He grimaces, cheeks rosy from the drinks, then mutters a curse and takes my hand. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s get on with it.”
Grinning, I pull him over to the dancers, who make way for us the moment we arrive. The music continues unabated, drums beating a steady rhythm that makes me want to move my body.
Following the lead of the other dancers, I begin to sway, pulling Owyn close and placing his hands on my hips. His eyes go wide for a moment, but the music seems to affect him too, making him move in time with the beats and dance against me. Everything feels so hypnotic, the music, the press of bodies, the tingling sensation running through my veins, and for a time I lose myself, moving and turning with the rhythmic, pulsing sound.
Heat flushes through me, and I can feel my cheeks burning, but I ignore the sensation, feeling Owyn’s solid body pressed against mine. He moves, swaying like an oak tree in a wind storm, and I reach up without thinking, running my hands through his thick mess of hair.
More and more people join the dance, the feasting drawing to a close, and time seems to lose all meaning. We move in the heat of the moment, acting in such a way that would no doubt mortify us if uzqi were not involved, but neither of us seems to care. The only thing that matters is the here and now, the wild sense of intimacy that we now share.
Eventually the music comes to a stop and the dancing mass grows still, many people groaning complaints that the song is now over.
Breathless, I gaze up at Owyn, meeting his forest green eyes and holding his gaze for a long moment. Briefly, it seems like we are gazing deep into each other’s souls, and our faces inching closer together, heartbeats remaining quick and eager.
We kiss, lips locking intently as I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, feeling him hold me tight against him, tighter than he’s ever held me before. The passion takes a hold of us, threatening to overwhelm us, and by the time we pull away both of us are breathing heavily, ears ringing from the intensity of it all.
He smiles, a crooked, anticipatory smile, and I giggle involuntarily, reveling in being so close to him.
"Come with me," he says softly, taking hold of my hand and leading me away.
By now, many in the crowd have begun to head back to their tents, but a large number still remains. As we pass by the outer ring of fires, the music starts back up, to the wild cheers of everyone still there.
We make our way wordlessly through the maze of tents, the drumbeats seeming to urge us on. I feel light, giddy, and more than a little dizzy, and as we draw closer to our tent, I can feel my pulse start to quicken, going faster than it ever did when we were dancing.
Owyn pulls open the tent and we step inside, stumbling through the darkness and practically tripping over the blankets on the floor.
As the tent flap closes, near total blackness envelops us, the sound of our breathing the only indicator that we are both still together. Shyly, I reach my hand forward and touch his arm, and he reaches out with a caressing touch as well.
Then, like moths drawn to a flame, the two of us come together, our bodies pressing and our lips connecting fiercely.
We embrace, kissing passionately in the seclusion of the tent. My heart seems to pound in rhythm with the drums, his scent filling my lungs in the most intoxicating way. I can feel his hands gripping my back, and I rake my fingers through his hair, savoring every ounce of passion.
Within minutes we are on the floor, laying amid the blankets with our limbs tightly tangled.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, alarm bells start sounding but I ignore them, wanting to give in to myself the way I had while dancing. As things escalate, however, the alarm bells grow even louder, making them more difficult to ignore.
Owyn, on the other hand, seems to grow bolder, kissing me forcefully and then making his way down my neck, stubble scraping against my tender skin.
His hands, now wandering, reach for my sash and begin untying my robes. This causes the alarm bells to clang so loudly that I cannot possibly ignore them.
Before things can go too far, I place a hand on his chest and gently, but determinedly, push him off of me.
"What's wrong?" He asks, out of breath. "Is everything alright?"
I nod my head, even though we can barely see each other in the dark. "Yes," I reply, out of breath as well. "But... I think that we should stop."
"Stop?" He asks. I can practically hear the groan in his voice.
I nod again. "Owyn, I love you. I really do. And there’s no doubt in my mind that we’re meant for each other. But I think that there needs to be a commitment before we allow things to go any further."
He pauses for a moment, then asks, "What are you saying?"
I hesitate, trying to choose the right words. "There needs to be promises... vows made between us. Some sort of real commitment."
He sits up and scratches his head. "Do you mean, like...?"
"I don't know what I mean," I reply, exasperated. Then, I reach up and rest an affectionate hand on his cheek. "I don't want you for just one night, or even a few nights. I want you forever. I want to be sure that this isn't just some fling, or that we made a mistake from having too much to drink."
He seems to consider this, then deflates, letting out a long, drawn-out breath. "I understand," he says quietly. "I love you too, Zara." He trails off, and it is obvious that he is sorely disappointed.
"Thank you," I reply, even more softly.
An awkward few seconds pass, then Owyn pushes himself to his feet. "I'm going to go walk around for a bit. Clear my head. Is that alright?"
"Of course," I say, shifting so that he can get up.
He goes over to the tent flap, and cool air rushes over me as he steps outside.
I wait there for a long time, thoughts churning through my head, but he does not return. Probably a good thing, too, I think, settling down on the blankets. He'd risk me pouncing back on him if he came back here now. I doubt I could say 'no' a second time.
As I rest on the blankets, my heartbeat slows considerably and I find my eyelids growing heavy. The effects of the uzqi seem to be wearing off.
Within minutes I am fast asleep, dreaming of dancing to the rhythmic pounding of drums.
Chapter Nineteen
Owyn
I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache, the result of drinking far too much uzqi.
Rubbing my eyes, I sit up and see that Zara is still sleeping on the other side of the tent. She looks so peaceful, wrapped up in the coarse blankets, and I attempt to move quietly so that I do not disturb her.
Eleven Hells, I think to myself, grimacing. Was that alcohol we drank last night, or some sort of foul poison?
As I step outside, the heat of the morning sun begins to cook my skin, the brightness overwhelming my senses. Blinking against the light, I let the tent flap fall closed behind me, cursing under my breath as the intensity of my headache increases tenfold. When my eyes finally adjust, I begin making my way to the nearest watering tent.
Water, of course, is extremely hard to come by in the wastes, and has to be hauled from springs miles away in leather skins. These skins are stored in large, open tents all over the encampment, hanging like bulbous sacks from spindly wooden supports, and have to be refilled practically on a daily basis.
The lukewarm water doesn't taste very good, but it gets the job done.
My mouth feels as dry as the desert around me, my lips painfully chapped. I run my tongue across them, trying to work up a little moisture, but it does little to help, my tongue feeling like a dry slab of meat.
When I finally reach the watering tent, I feel like I am on the verge of collapsing. I stumble inside and grab the first water skin I can find, pulling off the stopper and bringing it up to my mouth. Despite tasting like dirty leather, it feels good on my parched tongue, wetting my throat and instantly cooling me from the inside out. I drink as much as I possibly can, filling my stomach to bursting before stopping. Letting out a sigh of relief, I lean against the
wooden support of the tent and close my eyes.
That hit the spot, I think, resisting the urge to pour some of the water over my head.
As I stand in the shade of the watering tent, memories from last night come rushing back to me. The fight with the quill demon, the feast, the dancing... and Zara's rejection in the tent.
I wince as that particular memory plays out in my mind. Bloody Hells, I think to myself, tossing the empty water skin to the side. That's going to make for an awkward reunion.
My headache, though still present, is considerably less intense than it was when I woke up. With my system now full of water, I feel like I am well enough to get around. Sitting around in a stuffy tent does not sound appealing to me right now, nor does facing Zara after the events of last night.
I make the decision to go on a walk along the outer hills. The fresh air will no doubt make me feel better, and it will be perfect for me to gather my thoughts.
Being alone, even in the heat of the day, will certainly help.
Pulling another water skin down and cinching it to my belt, I step out from the watering tent and being making my way to the edge of camp. Along the way I pass a bushel of dried fruit, and I grab a handful to serve as my breakfast. With my makeshift quill dagger on hand, I feel prepared enough to step away for an hour or two.
Most of the camp appears to be asleep. Many of them are no doubt still sleeping off the effects of last night's festivities.
These folks don't know how to properly defend themselves, but when it comes to revelry, they're as wild as anyone in Tarsynium.
I make my way out of the encampment without seeing a single soul, and soon, I am all alone on a dusty plain, following the curvature of the hills. Even though it is still morning, the sun is scorching, so I make sure to keep hydrated, sipping at the water as my feet take me onward.
Despite being a desolate wasteland, this side of the Arc is not without beauty. The vast, sprawling plains shimmer with sand and heat, creating a waving effect that is both strange and dazzling. In the far-off distance, mountains can be seen, breaking up the landscape like tiny spikes of slate-grey stone. The sand itself is a golden color that gathers in great dunes, and every so often a vein of red rock breaks through the desert, adding variation to the hues of yellow.
As I gaze out at this bleak wilderness, my thoughts continue to go over what went on last night. It all seemed to go wrong when we started drinking the uzqi. It removed our inhibitions and made us both start acting like fools. I cannot help but cringe as I think about the things I said and the lustful way I had treated Zara, even though she seemed to enjoy the behavior.
Did I really dance like that with her? I shake my head in embarrassment. Light, Elias would be ashamed of me.
The memories seem hazy in my mind, but they are still distinct enough to fill me with an overwhelming sense of shame. However, when I think of what transpired between us in the tent, I find myself feeling more hurt than anything else.
She rejected me, I think, wrestling with the complex emotions inside of me. Am I not good enough for her to want me in that sort of way?
Then, I think about what she said to me, her voice surprisingly lucid despite the amount of uzqi we had drunk. "There needs to be a commitment before we allow things to go any further... I love you... I want you forever."
It dawns on me that she did not want to go further because she did not feel ready. She didn't want our first time to be a drunken night of passion, but a purposeful event based on love. The talk of commitment still baffles me, but her reasons for stopping me do make some form of sense.
The realization does not completely take away the pain of rejection, but it does make me a little less confused.
I continue on my way, enjoying my time away from everything and everyone, my thoughts keeping me company. The path continues forward, wending through sandy flats and rocky foothills. Everything around me seems stark and rough and jagged, but the exercise makes me feel good, the effects of my hangover becoming less severe.
Thoughts of Zara continue to make their way through my mind, along with worries of our current situation and hopes for the future. I think of the slaves, who had been so grateful that we had saved them, and how they might play into the events to come.
Something big is going to happen in the coming weeks... something that makes the siege of Dunmar City look like a skirmish.
An hour or two passes, and eventually I start to think about turning back. My water is getting low, and Zara will no doubt start to worry when she can't find me around the encampment.
I am about to turn around when a rumbling sound catches my attention. It sounds like a bear roaring in anger.
My hand goes immediately to my dagger, and I crouch down, ducking behind a mound of sand covered in stalks of straw-like grass. After a few minutes, I hear the roaring sound again, and this time, it is accompanied by barking words in some guttural tongue.
Demons.
Keeping low to the ground, I half-walk, half-crouch up to the dune ahead of me, scaling its sandy surface in an attempt to see what is on the other side. When I reach the top, I catch a glimpse of a sight that chills me to the bone despite the heat of the day.
In a wide, barren valley that seems to stretch on forever is a vast army of demons, milling about a sea of black tents, blazing green torches and siege equipment. There seems to be tens of thousands of them, hundreds of thousands even, of every shape and variety one can imagine. There are gorgons and darkhounds, spindly creatures with hooks for hands and crawling things with dozens of clawed limbs. Darkwings flit through the sky off in the distance, and I can see ferocious beasts in thick steel cages, roaring and shrieking against their constraints. Most terrifying of all are enormous giants that lumber about, their hulking figures standing more than twenty feet off the ground, red eyes peering out between curling ram's horns.
These I recognize from the stories as balors. They are said to be strong enough to knock down entire castles.
Spitting out a curse, I quickly duck back behind the dune, praying that none of the demons had seen me. They didn't appear to have any sentries posted – why would they, here in their own domain?
This must be the R'Laar's main army, I realize, gripping my dagger in a sweaty fist. Eleven Hells, there's so many of them! I've never even heard of an army so large!
I decide to tempt fate once more, peeking back over the dune to try to glean everything I can from their encampment. Seeing it a second time only serves to fill me with more dread. That must be the commander's tent, I think to myself, staring at a massive tent that stands out above the rest in the middle of the camp. It seems to radiate blackness, sucking all light into itself. The Prince of Darkness... the demon lord of legend. He must be commanding this army personally...
They appear to be preparing for some kind of assault, and their proximity to the Arc of Radiance does not seem to bode well for the survival of humanity.
Blowing out an astounded breath, I creep back down out of sight.
They must know something we don't, otherwise they wouldn't be gathering their troops like they are about to march off to war. Does this mean the Arc is closer to failing than we realize?
Questions. Too many questions and not enough answers.
Heart heavy, I set off immediately for the slave encampment, moving as quickly and as quietly as I can manage.
BY THE TIME I RETURN to the slave encampment, I am completely drenched in sweat.
I hurry the last few hundred paces and begin making my way through the tents, searching for Zara so that I can tell her about what I had witnessed. By now it is nearly midday, the sun high in the clear blue sky and baking the land like an oven. Many of the inhabitants of the encampment give me odd looks, their surly expressions indicating that many of them are still recovering from uzqi consumption.
I feel your pain, I think to myself miserably, looking around for Zara’s telltale blue robes.
I eventually find her toiling in the women’s
tent with a handful of the other women in the camp. She looks shocked upon seeing me, probably because of my haggard appearance, and immediately puts down whatever she is working on and comes over to me at the tent’s entrance.
“Owyn,” she says, concern lining her eyes, “is everything alright?”
Nodding, I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Yes – and no. It’s complicated. Can we talk?”
“Of course,” she replies, wincing as she steps out into the sun. “Ugh... it’s so bright out here. I don’t know about you, but my head feels like it is about to explode.”
I let out a small, forced chuckle as I lead her away, going to a shady spot down between two other tents.
When we are alone, I hesitate, trying to come up with the right words. Light, I don’t want to alarm her... but that army – can anything possibly stand against it?
Apparently, she takes my hesitation as me feeling awkward about last night, which honestly is not far from the truth. She reaches out and takes my hand, looking at me with her beautiful brown eyes. “Listen, Owyn. I know last night was... interesting. Neither of us acted like ourselves. I blame the uzqi. I don’t think I’ll ever have another drop of that stuff as long as I live. But I want you to know that everything is okay. I still love you, and I don’t harbor any bad feelings against you.”
I shake my head, bringing up both my hands in a warding gesture. “No, no, you misunderstand me. I mean, yes, I feel like a complete and utter fool after last night, but that’s not what I want to talk to you about.”
She furrows her eyebrows. “It’s not?”
“No,” I reply with a small laugh. “I love you too, Zara, but there is something much bigger going on. I just got back from walking a few miles south of here.”
I proceed to tell her what I saw in the dunes, about the massive army of demons and the presence of siege equipment. I also tell her about my suspicions, how the presence of such an army indicates that they are getting ready to invade, and that the Arc of Radiance may be closer to collapse than we had previously thought.
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