by Kel Kade
The quarry. It was the last place anyone wanted to go. Worse than the caves, worse than the ships, the quarry was the opening to the hells, the pit of despair—or so Tam had been told. He could not imagine it being worse than what he had already suffered. He and Uthey leaned against each other’s backs as they filled their mouths with mush they scooped from their bowls with their fingers. Tam bit down on what he kept telling himself were raisins or seeds. He cared little about what he ate, so long as his stomach no longer ached with hunger.
“Is it time?” whispered Uthey while Ipon berated Fiero for the troubles of the world.
Tam nodded. “Tonight. I overheard them talking earlier. We arrive tomorrow, so if we’re going to do it, it has to be tonight.”
“Have you discovered who has the key?”
“No. It has not come up.”
Uthey eyed the other men. “We could force them to unlock one of us.”
“They only unlock the dead.”
Uthey nodded. “At least we would know who has the key.”
“I’d rather kill the slavers and dig through their pockets.”
“You and me both, but they have mages and weapons.”
“I am the weapon,” said Tam. “Rule 233.” His thoughts and memories abruptly aligned around a central figure. Rezkin. He knew Rezkin. Oh. Rezkin was Frisha’s dark god. No, Tam thought, not a god. A man. Maybe. Rezkin was a conundrum, but Rezkin would come for him.
“That’s a ridiculous rule,” said Uthey. “A man with a sword and knowledge to use it will win against a man without one.”
“You don’t know my king,” said Tam.
Uthey silently chuckled. “Neither do you, but if it keeps you sane, then you are welcome believe whatever you want.”
To the other side of Tam was a Leréshi sailor named Mogalay, who knew a bit of Gendishen. He said, “When this king of yours comes to save you, you will introduce us, yes? Maybe he can take us with him to your secret island, and we can all be claimed by princesses.” A few of the men who spoke Gendishen laughed. Others never laughed even if they spoke the language. Tam was glad that Uthey laughed often.
He turned to Uthey. “How do you laugh?” Uthey gave him a strange look, so Tam nodded toward the slavers. “With all of this? With the hunger and beatings, with the chains and blisters, with no choices in your life, how do you laugh?”
Uthey stared at the fire for a long time and finally said, “Every moment is a bubble of sorrow in my chest. The bubbles build up to weigh heavily on my heart. I must release them, or they will crush me from within.”
Tam stared at him, and then he laughed. Tam laughed, and Uthey laughed, and many of the other men laughed. Ipon stormed over to scold them, and they laughed harder. They all lay down with welts that night.
A few hours later, Tam reached over and shook Uthey. The man’s snoring ceased, and they both lay still to make sure the lookout had not seen.
“Where is he?” whispered Uthey.
“I don’t know. He went into the woods over there and hasn’t returned. We should go now.”
They glanced behind them to see Ipon and a couple of the other slavers fast asleep. Another lookout was stationed on the other side of the wagon, but he would not be looking their way. Tam kicked Mogalay and gave him the signal. Mogalay woke his partner and then the next men in the line. Uthey, being closest to the tree line on the side opposite the slavers, led the way crawling on hands and knees. Tam glanced back to see how many followed and note whether the others might alert their captors. When he turned back, he was met by a pair of black eyes. Slavering lips pulled back to reveal sharp pinkish-white fangs.
Ahead of him, Uthey yanked the chain, but Tam refused to budge. He remained frozen, hoping Uthey would not panic when he finally saw the creature. The beast that looked like a cross between a cat and a wolf took a step forward, and Tam felt its hot breath sweep over his face. The beast suddenly lurched, and Tam realized that Uthey had kicked it in the side.
“What is it?” Tam said.
“A vurole,” said Uthey as they tried to stand, partially tripping over each other in their haste.
The vurole abruptly pounced on Uthey, who screamed as the creature latched onto his arm. Tam jumped on the vurole’s back, reaching around its thick neck to grasp the chain that bound him to his partner. His fingers brushed the metal, and he almost fell off the creature as he reached for it again. Gripping the heavy coat of the squirming beast with one hand, he stretched as far as he could reach to grab hold of the chain. Once within his grasp, he wrenched the thick links around the vurole’s throat and threw his weight backward. The vurole released Uthey’s arm, and Tam held tight as the creature twisted and bucked like an untamed stallion. His muscles were locked with fear and determination. The creature slammed into a tree, smashing his leg, then rolled to scrape him from its back. A rock dug into Tam’s shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and held tight. He knew that if he let go, he would die. It lurched to its feet and tried to bite Tam’s leg where it was tucked tightly against the beast’s side, but with Uthey’s weight on the other end of the chain, the beast could not reach. Eventually, the vurole’s movements slowed, and it stumbled, partially trapping Tam beneath it. Tam held the chain with all his might even after the creature ceased to breathe.
Uthey gripped Tam’s shoulder. “It’s dead! Come, we must seek safety.”
Tam shook his head without words as he clung to the beast. Uthey growled as he bent to heft a large rock with one ruined arm. He slammed the rock into the vurole’s face until it was no longer recognizable. Only then did Tam let go. He glanced at the surrounding chaos. The entire camp had been swarmed. The slavers fought with weapons and talent while the slaves were torn apart or scrambled for hiding places. Several had closed themselves in the wagon, but they would not open the door to admit others, so men climbed each other to huddle on the roof. The vuroles moved in to surround the wagon, and Tam and Uthey were left to fend for themselves.
Tam tugged Uthey toward a downed slaver and grabbed the man’s sword. By the lack of blood on the blade, he figured the man had never had the chance to use it against the creature that killed him. Tam pushed Uthey out of the way as a vurole jumped at him. He stabbed the beast under the ribs just before he was yanked off his feet by the chain around his neck. Another vurole had grabbed Uthey by the leg and was dragging them both toward the forest. Tam dug at the collar, trying to breathe, and he suddenly knew how the vurole he killed had felt. The vurole loped around a tree, and the chain became wrapped with Tam and Uthey on opposite sides. Uthey screamed as the creature savaged his leg, frustrated by its lack of progress. Tam blinked away the spots in his eyes and coughed as he gasped for air. He rolled onto his side and felt something hard jabbing his rib. To his relief, the sword had caught in a tear in his clothes. He grabbed the hilt and stumbled toward the creature. It abruptly released Uthey’s leg to try another attack, and Tam stabbed the beast through the throat. Blood spewed over them both as the blade ripped through flesh.
Tam breathed heavily as he glanced toward the campsite. The slavers would likely succeed in fighting off the remaining vuroles, so he figured this was their only chance to escape. He surveyed Uthey’s wounds, then ripped a strip off the bottom of his shirt and quickly wrapped the man’s leg.
He said, “Can you run?”
Uthey gritted his teeth. “I’ll run to the hells and back if I must.”
Uthey exhaled heavily a few times, and then Tam helped him to his feet. Tam threw Uthey’s good arm around his shoulders and, with Uthey holding his injured arm to his chest, they ran. Progress was slow in the dark forest, but they were driven by knowledge of the fate that awaited them if they were caught. After a few hours, their path was abruptly truncated by a steep ravine. The bottom could not be seen in the dark, but they could hear rushing water.
“Which way do we go?” said Uthey.
“I don’t know. We need to go east. Maybe we can board a ship in Ferélle.”
“W
e’ll not be safe in Ferélle, either. The enslavement of criminals is legal there.”
“But we’re not criminals,” said Tam. “We were kidnapped illegally!”
“They’ll not believe us. We should go west to Pruar. No slavery, and it’s closer.”
Tam looked to the sky for direction, but the canopy blocked most of the view. “Which way is west?”
Uthey blinked upward and shook his head. “I can’t tell.”
Tam glanced back at the ravine. “The river should flow toward the sea, right?”
“Maybe. According to the maps, Verril has many streams and rivers coming off the Drahgfir Mountains in the south. Some flow mostly east, others west, some go straight north. I couldn’t say which way it goes.”
“Alright,” said Tam. “We can’t stay here. Do we go upriver or down?”
Uthey shook his head. “No, I’ll not be responsible for us getting caught.”
“Okay, we’ll toss a stick.”
“Sounds fair.”
Tam picked up a small stick with a knob on one end. He glanced at Uthey. “We follow the knob.” Uthey nodded, and Tam tossed it into the air. From there, they traveled downriver.
Chapter 19
Malcius stepped off the ferry and could not have been gladder to be on foreign soil. Japa came next, pushing the small wagon that contained Yserria’s trunk and their traveling packs. Eight guards, four from each of the echelons, followed, and then Yserria. She passed the line of guards that waited on her without rolling her eyes, but Malcius knew what she was thinking. She had severely protested the need for guards, but the influential matrianeras of both echelons insisted that she needed them. Malcius had decided they were all spies and assassins.
“Come on,” said Malcius. “The docks are not far.”
Japa said, “First Consort, perhaps we should seek lodgings for the echelon. The longer we wait, the more difficult it will be to find a place in the event that no passage is available.”
Malcius scowled at the man. “I have asked you not to call me that. You are probably right, though. Is anyone here familiar with Esk?”
One of Yserria’s guards, Noko of House Linoni of the Fourth Echelon, said, “I have been here many times. It would be my honor to seek shelter for the echelon.”
Malcius said, “Very well. You and Japa find an inn. The rest of us will head to the docks.” Everyone nodded, but no one moved. Malcius sighed and rolled his eyes. He looked to Yserria and said, “By your leave, Echelon.”
Yserria glanced at the others. She waved her hand and said, “Yes. Go. Do what he said.”
She sidled up next to him and muttered, “It is like having children. I must tell them to do everything.”
“That is what it means to have servants at your call,” said Malcius. “Eventually, they will learn your preferences and disposition and start taking care of those tasks on their own.”
As they began walking south along the road that followed the river to the docks, she said, “I do not intend to have them that long.”
Malcius glanced at the guards who followed them. A few spoke Ashaiian, but most did not—or so they claimed. He said, “You are now the head of two echelons. You had best get used to them.”
Yserria said, “Queen Erisial will not permit me to retain that kind of power. She already feels threatened by the perception of strength I bear through Rezkin. I doubt she will allow me to keep one echelon, much less two. Besides, I am committed to serving Rezkin as a royal guard. I do not have time to administer an echelon.”
“Rezkin collects influence,” said Malcius. “He will probably value your position as echelon more than as a guardsman. It seems that most Leréshi overlook the fact that he is their king. As echelon, you can encourage your people to accept him.”
After a minute, she said, “You are very good at politics—at least, in the way people relate to each other—outside of Lon Lerésh, that is. Rezkin would benefit from your counsel.”
“Rezkin has little need of my counsel. It is I who have benefited from knowing him. I guess you could say that he helped me put my life into perspective. At first, I did not comprehend his desire to befriend Tam, nor did I understand his interest in Frisha. Dark things exist in this world, though, and loyalty and dedication are more valuable than titles.”
“I am surprised to hear you say that,” she said.
“My whole life has been wrapped in politics. Every word, every action has been judged as a reflection of my house. I accepted this with the understanding that everyone else was enduring the same scrutiny. It was important to make waves only when such was your intention. I had thought Tam and Frisha uncouth and lacking in culture and propriety. I realize now that they were being genuine, with no concern for house politics. They wear no masks. Mage Dolinar said something that made me realize the same is true with you.”
Yserria glanced at him but did not respond. Eventually, she said, “Rezkin wears a mask.”
“But was that not the point?” he said. “No one knew who he was. He could have been anyone. He forced us to recognize him for his skill. His mask is overly intimidating, but it need not be. His achievements speak for themselves.”
She did not look at him as she said, “I have not heard you speak so highly of him since Palis died.”
Malcius had no response, and he was saved from thinking of something when they encountered a massive crowd. Everyone was attempting to shuffle toward the docks, which, according to their guards, were still several blocks away.
A female guard named Ptelana stepped forward. She was a dark-skinned Leréshi woman from the Third Echelon who had considerable skill with the bow and spoke fluent Ashaiian and Ferélli. She said, “By your leave, Echelon, I will discover the reason for this gathering.”
“Yes, please do,” said Yserria.
Ptelana stepped into the crowd, and they watched as she questioned several people. When she returned, she said, “A new king has been crowned in Ferélle. His fleet is to arrive today. One man claimed the new king is the emperor of Cimmeria.”
“I have never heard of Cimmeria,” said Malcius.
“Nor have I,” said Yserria.
“Perhaps we should avoid him,” said Malcius. “He could be in league with Caydean. If not, he may be seeking to take advantage of the unrest on the Souelian.”
Ptelana looked at him and said, “One woman said she had heard a rumor that he is the king of Lon Lerésh, but she did not believe it.”
Yserria and Malcius grinned at each other. Yserria said, “Should we dare to hope?”
Malcius crossed his arms. “If anyone could take over another kingdom and start an empire, it would be Rezkin.”
“We must find out,” she said. “We need to get through this crowd.”
Ptelana grinned. “You may leave that to me, Echelon.” She crossed her wrists, pressing them to her forehead. “By your leave.” Then, she disappeared into the crowd.
Slender fingers slipped into the clear water. They slapped the surface, spraying water into the air. An echo of soft laughter flitted on the breeze, and then the entire world was a rush of watery bubbles. Distorted blobs of green and brown danced back and forth in the light above, and below was only murky darkness. A figure in the dark, a shadowy silhouette, slowly drew closer. It entered the sphere of light, the farthest it would travel in the water, and became brighter, clearer. A halo of white hair swayed with the current, obscuring the view. Then, silver eyes emerged from the swath. A pale hand reached forward, the fingers uncurled, and a light blue crystal lay nestled in the palm.
Rezkin was not sure what had awoken him, but he was almost certain it had been his stomach. Although he had slept the entire night, he still felt drained. He knew he would feel somewhat better after he had eaten. With a glance at his time dial, he realized he had eaten a full meal little more than an hour before. His legs wobbled as he tried to stand, so he sat back and took deep breaths as he began running through a list of causes. Had he been poisoned? Had he encount
ered a toxin? Did he have an infection? Was he ill? He opened his eyes to find a plum taking up his entire field of view. It was nearly touching his nose. Rezkin shifted to see the plum’s bearer, and large orange eyes blinked back at him.
“Power spent is power lost. Power gained is power tamed,” said the craggy, lilting voice.
Rezkin eyed the piece of fruit. He knew that a fae gift was never what it seemed. He said, “What is the price?”
Bilior glanced at Rezkin’s chest where the stone had grown hot beneath his shirt. The sensation occurred more frequently of late, such that the stone was warm most of the time. The katerghen said, “The price, the cost, mistrust, beware.” His limbs cracked as they curled in on themselves. “It is paid.”
Rezkin wondered if the ancient had somehow weakened him so that he would be beholden to the creature’s will, but he took the plum anyway. He examined the surface with a critical eye and a sniff. It smelled sweet, and the dots of moisture clinging to the taut, purple-black skin brought to his attention a thirst that had been overshadowed by the hunger and fatigue. He used a knife to cut into the plum as he glanced at Bilior. The katerghen’s gaze shifted anxiously between his face and the plum. Inside was the juicy pink and yellow flesh of normal plum, except that it had no pit. Rezkin’s stomach grumbled again, and he glanced at Bilior. The katerghen’s anticipation was palatable. Rezkin licked a drop of juice from his finger and waited a few minutes. When he felt no ill effects, he finally braved the fruit. His hunger overtook him, and he consumed the entire plum within seconds.
Bilior stretched out on the floor and propped his head on a twiggy arm. He watched as if waiting for a show. Nothing happened. Rezkin shook his head as he got to his feet. Suddenly, the room was filled with colors. Bilior was composed of the brightest colors Rezkin had ever seen. They swirled across his woody flesh in a chaotic dance of eddies and waves. The walls were drab and dim, and the muddled browns barely moved within them. He looked down at himself. He was nearly as bright as Bilior, but his colors appeared shattered, like a vessel of colored glass that had been broken and pieced back together a thousand times. He began to hear a hum, a distant melody. It grew louder the longer he listened. It was a tune with which he was familiar. It was the music of his meditation.