The World of Samar Box Set 3 Read online

  The stranger turned to glance at the other man still on horseback and then turned back. As Davo reached the gate, he felt a pang of fear for the first time. These strangers were certainly odd looking and they had appeared so suddenly. All roads to Adishian were closed by the Siege. Davo reasoned by their clothes and horses that they must be from Loden – rumor had it that Loden was wealthy, but still the old man knew strangers couldn’t be trusted anymore. He clutched his cane tighter and paused just out of reach of the man at the gate.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  The man at the gate smiled and Davo was surprised to see two rows of perfect, straight white teeth. “Come on, old man, you hailed us and now we want to ask you some questions,” he said, rolling his vowels.

  Davo was intrigued by his accent and wished he’d speak some more so he might fill his hungry ears with the sound, but the stranger simply stood smiling at him.

  “Stop smiling and lift your faces so I can get a good look at you both.”

  The man at the gate was tall and ruggedly built with a dark complexion. His hair was coal black and short about his face, and he wore an earring in one ear, but Davo couldn’t make out the design. The other man was as tall as the first, but of a more fine build with golden brown skin and thick blonde hair. He also wore an earring, but of a different shape than the first man, although Davo couldn’t make out its design either. The second man’s face was handsome, even Davo’s jaded senses discerned this much, but what captivated the old man most of all were the blue eyes that gazed into his own.

  “Are you those others…Stravad?” he said in a reverent whisper.

  The first man laughed. “He’s Stravad,” he said, motioning toward the handsome man on horseback.

  Davo glanced at the dark haired man and then his gaze shifted to the Stravad, who smiled now. “Then you’re from Loden?”

  “No,” said the first man, “he’s Nazarien.”

  Davo flinched and glanced up the road. The two men followed his look.

  He moved to the gate and leaned toward the men. “You shouldn’t speak that name too loudly in Cambia.”

  “All right,” said the first man, “you won’t hear that name again. Can we water the horses at your well?” He nodded at the tumble of bricks that marked Davo’s water supply.

  “I...” Davo felt suddenly confused. Should he let these strangers come into the yard – should he risk someone knowing a Nazarien was at his farm? No one ever came down this road, except to market, and few people ever stopped by Davo’s farm, but even more importantly, he wanted to talk to these men and to touch their beautiful horses.

  The dark-haired man eyed him, but waited while Davo thought. After a moment, he leaned on the gate, but it gave with his weight. Glancing down, he rose to his full height again and lifted a black brow.

  “Do you have a name?”

  Davo looked into the blue eyes and nodded, but he didn’t answer.

  “Do you remember it?”

  Davo’s eyes shot to the Stravad and the Stravad frowned at his companion. The horses were growing restless, pawing at the dry earth.

  “Davo,” said the old man, “but it’s unfriendly to ask someone’s name before you give your own.”

  The dark-haired man smiled again. Davo was beginning to dislike the smile. He always smiled at inappropriate times, especially after Davo said something. “But of course, you’re right,” he said, holding out his hand, “my name is Jarrett Murata and the Stravad is Kendrick Andel.”

  Davo pronounced the names silently to himself. Few people he knew were fortunate enough or important enough to have two names. The habit of having two names – the first a given name and the second a family name – dated back to the Ancients, but had died as their numbers had declined. Talar Eldralin had brought the practice back into being and after his death, those of royal lineage or those with great wealth felt it necessary to resurrect their family names. A few less fortunate souls were also feeling the need for a second name, but rather than spending the money to search for it, they made one up. Davo looked at the two men and decided that these men looked important enough to have discovered their rightful names.

  Jarrett leaned forward again. “Davo, the horses are thirsty and we’re tired.”

  Davo had spent so much time by himself the last couple of years that he forgot that the two men were waiting for him to make a decision.

  The Stravad stirred. “Come on, let’s go to town,” he said, turning his horse into the road again.

  Jarrett shrugged and grasped his horse’s bridle to mount, but Davo started in alarm. “No, you mustn’t go to Cambia.”

  Jarrett halted and turned back around. “Why not?”

  The Stravad swung down out of the saddle. “What’s wrong with Cambia, Davo?”

  Davo liked the Stravad’s voice – it was kind, although it too had a thick accent. “Because they’ll eat the horses,” he said.

  The two men exchanged glances, then the Stravad moved forward. “Won’t you let us come in so we might ask you some questions? We’ve come a long way and we’re tired.”

  Davo reached out a trembling hand and unlatched the gate, holding it open for the Stravad and horse to pass. His eyes followed the golden-haired man, then dropped to the horse. Reaching out, he touched the animal’s flank.

  * * *

  Jarrett watched the entire episode from outside the gate. After Kendrick had passed, the old man let go of the gate, forgetting that one of them still remained on the road. Daft old codger!

  He shook his head in annoyance, then pushed open the gate. He noticed that Davo couldn’t help but touch the flank of Kendrick’s horse as he passed.

  They watered the horses and then Kendrick soaked a handkerchief in the water to wipe off his face and the back of his neck.

  Jarrett turned to Davo. “Do you have a cup so I might get a drink when his lordship’s finished?”

  Davo disappeared inside the house and returned with a cup. As Jarrett drank, Kendrick looked about the farm. The old man had retreated back to the porch and was standing on the edge of it, watching them. When Jarrett held out the cup, the Nazarien looked into it, then turned away, approaching the porch. Jarrett shook his head and went to the horses, tethering them to a half-rotten hitching post outside the broken-down barn.

  Patting each of their flanks, he gave the entire farm a critical look. The barn door was hanging off its hinges and a rusted plow had been discarded just in front of it. Blades of grass had grown through the metal of the plow, indicating it had been rusting there a good long time. At least the horses had a little fodder beneath their feet and he wasn’t afraid of them wandering off, not because he thought the hitching post would hold them, but because they were too well trained.

  He strode back to the porch. The Nazarien had taken a seat beside the old man. Jarrett braced a booted foot on the bottom stair and leaned an elbow on his thigh. There were no other chairs on the porch. Not that he really minded. They’d been sitting far too long on horseback and he needed to stretch his legs. Beyond that, Kendrick was much better at being diplomatic than he was; he didn’t have the patience for it.

  “Do you live alone, Davo?” Kendrick asked.

  Davo bowed his head and swallowed. “Yes, the horses and chickens were the last to go, especially after Enna.”

  “Who was Enna?”

  Davo’s eyes lifted to the Stravad’s face. “My wife, I buried her behind the barn.”

  Jarrett’s gaze involuntarily shifted to the decrepit place. Alone, for how long, he wondered.

  “And you have no children?” asked Kendrick.

  Davo’s eyes grew distant. “Terrible things happen, you know, in a war.” He lifted his gaze again to Kendrick. “I’m old, very old – celebrated my birthday last week, couple hundred years old, I guess.”

  Kendrick and Jarrett exchanged looks, then Kendrick’s eyes fell to his hands. “Do you have any children, Davo?”

  Davo rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“Son, but he’s dead like my Enna, dead and killed in the first war.” He turned to Kendrick and his face became animated. “You know the first war of Sarkisian and Dorland ended neutral – they say neutral, but they don’t talk about how many sons and daughters died, how many homes destroyed, how many people hungry.”

  Kendrick sighed. “No, they never talk about that nor does it seem to stop them from imposing this senseless siege.”

  Davo nodded. “The siege, terrible, terrible. They’ll eat your horses in Cambia, especially horses like that, and if they know you’re one of those,” he said, motioning toward Kendrick’s ear, “they’ll kill you too. Mustn’t tell them who you are.”

  “Who will do these things? The people in Cambia?” asked Kendrick, his eyes wandering toward the road.

  “No, some people are still good. Those others will – they drink too much and get crazy – they say they hate your kind.”

  Jarrett rose to his full height. “Are the other cities in Adishian as bad?”

  Davo shifted toward him. “I don’t know. I stay here only. Don’t even go to market much.”

  “How do you eat?” asked Kendrick. “Where do you get food?”

  Davo didn’t seem to have heard the question. “Very dangerous now. They go crazy sometimes at night in Cambia – not enough food, only alcohol. They kill each other, kill the good people and the roads are bad at night.” Davo lifted his eyes and noticed that the stars had begun to appear. A gust of wind had picked up, blowing dust across the porch. He pushed himself from the chair and turned toward the door. “Time to be inside.”

  Kendrick and Jarrett looked at one another and then watched the old man enter the house as if he’d forgotten his two guests. Jarrett finally stirred. “Well, he’s certainly daft. Go inside with him and I’ll see if I can’t put up the horses in the barn.”

  Kendrick gazed at the barn. “Do you think they’ll be safe?”

  Jarrett shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you suppose this old man eats horses?”

  * * *

  Kendrick didn’t answer Jarrett’s question about the horses, but he turned about in a circle so he might take in the full effect of the farm. There was something about the farm that made thoughts come slowly. The Nazarien lived somewhat sequestered lives, but Kendrick had never seen anyone live quite as abjectly as Davo did.

  He watched Jarrett walk away with the horses, then turned to the house and opened the screen door. Davo looked up when he heard the door open and seemed surprised to see the Stravad, then his face relaxed in recognition and he turned back to the sink boards where he fussed over something Kendrick couldn’t see.

  “Staying for dinner?” asked Davo over his shoulder. Kendrick started to answer, but the old man interrupted. “Well, you have to now. Too dark to travel the road and too dangerous to be in town, especially since you’re...” Davo obviously didn’t like to say the name Nazarien out loud. “And you’ll have to stay the night. Where’s the other one?” he asked suddenly, looking about for Jarrett.

  “He took the horses to the barn. The wind’s beginning to pick up and it’s been cold at night lately,” said Kendrick, walking about the small kitchen.

  “Yes, it gets in my bones nowadays. Hard to walk sometimes and sometimes my hands get like this,” he said, showing his swollen knuckles.

  “I’ve seen that happen to people your age, Davo. It’s very painful, isn’t it?”

  Davo nodded and lifted a large black kettle onto the grating in the fireplace. He took the lid off and placed a wooden spoon deep inside to stir whatever the kettle contained.

  Kendrick studied him in confusion. Davo had no fire going yet, but kindling was piled high about the kettle, and even still Davo stirred as if he feared the contents of the kettle might burn. He recovered the pot and returned to the sink boards where he removed an equally black teapot from a shelf overhead. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning toward the table.

  Kendrick looked at the table and saw that it seemed sturdy enough, although the finish had been rubbed away and deep black scratches gored its surface. None of the four chairs matched and the first chair Kendrick chose had uneven front legs.

  “That’s Enna’s chair,” said Davo as he spooned tea into the pot. “She used to sit there late at night and sew. I used to like to watch her in the firelight.”

  Kendrick rubbed the back of the chair and felt a pang of loneliness at Davo’s words. The kitchen was cold and oppressive. To his surprise, he wished Jarrett would come. Sidestepping Enna’s chair, he took a seat at another, brushing the dust from it before he sat.

  “Where do you get food, Davo?” he said, stretching his legs out beneath the table.

  Davo turned, teapot in hand, and regarded the Stravad. “A young couple down the road bring me beans and tea and bread, sometimes a little piece of meat. I used to pay them, but I have no money left and yet they still bring me food. Sometimes,” he said, lowering his voice and looking closely at the Stravad, “I find a jug of ale on the porch.”

  He rested the teapot on the hearth and lifted the lid to the kettle, stirring again, but this time he lifted out some to taste. Kendrick could see that it was a very dark, almost black soup. Davo grimaced at the taste and dropped the rest into the pot. “It’s cold,” he said in dismay.

  “Because there’s no fire.”

  Davo glanced under the pot and then laughed out loud, the sound startling Kendrick. He realized suddenly that it was the first time he’d heard the old man laugh since their arrival. Davo picked up a pycantra lighter and set the kindling ablaze, then nestled the teapot in beside the kettle.

  Suddenly the door to the kitchen opened and Jarrett stepped inside, brushing dust and leaves from his clothing. He lifted their packs to the table and began opening one.

  “They’re settled as best as possible. At least they’ll have some shelter from the wind. I think a storm’s coming – the wind’s really picked up.”

  Kendrick reached for the second pack. “I hope we don’t get any storms yet. We’re five days from Adishian, according to the map.”

  Jarrett shrugged and then looked about the kitchen for the first time. “Any hot water?”

  Kendrick shook his head.

  Jarrett sighed and turned towards the door, grabbing the bucket hanging on the wall as he went out.

  Kendrick removed a wrapped piece of cheese and a few wafer cakes, then pulled forth a small silver vial. “Davo, this is a gift for you, in remembrance of your kindness and generosity.” He opened the vial and allowed its odor to waft towards the old man.

  Davo’s eyes were large with wonder. Kendrick tipped the bottle and poured out a thin strip of pearlescent white liquid. He took Davo’s hand and worked the salve into his knuckles.

  “This is Stamerian ointment. When you have trouble walking or your hands hurt, you can rub this into them and the pain will go away, but you need use only a little since it is very strong medicine, Stravad medicine.”

  Davo raised his eyes to the blue eyes of the Stravad. “How long will it last?”

  “If you use it sparingly, only a little at a time, it should last you a great while.”

  Davo smiled and closed the small vial tightly in his hand. “Stravad medicine is very strong.”

  “Yes,” said Kendrick, “very strong, nothing will help more.”

  Davo nodded and went back to his cooking. Jarrett returned with a brimming bucket of cold water and set it on the table beside his pack. Then he washed his face and hands and put on a clean shirt.

  Soon after they ate the meager meal, accentuated by the cheese and wafer cakes, and drank the dark, strong tea. Kendrick was reluctant to eat the thick soup, but finally hunger forced him to sample it.

  * * *

  Dinner passed in silence, for Davo was ill-accustomed to company at mealtime, and afterwards insisted on washing the dishes by himself. Jarrett and Kendrick waited at the table for his return and Jarrett felt the oppressiveness of the dank, dirty kitchen pressing him into a stupor. H
e looked at Kendrick and saw that Kendrick was deep in thought, his handsome face distant.

  Jarrett turned his gaze to Davo’s bent back as he labored over the sink boards and thought suddenly of his own father. He remembered the same stooped look about the shoulders, the half-bent knees to support the weight of the upper body, the same shuffling gait, but Jarrett’s father had never lived like this, would never have lived like this. He’d have taken his own life long before matters became this desperate. As Jarrett watched Davo, he thought he could actually see his father with his back to him, carving the quill of a broken pen.

  Jarrett had sat just as he was now, before his father, staring at the stooped back behind the desk with the glare from his father’s lamp in his eyes.

  “That’s the only measure of a man,” he said in his loud, deep voice. “The single true measure of a man – power! Only power. And a truly powerful man has control over those beneath him. The Terrian leader doesn’t understand this or else he wouldn’t be wasting his time with you.”

  Jarrett remembered the wash of his father’s words over him, a tactic he’d used often, especially when he found it most difficult to sit for hours listening to him rant. His mother waited in the silence outside the door, waiting for what she knew would come once the elder Murata discovered the boy was no longer listening. His rage then had been something to fear. He would suddenly start to his feet, clenching his fists and shuffle around the desk. The boy wouldn’t be able to move, would look up at him with his enormous blue eyes and...and...

  Jarrett jumped suddenly, his body wet with his own perspiration, and found himself in the darkened kitchen with the clang of dishes about him.

  Kendrick stirred. “This farm could certainly affect one’s thoughts,” he said.

  Jarrett glanced at his companion. Davo had placed a candle in the middle of the table and its light drew long hollows across the Nazarien’s face, but the deep blue eyes gleamed out of the dark face as if they had a light of their own. Jarrett nodded. “I feel like I’ve thought and moved extremely slow since we arrived here today. And I’m remembering things that I haven’t remembered in years.”