The Shattered Shards

by Stephen J Wolf

  “This is crazy!” someone shouted.

  “Then stay behind,” Kitalla hissed, finding her footing on the shifting sand and following Dariak. One by one, the others followed and Arricon kept the magic flowing until the last fighter was within the Hathren border. The old man cackled once more and increased the flow of magic, pushing the small army further into the sandy desert.

  Sometime later, they were dropped to the sand in a heap. Dariak stood and turned, trying to ensure that the guardian was going to depart peaceably after having delivered its cargo. The fighters and mages dusted themselves off and pulled away from the location, getting a head start until Dariak was satisfied with their safety, after which he trotted to the front.

  “That was disconcerting,” Kitalla said when he approached.

  “It was only a passage,” he said offhandedly. “And lucky we had it, too. There were more creatures in that part of the sand than those sandorpions. He propelled us through them.”

  “How could you tell?” Gabrion wondered.

  He shrugged. “I live here.”

  “I don’t understand it,” the warrior commented. “How could we ever invade your land with defenses like that?”

  Dariak chuckled and shook his head. “They aren’t always there, for one thing. They steer clear of our own outposts, and most attacking armies would seek out those places to conquer for shelter. The guardians can also be overpowered. If we had a full-sized army, the guardians would probably cower and hide; they’re not likely to work together. Also, we were seeking polite entry, which made him more curious in a way, wary in another. He was willing to test us though we are a united force, but we passed his test and he kept us from harm overall. As I said, there are other dangers along the borderland. But when it comes down to it, the guardians are completely irrational beings. The mages in the towers try to contain them and keep them focused from afar, but it isn’t easy. They are a means of defense, just not wholly reliable.”

  “He reminded me in some way of Heria,” Kitalla murmured. “Completely crazy, but he knew what he was doing.”

  Gabrion rubbed his face, complaining, “I’m not sure I’m going to fit in here with magic like that around.”

  Dariak laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Not to worry. Most of the time, the magic is used by people who know how to wield it more effectively.”

  He looked back incredulously. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  Chapter 14

  Traveling Through Hathreneir

  Over the next several days, Dariak guided the troops toward the southern town of Marritosh. The desert heat was tempered by the faded winter, and it helped that Dariak and the other mages were able to draw moisture from the air, keeping everyone properly hydrated along the way.

  “So desolate,” Poltor complained in the late evening. “Not a scrap of life anywhere. What do you hunt? How do you survive? Where do you gather riches?”

  “You look under the surface,” Dariak replied casually. “There are hovels and springs where you least expect them. But the whole country isn’t desert like this. Just the eastern edge and parts of the south.”

  “Ah, the great droughts of ages past,” Randler nodded. “Their mark is still felt on the land, I see.”

  With a solemn nod, Dariak gestured toward the distance. “Yes, and it has been spreading. It’s an unnatural desert, though, so it is also cooler than it ought to be. Soon we will approach an oasis where people have found the means to survive. It is a place I used to enjoy visiting as a child because it was different than my home. Fewer mages and more warriors. Many of the king’s guard come from there after training in their childhoods to be strong. I never understood why they would work so hard to learn how to swing a sword.” He laughed. “I thought back then that magic could do anything.”

  “But everything has limits,” Kitalla said unexpectedly, looking down at her clenched fists.

  They set up camp that night. Dariak enlisted a team of fighters to dig a two-foot-wide trench surrounding the army, after which he and the mages solidified the channel and then filled it with water from the air. “This will help keep out the sandroaches,” Dariak said. “They hate water.”

  “Sandroaches?” Gabrion said.

  “Remember those sandorpions this morning? Imagine them a bit smaller, unable to jump—which was Arricon’s fault anyway—but with an appetite for nibbling on humans. We’re easy targets asleep and you would barely see them in the sand itself.”

  The warrior shook his head. “Give me a reptigon any day.”

  “We have those, too; don’t worry.” He grinned, turning to start a fire in the center of the campground. “Keep this lit throughout the night,” he alerted Ervinor, a strong young man of twenty-two who had been under Ordren’s command until the parting at the outpost. “It will keep out the nightflies,” he added, feeling that empty orders were less likely to be followed than those with reasons. The fighter saluted and set about arranging the order of the watch, adding his own instructions about the fire.

  As the camp settled down, Gabrion sought out Kitalla. She was seated within the watery border, tossing pebbles across the surface and watching them roll in the sand on the other side. She started when he sat down beside her.

  “What’s wrong, Kitalla?” he asked softly so as not to wake anyone else.

  “Nothing, I was concentrating on my throws.” She emphasized by sending another stone across the way. “What about you? We’re getting closer to your destination.”

  His face contorted with her evasion but he answered her anyway. “It is hard to believe that within a week we could find Mira and take her home.”

  “What if—” but then she coughed and stopped herself.

  “If what?”

  She shook her head and remained silent.

  “I don’t understand what is going on with you lately. You talk even less than before.”

  She shrugged. “I keep wondering when Dariak will keep training me to channel the energy. It looks like his own journey is nearing its end. He may not feel the need to assist me any longer.”

  Gabrion looked at her hard. “Maybe you don’t understand friendship, Kitalla, but lying to me about what’s going on isn’t the way to go about it.” He stood up and stormed off, not waiting for a response.

  The thief’s head sank low and she breathed the night air deeply, trying to remain calm. She wanted to prepare Gabrion for the worst—Mira might not want to return home—but didn’t want to hurt him if she was wrong. Then she considered what she had told him about Dariak and her training, wondering what had interrupted her own plans and when she had stopped caring as much about growing her dance skills.

  Annoyed at herself, she rose up and sought out Dariak, but he was already asleep, with Randler sitting nearby humming softly. The bard saw Kitalla and followed her as she walked silently away.

  “Restless?” he called to her.

  “I didn’t realize he was asleep,” she said, turning away.

  He followed her back to the watery border. “I have spent the majority of my life seeking remnants of the stories of the Forgotten Tribe. Something about them always resonated with me.”

  She groaned. “Please don’t break into song right now. I don’t need a lullaby.”

  “It wouldn’t be a lullaby anyway. The story of the Forgotten Tribe is one filled with great pain and loss, with very little hope for the future in the end.”

  “That doesn’t seem to fit with the way you have been singing it all along.”

  “I spin it into something that suits me better,” he said. “What fun is it to think that the founders of our nations were bitter rivals who sought each other’s destruction with no hope of redemption?”

  She tilted her head to the side to consider. “That would certainly bring fewer people back to the show.” She then turned to look at the bard in full, admiring how he could look so kempt even after the day’s sandy travel. “So then, in your heart, what’s your take on the st
ory?”

  He smiled seductively. “If I tell you that, will you share what’s aching your heart?”

  She stiffened and scowled. “Always, everyone trying to dig things out of me. Leave me alone.”

  He grabbed her shoulder and it told him much that she didn’t pull away. “My mother never put much store in my feelings. She never cared about what I wanted. So I try to honor others around me. I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. Please, sit with me a moment.”

  She sighed dramatically and then threw herself to the ground, bringing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them, then settling her chin upon her forearm. “Go on, Randler. Fascinate me.”

  He sat down with her and gazed out in the distance. “The gist of it is this: Lady Hathreneir and King Kallisor fell in love but they couldn’t agree on how to get through their differences. He loved to fight. She didn’t. He was brawn. She was heart, but she also had a brain. She didn’t need massive armies to protect herself because her magic was enough.”

  “I’ve heard this part before,” she moaned.

  “Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But King Kallisor did feel threatened by her power. So he sought to build an army. But an arrogant man would also want his lineage to continue.”

  “Not just arrogant men,” she said with a hollow tone. “Good men do, too.”

  “Of course,” he acceded. “But a good man doesn’t go about impregnating dozens of women. He finds one he loves and he raises a family with her.”

  “Well,” she breathed, “he tries to.”

  He wanted to ask about her responses, but she seemed particularly edgy tonight, so he bit his tongue and nodded. “Yes. Well, King Kallisor had many heirs but only two with Lady Hathreneir.”

  She focused on the story. “Your mother told us of them. The boy and the girl. The boy stayed with the father and then accompanied him as they went and killed the girl. Then the boy and his offspring went into hiding for generations.”

  “You listened well,” he commended. “I always wanted to be the heir of the Forgotten Tribe. I wanted to have something special within me that marked me as different. I wanted to be able to stand out from the rest and not be mocked or shunned for being who I am.”

  “Bards are well-renowned through both lands,” she said. “You have nothing to worry about there.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. But that didn’t help much while I was growing up. No, instead, I thought I would find this inner something and make my way with it. In a sense, I wanted to have a bit of magic in me, but different from what my mother wielded. It’s partly why I have trouble with Dariak’s vocation. In some way, he’s just another manifestation of that power I never wanted.”

  Kitalla laughed emptily. “Don’t they always say we end up falling in love with our fathers and mothers? I guess it holds true even in a case like yours.”

  “Perhaps,” he shrugged. “But that’s an awkward thought, dating my mother. I won’t thank you for connecting that image into my mind.”

  This time her chuckle was genuine. “No, I wouldn’t think so.” They fell quiet for a few moments, looking out to the dark horizon. “Randler? I know your mother said Dariak couldn’t be the heir of Kallisor and Hathreneir, but what do you think?”

  “I have tracked the genealogies as far back as the lore permits. There are certain strong family lines that end abruptly and others that continue down to this day. The problem is the accuracy of those records. They are rarely written down anywhere.”

  She shook her head, boggled. “I don’t see how you could ever know you’re following the correct bloodline, with all the people in the world, not even just the ones here. Do you follow the ones who travel across the eastern sea? Or those who venture to the far south?”

  “It has been daunting, yes. But as I said, I’ve become a bit of an expert on the Forgotten Tribe. Their lines are marked in unique ways throughout the generations. So as long as the lore is true, then it can be followed to some degree.” He stretched and rubbed his temples. “What I think is that an heir will be pivotal when the time comes to unite the two kingdoms. I’m not sure what the role will be, but I can’t shake that feeling.”

  She looked deeply at him. “And you wanted it to be you,” she echoed. “But you know it’s not you.”

  He tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, but it was a lifelong hurt. “I’m just meant to gather the information and share it with those who will hear, apparently. And whether the unification occurs in my lifetime or not, it’s my duty to keep learning what I can and then disseminate it.”

  She thought back to all the songs she could remember him singing. “Every song has been related to the Forgotten Tribe, even that war song yesterday.”

  “Except rare occasions, yes. You were unconscious when I sang of Grendal and the Prisoner’s Tower.”

  The name sent shivers down her spine. “Grendal?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Father of Grenthar, I’m afraid. He taught his son all he knew in the art of secret passages, traps, and thievery. Grenthar excelled, of course, and delighted in taking things to an even further extreme.”

  “I’ll say,” she muttered, absently rubbing the arm that had been shattered by the falling doorway in Grenthar’s domain. “You really do catch all the details of things, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be a good bard if I didn’t,” he said proudly.

  She clapped him on the back. “You’re an excellent bard, Randler. You even brought me out of my slump this evening. Thank you.”

  He winked back at her. “See? I don’t always have to sing the words for them to work.”

  * * *

  The troop watch was diligent through the night, heeding all of Dariak’s warnings about the creatures that would be in the area, and so they did not raise any false alarms, even when a pack of shadowcrows floated overhead cawing in the darkness. Shadowcrows only ate during the daytime, Dariak had insisted, and when they attacked, they would only attack small creatures, not people. Nonetheless, the dawn was a welcome sight, though it meant a hot day ahead.

  The biggest concern of Gabrion’s was walking into Marritosh with a full contingent of fighters and mages, but Dariak assured him that it wouldn’t be a problem at all, though he didn’t explain why. The warrior remained close to the mage’s side during the morning march and avoided Kitalla when she approached to greet them. Randler whistled a merry tune, which Dariak interpreted as a signal not to ask any questions, so he kept quiet.

  It was another two and a half days before the town came into discernible view. There was a low outer wall that served to keep feral creatures out, but was easily scalable otherwise. Dariak reminisced the days when he couldn’t see over the top ledge, he was so small. Now he could pounce over it without much effort.

  Beyond the wall were the sandstone huts of the village. The roofs were made of tarp or treated wood that wouldn’t burn easily. Everything was well fastened to combat the strong winds that would pass through during the winters, and as they approached they could see that some places were in need of repair from some recent storm.

  Dariak greeted the entry guards with a Hathren salute, which included a flourish of the hand, a glowing fireball in his palm, and a low sweeping bow that exposed his neck to attack. The guard acknowledged him with a nod and asked him his business.

  “We are traveling through, but need a moment’s rest within. We mean no ill will.”

  The guard looked over Dariak’s shoulder, eying the line of soldiers behind him skeptically. “From where do you hail?”

  “I am Dariak, son of Delminor. These companions are visitors from Kallisor, under my guidance and protection.” He spoke with deep authority and purpose. Gabrion kept extremely still, doubting this plan. He had wanted to send only a small group into the town to gather the supplies they would need for travel westward to the mage tower.

  “That’s a large number of visitors you bring, Master Dariak,” the guard commented heavily. “But you are within your right to do so, by o
rder of the Mage Council. I trust your destination lies there?”

  “It does indeed, good sir,” Dariak nodded. “It is why we have come here first, for supplies.”

  The man paused for a moment, scratching his chin, and then nodded. “You would do well to steer clear of Vesille’s Inn at this time. Otherwise, abide the laws and be on your way through.”

  Gabrion was dumbstruck as the guards stepped aside and admitted them freely and without escort. They hadn’t even questioned the others of their purpose or names. He felt it was rather foolish, but it also challenged him to look at Dariak anew. While traveling through Kallisor, the mage had been bound several times, treated as a prisoner, sentenced for execution, and chased across the land as a traitor. Here, he was so highly respected he could bring a contingent of enemy forces right into a Hathren town.

  His musings blinded him to the surrounding area and so he missed the destitute rise and fall of homes along the way. The required repairs they had seen from afar were nothing compared to what really needed doing in the town. As the vicinity worked its way through his awe, he realized suddenly why such a group would be welcomed after all; they would bring much-needed revenue to the town.

  For three coppers apiece, every man and woman was secured with a place to eat and sleep, and many did so in resident houses, paying the owners directly for their hospitality. Dariak’s fee was waived, as he was a citizen of Hathreneir, but he donated the funds anyway, knowing they needed it more. Only Poltor and his band were reluctant to part with any coin; they only acquiesced to the demand when Dariak intervened and told them clearly that they didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  “There isn’t any loot here worth the price,” the master thief growled in response.

  Dariak shushed him. “You’ll have other opportunities. Don’t make a battleground here for any reason. They may look decrepit, but they know how to come together in the thick of it. We would not be wise to disrupt their ways. That said, we should find some ways to assist them for a while if we can.”