by Tim Mathias
“Only that I’d know it when I saw it.”
“And?”
“And I don’t see it.”
“The Tauthri!” another voiced shouted. “The Tauthri have returned! They’re stealing from the loot!”
Tascell jumped down. “Vahr, we must go!”
It was all wrong. That cursed Dramandi relic was supposed to be here. They could have found it easily, could have taken it without any confrontation. Whatever it was that had come over Cohvass had robbed Zayd of that possibility. What of his men? What would become of them?
Zayd jumped down and gave a final look to Cohvass, though he regretted it; the Dramandi had nearly been cut to pieces. Most of one arm had been hacked away, the flesh of the other was it tatters, and his chest and stomach had been pierced and slashed into ruin. Only when his head was taken off at the neck did his body finally quit.
With the pounding of footsteps approaching, the two Tauthri ran to the edge of the plateau and through the gap in the palisades and down the hill. It was too steep, though, and Zayd was running too fast. It took only one misstep and he was tumbling, the world spinning round him. He heard Tascell call to him from somewhere farther up the hill, heard the Trueborn’s cries, angry and panicked, echoing off the trees. His left elbow struck something hard and his arm immediately went numb.
Tascell was standing over him, lifting him up. “Come on, they’re coming.” Zayd winced as he began to run again. He tried to move his left arm but couldn’t. The whole world seemed askew, tilting this way and that, the sound of approaching horses getting too close while Tascell ran ahead and looked back at him impatiently. How far had they gone? It felt far, but the sounds of pursuit told him it was not nearly far enough.
He fell to his knees, tried to put out his hands to steady himself, but failed and grunted loudly.
“They’re this way!”
His dizziness was so strong that Zayd had to fight the urge to vomit. Tascell threw something through the trees to confuse the Ryferian and was once again lifting Zayd to his feet. He touched his head and felt it warm and wet.
“It’s nothing,” Tascell said. “We have to keep moving.” Zayd nodded and began to walk as quickly as he could, not sure if he was getting weaker or stronger. He wanted only to stop and rest but he knew, even in the dark, the Ryferians might find them. Sera might think they had been killed. The rest of his men might die. He was getting weaker, but he forced himself to move faster.
They went down into a shallow ravine – did they cross this coming here? – and began climbing up the steep bank on the other side.
“They’re crossing water!” Zayd recognized the Garinus’s voice.
“We need to go faster,” Tascell whispered as he tried to hurry Zayd.
“This way!” The voices were closer. Much closer. Tascell pulled Zayd over a fallen tree at the top of the bank, and he fell onto his back. He closed his eyes; it was the only way to control the reeling he felt. Even with his eyes closed he could sense Tascell hovering about him.
And then, without a word, he heard him padding away through the forest. Gone.
It was alright, though. Zayd caught his breath and the sway of the world subsided. He was on the edge of consciousness and, for one merciful moment, heard nothing except the forest. He, too, was completely removed from it. To hear it the way it was before men and the way it would be after was a rare gift.
And like the rarest of things, it was also the shortest lived. There were footsteps, not heavy, but impossible not to hear. Then, he heard the breathing. He realized, suddenly, that he was cold. Had he slipped from consciousness? Was the light he saw approaching daylight? No… a flame. Coming closer to him from the ravine. It climbed the bank…… a mailed hand was on the tree trunk and the flame was nearly in view when there was a familiar exhale from further away.
Zayd did not need to see it to know. A black arrow took the knight in the throat and sent him and the torch down the bank and into the shallow stream. No one called out. Praene’s men must have spread out to look for them. When it was clear that no one else was approaching, Zayd turned his head towards the figures approaching: Tascell and Sera approached him cautiously. Daruthin stood behind them, his eyes sweeping the forest, bow in hand, an arrow at the ready. Together, Tascell and Sera lifted Zayd to his feet and helped him through the forest. Zayd could feel her eyes on him and could feel her questions burgeoning like water behind a weak dam. They would need to be answered. Even if he was not battered and disoriented, Zayd doubted he would be able to make sense of what he saw, what Cohvass said.
Or what it meant.
Chapter 15
Zayd stood alone on the footpath that led to their village. It was the only visible route, though the Ryferians, who had gone through the effort of surrounding the village, could have approached from elsewhere if they were inclined. He doubted they would since this was likely to be a confrontation more ritualistic than combative.
He did not know why they had bothered to surround them. Maybe it was just a show of strength. Perhaps they were wary of the Tauthri, that they had not fled did not actually mean surrender. It could be a trap, meant to lure in the Ryferians and catch as many of them as they could in a final spasmodic outburst that took them into oblivion.
But it was just surrender. Any who had second thoughts and stayed had nowhere to escape to, even if panic got the better of them. That’s why, Zayd thought, some were having fits. Others quietly wept.
The Ryferians took a long time to send an envoy. It could be that they were waiting for the arrival of an interpreter, but Zayd thought that was not the case; every action was probably charged with significance, if not aimed at the Tauthri, then it was significant to the Ryferians themselves. Gestures to the soldiers who had suffered and bled so much, whose physical injuries were only a shadow of damage that the Tauthri had done to their collective consciousness, to their notions of primacy. But that would return to them once their victory over the Tauthri was formalized.
Zayd looked over his shoulder at the sound of a sword hilt against a scabbard and the sound of arrows knocking together in a mostly full quiver. Wenniam stopped beside Zayd and looked down the path as though he expected the Ryferians to come charging up, swords drawn.
“Why are you armed?” Zayd asked.
“Why are you not?”
“The fight is over, Wenniam. This is the only way we will survive this war.”
Wenniam put his hand on Zayd’s shoulder and forced him to turn and look at him. “Is it worth it, Zayd? Is it worth surviving if we have nothing after? Because that is exactly what we will have. All that we hold sacred will only live on in memories, memories that we will not be allowed to share with our own children! What kind of life is that? To be ruled in body and mind? How many generations will it be before everything that you and I know, that our fathers have taught us that they learned from their fathers, going back generations – how many generations will those memories survive?”
“I don’t know,” Zayd said. “Three. Five. Perhaps no more than ten.” He shrugged. “What does it matter to me?”
Wenniam threw his arms outward, and his eyes were wide and unblinking. “How does this not bother you?”
“It does, but I am trying to accept it. And I am assuming that because you are fully armed that you are having some difficulty.”
“Difficulty?” Wenniam said. “I am not accepting it. Will not. Cannot. And none of my brothers will, either. Our minds were made up when we had to watch our father burn.” He choked on the last words.
“Savyl was a great man. He was also a good man. But just because your father was our chieftain does not mean that I am now yours to command. Don’t presume to order me to pick up a blade and die because you can’t accept our fate. I know you do not have children, but I will tell you this and I hope you are able to grasp it…” Zayd stepped closer to Wenniam, finally looking him in the eye. Wenniam stepped back but Zayd kept stepping closer. “My wife and my son are more import
ant to me than every one of our legends or ancestors or gods. Do you really think that the King Hunter would applaud us for willfully chasing a path into extinction? Or Tethrutan, the Night Watcher? My son may grow up not knowing them, but grow up he will. And if I need to kill you, right here, to see that through, then that is what I will do.”
Wenniam stepped back again and almost stumbled off balance. “You… are not armed,” he said, as if Zayd was unaware.
“Do you think that I need to be?”
Wenniam had no response. “You need to accept what is going to happen today, and you need to accept it now. Put your sword and your bow and your arrows on the ground right here and then go and tell your brothers to do the same. If you don’t then you’ll die. All of you. And I will be the one to kill you. How many generations do you think will remember you?”
Zayd stared at him evenly, without anger or hatred on his face or in his voice, but there was conviction. His tone was an unmistakable promise, one that he would keep every day for the rest of his life; he would do what was needed for Symm and Cassian. No matter the cost.
He was alone again and was for a while before the Ryferians came up the path. When he heard them coming, Zayd picked up the sword, quiver, and bow that lay at his feet and tossed them into the trees beside him. He remembered where he threw them, just in case. The bow was quite good and it would be a shame for it to be lost. He flexed his hand again and remembered with some bitterness that the bow would be no good to him, anyways. A shame indeed.
The world was a bright white and blue blur. Zayd could hear birds singing. At first that was all he could hear until his senses settled more, coming back into focus, and he heard the soft murmur of several unknown voices.
“He’s awake,” he heard someone say. “Go tell her.” His arm throbbed in pain and he could feel how swollen it was – impressively so – when he touched it, and when he tried to look at it, his head reminded him that it, too, had suffered.
“Try not to move,” he heard Sera say. She was close to him now. Zayd was laying on a bed of dry pine needles, though, as the sharpness of his vision returned, he could not tell where exactly in the forest they were. It was not where they had camped and it was not near where Praene’s regiment had been the night before. “We had to keep moving last night,” Sera said, taking notice of his apparent confusion. “We wanted to get as much distance from them as we could.”
“Good,” Zayd whispered. “That’s good.” His hand went to his head.
“No. Don’t touch. The wound is clean now, leave it alone.” Sera sat cross-legged a few feet away from him. Zayd could hear some of the other Dramandi nearby but could not see them. And he could not see any of his own countrymen.
“Where is Tascell? Where is Daruthin?”
“They are safe. For now. Tell me what happened. I tried asking the other one, the one who went with you. Why are you the only one who speaks our tongue?”
“I suppose I have a knack for it. Why aren’t there any of you that speak Tauthral?” Using only his right arm, Zayd lifted himself to a seated position and leaned against a nearby tree. The world spun and for a few moments he thought he might retch.
“What happened?” Sera repeated. “What happened to Cohvass?”
The surreal image of the imposing warrior attacking the Ryferian knights as he was steadily cut to pieces came immediately back to him, along with the expression of murderous glee that was on his face as he was dismembered and disembowelled. He had not known at the time what it was that he was witnessing, but Zayd now knew; Cohvass was enjoying it all. He enjoyed the death. Even his own.
“Cohvass… we were in the camp… had made it inside the perimeter without being spotted. We found the iron chest, the one you told us had your god’s gift inside. And then he began speaking. It made no sense, but he was speaking Tauthral, and I had no idea what it was that he was saying.”
“Cohvass does not speak Tauthral,” Sera said. “What you’re telling me could not have happened.”
“You asked. I am telling you what I remember. We could ask Tascell, but since I am the only one who can translate… unless any of your other men secretly know how to speak our tongue.”
“What did he say?
“He said something about rivers flowing into the ocean, about being whole again. He asked if I was there to serve. And then there was a name. Velskotahn. Something about a key across the ocean. And then…”
“And then what?” Sera leaned forward again.
“And then he attacked the knights. But there was no reason for it. He had not been seen. We could have made it back, and perhaps they would have noticed something in the morning, but we could have made it a safe distance through the night. Yet he just… walked into a group of them and attacked. And he was calm, swinging at them like it was a game. Even when…” Zayd trailed off, not wanting to subject Sera to every aspect he recalled. “The knights killed him. He stayed on his feet for… it was impossibly long.”
“They killed him?” Sera asked. Zayd heard a tremble in her tone. He nodded. “Or you killed him?”
“We did not kill him.”
“You think I am a fool, don’t you?” Sera shot to her feet. “Of course you wanted to punish him for what he did to your sword-kin! What better chance than this? And to have it given to you so easily.”
“You must think I am a fool!” Zayd spat. He lurched to his feet and kept his balance only because he was still leaning against the tree. “You must think I am so petty and overtaken with hate that I would sacrifice my life and the lives of my countrymen just to kill that brute? We are still your captives. If I was going to betray you, why would I not tell the Ryferian commander where you were? Why would we come back to you at all? Why would Tascell come for your help when he could have abandoned me? If you think the answer is plain, then you’re right. I would not.” Zayd slumped back down. Whatever energy he had had just been spent. “I wish Cohvass had not lost his senses. Perhaps he could have told you himself that the iron chest was empty.”
Sera covered her mouth and turned away from him. Zayd did wish for a different outcome, if only so he would have seen what happened to Cohvass. It was odd that he should be affected by one death when he had seen countless over the course of the war. But there was some surreal aspect to it that he could not place, and it lingered with him. He was uncertain if it was the mystical message he had delivered or the way in which he revelled in the bloodshed. Perhaps it was both.
“I am sorry,” Zayd said. “I did want to succeed. Truly.”
Sera turned back around and he could see that she had failed to hold back tears, but she was still trying to stop from weeping utterly. “What am I to do?” she asked. The question was posed not to Zayd but to herself. To whatever gods still listened. A question hung over both of them like an executioner’s blade, poised to drop: what would they do now? She sat down facing him, but not looking at him.
“Do you believe me?” Zayd asked.
She nodded slowly. “Did he say anything else?”
Zayd searched his memory. “He told me to take the portal across the sea. To unite the keys. I can’t even begin to guess at what he meant. Does it make sense to you?”
“No,” she said softly. “Though perhaps I know why he said it. I told you of the evil that surrounded the treasure that was taken from the ground. I could see them when I was your prisoner. One of them tried to take hold of me, but I resisted. It must have been one of them that took Cohvass to deliver some message. But what that message means, and why it was delivered to you… I don’t know. Perhaps there was no real message. Perhaps it was nonsense. No one can guess at such things and find meaning from pure chaos.”
The two of them sat in silence for a time. Zayd could see some of the other Dramandi circling around them, investigating their disquieting exchange. Perhaps making sure Zayd was not trying to escape or attack her, since he was entirely unbound. He nearly laughed at the thought since he doubted he had the strength to do either.
“He was a fire that burned for us. When we faced our worst defeats, many people’s fires went out. But his burned stronger in the dark. Because he knew that it needed to. I needed it…… I still do.” Tears rolled down Sera’s cheeks freely, though she seemed more composed. “I need the Raan Dura. More than ever now, I need it.”
Zayd was taken aback; her declaration sounded like an order to him. “How do you plan on getting it?”
“With you. That has not changed. I told you that you would go free once you obtained the Raan Dura. That still holds true.”
“It isn’t there! Not knowing where it is presents something of a challenge to us, wouldn’t you say? And they now know with certainty that they are being followed. We will not be able to go after it again. They will be guarded. Alert.”
“You said that it wasn’t in the iron chest. That does not mean that it isn’t there. Did you check all of the crates and other chests that are stuffed full of my people’s possessions?”
“No.”
“Then it could still be there, and it likely is. It is only a matter of finding it.”
“Sera…”
“Save your objections. I don’t think you want to convince me that you have no more usefulness to me.”
“Are you thinking that we can search every carriage, every inch of their camp without being found? And what about these spirits, this evil? What if it tries to take hold of me?”
“I don’t think it can. I told you before.” She pointed to her own forearm on the place where Zayd had carved his family’s sigil. “I should have told Cohvass to do the same.”
“A Tauthri sigil carved in his flesh? I doubt he would have welcomed the idea.”
“No. He wouldn’t have. But the fact remains that they cannot influence you or take hold of you like they did to him.”
“So you say.”
“Yes. So I say. Which is all that matters now.”