The Red Sea

by Edward W. Robertson

  8

  "You're right," Dante murmured. "We're being hunted. By the Tauren. Including the sorcerer I fought on the beach in Kandak."

  "Son of a bitch!" Blays said. "How did they know we're here?"

  "Because the Harvester from the Boat-Growers is there, too."

  Winden spat a Taurish curse. "We didn't help them get their children. So they turned on us."

  "They can't possibly blame us for that," Dante said. "We have nothing to do with any of this."

  "Not to punish you. But because this was the only thing they could give the Tauren to get their children back."

  "What interest would the Tauren have in us?"

  "Do you want to go ask them?" She swept a loose plait back into place behind her head. "You're a rixen. Foreign liar. Unless they cast you out or kill you, they disgrace our ancestors who died fighting off invaders and swindlers."

  "Does the entire island see foreigners as some kind of pestilence? Or just the Tauren?"

  "Most of us are wary. They're hostile. But it's commonly thought that this is a pose. A way to exert control over people and trade." She sniffed. "Or maybe Vordon simply wants to destroy you for having stood against him."

  "That's the nethermancer?" Dante said. "The one I fought in Kandak?"

  "Who cares what his name is?" Blays said. "Right now, all I care about is how far away from him we are."

  "Less than two miles. They're in no hurry, but they could be on us in fifteen minutes."

  "Going to be hard to ambush them. Not when they've got a magic pig that can smell us out when we're close."

  Dante laced his fingers together. "I don't think we should try to fight them. Vordon's dangerous. And we have no idea what his companions are capable of."

  "Judging by the village-burning, it doesn't sound like he's the negotiating type. What does that leave us with? Fleeing?"

  Prompted by that, Dante resumed walking up the dry creek bed. "Winden, if we can beat them to the pass through the Dreaming Peaks, will they follow?"

  "It's holy ground," she said. "They won't fight us there. And the Dreamers stopped letting them through the pass two years ago. To get past, they have to take a route through the heights. Much slower."

  "Surprised the Tauren haven't taken the peaks for themselves, then."

  "That would risk turning the entire island against them."

  "They'll know exactly where we're heading," Dante said. "But we can beat them there."

  "So we've agreed we're fleeing, then?" Blays frowned at Winden. "When you're singing our ballads, would you leave this part out?"

  Dante increased his pace. Concerned that Vordon had recognized the butterfly was a puppet, Dante had sent it out of the man's sight, then severed his link to it. As they advanced up the creek bed, he spotted one of the little green frogs that Winden called dorts. They lived in the trees, soaring between branches with the aid of the webbing between their front and hind legs. With a small twinge of guilt, Dante slew the frog and returned it as his new set of eyes.

  He left it in place until the hunting party neared its position nearly a half hour later. After a look at the Tauren, he sent the frog bounding ahead through the trees, keeping it at least a hundred feet ahead of them, too distant to attract attention. The Tauren didn't appear to be in any hurry, but as the day stretched on, the gap closed to 25 minutes, then twenty. Vordon hadn't called a single break.

  "Something's wrong here," Dante said. "We're pushing as hard as we can sustain. Yet they're catching up to us." He narrowed his eyes at Blays. "And it's not because I'm fat."

  "You're obviously not fat. Just weak."

  He wasn't, but the hours of hiking were starting to wear his legs out. Telling himself that the will usually gave out before the body, he pressed on. After another hour, the Tauren still hadn't stopped for a break. They were now less than a mile behind. Dante got out his knife and drew a small cut on his arm. He drew the shadows to him, then sent them into his muscles, repeating with Winden and Blays.

  "I think we should run," he said.

  Blays glanced behind them. "I can't believe we're running from pigs."

  "It's more about the violent sorcerer wrangling the pigs."

  Dante broke into an easy jog. He felt more refreshed than he had since the start of the journey, and despite the gentle rise of the land, with the nether's help, he was able to keep up his pace for nearly two hours before his breath flagged. As they walked on, catching their breath, he left the frog behind them in the trees. It was more than thirty minutes before the pigs at the vanguard of the Tauren force trotted into view. The frog resumed pacing the Tauren from ahead, gliding webbily from branch to branch.

  Over the next few miles, their lead shrank until they had to start jogging again. They slowed to a walk, resting, then resumed running. Sunlight rarely penetrated the canopy, but the air was deceptively humid. Dante had sweated through his clothes long ago. The next time their group began to flag, he wiped the exhaustion from their limbs again before they could slow down. By late afternoon, they were roughly five miles ahead of their pursuit, but Vordon still hadn't called for his people to halt.

  "They must be using the nether, too," Dante said. "We can't stop until they do."

  They ran on. The sun dimmed, then disappeared. To preserve nether, Dante lit the way with his torchstone; when this faded, Winden lit candlefruit, which gave just enough light to see the ground ahead. When they grew tired, Dante flushed the weariness from their muscles yet again. With the sun gone and the air cooler, the Tauren ran, too.

  Midnight came, then the small hours. Clouds blotted out the stars. Rain hissed against the leaves. Fearing a flash flood, they clambered out of the stream bed and moved along the banks, slowed by the thicker brush. With the stars gone and no way to tell the passage of time, Dante's mind entered a plodding fugue. There was nothing but the next step and then the one after.

  Dawn broke, spying pinkly from behind a tattered sheet of clouds. They were still running. And so were the Tauren.

  "This doesn't make sense," Dante blurted. It was now light enough that they no longer needed the candlefruit to see. "They have five times as many people as we do. This Vordon shouldn't be able to sustain that many for so long."

  Blays' voice was scratchy from disuse. "Unless he's five times the adept that you are."

  "How far are we from the pass?"

  "Fifteen miles?" Winden said. "At this pace, little more than two hours."

  Dante nodded. He could get them that far, he knew, but his grip on the shadows was loosening. By the time they reached the Dreaming Peaks, he wouldn't have much left. And while his body felt good enough, considering the circumstances, he hadn't slept in a day. His mind was foggy, prone to mistakes.

  Still they ran on.

  The land ramped up. The jungle thinned, spitting them into the grasslands high on the sides of the mountain. Dante had to leave the tree frog behind, but he no longer needed it to keep tabs on their pursuers: the Tauren had been gaining for some time, emerging from the trees a few minutes later, visible within the thigh-grass less than a mile away. Two minutes later, a second band of troops appeared from the jungle, twenty strong. They quickly caught up to Vordon's men.

  The skies were overcast and the slopes were sodden and muddy from the prior night's rains. In places, the clay was so soft and thick they had to divert laterally across the hillside to find solid ground. Though the Tauren continued to close distance on them, by the time they neared the Dreaming Peaks, it was clear the enemy wouldn't catch them.

  "They're still coming," Winden said. "They don't intend to stop at the pass."

  Dante grimaced. His boots were so thick with purple clay they felt twice as heavy. "Will the Dreamers help us?"

  "You saw them. They aren't warriors. Not in our world."

  "We can't keep this up much longer. I need to rest."

  "Doesn't look like rest is on their agenda," Blays said. "Think we can lose them?"

  Ahead, clouds bruised
themselves on the mountains. The grass was patchy, avoiding the steaming pools filled with their multi-colored crystals. The air stank of flatulence.

  "Sure," Dante said. "All we have to do is take a stroll off the cliffs."

  "We tried running. We can't hide. The only question left is where you want to make our stand."

  "It won't be much of one," Dante said. "Right now, I could barely call enough shadows to stop us from getting sunburned. We should have ambushed them yesterday."

  "Running was the right plan. We couldn't have known this would happen."

  "You sound defeated," Winden said.

  "Yes, that would be the defeat talking." Dante trudged on. "I don't hear you coming up with any ideas. At least we have the excuse of being new here."

  "These men. If you had nether, do you think you could stand against them?"

  "Judging by our confrontation in Kandak, I'm not sure. Thankfully for us, I would have no intention of fighting fairly." His enthusiasm faded like a gust of wind. "But there's no point. We should head to the way through the upper mountains. At least we can keep the enemy away from your Dreamers."

  "I can give you the nether." She slung her pack forward and withdrew a black wooden box similar to the ones they were carrying the flowers in. Inside, it bore six shaden. She handed one to Dante. "Can you feel it?"

  He weighed the shell in his hand. Its opening was stopped by the mucusy foot of a snail. And he felt something of far greater gravity within the shell.

  He gawked down at it. "It's full of shadows!"

  "These things have nether in them?" Blays said. "Like kellevurts?"

  Dante crinkled his brow. "Grim-slugs?"

  "They have them at Pocket Cove. Eat dead stuff. The People of the Pocket told me they consume the nether, too."

  Dante sent his mind inside the shell. Darkness bloomed within him, cool and wonderful. "This could be enough. No wonder the Tauren want these so badly. This must be how they've kept up with us." He glanced uphill. "We should do this at the bridge. From there, we can fall back to the ruins."

  "Here's another idea," Blays said. "I lure them onto the bridge. And you knock it out."

  Dante grinned. For the first time in hours, he felt like he could see a way to the future. Winden ran ahead to pass word to the Dreamers. Foul-smelling steam bubbled from the springs and wafted down the decline. They reached the bridge. The river ran a few feet below, coursing toward the cliffs. Dante delved into the rock at either side of the bridge. It was solid, tough, but that wouldn't make any difference to him.

  They stopped at the bridge's north side. Winden ran back from the ruins. Her normally stoic face was fissured with anxiety. "The monks can't move the Dreamers to safety in time. Please. We can't let the Tauren through."

  "That aligns with our goal of not dying," Dante said. "Got any tricks to help us out?"

  She stared across the rapids. "Not much to work with. But I'll do what I can."

  Below them, the Tauren climbed on. The arrival of the second band had swelled their numbers past thirty, and as they neared the bridge, they fanned out in a semicircle. The man in the steel helm stepped onto the edge of the span and tipped up his visor.

  "You run." Vordon spoke Mallish; his accent was so faint there were times it sounded like he didn't have one at all. "Does that mean you are guilty?"

  "Why are you following us?" Dante called over the gurgle of the waters.

  "You came without permission. You attacked me. You will answer."

  "Is this the tonen you tell yourself? Victims of your raids are the real murderers?"

  Casually, the man drew a longsword, resting its tip on the bridge. "We deal with you now. Or we come to Kandak. And they will answer for your actions instead."

  "There's no need for this." Dante moved his consciousness into the rock around the southern end of the bridge, preparing to yank it away. Within the earth, he felt something warm. He blinked, tracing the warmth west, away from the cliffs. "Surely, we can reach a peaceful agreement."

  "My terms, they are clear. Hand yourselves over. Or be stained by what befalls Kandak."

  "I need a moment to decide." He lowered his voice and turned to Blays. "New plan. That thing you do. Can you do it through water?"

  "Sure," Blays said. "Way easier than walls."

  "Don't let them get through. And I'll make sure any survivors can't follow."

  "Can do." He swung his pack from his shoulder. "Hang onto this for me?"

  "Why?"

  "There may be a non-crying baby inside," Blays said. Dante's jaw dropped. Blays looped the pack's straps over Dante's outstretched arm.

  On the other bank, Vordon lowered his visor. "Too long. I choose for you."

  Nether scythed across the bridge. Dante grunted in surprise, lashing back in kind. The streaking shadows crashed together, exploding in black sparks. Dante fell back a step, hoping to coax the other man forward, but Vordon held position, attacking again. Drawing on the nether condensed in the shaden, Dante deflected it handily.

  They matched each other strike for strike. Vordon was technically skilled, as quick and fluid as a snake. After the fourth such exchange, Vordon grinned and flapped his hand at Dante. He stepped off the bridge and gestured to his people. Archers moved onto the foot of the bridge.

  "It's like fighting my mirror," Dante said. "He'll knock down anything I throw at them."

  Winden stared across the span at the gathering archers. "Fall back."

  As they ran off the bridge, she grabbed a molbry cutting from her pack. Once she was off the boards, she jammed the cutting into the dirt. As soon as it touched soil, it expanded like a fire. Bows twanged behind them. The branches of the plant shrouded their heads, casting them into shade. Arrows rapped into the living roof.

  Dante blinked. "That's a neat trick."

  "And if I have to do it again, I'll be drawing on the shaden, too."

  The archers plinked away, trying to find gaps in the cover. Dante flinched at each arrow that knocked into the tightly-woven branches. Across the rushing water, Vordon barked commands in Taurish. Ten soldiers carrying swords and chain mail trotted onto the bridge.

  Blays drew his swords. "About time I had some fun."

  He stepped onto the bridge and strolled forward. The archers moved to the sides and unleashed a volley past the swordsmen. Blays vanished. Arrows whisked through the space he'd occupied and thunked into the boards. The swordsmen slowed in confusion, putting up their guards.

  Dante plunged his focus into the rock, finding the heat and following it upstream. Blays reappeared in the middle of the bridge mid-spin. His lead blade bit through the neck of the closest man to him. His other sword lashed across the hamstring of a second man, felling him. The troops shouted in surprise and closed on him. He winked out again.

  Shadows flowed from the shaden to Dante. He sent them flooding deep into the rock, opening a massive channel between the pocket of heat and the rushing waters. A rumble drowned out all else. As Blays reappeared, stabbing a third soldier in the throat, a tsunami of boiling water burst upstream into the small river, swelling it several times over.

  Steam clouded the air. Men shrieked. As the water thundered toward the bridge, Dante backed away from the cover of the molbry. The bridge stones hazed with mist. Men sprinted toward the far end. Blays vanished. The wall of water crashed into the bridge.

  Wood groaned. The bridge tore loose from the south bank, pivoting, planks snapping. Clouds of steam washed to all sides, choking and hot. Dante staggered away, wiping his eyes. With a great pop, the northern foot of the bridge yanked free, tumbling away in the flood, headed for the cliffs.

  Dante's heart squeezed tight. "Blays!"

  Though the initial flood was subsiding, the underground reservoir continued to feed into the stream, obscuring everything in mist. Dante wandered forward, mind numb with horror.

  Blays appeared in front of him and patted his cheek. "No time to cry for me. Let's get the hell out of here."

  Dan
te barked a laugh and jogged away from the swollen river. "Didn't get Vordon. He's missing half his people, though."

  Winden fell in beside them. "The flood. How did you do that?"

  "There are underground pools everywhere. They're what feed the hot springs. Like in Kandak."

  Blays sheathed his swords. "If they try to cross, they'll be boiled like human dumplings. Think it'll last?"

  "No idea. But it should give us enough time to give them the slip."

  They jogged onward into the ruins. By the time they reached the hall where the Dreamers slumbered, Dante had observed no sign of pursuit.

  They didn't slow until they reached the Broken Valley. Knowing the Tauren's jone would be unable to follow their scent from plateau to plateau, they got halfway across the valley and descended to the floor. After hacking a hollow from the brambles, they lay down and slept.

  * * *

  Two days later, they entered the clearing surrounding the black stone temple. A boy peered from the stoop, then ran to meet Winden. Dante picked out enough of the Taurish words to infer that Larsin still lived.

  Inside the temple, a steady cross-breeze blew from one side to the other, but it wasn't enough to carry away the smell of burned cinnamon that marked the advance of the disease. Larsin lay on the pallet. He was unconscious, his face pinched with pain.

  Winden called in the boy, then sent him off. He came back with a small bowl of root paste. Winden kneeled, shredded three molbry flowers into the paste, and used a thin stone rod to mash it together. She shook Larsin's shoulder until his eyes blinked open, then methodically fed him the paste. When she was done, she walked out to the stoop and sat.

  "That's it?" Dante said.

  She didn't look up. "You expected what? A naked dance around the fire?"

  "At least a blood ritual of some kind. What now?"

  "He improves," she said. "Or it makes him worse. We'll know by morning."

  She had brought her box of molbry cuttings outside. Dante touched a red flower, the ears of which were starting to droop and wrinkle. "What will you do with the rest of them?"