The Chosen - Kris Kramer (books suggested by elon musk .TXT) 📗

that had been devastated by war and mostly overrun by the Bergsbor. The hill also provided a fantastically strategic vantage point that allowed scouts on the keep's central towers to see almost to the tree line of Teekwood in the north, a good seventy miles away, as well as the foothills of the Caelmont to the west. No army could sneak up on this fort. Massive walls extended from the outer fortifications to the east and west, sloping down the hill and then veering south to eventually form a semi-circle. The walls were easily as tall as ten men, thicker than four or five standing abreast, and made from a magically endowed dark-gray granite that some claimed was harder than arcite, the metal used in the most expensive weapons and armor in the world. No effort had been made to complete the circle, however, because the west wall ended at a cliff overlooking a forty-foot drop, and the eastern stopped at the edge of a small lake that fed into a marsh far on the other side. Similar fortresses had been built at Rose Hill and Lyranton, both farther east, in Brinwall, but they paled in comparison. Outside of Corendar, Trenant Keep was the largest and most defensible structure on the entire island.

Aiden rubbed his eyes, trying to look casual even though he felt anything but relaxed. Two strenuous, life-threatening battles, followed by two and a half days of hard travel, had taken their toll. His eyes drooped, his shoulders sagged, and after waiting around nearly half an hour for Riordan to purchase supplies for their trip, he’d become irritable as well. About a dozen large wool and cloth blankets hung from a rope tied across one side of the pavilion, and Aiden had positioned himself so that they blocked him from the view of most of the market area while he waited. He wore his familiar red cloak, the hood up over his head, and hanging just enough to cover part of his brand if anyone happened by. He had his old armor on underneath the cloak, battered and dented, but it felt comfortable and familiar on his large frame. His wolf’s head shield was strapped to his back, his sheathed sword hung from his belt and he'd even brought the goblin spear along with him, thinking it good luck. Bastion sat quietly at his feet, watching the crowd lazily and every so often gnawing the fleas on his haunches. Finias had been waiting with him, but he'd grown tired of standing around and wandered off some time ago, leaving Aiden alone with his thoughts.

"I can fix that for you."

Riordan had told him that yesterday morning, as they left the town of East Barret. He referred, of course, to Aiden's scar, which he hadn't mentioned up to that point, although the townspeople they passed on their way out weren’t quite as polite. Two women carrying baskets of vegetables whispered to each other and laughed while an older man herding a few sheep into town stared incredulously. No one said anything out loud, but they didn’t need to. No words could add to his shame. In the midst of that indignity, Riordan’s statement had caught him off guard, and Aiden didn’t know how to answer at first. Any priest could use healing magic to remove most scars. Aiden knew this already, but he also knew that anyone who tried such a thing on him would end up banished themselves. He could have gone to a healer out amongst the homesteaders, or some of the more unsavory types that were part of the Corendar underground. They would have done it for a price. But they were unreliable, Aiden didn't have the money anyway, and going to someone like that, even in secret, would have completely shattered his already fragile sense of honor and respect.

"No," he said. "It's nothing."

"Trying to be noble?"

"No. I just… I don't want the trouble."

"It would take me all of five minutes."

"You'd ruin your reputation," Aiden replied hastily.

"My reputation?" Riordan nearly laughed. "I just escaped from a dungeon. I'm being hunted by fadeblades. Somehow, I think fixing your brand would go unnoticed amongst all the rest of my problems."

Aiden desperately wanted to take him up on his offer. He was ready to drop his pack, his weapons and shield, and just sit on the ground like an anxious little boy while Riordan used his talents to make his humiliation go away once and for all. But he knew better. Removing the scar wouldn't remove the last two years of his life. He wanted things set right, and this didn't feel like the way to do that.

"Maybe later," Aiden said, though he didn't really mean it. "When this is over, maybe then."

Riordan nodded. "Agreed."

He'd agonized over that decision ever since, and there were several times throughout the day he'd almost pulled Riordan aside to do it, just so he didn't have to keep thinking about it. But something held him back. Self-respect perhaps, although it felt more complicated than that. Maybe he was afraid of what would happen next, how he would face the people he once knew, and that seemed even more daunting than this journey to the caves. Ultimately, the reason he'd settled on yesterday, and still felt sure about today, was that he hadn't earned it. He didn't want to get rid of the brand just so he could run away and start over in some new land across the sea. No, he wanted to go back to his old life. He wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to fight for his kingdom, and he couldn't do that unless he earned the right to have that brand removed, in the eyes of everyone else in the armies of Caldera. Hopefully, this little journey would bring him that opportunity.

Since arriving at Pauk’s Hill, he'd done his best to keep his mind off his own troubles. The battlefields were a terribly harsh place, where distraction or introspection would get you killed. So he kept himself occupied by remembering all of the little things about this place he didn't realize he'd forgotten. Sights, sounds, and smells he'd taken for granted before, but now he drank them in like a parched man who'd stumbled upon a stream. The sound of heavy footsteps and metal clanging as armored soldiers marched about in the regal red and blue livery of Caldera. The screeching of sword and axe blades being sharpened on a pedal-spun grindstone. The smell of new leather and the oils that tanners used to soften it. In the past all of this had just been in the background for him, but not today. Today he wanted to experience every last bit of it. He was happy to be here, and anxious to get out into the front lines, where he'd always felt like he made a difference. He wanted to remember as much of this as he could, and enjoy it in case he had it all taken from him again.

"I know you normally wouldn't do it, but we're ready."

Aiden turned at the sound of a woman's voice nearby. He found her only a few yards away, a short, thin little waif, barely out of her mid-teens, with long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail by several golden clasps. Her face was round, and her eyes were deep-set and blue. She was pretty, and she carried herself like a woman much older than she appeared. She wore the dark blue cassock of a wizard, with the brown vestments that symbolized her specialty in earth magic. Aiden suspected she'd stolen that robe from her mother, because she was far too young for anyone to believe that she'd mastered any of the magical arts. She walked in lockstep with a decnar, a soldier who typically commanded a unit of ten men, Aiden’s own rank before joining the Warhounds. He was slightly older than Aiden, fully armored in worn and dented plate mail, and with a look on his face that suggested he'd already had enough of this girl.

Following both of them was a young man, roughly the same age as her, though quite a bit taller and broader, wearing various pieces of palatine plate armor that looked fancy enough, but had never seen a single day of battle. The polish was too perfect.

The decnar shook his head and waved her off gruffly. "Not today, girl. You'll have to find someone else."

"But we're ready!" she exclaimed, sounding a little too much like a child. She must have realized that because she quickly regained her composure. "I promise you we are."

The decnar stopped and turned to her, towering over her small frame. "I already have a bunch of kids to take care of out there. I don't need two more. 'Specially not ones who look like they should be playing with dolls." He punched the boy right in the center of his plate hauberk, not too hard, but it sent the would-be palatine stumbling back a step with a look of surprise on his face. The sergeant shook his head again and walked off, while the girl looked at her companion with embarrassment.

Aiden turned, hiding his smile. That conversation had been a familiar one for him. Children pretending to be soldiers, coming to Pauk’s Hill intent on proving themselves in the war without having any idea of the horrors that waited beyond those walls. It was all glory and adventure to them, but to the hardened veterans, it was something else entirely. If they were smart, those two would grow tired of their begging and go home where it was safe, before someone made the mistake of taking them out to their deaths.

Riordan arrived several minutes later, to Aiden's relief, and they looked through the provisions he'd purchased. Aiden had given him his reward money, all of which Riordan had just spent on a little bit of dried food, water skins and blankets. It was a meager collection of supplies, but it would be enough to get by for a few days. Hopefully, they would be able to scavenge more from any fallen foes, which was how many good soldiers made a comfortable living.

"Our best chance of survival is to find a fight," Riordan chuckled. "I always loved that irony."

"We'll be fine," Aiden assured him. "All we need to do is stay near the outposts and get to the docks. Once we're on the ferry, we'll be safe most of the way to Teekwood. Getting from the east end of that forest to the west will be the worst part."

"Yes it will," Riordan said solemnly.

Aiden paused, realizing with some embarrassment that he was acting the leader around a man far more qualified than him. "I know I haven't been out there lately, but I'm guessing things haven't changed that much in the last two years."

Riordan shook his head. "No. Nothing's changed. That's the unfortunate part. Thorn patrols will be our biggest problem. With only three of us, we'll have a hard time defending ourselves against them."

“Playing in Teekwood was never easy,” Aiden said, adding a lighthearted smile. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Finias approach. Good, he thought, eager to finally get moving, though that relief was quickly tempered by the fact that the young man and woman he'd seen earlier were following the archer.

"What are they doing here?" he asked carefully, his smile disappearing.

"They're coming with us," Finias said.

"No, they're not."

Finias cocked his head, taken aback. "Yes, they are. I invited them."

"You invited them?" Aiden didn't want to make a scene, but he could feel his temper rising. "To what? To join us on a death march? They're children!"

Finias smiled back at him, bemused. "How old do you think I am?" he asked, and Aiden realized his mistake. Finias was likely only a year or two older, but he carried himself in a way that made him seem more aware of the world. He seemed more adult than his age should allow. "Besides, they want to help. They know the risks, so why not bring them? Five is still better than three, right?"

“Not when two of them should still be playing with dolls.” Aiden purposely used the same insult the decnar had. He wanted to make sure it sunk in.

“I’m having trouble understanding why this is a problem for you, especially after you chased me down and wrangled me into this in the first place. This one,” he pointed to the girl, “is a wizard, and this one,” he tapped the boy’s armor, “is a palatine. However limited their actual skills may be, we could use both of them, and any little help on