It was the most implausible part of the story, so far as Osraic was concerned, because none of the races were just one or two things. Elves could be tall, and strong, and fast, and so could goblins. Trolls were strong brutes, but had a capacity for cleverness. Humans could perform magic, but were as capable as any of brutishness and stupidity, and all of the other traits that had been assigned to other species. The whole thing only managed to simplify the races into caricatures.
Really, the only way the story made sense was that it provided an explanation as to why humans were the one race that could manipulate magic.
As the story went, once the entire population of Cydonia had been de-mongrelized by his spell, Orsak scattered the races across the realm and sealed the gates of the Kingdom, which made it an origin story for the entire world. That was another reason not to take anything regarding the Kingdom seriously, because nothing in the world Osraic knew was this simple.
The mad sorcerer king then either died, continued to live alone in the vast and empty land he had personally depopulated, or left the Kingdom as well, only to walk the world in a series of incarnations. Again, it depended on whose version was being told.
Some adhered to the theory that the Kingdom was a true physical place to actively seek out, and that Orsak had left clues to its location in different parts of the world. One day—and this was the redemptive part that every version of the myth seemed to have—someone worthy would come along and either find the clues or otherwise piece together the location of the Kingdom, and enter.
Not that it mattered. It was only a myth.
Cant ordered a new round of ale as Osraic tried to figure out what the two of them could possibly mean.
“The Kingdom is a fairy tale,” he said. “Everyone who isn’t a child knows that.”
“I happen to know a fairy,” Atha said. “She didn’t think there was anything imaginary about it.”
“You’re actually making my point for me.”
“It’s very real, young sorcerer,” Cant said. “And we need your help to find it.”
“Why my help?”
“It’s said to pass through the gates at least one of each race must be represented,” Atha said.
“One of each kind is the exact wording of that passage,” Osraic said. “It could mean race; it doesn’t have to. And a lot of things are said when it comes to the Kingdom. It’s said one must also defeat a dragon, and drink the tears of a raven. Or an owl. Or a hawk. I have personally met two scholars who’ve devoted their entire adult lives to a debate on the correct bird’s tears, and I don’t even know if birds weep. But you’ve skipped those debates on the necessary requirements and gone with all races. Also, why me when Cant here is a perfectly acceptable human representative? You’ve forgotten all the other races and doubled up on one you already have.”
“Yes, but he isn’t a sorcerer, and we need one of those.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s a spell,” Cant said.
“What kind of spell?”
“We are not sorcerers, or we would tell you.”
Osraic took a large gulp of the ale. It was really annoying to learn that after all of this mysteriousness, the story he’d been waiting to hear was just another foolish Kingdom quest.
There had always been, and always would be, people who had convinced themselves they’d cracked the secret behind the Kingdom’s location. Some of them were ranting loners, but a few had the charisma to convince others or the finances to pay them. Every few years, it seemed, there was a formal expedition planned. All of them failed, sometimes spectacularly so. Osraic had an entire volume on the more famous Kingdom quests, and it made for highly entertaining reading.
“If it’s a spell, where is it written?” he asked.
“On the stones of the world,” Cant said.
Osraic rolled his eyes. He had only a modest tolerance for stupidity before what most people considered an off-putting level of sarcasm settled in, and Cant’s answer had just about tipped the scale.
“Really. The stones of the world. Not in a book or anything useful. Do you mean for me to read a cliff face?”
“And Orsak’s words fell upon the stones of the world,” Atha recited, “and rent the earth in twain.”
“I… don’t think I’ve heard that version. Where’s it from?”
“The Benja Codex.”
“The Benja Codex doesn’t exist.”
“You say this a great deal, sorcerer,” Cant said. “I’m not sure you realize how often. You’re a very untrusting sort.”
“It doesn’t exist,” Atha said, “and yet, I’ve seen it. You noted the distinction, I trust?”
The Benja Codex was nearly as legendary as the story of the Kingdom itself, which was why it was so unlikely for these two northerners to have stumbled across a copy. It was the ur-text from which all the other renditions of the tale sprang. The last historical mention of it was a thousand years old.
“I did,” Osraic said. “In your version it wasn’t Orsak that rent the earth in twain, it was his words.”
“When they fell upon the stones,” Cant said.
“And it’s your interpretation that these words are a spell, and these stones are non-metaphorical.”
Atha and Cant shared a meaningful look.
“It’s not precisely our interpretation,” the elf said. “But we will show you, and you can decide for yourself.”
“Well, I’m very sorry,” Osraic said, pausing for an unexpected yawn, “but I’m afraid you two are going to have to find yourselves another sorcerer.”
“We’ve already decided on you, Osraic Tal Nar Drang,” Cant said. “It’s been settled.”
“I would love to, but really I can’t… Cant. I can’t. I have the shop…” he yawned again.
Why am I so tired? he wondered.
“Are you feeling all right?” Atha asked.
“I’m fine. Seems this ale has gone right to my head.”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. She had a lovely smile. He wanted to tell her that before she ran off on her ridiculous quest, but surely a nap first would be a decent idea. “The ale is quite strong, isn’t it?”
“Thank the gods he’s awake.”
Osraic didn’t like horseback riding. It was essentially impossible to get around in the countryside without hopping onto a horse, but he’d set up a shop beneath his residence and could walk everywhere he wanted to be—Lantor wasn’t at all large—so he simply didn’t spend much time in the saddle. He didn’t even own a horse.
This meant he tended to suffer more frequently and more intensely from saddle-sore than most people. On this occasion, he was woken up by it, which was a new experience entirely.
Cant’s voice came from directly behind Osraic, but he was far too disoriented initially to figure out why that was, because it turned out he was still on top of the horse that was causing him so much pain.
He was also dizzy and out of balance, but that wasn’t a significant problem as he appeared to be lashed to something steadier than him. That thing turned out to be Cant.
“Why am I tied to you?” he asked, but not quite loud enough to be heard.
His eyes began to focus, revealing a landscape he was unfamiliar with. They were in a mountain pass. The terrain was rocky and almost without vegetation of any kind.
He knew a type of cactus that grew out of harsh rocky outcroppings of the sort they were encountering. The plant’s juice made for an excellent poultice when mixed with the proper secondary ingredients. He also knew the plant didn’t grow south of the Ailing Mountains, and further that he had just seen one.
“Stop struggling, sorcerer,” Cant said.
Atha rode up next to them, her green eyes looking him up and down. “He’ll need water,” she said. “We stop at the next clearing.”
Osraic tried to speak, but she was right: he needed water, and food, and a few other things that didn’t involve being tied to a horseman on the wrong side of the mountain
s.
They drugged me, he realized.
The path they were on opened up to a flat area mostly clear of snow and with a small pool of water for the animals. Atha brought her mount to a halt, along with a second, riderless, horse that was carrying the bulk supplies. She dismounted, and a few seconds later was helping Cant untie himself from Osraic.
“Easy,” she said, although it was hard to say to whom she was speaking.
Osraic had never felt so weak before. Once off the horse he tried to stand but collapsed immediately into the elf’s arms.
“I have you.”
Atha was surprisingly strong, but then it was the first time he’d been supported by an elf so he had no idea what the standard was. Elves tended to be thin and lithe, and were usually described as graceful and elegant. Atha was far from elegant, but sorcerers were supposed to have beards so who was he to say?
She helped him to the edge of the water and sat him down on a rock that was blessedly not shaped like a horse’s saddle, her hand on his shoulder to keep him still.
“Can you hold yourself a’right?” she asked, after a moment.
“Yes.”
She left him there. Staring at the pool of ice-cold water Osraic decided he had never been more thirsty in his entire life, but he had his wits about him enough to understand that throwing his body into the pool in order to obtain some of that water was not a wise course of action. It might, however, wake him up.
What am I wearing, he wondered.
He was in a heavy fur cloak he’d never seen before. Then his hand went from the soft fur to his chin, where he discovered stubble. Two days. It’s been two days.
Atha returned with a canteen, and knelt beside him.
“Drink,” she said. “Slowly, not all at once.”
He sipped the water, which was cool but not nearly as cold as what the horses were sampling. It was without question the greatest thing to ever pass his lips, and he began to chug it down manically, before her hand came down and pulled the canteen away.
“I said slowly. You’ll just vomit it back up again if you aren’t careful.”
“You drugged me,” he said.
“That we did, yes.”
“And you gave me too much.”
She looked over her shoulder at Cant, who was unloading some of the gear from the supply horse.
“It might have been a dose for a… larger man, yes,” she said. “I’m afraid our friend Cant overestimated.”
“Tell me what it was.”
“The drug?”
“Of course, the drug.”
“Cant?” she called “What did you give him?”
“The man called it Lot’s…something.”
“Lot’s Fortitude?” Osraic asked.
“Yes, that’s it!” he said. “Odd name for a potion, but we couldn’t well go to the local sorcerer for it, could we?”
“It’s a tranquilizer for cattle.”
“I did buy it in the stable.”
To Atha, Osraic said, “I need salt. Right now.”
“That will only increase the thirst.”
“And nullify the poison that idiot fed to me. Salt pork, salt beef, hard tack, whatever you have.”
It was an hour before Osraic calmed down enough to decide he wasn’t going to die. His first gulps of water had not stayed down, as Atha predicted, but the next sips did, as did the dried beef strips that followed. The entire time he ate, Cant eyeballed him angrily, because he was digging into provisions that were meant to last longer than this.
Atha started a fire, which seemed unnecessary until the sun started to set and the cold emanating from the land beneath their feet became more self-evident.
“I assume,” Osraic said, “that if I start down the path in that direction I’ll eventually end up at Lantor?”
“It’s dark,” Cant said. “It’s not wise to travel the hills at night, sorcerer.”
“In the morning, then.”
“On foot?”
“You have an extra horse I assume is meant for me.”
“It’s a northerly horse. He only travels in one direction.”
“You made that up.”
“I may have.”
Atha stood up from the edge of the fire pit. Her cheeks were red from the heat and her green eyes danced with the flame.
“You don’t want to travel alone,” she said, “with no sword and no clear idea of where you’re going or how to get there. You’ll never make it.”
“Yes, because the people who kidnapped me are a reliable source of information.”
“I’m sorry about that. We didn’t have a choice.”
“You could have tried hiring another sorcerer. There are at least three within a days’ ride of Lantor.”
She smiled. “It had to be you.”
“Why is that?”
She didn’t answer. Her attention had been redirected to a space somewhere over Osraic’s shoulder. She’d gotten very still.
“What do you hear?” Cant asked quietly. His hand was already buried in his furs, looking for what Osraic assumed was the hilt of a weapon.
“Not sure,” she muttered. “I think we share the clearing with something other than rock right now.”
“Lion?”
“Possibly.”
Osraic held his breath. He’d never seen an Ailing Mountains lion before. He’d seen captive ones, as a child, but rumor was the wild versions were twice as large. He was both excited to see if this was true and worried that it might be.
Atha studied the darkness for a few heartbeats and then shook her head.
“It’s no lion,” she decided. “This is something larger.”
“Larger?” Osraic asked.
“Yes. And airborne.”
“A dragon?”
“Not a dragon,” Cant said, as Atha pulled out her quiver. “If it was a dragon there would be no question. Now keep quiet and still.”
Osraic went back to holding his breath, and ruminating on the number of different things he knew about that were larger than a lion and smaller than a dragon, could fly, and were predatory. He couldn’t think of any.
With her quiver slung over her back, Atha pulled the longbow out of her hair and whispered something. Osraic strained to hear the command, but couldn’t quite pick it up. Whatever it was, the bow responded appropriately. And quickly. Osraic blinked, and the longbow was in her hands at full size.
She held it parallel with the surface, put one hand on the shaft of an arrow, crouched, and waited.
Her eyes were closed. This was, he realized, so she could regain the night vision she’d lost because of the fire.
When she fired, it happened so quickly Osraic was ready to ascribe it to another enchantment. The arrow was out and notched, the bow raised, and the arrow loosed, and it happened between heartbeats. Considering how rapidly his heart was beating, this was very fast.
The arrow flew nearly straight up and apparently hit its mark, making a sick sort of noise Osraic last heard in a butcher’s shop. He still hadn’t seen what was out there, and didn’t until it fell to the ground a few yards from their campground.
“A greathawk,” Osraic said, jumping to his feet.
“Yes,” the elf agreed.
The beast was taller than Cant, with feet large enough to wrap around a man’s head and talons sharp enough to remove that head. Atha’s arrow was buried in its brown feathery underbelly, and had found the creature’s heart.
Even half-crushed by its impact with the rocky earth and gored by the weapon that killed him, Osraic was worried that the thing might jump up and attack when the elf crouched down and pulled out her arrow
“I don’t understand,” Osraic said.
“When they attack is when they are most exposed,” she said. “Provided one knows where to hit them.”
“But greathawks don’t hunt by night.”
“No,” she said. “They don’t.”
The attack by the greathawk was enough to shelve any discus
sion of Osraic venturing home on his own, at least until the following morning, when he was disappointed to see his companions had no interest in changing direction.
“You will never make it back,” Cant said, as Osraic stared up the wrong path. “Cities are built on straight throughways and flat ground, but up here the path is dictated by the land. Lost men die in the hills, even in the spring.”
“The horse knows the way.”
“That horse was bought in Lantor on the same day we retrieved you, sorcerer. She is just as lost. Now are you going to help or continue to whine?”
Helping meant reorganizing the distribution of weight. The third horse had been tasked with most of their provisions while Osraic had been unconscious and tied to Cant. Now that he was awake and reluctantly prepared to ride unaided, they had to move things around.
This only took a few minutes, though, and then Osraic was in the saddle and faced with a decision.
Atha rode up next to him.
“We go north,” she said. “There’s nothing for you the other way except for death.”
Appropriately enough, they stood only a few yards from the body of the greathawk.
“You won’t escort me back, then?” he asked.
“No. You’re welcome to stay here and sulk, but I wouldn’t recommend it. This is a common area for travelers, but you’ll find most of the people you meet up here are less friendly than we are.”
“Maybe. Maybe I’ll meet some people who don’t try and drug me the minute we’ve been introduced.”
“We apologized for that. But you didn’t leave us with much of a choice.”
“You left me with no choice whatsoever. That’s what kidnapping is.”
She laughed. “You need to relax, sorcerer. We’ll take care of you.”
“I didn’t need taking care of in Lantor. Nothing was trying to kill me there.”
“Are you so sure of that?” She patted the head of his mount. “By the way, her name is Jenna, and she’s nearly as frightened as you are, so talk to her. We have a long day of travel and it would be better if neither of you were spooked the entire time.”
Osraic’s anger—at himself, at his companions-cum-kidnappers, at the horse that was brutally harming his posterior—subsided over the course of the day. The view afforded him as they descended the northern face of the Ailing Mountains was often breathtaking, and as much as he resented the circumstances that brought him there he was thankful for the experience.
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