Journey of the Wind Read online

  she accused. “It was you saying that, promising that, else I wouldn’t still be here seven

  years after we met, still betrothed to you five years hence!”

  “I intend to ask for a training assignment eventually, Ry,” he said in a defensive

  voice.

  She glared at him. “Don’t you get tired of the killing, Sandair?” When he winced,

  she pressed the point. “Don’t you get tired of making other women widows or of

  breaking their hearts and ruining their futures?”

  “Aye,” he admitted. “The killing bothers me, but that is part of being a soldier. I

  knew that when I was commissioned. I—”

  “Do not the faces of those men you have murdered disturb your dreams?” she

  asked, remembering well the nights he had awaken shaking and sweating, his eyes

  haunted, the nights she had to soothe him back to sleep.

  “You are not being fair, Ry,” he said, looking away from her probing stare.

  “And you are not being fair to me!” she threw at him.

  He watched her stomp to the door. “Give me another year, Rylee. In another year—

  ”

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  She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, her back to him. “In another year you

  could be dead.” She looked around, meeting his gaze. “I want a man who will be there

  for me when I grow old. You aren’t that man.”

  “I am the only man you’ll ever have,” he snapped, true fury prodding him now.

  “Keep thinking that,” she said, jerking the door open. “I’ve discovered you aren’t

  the only fish in the sea, Farrell!”

  Unable to believe she had said such a thing to him, he sat there staring at the door

  as she slammed it shut, feeling like his world had come crashing down around him.

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  Journey of the Wind

  Chapter One

  “I feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me,” Alsandair said softly

  as he sat in a tavern in Dellymal. “If Joining had not been what the wench wanted, why

  the hell did she agree to the match in the first place?”

  Cowan Calhoun shrugged. He was already three sheets to the wind and having

  trouble keeping his eyes open. His words were so slurred the man beside him barely

  heard him and had to ask Cowan to repeat what he said.

  “I said, ‘lad,” Cowan stated, carefully enunciating each word, “‘ye’re better off

  without Rylee McCourtland. All she’ll do is break yer heart anyway. ‘Tis all them pretty

  ones know how to do.’”

  “The wench is pretty, I’ll give you that,” Daniel Brell, the third man at the greasy

  tavern table, said as he lifted his mug to his lips only to find it empty. He swung his

  head around drunkenly and bellowed for the barmaid.

  “Pretty,” Alsandair repeated. “Aye, she is that in spades.” He slumped back in his

  rickety chair and stared morosely at his mug. He’d neither the energy nor the coin to

  have it refilled. “Mayhap it wasn’t in the cards for me to have her.”

  From out of the smoky gloom of the tavern an old woman came hobbling over to

  their table. She was dressed in garish clothing that named her a Rom. With long, dark

  green velvet skirts rustling, her waist-length white hair frizzed out behind her, she

  came to stand beside Alsandair, her nearly toothless grin and steady black eyes locked

  on the young man’s face.

  “Sometimes fate be what ye make of it, boy,” she said, and from the voluminous

  pocket of the brightly colored patchwork jacket she took an ancient deck of cards. “For a

  geal, I’ll tell yer fortune.”

  “Get away from us, ye old crone,” Cowan said, waving her back with his limp

  wrist. “We’ve no time for the likes of ye.”

  Alsandair squirmed beneath the avid stare of the old woman. “I’ve naught but a

  geal in my pocket, milady,” he told her.

  She held out a wrinkled hand—palm up—and winked at him. “‘Tis all I need.”

  “Sandair, don’t encourage her,” Cowan snapped. “She’ll rob us blind.”

  “Hard to rob a man with no coin in his pocket,” Alsandair said and stuck out his leg

  to run a hand into the pocket of his black leather pants. He brought out the last silver

  coin he had brought with him this evening and dropped it into the old woman’s

  waiting hand. He smiled at her. “You sell your talents short, milady.”

  The old woman cocked her bushy head to one side. “Would ye be paying me more

  for a reading if ye had it, boy?” she inquired.

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  Alsandair nodded. “If I had it, milady, I would, indeed.”

  Her toothless smile widened. “Ye are a good boy, Dolan Alsandair Farrell,” she

  pronounced.

  “By the gods, she knows you, Sandair!” Daniel gasped. “That ain’t good!”

  “I know all about him,” the old woman said with a cackle as she pocketed the geal.

  “And what is it you know of me, milady?” Alsandair asked as he stood up shakily

  and reached for a chair at the table behind him, swinging it into place at their table so

  the old woman could sit.

  “I know ye are a gentleman,” the Romney woman said as she took a seat.

  “My mother would argue that point with you,” Alsandair said with a laugh as he

  sat back down.

  “I know ye are a fine warrior,” she said, motioning the men to remove their

  tankards from the table.

  “The sword he carries labels him such,” Cowan said with a snort. He lifted his mug

  and put it on the tray of the barmaid as she arrived carrying Daniel’s refill.

  “Not to mention that lethal blade strapped to his thigh,” Daniel added.

  “Weapons do not a warrior make,” the old woman denied. “Any fool can lash a

  sword to his back or a dagger to his leg. It is in the wielding of those weapons that a

  warrior is made.”

  “Another round for ye gentlemen?” the barmaid asked Alsandair, batting her eyes

  at him.

  “Nay, wench,” Alsandair said with a shake of his head. “We’ve no more coin for

  you.”

  “I’ll spot ye both,” Daniel said and took the last gilding he had from his vest and

  tossed it to the barmaid.

  The barmaid caught the gilding, put it between her teeth to test it. Satisfied it was

  real, she swung around and headed back for the bar, grunting beneath her breath.

  “That barmaid knows ye ain’t got the coin with which to hire her cunt for the

  night,” Daniel told Alsandair.

  “Shut your mouth,” Alsandair said, glancing up at the old woman. “You don’t be

  talking like that in front of the lady.”

  “Lady, my hairy ass,” Daniel mumbled, and took a long sip of his mead.

  “A good man ye are, Alsandair Farrell,” the old woman said as she handed him the

  deck to shuffle.

  Like the expert he was with a deck of cards, Alsandair split the deck into two stacks

  then fanned the cards together a couple of times before handing them back to the

  fortuneteller. “Give me a good future, milady,” he said. “By the way, what’s your

  name?”

  “They call me Niall,” she said then met his eye. “Ye ready?”

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  “As I’ll ever be, milady,” he said.

  She peeled the first card from the deck and laid it
face up on the table.

  “This is where ye be at this time of yer life,” she said. She studied it for a moment

  then looked up at Alsandair. “Ye be feeling about as low as a cur’s belly,” she said.

  “You’ve got that right,” Alsandair said as he took the fresh mug of mead the

  barmaid had brought.

  Niall looked away from Alsandair then laid the second card horizontally across the

  first. “And this be what stands in yer way.”

  As each card was revealed and its meaning explained to Alsandair, the more

  depressed he became. He barely spoke—only nodded—and when the last card was

  read, he sat there staring at it, his head beginning to ache miserably. He put a hand to

  his temple and rubbed his fingers on the source of pain.

  “Ye need to take a good look at where ye’ve been, boy, and then where ye wish to

  be going. This is a decision card, it is,” Niall said quietly.

  “It is all in the interpretation, Sandair,” Daniel said to him. “Fate can be rearranged

  if ye are willing to do what is needed to make it so. It is not set in stone.”

  Alsandair stared at the last card, the card that was his destiny as Niall foretold it. It

  was the Six of Swords and it lay there like a coiled viper with him unable to look away

  from its allure. He studied the boat, the ferryman with his long pole, the two obscure

  passengers in the seat before the navigator and the six swords sticking into the bottom

  of the boat.

  “See this?” Niall said, tapping the card with a gnarled finger. “The waters here be

  choppy but the waters ahead of the boat be smooth. Ye need to leave behind the past

  and journey on to better times.”

  “And leave the one I love behind as well?” he asked her, tearing his eyes from the

  card and looking into the old woman’s rheumy eyes. “Or is that her leaving me with

  my bairn in tow?”

  “What ye see on the card may not be signifying yer lady at all,” she said. “Ye may

  be the ferryman who is taking the other two to safety.”

  “Ever the gallant knight,” Cowan mumbled.

  She reached out to lay her hand over his. “Where there is balance between the head

  and the heart, it is there when true happiness will settle upon ye. Look not at the past

  and the storms it has brought ye, but on the future and the smooth sailing it will bring.”

  She squeezed his hand then began picking up her cards and placing them into the deck.

  “Milady,” Alsandair said. “I hurt.”

  Daniel and Cowan looked at one another. It was obvious from their expressions

  that neither had ever heard their companion voice so personal an emotion.

  “Aye, boy, yet when ye are in pain, ye know ye are healing.”

  “If I don’t die from the hurt. She is breaking my heart,” he admitted, and his eyes

  filled with tears.

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  “Ye must distance yerself from that which is not good for ye,” she stated.

  Daniel started to speak but Alsandair waved him to silence. “Are you telling me to

  leave my lady and strike out on a journey to find myself?” he asked.

  “Have ye not been thinking of going away for a while?” she countered.

  “Are you telling me I should?”

  The old woman shrugged. “I can not tell ye what to do, boy. Only ye can solve the

  problem of ye future. No one can do it for ye.”

  “Tell him something to take that agony out of his eyes, crone,” Cowan snapped.

  Niall ignored Cowan. “There be change coming, boy,” she said. “The change be for

  the better but ye must go seeking it if ye are to find solace.” She pushed her chair back

  and stood, her aged bones cracking as she stretched. “One word of caution though—

  there be six deaths hovering over this card. That be the six swords stuck in the bottom

  of the boat.”

  His face suddenly pale, Alsandair started to speak but the old woman held up a

  hand.

  “Not your death, not hers, and none for those ye be close to, but death sails with

  this card so be careful of that what happens.”

  Alsandair made no move to stop her but he lifted his head and looked up at her.

  “Thank you, milady,” he said. A stray lock of dark hair hung over his forehead.

  The old Romney woman smiled at him. “Ye are a good boy, Alsandair Farrell, and

  the gods in turn are going to be good to ye,” she said then ambled off, disappearing into

  the murky shadows of the tavern, blending in with the thick haze of smoke from the

  myriad pipes being puffed on by the patrons.

  “Don’t pay no heed to that stupid shit,” Daniel said. “It’s all mumbo-jumbo, it is.”

  Cowan was looking at Alsandair. “Ye ain’t thinking of making no trip this time of

  year, are ye?” he questioned. “By land there’ll be snow and by sea there will be vicious

  storms.”

  “I can’t say either appeal to me,” Alsandair said, “but I’m of a mind to put distance

  between me and Rylee for a while.”

  “Aye, well, it ain’t always true that absence makes the heart grow fonder, Sandair,”

  Cowan growled.

  “That be right,” Daniel agreed with a nod. “She might take it in her head to replace

  ye with another knight.”

  “She might already have done so,” their companion said. He took a sip of his mead

  and winced for the brew tasted bitter on his tongue. Setting it aside, he folded his arms.

  “Something’s got her knickers in a twist.”

  “And if it be another knight?” Cowan pressed. “What will ye do?”

  Alsandair thought about it for a moment. “She asked for time and time is all I’ve

  got right now. If she has found another man, so be it.”

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  Journey of the Wind

  “Ye’ll not fight for her?” Daniel asked, his eyes wide.

  “She kicked me out of her bed,” Alsandair reminded him. “Would you wish to be

  somewhere you’re not wanted?” He shook his head. “No, I’ll not fight her or her new

  paramour, if she has one.”

  “Ye be scaring me, Sandair,” Daniel said. “I’ve never known ye to run from a fight.”

  “I’m not running,” Alsandair said as he scraped his chair back and stood up. “I’m

  walking.”

  Cowan and Daniel watched their friend—and the commander of their small band of

  elite warriors—walk out of the tavern and into the fog-shrouded night. Neither spoke

  as they finished their tankards of mead. They sat staring at the table, the boisterous

  noise around them settling like a heavy cloak on their shoulders.

  “This be a mistake,” Cowan finally decided.

  “A mistake I hope the lad can live with,” Daniel agreed.

  * * * * *

  Alsandair felt the pebbly press of fog against his cheeks as he walked along the

  quay. The Spittin’ Cat Tavern from which he’d just exited sat out over the water and the

  waves were lapping against the pylons that held up the rear of the building. The scent

  of fish and rotting garbage assailed him as he strolled over the uneven boards, his boot

  heels making thumping sounds that bounced off the thick curtain of fog as he went.

  With his hands thrust into the pockets of his leather pants, he trod slowly, his agile

  mind worrying the problem of Rylee McCourtland over and over as he ambled. He was

  in no hurry to go back to his r
ented room over the bakery for there was nothing there

  for him but a cold, lonely and uncomfortable bed. Such was the life of a warrior.

  For the last month, he and his men had been performing lightning raids into the

  countryside around Hamisch, attempting to break up a gang of bandits who had been

  preying on travelers to the port town. Just the day before they had managed to capture

  and take into custody the brains behind the thieving and their work there was done.

  General Braxton had applauded their actions and given them a month of leave for their

  hard and dangerous work.

  “Take a month off, Commander,” Braxton had offered Alsandair. “You’ve been

  going at it hard and I know your Joining Day is fast approaching.”

  “Not anymore, it isn’t,” Alsandair said as he stopped to look out across the heavy

  sheet of fog to the lighthouse out in the harbor. The ghostly yellow aura that

  surrounded the light was all that would keep arriving ships from going aground or

  breaking apart on the rocks of Drutton Bay.

  It was chill standing beside the bay but no colder than the ache in his heart. He

  sighed deeply then hung his head, paying no attention to the men who clumped by

  behind him until their conversation intruded into his misery.

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  “We got one cabin left on the Mary Constance,” one man said. “Once ‘tis booked,

  we’ll be on our way to Sulan. Ye know Captain Andelton won’t weigh anchor until he’s

  got himself another paying passenger.”

  “I ain’t never been through the Sinisters,” the other man said, his voice fading as he

  and his companion moved off into the fog. “What’s it like?”

  Alsandair turned his head toward the departing men but though he strived to hear

  the answer to that question, the sound of the men’s voices was swallowed up by the

  dense fog.

  “The Sinisters,” he said aloud, and drew his hands from his pockets to rest his

  forearms on the railing that ran along the quay. His hands clasped, he stared down at

  the dark water and thought about the mysterious section of ocean where it was said sea

  monsters lurked and strange, fantastical sights could be seen. Having spent his entire

  life in his native land of Anlusia, he had never sailed the South Boreal Sea and he had

  always been curious about what lay in the desert nomad lands of Midworld.