by K T Munson
He secured passage to Oaken Harbor for him and his noble steed. Despite the gloom surrounding the locals, the freed slaves were happy. They were like rays of sunshine on a cloudy day. Most were delightful and spoke of where they had come from. Most praised Hadrian and revered him as a Hero and their Savior.
Lancel waited for the ferry to return and take him to the other harbor. He dismounted and stood staring across the water. The hair on his neck suddenly stood on end and Lancel looked back behind him. He had the very distinct feeling that someone was watching him. He scanned the dock but no one seemed to be paying him any particular attention; no one was familiar to him.
Even so, he was relieved when the ferry finally arrived. He walked his horse on and he was placed in a stable on the ferry’s deck. Lancel patted his nose before going to the front of the boat. Across the way he could just make out the lights of Oaken Harbor. Day was fading slowly into night and still that feeling of being surveilled made his hair stand on end.
He continued to watch the lights, as the ferry made its way across; keeping an eye out for anyone giving him too much attention. The long poles sunk into the water as they pushed their way across; they believed in keeping their water sacred. Nothing that could pollute it could touch it. That was one of the few commonalties that Roanoak and Vargos shared.
Oaken Harbor was clearly the sister city of Maiden’s Harbor. It was nearly the same and yet it was somehow different. There seemed to be a strange sort of hope here that the people tried to conceal. They were whispering to each other and some were even smiling. There was something these people knew that had not made it across the way.
That was when he noticed the shift of a shadow on the edge of his vision. Lancel was careful to round the corner and slip back along the horse. He pulled the sword slowly and raised it as a hooded figure rounded the corner. Lancel held the sword up as the person lurched back
“Who are you?” He demanded.
The person froze with their hand on their sword, it half drawn. Lancel almost hadn’t noticed; that was how smooth they had drawn the blade. Lancel brought the blade up further as the man, for clearly it was a man, raised his hands.
“Why are you here, Knight?” The man asked and Lancel recognized the voice.
“Prince Cain?” He said almost breathless as he dropped the sword. “Are they with you?”
The prince glanced around behind them before moving him along as he said, “Not here.”
They made their way through a few alley ways before coming to an inn. Lancel paid the man for his horse and followed Cain upstairs. The man moved like water; if water could prowl. Ashira possessed a water dancer’s grace, but Cain was lethal. Lancel was lucky to have detected him at all. It was only thanks to his years as a soldier.
When they entered the room Cain pushed back his hood. His cheek was stained with a new purple bruise and there were a number of small superficial gashes. Cain filled a cup to the brim with water and held it out for him.
When Lancel took it Cain began talking, “She was gone by the time I arrived. I was in the city when they attacked, an explosion knocked me unconscious. A family brought me into their home and kept me safe, but by the time I awoke the city was theirs and my family was dead.”
“I am surprised to see you,” Lancel admitted after taking a sip. “It was reported that all of your family perished.”
“Hadrian thinks Ashira fled the city with me on her horse,” Cain said with a frown. “He claims the blade is cursed and that I will die soon enough.”
Lancel’s blood ran cold at Cain’s words. “Where did she go?”
“I figured out that the other person was Eliron,” Cain responded. “So I started to search for her, here. A beautiful woman and a wounded man were not hard to track. She stayed at an inn for a day, purchased three weeks’ worth of supplies, and vanished.”
“Where?” Lancel demanded.
There came a knock on the door and they both froze. Cain stood with his hand on the hilt of his sword as he pulled his hood back up. The light from the hanging lantern at the ceiling of the room cast shadows around the room. When he opened the door a new light joined theirs.
Cain opened the door wide and a girl entered. Behind her a large man entered, he almost had to duck to get into the room. He didn’t wear a cloak and had the face only a mother could love. It was flat and broad.
“Lancel,” Cain said as the girl pushed back her hood. “This is Celia and Rauf.”
Lancel immediately realized that she wasn’t a girl at all. She was a young woman who was dwarfed by the large man. She had a little tipped nose, mousy brown hair, and petite features. Her eyes scanned him, as though she was evaluating him.
“A knight?” Celia asked looking at his feet.
Lancel followed her eye line down to the tips of his white, chainmail covered shoes peering out. “He is Eliron’s friend and knight,” Cain answered.
“What word from Vargos?” She asked in a commanding tone, despite her size.
“Kaden, Eliron’s cousin, has been crowned king in Eliron’s absence,” Lancel said trying not to let his anger show. “He has sent word of surrender.”
Celia nodded before turning to Cain and saying, “There are only two places she would have gone. Tiam or the desert.”
Cain leaned his head back and closed his eyes a moment before he whispered, “She went into the desert.”
“Then she is surely dead,” Celia said with a frown.
“Not from the list I saw,” Cain retorted giving her a pointed stare. “My sister is no fool. She bought enough tar to protect herself against the sand sharks for at least three weeks.”
“Why would she go into the desert?” Lancel asked, not understanding Cain’s reasoning.
“She would not abandon him in Guildafrey and I doubt she will abandon him now,” Cain explained clearly distressed. “If nothing could cure him, she would go after the only thing she believed would.”
“Potions,” the big man said startling Lancel.
“Right,” Cain said. “She went to try and find the Sand People to get one of their healing potions; the only thing that could possibly save him.”
“We will go to Tiam,” Celia said nodding. “If you find her we will make sure that you have a way into the city. Good luck.”
Celia pulled up her hood before her and Rauf left. When the large man was gone Lancel felt himself relax just a little. He may not have said anything but Rauf was clearly a man of strength, who knew how to kill. Lancel hadn’t felt safe with both him and Cain in the same room. Narrow fight areas were not his strength.
“We will need more than luck,” Cain said unclipping his long cloak.
“Who is Celia?” Lancel asked, weary of strangers.
“A friend,” Cain replied carefully. “She saved me from Hadrian’s men.”
Lancel regarded with a scrupulous eye. “You mean the big man did.”
He hesitated a moment. “No, she did. Apparently she was on Hadrian’s small council,” Cain explained.
Lancel was outraged. “Why trust her?”
“She helped me and she wants Ashira to be safe,” Cain said. “I don’t trust her but I want my sister back.”
“When did Ashira leave?” Lancel asked wondering how much of a head start she had.
Cain looked up at him mournfully before he said, “Two weeks or more.”
Chapter 50
Otto Deckard
Deckard stared out into the sea of sand, longing for home. He felt lost and, more importantly, rejected from the world he had loved. Whenever he missed Tiam he would walk to the top of the hill and stare out across the sand. He could almost imagine it before reality would return.
Marisol had gone out, escorted, to get supplies and she’d brought back news as well. Apparently Vargos had lost its king and queen in Roanoak. A new man had become king, though people cursed him as the Cowardly King. Deckard could not go south to try and help in the city because they had already surrendered. Deckard
rose and turned back to amble down the hill.
They were living on the fringes of Vargos, so close to the sand, that many would not live this close to. It was a silly superstition because they weren’t in danger unless they went out onto the sands. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he found Marisol sewing as Evanora washed the clothes that needed to be fixed.
His daughter had become a washerwoman and Marisol a seamstress in the two weeks since the fall of Roanoak. They had little enough money at hand when they left Tiam. It had gotten them the little house and a means to earn more. They looked up at him when he approached.
Evanora smiled excitedly as she said, “A family of seven brought us their clothes because the mother passed away. We will have enough to buy a new set of clothes, seeds, and a pig.”
“It is too late in the season to grow anything.” Deckard said coming to stand next to her.
“Not everything,” Evanora countered. “Summer is not completely gone and winter is slower to come here.”
“Of course, dear,” Deckard said patting her on the head and strolled into the house.
Deckard nearly tripped over one of the dining room chairs on his way to the rocking chair. He collapsed into it and let out an unhappy cough. It may be summer in the south but it was colder than Tiam. He gathered a tattered blanket around him as he stared out the only window.
It wasn’t long before Evanora entered carrying a few logs. She rolled them in a strange tar that smelled like cinnamon. The tar was from the People of the Dunes, it made a piece of wood last longer and burn hotter. They added scents to them in order to make the house smell sweet.
When it was in the fireplace she wiped her hands off and turned around with a determined smile on her face as she walked over towards him. She bent and kissed his forehead before walking back outside. Deckard remained where he was and continued to stare listlessly.
И&S
“Come on, father,” he heard Evanora say, waking him from sleep.
She helped him to his feet and the two of them hiked up the hill. Deckard was almost panting by the time they reached the top and he was holding his chest. His heart had only become worse since they left Tiam.
The sun was just slipping behind the horizon as they settled down at the top of the hill. Orange danced across the sky and reminded him of home. As he stared at his daughter he realized he should have left her safe in Tiam.
“I should never have taken you or Marisol with me.” Deckard said regretfully.
“I would not leave you and Marisol would not leave me,” Evanora reminded him.
“I should have found you a husband and left you in his care,” Deckard emphasized, “You don’t belong here.”
“I don’t want a husband,” Evanora said looking up at him. “I would rather have you than a husband.”
He felt tears well up and he was suddenly filled with regret mixed with the love he bore, for his daughter. He returned his attention to the horizon and wondered if Edna was scolding him now, if she would forgive him for bringing her daughter here.
Before the last rays of light could vanish Evanora stood and dusted off the back of her dress. She helped Deckard stand before the two of them started down the hill. This is what his days were like, up and down, every morning and night, a cycle he could not seem to overcome.
When they returned, Deckard ate the dinner slowly before returning to his chair. Marisol was as quiet as she had been since Tiam and Evanora continued to talk. The chair gave him little comfort, but it was a constant. Evanora yawned, after she finished eating, before saying goodnight.
Deckard studied his daughter’s tired face as she said, “I love you, father.”
She kissed the top of his head before going to the back of the house. Deckard watched her go and saw the strain on her face. He sat there realizing what he had become, while Marisol cleaned the dishes. When she was done Marisol followed Evanora’s example.
Deckard frowned as he realized he was becoming a useless old man. He was acting like he was broken and he felt that way, but his daughter needed him. He closed his eyes and pictured his flying machines. He ran through its weaknesses and began to construct a weapon to bring it down. Vargos may have surrendered but they might still want something to defend themselves. He would make the weapon to bring it down, to provide for his family.
Chapter 51
Ashira Highlander
The sun was her relentless follower and Ashira was forever under its oppressive stare. She suppressed the urge to lick her cracked lips once more. She glanced back at Eliron who bobbed in his seat, his face covered by a thin scarf she had wrapped around him to keep his head protected. Ashira picked up the water skin and shook it, listening to the nearly empty sound.
She was nearly out of water and, even worse, she was nearly out of tar though she had stretched it out to last an entire month. Eliron’s condition has only worsened over the last few days, since she ran out of the salve. It had kept the wound from festering and made him functional. She could just make out him muttering to himself, lost in delirium. She had come so far to save him and now she was sure she had condemned them both.
Endless sand lay between her and any other haven. She knew her water would carry her another day, maybe two if she was careful but the tar would not. There was only enough to give them one more ring of safety. She was afraid.
Every time she dozed she could hear them. They would waken her with their tremors and she would watch them in the cold pale light of the moon as they danced beyond the ring of flames. They haunted her nightmares as well as they consumed her whole.
She stopped the horses and made Eliron drink some water. She had some as well, though it was not enough. Her tongue felt swollen and no matter how much water she drank her mouth was still parched. The sun continued its relentless assault as morning turned into afternoon.
Ashira felt herself slump forward as she tried to blink the exhaustion from her eyes. She suddenly felt lightheaded and felt herself slip off the horse’s back. The sand was rough against her face as she slowly tried to stand. She stumbled forward before falling back against the ground unable to hold onto consciousness.
When she opened her eyes she knew she was dreaming but could not wake herself. She stood before the walls of Evermore on the bridge between the castle and the city. She could feel the cold mist against her face and she reveled in it.
Ashira tried to will herself awake but could not. She turned to her right and saw a man watching her. He was young and a good foot taller than her. He wore a strange cloak that was sashed at the middle. On his bare chest was a strange marking, it almost looked like a strange legless lizard or a wingless dragonfly.
“Wake up little Rohan, you can’t sleep yet,” he said his voice like a deep running river.
Her eyes shot open and she pushed herself up to see the light fading on the horizon. Night was all but upon her and her horse stood a few feet away. She pushed herself up onto wobbly legs and ambled over to the horse. She hastily drank the last of the water. Mounting, she frantically searched the horizon for Eliron and his horse.
Once she spotted the tracks left by Eliron’s wandering horse she spurred the horse into action. Ashira glanced to the horizon and saw the light slipping away. Her mouth was dry so she swallowed nervously before she pulled her sword from her belt. His horse was walking forward lazily, as though in a daze. She pressed her horse to move faster, her eyes watching as the last of the light faded.
She dismounted before her horse came to a complete stop as she ripped the canister off the other horse. She began shaking the tar onto the sand in a smaller circle around Eliron’s horse. She knelt and ran the tinder over the flint. It caught on the second pass as the tremors started.
She yelled to her horse and stood, running towards it with her sword held high. The sand sharks drug her horse into the sand. Ashira screamed and fell back her eyes focused on the smear of blood that was all that remained of her horse. Her scream startled Eliron’s horse causing
him to rear. Eliron tumbled from its back, straight into the sand; beyond the safety of the circle.
Ashira immediately scurried to get her feet under her and started running towards them, as Eliron’s horse took off at a run. She stumbled as she drew closer, her legs shook from exhaustion; she was too weak to defend them properly. She heard the startled cry of the other horse as a sand shark tossed it up in the air where a second one appeared to catch it. She tried to lift Eliron, but she didn’t have the strength.
She slapped Eliron and hissed, “Wake up.”
He didn’t stir and she turned, sword in hand as the tremors started again. She put herself between Eliron and the sand shark. A sudden realization hit her and she started to run around the circle. The tremor started again as she jumped inside the circle of fire. The sand shark jumped where she had been standing, sailing over the top of her. Its three pronged tail lashed out and she felt her arm start to sting.
Gasping, she fell on her side and looked at the slice across her arm. She slowly moved her fingers and found they still worked. Luckily it wasn’t her sword hand. Ashira picked up the last of the slow burning tar and fire lighting set. She struggled towards Eliron, her legs protesting every step despite her heart beating like a thousand drums.
Ashira stepped beyond the fire’s safety and began to make a second ring around Eliron’s body, her feet moving across perilous ground. When it was done she bent to light it. She felt the tremor as her fingers fumbled. If she had any water left to cry she would have. The sand shark jumped out a little bit away and came huddling towards them. Ashira lifted her sword feebly as it came down towards her.
A figure moved in the dark and suddenly it was in front of her. She saw the flicker of blade as it tore into the sand sharks body. Two halves of the sand shark landed on each side of them. The figure turned back and she could see his eyes in the fire’s light. Ashira collapsed; her body refused to cooperate any longer. She felt hands on her, lifting her up as she tried to open her eyes. She looked back and saw Eliron on the ground and she tried to speak. Nothing happened so she pointed, licked her lips and attempted again.