by Kim Wedlock
"You should have seen the signs!" Anthis cried desperately, stepping up behind the mage as Aria looked worriedly from one to the next. "You're usually so vigilant - what's happened?"
But an acidic curl took Rathen's lip. "Nothing," he said, calmly, thoughtfully. "This isn't the first time he's led us into trouble. If memory serves me...this is the fifth." His narrowed gaze had become lanced by a deep, branching suspicion, and it pressed even heavier upon the inquisitor. "The ditchlings were the first." His tone was dangerous. "He was supposed to be leading us away from their territory, but instead we walked straight into it. He didn't see the signs all that well then, either."
"No one was hurt," Garon stated.
"No, you're right. We just got embroiled in their war instead." His tone grew darker. "Then there was Stonton - where someone did get hurt. You knew how severe the situation was and you still took us there. Then you led us into the Wildlands, then mapped a damned poor route to Carenna, and now you've led us straight into bandits you confidently told us were no longer here." His eyes were a near-black inferno. "Are you actually trying to get us all killed?"
"Rathen, stop," Petra urged, but though she had intended to defend, her doubtful tone did little to convince even herself. Rathen paid it little attention anyway.
"Answer me this," he continued instead, "how long have you actually been an inquisitor?"
The words dropped like lead. From nowhere, a slow and heavy wonder began unfolding in Petra and Anthis's eyes, their gazes gripping the inquisitor like a vice, tighter and tighter, until a reluctant but rapidly swelling mistrust began to take over. Garon looked from one face to the next as his jaw tightened. He couldn't afford to hesitate. "Almost two years."
"So you're a novice, really." Rathen smiled acridly, while disbelief knocked the doubtful expressions clean off the others. "That's the only reason your superior indulged you at all, isn't it? To be rid of you." Something else flashed suddenly through his eyes, a momentary panic that sharpened into another piercing rage. "Do you have the Crown's agreement for me to be out here?!"
"What difference does it make?" He growled, still mystifyingly superior. "You're needed."
"What difference?!"
"He's right, Rathen," Anthis said with bitter resentment as Petra stepped closer, prepared to separate them if the need arose. "Permission or not, you...you are needed. The Order isn't working on this matter, we are. Besides, out in Ivaea's desert and beyond, in the middle of nowhere, who's going to know?!"
Rathen didn't seem to hear him, nor notice his increasingly irate tone. He stared at Garon with such intensity, his eyes so wide and jaw so tightly knotted that it seemed he might truly attack him. Garon must have also realised this, and yet still he challenged him, steadily holding his gaze. The air sizzled, vibrating with rage - but no one could move to intervene. That same air paralysed them again, shoving their hearts up into their throats. They'd seen Rathen's impossible fury once, and there was nothing to stop it from unleashing itself again - and if it didn't, he still had the power within his own blood to both easily and willingly burn him to a crisp.
His mad, white-hot gaze shifted abruptly onto Anthis, and the young man immediately blanched, flinched and gasped beneath it. "The ruin," he said tersely. "You've been there before?"
"N-no."
"Then you don't know the way to the tribe, either." Rathen snatched the map that was rolled and tied at Garon's hip, then turned and stormed away. Aria was obediently close behind him, though it was clear she didn't truly understand what had happened.
"What about the route Garon planned?" Petra asked as she followed with less certainty, lingering between them and the officer.
"I am not following any more of his routes!" He roared so sharply they faltered in their steps. "We'll all wind up in the middle of another conflict, or dead!"
She looked back towards Garon, but whatever doubts were passing through her mind, she seemed unable to disagree with them. She shortly turned and hurried to catch up with the others, leaving him behind.
The breath Garon had been holding finally escaped in a ragged puff. He hadn't expected Rathen's rage to be so suffocating - he had little idea how he'd managed not to visibly quaver under such a bestial gaze. But he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd gotten off lightly. Every one of them had looked at him in loathing, utterly deceived, and it was fair that they should feel that way. He had misled them all, and Rathen more than most. But it had been necessary. The mage wouldn't have worked with him if he'd known the truth.
He forced his feet to move. This time, he made no attempt to reclaim the lead.
Rathen's pace thundered across the hard, dry ground. His jaw was still tight, and his perpetual misery lines had grown even deeper in his scowl. He was furious. He was a fool. He'd trusted a stranger and stepped out of his home on the basis of words alone. There had been no official documentation - he'd seen the uniform, the emblem on his sword, and apparently that had been enough. And he felt exposed. He was a risk to everyone around him, but he'd assumed, foolishly assumed, that preparations would have been made if the Crown had temporarily suspended his sentence, that other people might be safe! How naive could he be?! What kind of preparations could possibly have been made?!
Light footsteps pattered up alongside him, but he didn't look around.
"His shoulder's dislocated."
He gritted his teeth. "I know."
"Will you help him?"
He could feel the persistence of Petra's gaze. His jaw knotted and unknotted in thought. "Yes." He turned immediately, eradicating the few feet the inquisitor had left between himself and them as he followed. Garon hesitated as he approached, faltering as he braced himself for what he must have assumed was a delayed attack. And, in a way, it was.
Roughly, Rathen grasped the arm he protected, and with a single movement both expertly and brutally wrenched it back into place, dragging from him no more than a grunt of discomfort, then conjured a bag of ice and shoved into his other hand before turning and retaking the lead, a dark and spiteful shadow following his every step.
Petra, Anthis and Aria watched him silently as he overtook them, then glanced back towards the inquisitor as he held the ice to his shoulder and fashioned a sling out of his jacket. None of them spoke a word.
Suddenly, the desert didn't seem quite so daunting anymore.
It was just short of midday when they stepped out of the forest, an full hour earlier than expected, and left the last of the towering shade behind them all too soon. Where the trees abruptly thinned, the air became still and starkly warmer, and the western Pavise Mountains were revealed across the now bare and grassy surroundings. But if anyone marvelled at the snow-capped colossals, they did so silently. Even Aria, who had never seen such a sight in her life, didn't voice more than a solitary peep of awe.
The landscape was otherwise flat, studded with small rocks but carpeted in lush grass which thrived in the unbroken reach of the sun. But while it was verdant around them now, they glimpsed an ochre shadow in the distance, tufts of near-yellow grass sprouting from the ground like a moth-eaten rug. Without the impeding trees they could finally see far more than ten feet ahead of them, but there didn't seem to be much to look at. In fact, the single positivity of the naked landscape was that nothing and no one could sneak up on them - assuming they chose to disregard the fact that it also left them nowhere to hide, themselves. Which they didn't, and that left them feeling even more jittery.
The mountains, too, became quickly disheartening, so massive and unmoving that even after two hours in their shadow it felt to the group that they'd not covered more than five minutes of ground.
The only reasonable landmark seemed to be the river Garon had mentioned, and even that was a disappointment. It was slight, far narrower than its banks, but the stream that rolled down from the mountains, looped out briefly over the land before meandering off into the lower lying reaches of rock behind them was the last source of water for miles. And as they looked
off towards the thinning grass ahead of them, they dreaded to think how long it might be before they would next see any flowing freely.
They'd stopped as planned, and Rathen had conjured four corked and strapped jugs just small enough to carry without being over-burdened, and in so doing had found some glimmer of relief to ease his shoulders. He was certain that his cuff had burned less with this spell than the last, and he had thought the same before; either the oddity was passing or he was truly overcoming it. Which, didn't matter. Either was a relief. If they were heading into the desert, he couldn't afford to be afraid of using his magic.
Petra considered the jugs as they lowered them into the gentle current. "Can you not just conjure water?" She'd asked, the first words spoken for goodness only knew how long.
"Yes," he had replied with a bite that surprised even himself, "but it wouldn't be real so it wouldn't be of any use if you drank it. Not enough substance for your body to use. It would be the same as having nothing - you could bathe in it, though."
"So we can have a nice cool bath if it gets too hot," Aria grinned. She'd decided long ago to simply shed the atmosphere and stare at the mountains instead. "Good!"
Despite the pain in his shoulder, Garon carried his jug on his back without complaint just as the others did, and they continued along their way. None of them knew how long they'd been walking; the only sign of the passage of time came with the eventual dimming of the light, but with nothing to obscure the sun above the horizon, not even a single cloud in the perpetually blue sky, the evening stretched on for far longer than should have been possible.
And so there was a great relief when Rathen finally called a stop for the night. The spot he'd chosen seemed like any other, dotted with dry shrubs, rocks and tufts of grass, devoid of breeze and just as dry and warm as the rest. But Garon didn't voice any objections - not that the others would have listened to them - so they made themselves as comfortable as they could while he made himself useful. Mindful of his swelling shoulder, he built the fire and cooked the food while no one gave him more than a passing thanks, and once everyone had eaten, they went their separate ways, desperate to finally escape the stifling mood. Garon turned to his usual solemn duty of keeping watch, and no one could tell in their secret glances whether he seemed guilty or sulky - though neither was anyone inclined to bother finding out.
Things were little better the following morning, but at least no one was afraid to speak over breakfast. Garon kept to himself, avoided conversation and returned to his spot at the edge of camp as soon as he could to keep watch or assess the weather. That was little different from usual, but everyone else was acutely aware of it even while pointedly ignoring him. Only Aria seemed to have a problem with his treatment, but she made no attempt to act upon it, certain she was misunderstanding something.
"Here," Anthis said, pointing to the map Rathen held open to him. The mage didn't miss that he'd flinched when he'd addressed him. It had become a habit over the past two days, as had inching away from him if he got too close and only sitting down when there was someone else between them - in this case, Petra. But Rathen didn't point it out. The atmosphere was so heavy already, what was a little more weight?
He frowned down at the point he'd indicated and nodded. "That's a strong magnetic site. Kienza said the ruin was sorely affected - now I'm not surprised."
"Do we have any idea how to approach the tribes about it?" Petra asked warily. "Whoever this Kienza is, she seems to think they'll want our help. But if it's that sacred to them...well..."
"The ditchlings--"
"Arkhamas." Aria sighed wearily. "For goodness sake, Daddy."
"Arkhamas, Arkhamas." He shook his head just as tiresomely. "The Arkhamas thought I was responsible for what was happening in their woods, and the harpies likely do, too. The tribes will probably be equally untrusting and turn us away."
"Assuming the exchange is a civilised one. We'll need to find a way to approach them and let them know of our intentions right away, leave no chance at all for misunderstanding. I don't know about the rest of you, but I rather like my limbs un-chewed."
Aria nodded in agreement while Petra frowned uneasily. "Can I ask a question?"
They looked up at her expectantly.
"Why are we even bothering with this? There are bound to be loads of other places we can try that we don't need permission to see. Halen, for example."
"I've already been into Halen." Rathen ignored the confused looks. "I've got everything I can from there, so while I'd like to agree with you, I think it's best we stick to the plan. Kienza seems to think this is a good idea, and I learned long ago to listen to her."
"But you forget so much of what she says," Aria reminded him.
"Not when it's important."
"Well that just isn't true..."
Petra and Anthis smiled to themselves as Rathen pursed his lips unappreciatively. "Anyway..." He looked back to the others while Aria grinned innocently, leapt to her feet and wandered off towards the edge of camp. "If the site is sacred, convincing them that we mean no harm probably won't be that simple. We'll need payment of some kind, or a bargaining chip."
"Money?"
"They have no need for money."
"Supplies, then. We don't have much, but we must have something they want...or," Petra glanced towards Garon as he stared back along their tracks, "be able to get it."
"We could end up insulting them if we offer them supplies," Anthis replied, then his eyes suddenly lit up. "What if we gathered something for them instead? As a gift? Caught something, an animal - brought them food."
"But they're cannibals."
"Surely not exclusively...and...well, if so, perhaps they might like to try something different..."
Rathen frowned. "Anthis, look around you." The young man did so. "What do you expect to find in a barren expanse like this?"
"Well they must eat something..."
Petra nodded slowly for his benefit. "Each other."
Rathen rolled the map back up and rose to his feet. "Well, we'd better give it some thought. We've only got a couple of days before we reach them and we don't have the supplies to dawdle. If--"
"Daddy!"
He spun around at Aria's panicked cry and the others leapt immediately to their feet, but though they stared with keen eyes, no one could see what had alarmed her. She was probably twenty feet away, standing amongst patches of grass no different to the rest, and she was staring at something on the ground another distance away. Whatever it was, she clearly had no wish to approach it.
Anthis cursed. "Aria, don't move!" He glanced to Rathen and dropped his voice low. "It's probably a snake."
He started towards her immediately.
"Wait, see if you can catch it! It might be edible!"
Rathen ignored him. Straining his every sense, he tried to pinpoint the snake's location as quickly as he could to get Aria safely away from it - but as he neared her and finally spotted what she had fixed so anxiously upon, he frowned.
Snakes didn't have feet.
His jaw tightened under his sudden misgivings, and though he felt a clawing reluctance to continue, unwilling to prove his twisted new assumptions correct, he couldn't seem to stop himself. "Stay here," he said quietly as he stepped past her, giving her shoulder a firm squeeze as his caution shifted, his mind turned now towards sparing her a particular sight rather than keeping her safe.
The bare feet, as he'd expected, were human, tanned and dirty, as were the legs revealed by the shrubs that shrank away as he neared, and a few steps later his eyes fell upon precisely what he'd wished to save her from.
He stopped short, deflated by a regretful sigh as he looked down upon the body of a young woman lying sprawled on the desolate ground, scarcely clad in thin, rough hides, her skin bruised and bloodied. She'd been attacked by something, and from her position, he guessed she'd been at least unconscious when she'd dropped. But even aside from the blood that trickled from a number of blade-wounds, she made for
a startling sight. There was a subtle but definite metallic sheen to her bronze skin, her long and perfectly straight hair was bone-white, and streaks of black, white and light grey paints had been brushed across her young body.
But there was another detail that struck him just as quickly, and it was one that revealed to him in no uncertain terms that this tribal girl was not in fact dead.
Compelled, he knelt quickly beside her and began to investigate her wounds. There were more than there had first seemed, but they were not deep enough to kill her. He heard Petra stop behind him and curse at the sight. "Bandages," he demanded without looking around.
"Are you mad?!"
"Now!"
She stalled, doubtful of the wisdom of helping someone who would very likely turn around and attack them as soon as she was able, but after he sent her a brief but pressing glance, she turned and dashed back towards the bags, her face still twisted in disapproval.
"What's happened to her?" Aria asked quietly as she came to a wary stop beside him, Anthis closely in tow. Despite the immense caution and discomfort the others shared, Aria peered down at the bronze young woman with enchantment in her eyes.
"She's been attacked," he replied as he busied himself with identifying the worst of the wounds. "By those bandits, quite probably."
"Why?"
"Because, she's tribal."
Aria's eyes shot in a panic towards him, but barely a moment later they returned to the young woman more thoughtfully, and he knew without looking that she was in the process of deciding quite firmly that she wasn't a threat. But even as Petra brought him his first-aid bag and he began to clean the wounds, Rathen himself wasn't so sure. "Or it could have been self-defence."
"Self defence?" Anthis scoffed. "From her?"
Rathen spared him only a glance, but the gravity in his eyes in that moment knocked the young man's cynicism. "She is a mage."
Chapter 32