by West, Shay
“And you, Saemus?”
“To be honest, my thoughts jumped to a lot of different things!” He looked embarrassed, yet still grinned. “But the very last thought before you spoke was of fishing.”
“I think you all now understand why this spell is so difficult. It takes years of training in order to be able to center on one thought, to the exclusion of all others. The spell needs time to orient on the strongest, most recent essence of whatever, or in this case, whomever, you are trying to find.”
“Can this magic hurt someone? Can the person performing the spell be injured or burnt out?” Gwen asked.
“As usual, one has to be careful of how much power they drain from themselves. But as to harming another person?” Brok shook his head. “The only harm can come from the spell-weaver trying the spell over and over again, such that they become exhausted and waste a lot of time.
“And time is a luxury we do not have.”
They nodded and moved their horses back away from the Mystic. They kept a tight hold on the reins and refrained from speaking while Master Brok prepared himself.
He dismounted and tied Midnight to a small tree by the side of the road. He walked a short distance away and sat cross-legged on the grass, still damp with morning dew. He closed his eyes and began the deep breathing exercises to help calm body and mind. He formed an image of Jon in his mind, and held it there.
“Expiscor.”
He barely whispered the words. He kept the image of Jon in his head as he felt the spell take hold. He stood slowly and felt a strong tug pulling him eastward. Master Brok walked a short distance down the road and the pull grew infinitesimally stronger. He let out a sigh of relief as he ended the spell.
“He has gone down the east road.”
“Come. If we ride hard, we should be able to reach Ashford by midday tomorrow.” Ashford was the first large town along the east road and Jon would have made his way there first, if only to earn a few coins telling stories in a tavern.
Master Brok could see the students groan at his mention of hard riding. None had spent much time on horseback and none were looking forward to a single day's hard ride, let alone many days of hard riding. Brok wondered if perhaps he should tell the Chosen of their destiny, to explain why he was taking them on this journey rather than going alone. They had grown much in the few years he had been their teacher, but when he looked at them, he still saw them as young boys and girls, barely yet ready to marry and start families, let alone holding the fate of the galaxy in their hands.
Like it or not, they will be thrust directly into the path of danger. You can't protect them forever.
Brok snorted at this logical voice in his head. It sounded an awful lot like his fellow Guardian, Forka. He had always been the cool voice of reason, even when the dilemma arose about sending the Guardians early through the portals. He had agreed with the Masters and had not wavered from that position, at least in front of the others Guardians.
I may not be able to protect them forever, but I must do what I can to see them safely to the portal when the sign appears.
* * *
The storm rocked the ship and sprayed her deck with icy cold salt water. The captain stood his ground and did not even blink as the salt water stung his eyes. He had been captain of Lucian's Fury going on twelve years and a little salt in his eyes was nothing. He kept watch as his capable crew steered the sleek ship into port of the fair city of Vis Rellisa. The harbor near Vis Rellisa was full of rocks that were just waiting for their chance to smash a ship as sleek and beautiful as Lucian's Fury.
This business left a bad taste in his mouth. Captain Thrace Morden wished now that he had refused passage to the two men and their prisoner. He was told to ask no questions, bring them safely to Vis Rellisa, and he would be paid handsomely. Five hundred gold pieces was more than he could earn in several months, toting cargo back and forth from Saguach Port to Vis Rellisa. The gold was what decided him, even though he didn't like the look of the two toughs that now stood behind him, nor of the rough treatment of their prisoner.
Captain Morden had only caught a glimpse of the prisoner as they hauled him down to storage. He was young, perhaps no more than fifteen, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in the clothing common to many villages. He had been bound, gagged, and hooded. When asked why such treatment was necessary, he was told quite plainly to mind his own business and sail the damned ship.
I have to think about myself here. The men and their prisoner will soon be gone. It's none of my affair.
The two toughs moved away to stand at the rail and watch the approach to Vis Rellisa. Both men were brutishly large, with muscles that bulged from arms, chest, and legs. Their faces, heads, and bodies were hairless and oiled, causing the salt spray to bead on their skin. They never shivered or moved away from the rail. The men wore leather loincloths and leather belts that held wicked looking scimitars. He recognized the men as being elite guards for Queen Cheye from the Siswae Territory, in the north. The Queen's palace was the stuff of legends and outlandish rumor. The palace was the largest building that anyone had ever seen. Each Queen added several floors and levels to the palace, making it a sprawling metropolis. Most of it stood empty, though the servants kept every inch spotless, in case the queen or her ladies decided on a whim to visit the uninhabited parts of the castle. The Queen spared no expense when it came to comforts and extravagances. It was even whispered that she had enlisted the aid of the realm's best marble craftsmen, magicians, and those that practiced the dark arts to build…something. No one knew exactly what the thing was. Thrace had always brushed the rumors off as being the silly gossip of bored goodwives. But seeing two of the Queen's elite guard so far away from the palace made Thrace question whether the rumors might be true.
Thrace Morden pondered several questions as he watched the trio make their way down the gangplank: what could Queen Cheye possibly be building that required the services of a young man of common birth? And why was it necessary to keep him bound and gagged?
EARTH
The heavy snow and winds blinded Ted and his mare, No Name. He fled from the Hordesmen, hoping No Name could get him out of the ruined city of Denver.
Dear God, Sloan has been taken!
Ted silenced the panicked voice in his mind, focusing on survival.
No Name ran, using the ruins for cover, trying to keep a step ahead of the four chasing them. She galloped around the broken remains of buildings, darting between them, jumping over piles of debris. He could hear curses as the men's mounts foundered in the snow, taking wrong turns, forced to backtrack. The General's spirited sorrel mare never lost her footing and soon she outdistanced the Hordesmen.
The snow started falling again and helped to hide their tracks. The General spotted an old stone building, so overgrown and covered with climbing vines that he almost didn't notice it. He dismounted and pushed the vines aside. He led the mare inside and did his best to re-cover the entrance with the foliage. Ted led No Name to an area near the back, where the roof was somewhat intact, and began gathering the driest wood he could find. He took a flat piece of wood and cracked it down the middle. He made a small depression in the dirt on the ground, placed some dried grass in, and laid the broken wood across. He took another stick and rubbed it back and forth across the broken piece of wood. Before long, he had a nice fire going, quickly warming the small room. No Name set to munching on the grass and vines that covered the ground.
“At least one of us gets to have a decent meal.” No Name gazed at Ted, slowly chewing a mouthful of grass and half closed her eyes. His stomach gave a loud rumble. Rather than sit and watch the mare feast, he decided to look around.
Who knows, I might get lucky and find something to eat in here. A thorough check turned up nothing edible. He returned to the fire, resigned to spending the night hungry. They both lay down, the horse on her side with her legs curled up, the General against her back, absorbing as much body heat as possible. He shivered as he listened to the storm
raging outside. Just before dawn, the wind and snow subsided. As he waited for sleep to claim him, Ted drifted back in time to the moment he had emerged from the portal on this world. His chest constricted as the terrified screams of the mother and two girls echoed in his mind, the confused look on the man's face as he looked at the knife protruding from his chest.
I had no choice!
Ted put his arm over his eyes as though he could keep the images from forming behind his eyes. If we Guardians hadn't been sent early, that family would still be alive.
Though he had been supportive of Master Ferrok's decision to send the Guardians early, he had had plenty of time to rethink that decision.
And now one of my Chosen has been taken!
Ted fought his screaming instincts telling him to get on No Name and ride for the Jhinn encampment, that there wasn't a moment to lose. Part of him wanted to follow the Hordesmen back to their camp and dare a rescue of Sloan, even knowing such an act would be suicide and would likely end up with both of them being killed.
God, please keep my Chosen safe until I can get to him.
But after the storm when he had his Protectors he would rescue Sloan no matter the cost.
The next morning, they set out again after making sure that the four Hordesmen were nowhere in sight. Though the sky was grey and foreboding, the snow did not fall. The mare kept a steady pace for most of the day. The General would ride awhile, and then walk, giving No Name a chance to rest. Ted soon found himself foundering in the deep snow and relying on his hold on the reins to keep from falling. The cold and wet had seeped into his very bones, sapping his strength.
He realized he would never make it back to the encampment walking.
Ted looked at his beloved horse and made a terrible choice. With tears in his eyes and a prayer to the God of Earth, he climbed on her back and stayed there. Ted hoped No Name had the strength to make it back to the Jhinn encampment, but he knew in his heart that she would never make it, and that he would follow her in death soon after.
* * *
General Ted Smith awoke with a start. No Name was as exhausted as her rider. Her head hung low; she did not have the strength to lift it. Her legs trembled as she made her way ponderously in the deep snow. She stumbled and fell heavily to her knees, throwing the General into the frigid snow.
Ted gasped as he landed in the icy wetness, fully awake, if for only a few seconds. The cold and darkness only added to his exhaustion. All he wanted to do was lay down in this powdery bed and sleep. He had been awake for so long that he had forgotten how wonderful it was to feel all tension fall away as the body began to relax and slip into sleep.
Sloan has been captured!
Ted grunted as he bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. It had the effect he had hoped for. He got slowly to his feet and spat out a mouthful of blood, which stained the white snow a deep crimson. He forced his numb legs to slog through the knee-high snow until he stood next to No Name. If he didn't make it back to the Jhinn encampment, his Chosen was as good as dead, and perhaps the entire galaxy along with him.
The little mare was in bad shape. She had no strength. She lay on her side, eyes closed.
“Come on girl. Stay with me.” The General knelt and pulled her head into his lap. She groaned feebly and tried to roll up onto her legs, but she lacked the energy. Her soft brown eyes met his icy blue ones, and she gave a weak snort. Ted closed his eyes as he blinked back the tears. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he had come to love his little sorrel.
“General!”
He lurched to his feet and spun in a slow circle, trying to orient on the voice. His exhausted mind conjured the voice of his captured Chosen. He took a few feeble steps toward the ghostly voice.
“General Smith! Can you hear me?”
“Yes!” His voice cracked and he was surprised to hear how weak it sounded to his own ears.
“I'm here!” He tried again, this time with more force. He saw the light from the torches before he caught sight of the riders.
“I found him!” Lieutenant Robert Marshall galloped toward the General holding his torch high. General Smith could hear the shouts as the others relayed the message that he had been found. Soon, the once quiet night was filled with shouts of excitement, snorting horses, and the jingle and clanking of bridles and tack. He fought a wave of disappointment. He had been so sure the voice had belonged to Sloan. Despair threatened to overwhelm him.
“Praise God we found you!” Lieutenant Marshall grabbed the large bearskin coat he had tied behind the saddle and threw it around the General's shoulders. “We had all but given up the search.” He handed the General a waterskin.
General Smith brushed aside the concerns of the men. He was more worried about No Name. He directed the men to clear a large area of snow next to the mare and to scour the area for anything they could burn.
He knelt back down on the ground and held her head in his lap again. He bent close and whispered words of encouragement to his friend and constant companion. Her breathing was growing slower by the minute. He shouted to the men to hurry, panic evident in his voice.
The men returned, breathless from their efforts, and piled several items made of wood, mainly old tree branches that had fallen off inside the buildings they grew inside, as well as broken pieces of what used to be furniture, near the fallen mare. One of the Protectors lit the large pile and soon it was blazing. The men stepped back from the intense heat and kept their eyes on the General and his mare.
Ted kept his eyes glued to No Name. The fire was putting out great amounts of heat. The General found himself shrugging out of his bearskin coat and laying it gently across the mare's neck. No Name seemed to be breathing easier, and was soon able to hold her head up for a few moments.
One of the men brought the General some dried beef and a piece of hard yellow cheese. Ted took the food and thanked the man absently, distracted by the mare. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed the man's arm.
“You are not one of the Protectors. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Begging your pardon, General, sir…” The man stammered as he tried to pull his arm from the General's vice-like grip. “My name is Edwards, James Edwards. There are several of us townfolk out here searching for you.”
The General let go of the man's arm. “I apologize, Mr. Edwards. These last few months have made me even more suspicious than usual.” Ted indicated a log next to him, asking the man to sit. The General noticed the man's age for the first time. His back was stooped, and his head was covered in wiry, snow white hair. His face was also covered in white hair, a contrast to his nearly black skin.
“Why did you and the others volunteer for the search? Has something happened to the other Protectors left at the encampment?” Ted held the man's brown eyes with his blue ones, demanding an answer.
“The Protectors are fine. Only exhausted, same as you and your horse.” The old man gave the General a sideways grin, waiting for the grizzled man to deny being tired. “Me and some of the other men and older boys decided that it was time to lend a hand. It hasn't escaped notice that you and those Protectors have been doing a lot of fighting these days.” James Edwards turned his face to the fire. He picked up a stick and poked and prodded at the embers and coals, causing sparks to lazily spiral upward.
“The Horde and Cowboys have sure been up to some bad business lately. You boys ain't had a chance to do much, 'cept fight. It don't take no genius to see that you can't keep that up for long. So.” He turned back to the General, the fire reflected in his brown eyes. “We decided to lend a hand where we could and give the Protectors a chance to rest.”
Ted Smith gave a grudging nod. There was no arguing with the man's logic. He and the Protectors had been fighting non-stop for the past four months. Usually, the Horde and Cowboys were quiet during winter. The harsh weather made for difficult traveling and fighting conditions. But this season, the skirmishes had been endless, with the Horde atta
cking from the west and the Cowboys attacking from the eastern plains.
Only the superior skills of the Protectors, led by the General and his Lieutenants, kept the damage done to a minimum. Four Protectors had been killed in the fighting, as had several dozen townfolk. Among the dead were women and children. The enemy did not care who they killed. Some women, young girls, and children had been taken, never to return. A quick death was a mercy. Those taken back to the Horde or Cowboy encampments were raped and tortured for long periods. If a woman became pregnant, she was allowed to give birth, and then she was killed and her child raised to hate the Jhinn, never knowing its own mother was one of them.
James Edwards excused himself and Ted found himself alone with No Name. He walked over to her and sighed in relief as he saw her sleeping peacefully, breathing deep and regular. He sat with his back against her now delightfully warm belly. He reached over and took his coat off her neck and used it to cover himself from waist to chin. He crossed his arms under the heavy coat and faced the fire.
His thoughts turned to home. On Gentra, it was always warm, so near the vents on the ocean floor. Forka didn't think he would ever get used to the cold of the Earth winter. Some nights, even a warm fire was not enough to drive the cold from his bones. He went to bed cold, woke up cold, and stayed cold during the course of the day.
I have failed in my duty.
Ted Smith turned his face and buried it in No Name's side, trying to crush the vision of Sloan being thrown across the back of a horse, blood dripping from a head wound. There had been a lot of blood. He absently told himself that head wounds always bled that much, that it didn't mean the man was dead or dying.
He won't live long at the hands of the Horde.
He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. There had been two others taken along with Sloan and they had barely occupied a mere second of his thoughts. And yet he knew that Sloan's life was worth more, much more. If he were to die, it could mean the end of all life in the galaxy.