Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2)

by Chris J Edwards

  “Alright. Fine. Let’s dance,” I finally relented.

  Corhym Braed smiled and led me into the hollow square. I didn’t know what I was doing, but he certainly did; I did my best to follow along. He guided me with fatherly care, demonstrating a respectable gentility and maybe it was the late night, or maybe whatever was in my cup, but I was beginning to think that the proposed trade deal was the best thing ever conceived. And if even one ambassador from the League was so civilized as Corhym Braed, I would have two embassies built.

  At some point Corhym Braed placed a firm hand around my waist and we began to spin. Around and around and around and I laughed. Around and around and around and everything was a blur of colour and light, music and laughter.

  The music slowed and so did we. Corhym Braed released me and bowed. Once I caught my breath he led me back to the head table, thanking me for the honour. Then he disappeared back into the crowd.

  I had to steady myself on the back of my chair. The room was still spinning. My face was hot.

  “That looked like fun,” came a familiar voice.

  I looked up to see Ortham, goblet in hand. His eyes were a bit glassy and his cheeks were flushed and there was a little smirk on his face. And as always he had his hat on, looking a bit wilted.

  I tried to straighten up but my knees were weak. I almost fell over. Ortham shot out a hand and steadied me at the elbow.

  “You look a little sick, Dawn… maybe it’s time to take a break,” he said, concern etched onto his face.

  “I – I think you’re right,” I said, leaning into his arm.

  I was incredibly dizzy, totally off-balance. Ortham placed his goblet on the table and put an arm around my back to keep me upright. I leaned my head against his shoulder and hoped the room would stop shifting.

  “Ortham…” I tentatively began, “can you take me back to my room?”

  “Of course,” he said without hesitation.

  We made our way through the press of folk. Some were already leaving, others long gone. I took one last look at the lively banquet, soaking in the festive atmosphere. I smiled as I saw Herace knock back another goblet before trying to balance it on his head in front of a gaggle of laughing ladies.

  Why did I feel happier here than at my own court?

  One day the Etala Chamber will be just as fun. No, even more fun! Folk would come from all around just to see it, just to have a night like this. There’ll be laughing and music and dancing and everyone will be civilized and the food will be good.

  Ortham half-carried me back up both flights of stairs. My legs weren’t really that unsteady, but it was a good excuse to have his arm around me, my head resting against his chest. And I think he knew it too.

  Finally we made it back to my room. Inside it was dark and cool; the balcony shutters were still open. Ortham hurried over to close them. I threw myself heavily onto the bed. The ceiling gently spun, but I didn’t mind. I was happy.

  “Ortham?”

  “Yes, Dawn?”

  “I wish it could be like this forever.”

  Ortham laughed and walked to the door. Chromatic moonlight filtered into the room through the gauzy curtains. It cast wavering shadows to the floor, and Ortham’s shadow cast the darkest.

  “Well, I think you need to be more careful with what you drink,” he chuckled.

  He was standing in the doorway. I turned my head to see him silhouetted by the ambient light of the corridor beyond. His hat was off.

  “But I agree,” he added in a gentle, subdued voice. “Now, goodnight Dawn.”

  I smiled at him and brushed some hair away from my face. The world still rocked slowly back and forth but I didn’t mind.

  “Goodnight Ortham,” I whispered.

  And with that he closed the door, I closed my eyes, and we both went to sleep.

  27

  Daz

  There was a black cloud upon the horizon. We were headed straight for it; and it was headed straight for us. The storm brewed darkly, sluggishly bubbling above. At first I thought the captain was mad to head toward it; but where else could he go? There was no way to outrun it, and the only shelter was further on. We had to plunge into the storm if we wanted a chance.

  And we were close, so close to our final destination. Only a few more days and we would have made it! We had already navigated the treacherous Great Cape, come so far. And now this summer storm mocked our progress.

  We grabbed our equipment and stood on the top deck. None of the girls were foolish enough to wait below-decks; we all knew that if the ship started taking water, we were better off swimming than being trapped below.

  I shivered as the wind blew, as it wailed a death-dirge in the rigging; the cold seemed to cut right through me.

  The sway-bellied ship groaned beneath my feet as the shadow crept closer. I had strapped everything I could to my body; my shotel, my buckler, the saddlebags. I hoped I could swim with all this weight. My teeth chattered so hard it was painful; I was already soaked from sea-spray. I spluttered as briny water splashed over my face.

  “Look, there’s port!” one of the girls cried, pointing to the nearby coast.

  Upon the slopes of a green countryside were buildings. Boats took shelter in the harbour. We were so close, and yet so far away. Our ship was being pushed back with a vengeance; we tacked toward shore.

  Suddenly the deck rose sharply before plunging sickeningly back down; the ship shuddered as its keel struck the stormy water. I slipped, catching myself at the last moment. Avna’a helped me up.

  “Where’s that uyrguk?” she cried above the wind.

  “I don’t know! Below deck maybe?” I shouted back.

  “Doesn’t he have the Soul Slab? We need it!”

  I was about to reply when, all of a sudden, the rain hit.

  The full force of the storm slammed into us like a wall; it was thunderous, almost deafening. I could barely see, barely keep my eyes open. I felt like I would drown from the rain alone. The ship rocked and pitched on its side; I fell. Avna’a fell. We slid toward the gaping, hungry sea.

  The deck pitched upward suddenly, halting our descent. I scrambled to my feet, gasping. Water ran into my ears, into my mouth and nose. The rain drove into me, battering my skin like I was being pelted by stones.

  The ship rocked once again, tilting wildly to one side. I tumbled down, landing on all fours. The world spun and I lost all sense of direction.

  When I opened my eyes again I found myself on my knees. I looked around to get my bearing; I had rolled all the way to the centre of the top deck. I was lucky to have not hit the mizzen mast.

  Something caught my eyes from up ahead. I squinted against the biting wind.

  Through the driving rain a broad-shouldered figure loomed, walking forward with heavy steps. The rain didn’t seem to bother him; it soaked through his thin clothing. He didn’t even grimace and I marveled that he could keep his footing.

  It was The Slave.

  He passed by me, headed for the open hold of the ship.

  “Hey! Where do you go? You will die if you hide down below!” I shouted with my poor east-uyrk.

  He didn’t turn his head. He just kept walking.

  “I am not hiding,” he replied.

  Then he disappeared into the hold.

  The ship shuddered once again. The Slave was as good as dead down there. This ship was about to sink. I looked toward the shore; we were being pushed dangerously close to the rocks. They jutted out of the angry sea like crooked, misshapen teeth, the waves gobbling and slurping around them.

  The crew was all panicking. They clung to the rigging, hauling in ropes. I watched as one abandoned ship outright, leaping over the side gracelessly.

  Then I saw Vash-turel amid the confusion. She was with a group of the other girls. All her clique, with her two most loyal lieutenants Ayurda and Ta’ali. They were pushing a raft of barrels, all lashed together, toward the railing. Waves cras
hed over the side; the water rushed across the deck, slamming into my legs, knocking me prone. I landed hard on my shoulder. The fall knocked the wind right out of me. Water filled my mouth and I spat as I rose back to my feet, gasping, and the wave sloshed back into the sea.

  When I looked back up, two of the girls were gone. But the rest wasted no time; they heaved the raft, trying to launch it over the side. They struggled and slipped, unable to wrestle against the weight.

  I trudged over, doing my best to keep my footing, to keep hold of my things. As I did, Avna’a reappeared. She was missing her saddlebags.

  “They built a raft! We’re jumping ship while we still can!” she shouted above the storm.

  “Alright, let’s heave!” I shouted back, getting a grip beneath one of the barrels, joining Vash-turel and the rest of the myrmidon.

  I strained with all my strength against the weight but my hands kept slipping on the soaked wood. I cursed aloud.

  Then the deck once again pitched sickeningly downward; there was a crash. The whole ship trembled and I knew this was it; the horizon became the sky. The ocean raced up to greet us, the rocks bubbling below.

  I heard screams. One of them might have been my own. The ship had struck the rocks; the whole thing was about to keel over at any moment. We were sinking.

  I gathered my senses. My saddlebags were gone. I hadn’t even noticed when they slipped. But I knew we had to get this raft over the edge; every second, the waves rose higher. The sea was so close.

  I gripped one of the barrels and lifted, straining with every muscle to get it over the railing. I screwed my eyes shut and heaved with all my strength – but it was no use. I collapsed to my knees. The raft was going nowhere.

  I looked up to the sky. The rain was falling sideways. I shivered, my breath coming in uneven fits. This couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be. I wouldn’t let it.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” someone cried.

  I looked over. Vash-turel was cutting at the rope that held the barrels together.

  “Stop! You’re wrecking the raft!” Avna’a shouted.

  “If we break it apart, we can get them over the rail,” she replied.

  “But we won’t all fit! There are only four barrels and seven of us!” Avna’a shouted back.

  Vash-turel kept sawing away at the ropes; Ayurda and Ta’ali looked on in uncertainty. Avna’a advanced on her; Vash-turel stood up and slashed out with the knife, sharp teeth bared, keeping Avna’a back.

  I got to my feet, ready to fight.

  Then Vash-turel turned back to the raft and, with one last tug of the rope, the craft fell apart. All the barrels came loose.

  “Who said we all needed to fit?” Vash-turel said coldly.

  She bent over to toss a barrel over the side. Avna’a leapt on her, screaming murderously. They flailed and kicked; Avna’a stumbled backward and I saw the flash of Vash-turel’s knife rake across her stomach.

  “Avna’a!” I cried, lunging forward.

  Avna’a fell backward heavily, holding her guts with both hands. It all seemed to be happening slowly, so slowly; I couldn’t move fast enough. I ran forward screaming, reaching for my shotel as I did, ready to cut Vash-turel in two.

  But I never made it.

  The ship tipped over, sending us all off our feet. For a moment I was weightless, lost in space -

  then water crashed all around me. I saw blackness. The air was knocked from my lungs.

  And I saw blackness.

  Nothing but blackness.

  * * *

  A strong arm wrapped around me. It wrenched me up; water entered my mouth, went up my nose. I spluttered. I couldn’t see; everything was muddled, confused. I saw waves swelling up all around. A dark shape loomed overhead; a white sail billowed, ragged and wind-torn. My arms clung to something hard, solid; it was a barrel. And something else clung to me in turn, protecting my back. We were being tossed by the sea.

  I tried to keep my eyes open. But once again, all went black.

  * * *

  My eyes opened.

  I coughed, gasped; I threw up water. Rain was pouring down, beating on my bare head, on my back. I crawled on my hands and knees, the surf crashing against me as I did. I was up to my wrists in gritty sand.

  Another wave slammed against me, against the shore; I went sprawling.

  A pair of immense arms grabbed me around the waist and dragged me through the sand. I was too weak to help, too weak to resist. I threw up again, salt water and bile pouring out of my nose. It hurt. Everything hurt. The world spun around me.

  I was dropped to the ground. Solid ground. Not dry; but solid. I was soaked and shivering and covered in sand. It was even in my mouth, gritty against my teeth.

  I opened my eyes, almost seeing double. The horizon rocked; rain still thundered down, streaming off my face.

  I rubbed my eyes clear and looked back to the sea.

  A hulking figure strode out of the water, dragging a barrel behind him.

  It was The Slave.

  I watched him as he reached down and untied a rope from around the barrel. Then he bent over, the surf still crashing relentlessly against his giant form. He didn’t seem to care. He was a mountain.

  …be careful when you return to the sand – the scarred mountain will deliver you from evil many times…

  …when you return to the sand… the scarred mountain will deliver you from evil…

  My vision swam. The old fortune-teller’s voice rang clear like a bell in my head.

  The Slave lifted something out of the water. It was huge; water poured off it. With titanic strength he hefted it over his shoulder. It was the Soul Slab.

  I sat up and stared in wonderment. Rain poured off his skin; the surf gurgled around his bare ankles. With steady, even steps he walked out of the water, leaving deep footprints in the sand.

  He towered over me. I was shivering uncontrollably; every limb shook. I looked up at him in awe.

  Had he just saved me?

  The Slave looked down.

  “Can you stand?” he said, voice rumbling.

  I rolled onto my knees and tried to stand. I threw up again into the sand. It was all water. I coughed, sputtered, then spat. I balled my fists.

  If The Slave could save me from drowning, with the Soul Slab in tow, I could at least stand.

  I grit my teeth and rose unsteadily to my feet. My knees were weak. But I could walk; slowly, haltingly, but I could walk.

  The Slave nodded with a grunt when he saw. Rain continued to beat mercilessly down on us.

  I looked back to the raging sea. Far out, on the rocks, the ship was all but sunk. The white sail sagged in the water; the once-noble prow just barely poked its snout out from the roaring waters. The rocks were eating it.

  Avna’a was probably dead. They all were.

  I trembled. Not just from the cold; I trembled with anger. With hate.

  I hoped Vash-turel was dead too. I hoped she drowned.

  A tide of sadness suddenly washed over me, extinguishing my wrath. Vash-turel might be dead, but so were all my friends. Some of those girls I had known for half my life. My myrmidon was my family. And now they were gone…

  I spat out a bit of sand.

  There would be time for grief later. But now I had to steel my soul. I had to finish the mission. I had to finish the mission or it was all for nothing.

  I looked up to The Slave. He hadn’t stopped; he continued on, headed along the rough coast toward the port. The Soul Slab was a heavy burden but he didn’t seem to mind it. He didn’t even seem to notice it. Even from here I could see the muscles in his neck and back bulging like cords of rope, rippling beneath his whip-scarred hide.

  I hobbled after him, shivering. My legs were weak as a newborn colt and I struggled to catch up. I vomited again. My clothes were soaked and hung heavily off my body. Every step was a struggle, every moment a test of endurance. But I continued on; I had to conti
nue on. I had no other choice. I had to press forward.

  Finally I caught up to him. We struggled toward the port in silence. It was still a long ways off, but I could at least see it up the coast. The rain slackened but never stopped. It poured steadily down, thrumming against the ground.

  After almost an hour we stopped to rest. I did my best to help The Slave lower the Soul Slab to the ground. He nodded to me in thanks.

  We took shelter beneath the boughs of a lone pine tree. I shivered uncontrollably. It came and went in fits. My teeth clattered together. Would I ever be warm again? Would I ever be dry?

  I groaned as I realized that all the supplies we had carried were now at the bottom of the sea. I didn’t even have my saddle bags. I had no bedroll, no water-skin. No extra clothing.

  And I was the only survivor. My myrmidon was dead. The longer I looked out at the dark, angry sea, the harder it was to hold out hope that any others were still alive. The water seethed beneath the bruised sky and the rain, the cruel rain, just kept coming down.

  I wiped the water from my eyes and inhaled deeply.

  I had to keep going.

  I could survive this. I had survived many things. It was hard now, but the hard times would end. I could still complete the mission. I just needed to figure out where I was, which way to go.

  Failure was not an option. Failure was never an option.

  I looked over to The Slave. He was seated cross-legged as he looked out over the sea dispassionately. His black hair was matted to his skull.

  I still had The Slave.

  And I still had the Soul Slab; and my buckler was still looped to my belt, and so was my shotel.

  I could do this. I might be alone in a strange land with a companion I had only just met, who I could only speak to in a tongue I barely knew; I might have no supplies and no money. But I could still do this. I could finish the mission. For Avna’a, if no one else. To spite Vash-turel, if nothing else.

  I gazed out to the swirling sea.