by Azalea Moone
After a few moments, the troop gave their report. “The area’s clear, sir.”
Fithel huffed and shoved his sword back in its sheath. He knelt down in front of Sawyer with his hand out. “Come back to camp. We’ll post watches around the area, and if that bastard returns, we will arrest him next time.”
A strange restlessness ran through Kohaku. It’d been a while since Fithel showed any courtesy or any concern over anyone. And for it to be Sawyer he’d offered to help; in a second of reconsideration, Kohaku straightened his spine and sucked in his bottom lip. No, he needs my help. “Sawyer, it will be okay.”
Sawyer slumped his shoulders and lowered his head. “Suppose you are right.” He stood on shaky legs and crashed into Kohaku’s arms. “Thank you.”
“Very well,” Fithel sighed as he led them back to the campsite. “I’ll have four men guarding the posts tonight. Should keep us safe until the morning.” He stopped at his tent. “I suggest you get some rest. Don’t let this affect our performance tomorrow.”
Chapter Eight
Uncontrollable Itch
Dewdrops hung to red and yellow tree leaves, making them shine in the early dawn’s light. A cool drop rained down, and Kohaku brushed it away from his nose. He focused in on the spans of green fields as he trotted his horse alongside the troop. Slowly, they rode for at least half the morning; his stomach grumbling, he’d snacked on the remaining berries he’d picked in Anscien already.
Sawyer rode beside him, still not at peace from the chaotic night. He tossed and turned restlessly the rest of the time, complained of pain in his shoulder—the malediction attacking almost every hour, and eventually remained awake staring into the campfire. Damn it, if only Kohaku had seen the man in the white mask he spoke of, maybe he’d know what had happened—if it were a spell or some other kind of magic provoking the curse.
Sawyer’s eyes were dark underneath now. Skin pale around his lips and cheeks. He hunched over his horse—Kohaku wondered if he understood where they were going at all.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.
Sawyer nodded without meeting his worried gaze.
Horse hoofs beat on the ground on the opposite side of Kohaku. “Ready for anything, huh?” Fithel hollered out.
“Like usual,” Sawyer answered, still without movement.
Fithel cracked a smile and huffed, “Keep us informed if you need anything, yes?”
Sawyer peered out of the corner of his eye for a second.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be okay. Just a bit stubborn.” Fithel clicked his tongue before riding toward the front of the troop.
“Stubborn?” Sawyer muttered, lifting his head. “He’s calling me stubborn?”
“And what’s that about?”
“It’s...” he paused a moment, caught the concern in Kohaku’s expression, then turned his attention back to the road. “...nothing really. Old squabbling between us, I guess.”
Like a bickering old couple? Kohaku laughed. He could imagine those two in their previous relationship, fighting like cats and dogs. And then his chuckling ceased when he thought of it—he’d never once asked about their relationship before. Could it be this strife was coming back now they’re traveling together again? How was their relationship, deep or infrequent?
Though his curiosity hounded him, he wouldn’t want to ask. Wouldn’t want to create any more trouble.
“What’s wrong?” Sawyer asked suddenly.
Kohaku met his gaze. “N-nothing...” He turned back toward the road, cheeks flushed, and bit his lip.
Ahead of them, the white Anscien flag fluttered in the breeze from Fithel’s horse. They needed no more fuss today, as they were to investigate the next village for any signs of suir. If anything, he needed to get his thoughts in order for now.
Sawyer’s head drooped; his fingers still gripped the reins.
The trees around the pathway grew far-between, allowing Kohaku to take in the sights of the beautiful green fields around them again. In all of his wildest thoughts, he’d never imaged the countryside to be so rich. He’d always wanted to visit Qeoca, to see where his mother was raised in Jinchun, and even step out into the waters of the Ningyo Bay. Yet, somehow, he was sure he wouldn’t get the chance. Not on this trip. Not while traveling with an army.
Suddenly, the group of riders ahead of him raised their hands high in the air. Kohaku reared his horse to a stop just as Sawyer had. Up ahead, Fithel spoke with another rider—one of their men?—then turned to speak to his lieutenant.
“What’s going on?” Kohaku whispered to Sawyer.
“Not sure. Probably some intel,” he answered back, never taking his attention away from the front of the road where Fithel was.
“Think it’s about the suir—”
Just as Kohaku asked, the troop marched again, this time faster. Boots and hooves trampled against the gravel road, toward the line of cabins and huts he could only assume was the next village.
Passersby watched them in awe; parents dragged their children away from the road lest they get too close. They were foreigners to these people, after all. A shiver ran through Kohaku at the revelation. How he wished to tell them of his upbringing: a Qeocian mother fell in love with a man from Anscien...
At last, Fithel had led them to a small cottage at the edge of the village. The onlookers pulled away, leaving the area quiet and suspicious. It’d seemed no one lived at the cottage, the windows were dark and there was no smoke billowing from its fireplace or lights flickering inside.
Fithel spoke again to his lieutenant before approaching Sawyer and Kohaku.
“We have reports of this hut being used for storage.” He flexed his fingers against his sword at his side. “Us three will enter—”
“Why us?” Kohaku protested, but Sawyer laid a hand on his arm.
“You’re good as anyone.” Fithel’s steady expression never wavered. “My men will keep a watch outside. Take heed to any danger and hold a cloth against your noses. Can’t have you getting ill from this concoction.”
Kohaku sighed a breath and tied a handkerchief around his neck. Being on patrol had meant he’d be required to take part in missions. Why hadn’t he expected it? Sawyer had secured a filthy, ratted piece of cloth around his own mouth and nose.
They rode out past the rest of the procession, Fithel stopping briefly to speak to them of the plan. “Wait for our signal.” Then, he hopped off his horse and led them on foot to the door. “On my mark, we storm the place.”
Kohaku ran his fingers across the hilt of his military-issued sword hanging at his side. Luckily, frequent training at the castle had prepared him for situations like these, yet he still wasn’t sure he was ready for a full-on battle without Malrith’s protection. He kept that in mind always: the talisman hanging at his neck. His dragon was ready at a moment’s call.
Next to him, Sawyer leaned against the outer wall, gripping his sword tight, its blade glistening in the early afternoon sun. His breathing heavy. Eyes tired.
Hope he’ll be okay...
Fithel kicked at the door, the splinting of molded wood an eerie sound against the otherwise quiet air. Another kick and the door loosened even more from its hinges. With the third kick, the door slammed on the floor, a cloud of dust created in its wake. He was the first one inside, sword in hand, ready to take down anyone who stood in his way.
Once the dust settled, Kohaku peeked around the corner into the unlit space. He focused in on Fithel and on the rest of the room. All was empty, besides for a table and chairs against the wall. A simple yellow and orange rug spanned across the floor to disappear underneath the fallen door. They boarded most of the windows, as if the residents disliked the daylight, or were trying to hide something.
Heavy footsteps pounded on the fallen door. Sawyer had darted inside, close on Fithel’s heels. Kohaku followed Sawyer, deciding to stay near to the door while they investigated.
Fithel had relaxed his readied stance and was now s
earching around the table. Sawyer stomped against the rug as he ran inside. More dust and dirt flew into the air. He continued to plod around the wooden floor until he came to an area in the back of the room that had sounded different from the rest.
Sawyer and Fithel both nodded—a trap door?
A smile came to Fithel’s lips as he stood next to Sawyer; they both examined the floor, stepping around the strange area. Fithel tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw while Sawyer was already ready to swing.
Something clanked from underneath the panels. Before Kohaku could move into action, the inner wall tumbled down and two raiders dashed out into the room, wildly swinging their daggers.
Kohaku drew his sword and stepped away from the wall. Sawyer and Fithel already clashed swords against the pillagers. The floor rumbled beneath their feet, then again. The strange area collapsed as a third raider jumped out and stood face-to-face with Kohaku.
His smile wicked. He ran his tongue across his lips. The man’s pupil’s were dialated with bloodlust. Kohaku’s heart hammered, and he swung haphazardly at the stranger, trying to ward him away.
“Careful. They’re drugged on suir,” Fithel warned as the man swung his dagger and tagged Kohaku’s tunic, ripping away at his sleeve.
The trampling of boots, and the tearing away of the walls, left a giant cloud of dust lingering in the air. Kohaku choked as the dirt escaped into the tiny holes of his handkerchief, yet the smell differed from dust or dirt. A burnt earthen scent...
Kohaku clasped onto the talisman and called for his dragon’s assistance. The red glow arching from the pendant was almost immediate. His armor built around his body, one piece at a time. First, around his legs, his knees, his crotch, and up to his chest, around his arms, until finally, his helmet formed. It could help block whatever was circling in the surrounding air.
“Good thinking,” Fithel had called.
He parried his sword against the raider, catching him as he stood in awe at Kohaku’s new appearance. The man fell to his knees, blood dripping from his shoulder.
Sawyer groaned, suddenly having difficulty against the man he was fighting. No, Kohaku knew that particular grunt of pain. Blue wisps of magic ran through Sawyer’s veins.
“Sawyer?” Kohaku called to him.
“I’m fine,” he hollered back, dodging the man’s attack.
The clang of metal against metal rang out; Fithel had blocked the raider’s attack on Sawyer.
“Don’t lose focus,” Fithel said.
Kohaku lowered his sights to the man in front of him, now gazing back at him, his head jerking and a bloodthirsty grin on his lips. He huffed a breath—would this drug truly affect them so much?—and leveled the tip of his sword against the man’s neck.
“Go ahead. Cut me down. You won’t stop it,” the man muttered. “It’ll eat away at your family, your heart, your soul—”
“Shut it,” Kohaku said loudly.
The man raised his head higher. “Scared to draw blood?”
Kohaku swallowed down his trepidations. His arm trembled... In one fell swoop, the man’s head rolled back and plopped to the ground. Eyes still wide as coins, lips still drawn into a smile.
Sawyer grunted in pain again; this time he was on his knees, cupping his face in his hands. Another raider lay on the floor, dead next to Fithel’s feet. The last raider, a short man with a full graying beard, high-tailed it passed Kohaku and out the open door.
“There!” The lieutenant’s voice raged from outside. “Catch him!”
Though the raiders were dead, the strange scent of earth and dust made Kohaku wary to withdraw his dragon’s power. He sheathed his sword and knelt down beside Sawyer. “How are you fairing?”
Sawyer batted him away. “Go away!”
Taken back by the sudden outburst, Kohaku stayed by him, unsure of what to do.
Fithel clasped the cloth around his nose and jumped down into the hidden area under the floor. Moments passed. “Of course.”
“What did you find?”
“Get him out of here, now!” Fithel yelled back.
Kohaku jerked. “What is it?”
“Do as I command, summoner!”
A rude way to address him. He grabbed onto Sawyer’s arm, pulling him up to his feet. Sawyer attempted to push him away again, and Kohaku caught the glowing cobalt blue of his iris’, brighter than they’d ever been before. Veins in his hands were swollen blue, running up his arms and hidden under his armor.
“Let me be, damn it.” Sawyer yanked away just as they stepped out the door. “I-I’m...” Tears streaked down his cheeks. He fell to his knees and covered his face once more. “I-it’s not right.”
“Sawy—”
“Is everything all right?” the lieutenant asked beside him. Chains clanking around his belt—he’d cuffed the last raider. “Where’s Fithel?”
“He’s inside. Investigat—”
A loud plop of something hit the ground near his feet. Fithel stood at the doorway, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Suir. They were smoking it.” He pulled the cloth from his face. “Air was clouded with the damn stuff.”
“That’s what it was?” Kohaku asked. “The burnt smell wasn’t dust.”
Fithel shook his head.
“I knew it.” Sawyer coughed. “It’s why... I...”
“Kohaku, accompany him to get a drink.” Fithel turned to face the raider chained to the lieutenant’s side. The man quivered. “And you, tell me all you know about this and I’ll consider sparing your life.”
He wanted to watch, but he agreed and helped Sawyer toward their horses and their supplies. So had the suir affected Sawyer’s blight? Kohaku sucked in his bottom lip. If it were possible, why hadn’t Sawyer complained of it the day he investigated the port?
Sawyer gulped down on his canteen; his heavy breath soon relaxing. The blue under his skin wavering. Still, he remained quiet.
Chapter Nine
Forward Truths
The day passed slowly into evening. He couldn’t remember much of what happened after the walls had crashed down and those men attacked them. The odor in the air had been thick, heavy with the familiar harsh scent he’d witnessed at the port, though much stronger.
No one but he had seemed to be affected by it: Malrith’s power had protected Kohaku from the drug’s effects, and Fithel... How could Fithel have overcome the influence of the suir in the air?
Sawyer leaned against a wooden gate overlooking the vast space of green field. The orange hue of the evening sky producing a strange glitter against the bean fields in the distance. He’d struggled for breath the rest of the afternoon. His body burned on the inside; every muscle seemed to twitch and ache. Gooseflesh pricked his skin. He’d hope to calm down after so long, but the curse remained, hiding now in this seemingly peaceful moment.
He sucked in the cool outside air, choking on the sensation of his lungs filling, and coughed it out.
“Still unwell?” Kohaku asked, gently leaning beside him against the fence.
Sawyer lowered his head. “Please leave me.”
“Why?”
“I-I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat. “It could come back at a second’s notice.”
“And if it does.” Kohaku wrapped his arm around Sawyer’s neck. “We’ll deal with it like we always have.”
A quiver ran down his arms. The burning spiked. He shrugged Kohaku away and stepped back from the fence. “Please... don’t.”
“Sawyer.” Fithel wandered out from behind the patch of bushes surrounding them. Their camp only a few feet away. “How are you feeling?”
“I-it’s still... there.” Sawyer shook his head. As he pondered the reasons he couldn’t ward away the strange tingle running through his veins. “Like the suir... poisoned me. Somehow.”
“It is a powerful drug, made to influence those of weak mind.” Fithel furrowed his brow. “Could it be the curse making it more so for you?”
“I-I don’t know.
”
“Should you lie down?” Kohaku reached for his hand, but he swatted him away.
“I’ll be okay. Please go back to camp.” His vision blurred. The fiery prick of the gooseflesh across his skin worsened. “Please!”
“No.” Kohaku grabbed his hand. “I’ll stay and fight with you.”
Sawyer’s muscles twitched. His vision blurred. Nausea took over. If only... “I can’t stop it...” he screeched.
A sword hissed against its scabbard. Sawyer’s wide eyes glowed. The veins in his face and neck were the familiar blue tone carried by the spell. A bloodthirsty grin protruded from his lips.
The clank of metal against metal permeated the air. Before he knew it, Kohaku found himself on the hard ground, leaves crunching underneath him.
The steel of Sawyer’s blade glistened in the evening light. So had Fithel’s.
“You dare attack like this?” Fithel hissed. “Fight me, then.”
“No!” Kohaku struggled to stand up. “He’s—”
“Stay back, summoner.” Fithel kept his sights on Sawyer. “I’ll snap him out of it this time, bloody fight or not.”
Fithel had tried to help before at the castle when Sawyer’s curse took hold. That had turned into a match of wits full of screams and tears, but this time it was different. In Sawyer’s glowing blue eyes, the killing intent was more extreme than ever.
Sawyer pulled back, then swiped across Fithel’s guard, causing the loud clang of steel to echo through the air again. He huffed a wicked laugh.
“What’s so amusing?” Fithel asked with a tip of his head. “It’s been ages since we’ve sparred. Aren’t you having fun?”
Sawyer sneered. The smile wavered. He pressed against Fithel’s hold, yet the elf stood firm.
“Can you not speak when the curse is in your blood?”
Kohaku sought solace near the fence, keeping Malrith’s talisman between his fingers lest he was attacked and needed to call upon his dragon. “He never does,” he murmured. “Speak.”