“He said she was once with the temple here in the city, and had even been invited to the capital, but refused. Soon after, she headed off to the mountains. Priests of the First Mother are a weird lot—with their beliefs in neutrality, not pushing for things one way or the other, just letting them happen. Can’t say for sure they’re all that way,” he gave them a tired grin. “But this one might be the real thing.
“Anyway, our contact was sure she’d know if there was a cure, especially since she’s just about the only source for the poison in the first place.”
“What else did you find out?” Torren sat down, his thoughts racing.
Sal shuffled the papers in his hands. “Well, I was able to get enough information to make a rough outline of where the Black Lords have been off-and-on in the last twenty years. It’s very sketchy, and not all too reliable, but I was able to get enough to make some matches with the dates you sent me.”
He handed Torren back his original letter as well as several other rough sheets of paper.
“So, when are we leaving?”
Torren looked up distractedly from scanning the notes. “Leaving?”
Micca leapt to his feet, almost falling in his haste. “Yes! We have to go get the antidote for Aen. Everything else should take second place to that. We should leave immediately.”
Torren shook his head. “It won’t be immediately, though I agree with you we should leave as soon as possible.” Micca started to protest, but he cut him off. “If we don’t do this right, the wrong people will find out what we’re up to and stop us. Is that what you want?”
Deflated, the Flyer shook his head and sat back down.
“What will you need? Ask and it shall be provided.” Rux’s eyes gleamed.
Torren gave him a grateful nod. “Sal, Micca, let me and Dom Rux take care of things on this end for now. You two are barely able to move, so a couple of hours of sleep would seem in order. I promise you we’ll set out as soon as possible.”
“It was a long night,” Sal admitted. He nudged Micca on the side when the Flyer didn’t say anything.
“Oh, all right. I’ll do as you say.” He stood up, swaying. Sal rose to steady him.
“You Chosen are all the same. One giant stubborn bunch.” There was more amusement than rancor in the statement.
Micca shrugged, too tired to argue, and set off to show Sal the way.
By the time Torren woke them a few hours later, everything was ready, as promised.
“The wagon and gear are at Hanson’s Stables close to the east gate. There’ll be weapons and provisions, a strong team of horses, and backup horses as well.”
Sal rose stiffly from the cot set up against a wall beside the Flyer bed on which Micca was resting. “Good, we should be able to make the border in a day if we press them.”
“The twins are insisting on coming along. With Micca and me, that makes four. I’ve already troubled you enough, Sal. There’s no reason you have to come as well. There’s a chance we might run into the Black Lords at some point.”
“Hah! All the more reason you need me.” Sal glanced over at Micca as the latter groggily rubbed the sleep from his face. “No offense, but you Chosen aren’t the most militarily skilled bunch, and those mercenaries are. You’re going to need all the help you can get. Besides,” he added with a wink, “I could use a little action. It’s been a while.”
Torren half-frowned, not wanting to endanger his friend’s life but also knowing he was right. With his other three companions never tested in battle, they would be at a disadvantage. “Thanks.”
He left them then to clean up, and the group met not long after in Rux’s office.
“We’re going to have to be circumspect about this,” Torren warned. “I’m pretty sure this place is being watched, and our movements reported. It’s just hard to say whether it’s the emissary, the governor, other or all.” His gaze flitted from Sal and Micca to the twins and back. “Our arrangements for today were made through a third party, so I’m hoping this has helped make our plans unclear. To minimize trouble, the five of us should leave here in two groups and eventually meet at the stables.” His gaze met the twins’. “Some gear has been prepared for you two so you can disguise yourselves as Landers after you leave here. It should make it easier for you to ditch anyone who might decide to follow you.”
“How long will it take to get to the mountains and back?” This came from one of the twins.
Sal answered the question. “We can make it to the border in a day if we push hard. The mountains aren’t much farther, but our pace will drop dramatically. If the directions we got from our source are good, there’s a chance we might make it there around nightfall tomorrow. I’d say we could make it back by the day after as long as we don’t run into any complications.”
Torren turned to Rux. “Do you think you could contact Mallean and see if she could delay the council for that long? If it would help, have her divulge to the council something of what we’re up to.”
“Won’t it make it more dangerous for you?” Rux’s brow furrowed.
“We’ll have to risk it. The atmosphere up there is very volatile, and there’s no telling what will happen once the people are told what’s going on. We still don’t know why this was done in the first place or what else it is they’re hoping to achieve.”
“The Chosen and Caeldanage—heck, the whole empire—are like a red anthill waiting for the slightest thing to set them boiling out in a frenzy. No one may want to believe it, but it’s looking more and more as if we’re going to war.” Sal shook his head sadly.
“With any luck, it won’t get that far. Not if we can prove the Black Lords are behind all this and we get Larana back to normal.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The twins left first, each carrying a bundle and a map drawn by Sal showing them how to get to his inn and from there to the stable. A short while later, Torren, Micca and Sal left as well, Micca once more in his Lander disguise. They headed together toward the governor’s mansion, Sal and Torren looking for any signs they were being followed. A block from there, they split up.
Torren turned down an alley and waited several long breaths to see if he could spot someone trailing him. Not seeing anyone, he jogged through to the next street then headed in the opposite direction. After almost a half-hour with no sign of pursuit, he headed for the Hanson Stables and slipped in through the back. The others were already there.
Micca and Sal were talking quietly while the twins stood to the side, shifting back and forth, obviously uncomfortable in the unfamiliar Lander clothing.
“Did anyone see anything suspicious?” Torren asked, glad to see them.
“We think someone was following us,” one of the twins answered, “but we lost him at the inn.”
Sal spoke up next. “A wiry fellow stuck close to me for a few blocks, but I couldn’t be sure he was actually following me.”
“I didn’t see anyone” was Micca’s reply.
“Neither did I. Let’s hope we were just being overly cautious.” He led them to the other side of the stables to the rigging area. “That should be our ride over there.”
A teenager and a balding man were hitching up a team of four horses to a large covered wagon. Spotting them, the balding man said a few words to the boy then walked to meet them, rubbing his hands over his leggings.
“You must be the gentlemen I’ve been expecting. We’re setting up the team right now as requested. We also have the extra horses you wanted. They should give you no trouble.”
“Thank you.” Torren removed several coins from his pouch. “I believe this is what was agreed on.”
Hanson took the money, not bothering to count it. “The feed and water are in the back as well as the other provisions that arrived. Let me just check the horses one last time, and you should be set to go.”
As he went to work, Torren led the way to the rear of the wagon. Pulling aside the back flap of the tarp and lowering the gate, he dug amongst
the bags and pulled out a battered broad-brimmed hat and a lightweight, bedraggled jacket.
“Until we get out of the city, it’d be best if you all stayed out of sight.” He said it so only those with him could hear.
The three Flyers stared at the dark, cramped space uneasily. Sal grinned and smacked Torren resoundingly on the back.
“Sounds good. I can get some more sleep.” He turned to face the others. “Come on, you three, I promise not to bite.” A flash of white teeth showed from within his beard. “Not hard, anyway.”
The twins exchanged a long look, even more uncomfortable than before. Torren shook his head, fighting off a grin.
“It’s just Lander humor. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“You hope!” Sal clacked his teeth together, obviously way too entertained by his own sense of humor.
“He’s trustworthy,” Micca added earnestly.
Sal climbed into the wagon, chuckling softly to himself after sending a hungry look at the twins. Micca climbed in behind him and the twins followed, reluctantly.
Still shaking his head as an amused chortle came from inside the wagon, Torren put up the tailgate and let the flap fall. He then went to the front of the wagon, slipping on the bedraggled jacket on the way.
The boy tied two horses to the back of the wagon. Hanson waved to Torren as he climbed up into the driver’s seat.
“Everything’s set. If you’re ready to go, I’ll open the doors.”
“Great, go ahead.” He picked up the reins from the loop on the driver’s side and slipped the hat on his head. The brim was large enough to make his face hard to see and to definitely hide his telltale blond hair.
He clucked at the horses and flicked the reins as the wide stable doors opened. Waving goodbye to Hanson and his helper, he drove out onto the street and headed the team toward the east gate of the city at a sedate walk. No one paid him much attention as he left town. It didn’t escape his notice, however, that the guard was doubled at the gate. He’d have to remember to ask Sal what other things had changed since he’d been gone.
What little he’d seen while making the arrangements for this trip hadn’t reassured him. He felt even worse as he spotted the sea of tents set up over a large area of fallow fields outside the city—the emissary’s troops Sal had mentioned. Their presence didn’t bode well at all.
Torren followed the eastern Grand Highway until he crossed a smaller road heading north. There, he brought the team to a halt and stood up in his seat to look over the top of the wagon. He waited for several long minutes, making sure no one was coming in their direction. Finally satisfied, he leapt down to the ground and went around the wagon, removing the jacket and hat as he went.
“It appears we’re clear.” Opening the back, he heard at least one sigh of relief. “The seat up front will hold one more if one of you wants out. It might be better to get some sleep in here, though. I’ll be pushing us hard.”
“I’ll stay, if you don’t mind,” Sal replied from the back. “Already worked me up a cushy spot here.” He was stretched out on the floor of the wagon, his head propped against a bag of grain. The twins huddled on opposite benches, still eyeing him suspiciously.
Despite their continued misgivings, however, the twins opted to stay inside as well, since while out of sight they could remove the more uncomfortable parts of their Lander disguises. Micca, however, chose to put up with his and joined Torren in front. It was a slight stretch for him to get up and sit on the narrow bench, since he had to position his wings far enough apart for him to sit and yet manage to keep them covered and out of sight.
They set off; and once they’d turned onto the northern road, Torren brought the horses up from a walk to a light trot.
“Sal is quite a character.” Micca glanced at him, holding on tight as the wagon coursed over small bumps on the rutted road.
“Yes, he’s one of the good ones.”
“He was amazing yesterday. He seemed to know everyone.” Micca’s tone held a touch of awe. “High, low—he treated everyone as if they were a lost brother, unless they got in his way. We would have never found out the things we did if it weren’t for him.” He sent Torren a furtive glance. “Did you promise him something for all this?”
He smiled, understanding the source of the Flyer’s confusion. “No. As I’ve said before, not all Landers fit the mold the Chosen have been taught to expect. He’s doing all this for one reason—because he is who he is. I haven’t always appreciated it as I should, but I’m very lucky to have him as a friend.”
Micca slowly shook his head as if to clear it. “I must admit, before this, even working with my uncle, it hadn’t really occurred to me to question what we think of them. But recently, I’ve had no choice but to take a closer look. The fact Landers helped you despite you not being one of their own, Aen’s captors coming to love her and giving their lives for her, Sal’s efforts—it speaks much of things we’ve forever assumed weren’t there.
“We all came from the same stock, only we don’t think of the good traits as being shared but something we received due to our standing with El.” He shook his head again. “Why have we never tried to find out before?”
Torren shrugged. “Maybe it was just easier that way.”
Micca thought that over for a long moment then said, “Maybe, after all this is over, it could change.”
Torren made no response. After a while, Micca slipped off into a light doze.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The afternoon went by swiftly. They made good time on the northern road, and Torren continued to follow it as it took an eastern tilt and eventually joined the northern Grand Highway. Switching horses after a short rest, he pushed them to greater speeds on the even-surfaced road.
Those sitting on the front were rotated as well, Sal eventually taking over the reins so Torren could catch some sleep.
In the late morning of the next day, they arrived at the town Torren and Larana had stopped at while part of the caravan before they were attacked by the Black Lords. Handing over some coins, they traded the local blacksmith for some of his horses so theirs could be rested.
Nearing the border late in the day, Torren frowned as he spotted a thin trail of smoke rising toward the sky where the trees opened before them. The only thing he knew of that lay in this direction was the border town with its small imperial outpost.
Something about the color of the smoke didn’t seem right. He urged the horses to move a little faster.
“Micca, wake up. We may be in for some trouble.”
* * *
The town was a burned ruin. The remains of homes and stores stared at them with broken eyes. The stone tower of the outpost was stained dark and was still smoking. No sounds drifted toward them as the four Flyers and one Lander stared at the devastation before them.
“What happened here?” Micca asked, his face pale. The smell of burned wood was almost overridden by the harsher stench of scorched flesh.
“I’d have to say a declaration of war.” Sal’s face was grim. “Look—Galt arrows and hatchets. It won’t take long before things escalate, mountains or no mountains.”
“Yes,” Torren admitted, “but something about this is wrong.”
He didn’t elucidate, instead going to the closest unburned body. Crouching, he inspected it before getting up and moving on to the next with almost clinical detachment. Sal followed him; the others were more hesitant. The twins wrapped their wings about themselves, as if seeking some distance from the carnage.
“By the gods, Torren, you’re right!” Sal glanced quickly around him. “Where’s all the blood?”
The twins glanced at one another in confusion, having seen the small pools around a number of the bodies.
“What are you talking about? There should be more?” They sounded horrified.
“Look at this fellow here. See the cut in his neck?” Sal pointed at the man at his feet. “At the time of the cut, his heart would have still been pumping. On so
mething like this, the blood would have sprayed out all over his attacker and the general area; yet if you look, all you see is a small bit that looks to have pooled beside him after he fell. Something’s not right.”
The further they went, the more grisly the deaths became, though there was still very little blood. Half-burnt bodies hung from doorways. Women with torn clothing and slit throats had been dumped in ditches. Children had had their heads bashed or been decapitated.
“Where are the people who did this?” Micca asked. “Wouldn’t some of them have been killed as well?” The Flyer looked ill.
“Galts don’t leave their dead behind. Their bodies are burned in pyres to be claimed anew by the First Mother.” Sal rubbed absently at the scar running along his cheek. “Nomads, the whole lot of them, and secretive to boot. But that they’d be responsible for something like this…”
“No Galts actually died here today. I doubt they were ever even here.”
Micca, Sal, and the twins turned to stare at Torren. He emerged from the hulk of a burned home smeared with soot and grime. “There are no spots of blood showing where their bodies fell.”
Sal glanced around, verifying the truth for himself. “This has been staged, then.”
“Staged?” Micca’s puzzlement was plain.
“Yes,” Torren responded, “staged.” He pointed at the body-littered street. “These people are dead and they were killed, but not by the means the evidence suggests. Some of the cuts are inconsistent with the weapons. Then there’s the lack of blood, as if the people were cut after they were already dead.” He pointed to the right. “If you look, you’ll notice some of the guards aren’t properly dressed for battle or even outdoors, as if they’d been caught unawares or didn’t come out to fight at all.”
He reached them and dropped a half-burned bag at their feet. “This grain’s been poisoned. The water, too. You can tell because the reflection in it isn’t quite right. These people never got the chance to fight a battle.”
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