The Adani Chronicles: Birthright

The men were hidden in the thick undergrowth several leagues north of the road, arguing quietly. Not twenty paces in front of them, a mountain troll snored loudly in the glade, tainting the sweet-smelling air with his musk and smashing the delicate wildflowers beneath his tough, leathery bulk. Brandt Signyson, the elder of the two, was attempting to talk some sense into his younger brother, though admittedly without much success.

This struck him as not unusual.

“It’s not worth it! Let’s just move on,” he whispered urgently, adjusting his leather pack as he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to leave. They had a mission, after all, that in no way included plundering troll hoards.

“Come, Brandt!” The younger was grinning, gold eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Where is your sense of adventure? Mountain trolls always have the best loot!”

Brandt looked to the heavens, knowing full well the motion would incense Evin. “Yes, and they guard it fiercely! Do you relish the idea of being turned into a midday meal?”

As expected, Evin narrowed his eyes in irritation. “You speak as though the two of us together are no match for a simple troll. As though we could not sneak the brute’s plunder out from under his nose without so much as waking him!”

“Perhaps we could, perhaps we could not,” Brandt countered, blue eyes hard. “But I am saying that it would be foolish to try.”

“Ach!” came the exasperated response. “As are many things, and yet we try them anyway!”

“Hush, not so loud! Evin, we have a quest. We cannot simply—”

The younger man held up a finger to forestall Brandt, who paused, but looked to continue the argument. Evin spoke up before he had the chance. “Aye, brother. But we can.” And with that, he broke cover, leaving his older brother cursing in the bushes.

The idiot had left his bow and quiver resting against a nearby shrub.

“Evin!” Brandt hissed, poking his golden head over the tops of the underbrush, holding the bow above his head with one hand and pointing at it with the other.

Left your weapon behind. Again.

Evin, the lout, was already picking his way carefully toward the sleeping troll, utilizing every hunter’s skill he possessed to make his steps silent. At Brandt’s whispered shout, he turned and shushed him silently but fiercely, with exaggerated movements that suggested very clearly the younger’s plans for the elder if he woke the creature with his mothering. Brandt could read his brother’s thoughts as clearly as if he’d shouted them.

I’ve got my sword, muttonhead.

Brandt had half a mind to shout at him, just to be contrary; but as annoying as Evin was, he really didn’t want him smashed beyond recognition by a mountain troll. The indignity would be more than even his idiot brother deserved.

Not to mention, Mother would kill him.

So he gestured back furiously, making it clear to Evin in no uncertain terms that he was responsible for this mess, when it became a mess; because it would and he knew it because he was the eldest and how come younger brothers never listen, anyway?

Evin grinned at him, the numbskull, and turned back to his sneaking, managing to make it past the slumbering, slobbering monstrosity without so much as a sound. The troll snored on, a rumbling, wet din that would cause any civilized human being to cringe in disgust. The mucus that blocked the thing’s nose and caused such an unholy racket covered the entire lower half of its face. Its mouth lolled open, revealing a thick gray tongue which vibrated in time with its snores.

Brandt made a face and turned his attention back to Evin, who promptly tripped over a collection of swords standing precariously against the stone ledge the troll was using as a makeshift shelter. The clatter was loud enough to wake the dead, and certainly loud enough to rouse a living creature that was viciously protective of its loot.

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and didn’t bother silencing the groan that rose in his throat. Mother was going to outright murder him. They would find pieces of him strewn across the fields. The farmers would be traumatized. He didn’t see the troll wake completely, but he sure heard it. The thing came alive with a monstrous roar of rage that it was not alone anymore.

Ah, damn.

He did, however, see his brother skid to a stop beside him, reaching for his arm and yanking hard. Evin was holding a slightly curved dagger in one hand that Brandt had never seen before—the entirety of their spoils from this ill-fated plan.

“I told you this was a bad idea!” he shouted as he stumbled to his feet, the angry troll smashing random trees and boulders in the background, a fit of bad temper at being wakened so rudely.

Evin’s expression was pure mischief. “Congratulations, brother, on your continued talent at always being right! Would you like a reward? Or a title, perhaps?”

“Oh, shut it,” Brandt growled.

Evin opened his mouth to continue needling, but let out a shout of surprise instead when a massive oak club—the troll’s crude weapon—struck the ground to his right with a resounding thud.

Brandt yelped too: he’d felt that in his bones, and it hadn’t even hit him. “Run!” he shouted, thrusting Evin in front of him with nary a thought and chasing the younger man away from the creature that had evidently just figured out who was responsible for its aborted nap.

They ran, years of playing in the woods outside their estate working in their favor now. Tree roots, pebbles, underbrush; all of it was a potential fall, yet they managed to keep their footing as they slowly began to outstrip the monster in pursuit. Mountain trolls were massive and not very coordinated, so it was honestly a bit like watching a fully-grown man chase a baby rabbit or a mouse; the troll had size and speed, but lacked the dexterity to manage catching them. Too, it had to use its club to clear a path, since it was far too large to fit between the trees in the thick forest.

Evin glanced back, saw the lead they had gained, and grinned again. “How about Sir Brandt the Neverwrong?”

Brandt gritted his teeth. “Evin, I swear by Aeos—”

“Sir Brandt Mostwisest.”

“I’m going to take your head for a trophy in a moment!” he threatened, growling when the younger laughed, put on a burst of speed, and disappeared into the brush ahead of him.

Blasted younger brothers.

Ryn secured her bedroll onto the bottom of her pack with more force than was strictly necessary. Another night of nightmares, another morning waking in a cold sweat, another day of searching for the parasite who was abusing the memory of her sweet brother.

After refreshing a bit in the freezing river and tossing a strip of dried meat to Kota, Ryn sat down under a tree to eat a small breakfast and take stock of herself. Her trip to Dreyfen had been exactly what she needed to refit her gear, but since then she had been doing little more than wandering. The anniversary of her family’s deaths always made for a depressing week this time of year, and combined with the little ones she’d just failed, she was having a harder time than usual this time around.

Ryn sighed, made a face at the carras fruit in her hand, and tossed it under a tree for the birds to finish. She was no longer hungry, and it was time to get moving anyway. Her fingers drifted to her pocket, the shape and weight of the wooden toy coin inside refocusing her like little else could. The trail was growing cold and she wasn’t sure where to look next. But yesterday had borne her a very thin lead that the seller might be in Easton, one of the last towns along the Great Road before the Sands.

“Looks like we’re headed east, kisa,” she muttered to her companion, managing a small smile at the silly endearment. The old women called their housecats ‘kisa’, and Kota was so far from a mild housecat that it just made the nickname ridiculous. Not that he cared, she thought as her lynx rolled around in the fragrant grass, purring, but it made her grin. She took amusement, like spiced food, where she could find it.

Kota froze, then shot to his feet, ears rotating and every sense alert as he regarded the surrounding woods with intelligent eyes—far more intelligent than his simple wild cat heritage warranted, or so Ryn always thought. Or maybe that was just a product of being raised by a human, even one as solitary and odd as she.

Kota’s stubby tail bristled and he bared his teeth, but stayed silent. Having learned long ago the lynx could sense things she could neither see nor hear, Ryn shouldered her pack and bow. She dropped into a defensive stance with her long staff and faced the same direction as Kota, watching and listening. Distantly, she heard shouts, and a loud cracking noise thundered through the air. Then another, and another, and an ear-splitting roar cut through the air, freezing the blood in her veins. Kota hopped back, growling.

“Kota, let’s go,” she murmured tightly, backing up, preparing to run. The lynx snarled his agreement and turned at the same moment Ryn did, off like a shot, powerful hind legs sending him into the trees before she even got up good speed. She followed, only to feel something slam into her left side as soon as she hit the tree line. She tumbled to the ground, registered a low shout of alarm before her assailant landed atop her in a heap of leather and short dark curls. Ryn yelped and shoved, surprised to find herself assisted by another, a burly, puffing man; he was pulling at the one that had run into her, shouting at him.

“Come on, you idiot, we have to go now!”

The dark-haired one stumbled upright, and she registered the split-second impression of honey-gold eyes and smirking lips before he tossed her a wink as he answered. “Couldn’t help it. Saw a pretty girl.”

“By the astra—” the second man muttered, shoving him forward—run, for Aeos’ sake!—and reaching down, fingers closing around Ryn’s arm. “Come on!”

A snarl sounded a split-second warning as Ryn yanked her arm away. Shock widened the man’s blue eyes when Kota pounced, landing between him and the lass on the ground, but the sound of trees crashing behind them broke the moment.

The man gave her an almost pleading look, still breathing hard. “Please, come!”

Ryn was on her feet before he even finished his request, and they were running, side by side, catching up with the dark-haired one quickly. He looked back, mischief written all over his face, and grinned.

“Bit slow in your old age, brother-mine!”

“Shut it and run, you idiot! If it weren’t for your stupid plan, we’d not be running at all!”

Ryn wondered at these two, sprinting through the woods by her side with...something...tearing up a wide swathe of forest behind them. It was big, whatever it was.

“We could’ve got the loot if you hadn’t been so bloody loud!”

“You’re the one who tripped over the swords and woke it up!”

“You sneezed and I nearly shat myself—”

“You’re off your head! I sneezed after you roused the blasted thing—”

The...thing roared again, louder this time, and Ryn realized Kota was out of sight a split second before she heard him scream. It was a flesh-raising sound of distress, one she didn’t hear often, and it froze the blood in her veins. She pulled up short, trying to hone in on the sound, her staff ready in her hand. She heard the men shouting at her to hurry, confused about her delay, and then the creature howled its victory and Kota yowled. Ryn moved.

A quick sprint back the way she came, a jaunt to the left, and she was there. The brute—a mountain troll, she could see now—had demolished the trees in a wide circle around Kota, who was crouched in the middle, ears flat, claws out, snarling and ready to fight. The ugly, squinty-eyed monster was baring large dirty teeth at him. The club raised, and Ryn knew her staff was no good here. The troll was just too big; everything vital was far above her head, and there was no time. She dropped the echowood rod, unshouldered her bow, let an arrow fly with a prayer.

Aeos was with her this day—either her aim was that good, or the troll moved just the right direction and speed, but her arrow buried itself to the feathers in the creature’s right eye, black blood spurting from the deadly wound in pulsing streams. Kota pounced, climbing the screeching creature, locking powerful jaws around a thick neck and riding the monster down as it fell, tearing without mercy. It was overkill, Ryn knew; the troll was dead, its tiny brain pierced by her arrow. She whistled, calling Kota to her, and he came after a moment, teeth bared red now.

“Calm, kisa,” she soothed, dropping to her knees and holding her hands out, palms up. Kota could be dangerous, even to her, right after a kill, so she had learned to be careful with him when he was wound up.

It didn’t look like today would be a hard recovery though, as the lynx dropped his snarl almost immediately and mewled at her. She smiled at him, clicked her tongue, rubbed her fingers together in gentle invitation. Kota nosed her fingers, and she grinned, pulling out a scrap of linen to wipe the blood from his muzzle. “That’s my boy,” she crooned softly. “You sure showed that monster, didn’t you?”

Their moment was shattered when the rustle of underbrush announced the arrival of the two strange brothers who had led her along on this most odd chase.

“By the astra!” the shorter, blond one panted, blue eyes wide and angry. “What were you thinking?!”

She said nothing—she did not answer to these, or any other—only stood to face them, a faint smile on her face. She always found it oddly amusing when folks were confused about her or her behavior. Kota growled low in his throat, and she placed a single hand on his head. A murmured command quieted him instantly.

“Are you well, Lady?” the other, the one who had bowled her over, asked. He was taller, of slimmer build and paler coloring, and looked nothing like his brother; save perhaps for the nearly identical way they both were looking her over in obvious concern. “I am so very sorry for—um, rather literally—dragging you into this. Please, let us do something to help you.”

Ryn raised a single brow, uncertain whether she wanted to smile or frown. In the end, she settled for neither. “That is not necessary,” she assured him, fingers tangling in Kota’s fur. “It is barely an inconvenience. Good day.” She turned to go, but a restraining hand landed on her forearm.

“Wait!” the tall man blurted, but that was as far as he got before Kota lunged. He barely managed to get his hand out of the way quickly enough, snapping jaws closing on air instead of flesh. The lynx landed, whirled to face his backpedaling opponent, and snarled a challenge. The blond man growled as well, yanking his brother back and drawing a thick, wicked-sharp axe—one of two he carried across his back—that he very clearly knew how to wield properly.

Ryn clicked her tongue, amused, and Kota backed up instantly, teeth still bared. She stared pointedly at the tall man, who had stepped forward again, tossing a glare at his brother. So the blond was eldest, then. She recognized the wordless exchange; the instinctive protectiveness exhibited by the elder, and the long-suffering annoyance felt by the younger. It made her want to smile and rage at the beauty and injustice of it.

“I am Evin.” The younger one twisted his hand over his heart in a gesture of polite greeting, supplemented by a small bow and a dangerous wink. “And this...oaf...is my brother, Br—”

“We are grateful for your assistance,” the other said coldly, those blue eyes just as icy as his voice. He still held his naked blade in a defensive posture. “Good day.”

Ryn narrowed her eyes, assessing. The younger—Evin—was rolling his eyes and attempting to cover for his brother’s rudeness, but she cared nothing for his flirtatious smile or his fine words. She locked gazes with the elder, warrior to warrior, and bowed her head, once, before turning to leave again.

Evin called out once more—though he kept his hands to himself this time—and she turned round, ready to tell him off. “Please,” he said, motioning for her to stay put. “Are you familiar with these lands?”

Ryn paused, tilted her head to one side. “You are lost?”

“No,” the elder replied, tossing a glare at his brother. Ryn gave them half a shrug, but Evin stepped forward again.

“No, not lost. But we need a guide to get where we’re going.”

Ryn squinted suspiciously. “And where exactly are you going?”

“Retwood.” The blond one eyed his brother, but Evin paid him no mind. “We need to get to Retwood, but we must avoid the road.”

One eyebrow arched of its own accord, and Ryn fixed the elder with a glare—he seemed slightly less flighty and slightly more dependable than his brother, and she wanted the truth. “And why, pray tell, would you need to avoid the road? Are you running from someone?”

The elder brother cocked an eyebrow of his own as he answered her. “We are neither bandits nor fugitives, if that is what you are asking.”

“We come from noble stock!” Evin added with a laugh, as though nobles couldn’t possibly break laws. “We simply wish to avoid drawing attention to ourselves, is all.”

Ryn, against her better judgment, found herself considering. They were headed the same direction as she—Retwood was a little further north than her original route would take her, but it wasn’t far from Easton—and despite her suspicions, their nobility was fairly obvious. It was in everything from their well-made clothing to their regal bearing to how they spoke. She did not doubt their blood.

Also, the elder was as suspicious as she, which made her believe they may not mean her harm. Predators looking to ensnare a woman were more likely to act like this young Evin than his older brother—more interested in drawing her in than pushing her away. Besides, she and Kota were a nigh unbeatable team; even if they did mean her harm, they’d find her a difficult target.

“What’s in it for me?” she finally asked. This time the blond answered.

“Gold,” he said.

But Ryn shook her head. “I can acquire all the gold I need on my own. Don’t have much use for anything extra on the road.”

He looked a little confused at that. “You cannot store it at home, or in a vault?”

“The open road is my home, and I certainly have no need of a vault.”

The brothers stared at her like she had grown an extra head, which made Ryn’s lips quirk into a short, reluctant smile. After a moment, Evin asked, “Then what may we offer to secure your services?”

She shrugged. “There are many things worth more than gold out here. Information, assistance, weapons. I happen to have a vested interest in the first.”

Both men paused. “What kind of information?” the blond asked suspiciously, after a moment.

“None you two would be able to give personally,” Ryn snorted. “All I ask in return is use of the royal archives.”

Evin glanced at his brother, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. The older man’s face hardened, almost imperceptibly. “Not possible.”

“Then I imagine you’ll find your way to Retwood on your own.” And she turned to leave. She made it five steps before...

“Done,” the eldest called. “You will see us safely to Retwood in exchange for one day in the royal archives. Supervised.”

Ryn paused, then turned and walked back to the young men. Evin still looked a little shocked at her nerve, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She gave both a respectable bow and a single nod. “I accept. This is Kota,” she motioned to the massive red lynx, “And you may call me Ryn.”

“I am Brandt,” the eldest answered, coolly.

Brandt would have preferred to hire someone more thoroughly vetted, but he was willing to admit the lass was smart and tough; if she knew the way to Retwood without taking roads, well, all the better.

He’d been considering a guide since they started this venture. Uncle had recommended they find one after they left the city, for no one was to know of their journey. Once they left Sannfold, he’d begun looking, but very few traveled from the King’s City to Retwood—it was, after all, leagues from most anything—and those who did stuck to the road; for there was no safer way to travel the wild lands just south of Val’gren territory.

This lass though; there was exactly one reason Brandt hadn’t pulled Evin away by his ear and reproved him soundly for inviting along some random archer who happened to kill a mountain troll for the sake of her pet cat. They were not so isolated in their home that they had not heard tell of Leyna, the Guardian of Roads; the lone figure in black who kept company with a large cat—the legends often varied on what kind, but apparently it was a lynx—and protected folks on the roads from bandits, Val’gren, nagrat, and other sundry threats. A lone woman with a lynx was rare enough that he was all but certain Ryn was this Leyna, in which case they were in more than capable hands.

And he knew it had crossed Evin’s mind, too. His brother, while impetuous and sometimes brash, was not stupid. He wouldn’t have imperiled the success of their mission for the sake of someone he didn’t trust.

So that was that, and now they had a guide. And a lynx. Which had to be worth something when it came to protection, as well. Not that he and Evin weren’t perfectly capable of looking out for themselves, but on a trek through the wilds, one couldn’t have too much assistance.

Although, he realized as he watched Evin try to talk to the girl—she answered him only as much as was absolutely necessary, with one word whenever possible, her remarks getting shorter and more irritated the longer he tried—it should be amusing as all seven hells to watch his younger brother try to charm this one. Evin was something of a hit with the ladies at home, with that flattering tongue and those big golden eyes and that clear complexion, so unlike the rest of his people, who tended to be freckled, with red or brown hues of hair, and generally standing less on flattery and more on feats of strength to garner the attentions of women. But this one wasn’t having any of Evin’s charm; she seemed entirely impervious to his appeal, and the younger man was clearly confused at it.

Brandt took the opportunity to study the lass from where he walked behind her. She was almost of a height with his brother, which made her tall for a woman, and clad all in black, as the legends said. Her skin was darker than any Laendorian he’d ever seen—though there was no true guarantee she was Laendorian at all—but she was as freckled as anyone back in Sannfold. The marks dusted her cheeks, marred by a thick scar over her lips, across her cheek all the way to her right ear. He wondered where a mark like that could have come from; an animal attack, perhaps. It did seem deep like a laceration from a claw might have been. Startling green eyes focused on his brother, slightly narrowed in irritation, and she murmured a response to one of his questions that managed to somehow put the lad back on his heels. Evin’s steps faltered slightly, though she kept moving, and thus he fell behind, found himself walking beside his brother instead.

“What was that all about?” Brandt asked, curious what could put that particular expression on happy-go-lucky Evin’s face. His brother looked stricken.

“I asked of her people,” Evin answered quietly, “as she looks nothing like ours. I think the question offended her.”

“What did she say?”

“That she is of Kota’s people, for they are the only ones who’ve never mocked and derided her.” Evin looked to Brandt, all little brother for the moment, pleading with his older sibling for answers. As was often the case as they grew older, Brandt held none that would satisfy. So he let Evin see his visible wince, to let the younger man know he understood his response—the idea of being without a home, a family, a heritage, was one that was not to be considered—and gave him a simple shrug.

“Perhaps she will someday find a place,” he answered, doubting the words even as they left his mouth. There was clearly something wrong with the lass, despite the legend surrounding her; no respectable lady would be living as a nomadic hermit. She doubtless had some flaw in her personality that prevented her finding a proper standing in society.

Regardless, it was a thing he would soon discover, he was sure. Traveling with someone was one of the best ways to know them at their truest.