Adversaries Together

by Daniel Casey

  “Wait…I know this,” Reg felt a tug at his memory, a song that his wife had sung to Colm; “…this is the Cruor?”

  Roth nodded and smiled, “So even a Novosar knows some heresy. Excellent. But, no, this isn’t the Cruor.”

  “Is it nearby?”

  “It is. In fact, it’s where we’re going to camp for the night.”

  “Oh? Any particular reason?”

  “I feel more comfortable sleeping in dead places.”

  Reg smirked, shaking his head, “Yeah, well, that makes nothing but sense…”

  Kia and Lo were tired; the horses’ paces had slowed to a near shuffle. It wouldn’t have been much of an exaggeration to say the mounts were sleepwalking. Reg could feel Kia’s hooves drag and he felt guilty for having pushed his two steeds so hard. But very soon they came up to a sheer rock face, bright with grey diagonal striations, at the bottom center of which was carved a cove about thirty yards long and nearly that high. Within the niche and carved out of the hillside stone was what looked like some beast, evening was coming on fast and Reg couldn’t make out all the details of this new locale. The sculpture did seem to depict some kind of death throe, the beast was on its side making some horrible expression and what looked like a broken spear sculpted protruding from its side. Rust brown, reddish stains came out of the faux wound and the beast’s mouth, a kind of leaking font.

  “What is that?” Reg asked.

  “’The stone that remembers and will forever bleed.’” Roth recited.

  They came upon a large pool at the base of the cliff-side. The stain seemed to dribble into the waters leaving a slight sickly pink discoloration; otherwise, the pool had an eerie clarity and stillness, its bottom an earthy turquoise.

  “Deep in the mountains there are hot springs, this is a kind of one. Unlike a geyser or a hot pool, this font bubbles over irregularly. Water leaks its way out here, but because it comes from such a deep place it’s warm and has the bizarre color.” Roth dismounted and Lo immediately made to drink from the pool. The horse bent to drink, paused, drank a little, and then pulled away.

  “The red.” Reg said dismounting and leading Kia to the pool as well, he tied each mount’s reins together around a sapling.

  “Yes, it dissipates after a while, that’s why the pond is so clear. But when it comes out of the stone it’s warm and red like blood. When the carved the statue, they incorporated that into it as the wounds. The water stays a bit salty, a draw for animals from all over. You can taste the minerals.”

  “A salt lick.” Reg nodded.

  “A good place to lie in wait for game.”

  “What about water for the horses?” Reg asked watching the animals.

  Roth was pulling down his packs and bedroll from Lo, patted her on the hind, and gestured beyond her, “There’s a cistern in the woods over there. If you want less queer tasting water. This will be fine though. Plenty for all of us.”

  Reg gazed at the great sculpture, “What is it though?”

  Roth paused, squatting over his things, “It’s a bear.”

  “A bear? I didn’t think there were any bears in these hills.” Reg was genuinely surprised.

  “There used to be, back when it was carved.”

  Reg’s eyes had adjusted to the dimming light and he could make out the monument a bit better, twilight shadows seemed to imbue it with a deep pathos; it looked at once forlorn, defeated, and defiant.

  “So the wound and the mouth are where the channels are?” Reg said.

  “Yeah,” Roth was attempting to make a fire pit, “it was carved into the cliff face following the channels that had wormed their way to the surface.”

  “Damn skilled. Craft.” Reg said bringing his gear over to Roth.

  “Hmm. We should make a fire.” Roth held out his hands at the rough circle he had made.

  Reg grimaced, brushed him aside, and took over, “You seem quite underwhelmed by this.”

  Roth was annoyed at having his fire making usurped yet again, “It’s not new to me.”

  “The banality of the familiar?”

  “Of a sort.” Roth stared at the monument, “Gammon Serero made it.” There was a distance in his voice.

  “You’ll need to tell me more over the fire tonight.” Reg said, “After you fetch water for Kia and Lo.” He leaned back as the circle lit up and a good-looking flame began to grow.

  Roth cursed and turned towards the woods, “We’ll see.”

  Reg laughed a bit to himself and unfurled his bedroll, “That always means ‘no.’”

  The Aral, 14th of Mabon

  Suddenly it seemed as though the dunes had relinquished their claim on light, and the heat of the day evaporated into the invisible chill of the night. Towsend sat near the fire coveting its warmth while Cochrane sat with is back to the flames starring out into the vast darkness. The sky above was cloudless, moonless but filled with the distant flicker of stars. The soft push of wind over the dunes was the only sound other than the fire’s crackling. There was always a danger in setting a fire in such an open expanse, but it wasn’t as if they could get around it—the night was as cold as the day was hot.

  “Do you see anything?” It was rather unnerving staring at Cochrane’s back.

  “Yes.”

  Towsend perked up, urgency came into his voice, “Rovers?”

  Cochrane’s shoulders seemed to shake as though he were convulsing, “No. The desert.”

  Towsend picked up a pebble and whipped it at Cochrane’s head, “Damn it. You needn’t be that way all the time.”

  He turned to face the fire, laughing, and Towsend couldn’t help but laugh as well, “I’m sorry.” Cochrane said.

  “Pay me no mind, I’m just on edge.” Towsend pressed himself down further onto his bedroll on the cold sand.

  “The desert unsettles you?”

  “No, not the desert so much as the lack….of anything. I need to be around people.”

  “Havan.” Cochrane said nodding.

  “Yes,” Towsend lost his gaze in the firelight, “it’s been so long since I’ve been back there. I suppose I miss it.”

  “Home is where you feel most comfortable.” He spoke deliberately, but not in a lecturing tone, “For you, that is Havan. Unfortunately, demands are made of you that keep taking you farther away from it.” He sounded almost lamenting.

  “They are not demands. I chose this for my own reasons.”

  Cochrane gazed at Towsend, “I know. Thank you.”

  “Thank me once it’s accomplished. Until then…”

  Standing abruptly, Cochrane turned and stared again into the night, “Yes. Until then…”

  “Go patrol or…whatever…I know you’re itching to be active.” Towsend waved him off into the night, and he obliged, disappearing almost immediately. Towsend inched closer to the fire, threw on another few branches, and then lay down pulling a canvas sheet over himself.

  Cochrane spent hours out in the arid landscape. At first, he went far out from camp to walk along the dunes and survey the vast Aral. The desert air was thin but wet somehow. Cochrane felt a thin layer of condensation forming on his skin and clothes. As he walked, his boots sunk into the cool sand with a satisfying evenness. Eventually, he made his way back to their camp but kept it as a distant flicker, a small, yellow glint, as he swept a wide perimeter around it. Thus far, he had encountered a few animals but nothing dangerous. It was the small hours now and soon dawn would begin to creep.

  It would be unwise to have Towsend awake alone, he thought. He began to circle toward the yellow light steadily spiraling closer to it. To the south, the first evidence of Lappala was perhaps a day’s journey. Maybe less than that, they were close now as the soft orange dome of light in the distance suggested. He had no doubts about Towsend’s ability or about his own strength, but what did concern him was he had no idea just what exactly they were walking into. Lappalans, Burrowers in northern slang, were relatively unknown.

  When the first explorers cros
sed the mountains and found the desert, they expected to find nothing. The belief was that this southern desert was the compliment to the far north barren deserts of snow. Many were unsatisfied with this orthodoxy, especially the Silvincians. They were the first to not only cross the Ragan Mountains, but also go deep into The Aral. At first, what few cities or settlements they encountered were long ago abandoned ruins thousands of years old. The only boon to come from their poking around those ruins was a dimwitted understanding of the glyph-like Aralese language and the first encounter with bithumin.

  When they brought back the thick, black rock, not as firm as real stone but no kind of clay, no one really much cared. It could be set on fire and for a long time this was merely a harlequin’s trick to amuse crowds of common folk. The Essians were the first to discover bithumin could be ground down to a powder, mixed to a thick liquid, and then refined by their mysterious methods into a miracle working fertilizer that tripled the yield of good earth and made poor dirt rich. More was needed, and the explorers and merchants pushed through the hard desert to find Lappala, the source of all bithumin.

  The Essians settled Wick with their Adrenine allies as a port to link Lappalan caravans to the sea trade. The city quickly became a de facto independent nation as its importance grew. The route between Wick and Rikonen became the most vital sea route in the world, and with its new resource, Essia became flushed with wealth. The rest of the north had to continue to trek over the Ragans leading to the discovery of the Ashka Sea, the odd city of Dyce, and the far eastern metropolis of Tegna, a sprawling city that was built over the meeting of three rivers. They brought small amounts of bithumin back with them but it took a long time and barely made the trip profitable.

  Yet with the whole world coming to them, the Lappalans didn’t need to leave their city, they just needed to keep digging. There were roads going out of the city but very few going into it. A bizarrely secretive people, they rebuffed ambassadors and had nothing but contempt for foreigners—yet they gladly sold their black ore for gold coin. Cochrane had never been this far south, he was sure Towsend hadn’t either.

  Progress will be slow, he thought, we must be patient. More patient than we’ve ever been.

  Finally, Cochrane arrived back at the campfire to see Towsend still covered in his gray canvas cloak looking like a boulder. The fire had waned and the sky was beginning to color. The desert, The Aral, in the morning was a gorgeous thing—vibrant, vivid, textured, and soft. By mid-morning all that would have burned away, replaced by unrelenting light, a light that would infect everything with a bleaching heat. He gently nudged Towsend with his boot, “We must move.”

  Towsend threw off the cloak suddenly and violently. In one swift motion he stood and was walking folding his cloak and stowing it away in his pack. He yawned and stretched his arms out above and behind his back, “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” Cochrane smiled and the two continued into the heart of The Aral.

  The Blockade of Rikonen, 15th of Mabon

  The string of triremes locked together from one coast to the other choked the bay. At shore level, it stretched out beyond sight, but up in these hills Roth could see it in its entirety. It had been here for nearly four years, over a thousand days. At first, the closing-off of the sea route was a bold inconvenience for Rikonen and Essia. It wasn’t a worry, since the fields behind Rikonen were the breadbasket of the region. They had stores and they had the highroads to and from Paraonen and Heveonen. Then the drought came and the red, lavender, black, and golden fields died. There was talk of the earth going bad, of the bithumin running out leaving the fields bereft of fertilizer, there was even talk of some kind of Silvincian sabotage. What it came down to was the other cities of Essia couldn’t spare any food for Rikonen. The Blockade and the land behind them refusing to yield any crops conspired to turn the city in on itself. The roads closed, consumed by the great sandstorms of the drought. The city was forgotten by their countrymen, forgotten by all except for The Cathedral and the Seven Spires.

  Roth surveyed the chain of ships with Reg at his back on his horse, “Even overland it won’t be easy to get in there.”

  “No,” Roth squinted and shaded his eyes, “But these aren’t long campaign soldiers. Even with new marines, most of these troops have been here longer than they’d like.”

  “What does that give you?”

  “It means there’s a black trade network.”

  “Well, all I remember about Silvincian soldiers is that whores and plague follow in their wake.” Reg spat.

  “And you can see that in the bay.” Roth nodded towards the bay, which was clearly filled with putrid water. Reg snickered, dismounted, and came to stand next to Roth.

  Roth pointed to the landing on the coast where several long piers came out to meet three triremes, “What do you think? About fifteen hundred spans out?”

  “No, less. Probably more like a thousand, but those ships probably add another five. So, yeah, sure.”

  “That’s the point where new ships come. Probably another on the far shore.”

  “So you think that’s where your black trade is?”

  “Probably. The quartermasters will be the ones in control of any side trade and that’s where supplies would come in to be distributed through the chain.”

  “You think they sold the girl? You think she’s on some floating whore house?”

  “She seemed far too valuable to him to simply sell as a flesh-slave. But who knows what he would do once he got whatever it was he wanted from her.”

  Reg gestured along the hill line, “It’s be easier—well, less hassle anyway—for us to head along the crests around through the ruined fields.”

  Roth nodded agreeing but said, “That’d be too far, too roundabout.”

  “You want to instead just try to break The Blockade and sail into the harbor?”

  “No,” Roth raised his hand again to shade his eyes, “I don’t want to break The Blockade”

  “So how do you suggest we get into the city?”

  “We walk the plank.”

  Reg blinked, “Wait. What?”

  “I don’t want to break the siege or wander through the city. I mean to travel the length of the chain.”

  “That makes no sense. The girl won’t be there.”

  “No, but the black trade will certainly take me to where the pirate was going. Maybe even where he is.”

  “How do you even know that he’s still here? He could well have sailed off ages ago.”

  “He’ll still be here. Unloading the marines on the ship and the supplies takes time, and he’ll definitely be taking on tired troops and pulling them from throughout the chain will take longer. He’s still here. But his ship is on the other shore.”

  “So you mean to march there on The Blockade ships?”

  “It’s a near perfect bridge.”

  “You look nothing like a Silvincian soldier.”

  “Ah, but I probably look quite a lot like a rowhand.”

  “Think they just let rowers wander from boat to boat, do you? Even if we ignore the fact that every ship knows its crew”

  “Officers and soldiers don’t give rowhands a second glance. Rowhands get changed out as well as the soldiers; it’ll be enough to get me along.” Roth turned and winked at Reg, “I’m rather slick when I want to be.”

  Roth mounted his horse as Reg continued to stare at The Blockade, shaking his head slightly, “Well, you’re not dead yet.”

  “Exactly.”

  16th of Mabon

  “Deckhand!” The Silvincian commander yelled as the crew ignored his bellow, “Deckhand! Damn it, who’s in charge on this scow?”

  Several of the crew paused at the word ‘scow’ and greeted the marine with spit and contempt. The crew was in the business of prep, they were leaving The Blockade and no one wanted to stop what they were doing to service some petty legionnaire.

  “You’d sound less of a fool if you called the Kopis a cog,” The commander turned to see Riv,
“Why not just go with frigate in the future, soldier.”

  “Sergeant Kerr, to you trader.”

  The sergeant slurred his last word so it sounded more like ‘traitor’ and Riv had to chuckle to himself. “I take it you’re here about the company we’re to ferry back to Anhra.”

  “Forty men.”

  “So we were told.”

  “We’re here now.”

  “Took your time walking the plank, as any normal man would.” Riv needled the sergeant who clenched his jaw. The soldier gestured behind him and called out, “Lance Carrick, have the men fall in and follow this…”

  “First Mate,” Riv nodded at the underling, “You can call me Riv, Carrick. Have your men line up and head down the stairs.” He gestured to the doorway at the forecastle.

  “And they’ll find what?” The sergeant barked.

  “They’ll find stairs down to the underdeck where their quarters will be. A hanging cot for each and a small chest apiece for any of their things.”

  “We don’t have luggage, mate.”

  “All the better,” Riv kept a pleasant tone, “The men will find the journey more pleasant, I’ll wager.”

  Before the sergeant could reply, Riv strode passed him and addressed the Lance, “You’ll find all you need waiting for you. When all are aboard come find me,” he gestured down the ship, “up on the sterncastle.”

  The Lance nodded and smiled, but it was the sergeant who spoke, “I will.”

  “Looking forward to it, Kerr.” Riv turned and nodded as he returned to the ship and made his way to the sterncastle.

  “Damn pirates.” Kerr grumbled.

  “Yes, sir.” Carrick said in a bit too familiar of a tone for Kerr, who growled, “Get the men, Carrick.” Kerr jumped on the deck of the ship and thundered his way across it to the passage below. The crew hardly picked up their heads or lifted their eyes but nearly to a one they were smirking.

  “Yes, sir.” Carrick’s face went blank and he turned on his heel toward the mass of troops standing on the link barge between the Kopis and the end trireme. “Company! Dual lines to the door and stairway!”