His Dark Empire (Tears of Blood)

by Forbes, M. R.

  He looked the horse over. Youngest and fastest didn't mean young and fast, but she would have to do. "If I don't have a chance to return her to you here, I'll leave her at the stable closest to the south gate of the city. You can pick her up there."

  "Be nice to her. She isn't a warhorse." Sena looked like she was going to cry.

  "I'll keep her out of harms way." Silas put his hand over her neck and pulled himself up onto her bare back. He trotted her away from the rest of the group, and then ordered her into a full gallop.

  The horse was faster than she looked, and Silas found himself well beyond the point where he had dropped to the grass in no time. He rode her hard, but not at a deadly pace, keeping an eye out for any sign of the soldiers, which was difficult to do in the darkness.

  He didn't find them riding up the Elling road. Not directly. What he did find was a bit of trampled earth that led off through a small field and into a thick growth of trees. He would have missed it, but the dirt was newly thrown, moist and dark against the dry road it had landed on. There was no guarantee it had been the soldiers, but he didn't need to be a woodsman to guess that heavy chargers at a run would cause that kind of destruction.

  "I guess you'll have to wait here, Binney," Silas said, sliding off the horse. He hoped she wouldn't roam too far with a nice field of grass for grazing on.

  He entered the trees cautiously, his nicked and dull sword in hand. He kept his hood up and his cloak wrapped tight around him while he slinked from the cover of one tree to another. It was easy enough to follow so many horses, with all of the damage they caused to the surrounding brush. He tracked it from cover a few years away, mindful of every step. The movement was slow, but he soon reached his quarry.

  He saw the fire first, belching out flame and smoke into the night air, cracking and spitting from the heat. He saw the soldiers next, three of them sitting around it, along with the messenger. He was still a bit distant, but they were easy to spot with their mail and helms. They were talking amongst themselves, loudly enough that he was sure they weren't concerned about anyone coming across their camp. Who would cross paths with his soldiers intentionally?

  "Where are you?" Silas said, trying to use the light of the fire to locate the Mediators. He didn't see them. "I'm not close enough."

  He ducked down, getting on his hands and knees and moving at a snail's pace through the woods. Insects skittered away in front of his face, and he wound up sliding across one of the charger's offal, leaving him with the smell of manure climbing up to his nose. The progress was excruciatingly slow, but he knew if the Mediator saw him, he was as good as dead. He might have escaped from Roque, but he'd had help.

  He circled the camp like that, locating the fourth soldier leaning against a tree not twenty feet away from him, keeping guard over the camp. Silas was tense the entire time it took him to slither past the man and continue his circuit, searching for the Mediator and the Cursed girl.

  When he found them, he nearly wept. The soldiers he had gone around were only the guards, a tiny camp keeping watch for a much larger one. He lifted himself up over a fallen log, giving himself a clear view past a pair of canvas tents and into the center of the true outpost.

  There were at least two dozen soldiers there, sitting around multiple fires, talking and laughing. Beyond them, he saw a much nicer tent of red and gold, where he assumed the Mediator he had seen ride by, and possibly more, were stationed. Next to the tent, he located the Cursed girl.

  Except, she wasn't alone.

  She, and at least six others were in the back of a large wagon, covered over the top by canvas, and enclosed completely in iron bars. She was standing at the bars, looking out at the soldiers, with tears in her eyes. The others with her were either standing or sitting, their heads bowed, their expressions that of total defeat.

  He heard Calum Hess' voice in his head, begging him to remember his promise. He heard the other voice too, scorning him as a murderer. He knew he had to find some way to help them, but how? He wouldn't be able to get them out with the Mediator's tent right next to them. With seven Cursed, that could mean as many as seven Mediators. There was no way he would survive that.

  He decided the first thing he needed to do was get closer. He would fail before he could try anything if he couldn't get himself near the wagon unseen. He couldn't be sure how the Cursed would react to him, so he had to avoid them too.

  It was even slower going, sliding along the ground, maneuvering himself around behind the Mediator's tent and to the other side. At one point, he saw the messenger appear, taking a few rabbits he had roasted at the smaller fire and bringing it in to them. He announced himself at the door of the tent, and waited for some signal before entering.

  Silas stopped his crawling when he reached the trunk of an old oak tree, tucking himself down between the tree and its roots, and finding a vantage point where he could watch the motion of the camp from a relatively short distance. He allowed himself to take one deeper breath, and settled in. Somehow, he needed to get the Cursed away, by himself, without being seen or captured.

  "I picked the wrong time to stop drinking."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Eryn

  Eryn learned quickly, a girl pretending to be a boy, walking alone on the road to Elling. Keep your head down, your eyes pointed at the road. Merchants are safe to talk to, as long as they believe you may buy something. Never take your mind or your hands off of anything you value, and never, ever let them think you're weak.

  In the first hours after she had left Tanner and Magret behind, Eryn had felt more sad and alone and out of place than she ever had in her life. She paused in the trees that dotted the road from time to time, kneeling down out of sight of passerby and sobbing quietly into her hands, each time terrified someone would hear, and know she wasn't a boy, and find soldiers to turn her in to. She wished she could stop herself, but in those first hours of being truly alone, and not immediately threatened, she found that she couldn't.

  When the tears had dried up, she resolved herself to staying strong. She walked with her head up, her posture confident, until a soldier had stopped her while she walked, and asked her where she was headed.

  "Elling City, My Lord," she had replied, trying to mimic the way Tanner had dealt with the soldiers. She fought to keep her voice pitched deeper than was natural. "I'm going to audition for the Overlord."

  The soldier had laughed at that, and kicked her in the side as he rode away, knocking her down. "Good luck to you, boy," he had said.

  Eryn had pulled herself up without complaint, but she let go of the strong posture, instead stooping with her eyes downcast. She was sure the soldier's metal boot would leave a large bruise, and every step soon became painful. A part of her wanted to cry at that, but she denied herself the luxury. If she was going to work against him, she had to become accustomed to being attacked, because they weren't going to just let her ride up to his castle, or wherever he lived, and put a knife in his heart.

  She had been walking for three days when she had run out of bread. Her stomach gurgled and ached for something to eat, and she had to force herself to leave the side of the road and the safety of the nearby brush and river to locate a merchant who might sell her some food.

  "Excuse me," she said, finding a dark-skinned man with a covered horse-drawn wagon. "Do you have an food to spare? I can pay."

  She had already removed two copper coins from the purse she had taken from Master Lewyn, before she had approached the merchant. She had witnessed a man being robbed already, when he had fumbled with his purse in front of the wrong people.

  The man was shorter than her, so he had to look up to make eye contact. "What fool boy travels with no food?" he asked.

  "I... I had food," Eryn said, still not used to being called a boy. "I just didn't bring enough."

  He laughed at that. "You don't even know how much you eat? I have some scraps from last night's meal. It's a simple strew, and it's cold now, but it will satisfy your h
unger."

  Eryn handed him the two coins, and he eyed them with a smile, taking them and holding up a finger for her to wait. He whistled to his horse, who stopped walking, and then he circled to the back of his wagon. He climbed up inside, and she heard him moving things around. A moment later, he popped back out with a small bowl filled with a dark liquid.

  "You can't keep the bowl, so you'll need to eat it here." He handed it to her.

  Eryn put it to her nose. It smelled more like dirt than anything she could eat. "What's in it?"

  "Roots, mainly. That's why it smells like manure. Don't let that fool you, it goes down easy."

  Eryn wasn't so sure, but she put it to her lips and tilted the bowl. It smelled like garbage, and it tasted just as bad, but she knew it was the only meal she was going to get. She swallowed it, and prayed to Amman that she could keep it down.

  "Merchant."

  A man in a faded black cloak walked up behind her, nearly scaring her into dropping the bowl. How had he gotten so close without her hearing him? She turned to look, but his face was hidden by the hood.

  "Do you have any more of that stew?" He held out a copper coin that was half the size of the kind she had given the man. The man took it and nodded, giving a quick glance over at her to see if she would complain about the disparity in cost. She didn't say anything, but stared at the man.

  He was taller than most of the other people she had seen, except for the soldiers on their horses. Standing next to him, her head topped out below his shoulder, leaving her feeling like she was standing next to a giant.

  "Is there something you want?" He didn't turn his head, and she was sure he couldn't see her with the hood of the cloak like that, but somehow he had known she was starting at him.

  "No, My Lord," she replied. She didn't think he was a Lord, but she hoped the deference would be enough to avoid confrontation.

  He didn't say anything else to her, but she was sure she heard him chuckling. She forced down the rest of the stew, and put the bowl on the back of the wagon. She glanced at him one more time before she walked away. His eyes met hers, and she barely caught her shock at seeing they were blue.

  She kept walking, wondering if she had seen what she thought she'd seen. A tall man, with blue eyes. She hadn't seen many people of any kind with blue eyes, so what was the possibility he was the killer the soldiers were looking for? If he was the killer, maybe he could help her in some way? She turned around and looked at his back while he drank the stew. She couldn't just go up to him and ask him if he was the man the soldiers were looking for. What if he wasn't? Then she would really look foolish, and she might give herself away. She decided she would wait near the river, behind a tree, and follow him for a while, until she could be sure one way or the other.

  She didn't have to wait long. He appeared on the road a bit further down from where she was hiding. She let him get far enough ahead of her that she was sure he wouldn't know she was following, and then she too regained the road, walking behind him with her head down.

  The man walked for hours, leaving Eryn's legs exhausted. She considered giving up on following him, but she had kept going for so long, he was bound to stop soon, and then she could rest. Except, he didn't. He just continued walking, without food or drink or rest, leaving her dry and tired and angry.

  They reached a group of minstrels with a brightly colored wagon who had set up a camp on the side of the road for the evening, and she told herself she would give up the chase and try to buy more food from them. But first he passed them by, and then so did she. She knew she shouldn't have, but she just couldn't force herself to give up the hunt.

  Then she heard the horses. There were five of them coming at full gallop up the road from the south. She didn't think they would recognize her in the darkness, and at that speed, but she rushed off the road anyway, not wanting to be trampled. She hid behind a bush, and watched as another horse ran towards them from the north. All six came to a stop right in front of her. The rider of the lone horse reached into a bag on his saddle, and handed his letter to a Mediator. Not only that, but the Mediator had a girl with short brown hair in the saddle, positioned in front of them. Did they think that was her? Or was she another Cursed?

  The Mediator took the letter, and opened it. She heard muffled voices as he spoke to the messenger and the soldiers, and they took off, continuing north along the road.

  Eryn stood up and made her way back to the road. She didn't know what the meeting had been about, but she was glad they hadn't caught her. At the same time, she was bothered by the thought that they might have mistakenly taken the girl in her place.

  She kept walking, hoping the soldiers didn't notice the man she was following, and also hoping he hadn't gotten too far ahead. If he hated the soldiers enough to kill them, maybe he would help her go after them and save their captive.

  She barely found a hiding place in time when she heard the running footsteps coming straight towards her. She jumped over a thicket of bramble, the thorns putting tears in her pants and skin, and turned around. She saw the man running back the other direction. His hood was down, and she could see the white hair dancing with his movement. It was him, she was sure of it now. But, why was he running the other way? Was he trying to get away from the soldiers? Maybe he wasn't as brave as she'd thought.

  Eryn decided not to try to get his attention. She couldn't trust him if he was running away. She would just have to try to follow the horses, and see where they went herself. She wasn't sure what she could do, but she had to do something. Her parents would never have wanted her to let someone else be hurt in her place. She began to run.

  Pounding hoofbeats forced her to dive to the ground yet again. She landed on her stomach and turned to see another horse go by, with the man on it. She caught her breath in surprise. He wasn't running, he was finding a way to get there faster!

  She jumped to her feet and kept running after him. Her legs were exhausted, but she felt renewed by the idea of this man fighting to save the girl. She was desperate to get to him as soon as she could, to help him against his soldiers. She didn't really know how to handle a sword, but she could use a bow with decent skill.

  The excitement wore off after she had run, then walked, then run again for over an hour. She wanted so much to be there when he confronted the soldiers, but her body just wasn't fit enough to keep going for that long. She was just about ready to fall to the ground in exhausted frustration, when first she saw the torn up dirt and the tracks leading off through a field and into the woods, and then she saw the horse the killer had been riding.

  Eryn followed the trail, walking cautiously through the field, and stopping at the edge of the trees. She took her bow from her back, and pulled one of the arrows from her quiver. She entered ready to fire at anything that came towards her. She only hoped her aim would be true.

  She stopped when she saw the fire, and the soldiers sitting around it. She was wondering where the others were when she saw the man without armor get up, take something from the ground behind the fire, and start carrying it away. She watched him for as long as the light of the flames allowed, and then she crouched down and followed after him.

  When she saw the larger camp, and all of the soldiers in it sitting around fires, laying on the ground sleeping, or standing and talking to one another, she felt afraid.

  When she saw the wagon, with the girl and six other prisoners inside, trapped behind metal bars, she felt angry.

  When she looked from them to the finery of the red and gold tent where she knew the Mediator must be, she was livid.

  She closed her eyes and felt her heart beating faster, her anger only growing the more time she spent looking at the wagon through the trees. She wondered where the killer had gone. Had he seen it was hopeless, and left? Except, the horse had been in the field, and he hadn't gone back past her. Was he still there, somewhere?

  Eryn knew she had to do something, but what could she do? She was just one young girl, who didn't know ho
w to fight. All of the arrows in her quiver wouldn't be enough to kill even half of the soldiers.

  What she did have, she realized, was her Curse. And the blue stone that she had seen Lia use to shoot lighting at Roddin.

  As quiet as she could, she put the bow on the ground and slid the quiver off her shoulder. She put it down in front of her, and reached into its depths, searching for the stone. When she found it, it was cold to the touch. She took it in her hand and drew it out, looking down at it. It didn't seem special, but she had seen what the Mediator had done with it, and the Mediator was Cursed, like her.

  Eryn took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. She was either going to make her Curse help her, or she was going to die. Either way, at least she would know she had done her best to save innocent people.

  She stood up.

  She took a few more breaths, slowing her heartbeat, calming herself, giving herself confidence and strength. She held the stone out in front of her in her palm, looking down at it and concentrating. She knew what she wanted it to do. She sent those thoughts towards it, and started walking forwards.

  The tingle started behind her ears as she reached the edge of the trees, leading into the small clearing where the camp was arranged. In the back of her mind, she heard the soldier that saw her first screaming an alarm. In the corner of her eye, she saw them rush to grab their weapons; the swords and the bows. She felt the power building, the tingle slipping down her spine and between her shoulders, running like water through her hand to the small blue stone she was holding.

  "Litsum," she said, pushing her thought at the stone.

  The world exploded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Silas

  Silas watched the messenger exit the tent and start walking away. He glanced over at the prison wagon again, taking note of the heavy lock on the door, and the hitch at the front. It would be hard to break the lock with the lousy sword he was carrying, and even harder to get the key from whichever Mediator he was sure was holding it. The hitch was another story, though. If he could sneak in once most of the camp had gone to sleep, he might be able to get a couple of horses onto the wagon, and start rolling it away.