But I would not give up. For Avaxenon, for Majira, for all that lived and breathed beneath the Maker’s sun – I would not give up. Even if it drove me entirely off the precipice of sanity. I would not allow the world to either be consigned to the Void’s oblivion or enslaved to the Shade. That was no choice.
There must be a way, there must be a way…
We continued on to Naraya. They had me sit in the front of the horse-drawn carriage and I was thankful for it. My feet were still blistered and bruised from my time in that wretched desert.
Within a few hours of travelling, the capital came into view; the modest city of Naraya. The buildings were new, the roads well-planned; not even the keep itself gave off any sense of age. Certainly built within the last century.
And as we entered the streets of Naraya, the sun lowering itself to the horizon, an idea was forming in my head.
It was vague at first, but gaining shape… a way to win this interminable war, this unseen battle that raged beyond our sight in climes unknown.
And Naraya would have a part.
49
Dawn
We charged out of the brambled ravines and into the rolling meadows; the sun set before us, sinking into the teeth of the Bitter Frost Mountains. The sky was ablaze with colour, and I was exultant.
Why, I wasn’t quite sure; but I wasn’t afraid anymore. The oppressive sense of dread that hung over those benighted hills was lifted.
Alone I had gone into the Blighted Tree; alone I had re-emerged.
And I even saved Herace from certain death, at the hands of a Disciple no less!
Casting the fulgimantic spell had hurt, but this time I at least controlled its flow. I sent that worshipper of the Void flying – a sight I did not want to remember.
I had to suppress my exultation; I always had to remember that magick was a burden, not a boon. It had a price. I could never revel in my power – that would lead down a dark road. A road that would inevitably end in mourning.
Battle magick would not be my domain. I always had to remember that. It was a last resort – a thing of desperation. For my reservoir was not my own – my soul was that of Céin Urthia. I was its caretaker, not its master. And I didn’t even know what the true effects of my using magick were yet.
All magick had a price.
We slowed our pace as we rode through rolling meadows. The moons solidified in the sky as the sunset faded to darkness. They floated upon the satin canvas of the night sky, flecked by shivering stars that appeared in the firmament. The air was warm and everywhere insects chirped.
Ortham rode up next to me.
“I think we should keep riding. At least a few hours more. We need to put some distance behind us,” he said. “And I hate to ask this, but… you do know where we’re going, right?”
“No, not really. Not yet,” I replied.
“Wait, really? So this whole escapade has been a waste of time?”
“No, not at all. At least, I don’t think so. Bildurog said the way would come to me in a dream.”
“Bildurog?”
“Bildurog. The Grand Master of the Wizened Eye. He’s the toad,” I explained.
“The toad? Dawn, did you take a knock to the head or something?”
“Very funny… don’t worry, I think I know the way. Or at least, I’ll know the way soon.”
We rode in silence for another hour. It was so peaceful out there – so beautiful. The open, airy meadows were a stark contrast to the fetid, cramped ravines of the Blighted Tree. I was glad to see the prominent hills sink into the distance as we left them behind.
Herace trailed along. He was unusually quiet.
“Is Herace alright?” I whispered to Ortham.
He looked over his shoulder and frowned. He looked back to me and shrugged.
“Not sure… do you think something happened?” he wondered aloud.
I thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, actually. The Disciple had him on the ground. She would have killed him if I hadn’t stopped it…”
Ortham nodded with a smirk.
“That would do it. I don’t think he’s used to anyone getting the better of him. Not in a duel, that’s for sure,” he said.
I glanced back at the lone rider trailing behind. He was slouched in the saddle, his right arm pressed against his chest by a makeshift sling. In the dim silhouette his one-tined antler spikes looked like horns.
“He’s hurt, too. Maybe we should hang back and wait for him?” I offered.
“Mm, not too sure about that. If he wanted comfort he’d ask for it. That’s just how he is. I think we should let him nurse his wounds. Not just his physical ones, either. I mean his honour,” Ortham said. “It’s a male thing.”
I couldn’t help but smile.
“My, you two really have got to know each other well. I’m glad,” I said.
“Yeah, actually. We’re friends. I’d say he’s my best friend,” Ortham said after a moment of quiet contemplation. “And I’m sure if something’s wrong he’ll tell me. That’s the way he is. He doesn’t hold anything back.”
“Not like you,” I added.
“What? What do you mean? I don’t brood at all,” Ortham joked. “I say everything I feel all the time.”
I laughed. At least he was self-aware.
We camped in a shallow dale that night. We didn’t bother to light a fire; we were too tired, the night already warm and well-illuminated by the risen moons. Ortham, too, was cautious not to reveal our position.
“Just in case,” he said.
Herace didn’t say a word. He got off his horse – reluctantly accepting Ortham’s aid, as his arm and leg were injured - and tossed his bedroll into the grass. He didn’t even unfold it; he just plopped it down to use as a pillow.
I wanted to ask him if everything was alright but I heeded Ortham’s council. Maybe Herace did just want to be left alone for a while. I didn’t want to exacerbate his obvious low mood.
I laid out my bedroll as Ortham took the saddles from the horses. I laid his out too, in between Herace’s and mine. Herace rolled over onto his side, facing away.
I covered myself with my cloak and listened to the chirping insects.
***
I barely closed my eyes, hardly drifted to sleep, when the dreams began.
A barrage of hazy images flooded into my mind.
I dreamt that I was flying away from the dale in which we camped; I flew over a small town on the banks of a wide river, flew through pine forests broken by fields of tall, swaying grass. I recognized those pine-laced fields – I recognized the next river over which I soared. It was wide and slow and shadowed by the sheer flanks of the Bitter Frost Mountains. It was the River Sperevus.
In that dream I travelled over the mountains and into Sythir Eaoghn. I raced through Céin Urthia, through its towering stands of mighty cedars.
Westward, ever westward I flew, through the meadowed ranges of the centaur clans…
***
I woke with a start. It was early morning; the grass was still soaked in dew, not yet burned off by the day’s warmth.
I shook my head, trying to clear it… images of the night journey faded behind my awakened eyes.
Ortham sat up too, startled by my sudden movement. He rubbed his eyes and groped for his hat.
He propped himself up on his elbow and squinted at me.
“Nightmare?” he asked groggily.
I sat up and shook my head.
“No. Not at all…” I murmured.
I looked westward. The mountains were taking shape through the dull pre-dawn light, their toothy spires silhouetted against the lightening sky.
“I think I know the way. The way to the being who watches from the cleft in the rock,” I whispered.
“Oh? What does the being look like?” Ortham asked, sitting up fully.
I scowled and tried to recall. Had I even seen the final des
tination? I don’t think I had.
“I’m… not sure. But I know which way to go. West,” I replied.
Ortham pulled his boots on with a grunt.
“West? That’s good enough for me,” he said.
I laid back down. A wave of fatigue came over me, but I fought it off. It felt like I hadn’t got even a blink of sleep. I wasn’t rested at all.
Ortham looked over to Herace. He was still fast asleep in the grass.
“I think I’ll let him sleep for a bit…” he said quietly.
“I think he needs it,” I agreed.
I got up and folded my bedroll. Ortham started saddling the horses and I helped. Once we were done we found a tumbled boulder and sat atop it. We watched in silence, facing east, as the sun broke over the horizon.
“Sunrises are always so beautiful…” I mused.
Ortham nodded and chewed a piece of grass. The soft glow of morning illuminated his dark features. His eyes glowed like pools of honey, rich and golden-brown.
“I prefer sunsets, personally,” he said. “More colour…”
I leaned my head in my hand and sighed. The sun was warm upon my skin. I soaked in the morning’s grandeur. There was plenty of colour, plenty enough for me.
“Sunrises are only my second favourite kind of dawn, anyway,” Ortham added.
I smiled at him.
“Very clever,” I said, moving over to sit right next to him.
“I thought so,” he replied. “I’ve been saving that one for ages.”
I laughed. He chuckled.
After a while he stood up, taking the stalk of grass from his mouth and tossing it away.
“Well,” he said, sticking his thumbs in his belt, “Better go wake up Herace the Glum.”
In that posture he really did look like a farmer. The fine clothing he had picked up in Safon was dirty now, especially the knees, and the high collar was wilted.
He still looked handsome though. Moreso than ever.
Ortham jumped down from the boulder and wandered over to Herace. From my perch I watched him go.
I wished we could stay like this forever. Just us, travelling place to place, watching sunrises and riding through the moonlight. I could do without the constant threat of death and danger, though. That much I was willing to give up. I only wished we could spend more time together.
But such thoughts were selfish. I had responsibilities to tend to. I wished there was a way to have both. One day I would be queen – there would be so many more demands upon me.
But I would find a way. If I loved him, I would find a way.
A warm feeling washed through me. I hadn’t really thought of that word before – love. But as I watched Ortham walk away, the golden-orange glow of sunlight upon him, I realized that I did love him.
I brushed aside that happy thought. I would have to, for now. There would be time for love later. I would keep this secret, gentle feeling locked away and safe for now. I had to.
Ortham woke up Herace and put away his bedroll for him. I jumped off the boulder and walked back to the horses.
Herace got up with a pained grimace. The way he was favouring his arm made me think it was broken, and he limped as he walked. The binding around his left knee was soaked with browning blood; there were stains down his leather riding boots.
We would have to find a healer. A good one; the leg wound needed to be cleaned before it was closed, and the bone maybe set before it was mended.
Ortham and I helped Herace into his saddle. He looked haggard and wouldn’t say a word. His long hair was stringy across his forehead and I noticed he hadn’t even taken off his cuirass to sleep. It had a sizeable dent below the ribs.
Ortham and I mounted up.
“Alright. So, Dawn, you know the way – you lead,” said Ortham.
I nodded.
“There’s a town along the route. We’ll get there as soon as we can and take a rest. I think we all need it,” I said. “We’ll be heading west from there. There are two rivers to ford, before going through the Bitter Frosts.”
Ortham scratched his chin and squinted off to the horizon.
“Well, I’m not as storied a route-finder as you are, Herace, but I think you’d agree that the best way to go over the mountains is through the lowest point in the south,” he said.
“That’s right,” Herace finally spoke in a gravelly voice. “We’ll want to head to Retker’s Knoll. The pass is a straight shot west from there.”
I was glad Ortham included Herace in the planning. I think he needed it.
“On to Retker’s Knoll, then?” I asked.
“On to Retker’s Knoll,” Ortham agreed.
And with that we spurred our horses west, the sun warming our backs and the mountains rising up ahead to greet us.
50
The Slave
The way out of the hills was treacherous and dark. The sun had long since set when we finally collapsed on the meadow’s edge.
Whatever toxic dust that had been thrown into my face made me incredibly tired, even still. I had not the strength to prepare our camp. I unburdened the mule and lay down in the grass. Daz curled up in her blanket a ways off.
Through the nightly song of field birds and the hushed breath of nocturnal wind I heard her try to stifle tears. Daz wept bitterly in the grass.
I could do nothing about it. I could not console her – she had failed her master’s task. And I had failed with her.
It saddened me to hear her smothered cries. It made me think of my own daughters. How often did they weep for me? Did they think that I was dead? Did they know I had been carried away to a strange land? Did they know their father was put under the lash, did their mother know how long I had suffered?
I did not wish to be reminded – I did not wish to wallow in pity, nor to dwell on thoughts of home. I needed to be strong or risk never seeing their faces again.
So with the sound of stifled sobs mixing in the swaying grass I let myself drift off to sleep.
***
I woke to see Daz staring at the sunrise.
She was seated on the ground, legs crossed, blanket draped over her shoulders. There was no bowl, no razor before her.
I rose to my feet. She heard me and stood also, keeping the blanket wrapped around her.
We broke camp in silence. I loaded the mule. Then, once all was done, I waited for Daz to lead us on.
But she did not.
Instead she just stood in the morning sun, her eyes rimmed with red. She was dressed now in her silk shirt and the blanket was stowed away. Oddly, she had removed her blade and shield from her belt and left them strapped to the mule.
“Are we going?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Daz frowned. Her arms were folded across her chest. She shrugged.
“Should we not pursue?” I pressed. “Is that not our purpose here?”
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply.
“I do not know,” she replied in a quiet voice.
I was surprised by her words. This unyielding warrior, this skilled sword-master, this agent of the mighty Empire of Un, who had doggedly driven on despite all, was now unsure? Unsure of her own goal?
She needed to continue. We needed to continue. If she did not succeed, then who knows what punishment she would have to endure. Then, ultimately, I would have to travel east alone – no doubt to be recaptured on the way, put back into bondage.
I stepped around to face her. She opened her eyes and looked up at me.
“We must not give up,” I urged. “I carried the stone. I will continue to carry the stone. But you cannot give up. We had a deal.”
She looked down, ashamed. I placed my hands upon her shoulders.
We stood there for a long moment of silence.
Then Daz stepped away from me, and I let my hands fall.
“Get the Soul Slab,” she said.
I nodded and got to work.
&
nbsp; I hated that infernal piece of rock. I hated its magick. I hated what it represented – the legions of slave-soldiers, the sea of bound souls and blood, the priests in their obsidian towers. But I had no choice – neither did she.
I stopped unloading the stone. I cursed under my breath. A hot flare of shame burned within me.
How foolish was I. Fool!
This is not what I wanted. I did not want Daz to be a slave. Nor did I want to be a slave. All I wanted was to go home, back to the wide valleys and dark pines.
All I wanted was to see my wife and daughters once again.
I turned to Daz. She was waiting for me to unload the tablet.
“Perhaps… perhaps it is time to end this hunt,” I said.
Daz frowned.
“But you are right. I must continue,” she replied with a trace of hesitation.
I shook my head.
“No, Daz. I was wrong. I only want to fulfill my pact to you. I only want to go home.”
Daz furrowed her brow. She sniffed and wiped her nose. I could see a storm of emotions swirling behind her eyes, morphing like thunderclouds upon the open steppe.
She turned away from me. She wandered over to a knoll and sat down. I followed behind and sat next to her.
We sat in silence a long time. Birds chirped in the humid morning air. Tears were welling up in Daz’s eyes. She did not wipe them away.
“I am so confused,” she said in a choked voice.
“Confused by what?” I asked.
Daz inhaled a shuddering breath.
“I have a hard time to explain. Especially in east-uyrk,” she said.
“It does not matter,” I tried consoling. “I will understand.”
She took a moment to gather herself. Then she began to speak.
“In Argru’un I met a hobgoblin. She told me my fortune. It is hard to tell – I cannot think of the words to explain. But it all came real…” she said. “I hear her voice still. I see in dreams, in strange dreams, my fortune.”
I was confused. I did not see how this related to anything. So I waited for her to explain.
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 41