“Then what is the problem?”
“The journey.”
“But you said the distance does not matter.”
“To teleport from the palace to the hall of the keepers takes place in the span of one or two heartbeats. The problem is the length of time between here and the hall, relative to us. It could be too long.”
“If it is outside space and time why does it matter?”
“It is outside our space and our time, yes, but what is the time in that sphere relative to our time; is a minute a minute, an hour an hour?”
“You, my friend, think too much,” said Captain Mikhal.
“I understand,” added Danyel’, “but why would you wish to attempt it in the first place?”
“If I can make the journey there, the journey back here can be traversed with ease. I know this area as well as I know the palace. We will be able to receive word from the kingdom and then form our decision.”
The sound of alarm resounded through the camp. A runner ran screaming wildly toward the command tent. He entered nearly exhausted. “A rider approaches about a half hour’s run away.”
“A single rider clad in a brown robe on a black mount?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“He is a friend. You’re dismissed. Take an evening’s reprieve and an extra serving. Good job!”
“Thank you, sir!”
“That is the rider that has been following us. I know it! Shall we go greet him?”
“Yes, I think we should.”
They watched the stranger and his mount grow closer as time ebbed away. They could clearly see his simple brown robe and jet black mount. Captain Mikhal assured them that it was the same rider that had been following them.
A group of nervous guards stopped the rider just inside the camp. Swords raised, they asked him to step down from his mount. A flicker of thought shot searching through the keeper’s mind. It was an angry thought. The stranger repeated his demand through the mind of Father Jacob, the captain and Danyel’. None of them could understand his words, only his emotions, so they offered no response in return.
The rider hesitantly dismounted, casting forceful glances at the guards. The guards rapidly lowered their weapons under the weight of his gaze and the keeper’s admonishment. The rider stood still beside his horse and solemnly said, “Ne bojtes’. Tol’ko dlya mira ya prikhodil. Slishkom dol’go ya nablyudal za vam. Vremya sejchas! Tsaritsa-Mat’ ustraivaet provody privetstvie—i ya tozhe samoe.”
His thoughts echoed within their minds. They could not translate them into meaningful words, though they were certain of the dialect. It could only be the tongue of Seth’s people. Keeper Martin fumbled the words within his mind searching for any he could comprehend. The only words he knew in the dialect were a greeting Seth had taught him. “Zdravstvujte. Ya Keeper Martin, ehto Father Jacob, Captain Mikhal, i Lieutenant Danyel’.”
Teren was abashed at his foolishness. He had forgotten to phrase his words in the tongue of Man. He searched his mind for the terms he had quested from the scouts’ minds over the last week. He began to speak weakly; soon his abilities improved, and the warm gentleness of his voice flowed. “Do not be afraid. I have come in peace. Long have I watched over you. The time is now! The Queen-Mother sends out her greetings, and I also welcome you.”
Keeper Martin bid them to retire to the command tent. They had many topics to discuss, the most important of which were the whereabouts of the enemy and the progression of the war. They conversed long into the night and the next morning Teren departed the camp.
He had told them many things about the surrounding countryside and of the battle. He assured them that supplies and any horses that could be spared would be arriving soon. Teren also told them an official welcoming party and advisory council would arrive from the capital within the week.
The affairs of the camp in the passing week went well. The spirits of the soldiers remained high, though most wished to be far away in the comfort of their own homes. They had all willingly volunteered their services for a cause they thought just and would wait for the time to defend that cause.
Scouts would occasionally encounter Teren as he roamed across the plains. He would greet them heartily but never stay with them long. Captain Mikhal was still extremely puzzled why Teren was the only one they ever saw. Each time he saw Teren he would mean to ask but never had.
Cold rains slowly crept in. The skies were habitually overcast, and drizzle sprinkled over the camp. They began to make preparations for the oddly cold season. Teren had said the spring in the Eastern Reaches were mild here on the plains, so they were not excessively fearful but it did seem more like early winter than early spring.
A second week passed, and still they had received no signs of supplies or the coming reinforcements. This morning was an especially cold one; Keeper Martin paced back and forth in the command tent nervously. Father Jacob was also slightly vexed, but he hid it better. He sat quietly staring into a map spread fully across the table next to him. They both awaited word from Lieutenant Danyel’s scouting party, which should have arrived back at the camp at sunrise.
This day the rains did not relent. They carried over into the afternoon, bringing a chilling northerly wind with them. The rain turned to an icy sheet descending upon them. The camp began to appear dead, as all huddled in the safety of their tents. The only source of warmth was the mass of tightly packed bodies jammed into the relatively small number of dwellings.
Keeper Martin stared out into the sleet. Again he thought that spring in the Reaches was more like winter in the kingdoms. He hoped their idea of cold weather and Seth’s were similar, or they would not survive. He also wondered whether their mental stamina somehow shielded them from the chill, and they didn’t realize the harshness of it. He evaded any further thoughts on that subject by closing the outer flap and sitting back down upon his chair.
Father Jacob smiled at his old friend. The two had known each other for so long that at time conversation was unnecessary. Each knew what the other was thinking by the way he acted. He knew what the keeper was pondering, and the prospect of the cold settling in did not excite him either.
With the coming of darkness, the last vestiges of warmth disappeared. The sleet turned to hail and slowly to a light snow. The clouds above shrouded the entire sky to form a blanket of early dusk. The only light on this night would be the light from their dwindling fires, which were very few in number, as wood was scarce. Now both Keeper Martin and Father Jacob were extremely worried. The scouts still had not returned, and they could only assume the worst.
Captain Mikhal joined Martin and Jacob after he finished the last of his duties. The three sat wordlessly asking themselves questions with their expressions that none knew the answers to. Mikhal broke out his flask and poured them all a strong-scented ale to keep the chill away; even Jacob partook of it.
“We brought the last of the supplies from the ships today. Good thing. We need to decide what to do with the ships. These storms will soon destroy those in the open. There are some small coves to the west where we could moor the ones that aren’t in full cover here,” expressed Captain Mikhal, shattering the silence.
“Yes, yes, see that it is done in the morning,” answered Keeper Martin distantly. After that, Captain Mikhal kept his thoughts to himself for the remainder of the evening. He knew the keeper well enough to know that he hadn’t meant to offend him, though he had.
The group was mounted, traveling down the road just after sunset. Adrina rode comfortably in a richly decorated carriage. Nijal drove the four-horse team splendidly along the sometimes-rough path. Xith and Noman had purchased it from the town’s livery owner. He had been building it for his bride, but the sparkle of gold was the miser’s real love.
The carriage nicely enhanced their change of guise. They were a group of mercenaries escorting an upper-class lady. With Adrina riding inside the carriage, the illusions really weren’t necessary. It h
ad only been necessary to adjust their clothing and armor to fit the image better. From a distance, they were indeed mercenaries.
Noman left the final decision of the direction of their journey up to Xith. The two concluded it was best this way. It kept Noman’s mind free for the task that lay ahead. Xith, on the other hand, was left to brood over the choice for hours though he eventually narrowed it down to two routes. They could continue east to Jrenn, on to Eragol Bay and take passage on a ship destined for High Province or they could make their way to the territories, on to Krepost’ and then travel to the far north by horse.
Late into the night Nijal was feeling the effects of the day. His eyes began to close and his head to bob, waking him up with a start. Several times, the carriage would veer to the side causing the horses to prance wildly.
When Xith finally saw what was occurring, he called a halt for a few moments’ rest. He tied his horse to the rear of the carriage and took Nijal’s place at the reins of the coach. “You go crawl back inside and get some sleep. I am sure Adrina could use some company about now,” said Xith, in a fatherly tone, his mind still preoccupied.
Nijal didn’t argue with Xith. He was tired. He knocked lightly on the carriage door then opened it. Adrina was huddled, frightened, on one side as he climbed in. “It is okay. It is just me, Nijal.” Adrina sighed and relaxed slightly.
Nijal had just seated himself across from Adrina when the carriage began to move speedily down the road again. He was surprised at how smooth it seemed to ride from inside. It gave him an interesting sensation. He had only traveled by ship once long ago, so he really didn’t remember it, but he likened the movement of the buggy to floating across the water.
He relaxed against the softness of the interior and closed his eyes. It was so warm and soothing. Quickly he began to drift off to sleep.
Xith shifted his thoughts rapidly back to the questions in his mind. He was sure of one thing. Time was the major factor he was concerned about. He mused over which route would be the shortest overall, yet both would take quite some time, more time than he wished to allow.
The storm season was rapidly approaching; by ship they would have to survive the straits, and by horse they would have to traverse the mountains. Both paths were equally treacherous and both had their pleasant sides and downfalls. His ultimate decision was the long trek through the territories; perhaps they would meet the old master, if indeed he yet dwelled in Krepost’.
A large bump caused the buggy to jar suddenly. Adrina awoke again and peered about the cabin. Nijal was still across from her; she wondered if he were asleep. She really needed someone to talk to; her thoughts were in disarray. She just wanted to go home or wake up and find that it was all a bad dream.
“Nijal?” came the whisper from a distance, “Nijal, are you awake?”
“Huh? What? Yeah—I guess so.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“You were so quiet I thought you might be sleeping.”
“Oh, no, not me. I don’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to—” said Adrina as she burst into tears. “Adrina? I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not tired anyway—really.”
The sounds of Adrina’s sobs did not fade. She tried to hold them back, but each time she did, they only increased. Nijal moved to the other side of the coach beside her. Adrina perceived his warmth and moved up against him, ending up with her face buried in his shoulder, her tears falling onto his shirt.
Nijal was unsure how to deal with such emotion. He just let her lie against him until her tears slowed, instinctively caressing her face with his hand. “Sshh, everything will turn out for the best.”
Adrina stopped crying and Nijal wiped the tears from her eyes. The inside of the carriage was pitch black, but both pictured an image of the other in their minds. Nijal pressed his hands warmly against Adrina’s wet cheeks, soaking up the pain from within her.
She reached up and touched her hands to his. An emotion began to flow through Nijal that he had never felt before; something strange was happening inside him. His heart began to beat faster and his palms began to sweat. He began to breathe deeper and harder. He felt a shiver come over him, and a knot welled up in his stomach to match the lump in his throat.
They moved closer to each other until they could feel the heat of each other’s breath fall upon their faces. As their lips came together, Nijal moved away and just held Adrina tightly in his arms. A tiny voice within his mind told him that was all Adrina really desired from him, someone to comfort her pain.
Besides, he would not have known what else to do. He had never felt emotions like the ones he was feeling. He enjoyed them immensely, but he knew Adrina felt different. They had shared something special, together, as friends.
Nijal’s arm was around Adrina and she rested her head on his shoulder. His other arm near her stomach felt the nervous rumbling of her belly and instinctively he moved his hand away.
Adrina released a short girlish laugh, and said, “Oh, Nijal.” Teasingly, she grasped his hands and pulled them to her belly. “Not what you think,” she said in a hushed tone. “A secret.” She lifted up her shirt and moved his hand to the mark and though he could not see it, he could feel the outline of it on her skin.
To Nijal, the mark felt like a terrible scar. “How did it happen?” he asked.
“Not what you think,” Adrina repeated. “Tnavres,” she said in a clear powerful voice, “Show yourself.”
Life grew beneath Nijal’s hands and he watched in stunned horror and silence as a dark form emerged from Adrina’s belly. In the deep shadows of the coach it was difficult to see but the creature clearly had wings and fangs and then to Nijal’s horror the creature turned. His hands wanted to find his sword but Adrina locked her hands around his wrists.
“It is the secret I carry,” she told him plainly. “You must not tell the others.” She locked her fingers tighter around his wrists. “Promise?” Nijal stared at her blankly. She dug her fingers into his wrists. “Promise?”
As the tiny dragon turned about to face him in the darkness, Nijal said softly, “I will not tell a soul. You have my word.”
“Tnavres,” Adrina commanded, “return,” and so saying the dragon faded into her, leaving only his mark upon her skin.
Unnerved, unsure what to do Nijal tucked his arm around Adrina. Adrina cuddled close to him. The gentle swaying of the carriage acted like a cradle, holding them both safe and secure. They slowly drifted away to the realm of dreams.
The sun was high on the horizon when the group made their final stop. They would stay the rest of the day in a small grove of pines just far enough from the trail to be relatively safe. The coach rocked roughly through the grasses off the road. The first several jolts went unnoticed, but when they continued, Nijal sprang awake. His thoughts were wild with could have only been a dark dream.
He drew his long dagger and popped the door open. The light of the dawning day blinded him for several heartbeats before he could focus. When he did, he found Xith staring back at him. Nijal sheathed his blade and climbed out the door back up to the top of the carriage. He hopped across the short distance to the front and plopped down next to Noman, who was controlling the reins. Noman smiled and passed them to Nijal.
The group set up camp inside the concealment of the trees. Xith told Nijal he had first watch, because he had already had a good night’s sleep. Nijal didn’t mind keeping guard. He had slept well and wasn’t tired in the least, so he offered no objection.
After he made sure the horses were well provided for and everyone was asleep, he went to search their tiny domain. The grove of trees was small and sparsely packed. He skirted the perimeter of their camp, circling outward. He wasn’t surprised when he found nothing unusual.
He reached the open ground near the road after completing a couple of spirals. He sat there for a time staring into the dust blowing off the road to the west. He started the walk back to the camp
and climbed on top of the carriage. He looked back to the dust pouring off the road, and it dawned on him. “Dust—horses—a lot of horses,” spun the thoughts in his consciousness.
He almost fell over backward as he stumbled off the carriage. He turned around and ran back to the road to take another closer look. Astounded, he ran back to the camp. He woke Xith first by shaking him violently. Xith was not pleased to be wakened after such a long night and with so little sleep. He groggily yelled, “What?”
“Horses—lots of horses.”
Xith perked up and asked, “Where?”
“Coming toward us down the road from the west.”
“Quick, help me cover the carriage!”
“I did that earlier.”
Complete In the Service of Dragons Page 34