“No, he will not.” Her father said nothing. “He will not come back at all, will he?”
“The future is not set.” There was defeat in her father’s voice. “Rea,” he continued, using her informal name, “things are in motion. A difficult time is ahead and you must meet it as it comes. But you can See what others cannot. Guide them. Your mother… cannot fight forever. Ruun’daruun is strong, but he is only one man. I See… our only choice is to go forward together, and someday…”
“No, Father. I have told you, Revik Lasivar is with them, not us. I have Seen him, heard the stories. Our allies in Cunabrel’s realm saw him there not three months ago. He has been leading their armies, doing more to wipe us out than any other commander save Halkoriv’s greatest ancestors. He is burning the land, Father.”
Her father shook his head. His voice was a whisper. “Lasivar will come to aid us. I knew his mother and father, who led the fight against Halkoriv for many years, as his father did before him. Even if he is with Halkoriv, Lasivar will come to us when the time is right.”
Ahi’rea broke in. “No, he will not. You depend too much on your Sight, Father, and not enough on the world. He has been fighting against us! Why would he turn against his master?”
Her father’s eyes flared and she was silent. “You say I depend on the Sight too much, and daily, you spit on your gifts!” he snapped. “Without faith, where would we be?”
Ahi’rea could not contain herself. “Without faith, more of us might see reason!” Her voice thundered through the Dreaming.
He stared at her and began to fade. She tried to hold his gaze, but he turned away. “He will come to us. Soon,” her father said. “Goodbye, Ahi’rea. May the winds guide your thoughts.”
“Goodbye, Father,” she answered, embarrassed at her own lack of respect. Her face was burning. He faded, and was gone.
She Saw a vision: she was in the plains at night. She saw Ruun’daruun, Ruun’gaphuu, and Haruu’na. All were bathed in glowing moonlight, so she could see clearly when her breath became visible as the temperature dropped. A black form rose up, blotting out the moon, absorbing its light. Ruun’gaphuu ran toward it, spear held high, and the others ran quickly after. Ahi’rea herself charged, but too late—Ruun’gaphuu fell stricken. Something stung her eyes and she realized a fine dust of ash was drifting down from the sky. Blinded, she heard her mother’s cry of pain. She ran toward the sound, flailing, but struck nothing. Biting cold enveloped her, too cold to bear. She was overwhelmed, suffocating, unable to breathe but for the cold. All breath left her lungs and she gasped.
“Rea,” came a quiet voice in her ear. She opened her eyes, a last shimmer of glowing green fading from them. Ruun’daruun was beside her, his black eyes searching her face. A nearly invisible smile crossed his face when she looked at him. Night had come while they rested.
Ruun’daruun stood, hefting his spear. She looked at him, admiring not for the first time his solid build and strong jaw, even his crooked nose and the scars on his arms and chest. Ruun’daruun had outlived many of those his age throughout their long struggle against Halkoriv and the South.
“You were dreaming. Dreaming and Seeing. I can always tell.”
She stood, wrapping her woven cape around herself. “I was. How long were you watching me?”
“Not long. I couldn’t sleep. Mostly I kept an eye to the road. Not a soul to be seen, although I did manage to get us a rabbit to cook later.” He surveyed the horizon. “What did you See?”
She had hoped that he would see that she did not want to talk about it. Maybe he had not noticed, but it was more likely that he had, and had asked anyway. She sighed. “My father. I spoke to him, but…”
“You fought again.”
“Yes. And I Saw… we have to be careful. This may be something more important than we thought.”
“Southmen managing to kill one of our best and wisest is important. We’re not turning back.” His eyes were fire, a slow burn of anger and mourning that Ahi’rea knew he was holding back.
“I know, and I am not suggesting that we do. But we all must be careful. There is a danger ahead that we are not prepared for, and we may meet it very soon.”
His face twisted. “Lasivar.” Ahi’rea said nothing, but Ruun’daruun continued. “That hellspawn, Halkoriv, corrupted him. He’s supposed to be with us. It’s him, isn’t it? Revik Lasivar was in your dream?”
She was silent. Many thought their dreams held hidden meaning—and most were wrong. Dreams from the Sight, however, were not really dreams. They were about instinct, and she was sure it was Lasivar. At the same time, instincts could be wrong, and visions of the future could be second-guessed. Allowing those who could not See to act on the dreams could lead to even greater danger and tragedy. She did not even want to try to verbalize the dream with something so sensitive. The words would not be hers, but the vision’s. She hated the feeling of it, the loss of control, the dream-words filling her mouth and twisting her meaning. Even thinking about it, she could feel strange phrases forming on her tongue.
“I do not know.” She tried to shake off the feeling. “Maybe it is. All I can tell you is that danger is ahead and none of us are safe. In the dream I was blinded. My Sight, perhaps, cannot be trusted for now—nor anyone’s for that matter.”
Ruun’daruun nodded, his jaw set. He never seemed to understand Ahi’rea’s secrecy regarding the dreams, but he always trusted what she said. She felt awful for not being more truthful. The Sight was a boon for short bursts of insight in the present, but Sight of the future was a curse.
“We should go,” Ruun’daruun said. “The moon is high and the light is good. These southmen have a head start, but we can close the gap tonight. I’ll wake the others.”
Ahi’rea readied herself and waited nearby. When all were prepared they started out, dashing along the road. Haruu’na and Ruun’gaphuu looked weary still—Ahi’rea tried not to dwell on it, knowing that only they could decide not to go on, and trusting them to say so. She choked on a single sob before she recovered herself. The others did not seem to notice.
—
Bor looked up, sweat dripping from his face in the sun and his breath coming in gasps. His armor weighed on him as if it were lead and only made the heat more intolerable.
“Keep moving!” Malskein and the others had stopped about fifty feet further along the road and were now looking back at him. The commander, red-faced and dripping sweat, was staring back angrily. Even from that distance, Bor imagined he could see Malskein’s little crooked rotten teeth, like an old dog’s, bared in anger.
“Get going, pretty boy,” Malskein shouted. “You’re dead out here if the plainsfolk catch you, and we aren’t waiting any longer.” His shoulders heaved with his labored breathing.
How do they do it? Bor straightened, legs burning, and checked his axe and shield. He would have tossed them away to lose the weight, but Commander Malskein would probably beat him senseless and leave him for dead if he did.
Bor put one foot in front of the other, already feeling ready to vomit. By the time he reached the others he had attained a labored jog. The four soldiers fell in around him.
And so they ran, stopping only when the sun was highest, with Bor and Hendeff setting the pace. They were thankful the other three bothered to slow down for them. Malskein seemed tireless, ignoring his own ragged breathing and sweat. Felsen and Harstet never even spoke, conserving their breath for the run.
Bor could not have imagined back in the spring that he would find himself in such dire straits. After setting the fires, he thought the plains would burn up in days. Instead the fires lingered, spreading slowly. He had thought he would be sent home after the army took back Cunabrel’s realm. Instead, he had been stationed there. After a month, Lord Lasivar and the newly-anointed Count Draden had taken direct command of their unit. They had been told they were going into the plains, not to pass through, but to conquer and hold them—for good. For the last two months they had travele
d, seeing no plainsfolk, losing soldiers one by one in the night or during long marches. The heat had grown along with the army’s frustrations until finally the Cheduna forces broke up into smaller squads. Even then, they had seen nothing of their enemies—until that night.
Over a full day had passed. They had run all night after Malskein had struck down the old plainsfolk by the ruin. Hendeff and Bor, elated to find that they were not ghosts or beasts, but men like any others, wanted to stay and fight the rest. “Idiots,” Malskein had said. “There are four more of them, and we’re on their turf, at night, without support. Run if you want to live a little longer, and follow me if you want to make it out of these plains alive.”
Malskein had led them to his companions, and the five soldiers had fled. “They travel at night,” Malskein had told them, “and so should we. We’ll have to go half the day too, to keep our lead.” And so they had, all night, half the next day, the following night, and this morning. Midday approached and finally Commander Malskein called a halt to rest. Bor collapsed just off the road. He thought he saw Hendeff fall nearby before he passed into unconsciousness.
They moved on at dusk. Bor felt as if he had barely closed his eyes. Hendeff was sick when they first woke. He vomited and heaved. When Malskein threatened to beat him for wasting water, he dragged himself up. As they ran, Malskein and his comrades discussed their chances, doing nothing to comfort Bor or Hendeff. These must be some of the ones we heard about, Bor thought. They’re lifers, men who won’t leave the army till they die. The king’s best soldiers, veterans of dozens of battles. Bor prodded Hendeff as they ran. “Don’t worry—they’ll get us through this.” He gulped air.
“I’d rather stand and fight than all this running. Those plainsfolk animals don’t deserve anything but a quick death,” Hendeff sputtered through gasping breaths. Bor nodded. Five of the plainsfolk had killed fifteen soldiers in a matter of minutes and lost only one of their own. Yes, they deserved death—for the king, for Feriven, and for their fallen comrades.
“Animals,” Bor spat as he ran. He regretted the show of bravado when he thought about his empty waterskin.
Malskein reckoned they had another day’s run ahead of them before they reached the nearest outpost. It was only a small village, little more than a garrison, but it had a good water supply and was close to the edge of the plains. The villagers put up with the demands of the soldiers stationed there as long as the plainsfolk were kept at bay. Even still, the plainsfolk occasionally tried to burn the settlement or run off with livestock.
Within minutes, however, the soldiers spotted a cart ahead, coming their way along the road. Four stout horses of the kind favored by farmers pulled the open cart, laden with sacks and crates. A small man with a wide hat sat at the reins. The soldiers continued toward the cart and Malskein ran ahead to stop the driver. The others watched as they spoke, the driver’s voice rising in protest and falling off as Malskein interrupted. He waved the others forward. As Bor watched, Felsen and Harstet started dumping the man’s goods on the side of the road, clearing room in the cart. The driver would have protested again had Malskein not moved unnoticed behind the man, wrapped an arm around his throat, and squeezed until his eyes bulged and his frantic flailing stopped.
“What are you doing?” Bor cried as the driver choked.
“We can’t carry him,” Malskein answered, looking up from the driver. His voice was casual, as if he were talking about one of the sacks of flour being tossed out of the cart. “The plainsfolk did this, soldier. If we had left him here or let him continue, he’d have died much more slowly and painfully at their hands. We need this cart, and word of his death will galvanize the soldiers and villagers at the outpost.” Malskein dropped the limp body beside the road and gestured to the cart. “Get in.”
Bor seethed, clenching his teeth. He knew Malskein was right, knew that there was a reason that he had survived for so long. There was little else that could be done. Bor clambered into the small cart. That was an act of kindness, he told himself.
—
Rushing at top speed, the Huumphar spotted a cluster of unusual silhouettes down the road, picked out in the rising moonlight. Without a word, the four of them left the road and approached them through the grasses, keeping low and quiet. They found a pile of discarded sacks and crates, some broken open or spilled, and an elderly man, dead, face down in the road dust. “Only a few hours ago,” Ruun’daruun said after inspecting the body. “And these tracks—I think our prey have found transport.” Ruun’gaphuu swore, casting his eyes over the ground. Ruun’daruun was silent, staring down the road. Ahi’rea studied the injured brother. His breathing was poor and the wound on his leg was growing worse with each step. The bindings they had changed only hours before were black with blood and dirt. She could say nothing. Knowledge of his impending death would never convince him to turn back. He looked up and caught her eye as she studied him.
“What?” Ruun’gaphuu asked.
His question shook her from her thoughts. “Nothing. Just thinking.”
Ruun’gaphuu glanced around at the rest of the group. “Well, let’s go. We’re wasting time while they widen their lead.” Ruun’daruun nodded, and the four started running again, following the cart tracks south.
—
The cart drew through the outpost’s border as dawn crept over the grasslands. Low earthen buildings lined the rutted street. The outpost’s single shop was opening, displaying sundries and trade goods. The garrison, the only walled wooden structure in the village, stood directly ahead, towering among the smaller structures, partially veiled by the thin streams of smoke issuing from their sod rooftops. Maroon and gold flags fluttered in the smoke. The garrison’s wooden walls were topped with jagged timber sharpened to points and the gate stood closed. Its blocky shape made it even starker against the slumped earthen houses of the village. Soldiers standing atop the garrison pointed and called orders as the cart approached. The villagers, already about their day’s chores in the streets, ignored them.
Creaking and rumbling, the cart pulled up to the garrison. They were soon inside and Malskein met with the commander while Bor, Hendeff, and the others found food and water. They were bombarded with questions by the few dozen men stationed there. Bor and Hendeff told them about the fight and the long run from danger, but Harstet and Felsen remained taciturn.
Within an hour orders had been issued. The village was to be guarded and barriers erected around its borders. The north road was to be watched. No strangers were to enter and no travelers to pass unchallenged. Word amongst the men was that the plainsfolk were the advance scouts of a large warparty and that they would come for the survivors of the raid. The men were anxious. They’d seldom, if ever, fought plainsfolk before—none among them save the new arrivals had stood face to face with one and gone unscathed, and they had never seen any of them dead. All had lost friends and compatriots to their spears or machetes.
The usual rumors sprang from one soldier to the next. They were ghosts, or shapeshifters, even demons. Those who fell in battle were revived within minutes without their wounds. Bor and Hendeff, weak and exhausted but already regaining their confidence, tried to reassure the others. Hendeff was full of genuine bluster but Bor’s waned even as he spoke of courage. He remembered the terror of the night attack, the hopelessness he felt as one after the other, his squad fell around him.
Malskein gathered the men in the garrison yard before noon. Hot sun on their heads and backs, they listened as he outlined their situation.
“It’s likely those plainsfolk dogs are already outside. Keep watchful, but they probably won’t move until dusk or after dark. At that time, they’ll enter the village and kill whoever they find alone, so stay together. They will wipe out this outpost, both in revenge for the dead, and to keep the myth that they are unstoppable, that these plains are theirs.”
“Make no mistake—they are not men. They are vermin! But these rats are clever, cunning. They can smell your fear, and t
hey will use it. They know the stories about them, and they love ‘em. If we’re going to survive, we’ve got to last out this night unharmed.”
Malskein paused, surveying the faces around him. Many of the soldiers were resolute, hearing his matter-of-fact speech, but many still looked fearful. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll show them that their terrorizing of people, people like your families, won’t continue. We’ll meet them on the plains, in the light of day, and show them who these lands really belong to.”
—
“What should we do?”
Ahi’rea looked around at the other three. Haruu’na was once again about to speak when Ruun’gaphuu cut in.
“We shouldn’t give them the chance to even think. I say we go in tonight in pairs and kill as many as we can. Prepared or not, if we catch them in pairs or alone, they won’t stand a chance.”
Haruu’na spoke, her voice old and dry like burning brush. “If what Ahi’rea has Seen comes to pass, they’ll be waiting for just that. It’s too easy for them to lay a trap for us.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Ruun’daruun asked. “If we confront that many of them on the plains, in broad daylight as they plan, we’ll be overwhelmed. I agree with Ruun’gaphuu. Our hope lies in stealth.”
They fell silent. The sun beat down above them. Insects buzzed in the grasses and Ahi’rea could make out the sounds of the outpost’s activity to the south.
“Then we should do something they have not planned on,” Ahi’rea said. “We will not go in, and we will not confront them—not in the way they expect.” She explained her thoughts, and the others agreed, adding details of their own and questioning hers. A plan began to emerge as the three younger Huumphar spoke while Haruu’na looked on in silence.
—
Bor strained and gasped while Hendeff pushed the support into place and another soldier took to it with a sledge, hammering the post against the overturned cart. Others began to pile dirt at its base and Bor staggered away as the post took the weight of the cart. He stood back, inspecting their makeshift barricade. A shout reached his ears over the scrape of the spades and he turned. Behind him, Malskein was already waiting as the shouting soldier ran to meet him.
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