Servants and Followers (The Legends of Arria, Volume 2)

by Courtney Bowen

  “A year at best if we survive,” Sir Nickleby said. “Judging by the distance we have to cover, and if we don’t meet any trouble on the way.” He shook his head. “Don’t forget to strap on your swords, wherever we go, especially in Coe Anji. I advise you all to stay armed.” Sir Nickleby said, turning away from Basha.

  Basha watched Sir Nickleby go; why was he so worried?

  “Oaka! Sir Nickleby!” Basha called, searching for his friends alone in the forest with just the horses for company. Never had he been this alone, ever since the time he had run away from…the horses were skittish, shying away from the forest.

  “Never is it this quiet. Never.” Basha started to say, but then he realized he had clenched his fists, and tightened his body. He breathed in and out to calm himself down; it was going to be all right, it was going to be okay. Basha would find his friends, and Oaka would be fine.

  He wandered back towards the road that he and Oaka had strayed from when they began their race, several minutes ago.

  Oaka and Basha had been waiting for the knight to catch up with them, sitting on their horses Joko and Talan; the knight had gone into the bushes again to take care of some business. “And he complains that we can’t make 50 miles in a day?” Oaka said, shaking his head. “Of all the nerve, he should be…”

  Basha had dismounted from his horse, meanwhile, as he had noticed a side path leading off into the woods. It reminded him of the tunnel he had taken a few days ago, full of tree roots branching off in different directions and skittering bugs creeping over everything, deep underground into the Oracle’s cave. He had to look at it closer. “I bet you that I could race you down to the end of that path, and back before Sir Nickleby gets here.” He said with a smile.

  Oaka had turned his head to see what Basha was talking about. “Must be a hunter’s path,” Oaka muttered, trying to sound nonchalant as he looked down the long trail that seemed to lead into darkness. “Sure looks abandoned. Does it end?” He asked. He was reminded of a tunnel as well, but the one that Loqwa, god of death, was said to use to lead spirits into the underworld, the world of the dead.

  “I’m pretty sure that it does.” Basha said. “Probably won’t be half a mile or so before the forest claims it again.”

  “Half a mile, and then back, a full mile.” Oaka said, quivering in his heart. “Not too bad. I suppose we can manage that before Sir Nickleby finishes and gets back here. How about we make it a full mile down, and then back, two miles?” He asked, wondering why he was acting so brave. “For a real challenge?”

  “Let’s just see if it goes that far.” Basha said, not certain anymore if it was a good idea in the first place, but he was stuck with it since it belonged to him.

  They coaxed their horses into position at the start of the path. Basha mounted Talan, and they gave each other a moment and a half to settle down into position before Basha and Oaka looked at each other.

  “Ready?” Basha asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Oaka said, staring straight ahead at the path.

  “Go!” Basha cried, and they galloped off.

  For several minutes, they were side by side, attempting to outmaneuver each other on the narrow path with the forest closing in. The horses occasionally had to jump obstacles lying in their way, as the path twisted and turned. Basha lost sight of Oaka for awhile, and then he turned his head as he heard a familiar neigh, only to find himself gawking at an empty saddle.

  Oaka must have fallen off.

  Basha gasped and pulled sharply on Talan’s reins, stopping the horse before he dismounted and whistled for Joko. The other horse slowed down and turned around, coming back as Basha grabbed the reins of both horses and led them back the way they had come.

  Basha was worried, but he hoped to find Oaka just sitting up, none the worse for wear, and shaken up only just a little bit from his fall off of Joko, somewhere along the path. But there was no sign of him, nor of Sir Nickleby as he reached the main road. He would have thought…had Sir Nickleby already passed by here, or was he still further back along the main road? And what would he say to the knight if came back without Oaka? What would they do if they could not find…

  It was awfully, terribly quiet, as a matter of fact, Basha realized. He let go of the horses’ reins for a moment, and squinted up at the trees, searching for any sign of animal life. But there was no sight or sound from any of them, instead only an unnatural calm filled his surroundings.

  Other people in the town of Coe Baba might not have noticed anything was wrong, people like Hastin probably, but Basha, he had wandered the outskirts of the forest his whole life. He had camped out a couple of times with Oaka and Geda, not too far from home, and he had run away that one time...he knew when something was wrong inside the forest.

  Basha could see the double-edged sword shadows stretched out between the trees, uninterrupted. Still, no matter how strange this was, he knew that the heroes of old wouldn’t have been deterred. So, he inhaled deeper, and took a step forward.

  He heard a screech, and lifted his head up, towards a gap in the entwining branches that showed blue sky, and he smiled in relief at the sight of life, for the sun’s glare was shielded from his eyes by the form of a majestic falcon soaring right over him from north to south. It was magnificent, the dark brown feathers of the bird, tinted with black at the edge of its wings, tilted to circle around towards him. The bird’s black eyes were now visible to him, glinting with razor sharp perspicacity, and he was right underneath it! It was a graceful sight, and, oddly enough, too close to the ground and to him.

  The horses neighed and reared up.

  Basha blinked and yelped as the falcon, diving straight through the gap at him, slammed right into his stomach with enough force that he fell over backwards. He never had imagined that a falcon could have such force. He landed on a pile of leaves called a bush, and lied there, groaning softly as he stared straight up at the sky. Wondering if he was prone to disaster, somehow.

  He managed to sit up, looking down at the falcon perched on his lap. “Never is it a good sign when birds start attacking you,” Basha muttered to himself; he knew that well.

  “Wolves! Coming this way! Get out of here, boy!” The falcon yelled.

  Basha screamed as the falcon stretched his wings out, and then flinched as the bird flapped away from him, soaring off into the sky. The horses were still whinnying, almost screaming.

  Basha gasped and shuddered, then thought about what the bird had said. Though a talking bird was an impossible occurrence, he leapt onto his feet, and scanned about the area, as he thought that perhaps he should take the bird’s warning seriously. Then he heard the bushes rustling close behind him, from the hunter’s path, and whirled about, prepared to run if necessary, but Oaka emerged instead, covered in leaves, bruises and scratches from the branches and the fall he must have had.

  “Oaka!” Basha cried out in relief. “There was a falcon, a falcon talked to me!” He said.

  “What are…never mind that!” Oaka exclaimed, pointing behind him. “There are wolves after me! I fell off of Joko while we were jumping, and…let’s get the horses and get out of here!” He cried.

  The two young men managed to round up their horses and mount them as Basha heard a howl not far behind. The horses reared again, and galloped off, the two young men the hopeless loads on their backs, pitched about in their saddles and barely hanging on. Basha swung his head about, and caught a glimpse of their pursuit.

  The double-edged sword shadows were filtered through the fleeting, flitting shades of black wolves on the other side of the trees, loping in pace alongside the fleeing horses. Everything was black. The leaders of the pack lunged out of the intervals and swerved into their course, flanking their horses and lagging behind. Basha felt like his horse was swimming against the current, pushing him further and further back to the awaiting jaws, while the wolves were being propelled forward by the same current.

  “I can’t get any fire, I can’t get any fi
re!” Oaka was crying for some reason next to him.

  Basha’s head was yanked away from the sight as he was twisted by Talan’s flight. Larger than ordinary wolves, these wolves had despair-black fur surrounding blood-shot eyes that hunkered down over canine teeth, stretching below their lower jaws. These were monsters, like hyenas and wolves interbred.

  He heard the hollow snapping jaws, and managed to twist his head about again to see the foaming mouth of an alpha male mere inches away from Talan’s back leg. Yet he was relieved to see the horse give the beast a good sharp kick, and send it reeling away, and he was also relieved to spot blood streaming down the wolf’s nose. It proved, in the midst of this crazed, jarring pursuit, that these monsters were mortal.

  “‘My lords and ladies,’” Sir Nickleby said to himself in courtly fashion, pacing back and forth as he waited amidst the trees. “‘I would like to present…’ no, better make it ‘ladies and gentlemen’,” He paused to remark to himself, “sounds better. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present myself, Sir Nickleby of Coe Baba,’” He bowed deeply with a flourish, “‘and these two boys, Basha and Oaka, also of Coe Baba,’” He gestured backwards at nothing.

  “Sir Nickleby, are you already preparing yourself to meet King Sonnagh?” Nisa asked as she jumped down from the tree where she had been watching Sir Nickleby practice for the past minute, her bag hitting the ground just after her.

  Sir Nickleby turned around, slightly startled by her appearance, but he recovered himself and commanded a cool semblance as she stood up. “I am merely preparing myself for the possibility.” He said. “It is a long way off, and highly doubtful, but I hope that we are prepared should we be given the chance. Besides, what else should I do while I’m waiting?”

  “I told you not to wait up for me,” Nisa said, frowning at him. “You are already suspicious enough to these boys, especially Oaka. He does not trust you.”

  “He finds it difficult to trust.” Sir Nickleby sighed. “I probably deserve his distrust, especially with what happened at the militia tryouts.”

  “That was not your fault, not entirely.” Nisa said to him. “And anyway, you cannot keep stopping every few miles just for me. You won’t get anywhere that way.”

  “We are on horse, you are on foot. It is unfair to you that you should fall behind during the daytime while we ride, and then you would have to catch up with us during the nighttime while we slept. How can you keep up such a pace?” He asked.

  “You are too much of a gentleman. I have some stamina, but admittedly, I would have fallen behind.” Nisa said.

  “You should have gotten yourself a horse to ride before you left Coe Baba.” Sir Nickleby said, pointing at her before he turned away. “You could have asked to borrow one from me.”

  “Well, I cannot exactly afford one, and I was leaving on short notice.” Nisa said. “Besides, a horse attracts too much notice, especially when I am supposed to be traveling surreptitiously. I did not want to startle you all.”

  “Well, you certainly startled me,” Sir Nickleby remarked, remembering that first night when he had been on guard duty, and caught Nisa watching their camp. Nisa had to explain a lot to him in that moment, and Sir Nickleby had to take a closer look at her, but he was convinced in the end that she was the Old Man’s daughter, and doing her father’s duty on this trip, watching over them. He had almost laughed at the thought of Nisa and Iibala meeting, until he had learned that had already happened.

  “My daughter certainly is a wonder,” Sir Nickleby had muttered to himself, hearing Nisa’s story about what had happened between Basha, Iibala, and the birds just before the militia tryouts. Perhaps he had confessed too much to Iibala when he had told her what happened to him on the night Berevus had betrayed his militia, but it was necessary for him at the time. She had been complain too much about his odd, mournful behavior, which worried her, and he had to tell somebody the truth before all of the lies and rumors swallowed him up.

  “Anyway,” Nisa said now, crossing her arms as Sir Nickleby turned back to her, “You should be more careful from now on. The boys are getting restless.” She said.

  “How do you know that?” Sir Nickleby asked.

  “They took off three minutes ago down a side trail.” Nisa pointed. “They said they would race a mile down the trail and back before you got back out of these bushes.”

  “What?” Sir Nickleby said, running out of the bushes as Nisa shook her head. The Old Man would have been upset with her to learn that she had allowed the boys, especially Basha, to get out of her sight, but she thought that Sir Nickleby deserved to learn a lesson of his own about ignoring his duties.

  Sir Nickleby mounted his horse and took off, galloping the wrong way. He went down the main road instead of the hunter’s path that he must have missed.

  “Sir Nickleby! Wait!” Nisa cried, coming out of the bushes and seeing his misdirection. However, she was forced to hide herself again when she heard the approach of two horses coming onto the main road from the hunter’s path. She witnessed the crash of the falcon into Basha, Oaka’s appearance, and the Wolves.

  Nisa lifted her head as she saw the last of the Black Wolves running after Basha and Oaka, unaware of her existence when they were concentrated on their prey. She muttered, “You’re not getting them,” and quickly went to fetch her bag. She should have been more careful with her own charges.

  His horse galloping down the road, Sir Nickleby muttered to himself, “Why can’t they just wait for me? Is it so hard for them to sit still?” He paused and muttered to himself, “Better make it ‘lords and ladies,’” still thinking about the speech.

  He peered about in search for the side trail until a howl echoed throughout the forest and Sir Nickleby’s horse reared up as he pulled on the reins. He could not figure out where the noise was coming from.

  “Sir Nickleby!” Basha called out, from behind him.

  Sir Nickleby turned his head around, and saw one of the most horrific sights he had ever seen before, coming his way. The boys were riding their horses like all of the demons of the shadow worlds were after them, and they were. Black Wolves, Hyena Wolves, a whole pack of them, like the one that should have been there when he had discovered the scout in the forest last Suma. They were after the boys, they were after Basha. He couldn’t believe how time slowed down as everything moved, fast as lightning, towards him.

  “Well, I suppose I shall have to do my job!” Sir Nickleby called out, and jumped down from his horse as the animal bolted. It was harder than it looked to make such a jump. He managed to land on the ground with a roll, and stand up again, unsheathing his sword. He was too old for this sort of action, leave acrobatics to young people like Nisa.

  “Keep going, boys!” Sir Nickleby called out to them as the boys were trying to rein in their horses. “I’ll catch up!” He waved them on, still sore.

  The horses ran on again, as smoothly as lightning streaking across the sky in jagged lines, when the boys could not stop them, and then Sir Nickleby strode out into the middle of the road. “Come on, you bunch of dogs from in-bred mothers!” Sir Nickleby roared. “Have at me, Wolves!” He cried out as the pack launched itself at him; he would not die without some pain. Oh, Iibala, he was sorry…

  Something had happened, or was happening, Doomba sensed, opening his eyes behind the mask in the Wastelands, south of Arria, although he could not tell just when or where it had occurred, or what it was. The shadows toiled about him, bringing him images from all parts of the world in every imaginable time as rapidly as they could, although they could not always be precise or informative about what was going on when they were only sentient enough to observe, not to discern and reach conclusions. Thus, his senses and shadows in this matter didn’t exactly help him much when their information was a bit piecemeal, but from what little he could tell and sense, whatever had occurred was thrilling, exciting, and ultimately disappointing, as the quarry had gotten away from them.

  Still, there was some satis
faction for now, as a little bit of meat and blood was left to share amongst his Servants, far away from him, to the north. The north, there always seemed to be some disturbance happening up in the north these days, but then again, the tiger was expected to come from the north. The tiger…was it…could he have escaped yet again from pursuit? Doomba’s agitation aggravated his shadows as well, twisting and turning into smaller and smaller loops about him, to coil as tightly as they could to protect him and constrain his temper.

  Why was the tiger of light always escaping? Doomba wondered, What could be protecting him? There was always something that seemed to be shielding the tiger, hiding him from Doomba’s sight and smell and hearing, amongst his other more intuitive senses, protecting him from the Followers and Servants that got too close to penetrating the mystery of who he was, and conveying that information to Doomba through Doomba’s shadows. Who was he, and what were these forces protecting him? Doomba had to know before it was too late for him to prevent the unthinkable. The shadows trembled.

  Having surrendered his humanity, or most of it anyway, long ago, when he, as Memba, had consumed a demon and allowed it to take control of his body, past and present had lost all meaning to him, and were the same to him in the end. He had cheated death and become deathless, although he was not immortal. The tiger of light was prophesized to destroy him, but Doomba would have none of that. He would come to an end eventually, hopefully when everything else in this world ceased to exist, although even then, he would search for a way to escape this dying world, and enter another world, perhaps to inhabit another body. Perhaps the tiger of light could be the vessel he needed, although Doomba had to be sure the tiger of light would have no will left to fight back against him.

  “Sire?” A gringrok’s voice called out from the doorway. “One of the Trollas has come here to complain about a disturbance in the Pits.”

  “Isn’t there always?” Doomba grumbled, his dream disrupted. “Send him in.”