Horizon (In the Absence of Kings Book 3)

by Lee LaCroix

  “Only time will tell,” Ilsa replied and dared to hope.

  Garreth was awoken by the crashing of waves on the cliffs below that drowned out the sound of his ragged breaths. He figured it was still dark out or a storm was coming, for the three stripes of light no longer fell through the slats of his prison cell window. Seeing the reality of his situation did him no favours though, but he could feel it regardless. His arms, shackled high onto the wall, ached at their joints as much as his lungs did, which were still fiery from inhaling the bloodfire fumes days ago. It was a small reprieve that he was thrown onto the shadowy floor of stone and bound. Although, he had only been here since sunset the day before, the dullness of his imprisonment was already beginning to bore at him.

  Garreth tried to recall his journey. He remembered waking mid-venture to find himself face down on a horse. His hands and feet were bound as he lay in drug-induced sleep. Initially, he struggled to break free and rolled off the horse to a sandy fall below. Garreth could not hold his breath forever, and Malic forced the sleeping drug into his nose and mouth. Eventually, the Malquian inhaled, was subdued, and was put back on the horse. The second time he woke, Garreth did not struggle. He looked about into the distance, but the horse had continued on, and there was nothing that he recognized but faceless dunes and shattered hills of stone.

  After he had been awake and still for quite some time, he eventually saw their destination on the horizon. The peaks of its highest towers rose to the skies before the walls of the city came into view over the hills of sand. To Garreth, the city was shaped like the spiral of the hermit crab’s shell, for the largest buildings stood in its center and on higher elevation, and the surrounding buildings were lower as they extended outwards. It was only when Garreth ventured closer to the city that he saw the land to side of the plain drop off suddenly, and the city appeared to be built onto the corner of a cliff that overlooked the sea. The gray and black banners of the Vandarian Order flew from the great stone walls of the city. Through the wide city gates, Garreth could see a main street curving upwards to the high peaks. Before they entered the city, Malic dismounted his horse and subdued his two hostages again, bringing the Malquians into a hazy sleep as he brought them inside the city.

  Garreth awoke late yesterday and toiled late into the evening before finding a hardly bearable position to lock his arms before being able to surrender to sleep. And then, he was there. He tried to remember how many days he had traveled, but the time he spent unconscious made determining the answer quite difficult for him. At least two days, he thought. Maybe three, he settled on.

  The sun had reached its peak, or so he had thought by the steady amount of light in the room, before the cell door was opened and two Vandari lumbered inside and unshackled him from the wall. Garreth grunted as they both grabbed one of his arms and pulled him to their shoulders, and Garreth skipped along, half dragged and half walking, through the torch-lit hallway to a different room. A single window let the dull gray light fall upon the table where Garreth sat. For a moment, he stared at the desk opposite to him. It seemed like in a blink of an eye that Malic was sitting before him, folding his fingers together.

  “Your sword. The blade is tempered with mursame, no? We have heard much of the blades of light in the capital,” Malic said as he withdrew Darkbreaker and tapped it against the wall.

  Even through his closed eyes, Garreth could not escape the blinding flash of his sword.

  “Surely, you were unaware of Vandar’s beliefs surrounding the metal?” Malic asked.

  “Well, we believe that the light that it produces is sacred. That it comes from a place beyond our land or the flame in the sky,” Malic explained.

  “The metal is a rarity in Vandar. It has been treasured by leaders and royalty for generations. And when we learned that Malquia was in abundance of this precious metal, we could not help but try to find a way to possess it for ourselves,” Malic continued.

  “I’m sure you can understand why we take such offense over having mursame used in such a way... to be used as a weapon, for destruction, when it is clearly a source of inspiration,” Malic told Garreth as the sword was laid upon the desk.

  “But, this is not the only crime you are guilty of, Malquian. No, the deaths of a thousand Vandari fall upon your head. You have insulted our creed and our cavalry. We have killed Kal’reth for much, much less than this, but you are in a fortunate position,” Malic threatened.

  “All you have to do is tell us everything you know about Malquia’s plans for Kal’resh and beyond. You must be here for a reason,” Malic demanded.

  “We’re here to find you. To bring you back to Malquia… to answer our questions and our justice,” Garreth explained, his head wavering as he spoke.

  “Well, it seems our positions are quite exchanged, don’t you think?” Malic asked.

  “One does not bring a small army to shore for one man, however. There must be a different reason. So tell me,” Malic continued after he had finished a round of laughter.

  Garreth stared at the man, right into his blood red eyes, and said nothing. Malic waited for a time, staring back and saying nothing.

  “Nothing to contribute? Very well then,” Malic dismissed before he clapped his hands twice.

  “Guards! Take him!” Malic called out, looking towards the door behind Garreth.

  The guards soon came in and uncuffed Garreth, dragging him back to the cell. He had only been shackled for a small time before another two Vandari entered the room and began to spit and curse alike. Garreth could hear their angry condemnations as their fists met his flesh over the flat, smacking sound of battered flesh. He took their blows—to the stomach, to the kidney, to the neck, and to the chin—with a stoic and unflinching demeanor and did not show them pain although he was rife with it. The interrogators began to scream louder as the beating continued. They did not look for answers but satisfaction of their beliefs and their hate for this enemy of their country. Garreth’s final thoughts were of how the Upper Quarter had been making him soft, and a flying fist met his temple and put him out cold.

  The dull beating of pain beyond his senses kept him alive like a dream of being pummeled until he was woken by a sharp shock of cold water splashed upon his form. Garreth’s head swung around as he tried to look up but his attempts were met with a fist that knocked his head down again. After he was unshackled, he could hear the sound of footsteps and the door swinging closed over the sound of the water tinkling around him. He dared to lift his gaze again and saw that a small hunk of bread and an uncooked yam remained beside the near empty pail of water. Now, his arms weren’t the other thing that hurt.

  He flopped down onto his stomach for rest, exhausted from holding himself up to preserve his arms, but knew that the guards would soon be back to restrain him or worse. The bread was hard, bland, and tasted like sawdust. The yam was overripe but still bitter. The water might have been piss. As the light of day finally fled from his room, he stared at the lit crack on the bottom of the door that shined orange from torch fire. Garreth was just nodding off when the door flew upon. As he was thrown up against the wall again, his head smacked against it, and his arms were yanked into position and secured again. Garreth waited for a time for the guards to leave before unleashing a low moan, and he wondered how his son was doing.

  Novas turned over in his sleep and fluffed at the pillow, trying to extend the rest which his body felt he craved. His eyes then snapped open, and he found himself in a bed within an enclosed room of stone and mortar. The orange of sundown poured through the narrow window of the rocky tower and onto the bed where Novas pulled himself up and out. The room to him seemed to be like any tavern room with a bed, a desk, some chairs, a pail for washing, and some candles. He looked over himself and found he had been stripped of his armour, for only Malic’s white robe remained over his cloth. He got out of bed, picked a pear out of a bowl of fruit on the table, and looked out the window to see the sea. He dragged a chair to the window but still coul
d not see the crashing waves against the cliff below him. When all had been explored, he made his way to the wooden door and knocked upon it three times.

  “Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?” Novas called out, but there was no response.

  He listened for voices or footsteps, but there were none to be heard. Only a short time after he had given up, the door was unlocked, and Malic made his way in. Novas dove for the clay fruit bowl and shattered it upon the wall, leaving a sharp edge grasped in his hand.

  “You! You bastard!” Novas called out.

  “Now calm down, Novas. I could have had you bound and shackled in the dungeon. Please show me the same respect I have granted you,” Malic stated, watching the clay spike in Novas’ hands.

  “What am I doing here? Where am I?” Novas demanded as he pointed the shard forward.

  “You’re on your way to Vandar. You’re my prisoner. Just like you tried to imprison me, remember?” Malic explained. “But, it doesn’t have to be that way,”

  “What do you mean?” Novas inquired.

  “Look, this is how it is. I know you have come to these shores looking for me. Vengeance is idealized among the Vandari in all aspects of our culture,” Malic began to explain.

  “But you’re Kal’reth! Look at your skin and your eyes!” Novas shouted.

  “Maybe born but not raised. Vandar is all I care to remember,” Malic continued.

  “I can see you empathize with the pleas of the Kal’reth. You saw the destruction of the forest in Erawal, and you fought alongside them in Nacosst. Perhaps, you fear for their survival, or you see it as an injustice the laws we have put in place to encourage trade and cultural harmony. But let me tell you, spurring these people into war against the Vandari will lead their race into absolute extinction. We have given them a chance, just like we did with Lord Vyse in Malquia, to live in peace with the Order. But unlike Malquia, the Kal’reth are travelers, nomads, and merchants first. They are united by survival in their arid and dangerous environment, not pitted against each other. They are no soldiers. They cannot withstand the might of the Vandari as Malquia has, and the path you have led them on, with your ignorance and irresponsibility, will lead them to their dooms,” Malic argued.

  “I ask that you explain what Malquia intends to do with Kal’resh and where your forces lay upon the map. I swear on my honour that no Kal’reth will be punished. Any Malquian that surrenders will be treated with dignity and will be sent back to their homes. The Order wishes to neutralize this situation before any more damage can be had,” Malic explained.

  Novas had a seat and looked over the map that Malic had laid out. He could see the tiny bay of Nacosst. Further inland, there was an icon of water and trees representing Erawal. Novas traced the coast of the map, and his eyes fell upon the only place that would look upon the sea as he did: Andalvia. Novas danced his fingers upon the map before looking up at Malic.

  “Before I could lift a sword, there was no Malquian army. Disbanded by the crooked Queen and her traitorous brother, the Crown Army was only a whisper of the past when I first arrived in Amatharsus. Berault, my father, and many brave Malquians gathered together all those who would stand against the Queen, and we were hunted by the Blackwoods as rebels. While we had some soldiers like Behn the Mighty or Eyrn the Swift, the bulk of the new Crown Aegis were everyday people… once bakers, smiths, miners, and merchants brought low by the law of the Blackwoods. They donned their armour, picked up their weapons, and struggled alongside us to free themselves and each other from tyranny and to exact revenge on those who had made it that way,” Novas explained.

  “Kal’resh will be no different. They may be simple settlers, but they will find strength in unity. With the guidance of the Crown Aegis, they will overthrow their oppressors. Every Malquian who has come to this shore has come to the aid of people unknown to them. Not because of some bond of humanity or to seek further victory, but to acknowledge a fundamental wrong was occurring where the Vandari have made dominion. The Kal’reth are slowly realizing this. In time, they will be driven towards freedom as we were, hopefully by the power of their own realization,” Novas concluded.

  “The Kal’reth were conquered as easily as cattle and have resisted dominance just as much! They will not be great warriors. They will continue to be subjects of the Order. I suggest if you want to keep yourself from a long and painful death, that you keep such fantastic delusions to yourself,” Malic exclaimed, his face turning as red as his moniker, before slamming the door behind him.

  Novas rolled his eyes and bent to the floor, picking up the scattered pieces of fruit. It may be the last thing he would have to eat in some time, he remarked to himself with a smile.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kayten bolted up off of the mat, nearly putting her head through the tent skin, when she heard the loud and repetitive drumming of an iron pan. The sun was up, and the Kal’reth were gathering for breakfast around the fire to fill themselves for a long trek that would last until they arrived in Andalvia. Ilsa and Kayten pulled themselves up to a seat around the fire where they were handed bowls of Makva, which was a regional dish of yams with figs and berries. As the cooks had made plenty, they all had a hearty serving and were finished in time for crispy strips of lamb. The water was cool and refreshing as they washed their mouths of their breakfast, and they soon returned to their tent to begin packing.

  Before the sun had lost its red, the caravan had made its way onto their path of dried dirt desert. The sand blew across the crackled earth like waves of mist escaping with the wind at sunrise. They eventually came to a large flatland. At noon, the heat had climbed to its peak, and Kayten assumed the region was hotter than most because no gray, brown, or green of plants shot up through the splits in the ground. With the seemingly unending distance, the two travelers did not realize they were headed up the slightest of inclines. It seemed to Kayten that they were always chasing the silver streak on the edge of the world, ever elusive on the horizon, regardless of how fast the camel galloped.

  It took effort to even breathe there. Staying conscious and completely focused was a tiring task. The heat pummeled them like buffeting winds. Instead of being infrequent and cold, the wind was rhythmic, pulsing, and hot. It seemed easy to Kayten to let her mind lose focus and unwind and to let her eyes glaze over and become still. But a creeping redness on the outside of the vision kept her aware and kept her from losing consciousness. Kayten looked over at Ilsa, who smiled and nodded in return before setting her gaze on the horizon again. Kayten followed her example but was dismayed. Novas had been the spontaneous one. He often burst forth with conversation at the slightest sign of interest like a misshapen cloud or a colourful bird. She sighed but was glad to be traveling towards him. Kayten did not notice a high peak poking out on the edge of the horizon until it was higher than the far off dunes.

  By the time the travelers had made their way onto the sandy deposits again, three peaks emerged prominent on the edge of the sands. Dark gray towers of stone rose to the sky. By the time Ilsa and Kayten noticed the earth had dropped into precarious cliffs, the higher buildings and the walls were just in view. The city of Andalvia reminded Ilsa of the hilltop garrison at Nacosst except much larger. Thicker than coastal sea barriers, the walls of Andalvia stretched two stories, were completely solid, and were made of cliff and waterside boulders that were unearthed during the construction of the great stone stairs stretching from the elevated city to the harbour on the water below. As the full city came into view before them, they saw the winding main road that wound from the center gate and up the hill the city was built upon.

  The shadow of the great walls engulfed them as the caravan rode into the gate, and Kayten and Ilsa made sure they had their hoods up long before they came within vision of the eight Vandari that stood guarding the gate. Like the rest of the pedestrians, mostly merchants, travelers, and hunters, the Vandari did not stop the caravan from entering the city. Instead, the guards watched with careful eyes as the travelers rode
past.

  The housing on the southern edge of the city was the least valuable due to its limited height that did often not even reach three stories, just tall enough to look over the city walls, The rest of the buildings structured with stone foundations and wooden supports featured a solid coating of clay and sand and rose in height with the rising of the hill. Each ascending row of houses looked over each other, providing an open view of the southern desert from each rising level. Most of the buildings on the main street had a balcony on the second floor that served as shade for the first and a third floor balcony did likewise for the second. Hanging off of these balconies were a bevy of colorful items from brown fabric tapestries with a prismatic arrangement of designs to overflowing planters of verdant green vines and leaves with rainbow bunches of desert flowers.

  The citizens in the streets were very similar to any city of Kal’resh. The women were dressed in robes or light shawls, and the men in similar robes or a set of billowing pants, shirt, and vest of silk or cloth. Together, their garments were like white, brown, and purple petals flowing through the streets.

  Kayten and Ilsa looked over the city from the middle of the caravan, studying their surroundings. As they came to the first major intersection in Andalvia, the buildings to the right disappeared and a leveled market took up the entire width and length of the block. They brought their attention forward as a loud whistle rang out, and Karon waved his hand left, directing the caravan around the corner. A tall archway stood at the end of the road heading away from the market, which was the main thoroughfare to the steep set of stairs towards the sea. In the shadow of the setting sun, Karon pulled the caravan to a stop beside a three-story building, leapt off his camel, and knocked upon the door.

  “Hello! Hello in there!” Karon yelled, his deep voice booming as he knocked on the door.

  ` “Who goes there? What do you want?” a man yelled from the next door window.