by RM Wark
Perhaps the jeweler has seen Fallon recently. It was the only hope he had.
It would take several days to reach Jessum. The road north was cold and desolate and would bring him close to Colton and the ghosts of his past. He would also have to pass through Koman and risk being caught by the Komanites. But the road west led back to Reed – back to Daria and Luca – and he could not risk their temptation.
I cannot give up on Fallon just yet. He is my best friend. He saved my life. I owe him that much.
*************
For the first time in a long time, Selma smiled. She walked swiftly and with purpose through long corridors until she reached the large wooden door protected by a guard. Hidden behind the door was a small winding staircase – a staircase that led to the infamous dungeons of Cetahl.
It is dark in the dungeons, she thought, placing her hand in her pocket to make certain the knife was still there.
The guard seemed surprised when she stopped before him and requested entry, but he did not object. He quickly stepped aside and unlocked the door without asking any questions. There were definite benefits to being the personal servant of the Emperor.
“Thank you, sir.”
The guard nodded and held the door for her. “It shall be my pleasure to accompany you to the dungeons. Which prisoner holds the Emperor’s interest this day?”
“That shall not be necessary, sir. The Emperor has requested the utmost secrecy regarding this matter. He has asked that I enter the dungeons alone.”
Although she had practiced those words many times in the privacy of her bedchamber, Selma still worried the guard might not be convinced. It was not standard practice to allow anyone into the dungeons without a guard, not even the Emperor’s personal servant. Should the guard protest, Selma knew her only recourse would be to threaten to tell the Emperor of the guard’s refusal, and she knew that would be an empty threat.
The guard hesitated for a moment, but he ultimately let her pass. “Please take care. The steps are steep and old,” he cautioned. “There is a lit torch at the end of the stairs that you may use to guide your path.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You shall find most of the prisoners down the first passageway to the right, but there is one held deeper within the dungeons.”
“Aye,” Selma said, as if she had already been informed of this fact. She paused before adding, “This may take some time.”
The guard acknowledged her with a nod.
Selma breathed a sigh of relief and carefully descended the steps. When she reached the landing at the bottom, her hand instinctively reached for the lit torch. She caught herself and slowly pulled her hand away. As she stared into the darkness before her, her confidence faltered.
“You can do this, Selma,” she mumbled to herself. “This is the only way to end the pain.”
She took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness. With each step, she drew farther and farther from the light. With each step, her heart beat a little faster. Selma traced her fingers along the wall of stone, letting them guide her farther into the depths of the dungeons.
A faint light from the torch was still visible when she encountered her first break in the wall – the first passageway to the right. But she was not interested in encountering any prisoners, so she slowly shuffled her feet forward until her fingers touched the cold stone wall once more. Eventually the wall came to an end, forcing her to turn left down another passageway. With a few more steps the light was gone, and she was completely surrounded in darkness.
Selma stopped and reached for the knife in her pocket. She brought the blade to her wrist once again and pressed, but she could not bring herself to cut the flesh. She tried once more, but once again her hand refused to obey her desires.
She knew then that it would never happen. Not that way. Defeated and angry, Selma began to sob quietly in the dark.
*************
Once again, Gentry and Casper found themselves crossing the barren expanse of land north of Bartow, forever in the shadow of the Atlian Mountains. There was no escape from the wind. It attacked them from all sides with a bitter chill that still carried traces of winter even though spring had come long ago.
As the sun began its slow retreat, Gentry found an outcropping of rocks and proceeded to set up camp. He was delighted to see his fire take hold despite the pervasive wind.
We might actually stay warm tonight.
He had been staring at the flames – lost in thoughts of Daria and Luca – when the sound of hoofbeats echoed in the distance. The unexpected sound of multiple riders filled him with dread.
In all the years Gentry had spent traveling the desolate road north from Bartow, he had never encountered another soul this late in the day. There were still traces of sunlight remaining, so Gentry scrambled up the nearby boulders in hopes of seeing what was coming his way.
His eyes narrowed as he searched the horizon. It did not take long to spot the cloud of dust in the distance. The riders were too far away for Gentry to make out how many were traveling in the party, but he guessed there were at least a half-dozen horsemen based on the size of the dust cloud and the sound of the hoofbeats. He could not fathom why so many riders would be on this particular road this late in the day. He only knew it likely meant trouble.
Fortunately, the riders were farther away than the sound of the hoofbeats had led him to believe. Perhaps they have not seen my campfire yet. It was a hopeful thought – but he knew better. He had been burning the fire for over an hour. They most certainly saw something. There was no time to lose. He must tear down the camp and hide – or run – fast!
He slid part of the way down the boulders before deciding to jump in order to save some time. He immediately regretted that decision. In his haste, Gentry failed to notice the pile of loose rocks that littered the ground at the base of the boulders. His ankle rolled awkwardly in the landing, and he cried out in pain.
Cursing himself, Gentry hobbled along towards the fire. He grabbed one of the blankets that he had used to keep Casper warm at night and began swatting furiously at the flames. The horse let out a nervous neigh as Gentry desperately tried to put out the fire.
“Quiet, Casper!” Gentry barked.
For once, Casper listened.
With the fire finally out, Gentry focused his efforts on the rest of the campsite. The tent came down quicker than expected, and he began dragging the tarp and his remaining baggage behind the outcropping of rocks. He led Casper behind the boulders and sank down low, gingerly extending the leg with the throbbing ankle out before him as he slid to the ground.
Ironically, Gentry now found himself grateful for the wind. Its erratic gusts would make pinpointing the source of the fire that much harder. He just hoped the faint remnants of his campsite were far enough away from the road to escape the attention of the riders.
Please do not let them see it, he begged to the heavens. It is too late to run.
Gentry closed his eyes. It was hard to discern the sound of the approaching hoofbeats over his own beating heart at first – but the stampede of rhythmic clopping eventually grew louder and louder, overtaking all other sounds. He held his breath and waited. It would not be long now.
*************
He had been down this mountain path before, but a feeling of unease gripped him nonetheless. He brought his nose to the ground and stepped forward as quietly as he could. The scents were all stale; even the squirrels had not been around for several days.
Much of the forest he had encountered thus far was dead, with jagged tree trunks charred black from fire. But this part appeared untouched by flame.
There should be life in these trees. Where have the birds and squirrels gone? Lord Edmund wondered.
He had taken the form of a fox once again. It was one of his favorites. A fox was too big to be eaten by a hawk, yet small enough to squeeze into tight spaces. Most importantly, a fox was quick.
He tried to ignore the gnawing in his stomach.
Any other wizard would have simply conjured up water and food as needed, but such a spell had never worked for Lord Edmund or any other shape-shifter.
Lord Edmund had been persisting on berries these past few days, but the paltry diet was not enough. His mouth watered at the thought of biting into a small rodent.
Where have the squirrels gone? It was a question that would enter his mind time and time again.
It had been several weeks since Lord Edmund crossed over the Divisidero Mountains into the East. In the beginning he had been forced to hide from small groups of starved Easterners who were slowly making their way towards Durango, but as of late the path had been curiously empty.
A pale crescent of a moon cast the smallest of shadows, but otherwise the fox moved with determined stealth. If memory served, he should come across an abandoned village in another day or so. He hoped that the village might hold valuable information on the East: books, maps, letters – anything that would benefit the West as they prepared for war.
The fox froze in place, his ears alert. It had been the most subtle of sounds, and for a moment he wondered if he had actually heard anything at all. He lifted his head and sniffed the air around him. Nothing. He could have easily dismissed the sound and continued on his way, but the fur on the back of his neck was standing on end, and he had learned long ago to trust his animal instincts.
In a flash, Lord Edmund bolted from the path and made his way through the thicket of adjacent trees, moving as fast as his fox legs would allow. He zigzagged left and right, leaping over fallen trees in an effort to dodge his pursuer. But the wolf was faster and just as agile, and the space between the hunted and hunter diminished quickly.
If only I had killed a bird! Lord Edmund cursed to himself. Wings would prove quite useful at the moment.
Lord Edmund’s ability to shape-shift was confined to only those animals killed by his own hand. Being a rather passive soul, the list was a short one: fox, rat, fish, snake, chicken, pig.
Lord Edmund veered suddenly to the left, hoping the unexpected move would put more distance between himself and the wolf. And while it worked for a moment, the wizard soon found his decision to be a rather poor one. He had not gone more than forty paces before he reached a dead end. Steep mountainsides rose in front of him, to the left of him, and to the right of him. His only choice was to turn around and head back. Alas, it was too late – the wolf was already blocking the wizard’s only means of egress.
The black beast advanced slowly, baring its teeth as it growled. Lord Edmund knew it would spring on top of him at any moment. There was only one thing left to do. When the smoke from the explosion finally cleared, the fox was gone, and a wizard now stood before the beast. Unfortunately for Lord Edmund, wolves had acquired a taste for human flesh during the recent drought and plague. A puddle of drool dropped to the ground right as the beast jumped, his jaws aiming for Lord Edmund’s throat.
“Desinomori!”
Holding his wand up high, Lord Edmund uttered the words he had not spoken since the Second War of the Wizards. The beast yelped in midair and fell to the ground.
As Lord Edmund looked down upon the dead wolf, he was reminded of the tales his mother used to tell him and his brother whenever they became a little too bold and fearless in their younger years. “Wolves travel in packs,” she had said. “If the first one does not get you, the others shall. Beware.”
The wizard surveyed his surroundings. He could go back the way he came, but he risked encountering the other wolves in the pack that might have come to investigate their fallen brother’s cry. He looked to the sheer rock walls around him. They would be nearly impossible to scale, no matter what form he took. Besides, he was exhausted. He needed a safe place to rest and hide.
If only I were back in my cave in the high steppes of Aberdeen.
Lord Edmund scanned the ominous walls surrounding him again. He smiled when he spotted it – a small hole in the side of the rock wall.
Too small for a wizard or a fox, but not too small for a rat.
Another burst of smoke filled the air, and the wizard was gone.
*************
A crescendo of sound from the approaching horses filled the air around Gentry – and in those moments he did not move, he did not breathe. Then, ever so slowly, the noise began to decrease as the horsemen continued north along the road – away from the outcropping of rocks that hid Gentry and his horse.
Gentry did not stir for several minutes – not until the sounds of the horses were faint enough that he felt confident the riders were unlikely to circle back. Clutching the reins of his horse, he quietly cursed his foolish jump and his throbbing ankle as he struggled to stand.
“It shall be dark before long, Casper. I need to put our camp back together. Unfortunately, it seems we must do without fire tonight, my friend. We cannot risk being seen.” Gentry patted Casper and slowly started to hobble around to the other side of the boulders.
He had been staring at the ground – mindful of the loose rocks which threatened further injury with one false step – when he heard the neigh of a horse. Gentry froze. The neigh had not come from Casper.
We are not alone. With every ounce of courage he had, Gentry raised his head. A burly man on a tall brown horse stood before him, perhaps forty feet away.
“Wizards be damned. I told the boss I saw something. Thank you, sir, for proving me right.” The burly man gave Gentry a big smile before bringing a small wooden horn to his mouth.
“No! Please!” Gentry shouted. But it was too late. The sound of the horn echoed through the air, and Gentry knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of the party would be back.
We must run!
He turned towards Casper, intent on mounting the horse as quickly as possible. But in his moment of panic, Gentry forgot about his bad ankle. It promptly buckled in the stirrup as he tried to put weight on it, causing Gentry to fall back down to the ground. In spite of his pain, Gentry managed to successfully mount Casper on his second attempt.
He whistled and gave Casper a good kick. Casper took off, but Gentry found himself tumbling to the ground once more – this time followed by his horse. It was as if everything was happening in slow motion. He heard a loud crack, which was quickly followed by the most intense pain Gentry had ever known.
The horse had fallen on Gentry’s leg. It was most certainly broken. In a haze of pain, he watched as Casper struggled to get up, only to fall back down again beside him. In that moment, the pain in Gentry’s broken leg receded – only to be replaced with the pain of a broken heart. His horse had stumbled on the loose rocks and fallen. His horse was now lame. His horse would be dead soon.
Gentry pulled himself closer to Casper and brought the horse’s head into his lap. Casper neighed. Gentry could tell the horse was frightened and in a tremendous amount pain. Tears welled up in Gentry’s eyes as he stroked Casper’s head with one hand. He reached for his knife – Dennison’s knife – with the other.
“I am sorry, my friend. Until we meet again,” he whispered. And with one clean motion, Gentry slit Casper’s throat and held tight as the horse bled out.
*************
Selma’s soft cries were soon silenced by a most curious sound echoing through the passageway. Someone was whistling, and they were whistling “The Pride of Pevek.”
Wendell’s song!
Wendell used to sing it to her all the time. He said he learned it from their grandfather, who had died when she was still an infant. Her brother used to sing her to sleep with the tune when they still lived in the orphanage. In fact, he had been singing that song the day the Emperor came.
I had been crying, and he was trying to console me.
She found herself quietly singing along to the tune as her thoughts went back to that fateful day:
A little boy with a wooden flute
Marched along with all the rest
And with him marched a thousand men
With bows upon their breast
They were determined to stay their foe
They would never retreat
The little boy played as they marched along
In time to the drummer’s beat
March, March
The Pride of Pevek did march
March, March
The Pride of Pevek did march
From the dunes of the windswept shore
They gazed upon their foe
Staring at the countless ships
A sudden fear did grow
One arrow, two arrow, three arrow, four
They all fell to the sea
Well short of the ships that held their foe
Well short of their enemies
Wait, Wait
The Pride of Pevek did wait
Wait, Wait
The Pride of Pevek did wait
The little boy was the first to see
The balls of glowing fire
Headed towards the sleeping camps
The situation was dire
He stood tall upon the dunes of sand
He played with all his might
‘Though embers of fire rained down upon him
The boy did not take flight
Play, Play
The Pride of Pevek did play
Stay, Stay
The Pride of Pevek did stay
A mighty storm blew through that night
Destroying the ships at sea
And in the rays of the morning light
They basked in victory
They searched tirelessly for the boy
The men saved by his song
But with heavy hearts they came to know