by Jon Kiln
Xerath swallowed and glanced nervously from side to side. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
Caffrey shoved Berengar over sideways from his knees to his side. Fortunately, his shoulders and ribs found a bank of softer sand where the hardpan was covered by the base of one of the dunes just beyond the border of the oasis. The sand was hot enough to sting through his clothes.
Caffrey grabbed Berengar’s right ankle with his free hand and hoisted the Captain’s foot in the air. Berengar rolled to his back as a result. Everyone from the oasis was watching now. Berengar saw Solag turn away so that her back was to the action.
What is about to happen that she does not want to see, Berengar wondered.
Caffrey extended the hilt of the knife out farther toward Xerath over the top of Berengar’s ankle. The men behind the prince began to mumble.
Caffrey’s voice came quieter than before with the edge of danger and darkness that Berengar remembered when he and Nisero assailed the mysterious lord in his library. He tried to trace the path in his mind that led the Captain from there to the wastes of the eastern kingdom. He tried to think where the points were that he could have stepped off before falling into Caffrey’s hands on the Southern Sea. Under the unforgiving heat of the desert sun, that rainy day upon the sea a few days ago seemed like a lifetime away.
“It may have been his treachery that elevated you,” Caffrey spoke softly, “but a man cannot be left to think that your life is in his hands or others will start to believe the same. You don’t have to disobey your father’s wishes, but it might be wise to take his feet out from under him. Just sever the tendon behind one ankle. Allow him to hobble a mile in your skin, Prince Xerath. It will take the fight and danger out of him on the way home and your father will be impressed by your wisdom in weakening your enemy. If this man wishes to be a part of your ascension, let him have the rewards of his action, your majesty.”
Xerath’s hand shook as he reached and took the knife from Caffrey. Caffrey lifted Berengar’s ankle higher and pulled his boot off, dropping it to the sand. Xerath placed the sharp edge against the tendon behind the Captain’s bared ankle. Berengar gritted his teeth.
Xerath swallowed again and took a deep breath. “I used to work in brushes and pigments. Most people passing in the city buying my art for a few coins had no idea of my lineage. I prefer that work to this, Lord Caffrey.”
“Indeed. History is most inconsiderate to our wishes and plans sometimes, your majesty. Think of it as another medium of art. You just now paint in one color predominantly. Your work will draw an emotional response from your audience, as it should.”
Xerath nodded and tightened his grip upon the knife. “I am entering my red phase, I suppose.”
Xerath pulled the blade as Berengar twisted hard to the side. The blade sliced along bone instead of tendon. Caffrey dropped Berengar’s foot. The Captain had managed to save himself from the intended permanent injury, but he was still cut deeply.
The Captain pressed his ankle into the sand as he curled his foot under his body with a growl of pain. He blinked and watched as the crimson spread out in the hot sand under him, one grain at a time. The grit failed to staunch the bleeding immediately and it burned in the deep wound.
Berengar looked up at his blood dripping off the knife above him.
“How do you feel?” Caffrey asked the prince curiously.
“Sick,” Xerath said as he held the bloody knife back out to Caffrey.
Caffrey put his hand on the prince’s shoulder instead of taking the knife from him. “It will get easier with practice, as all things do. Come with me just a moment. I need to discuss an extension of our original bargain.”
As they stepped past Berengar on the ground, heading into the sand away from Caffrey’s and Xerath’s men, with the prince still holding the knife, Xerath said, “The terms of the alliance? What’s your game, Caffrey?”
“There is an artifact out in the desert. I was hoping to be granted passage to go seek out this fragment. Ultimately, it will serve us both.”
“Any artifact within the kingdom would be claimed by my father. I’d need to take the message to him.”
“Of course,” Caffrey allowed. “I already have the perfect message prepared.”
“Very well. What’s the message?”
Solag knelt by the pool with her back to the action still. Berengar saw her draw her blade and lay it on the ground next to her as she then cupped water to her lips.
Berengar rolled to look from Solag back to Caffrey and the prince.
“My deepest regards,” Caffrey said finally.
Lord Caffrey took hold of Prince Xerath’s wrist, gripping the hand still holding the bloody knife. He moved around behind the prince, drawing the blade in a harsh motion across the prince’s throat. Blood spilled out into the sand in a heavy flow as the prince fell to his knees. Xerath opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue came out bloody red with no sound. The prince collapsed forward into the muddy sand, still holding the knife.
Shouts filled the air and the sound of blades being drawn echoed out. Caffrey stood staring down at the prince’s body.
“Deepest Regards.”
Chapter 12: Trails of Sand
Berengar tore his gaze away from Caffrey’s dark calm. He looked to see Solag in motion, working her blade one handed. Most of the eastern warriors were still trying to draw their swords as she hacked through them. She drew her blade out of the chests of her enemies in one motion before rolling it up into her fist single-handed to take on the next enemy.
The warriors from the south pressed into the fight as the eastern soldiers recoiled in shock. Metal sounded off metal as the fallen prince’s men rallied, but they were outnumbered even before the fighting started and their numbers dwindled quickly.
Two warriors advanced on Solag. She whipped her blade from side to side in her one hand, parrying and rebuffing their attacks. Men moved to assist her but she swiped her blade low and fast, catching the men behind their knees. They went down and she knocked their swords aside. As her own men arrived to help, she ran through one man and then the other on her own.
The men turned and went to finish off the last of the eastern soldiers.
Berengar rolled to his back and saw Caffrey standing over him with the bloody knife from out of the prince’s grasp. Caffrey knelt down and Berengar braced himself. Caffrey wiped the blade off on the front of Berengar’s shirt and then Caffrey sheathed it back on his belt.
“Please, do not get me wrong. I would love nothing more than to cut your throat as well. It would be the wise move by many measures, but unfortunately I have the fragment and the Great Artifact shows me all the paths. If I kill you now, the eastern forces end up cutting me off before I am able to get the next piece of it. If they find you alive, they take out their anger of a second assassination on you. It buys me time. There is a narrow thread upon which you escape, but I still end up seeing you dead at the end of that, so if I were you, I would just accept the fate you have coming.”
“They will not believe that I did all of this,” Berengar said in an even tone. “Whether you keep me alive or not.”
“Are you arguing for your own death, Captain? Are you that afraid of the coming torture?”
“I just want you to know that I know your fate. You will fail. The eastern kingdom will turn on you. Eventually the south will too. You will fail, just as Marlex did before you.”
“I don’t need the east, Captain. They will take out their rage on you long enough to allow me to get the fragment from this desert. Then, I will succeed where Marlex failed. He saw the path to the kingdom was thin, but he could not help himself but to try. Even if he failed, he saw a future that involved him still being able to cut Ramael’s throat. The King is terrible about getting too close to his blind enemy, don’t you think?”
Berengar stared up at Caffrey in the shadows of his hoods as the sounds of battle fell away behind them. “Marlex saw? Did he have the fragment from the island? T
hat’s why he tried to take the kingdom from King Ramael?”
Caffrey stood up. “Did I say that? What difference does that make for you now? Also, I lied. Unlike you, I would not accept my fate. Unlike you, I did not allow myself to be captured when my enemies came for me.”
“The King defeated Marlex. If Marlex had the fragment, then King Ramael has it now. That is why he sent us on the mission to find the other pieces. That is how he knew the Artifact was real and that you were seeking out the fragments yourself.”
Caffrey laughed hollowly. “Your beloved King would not lie to you about such a thing, would he? He is the rightful king. He has honor and the blessing of the gods, no?”
“That is why there is a darkness over the palace keeping me from seeing him,” Berengar said in revelation.
Caffrey nodded sagely. “Imagine how dangerous you would be if you figured things out faster, Captain. Have you seen the futures where you take the crown? The ones where Nisero cuts your throat are my favorite. I almost hate that we have passed those branches now.”
Solag stepped into view with blood splattered on her cloak. She sheathed her sword without cleaning it and pulled her hood back up. “It’s done. Our lookouts see reinforcements coming down from the north. We should leave now.”
“Anything from the south?”
“Nothing yet,” Solag said. “I don’t advise we wait.”
“Shame. It worked out so much more interestingly when the forces met up here over Berengar. Two problems solved at once.”
“Sorry, sir.” Solag turned away.
“Get everyone ready. We need to retrieve the piece before we are found out.”
Caffrey stepped over Berengar and continued toward the pools.
Berengar rolled and looked across the bloodshed. Many of the faces were still covered, which gave the scene a sense of unreality. A few head wraps had been sliced or fallen away. Teeth lay bared and expressions were frozen in surprise, pain, or anger. Only the warriors from the south under Caffrey’s and Solag’s commands still stood.
Captain Berengar pulled at the bonds behind his back as the surviving warriors lifted weapons off the bodies and loaded up to ride. As they rode away from the oasis, he called up to Caffrey’s passing wagon. “You should cut my bonds or they won’t believe I did all this with my hands behind my back.”
Caffrey chuckled heartily. “Nice try, Captain. Unfortunately for you, after all you have done and the way your legend has grown, they will believe you are capable of anything.”
The company left between the dunes and Berengar saw dust rising into the sky from the north. That would be reinforcements for the prince, coming too late. Berengar wasn’t sure how they knew to come now, but not earlier. He was sure Caffrey had a part in it. The man was deadly even before he could see the future.
Berengar rolled up to sitting and bowed his head, still feeling dizzy from the effects of sun and dehydration. He lifted his head finally and looked around the scene. The warriors had taken every item that Berengar might find of use.
He looked back at the prince’s body. Berengar scooted backward and felt around the belt and cloak, finding no weapons on it. He looked across and saw a glint of light jump from one of the prince’s boots.
Berengar shuffled sideways, leaving bloody spots in the sand from his open ankle. He reached into the boot and drew out the small knife from the hilt. He twisted it around behind his back and shifted his hands up and down in the bonds to pull the blade into the twists of leather between his wrists. One line broke, but the rest held. He used the extra slack to take longer strokes with the blade. The knot gave and Berengar pulled his hands free of the bonds.
As the leather pulled away it opened the scabs from the abrasions on his wrists. Berengar hissed from the sharp pain, but did not bother with trying to deal with those wounds. He used the knife to cut strips of material off the prince’s cloak. Berengar wrapped the material around his ankle and tied it off. The blood still seeped out from underneath the bandage, but he pulled his foot back into his boot anyway with a groan.
Berengar staggered to his feet and wavered. He took a few steps forward and paused again. He looked to the plume of dust approaching from the north and limped toward the pools. He could feel the stickiness of blood gathering under his heel from his wounded ankle.
He dropped to his knees and cupped more water with a shaky palm to his lips. After the fourth handful his stomach began to cramp and he doubled over waiting for it to pass.
He took to his feet again and walked over to the bodies of the fallen warriors. Berengar gathered dark cloaks and wraps and covered himself in the manner the warriors had done. He felt the difference from being covered away from the direct sun. Using water from the pools he splashed the clothing to make it damp, and that helped too.
The Captain looked about and considered his options. He could pursue Caffrey and maybe draw the prince’s people that way. They would overtake him before he caught up with Caffrey and Berengar suspected that Caffrey was clever enough to claim convincingly that the prince was still alive when he left Berengar with him. He considering lying among the bodies and hoping he was overlooked. Even if they did not check everyone, they were likely to bring the bodies with them or they might go about burying or burning them. Berengar thought about submerging in the pools and using a reed to breathe, but the water was quite clear.
He looked southward and west. He saw the trail left by Caffrey and his men from their approach. The configuration of the hoof prints and human tracks made it clear that was where they had entered. The prince’s men would see that.
Berengar turned and looked over his shoulder at the tracks of Caffrey’s men, horses, and wagons. They weren’t making any effort to cover their trail. The Captain suspected they were counting on Berengar himself to serve as a sufficient distraction.
Captain Berengar took one of the cloaks and wrapped it around his hands. He then walked backward toward the southwest between dunes away from the oasis. As he retreated, he swiped the cloak from side to side erasing his tracks. The dust cloud drew close, but he moved at a deliberate pace. If he brushed too hard and tried to hurry, they would see the signs of sand disturbed. He wanted Caffrey’s trail to be the only option.
As riders topped the crest of the highest dunes to the north and descended toward the oasis, Berengar finally slipped back behind the cover of the lower southern dunes himself. He continued to move away slowly.
The cries from the warriors discovering their fallen fellows and another dead prince echoed across the wastes. Berengar continued to move away, along a path that would not threaten to expose him in the troughs of the mounds of sand. He suspected that were he seen or if they had discovered him still there, they would have torn him apart before he could explain Caffrey’s betrayal.
Berengar heard horses and saw dust drift up in the air closer to him. He laid down against a dune and laid the cloak over on top of him. He raked the sand down to cover himself and the cloak, leaving a gap to breathe. If they followed his trail and came right upon him, he would probably still be discovered, he thought. He hoped he was hidden well enough to be overlooked if passed from a distance.
The horses did not draw any closer. By the passage of the sun, Berengar estimated that he hid a little over an hour, seeing no other activity or signs. Still, he remained quiet.
Movement caught his attention. A small party rode out into view following Caffrey’s trail. The smaller group was moving quickly, which would give them a chance to catch up. Once they did, Berengar did not give them very good odds against Caffrey’s forces. They did not seem to understand what they were up against. Maybe Berengar did not either, he thought.
Moments later, a plume of dust retreated northward marking the bulk of the party. They were riding hard back toward their capital. Berengar thought he would not want to be the one to deliver the body of another dead son to the king. Caffrey was looking to spin the world away into chaos.
Berengar dug out and laid on
the cloak under him as the sun dropped low enough in the sky to cast him in shadow between the rises of sand. He felt grit in every part of his clothing and hair. It ground between his teeth as he tried to close his mouth. The Captain spit from his dry mouth, but could not clear it out.
He laid back as his eyes drifted closed. The Captain shivered from a surprising cold settling into his body. He could not tell if it was from the temperature of the air or the accumulated abuse and exhaustion in his bones. He felt hunger pull and cramp his stomach.
Berengar forced himself up to sitting and held his spinning, aching head between his hands. He had a vague sense that if he allowed himself to fall asleep out in the open wastes that he might not wake up. His mind was too weary to pinpoint the reasons why, but he felt the danger.
Berengar tried to pull off his boot to check on his wounded ankle. Sharp pain raced up his leg and through his body and he couldn’t budge it off his foot. He took several deep breaths to keep from passing out as the pain subsided. He could not tell if his foot was swollen or somehow pasted into the boot from the poorly treated wound.
He staggered to his feet and cried out in pain, holding his wounded leg just below his knee. If any men had been left at the oasis, they would have heard that. Berengar gathered up the cloak and limped slowly back along his hidden path toward the pools. He did not bother to cover his trail this time.
As he came into sight of the oasis, his leg gave out on the next step and the Captain dropped to his knees. He crawled forward with his head down. As he reached the pools, he shivered from cold in the shadows again. He was going to pull the cloak over him as a blanket, but realized he no longer had it. He must have dropped it during his crawl, but he didn’t have the energy to go back for it.