He caught his breath, looking around. His gaze fell on the supply carts. He saw movement, and realized that one of the villagers was stealing water gourds. The king raced toward the thief, quickly ascertaining that the man had no weapon. He lifted his sword and brought the hilt down on the back of the man’s head. The robber fell silently, the gourds tumbling down next to him. Sensing a presence behind him, the king turned, bringing the sword around quickly in a blur. It caught the attacker, his sword raised to cleave the king in two, across the midsection. The sand fury fell to the ground, blood spurting. In a mercy blow, the king lifted the sword, drove it straight down into the man’s heart, and looked around for more foes. There were only a few left fighting; apparently the sand furies and the villagers realized how badly they were outnumbered and had fled. Even as the king hurried up to offer his aid, the last of the combatants turned and slipped into the night.
“That’s got ’em!” said Ben. “So, how bad was it?”
The king looked around. Most of the bodies stiffening on the ground were clad in either the long white desert robes of the villagers or the black tunic and trousers of the sand furies. “Looks like there are only a few of our own people slain. And most of the wounded seemed to have only minor injuries. I think a better question is, why in the world did they even attack us at all? They had to know they’d lose.”
He grabbed a torch burning next to one of the tents and jumped up into one of the carts, the better to see and be seen. Most of the male villagers were nowhere to be found, but plenty of the women and children clustered together, looking up at him fearfully. The king realized now, as he hadn’t truly done before, how sharp their cheekbones were against their skin. The villagers had been utterly desperate, to attack as they had done. They were more afraid of the sand furies than of death. He felt sorrow for their plight, but it could not excuse their actions.
“Listen up, troops!” he shouted, holding aloft the torch. “Tonight hospitality has turned to betrayal. Most of those who attacked us have fled, leaving behind those who raised no weapon against us. We will not seek vengeance,” he stated firmly, looking at a group of women holding their children close. “But we will recover what we have honestly paid for and depart. If anyone seeks to hinder us, then we will attack to defend ourselves.”
Anger was still running high, and there was some muttering, but the men turned to begin reloading the carts rather than seeking out the lingering villagers. The king nodded. Good. He jumped down and began helping.
The villagers stayed well clear during the process. Shan and Kalin had survived, and set to assisting as eagerly as the king. At one point, the monarch noticed that Ben was looking around for the lovely Shalia, who had so bravely come to warn them, doubtless at the risk of her own life. He hoped she had not been forced to pay with it.
In record time, everything was packed and the army was ready again to move. Shan had advised against traveling at night, citing the shadows and other dangers. Thus far, however, the only enemies they had encountered were hollow men, who could attack day or night; the sirens, who were confined to their body of water; and the treachery of men. Given the incidents of tonight, everyone, including the king himself, was eager to put distance between them and the traitorous village of Sweetwater Trees.
Several torches were lit, so that they could navigate the road safely. The oxen seemed refreshed by their few hours of rest and ample watering, and appeared almost as eager as their masters to be under way again. As the army marched, Ben fell into step beside the king.
“Shalia vanished,” Ben said.
“You … didn’t see her among …” the king said, trying to be gentle.
“The bodies of those bastards?” Ben replied bluntly. “Fortunately, no. But that means that in the end she was just as much a traitor as the rest of them.”
“You don’t know that for certain. And she did warn us.”
“Yeah, about a minute before we would have found out on our own.”
“It doesn’t make sense, Ben. She didn’t have to do anything at all.”
“Yes it does. We were, uh, together in my tent. She knew if I found out about it I’d—”
“Kill her? You wouldn’t kill an unarmed woman out of anger, Ben.”
“No,” he admitted, “but she didn’t know that.”
The king had no argument to that and so fell silent. They walked on for a time, and then the monarch said, “Well … at least we’re alive, and we have our goods back.”
“Majesty!” It was one of the scouts who had moved on ahead. He had not had a torch; he had moved quietly, in the moonlight, and now was racing back. “The road ahead … is blocked,” he said, gasping for breath from his sprint. “Looks like … it has been for some time. Manned by … sand furies. Dozens of them!
“What?” exclaimed the king.
“No doubt part of the pact between the villagers and the bandits,” said Kalin. “If anyone such as we managed to escape the initial trap, they would ensure that we would go no farther.”
“Your Majesty!” came another voice, this time from the rear of the caravan. “Looks like we got ourselves a spy!”
The king turned to see Shalia, her hands tied with ropes, being all but dragged toward him. Ben’s lips thinned, but he said nothing.
“I am no spy!” the girl was saying as she struggled. She looked more angry than fearful. “Your Majesty! I was trying to come warn you!”
It was possible, the king admitted to himself. Ben opened his mouth for a sharp retort, but the king silenced him. “If that’s true, why did you flee with the rest of the villagers?”
“Do you not remember that Pahket is my father?” she said. “I was forced to accompany him. I have only just managed to get free. There is a—”
“Blockade ahead, we know,” said Ben. “That’s twice now your warning hasn’t really come in time.”
“This one will,” she said quietly. The king nodded to the men to release her. They cut her bond, and she straightened, rubbing her wrists and trying to gather composure. “The road is blocked at a critical juncture. The path is narrow, and tall cliffs rise on both sides. The sand furies have had years to perfect their strategy. They have the advantage of higher ground and familiarity with the terrain. Should you try to force your way through, they will send boulders crashing down on you while picking you off from above. You will never make it through.”
“Well that’s nice and cheery,” Ben said.
“I presume you have a suggestion,” the king said.
“There is … a detour,” Shalia said. “Through the mountains. It will emerge beyond the blockade. You will not be able to take any of your larger weapons through it, and it is a route almost as dangerous as fighting the sand-fury blockade. But at least with this route, there is a possibility you will survive.”
“What makes this place so dangerous?” Kalin wanted to know.
“It is called, Asur-keh-la.”
The words were familiar, but the king couldn’t recall exactly what they meant—until Shan spoke quietly.
“It is the place I spoke of on the ship,” he said. “Asur-keh-la … The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.”
Chapter Ten
“Oh, this is just bloody lovely,” snapped Ben. Our choices are death by boulders or death by a cursed, buried city. Wonderful.”
Privately the king was thinking the same thing, but he couldn’t let anyone know it. “Tell me more about the specific dangers,” he said.
“We … do not know,” said Shalia. “It is, as Ben says, a cursed city. The sandstorm that devoured it came so suddenly that hundreds, perhaps thousands, of innocent people died in a few hours. No one has ventured there in centuries. It is said that the spirits of those who died are angry and will bring any living thing into their doom with them.”
“So,” said the king, “it might just be nothing more than sand-covered ruins, as far as you know. This could all be legend and superstition.”
“Legends l
ike sirens?” Ben said archly.
“Shan, what do you think? You grew up with the stories about this place.”
Shan looked as if he were about three seconds from sheer panic. Kalin placed a motherly arm around him. “I … Majesty, please do not ask me to advise you on this!”
“I will make my own decision, Shan. I merely want to know what you know.”
His eyes fixed on Shalia, he said, “She is right. It is a terrible place, filled with pain and torment. And why not? How would you feel, dying in a sandstorm, your mouth and nose and lungs choking on sand, your body imprisoned by it after it had scoured the skin from your bones?”
“Maybe we don’t need quite so colorful an account,” the king suggested.
“You must decide, Majesty. I would never have taken this route, never in a thousand years. But …”
The king smiled sadly. “But it seems the only chance we have is certain death or possible death. I for one will always choose the latter.”
“If you’re directing us into another trap, girl,” Ben began. The king knew why Ben was being so uncharacteristically nasty. Finn liked Shalia and had trusted her.
“The only trap is the one that lies directly ahead on the road. The underground passageway will open out onto Asur-keh-la. From there, we can find the Great Trade road again.”
“Do you think the passageway itself will present difficulties?”
She smiled a little. “The passageway to the city of the dead? Not even the sand furies dare hide there. It should be safe enough, I think.”
“And you say we’ll have to leave the siege engines behind,” the king confirmed.
Shalia nodded. “I know how all this sounds,” she said. “But if it is any reassurance—I am willing to go with you. I will be putting my own life at risk alongside yours.”
“Not if your buddies are waiting to ambush us,” muttered Ben, but even he sounded less certain.
The king made his decision. “We go through Asur-keh-la. If nothing else, we shall deny the sand furies the pleasure of killing us.”
“We will just be handing them these weapons, along with the oxen pulling them,” Ben said.
“And where,” said the king, amused, “are they going to take them? They themselves have blocked the road!”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of it that way,” said Ben, brightening. “Right then.”
The king couldn’t help but wonder how much he would wish, later, that they hadn’t been forced to leave the large, cumbersome weaponry behind. But there was no help for it. The oxen and the horses, at least, would be salvable, along with all their precious supplies. The king had dealt with things unliving before. And there was a chance that, in the end, this would prove to be nothing but an old folktale, and they’d all have a jolly good laugh at how scared they’d been.
Not a good one, but a chance.
“Our scout reported that the ambush is over a mile down the road. Shalia, how far ahead is the detour to Asur-keh-la?”
“There is a bend a few yards ahead. It is at that junction that an old road goes off through the mountain pass to the left. That is the pass to The Place From Which No Living Thing Returns.”
“Let’s just call it Asur-keh-la, shall we?” said Ben.
“All right. We’ll have to be careful. They clearly know we’ll be heading in their direction.” The king frowned, thinking. “They won’t be expecting the heavy weaponry to go fast, and that’s what’s going to be the most noticeable. If we do this right, we should be able to get the foot soldiers and the smaller carts well into the passageway without the sand furies realizing anything’s amiss. It will take them at least a few minutes after we come to a full halt for them to suspect what we’re doing. Spread the word up and down the ranks. Once we hit that bend in the road, we’ll peel off a few at a time. Tell the oxen drivers to go slowly but steadily.”
Ben, Kalin, and Shan nodded. Shalia watched him go, then turned stoically to the king. “I will show you where the entrance is when we approach,” she said quietly.
“Give Ben a little time. You must understand how he feels.”
She nodded. “You likely will not understand, but … these are hard times, Your Majesty. Frightening times for those not strong enough to defend themselves. My father did what he thought best to ensure the safety of his people. He reasoned, better to sacrifice the lives and property of strangers than our own.”
“I can understand how that would be a difficult decision,” the king said. “I have had to make such no-win choices myself. It isn’t easy.”
She gave him a relieved smile. “I am glad you understand why he did this.”
“I said I understood,” the king said. “I didn’t say I approved—or that I would have done the same thing.”
“He had no choice!” Shalia insisted.
“There is always a choice,” the king replied. “As you well know—you chose to warn us, and now you choose to face the danger with us. Some would say, you had no choice but to obey your father. Things are usually much grayer than they appear to be, Shalia. Now—let’s move, and you can show me this path to the Place From Which—er, Asur-keh-la.”
Slowly, they rounded the bend. While the moonlight was fairly bright, the king would never have seen the darker smudge against the cliff sides if Shalia had not pointed it out. Two or three at a time, the donkey- and horse-drawn carts laden with precious food, water, small weapons, and ammunition drifted over to the aperture. The torchlights they had with which to see seemed very feeble against that darkness. The king thought with a pang of Sir Walter, and his dislike of dark, enclosed spaces. Despite Shalia’s logical reassurances, the king made sure several men armed with weapons went first, just in case.
He watched the first seven small carts enter. When there was no sound of gunfire or anything else signaling danger, the king directed a few more inside.
“I think we’re going to be able to pull this off,” Ben said.
“I do too,” the king said. “But I’ve got a plan in case we don’t.”
“Oh?”
The king told him.
The oxen steadfastly pulling the heavy weaponry were only too happy to move slowly. More and more light carts and men dropped out of the caravan, slipping away unseen into the darkness of the tunnel through the living rock. Finally, the last dozen or so slowed and turned aside, leaving only the enormous engines of war being pulled along by plodding oxen. And at last their drivers, as well, gave the beasts farewell pats and headed for the cave.
“Go, go,” the king urged them. He had already sent Kalin and Shan in earlier. The only ones lingering near the entrance were himself, Ben, and about six of the king’s best sharpshooters armed with rifles. They waited, expectantly.
For several long, taut minutes, nothing happened. Then they started to see vague shadows slipping around the siege engines. The sand furies had now learned that their quarry had eluded them, and they were, apparently, quite baffled as to what had become of an entire army.
“Stand fast, but be quiet,” the king hissed. “They may not figure it out.”
The shadows ran past, moving with almost inhuman litheness. The king fought the urge to hold his breath and was suddenly foolishly certain that the bandits could hear their very heartbeats.
Just as he had the thought, one of them paused. Slowly, he turned his masked head and gazed right at the entrance. All at once, several bright blades caught the gleam of moonlight, and the sand furies descended upon the tunnel.
“Run!” roared the king. Everyone turned on his heels and raced into the tunnel. Those who had gone before them had a single torch burning, so they wouldn’t stumble blindly. They reached the torch.
“Halt! About-face, weapons up!”
There was just enough light to see down the short length of the tunnel. The king prayed that the stretch would be long enough. Brandishing the weapons, the sand furies charged.
“Fire!”
The rifles cracked as the men fired—not at the appr
oaching sand furies, but at the keg of gunpowder seated at the entrance.
The tunnel exploded in a flash of light and sound like captured thunder. Tons of rock came tumbling down, crushing the sand furies unfortunate enough to be in the tunnel, and sealing out those still left outside. The earth trembled, then subsided.
As dust from the fallen stones rose, the king coughed and helped a few of the others who had fallen to the ground.
“It held,” Ben said to the king. “Just like you said it would.”
The king merely nodded. He didn’t see the point in telling Ben—or anyone—that he had been as nervous as the rest of them. He’d felt fairly sure the tunnel would hold … but there had been no way to be certain.
They had prevented their enemy from following them—but at a cost. There was, quite literally, no turning back now. The only way out was through.
“I don’t understand him,” Laylah said. She and Page were in the drawing room. They had just finished another sparring session, and Laylah was in a temper. “I fought well today. You saw!”
“Yes you did,” Page readily agreed. “You nearly got Timmins three times.”
“But he never said a word, not one word!”
“I noticed your improvement, and so did he. That’s just the way Timmins is, Laylah. He’s brusque, a bit grumpy, and probably the best instructor you could possibly have. Has it ever occurred to you that the reason you’re making the excellent progress that you are might be because he’s pushing you so hard?”
“I don’t mind being pushed,” said Laylah. She held a cup of tea, and her hand was trembling—not from exhaustion but from anger. “You know that. You push me. He’s just—I feel like why should I bother? He’ll never think I’m good enough. I’m worried, Page. My beloved is off leading an army to fight the darkness. I’ve been away from him longer than I’ve been with him! I don’t know what’s going on, I’m trying to keep morale up and support the people, I’m learning how to be a warrior and a queen when I’ve been neither before in my life, and I can’t even get a ‘good job’ out of Timmins!”
Fable: Edge of the World Page 9