by C. J. Aaron
They broke camp, disassembling their crude door, scattering the limbs before burying the remains of their fire.
“Are you worried we're being followed?” Ryl quizzed.
Andr looked up from smoothing the soil over the remains of the concealed embers.
“Not at the moment,” he answered. “It's fairly safe to assume that no one from The Stocks would be searching for us here. Regardless, it can never hurt to be too careful.”
Andr rose, wiping the dirt off his legs as he gained his feet. The burnt-orange soil left noticeable stains on his pants where his knees had rested on the ground. He motioned for Ryl to follow him.
“Something about this place still doesn’t sit well with me,” Andr said, rubbing his hand absently on the back of his neck. “I can’t place why, but even the air here feels wrong.”
The mercenary led the way to a small clearing off to the side of their shelter. Scattered patches of short orange grass covered the ground around their feet. To this point, their views of the Outlands had been bleak. The sprawling expanse looked as if it had been the victim of a massive fire, one that razed the entire landscape, the green vegetation having never made a recovery.
Drawing his sword, Andr went through a brief, well-rehearsed set of warm-up exercises. Ryl marveled at the fluid movements of the mercenary as he danced between positions. Although he fought with only one sword, his movements reminded Ryl of the style he’d experienced through Caprien, though nowhere near the speed of the phrenic master. Ryl struggled against an overpowering urge to draw the Leaves and spar with the mercenary. Through sheer power of will alone, he quashed the mounting impulse.
Ryl had never told Andr the true nature of the Leaves. Although he’d displayed a hint of the speed on the frigate with Andr and Lord Eligar, the true extent of his powers was a mystery to all.
Including himself.
Ryl was confident the Leaves would heed his call in a time of need. He could feel the probing pull of the alexen in his blood, pleading with him to be set free. The power would respond to his command, the world around him would slow. Objects would move as if they were passing through water, fighting desperately against an invisible current. His movements in comparison would be like lightning, little more than a blur to the human eye.
The soulborne wind had responded to his call after he found Delsith and his henchman with Sarial. He felt the familiar boiling in his blood as the wretched thoughts invaded his mind.
mind. What horrors their vile hands and twisted minds would have wrought on the defenseless women had not fate landed him outside her door at that exact moment?
Sarial was among the most caring and compassionate of souls he’d ever met. She had willingly served as the de facto mother for the tributes forced into The Stocks. She selflessly nurtured the tired, terrified, broken children and loved them as if they were her own.
Ryl for one, loved her unconditionally. As far as he was concerned, she was his mother.
Ryl shook his head, breaking the train of thought, focusing again on the movements of Andr. The mercenary was finishing his warm-up routine, a light sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“I don’t know how long we are to be surviving on our own out here, or what surprises the Outlands will hold,” Andr said matter-of-factly. “While I can’t expect you to be an expert in the time we have, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you can defend yourself.”
Ryl nodded his head, holding back the excitement that surged through him. Half a lifetime spent in servitude in The Stocks had hardened his body and mind, forced him to mature faster than anyone should be required to. Deep down inside, he still felt the rush of excitement he had had as a child viewing the swords in the market.
“Before we get into the basic offensive and defensive positions, I need you to understand one thing,” Andr lectured. “The true art of sword fighting is nothing like the fantasies you dreamed of as a child. Nothing like those I pictured as a child. There’s only one goal, and that’s killing your enemy before they kill you. It’s messy, it’s chaotic, it’s brutal.”
Ryl saw in his mind the visions from the battle with the Horde he’d experienced through Caprien. The sights, sounds, and smells assaulted his senses. He could feel the splash of the warm, sticky black blood on his skin. The cries of bloodlust mingled with the sickening screams of the dying. Andr circled slowly around Ryl, moving in a leisurely arc to the right as he continued his explanation.
“This is no gentleman’s game,” he lectured.
Andr stopped his seemingly innocuous circle, angling his blade, reflecting the light from the rising sun into Ryl’s eyes. Surprised and momentarily blinded, he shielded himself from the glare with the back of his hand. The mercenary darted forward, closing the distance between the them in an instant. He swept Ryl’s legs out from under him with a quick kick, sending him careening to the ground.
For a moment, Ryl could only sit there stunned. Andr leaned forward, reaching out his hand, helping Ryl to his feet.
“The instant you assume that your opponent will fight fairly will be your last,” he said with a smile.
Ryl brushed the dirt off his pants.
“Preparation before entering a fight is a must. Know this—even the best plans will likely fail the moment battle begins,” Andr instructed. “Assume there are ulterior motives for every thrust, every swing, every feign. Predictability will get you killed.”
Andr carefully sheathed his sword without a glance.
“Can we use those sticks you’ve been hauling around with you to practice?” Andr asked curiously.
For a moment, Ryl paused in shock, his mind racing to present a believable retort to the question he knew was coming. His dire feeling of uncertainty must have been visible on his face—Andr chuckled!
“Look, Ryl,” Andr said. “I’m no fool. I know there is more to you than meets the eye and that those are more than merely sticks to you. Whatever the reason, I want you to know; to me, it’s immaterial. When you’re ready, if you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen. Everything involving the phrenic, your rescue, has been cryptic at best.”
Andr laughed as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Honestly, we don’t even know where we’re going,” he said.
“Then why did you agree to come along?” Ryl posed the question, hoping it would cause no offense.
“I’m a mercenary, Ryl,” Andr responded bluntly. “Our gracious Lord Eligar offered more than I could refuse. I’ve always thrived on adventure. The challenge, the uncertainty, is an addiction of sorts. I wish I could say it was all for a noble cause, but in truth—it's the money.”
Something about the way words rolled off his lips, the inflection in his voice, gave Ryl pause. There was more to the story, he was sure of it. As Andr hadn’t pressed him about the Leaves, Ryl bit his tongue.
He could think of nothing more to than nod his head in acceptance. Reluctantly, he pulled the Leaves out of his pack, handing one to Andr. The mercenary carried on with his instruction as if nothing had happened.
Andr spent the next hour providing an overly simplified lesson on the basics of sword fighting. The detailed instructions struck a chord with Ryl. As the mercenary helped position his hand into the proper grip, his feet into the proper stance, the information seemed to trigger the knowledge inside him.
The positions which would have at one point felt foreign, now seemed like second nature. Ryl’s mind flashed back to the motions of Caprien. He experienced the movements of the phrenic as if they were his own. Although one flowed like liquid into the next, there was still a chaotic, yet controlled randomness to the actions. His mind connected the actions with the motions his body already knew. It was akin to opening a book and reading from the rear to the front. His muscles had long since committed the actions to memory, yet his mind had yet to connect the logic or theory behind them. Andr was astounded that he rarely had to correct Ryl after instruction was given.
Before long, And
r called an end to the informal training, tossing back the Leave. Ryl felt relieved having the pair reunited again in his grasp. He quickly tucked them away in his pack, afraid he might unintentionally activate the weapons.
“You did well today, Ryl. Very well in fact,” Andr remarked as they gathered their limited supplies. “I am in awe of how rapidly you've taken to it. You're sure you’ve never had any instruction as a child?”
“Yes, I'm sure,” Ryl snapped, immediately regretting the forcefulness of the response. “I'm sorry. My family's not a subject that elicits fond memories.”
“Please, don't apologize,” Andr said as he looked at Ryl. There was a profound sense of sympathy written across his face. “I misspoke, it is I who should apologize.”
He placed his hand on Ryl's shoulder.
“The rate at which you've comprehended and applied the lessons is astounding,” Andr said. “It's hard to believe you have a better grasp on the basic forms after a morning of training than many I've worked with over the cycles.”
“I can’t explain it,” Ryl said. “The positions just felt right.”
“Well, in that case,” Andr laughed. “Trust those instincts and you'll be fine. As long as our situation allows, we'll continue these training sessions every morning and night if we can.”
Ryl followed Andr to the top of the ridge, under whose earthen walls they’d spent the night. To the north, the jagged peaks of the mountains appeared no closer than they had since their journey had begun. In all other directions, the monotonous landscape stretched out to the horizon. Tall swaths of orange and red grasses scraped together in the breeze. Large patches of jagged bushes filled in the gaps between the stunted trees of the scattered groves. Large boulders and ridges dotted the land. The blazing orb of the sun had risen into the morning sky, and it beat down on them from the east as they surveyed the land ahead of them.
“We’ll head toward that line of ridges,” Andr said, pointing to the north.
A low, long ridge rose ahead of them slightly off to the west. The hill ran roughly due north, it’s farthest reaches beyond their view, disappearing into the distance.
“Looks like we can follow that for a good way,” Andr commented. “The mountains are to the north. As long as we continue heading that way, we’ve gotta run into them eventually.”
He chuckled aloud at his morbid sarcasm. Ryl appreciated his attempts at lightening the mood. Their situation was at best precarious. They’d been forced to rely on and trust the cryptic tidbits of information provided, to trek without a clear destination into the unknown wilds. Not only was Ryl’s newfound freedom on the line, so too were their lives.
“We'll press on as far as we can today,” Andr continued. “Keep an eye out for any small game. We're going to need more than carrots to keep us fed.”
“Sounds like as good a plan as any,” Ryl agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.
The pair moved carefully down the edge of the ridge, oblivious to the shadow that melted back into the small grove behind them.
Chapter 5
The monotony of the landscape was tedious. The absence of the full spectrum of colors, however, was the most disconcerting. It was as if they were viewing the world through a colored filter. Ryl never realized how much he missed and appreciated the vibrant greens of the forest.
The day’s journey stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. The thorny bushes all looked the same. Each boulder appeared to be a repeat of the last. On several occasions Ryl asked Andr if they'd lost their way.
The ridge on which they traveled, although relatively clear from the assault of the spiked thorn bushes, made for sluggish, wearisome progress. At Andr’s orders, the pair remained several paces down from the easier walking along the crest whenever possible. They chose not to announce their presence by silhouetting themselves against the clear sky.
The need for shelter, food, and water called an early halt to their trek. The end of their day’s travels found them again under the shade of a stunted copse of trees. Their shelter for the night was a small cave in a loose outcropping of rocks set into the western edge of the grove. The sun was only a hands width from the horizon and falling.
“Ryl, if you could, dig a hole for our fire here,” Andr said pointing to the loose dirt on the floor of their small cave. “Gather rocks and make a wall about shin high around the outer edge, facing the exit. This should help us hide the light. I'm going to set a few traps and look for water. Shout if you need me.”
Ryl nodded. His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Their search for sustenance had come up empty throughout the day. The few small hares they encountered were far too skittish and speedy to run down. Their evening meal looked as if it would consist of a rationed supply of carrots.
Again.
It wasn’t long before Andr returned, another lump of vegetables swinging from his hand.
“Good news is at least we have clean water again,” he said with a smile, dropping his pack to the ground and placing the food carefully on the top. “It appears that each grove of trees is sustained by a spring like what we've found so far. While our stomachs will certainly argue their cause, food we can go without for a stretch. Water, on the other hand, we cannot. Fetch your water skin, let's go fill up. We'll grab limbs for the door on the way back too.”
Ryl and Andr filled their water skins from the small spring that spurted from the earth. Unlike their water source from the previous day there was no pool, the precious liquid seeping back into the earth after traveling a few meters.
Andr’s sword made easy work of slicing off a collection of branches. He took his time finding the last, largest of the group, hacking it from its tree with several swings of his blade. Ryl looked on questioningly as he slid the sword back into its sheath.
“It's a shame we lost all the supplies from the boat,” the mercenary mourned. “That second blade for you would have come in handy. Still, we’ll make do with what we have. A stick with a sharpened stone will be better than nothing should we need it.”
Ryl questioned his decision to remain silent about the Leaves as he followed the mercenary back to their shelter. On one hand, he couldn't see the harm in trusting Andr with the information, after all, he was trusting him with his life.
His mind argued the point—he had made a promise to Da'agryn not to reveal what he’d learned about the phrenics, their history, or his powers. He was convinced the old man had known of his coming freedom at the hands of his sponsor, Lord Eligar. Although, how he had known was a question that troubled him, he was determined to uphold his promise.
Ryl set to the task of starting the fire while Andr hastily constructed their screen of branches. The dry tinder lit with ease, the burning twigs and leaves crackling gently as the fire took hold. The small blaze issued a puff of acrid smoke that momentarily filled the cave before dissipating through the exit. His eyes stung from the harsh smoke, involuntarily filling them with tears. He rubbed them with the back of his hand, wiping off the moisture with the left sleeve of his cloak.
Andr seemed unfazed by the brief cloud as he sat closer to the modest doorway of their cave. As Ryl worked on the fire, his companion had amassed a small collection of rocks from the surrounding terrain. The mercenary was in the process of standing one up on its end atop a large rock that made up a good portion of their floor. Content that the fire would sustain itself, Ryl shuffled closer, curious to see what Andr was doing.
The mercenary hefted a larger, rounded rock with both hands, hammering it down on the standing stone. Ryl jumped as small fragments of stone pelted his legs.
“Sorry about that,” Andr said with an uneven smile.
He carefully sifted through the fragmented remains of the standing stone.
“Ah hah, here we go,” he said enthusiastically. “This should work just fine.”
In his hand was a fragment of the original rock that had been sheared from its parent by the force of the impact. The shard was nearly twice the length of hi
s hand. Its dirty, weathered exterior had hidden a beautifully polished speckled pattern on the inside. The single serrated edge appeared wickedly sharp and spanned nearly half the length of the blade, ending in a pointed tip.
“This won’t be the most durable of blades,” Andr lamented. “It’s incredibly sharp and will work in a pinch though. There are a couple other fragments here that will work for smaller blades too.”
Andr carefully picked up another smaller shard and went to work stripping the rough bark and small branches from the largest of the wood he'd cut earlier. Ryl sat down, leaning back against the cold rock wall, silently watching as the mercenary worked.
Having stripped the branch of its bark, the resulting pole was slightly curved in the middle but straightened toward each end. The resulting shaft stood a little more than waist high to Ryl. Andr dug the blade into the top of the pole, shearing off long thin strips, leaving a notch for the stone blade to slide into. Bringing the pole to the fire, he painstakingly heated the entire length.
“Baking the wood like this will give you a stronger, lighter shaft,” Andr instructed. “I’m rushing the process, but it’ll do. Keep an eye out for any straighter branches as we go.”
While the charred pole cooled, Andr dug through his pack, retrieving a length of cord he’d salvaged from the wreckage of their skiff. He unwound a length, leaving several long thin stands.
“Ryl, hold on to the end of this one for me,” Andr stated. “Do your best to keep the line taut while I pull. The tighter the line, the more secure the blade will be.”
Ryl nodded and did as asked. Andr fixed the stone blade into its place on the spear, pulling backward on the line while he meticulously lashed the blade to the pole. After tying the end, he repeated the process.
Before long, Andr held the short spear out in front of his body, admiring his handy work.
“Come outside with me,” Andr said. “We won’t have time for a full lesson, but I can give you a few pointers before we lose our light. The night here is unsettling. I’d rather not be caught outside after dark.”