After leaving Morgan’s Creek, they spent the next month picking up work in villages across the south of Seveldrom. They only stayed in each settlement for a few days. Long enough to earn some money but not to cause any ripples. Lanny received a few stares and some laughter at his expense, but after so long they were both used to it.
There were a few moments of lucidity, when the boy faded into the background, but they never lasted for long. It seemed as if his old friend was happy to watch and wait. Perhaps in time he would grow tired of being a passenger and return to them. Perhaps.
Each night, Vargus listened carefully to the locals talking in taverns and ale-houses. Much to his relief, none of it was about the bear in Morgan’s Creek or the two of them. A few people were talking about what the Gath had done for the people of Elmsbrooke, but that was to be expected. Raiders had been a problem for a long time this far south, particularly for remote settlements that were far away from the King’s justice. People were grateful for what the Gath had done and it seemed certain they would call on him again to resolve similar problems in the future.
A week later, they arrived in Selby Chase, a large village with two churches and three taverns. There were plenty of visitors, so they didn’t stand out, but Lanny’s size and way of talking drew some attention from those they met.
For the next month, he and Lanny worked in the quarry or the forests, carrying stone and felling trees. As ever, people soon came to appreciate Lanny’s strength and exuberance. He never complained, was always polite and was stronger than any other man.
The village was a lot busier than any they’d visited in months and Vargus was keen to catch up on news from further afield. Merchants from the capital made the long trip this far south as Selby Chase had three iron mines, two timber mills and a quarry. It wouldn’t be long before it became a town as more people were flooding in all the time and building new homes.
As well as trade, the merchants brought news from abroad which Vargus filtered, sorting the wheat from the chaff.
The newly crowned King of Zecorria, Raeza, was already showing worrying signs of instability. In less than a month, he’d accused his wife of plotting to kill him and had her beheaded. He’d stabbed his cousin to death for singing too loudly and was threatening to go to war with both neighbouring countries. People were already calling him the Bloody King and thought him insane. But Vargus wondered if he really had lost his mind or if it was part of a devious scheme. It might be worth taking a trip to Yerskania, perhaps to Perizzi as the heart of the west, to keep a closer eye on developing events.
Another popular story was that the Grey Council at the Red Tower in Shael had abandoned their posts. Rumours claimed that they’d gone in search of their messiah from prophecy who would change the course of magic in the world forever. People wondered what it meant for children being born with magic in the future if the school was closed.
As well as listening to news from afar, Vargus paid close attention to stories from the village. After three weeks, he found what he was looking for and approached a woman named Ailsa. She’d been widowed three months ago when her husband had died in an accident in the quarry. With a loan for their newly built house, she was struggling to meet the weekly payments, even though she was working two jobs. Her debt had been purchased by a lender called Creen, who wanted her out. Despite offering a reasonable rate, no one wanted to rent a room in her house. Vargus suspected Creen was responsible but had no way to prove it.
Ailsa stared at Vargus and Lanny for a long time after he knocked on her door. “I’ve seen you both around. You’re working at the mill.”
“May we come in?” asked Vargus. “We can go out if you’d prefer?”
Ailsa was thin and pale with dark rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. He also wondered when she’d last had a decent meal. “Come in,” she said, holding the door wide.
“Don’t suppose you’re here to rent the room?” she asked.
“In a way,” said Vargus, waiting for her to sit down at the kitchen before he did. Lanny explored the room, staring at all of her belongings, but his arms were crossed over his chest. He’d learned not to touch delicate things as they often broke in his massive hands.
“This is my nephew, Lanny,” said Vargus. “He also works at the mill.” Lanny grinned at Ailsa and waved. A smile briefly touched her lips and she waved back, which Vargus took as a good sign. “I heard about your troubles and would like to help.”
“Why?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.
“Because I need your help as well.”
Ailsa’s frown faded a little, but she was still suspicious. “My help with what?”
“My work often takes me north or even abroad for months at a time,” said Vargus, pointing at the sword on his back. “It’s dangerous and no place for someone like Lanny. He might look like a grown man, but he’s really just a boy. He needs someone who can look after him. Help him remember things when he forgets, like going to work, or to comb his hair.”
“And how would you help me?” she asked, although he was certain she knew what he was suggesting. One of the reasons he’d chosen Ailsa was that she worked as a bookkeeper for Remac, the owner of the largest mine, and Hekla, the owner of the mill. Her second job was serving drinks at nights in one of the taverns.
“Lanny, why don’t you show Ailsa how much money you made this week,” suggested Vargus.
The boy came to the table and put down his coin pouch. “This is what they gave me at the mill,” he said, opening it and dropping several coins onto the table.
Ailsa’s eyes widened in surprise. “So much?”
“Is it a lot?” asked Lanny, who didn’t understand the value of money. “I just kept chopping and carrying trees until they told me to stop.”
“He’s as strong as an ox, but gentle as a lamb,” said Vargus, scooping the coins up and putting them back in the pouch. “If you look after him and give him a good home, you’ll get all of his wages until your debt is paid.”
“You look tired,” said Lanny, inadvertently touching on her main problem. She couldn’t continue working such long hours in both jobs. It was already affecting her health.
“What happens when the house is mine?” she asked.
“Take whatever you need from his wages for rent, food, and put the rest aside. Give him a little for spending money every now and then, but only if he does his chores around the house.” Vargus give her a wink which Lanny missed.
“I can clean!” he protested. “And I know how to make my bed and peel potatoes, and chop firewood. I’m very good at chopping.”
“I’m sure you are,” said Ailsa, favouring him with a smile which had a remarkably calming effect on Lanny as he sat down. Vargus knew that he would dote on her as much as the last family who had given him shelter. Anyone who tried to hurt her would also be in for a rude and painful awakening.
“What do you say?” asked Vargus.
It didn’t take her long to decide. The moment she had smiled, he knew what her answer would be.
For the next week, they both lived with Ailsa while sorting out arrangements, but it was clear from the first day it was going to work out. Ailsa stopped serving drinks at night and started sleeping and eating again. After a few days, her pallor faded and she regained some of her good humour.
On his last day in the village, Vargus took Lanny on a walk into the forest. “I need you to promise to be good for Ailsa.”
“I will. She’s very nice. I like it when she smiles.”
“Me too.”
“It’s nice and quiet up here,” said Lanny, slapping his palm against one of the nearest trees. “Some days it’s too noisy down there. There are too many people.”
Vargus checked they were alone and then turned to face the boy. “You’ve been hiding for too long. It’s my fault. I thought you needed peace and quiet, so I always chose remote villages, but it’s kept you apart from the world.” The boy was still looking at him but Vargus suspected his old friend was listening.
“What do you mean?” he said and Vargus didn’t know who was asking him the question.
“Every week, merchants bring news from the outside world.”
“Bad news,” came the reply.
“Sometimes,” Vargus conceded. “But not always. This way, you’ll hear about what’s happening out there. A lot of changes are coming. I can feel them.”
It wasn’t his old power that told him, just instinct. It was his hope that, in time, the Maker would realise the worth of the races and see how much they’d changed. Then, and only then, would he return to the world.
He might claim they were coping fine without him. That the mortal races didn’t really need him to return. But no one alive remembered how it had been before. Every toothless old-timer sat in the corner of a tavern spoke about the good old days. How it had been a golden time in their youth when the world was a kinder and safer place. They didn’t know it, but there was an element of truth to that.
Vargus’s memory was much longer than theirs and he could compare the two.
Now there was an inherent thinness and brittle feeling to everything. It was as if stamping your foot, just a little too hard, might break through the surface of the ground to the hollow within. News from abroad travelled much further and faster than ever before, but all it seemed to do was bring misery as it was rarely good.
Worse was the swirling web of chaos that moved from one place to the next, stirring up conflict and bloodshed. It was random, could appear anywhere and at any time and seemed to be happening more often. The others dismissed it as growing pains of the races and they believe it was a transition that would eventually pass. Vargus hoped they were right but he had his doubts.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” said the boy, interrupting his reverie.
“Yes,” said Vargus, suddenly feeling very tired. “It’s time for me to go home.”