by Erik A Otto
All that mattered was distancing themselves from the army camp. Pursuers would come soon, so they wisely wasted little time with introductions. The Thelonian brothers took the lead, which made sense for the time being. Although at some point Zahir might have to intervene or kill his way out if he wasn’t seeing eye-to-eye with their benefactors.
Of the brothers, the imbecile led the way, the older brother explaining to the rest that he had some gift with maps. In Jawhar, most parents would have put this half-wit out of his misery early. Here he not only had lived a full life but was given the role of leading the group. Some may speak with sharp tongues about the depravity of Kalianca, but Thelonia sometimes seemed just as bizarre a place.
Despite sharing a common goal with these people, Zahir wasn’t fond of them. Of the three brothers, one was a crazed half-wit, one was careless, and another seemed to have to coddle them like they were his children. The ranting Truthseeker priest and his naïve girlfriend were an uncommon pair to say the least. The fact that this girl and her equally troubling Fringe companion would join them—even though they weren’t under any form of arrest—was suspicious. Maybe they thought the group would kill them if they didn’t tag along? It was plausible, but he didn’t like it.
The more Zahir surveyed the group, the more he identified this Fringe man called the Purveyor as the most concerning. In Kalianca, it was those who were quiet and unattainable you had to watch most carefully. Besides, he was a Fringe heathen.
Altogether, the group made Hella look like one of Usaim’s annointed saints—relatively speaking. During the ride, Zahir stuck by her not only in support of his mission, but also to distance himself from the others.
When they had ridden hard for an hour, the princess split ranks with him and rode up to the brothers, inquiring as to their objective. Zahir followed close behind, watching her back.
“What’s the plan?” Hella asked. “If we keep this up, we will surely be caught.”
The brother named Baldric spoke for them. “We will ride south, skirt Thelos and stay in the woods until we’re past Marsaya. Then we’ll find a place to hide out and reevaluate.”
“No,” Hella said.
Baldric looked miffed. “Pardon me? Listen, miss, I’m not sure who—”
“You can call me princess. I’m a princess of Pomeria. I thank you and your brothers for granting our freedom, but there are too many of us, and our tracks can’t be hidden. There will be a whole army after us, so we will surely be caught if we continue on like this.”
Baldric looked skeptical. “Well, then, what you would you suggest? This—”
“Thank you for asking, Baldric. I would suggest you and your brothers split off with all the horses, run them into the ground, and then either find a place to hide or go off on foot. The rest of us will head in another direction, maybe to a port. You can head to southern Thelonia if you wish, or you could regroup with us in Belidor, where your support would be welcome once we have cleared my name.”
The heathen Purveyor had snuck up behind them. He said, “I agree with the princess. Nala, Zahir, the princess, Sebastian, and I can get by as Fringe. I know people along the way that can shelter us, and there’s a Fringe encampment north of Thelos that will harbor us. From there we can find a way south to Belidor, either by ship or some other means.”
Baldric looked skeptical. He said, “I know you want to get home, but don’t you think it will be hard to stay undetected going all that way? If we take you to southern Thelonia, we know many places we can hide.”
The princess said, “If that was our goal, sir, I would say yes, but it isn’t. Our goal is to reach Belidor and rally the nobles—or at least those that aren’t corrupt—and prepare for the Cenaran attack on the Keep.”
Baldric shot her a curious glance. “Whoa. You believe all of that? I was just starting to come around to the idea that the Cenarans are an enemy, but that’s a bit of a jump. And rallying the nobles? Do you think anyone will listen to a pack of roving infidels?”
“As for the threat on the Old Keep, I’ve seen signs of it in Jawhar, Sebastian has heard of it through his imprisonment, and you have seen signs of it in Thelonia. It’s true, and it’s coming, and soon. As Sebastian said, they intend to attack on the first day of the Internecion, which is in less than sixty days. We don’t have time to skulk around in hiding while they move their plans forward. And as for rallying the nobles, I admit it won’t be easy, but is there a viable alternative?”
Baldric looked confused and out of his depth. He didn’t appear to be used to this kind of verbal onslaught. Zahir felt a modicum of compassion for him. He remembered how the princess would wrap words around him on their journey together.
Hella answered her own question for him.“I will tell you the alternative. The alternative is genocide, with all Belidorans killed except those children who are fortunate enough to be enslaved and mutilated.”
Baldric looked like he was about to argue, but then something gave in him. This Baldric looked a different man than the proud one who first stepped into the prison tent. He shrugged as if he was letting go of something he’d held on to for a long time. Then, amazingly, he deferred to the half-wit for his perspective. “Well Darian, you got us into this. What do you think?”
Darian simply nodded, confirming Hella’s view of the situation.
Hella didn’t miss a beat. “We will meet in ten days in the town of Maple, southeast of Esienne. Wear red, or we will think it’s a trap.”
Baldric nodded slowly, begrudgingly.
Not more than a mile later, the Thelonian brothers split off from the group at a shallow brook, where the footprints would be harder to track. Then the remaining five of them made off for Thelos on foot, this time with the quiet Purveyor navigating. The heathen also claimed he had a way with maps, just like the imbecile.
Zahir whispered to Hella just before they started their march, “Don’t trust this Fringe man, Hella.”
She whispered back pleadingly, “Zahir, please don’t kill him. We don’t know anything about him, okay? This girl Nala seems to trust him, so why can’t we?”
Zahir sneered at her and didn’t respond. Hella was better than the rest of these heathens, but she was still way too soft.
The Purveyor led them to the Fringe camp, and they were granted entry, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted. He could be planning something. The Fringe could kill them at any moment.
They were taken to one of the bigger tents where a well-proportioned woman resided. She introduced herself as Nevena, but confusingly, the Purveyor called her Purveyor as well.
Nevena rolled her eyes as the Purveyor lined up Sebastian, Hella, Nala, and Zahir in front of her. “Oh, Paulo, you do have a knack for getting into trouble, don’t you. I see you have your little girly still, and I know this one is the Truthseeker, and who is this? The princess of Pomeria? And I’m sure this other one is also Marked?” She wagged her finger at Zahir. “Don’t we have enough to worry about?”
Paulo said, “Purveyor, we need to help these people. They know about the Cenaran conspiracy. They have information that can reveal the plot to the Belidoran authorities, and the princess might be able to influence nobles to mobilize against them.”
“Or what, Paulo? Who is to say that the Cenarans won’t exterminate us if we help the Belidorans? This is why the Fringe have survived, because we don’t pick sides, and you know it. As soon as we do, we become a pawn on someone’s game board to be knocked over.”
“So we haven’t picked sides by providing the Cenarans with more silverstone than any other army?”
A dark cloud came over the woman’s face. “Out with them,” she said sternly.
“They know all there is—”
Nevena interrupted, “If you want to speak to me, get them out of my tent!”
The Purveyor took them to another tent and asked two of the other Fringe to watch over them.
The words exchanged between Nevena and the Purveyor reverberated in Zahi
r’s mind. They were as close to an admission of guilt as one could get: the Fringe had given the Cenarans silverstone to back their war, more than other nations. Maybe it was just economics, but it spoke volumes about where their allegiance would lie.
Zahir’s hand flexed on the pommel of his Thelonian short sword.
A warm hand touched his own, so he jumped back and turned around, ready for a fight.
It was the princess. She put her hands out in a calming gesture. “Zahir, I heard the same words you did. It says something about the Fringe, something concerning, but ask yourself why we witnessed those words. Why would the one that’s with us say these things unless he was trying to help?”
She did have a point, but the one they were with might not have any authority. “I don’t trust them.”
“I know, Zahir, but please, stay your hand. If your mission is to help me, be cautious, but don’t do anything unless you know for sure. We won’t win this war without allies, and we have to start somewhere.”
Always so crafty with her words she was. Zahir nodded to her, but he didn’t like it.
When the Purveyor came back to them, his face was flushed and his eyebrows furrowed. “That woman, she galls me so. I shouldn’t have…approached her this way. I never approach her in the right way.” He sighed, exasperated. “In any case, you must leave. You can stay the night, but tomorrow you must move south. You can at least get a good meal and supplies here. The camp is breaking up over the next few days anyway.”
“Where is the camp going?” Hella asked.
“Away from here,” the Purveyor answered.
“Spoons. It’s like Niknak but east of Thelonia,” Nala said.
The Purveyor frowned at her in frustration. He clearly didn’t want them to know this.
“Why won’t you help us?” Hella asked pointedly.
The Purveyor looked exasperated. “Listen, I did all I could, but my authority is in Niknak, not here. And you must know it’s a principle of the Fringe to not intervene. It could lead to our extinction.”
“Yet you help the Cenarans.” Zahir spat at the ground in front of the Purveyor.
The Purveyor looked mildly peeved, but nevertheless responded calmly, “Yes, we sell silverstone and other goods. This is our livelihood. People can use it for what they want. But we never intervene in war.” He said it clearly, and yet the Purveyor didn’t look entirely convinced of his own words. His face darkened, and he continued, “We should leave it at that. It could have been much worse. In fact, you might consider yourselves lucky to be leaving at all.”
Zahir was about to speak, but Hella put her hand on his arm. He did agree to do what the princess wanted, so he demurred.
The Purveyor spoke again. “We will bring food to the tent here. Eat well, for the journey will be long tomorrow. Sebastian, there’s something I wish to show you, please come with me.”
This was suspicious. Could he be culling the herd? If so, Sebastian was certainly one of the weak ones. Zahir would watch and wait.
Zahir inspected the food as it came. The meal was rich; fat fish, fresh bread, and spiced sweet potatoes. When Nala took several bites and didn’t keel over, Zahir ate a healthy portion.
Eventually, when they were finishing the last morsels, Sebastian and the Purveyor came back. Sebastian was carrying a rather bulky pack on his back. He also glanced occasionally toward the Purveyor with a somber look. Something had transpired between the two men.
“What’s in the bag?” Nala asked. “More food? I couldn’t eat another bite, really.”
“No, something for my journey,” Sebastian said.
“Oh, good,” Nala said.
“Nala, please, I wish to speak with you,” Sebastian said.
“Okay,” Nala said. She spritely rose to her feet and took his arm. They moved to the back of the tent, out of earshot.
Zahir couldn’t make out what the two were saying, but the priest looked despondent. His head was down, and Zahir thought he saw a tear brim over one eye, until it was quickly wiped away. Nala fixated her gaze on Sebastian as he orated, and when he was finished, she embraced him fervently.
How was it that the Belidorans had defeated the Jawhari in war so many times? These people were so weak and sentimental.
They were offered separate accommodations, but Zahir insisted they all sleep together. With the Purveyor’s help, the Fringe agreed to put them together in a larger tent. Then, just before they slept, the Truthseeker left to sleep alone in another tent, citing some “duty to Matteo.”
His funeral, Zahir mused.
The next day brought several surprises.
The Purveyor came into the tent at first light and woke them. “We must leave immediately. No breakfast.”
“You’re coming with us?” Hella asked.
“Yes. I leave for Niknak, so we head in the same direction. It would be good if we aren’t seen leaving, especially by Nevena.”
This was the first surprise, and Zahir wasn’t comforted by the new development. Better to leave this suspicious Fringe vagabond in their wake. On the other hand, at least they would be far from the camp, so if Zahir needed to kill him, he could get away with it more easily.
“Where is Sebastian?” Nala asked as they went about packing up their belongings.
The Purveyor was looking carefully at a map at the time. He stopped what he was doing and knelt down on one knee, focusing his attention solely on Nala. “He’s already left, Nala. He wanted to go out alone, and he wanted you to know he was sorry for leaving.”
He disengaged from Nala and looked to the rest of them. “Actually, he wanted all of you to know this. He wants very much to help, and he said he would pray for you all, but he hasn’t finished his quest. The truth remains his goal, and he hasn’t found it yet. He told me questions remain about whether the Book of Canons was altered. So…he travels north, to seek the oldest Book of Canons at the top of the Snail Mountains.”
Zahir contemplated this turn of events. It meant the priest was as good as dead, if the Purveyor hadn’t killed him already. But why would the Purveyor kill him? He didn’t need to if he was willing to do it himself by climbing the Snail Mountains, or by walking into the snares of the Belidoran monks. The more he thought about it, it was a shrewd move by the Purveyor to send him back on his foolish quest. They didn’t need another crazed man with them, and this way the monks who sought the Truthseeker could be sent far afield from the princess.
Nala, however, didn’t see it that way. She crumpled into a ball and started crying. “That’s why he said those things last night. I should’ve known.”
The Purveyor put his hand on her mouth. “Shush now, Nala. We can’t wake up the camp. Let’s discuss this after we leave.”
Nala stopped her whining but still let out the occasional muffled sob as she finished packing.
They made it out of camp in good time and headed south, using less trodden roads. Only a few sentries witnessed their exit. They nodded in deference to the Purveyor, oblivious.
The Purveyor announced, “I’ve heard from the Fringe scouts this morning that a search party is pursuing the path of the eight horses. They are already well to the south and east of us. It looks like your ploy worked, Princess. Still, we should keep to lesser used roads.”
Hella nodded regally to the compliment.
In the end, however, this announcement by the Purveyor only gave them false comfort.
It was later in the day, well into the afternoon journey, that another surprise came. At first Zahir thought it was the Purveyor’s plan, but later he reflected that it was probably just incompetence.
They rode along a skinny path in the woods. The sparse Thelonian forests made riding easy, and it allowed them to move fast, perhaps too fast. This path abruptly opened up into a clearing and fire pit. Sitting around that fire pit were twenty or so uniformed men; Belidoran infantry.
Fringe horses were mostly for simple drudgery, not for warfare or racing. Some were barely tame, and some were ha
lf-lame. The one that Zahir rode was a little bit of both. When the soldiers raced out in front of him, Zahir’s horse tried to stop, then reared so high that he was ejected. He landed flat on his back, and the wind came out of him. His wounded leg surged with pain with the impact. Then, as he struggled for breath, two of the militia had time to get over to him and place blades at his throat.
Zahir heard men moving around him, and more unsheathing of swords, but no clashing of blades and no sounds of pursuit. After recovering enough air to his lungs, he saw that all four of them had been caught without spilling a drop of Belidoran blood. Zahir’s wrists were bound behind his back, and he was tied to a rotting tree trunk. Next to him were Hella, the Purveyor, and Nala, similarly tied.
Hella worked her words with the soldiers. “I demand to speak to your superior officer. It’s a matter of grave importance for Belidoran security.”
An older-looking soldier with short, peppered hair answered, “We’ve sent a man for the colonel. He’s coming for you.”
“You should know these two Fringe men were escorting us southward,” Hella continued. “They have no affiliation with us, and it would be best if they don’t hear us parlay. I suggest you release them—unless you want to have trouble with the local Fringe.”
Which Fringe men was she speaking of? Then Zahir realized that he was still dressed as a Fringe, wearing the same clothing they’d worn on their voyage across the Great Ocean in the Fringe ship. She was asking for his release along with the Purveyor.
The Purveyor extended his arm, showing his crest to the soldiers. The leader came and inspected it. “Purveyor, eh? Let’s see what the colonel says.”
It was such a shame to be apprehended by the Belidoran military so soon after their escape, and without killing any of them. They wouldn’t be treated lightly after having escaped the first time, if they were kept alive at all.