“Gone,” Keedar said. “Most of Guai’s men lost it when they saw what the Farlanders were doing to the slaves. Guai swore to save the rest of the captured Marishmen. According to a prisoner we questioned, they’re imprisoned at mines in Kerin Pass … mines guarded by Soulbreakers.”
Thar shook his head. “The fool. Martel, send word to the Blighted Brothers. They’ll know the fastest way to the pass. Hopefully, they won’t be too late. You and Keedar will go with them, but you two will take a portion of their number as well as our forces waiting in the Daggers and the Whetstone and join Envald north of Kasandar. Warn him of this new army and help him stall the ereskars that left here. Cardinton, Adelfried, and King Hanlin will accompany you.” He’d hoped for a chance to spend a few days with his son, but war waited for no one. With a sigh, he continued, “Also, tell Lomin to use the firebreathers on those ships with the Hand of Soul, but to leave the others alone.”
Martel arched an eyebrow. “Why? Aren’t they all Farlanders?”
“Well, considering we’re as likely to stop the newer force as we are of halting Mandrigal’s path across the sky, I say we pray to Hazline for favorable winds, and show them we have a common enemy.”
“And if they want to kill us all the same?”
“Then we might be well and truly fucked.” Thar certainly hoped that last wouldn’t be the case, but if it were to be so, he’d take precautions. He was beginning to feel like a guiser, juggling too many balls. Sooner or later one was bound to fall. He prayed it was later. Better yet, never. “Pass on my orders so you can leave within the hour. Son,” he added, eyes shifting to Keedar, “stay a moment.”
When Martel departed, Thar crossed the space and embraced his son. Keedar hugged him back even tighter. No longer was Keedar the slender, sandy-haired boy with his mother’s soft looks and tender eyes. He was a man now, head reaching Thar’s shoulder, hair carrying a pungent whiff of sweat and sulfur. Keedar wasn’t as broad across as Thar, but he was undeniably more defined, arms well-muscled beneath his cotton shirt.
Thar held his son away from him, stared into his amber eyes. “I missed you. How have you been holding up?”
“As well as can be expected, Father.”
Thar couldn’t help his smile. He recalled a time when Keedar preferred uncle. “I could grow accustomed to that word.” Thar indicated the chairs at the room’s lone table. He took a seat and waited for Keedar to do the same. “I’ve had numerous children, none of whom know me as their father. Until you. To finally be able to reveal myself to one of you, particularly the last of my immediate line, means the world to me.”
“Why did you hide who you were from them?”
“At first it was your mother’s doing. Although I knew my initial purpose, she didn’t tell me when she was with child. She’d come and go. Knowing who she was, her disappearances were a common thing. By the time she revealed how many children I’d sired, my capacity to care was buried within the war we waged. I could let nothing interfere with our purpose. Their lives … our lives … relied on that detachment, on that sacrifice.” He thought of Elysse. She’d given up almost all of herself in the name of her children.
“And now?”
Thar let out a slow exhale. “Now, I’m overjoyed when I think of you and Winslow. And I worry … perhaps too much, but I guess it’s what fathers do. We fret. The end of this war is close at hand. Having a family, living a somewhat normal life, is no longer some vague dream.”
“I think we all share the same dream, Father. Yet, I still miss my life in the Smear, despite its hardships and horrors. I knew what to expect. With all that’s happened since, I don’t know how this all ends. Or if it even does.”
“If there are two things I learned,” Thar said, “the first would be that the world tends to give you more than you can anticipate. Just when you thought you’d heard and seen it all, out pops something you couldn’t dream up. And secondly, there’s always an end. Always. The end is the one surety in life.” From outside echoed the rolling booms of a firebreather’s discharge, rattling the windows.
“Is there any way I can stay with you rather than accompany Martel on this mission?” Keedar’s voice was quiet. His gaze did not leave Thar’s face.
A weight descended on Thar. As much as he wanted Keedar close at hand, he had an ill feeling about the incoming fleet. Time and again his instincts had been correct. Ignoring them now was folly. “I would rather you be here, would love for us to make up for lost time. The months spent training you and Winslow were some of the most memorable for me. But we all have our roles. If it’s the Dominion’s will we shall be together when the war is done.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Thar returned his son’s stare. After a moment, Keedar smiled. “Now, show me what you’ve learned since I left you with Guai.” Thar released his nimbus and the protection it offered.
Soul gushed from Keedar. It swept across Thar in a wave. He could sense the strength in it, the cycles used. Lumni and sera in conjunction with sintu allowed jin , the cycle stretching Keedar’s nimbus beyond the tower. As he was expelling soul with lumni , Keedar added an extra meld through entope , siphoning soul from Thar to supplement the loss.
“Good.” Thar nodded, smiling wide. “You can access the ten. What about the quintessence ? Any luck there?”
Keedar released his meld. He shook his head. “I’ve tried daily, but I feel nothing. At least with the others I could tell there was more, sense the cycles I couldn’t call upon inside me. But now, there’s a blank, an empty space. I’ve even tried to get the Brothers to teach me.”
“Keep at it. With practice, it will come.”
“Patience and perseverance, right?” Keedar smiled but Thar could tell it lacked enthusiasm.
“Yes, as always.” Thar almost admitted it had taken him decades to activate the cycle, but now wasn’t the time. “How are you getting along with the Brothers?”
Keedar shrugged. “They’re kind, once you get to know them. Not at all what I expected when I first met them.”
“Goes to show how misleading appearances can be.”
They spent the remainder of their hour speaking about Elysse, Delisar, Winslow, and old times. Thar cherished his son’s laughter and savored the sound of his voice. He didn’t know when he would experience them again.
When Martel returned, Thar folded Keedar in his arms. It was with great reluctance when he released the young man. They left and Thar flicked at the tear trickling down his cheek.
Taking a deep breath, the man once known as the Lightning Blade turned to the window. Night had unfurled its cloak, and Antelen lit the ocean in silver. Too many lights to count marked the newcomers’ ships. Some of Seligula’s vessels were burning in the water, orange blazes reflecting from the sea. Flames leaped from the firebreathers aboard them and in turn from the newcomers. The discharges rumbled like an avalanche. Water soared into the air from any miss. From the cliffs around him the booms of his weapons shook the mountains.
S pirit R ace
A buzz ran through the crowd gathered on the path near the Spirit Race’s starting area, a palpable excitement unsuppressed by the faded illumination of a sun hidden behind dingy clouds. Astride Shags, Winslow was amongst a few hundred Dracodar and Aladar on armored mounts, listening to Jin-Tarin’s instructions. He should have felt the same thrill, but such sentiments eluded him. To make matters worse were the unsettling absences of Stomir and Yan-Harin. Their support had been his shelter during the storm. And now at his training’s most crucial juncture, they weren’t available. Not only did it make him harbor doubts, but he also worried for them.
For several days, all the talk among the Dracodar concerned the fates of Ky-Sanim, Tak-Larim, and the Dracodarkind who’d stood with them. They had been executed by Elysse, or as they called her, Elin-Lahnim, the Queen of All, Giver and Taker of Souls. When Winslow first heard the news he’d expected a fight of some kind. Or at least outrage from those who’d supported the two tr
ibe leaders and from the family members of the dead.
No such discord occurred. The killings had been accepted as the natural way of things. His mother had lived up to her name. The dead were grieved.
He would be deceiving himself if he said the deaths of those two hadn’t brought him a little pleasure. And relief. At the same time he wondered if their blood was on his hands. Not only theirs, but also that of the others killed with them. Pry as best he could, no one would speak on the details. Yet he couldn’t help thinking he was the cause, particularly with the way the tribe members now stepped lightly around him, how the children averted their gazes or hurried by him, how none poked fun at him or his mount. Not once did he hear the mention of soft-skin.
When he’d directed his inquiries to Yan-Harin, he received but one answer: ‘The broodmother’s decisions are not to be questioned. Because of her, we have life.’ Kel-Nasim offered no more than a shrug and a declaration of ignorance where First-Born matters were concerned. The entire affair left Winslow uneasy.
“Are you ready?” Kel-Nasim asked in an excited huff. The Aladar was riding a tawny korgan cat with black-tipped ears. Around the cat’s head was a leather harness that offered protection for the bridge of its nose and had cut outs for the ears. Another piece fit snug at the shoulders, chest, and hung down the flanks. It tapered near Kel-Nasim and flared out again before ending at the beast’s tail. Pockets built into the harness along the cat’s sides kept Kel-Nasim’s feet in place. The construction was precise, expertly done, and didn’t the hinder the mount’s movement. Shags wore something similar.
Winslow shrugged. “I suppose.”
“You must let it go.” Elation faded from Kel-Nasim’s voice. “Whatever happened, they brought it upon themselves. Their fates began before you arrived.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that she killed them?” Although Elysse was his mother, a mother he did not recall, Winslow still felt there could have been some middle ground, a different form of punishment.
“The broodmother gave us life. It is hers to take. That is our way. It has seen us live when our fire should have been extinguished long ago.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Leave it be. I doubt you could ever truly understand, but this is not the time for such things to burden you.” Kel-Nasim gestured around them with an open palm. “This, here and now, the race, is all that should concern you. If you are to be accepted, then failure is not an option.”
Winslow took a deep breath, trying to chase the wayward thoughts from his mind. “You’re right.”
“I know.” Kel-Nasim smiled. “It is about to begin. Remember, do not veer off the trail into the forest. Follow the links, and you will not get lost. Lastly, there are no rules. The strongest, the fastest, and most cunning survive. The others fall to the wayside, to be laughed at or mourned when we gather for dinner.”
With the reminder of Jin-Tarin’s warnings came the surge of Winslow’s pulse like flutters in his chest. Leaning down, he grabbed the matching handholds built into the harness near Shags’ massive shoulders. Wrapped around the leather were tufts of the bear’s fur used to direct the animal. Winslow inhaled, long and slow as he readied himself for the horn. A whiff of the lake’s wet earth and creeping moss carried on the wind. Along with it was the musky bouquet of the hundreds of gathered Dracodar and the mounts’ underlying stench. His vision narrowed; a chill eased through him.
Three staccato blasts announced the start. The riders bounded forward, mounts roaring and howling, the spectators’ cheers adding to the din.
Winslow yanked on the leather handholds and braced for Shags’ initial leap forward. Shags promptly sat on his rump and yawned. Winslow’s heart sank.
Many of the cheers died, replaced by exclamations of surprise and confusion. Then laughter. First one voice and then another until the chortles were a chorus.
A flush crept up Winslow’s face. He pulled on the handholds again, but Shags didn’t budge. The bear blew air out through his nose and clacked his teeth in the crowd’s direction. The cackles were a tumult now. Up ahead, the riders were almost at the forest’s edge, a dusty cloud left in their wake.
Ashamed, Winslow leaned down until Shags’ fur brushed his face, until the bear’s scent was all that existed. “I promise to give you as many fish as you want if you just follow them. Please. Please.” Desperation made his voice tremble.
A grumble vibrated deep in Shags chest. The bear got back to all fours and trotted up the path. Laughter and obscene shouts chased them. Winslow sighed.
When he thought they were far enough away, he raised his head. The Treskelin Forest was swallowing the last racers. He let out a choked cry. He jerked the handholds to speed Shags along, but that elicited a snort instead of an increased pace. When he gained the tree line the other riders were mere specks passing in and out of dappled shadows. Shags ambled along. Winslow’s shoulders slumped.
Scents of the lake faded, displaced by the redolence of white ash trees, piled humus, and budding blooms. The occasional whoop and holler from those up ahead drifted on a breeze that rustled leaves and whistled around trunks. Birds sang a harmony interrupted by the screeches of predator and prey.
Winslow urged Shags along, refusing to surrender to the obvious. He shouted and cajoled, kicked his heels, even pulled hard on the faded brown fur he gripped near the old bear’s shoulders. The bear let out an obstinate groan and continued on his leisurely jaunt through the forest. Shags had no care in the world that they were last. Begging was similarly ineffective.
“Come on, Shags. At this rate neither of us will be a part of the battle. And you, they might put on a spit.”
The threat brought a toss of Shags’ head, but the hornbear’s pace remained the same. The last of the riders disappeared around a corner in the trail. Without them as his guide Winslow relied on the link placed upon every racer by Jin-Tarin, a resonance of soul to map the entire course. The path wove through the forest in big curves. He tried to discern a way out of his current mess.
Riding alone, with the distant whoops and hollers to remind him he was still involved in a race, Winslow’s mind wandered. The knit of branches above the path allowed in but so much of Mandrigal’s already fleeting light, and he found himself chasing after those sunlit patches. Whereas he’d felt as one with the Treskelin ever since the Fast of Madness, something now seemed oddly out of place, the trees too close, the smells not quite right, the sounds a bit more agitated than usual. It made his skin crawl.
The sense he was being watched grew as he rode. Shags continued on at his disinterested pace, oblivious to whatever bothered Winslow. The forest’s heat pressed down, and Winslow occasionally flicked sweat from his brow before it got into his eyes. He rounded a corner to find Kel-Nasim and his korgan cat waiting.
“What are you doing here?” Winslow breathed easier at seeing a familiar face, more so that it was his friend. He rode up beside the Aladar. Shags grunted in the direction of Kel-Nasim’s korgan cat and received a warning growl as they set off together.
“Waiting for you.” Kel-Nasim shrugged. “If my friend is going to be last, then I might as well join him.”
“But, your position in the vanguard …”
“You are the first to hear this … I am not fond of the idea of seeing war up close. Blood and guts do not agree with me.”
“I understand,” Winslow said. “Stories make it seem like a grand time. An adventure full of heroes, honor, and self-sacrifice when it’s just one man killing another for a difference of opinion, usually someone else’s opinions.”
“Knowing that, why would you choose to fight? Why put yourself through all of this?”
“If someone doesn’t, then nothing changes.” Shags had resorted to clacking at the korgan cat and received a disdainful purr in return. “Ainslen took my life from me, and he’s taking it from countless others. If my mother’s plans can help stop that from happening, then it’s worth it.”
“Fair enough. N
ow, do you think you can get that old bastard to go any faster?” Kel-Nasim nodded toward Shags. “Placing last is one thing, but arriving a day later than everyone else will not be accepted.”
“I tried. He’s his own boss.”
“Like any other old one, then. Set in their ways and stubborn as a piece of bear meat stuck between your back teeth.”
Shags groaned in protest. Winslow and Kel-Nasim laughed.
As they rode, reality set in. He would fail the race; Thar’s plan would be jeopardized. In turn, Ainslen’s tyranny would continue.
“I can’t do this,” he declared. “After all the work I’ve done, all Ainslen has put me and my family through, has put my people through, I can’t accept that it ends here.”
“Not much you can do if he will not run for you.” Kel-Nasim nodded in Shags’ direction. “Even if you managed to encourage him to meld for increased speed, the others have too much of a lead. When they call on the same power at the end of the race yours will be no match, not at his age.”
“I have another idea. Or at least I had one when the race began.” Winslow scanned the forest, his gaze unable to penetrate the deeper darkness within its confines, the places where things hid, watched, and waited. The link to the course on the marked path was a beacon in his head. “We can cut through the Treskelin.”
“We cannot do that.”
“Why not? You said it yourself. There are no rules.”
An extended pause followed, filled with the discordant challenges between Shags and the korgan cat.
Kel-Nasim inhaled, long and slow. And then he spoke. “The forest is not safe. Particularly not now. It is always this way when the broodmother releases the pact she made with it. I know you feel it: the threat, the violence … the something not quite right. All of us do.”
The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series Page 77