by Thomas Locke
Meda descended the hill as the beasts trundled away. “Nice to see them behave.”
Hyam asked, “Is everyone okay?”
“We are indeed. But it was a close-run thing.” Meda grinned a welcome to Selim. “Your arrows carry quite a punch.”
Selim’s reply was cut off by a cry from the hilltop. Hyam looked up to find Fareed, Shona, and Alembord all pointing in the direction blocked by the hill’s curvature.
When Hyam and Selim scampered up the steep slope, they discovered three crimson-robed Milantians standing beside a trio of holes. They were positioned so that four or five hundred paces separated them. Then a fourth mage emerged from the hill upon which they stood.
Shona gasped, “That’s her!”
“Who?” Selim asked.
“The witch who stole Joelle’s breath,” Meda snarled. “She’s mine.”
“There you are, my lovelies! The master will be ever so pleased.” The witch clapped her hands, which apparently was the signal for her companions to begin casting their spells. “Now come down off the roof of my house this instant!”
Shona was already preparing her own response, fueled by the revulsion that creased her voice and features both. Hyam admired her spirit, though he was filled with the sinking certainty that her attack would come to nothing. The Milantians had waited for this moment. All the earlier attacks had been the mages’ way of taking their measure.
Shona completed her spell and touched her wand to the sword. Her fire shot forth, a huge blast of fury. But in swift response, the mages simply melted away.
The Milantian wizards dissolved. All four of them, in the span of a single heartbeat. Gone.
Four crimson dust clouds rose up, swirling in deadly intent. The arid crimson mist flowed like desiccated blood.
Swiftly Hyam encircled them with a shield. But the four clouds joined together, swept down, and entered the portal through which the witch had emerged. Too late Hyam realized what was happening. The mages were attacking from beneath, through the unshielded earth.
The mist emerged in a hundred tight streams from the hill where they stood. They wrapped around all of Hyam’s company. Chaining them with the relentless pressure of forces that yearned for nothing more than another chance to kill.
Hyam knew he had lost. He could not even cry a final apology to the company who had trusted him. His breath was already stolen, for the tendrils clenched his chest with impossible strength. The pain was so intense he could scarcely even think the final word. The one person whose trust he had most forsaken.
Joelle.
The air around his head was thick with the dust. So much, so fast, there was no air at all. Hyam was as blinded as he was choked.
His final panic was a breathless cry. His lungs burned, his open mouth was packed full with the crimson dust. Every shred of his being shrieked that all was lost.
Unless . . .
Hyam had a lightning image of Shona relating the witch’s attack in the Emporis tent, how the mage had sucked in the power that had ensnared them, growing larger and larger . . .
But Hyam could not breathe.
Even so, he sucked in. Not with his lungs. They were locked tight. With his entire Milantian being.
He could feel the mist filling him. And as it did, three impressions shot through him with the intensity of a departing life.
First, he could feel some inner portion of himself growing steadily larger, a balloon-like component that spread and swelled and took in ever more of the putrid killing dust.
Second, he felt the scar tissue of all his lost abilities, the remnant of his last battle against crimson foes, crack and break apart.
Third, he knew he was dying. The physical component of his being still could not breathe. He no longer had the ability to force his body to do anything. Even as he sensed the hilltop becoming free of dust. Even as his company gasped and cried and breathed and survived. Hyam felt his own body drift down, down, to collapse upon the dry and dusty hilltop.
He gave in to the darkness and knew no more.
46
The first impression Hyam had upon awakening was that someone breathed for him.
He felt his chest pump up, then he felt hands press down. He heard the sigh of his own breath.
As his awareness continued to return, he felt a mouth fit over his and push more air in. He tasted a salty tang and realized the warm lips belonged to Shona, and that she wept as she gave him air.
Hyam felt a surge of surreal clarity. He was alive! What was more, his company had survived as well. Though his eyes remained shut, he sensed their presence and heard vague murmurs he could not yet fit into words. Alembord, Meda, Fareed, Selim, all there, and then Shona’s lips fit over his again and helped him breathe. Alive!
Hyam coughed weakly and was rewarded with exclamations on all sides. Only Shona did not celebrate. She sobbed and breathed with difficulty and fitted her lips once more over his.
With each of Shona’s breaths came her mage-force. Hyam could feel it surging through his veins. He knew this was why he lived. She had given him far more than air. She shared everything.
And finally, at long last, Hyam understood. Another lungful, another surge of her force, and Hyam knew this was no childish infatuation. Shona loved him. She was bound to him.
And after this day, he was bound to her as well.
Her sorrow over being forced to accept he would never be hers pierced Hyam with shared agony. Somehow the situation had to be remedied. Yet this quandary had no ready answer.
Then it hit him. Joelle would know what to do.
Hyam opened his eyes.
Hyam sat up with Shona’s and Meda’s help. The sight that greeted him proved well worth the effort. He was seated upon a long central bench, wide as a bed, that ran the length of their ship. The vessel was perhaps thirty paces long and eight or nine wide. Two further broad benches ran down the gunnels. Selim snored on one, Alembord on the other. Fareed was perched in the distant bow. He turned and waved and called something that was lost to the salty wind.
The boat was curious indeed. At first glance it appeared to be made from the sea itself. Hyam leaned over for a closer look and spotted bits of seaweed and a fan coral embedded in the bench where he sat. There was also no means of power or steering, neither mast nor tiller nor wheel. Even so, they sped across the sea. The water chuckled and rushed beneath the vessel, and spray bathed his face. The taste was exquisite, a salty assurance that he lived.
Hyam had a thousand questions. But there was one thing that must come first. He turned to Shona and used his hands to sweep away her tears. The woman was no longer young. The effort required to save him had aged Shona a century and more. He would not speak of her love. Not until he knew what should be said. But he wanted her to know that he acknowledged her, and her gift, and would respect it. Forever.
Something in his gaze caused her to weep harder still. Hyam allowed her to melt to his chest. He stroked the fine hair, he felt her warmth, he listened to the music of one who cried because she cared.
When she quieted, he said, “I live because you breathed your mage-force into me.”
“I . . . tried.”
“You succeeded.”
Meda asked, “Is that even possible?”
Hyam held up one finger, silencing the guards captain. “I will not say there is a debt between us. Such vows exist between allies. Our relationship is far deeper. The first thing I noticed upon awakening was the flavor of your life.”
Shona drew back, her breathing unsteady, but she was clearly determined to hear him with far more than just her ears.
Hyam went on, “I acknowledge the gift you have given me. I am able to speak these words because of your bequest.”
Gradually the young woman settled, steadied. “I tasted your life as well.”
Hyam nodded. “It is only fitting.”
The emotions carried by the words not yet spoken caused her face to crimp up tight. But all she said was, “We have to
rescue Joelle.”
Hyam embraced her again, a silent thanks, then said, “You should rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look exhausted,” he replied. “There is no telling what lies beyond the horizon. Sleep. We will talk more later.”
In reply, she stretched out on the bench beside him. Meda slipped off her travel cloak, folded it, and settled it beneath Shona’s head. Hyam touched the point where her hair bordered her temple. Shona reached up and captured his fingers.
Meda handed him a small leather pouch and said, “We had enough supplies for one meal. We saved your share.”
Hyam ate with ravenous appetite. When he was done, he felt more hungry than when he had started. “Tell me what happened.”
“The mage dust was killing us all,” Meda said. “And blinding us in the process. The first thing I saw when my eyes cleared was a whirlwind above your head. You sucked it all in. Four mages. I waited for you to explode. No one could have held all that evil and survived.”
Hyam resisted the urge to say that he had not, for he knew Shona still heard them. She stirred, sighed, and slipped into slumber.
Meda went on, “Shona was the first to reach you. She clamped down on your mouth and breathed in, then coughed out a putrid mass. With every breath she expelled, a miniature mage took form at our feet. Never have I felt such an utter repulsion. Fareed came up beside her and blasted away at the remnants before they could attack. Then Shona fastened herself to you and drew out more.
“Fareed’s wand gave out, so he used hers. When that one went dark, I used the Milantian sword. They scampered like frantic Milantian rats, trying to strike us. On and on it went. My arms grew so weary I couldn’t lift the sword. Alembord took over. Then Selim. Fareed blasted all he could manage. We were beyond spent. And this one, this child mage they tried to leave behind . . .” Meda shook her head. “Twice now she has rescued us.”
Hyam studied the course they followed. The sea before and behind their vessel was crystal calm. The only wind was that caused by their swift passage. They traversed a valley in the middle of the sea. Liquid walls rose to either side. Hyam saw a lone fish swim up alongside their craft, long as his leg and striped like a tiger’s back. The creature kept pace with their craft for a time, then flicked its tail and vanished. Otherwise the sea cliffs remained empty, clear, mysterious as their journey.
Hyam asked, “How did we come to be here?”
“When we were certain your heart still beat, we carried you down to the harbor. We had no idea whether the mages had yet another attack in store. But for the moment our only threat came from the Milantian dust-rats that continued to reform. As the amount Shona drew from you lessened, the beasts grew smaller, but they remained deadly, growing fangs and going straight on the attack soon as they landed. Fareed fashioned mage-lights for Alembord to hold, because by then it was pitch-black. Dark as ever I had seen it, not a moon, not a star. Night as close and tight as death.
“Selim carried you, then Alembord. Shona breathed for you the entire way across Alyss. Fareed and I kept the rat creatures at bay. We had one bad moment when we almost spilled into one of the holes, but Fareed caught sight at the last moment. We rested there on the shore, wondering if dawn would ever come. But it did, and at first light we found the boat there waiting for us. We climbed on board, and off we went. These walls grew up soon as we passed the harbor mouth.”
Hyam studied the sun’s position through the transparent western cliff. “We’ve traveled all day?”
“No, Hyam. A day and a night and now much of the second day.”
He asked because he had to. But the answer was there in Meda’s tight gaze. “The ghost warriors were to hunt for . . .”
“The vial holding Joelle’s breath.” Meda sighed around her shared pain as she lifted a chain and crystal pipe from her pocket. “I blew. The general came alone. He might have given her a message, Shona hasn’t said. Her every breath was used to keep you alive. Once we arrived portside we debated whether one should go back. But with the dark and the threat . . .”
“And search where?” The sorrow was so intense he could scarcely form the words. Because he knew he had failed. He turned and stared back behind him, back to the unseen city and the foe that had, in fact, defeated him.
Hyam waited until Meda slipped away, then wept with the pain of breathing while another could not.
47
In the late afternoon, the lone fish returned. Hyam recognized the tiger stripes as it sprang from the sea cliff and landed in their vessel. Alembord shouted with delight and pounced, pinning the madly flapping beast to the gunnels.
Meda sat beside Hyam and watched Alembord skin and dress the fish. “Kind of the dragon to remember we need to eat.”
Hyam shook his head. “You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“How many other fish have you seen?”
Meda frowned at the sunset-streaked water rising to either side of their vessel. Her response was cut off by Fareed calling, “Sahib, dare we risk a mage-fire?”
“Set it alight,” Hyam replied.
Alembord looked up from slicing hand-sized filets. “How can you be certain?”
“A fire-breathing dragon would not shape a vessel that melts from such small flames,” he replied, and pressed on Shona’s shoulder. When she opened her eyes, the years had begun to fall away, and she even managed a smile. Hyam said, “Dinnertime.”
They did not eat their fill, but at least their hunger was abated. The sun melted at an angle into the right cliff, confirming that they still traveled north by east. As twilight gathered, a lone cloud appeared overhead and drenched the stern of the boat without touching them at all. A basin extended from the point where the tiller should have been, and as soon as it was filled the cloud vanished.
One by one they all drifted off, until Hyam was left alone with the night, or so he thought. He walked to the bow and settled on the central bench’s front ledge. Soon after, Shona came to sit beside him. She kept her distance, however. And Hyam knew why.
He checked to ensure all the others were asleep, then said softly, “Tell me what the general said.”
The starlight was strong enough for Hyam to see her nod. This was, he knew, why she had come forward. “He reported that the vial containing Joelle’s life-breath was not in the city. He and his new allies would try to hunt farther afield. He said he thought you would survive. He commended me for trying.”
“And so even though you could feel the crimson dust eating away at your own life, you kept at it. Drawing out their poison and breathing in your life.”
She dragged a hand across her eyes. “I was so scared.”
Hyam asked, “Our allies tracked the vial?”
“They tried to. The general returned the first night we journeyed on the sea, while the others slept. He said to tell you there was a fifth Milantian mage in Alyss. This one held back from the final attack. He fled across the desert. Toward Emporis. And he took the vial with him.”
Hyam nodded. He had dreaded it, and expected it as well. “Into the realm.”
“The general said to tell you that this mage traveled with uncommon swiftness. And left no footprint. Something blocked them from tracking the mage beyond the realm’s borders.”
Which could only mean one thing. “There is another crimson mage, this one carrying a miniature orb.”
She shivered, all the confirmation Hyam needed. “Then why . . .”
“Why did their master not join in the attack at Alyss?” Hyam said. “I can think of only one reason. There is another battle elsewhere. One that has reached a critical juncture.”
“Which means,” Shona said quietly, “we were fortunate in a way.”
Hyam felt the aching bitterness bloom. “It simply means my quest is not over.”
“Our quest,” she corrected.
He would not argue with her that night. “The vial exists. I will find it.”
“Our quest, Hyam.
” More sharply this time.
He did not point out how such a decision lay in hands other than theirs. For this night, he was grateful for the young woman’s strength. “Our quest.”
She rose and looked down at him. She whispered, “Could you ever love me?”
Hyam had no idea how to respond.
“I know you don’t love me as I do you. But if I can accept this, what does it matter?”
Hyam stared into the star-flecked valley and did not speak.
Finally she turned and sang a soft “Good night, Hyam.”
He did not turn around. “Sleep well, Highness.”
48
Hyam woke to the full light of day. The sun bathed him with a manner that, for once, was not overly harsh. He lay there for a time, savoring the salt air. His entire being felt both exultant and hollow. He rolled over and groaned from having laid in one position too long. He pushed himself off the bench to discover he was alone and the vessel moored. The sea cliffs were gone.
His company stood about an otherwise empty beach. Beyond the shore stretched an emerald-green island whose central spine rose to lofty peaks. Hyam dropped from the vessel’s side into water warm as life itself. As soon as his feet touched bottom, the ship dissolved in a soft splash.
Meda greeted him with, “Do you recognize this place?”
“Sort of.” Hyam took a long look around. “Always before I saw it from the air.”
Selim waved at the vast plain leading up to the central hills. The pasture was dotted with mounds the color of autumn stones. “There are dragons everywhere! But they don’t wake up, not even when we shout.”
“That’s because they’re not asleep,” Hyam replied. “They’re dying.”
A shout from Alembord turned them around. As the dragon emerged from the sea, Hyam recognized him from the autumn-gold stripes about his wings and head. The beast gripped another of the tiger-striped fish in his mouth, only this one was larger than Hyam. He dropped it flapping on the sand and used one talon to keep it from dancing back into the water. The dragon chattered, “You are hungry. Eat.”