The soldier dubiously eyed him.
“As you say,” she carefully replied before walking on.
He followed after her, wondering at the thick mist rising around him. He’d have to ask someone where they were.
* * *
Several days later, the mists had grown so thick that the sun stayed hidden behind them. The company took a single day to prepare for the coming period of darkness.
Soldiers gathered any spare wood they could find to combine with strips of cloth into crude torches. Around camp, bonfires blazed to keep the dusk at bay.
Raimie was forced into a day of lectures with Zetaneb and Ferin. Normally, he’d be delighted to suck up new knowledge, but after weeks on the march, he was too restless to sit in one place for long.
His incessant tapping and shifting had gotten the best of Zetaneb who’d given him a thick tome on etiquette to read before taking a walk. Raimie idly flipped through the pages, trying to keep his focus on the polite way to address the Empress of the island nation of Shiatha.
“I don’t understand why I need to learn any of this. It seems a little pointless,” he commented to Bright and Dim.
He’d asked for them earlier as a distraction from boredom. Zetaneb had been focused on proper manners lately, a topic that Raimie despised.
“Etiquette is a large part of high society. Being the rightful ruler of a vast kingdom, you’ll have need of it to negotiate with other nations,” Bright gently admonished.
“Etiquette be damned!” Dim countered with a giggle. “Become powerful enough, and you can do whatever the hell you like with little repercussion.”
“He makes a good point, Bright,” Raimie solemnly agreed. “Not that I’ll ever be powerful or significant enough that other nations will take me seriously if I don’t conform to their rules.”
Both splinters looked triumphant for a split second before they realized he hadn’t fully agreed with either of them. He chuckled at the resulting indignation.
“I’m so glad you find my choice of reading material amusing,” Zetaneb snapped, causing Raimie to jerk the book closed.
“I’d never presume such arrogance,” he said, widening his eyes with mock hurt.
Zetaneb shuffled to where his stockpile of books sprawled.
“Keep reading, you little troublemaker,” he grunted as he laboriously sat. “I’ve research to do, and Ferin can’t take you off my hands yet.”
Raimie mumbled complaints under his breath and returned to the tome of his current misery. He grinned at Dim’s attempts to make life difficult for Zetaneb. Bright spectated with… was that a hint of a smile?
He skimmed the last few pages with difficulty and quietly set aside the book once he’d finished.
Dim had moved on from poking and prodding Zetaneb to blowing on his book. Raimie’s tutor slapped the page wherever it rose, and Dim moved the lift a little closer to the edge with every breath. Finally, only the very perimeter of the page rose, and Zetaneb slammed his palm onto the edge so hard that the book flew out of his hand. The old man landed in a pile of limbs among his tomes.
Raimie and Bright burst out laughing, and the young man had to clutch his stomach to keep from doubling over. Dim looked exceptionally pleased with himself.
Zetaneb eventually righted his body, glowering at his student.
“Have you finished your reading then?” he asked testily.
Raimie nodded, struggling to contain his snickers.
“Well? Bring me the book!”
Zetaneb held a hand out expectantly, and Raimie’s laughter abruptly cut off. He reluctantly returned the tome and waited silently for his teacher’s next command.
“You’re telling me you read this entire volume,” Zetaneb lifted the thick tome, “in the single hour I was gone?”
Raimie gulped.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, eyes fixed on the ground.
Zetaneb set the book in his lap and opened it randomly.
“Page two hundred and eighty-six, recite,” he prompted.
Raimie cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.
“Chapter 10: On the Intricacies of Kreati Culture. The Kreati people are known throughout the world as the most affectionate in their greetings. Strangers to their cities may experience discomfort when stopped in the street for a warm embrace. There are, however, distinctive differences amongst these greetings. One between close acquaintances may look as follows:”
He attempted to copy the illustration in the book as best he could. Cupping one hand in the air where his partner’s neck would be, he kept the other behind his back in a fist and leaned his forehead to the midpoint. He returned to the original position after a moment.
“- whereas…”
“Stop!” Zetaneb commanded.
He flipped backward in the book, intrigued eyes fixed on his student.
“Page thirty-seven.”
Raimie furrowed his brow in concentration.
“-strong belief in morality. In fact, the Audish King is considered by some to be an avatar of their god, Alouin. For this reason, the ruler of Auden must always appear holy in every aspect including that of dealing with foreign nations… I think there’s something about striking down evil and protecting the innocent somewhere after that.”
He lowered his head, blushing.
“I’m sorry. My retention isn’t what it used to be.”
Zetaneb laboriously climbed to stand next to Raimie. He raised his hand, and the young man instinctively flinched, but his teacher only lowered the hand to his shoulder.
“That was utterly fantastic!” Zetaneb said excitedly. “You’re like me! This’ll be so much fun! I’ll be able to teach you much more quickly…”
He stopped, a terrifying thought crossing his mind.
“How do I teach someone like me?”
“You learn quickly too?” Raimie asked, baffled by his teacher’s reaction.
“My boy, we don’t learn quickly,” Zetaneb answered condescendingly. “We look at the page of a book, and the information becomes ours.”
“But I have to skim…”
“Yes, yes. You’re slower than me. I’ve grown used to that!”
Zetaneb retreated to his sanctum of books and retrieved an armful of them. He dumped the contents on his student.
“Find yourself a nice, quiet corner and skim these,” he commanded. “Your instructor requires isolation to devise a new slew of lesson plans for you.”
He dismissed his student with a wave. Raimie gaped for several seconds before he fully processed the old man’s words. He lugged the heavy books to an unoccupied corner and settled in to skim.
He was halfway through the third book, enjoying a companionable silence with his splinters, when a shadow fell across the page. Looking up, he squinted tired eyes, as his new Eselan companion reached for one of the discarded books.
“You’re the next leader of our people, and they have you reading,” the Eselan held up the book’s spine, “The Many Rules of Penumbra and How to Play Strategically. What a travesty.”
He dumped the book unceremoniously into its brethren. Raimie uncertainly smiled up at the man. The Eselan seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place him.
“That was actually one of the more interesting of my assigned titles,” he hesitantly commented.
The Eselan shook his head with disgust.
“How would you like to do something useful with your time?” he asked. “I hear you’re decent with a bow. I could use your help.”
Raimie bowed his head.
“I don’t know about decent.”
“Stop being modest. Your father sings your praises,” the Eselan said. “Honestly, even if you’re terrible, I could use you, and I’m sure my errand will be much more interesting than those dusty old things.”
Raimie peered at the wagon Zetaneb had somehow taken over as his own, and seeing no sign of his teacher, he hopped to his feet.
“Let’s go!”
“Wo
nderful,” the Eselan said, extending a hand as he led the way. “My name’s Dath, by the way.”
“Raimie,” Raimie said, clasping the offered hand and blushing, “but you already knew that.”
“Everyone knows you! It’s hard not to in an encampment this small and considering who you are,” Dath laughed. “Make sure to grab a torch.”
He indicated a pile near one of the wagons circling the camp’s outskirts. Raimie grabbed one, lit it, and followed after the Eselan.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“It’s a secret! I found something sure to brighten everyone’s day.”
Raimie did not like having an unknown destination, but there was no real cause for alarm as of yet. Dath seemed friendly enough, and Raimie thought he’d learned enough from Kheled to be able to protect himself if danger reared its head.
“There’s something off about him,” Bright commented.
“Mr. Boring here is right,” Dim added. “I find something about this Eselan… oddly alluring, which may spell disaster for you.”
Speaking of no cause for alarm. Raimie looked over his shoulder toward camp. He really needed to come up with some form of non-audible communication with his splinters. Maybe hand signs?
In the short time they’d been walking, the collection of campfires had fallen far behind. Raimie was committed now despite his misgivings. To be safe, he loosened Silverblade in its sheath.
They’d been completely engulfed by darkness before Dath planted his torch in the mud. He gestured over the large pool of water at his feet.
“I found fish!” he explained excitedly. “What do you say we catch some for dinner?”
Raimie relaxed and chuckled.
“We’ll never catch enough to feed everyone with only the two of us fishing,” he protested.
“If you’re as good with the bow as Aramar says, we will,” Dath retorted.
He pulled a fistful of throwing daggers from his belt.
“I promise I won’t catch more than you,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
Raimie rolled his eyes.
“Fine,” he said, drawing his bow and an arrow.
He advanced to the pond’s shore, squinting into the murky depths for his prey. Spotting a shadow in the water, he nocked his arrow and drew.
A line of fire lanced across his left shoulder. Raimie loosed with a jerk and slapped a hand to the source of pain, clutching at warm wetness. In the pond, a dead fish surfaced with a throwing knife piercing its body.
“Sorry,” Dath said emotionlessly. “Does it hurt?”
Raimie lifted his hand to peek at the torn cloth of his shirt and the thin split in his skin. When was he going to learn that no day was secure? Even in relative safety, accidents happened, and armor should be worn at all times when powerful people counted among your enemies.
“The cut doesn’t look deep, but it’s going to need stitches. I should head back to camp to get it taken care of quickly.”
He smiled apologetically at Dath.
“I guess you’re the only one who gets fish tonight.”
The world warped when Raimie took his first step away. He woozily picked his way over the swampy ground as the world tilted first left and then right. Fighting to keep the earth level, he made it twenty feet before he collapsed.
“What did you do to me?” he mouthed through cotton.
“You honestly don’t remember me?” Dath asked as he stalked into Raimie’s field of view. “I had a nice life before you came to Allanovian: a girl I loved and a nice career as a Zrelnach to look forward to. Then, the girl died, and in the midst of my grief, you came to humiliate me and ruin any chance of advancement.”
That’s why the Eselan looked so familiar! Raimie remembered those eyes of hate staring up at him and couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been.
“You’re the boy I defeated during my first trial,” he said monotonously.
He’d no need for a confirmation, but Dath nodded anyway.
“And now I’m a laughingstock among my fellow Zrelnach.”
“No wonder I like him so much,” Dim commented with approval. “He’s consumed with vengeance.”
Raimie’s vision spun, and he viciously shook his head to clear it.
“I’ve given you a concentrated dose of the poison that killed my love. After the initial dizziness fades, delusions and delirium come, then paralysis followed by death,” Dath grimaced. “It’s not exactly my idealized vision for killing you, but it’ll have to do. You have too many eyes on you, Raimie.”
Raimie chortled uncontrollably. Delusions and delirium? Paralysis? Let it come. He’d known it all before.
“You can’t give up,” Bright desperately said as he knelt on the ground beside his human. “Draw on my energy, and it can sustain you until we make it back to camp.”
“I know!” Raimie barked around the laughter.
Dath’s form wove back and forth while the world spun, an unsteady target.
Raimie pulled hard on that distant pinpoint of peace and calm constantly waiting just behind Bright, and for once, it obliged his call. White light illuminated the swamplands, and the dizziness receded. Power blazed through him, making his body sing from the pulsing energy.
He pushed that energy through his hands and into the ground, and it propelled him forward, barreling into Dath. But he hadn’t been prepared for such vicious acceleration, and so, instead of stopping and pounding his fists into the man trying to kill him as he’d planned, Raimie flew over Dath’s prone body, tumbling end over end. His head ended that flight when it collided with a boulder. The energy drained from him, and he fought a rush of nausea.
He groaned, blinking past sparks shrouding the misty skies. The mud squelched nearby, and Raimie reached for his sword, too late as a heavy boot slammed into his wrist and palm. The popping noise cut through his disorientation, and he had a split second to worry about his newly healed skin before the nerve endings in his carpals finished sending signals of agony to his brain.
His scream set a flock of herons winging into the air. Dath was on him in an instant, thick hand muffling his outburst.
“Can’t have someone coming to your rescue now, can we?” he whispered under his breath while searching his belt. “You can’t be one of them, can you? Either way, maybe two doses are necessary.”
He unsheathed another throwing dagger and tapped its edge against Raimie’s cheek, smirking.
“Something to remember me by,” he said as he applied pressure and dragged the blade along Raimie’s cheekbone from its initial resting point at the jaw to below the eye.
Raimie tried not give the Eselan the satisfaction of seeing his pain, but Alouin, it took so long and hurt so much. By the time Dath was finished, his throat was raw, and he was sure his teeth had made imprints in Dath’s hand.
Dath replaced his dagger and drew his sword.
“And now to return the favor,” he murmured.
His pommel crashed into Raimie’s temple.
* * *
As he dropped into the quasi-dream state this time, Raimie found he’d almost missed the place. His uncontrollable laughter echoed in the empty space, reverberating back to him as screams. He tried shunting his mind away as he’d agreed during his last visit, but it popped right back.
The sound of a knife sliding against rope drew his attention. Raimie propped up on his elbows to get a better view. The stranger frantically sawed at the band around his waist.
“Hey, you’re back!” Raimie happily oscillated in pitch from high to low.
The stranger didn’t spare him a glance.
“I know who you are,” he said in that same sing-songy voice.
The place was almost like a real dream this time, and were those… colors above? The stranger’s hood turned to Raimie, but he never stopped the knife.
“You’re my friend,” Raimie continued gleefully. “The one everyone insists doesn’t exist. You’re Ny-”
“While I would normally be th
rilled at the sudden surge of memory,” the stranger interrupted, “now is not the time for revelations.”
The bond went from taut with absolutely no give to snapped. The stranger rested his hands on his knees, hood swapping from the broken tie to Raimie’s face.
“Maybe remembering does have something to do with the spell,” he mumbled before shaking his hood. “No matter. No time for that.”
He flicked the knife up his sleeve and stood over Raimie, one foot beside each shoulder.
“I cannot break the spell in time,” he said frantically, glancing up at the false sky. “He is killing us too quickly.”
There WERE colors up there. Blue and red and yellow danced and swirled with one another in complex patterns almost as if by choice. Raimie laughed at the idea that colors could be conscious.
“Pretty,” he giggled, reaching for them.
The stranger yanked him off of the ground by the front of his shirt.
“Apologies,” he whispered, making a fist, “but you will-“
The fist crashed into Raimie’s cheek, driving him to the ground. The stranger lifted him again.
“-wake-“
The fist assaulted his cheek once more.
“-up.”
The stranger left him on the ground as he panted. Raimie rubbed his jaw and sat up. Growling, he wrapped his arms around the stranger’s legs and tugged. The stranger landed on his side on the ground beside Raimie. The hood retreated enough for him to recognize the familiar face beneath it.
“Please wake up,” his best friend whispered as the colors reached the horizon.
* * *
Raimie jerked upright with a gasp, but the spinning landscape forced him to the ground again. His stomach heaved, and he tossed up the last meal he’d eaten. Laying in his vomit, he listened for any sign that Dath had stayed behind to ensure his kill.
When silence greeted him, he cautiously attempted to stand. If he took it very slowly, the dizziness was manageable. He got as far as rising to his elbows before he realized something was wrong.
He couldn’t move his legs. Raimie frantically twisted and had to close his eyes so more of his stomach contents didn’t join their brethren in the swamp. When the nausea subsided, he looked down.
The Undying Champions (The Eternal War Book 1) Page 30