiden has remained in Weirth after they succeeded in defeating the king. Everyone else has gone their separate ways. Maro to her own country. Trahern to his home town and the wife waiting for him. Loka and Gaelin to the guild. Rynneth to her father and S'raiya to his wandering. Yet, he never thought that Haiden had any interest in Ryn. It simply baffles him.

 

It is a confusion that bothers him enough he feels he must investigate. Although that means a trip to Weirth, which he has been avoiding for multiple reasons, only one of which involves the torrent of nightmares that haunt his sleep. It also won't hurt for him to take a short break from hunting, his last haul enough to last him three months, even more if he decides to be frugal.

 

How did Ryn manage to hook her claws into Haiden? And why, for that matter? They've nothing in common and surely Haiden wouldn't be happy being her dress-up doll. He wonders just what in hell Haiden is thinking, and that, really is what drives him to make his decision. He is going to Weirth, no question about it.

 

Rai can't help but remember, in that moment, the last time he had actually spoken with his friend. He barely stirs when the bar maid brings his meal, setting the warm food in front of him as well as a new mug to replace his barely touched one.

 

It was raining, not that it had stopped in the past two weeks. It was strange. The moment they defeated the ruhin king, Rai had almost expected something effusive to occur. A flash of lightning, the crumpling of the castle around them. Something demonstrative and obvious. Instead, the only tangible proof of the ruhin's defeat had been the dissolution of the barrier surrounding Weirth. One moment it was there, and the next, rain was free to pour steadily upon the town. And when it cleared, the sun was the brightest and clearest it had ever been in the past six months. The remaining ruhin were left trapped in the human world, and now wandered without a purpose.

 

After the darkness had taken him, Rai hadn't expected to waken again. He thought that he would open his eyes to the afterlife, either the shining throng of Elysion or the long road to reincarnation. Or, if He-That-Ruled felt particularly vindicative, the dank, dark of the abyss. He hadn't expected to find himself within a bed, his body wrapped in more bandages than he could count and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from somewhere beyond his sight.

 

It was only much later that he was privy to the knowledge of what had happened. The four sent to destroy the ruhin king's portal to his own world had discovered their unconscious forms not long after the king had been killed. And Ryn had woken as well. From there, they had been taken to the nearest place of safety, still fighting off the occasional ruhin or two. Ryn had volunteered her father's estate and her own home, abandoned before the barrier had gone into place, and currently uninhabited.

 

And it was there that Rai had spent the last week, subjected to Ryn's attempts at being a nursemaid and cooking. He had been ridiculously glad when a few days in, her father and a good many of the servants had returned, saving him from her tender care. By then, the rest of their motley group of heroes had started to depart. Maro had been the first to go, with the others following until only Rai and Haiden remained.

 

On the fourteenth day, Rai was more than ready to leave, still injured or not. He could move without hurting too badly, and as long as he breathed relatively shallow, his ribs didn't ache. That was all that mattered to him. He couldn't stay trapped in Weirth any longer, under the Tennyson's thumb and surrounded by the reminder of... well, everything.

 

It was the explanation for his current circumstances, standing at the back gate to the Tennyson manor and trying, one-handedly, to finish saddling his horse with all the necessary accouterments. It was slow going and the rain certainly put a damper on his determination to leave, but it wasn't going to stop him either. Even if there was a leak in one shoulder that sent a slither of chilly water down his back.

 

“You're really leaving,” Haiden stated from where he stood, watching Rai secure his belongings and tug on a strap, attempting to cinch it into place. The leather was being stubborn however, even more difficult when wet.

 

Grunting in frustration, Rai responded, “Yes. And I don't see why you aren't either.”

 

He couldn't see Haiden's face, but he just knew that the other man was treating him to look of disbelief. “You've three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that's still healing, and multiple slashes all over your body, barely held together by stitches. And I'm in no better shape. It doesn't take a wizard to see why I'm staying.”

 

“I'm mobile,” Rai reminded him. “And that's all that's necessary. I'm not staying here any longer.” And he hadn't explained why either. He didn't plan to. His nightmares were his and his alone. His to bear and his to suffer. Not to be shared with Haiden, no matter how close they had been before he had left Lathe all those years ago.

 

A muttered curse escaped his lips as his fingers, a bit cold from the rain, slipped on a buckle and nearly sent his whole carefully-strapped pile careening. He shifted, pressing his aching shoulder against the bundle and tried to stop the inevitable tumble. With a sigh, Haiden stopped watching him struggle and stepped forward. He harshly elbowed Rai out of the way, and fixed the buckle himself.

 

“Stubborn mule,” he muttered, though it was almost fond. “Ryn doesn't mind your presence, you know.”

 

“Rynneth,” Rai felt it was necessary to correct as he stepped out of the way, letting Haiden help him. His pride could handle that sort of beating, he supposed, considering it was taking all his effort to stand and prove his strength. “And it's not her feelings on the matter that I particularly care about.”

 

He grimaced as his right shoulder began to ache and lifted an arm, fingers digging into the muscle before he fully comprehended what he was doing. It would be weeks before he could use the arm properly again. That damned ruhin had really fucked him up by slinging him against the wall. Rai still couldn't believe that he'd done nothing more than lie there while Haiden had taken the creature out himself.

 

Haiden rolled his eyes, and cinched the last strap with a grunt. He patted the leather, did a quick check of the buckles before declaring it finished to his satisfaction. He turned to look at Rai, and noticed his actions. A noise of exasperation escaped his lips.

 

“And you're still hurting,” he pointed out.

 

S'raiya dropped his hand from his shoulder, and ignored the ache. “And you're starting to sound like someone's mother,” he replied, moving towards Flynt and patting the stallion on the nose.

 

Flynt nickered and pawed at the muddy ground, eager to be on the road. He hadn't appreciated being left outside the barrier with the other horses and was more than ready to continue their previous freedom.

 

Satisfied, Rai reached up with one hand and grasped the saddle, taking a deep breath before forcing himself up into it with a great heave. The action pulled at his bruised ribs and a sharp stab of pain echoed in his chest, but he stifled the cry with a grunt. He wasn't going to show weakness, otherwise Haiden would badger him into staying and that, Rai couldn't do.

 

He was likely to go mad from the way Ryn pestered him, the scents distracted him, and he couldn't get any decent sleep. He still saw Suerte's last moments. Still remembered the nauseating odor of the decaying corpses. Still could taste the bitter flavor of spilled blood on his tongue. Again, he wondered why he had done it. Why he had risked his life for the sake of this kingdom.

 

He shifted in his seat and then looked down at Haiden, who had moved to stand at Flynt's head, where Rai could see him easier. “You don't need to worry about me,” Rai replied, reaching to his side to make sure his blade was still present and within easy reach. Undoubtedly, he would need it. “These wounds are nothing.”

 

Haiden snorted. “And just where do you think you're going? Back home?”

 

“To Lathe? Not likely.” He just barely kept the derision from his tone. S'raiya didn't plan on ever returning to that tiny village if he could help it. The town was a hole he had crawled out of once, he didn't want to get trapped in the mire once more.

 

He tipped his head back, enjoying the sprinkle of rain on his face, and eyed the sun behind the grey clouds. Midday. If he hurried, he could no doubt make Outhern by evenfall. It would be some time before he could risk camping out of doors.

 

Grey eyes, nearly the same shade as his own, flickered with a vague emotion, one that Rai couldn't quite name. And for a second, he had the brief thought that he really should stay. Wait long enough for Haiden to heal and then the two of them could leave together. Just like old times, wandering the countryside, sparring, cleaning up the ruhin remnants.

 

Haiden opened his mouth, as though to say something, before shutting it again and shaking his head, clearing away whatever he had planned to say. “Just don't get yourself killed,” he replied, reaching up to pat Flynt's nose. “Lord Tennyson--”

 

“Do me a favor,” Rai interrupted, not wanting to hear about anything related to that man, which inevitably meant Ryn, whom he only vaguely tolerated. “Don't let him use my name. I don't want to be a hero.”

 

The other man furrowed his brow, but nodded anyways. “He'll be disappointed he can't claim the names of more saviors.” His meaning was sarcastic, despite the bland tone, proving that Haiden wasn't as fond of the Lord Tennyson as he seemed.

 

Rai snorted again, reaching for the reins with his uninjured hand as Flynt shifted impatiently beneath him. “He'll get over it. How long are you going to stay?”

 

“I don't know. I haven't really thought about it.” Haiden eyed him, glancing critically at his right arm, bound tightly to his body, and the hint of bandages peeking up from beneath his clothing.

 

The rain was causing Haiden's dark hair to slick against his scalp, giving the faint impression of a soaked dog. Which was ironic, considering Haiden held all the qualities of one. Loyal. Responsible. Protective.

 

Reaching up, Rai briefly released the reins long enough to grab the hood of his cloak and pull it over his own head. No use cultivating a sickness on top of his injuries. Otherwise Haiden would never let him live it down and he would be stuck at the Tennyson manor for even longer.

 

“Don't get caught up in Tennyson's politics,” Rai warned, knowing that the lord planned to use their endeavors to push himself into high esteem. Someone needed to take control of the monarchy after all, and Lord Tennyson contrived to be that someone.

 

“I know,” Haiden replied, and with a final pat to Flynt's head, he took a step back.

 

One hand motioned for the soldiers - Tennyson's personal guard - to open the massive gate. They did so rapidly, lowering the portcullis so that Rai could cross it quickly. He knew that it would be immediately closed behind him.

 

Lifting the reins in hand once more, Rai clucked his tongue and urged Flynt forward, the stallion eagerly responding to his command. There was no goodbye between he and Haiden, none necessary. And he was struck with the realization that this was the second time Haiden had watched him ride away, and the second time it seemed Haiden would ask him to stay and he did not. How very cruel that the past should repeat itself.

 

He felt those eyes watching him as he rode away and asked himself why it mattered so much. But then the gate closed behind him and he could feel their accusing stare no more. He could breathe easier outside of Tennyson's clutches, and yet, Rai felt that he had left something important behind. Like throwing Haiden to the proverbial wolves. Not that his friend needed his protection or anything.

 

He didn't look back and thinking back later, perhaps he should have.

 

Rai slips out of the memories with a frown furrowing his brow, and looks down to find that he has eaten his meal as he reminisced. As well as finishing off both mugs of ale, without tasting any of it. The news clearly disturbs him, though he can't be certain why.

 

He realizes that the last time he spoke with Haiden gives no indication of his friend holding any affection for Ryn. As near as he can tell anyways. And again, he is baffled. It only furthers his resolve to be in Weirth tomorrow afternoon, dropping in on the supposedly happy couple.

 

It simply makes no logical sense.

 

* * *