Path of Kings

by James Dale

  The tracks moved off from the remains of the scorched animal and stopped about twenty yards away. There they were joined by another single set of prints that were enormous and unrecognizable. Each print was longer than a yard across, with three claw-like front appendages attached to the front pad of the creature's foot and another single claw in the back acting perhaps like some sort of balance. They were about eight feet apart and sunk deep into the ground a good eight or ten inches, indisputable evidence of the dragon's monstrous size and weight. There was no question the prints belonged to one of Graith's servants. The mere sight of them burned like hot fire into Jack's soul.

  For a brief, frantic second, Jack considered turning Eaudreuil northward and simply riding away. He was unsure of the exact distance but he thought they might possibly make Brythond before winter set in. No one would ever know he had abandoned Tarsus. He would never have to reveal he was Ljmarn Bra'Adan's last descendant. Thessa could find him a place in the King of Brydium's court and he could spend the few months left before spring laughing, loving and enjoying the last remaining days of his life in relative happiness. When Graith finally awakened from his sleep and sent his armies marching out of the east, he would act as astonished as everyone. With any luck he would die quickly and cleanly beneath a grim'Hiru broadsword or be burned to a crisp by some sorcerer's red fire and his hidden shame would be short-lived.

  All he had to do was ride away and never look back. There would be no one to accuse him of cowardice, of shirking his responsibility...his destiny. Tarsus could not convict him from his chains beneath Gorthiel. Neither could the Galekindar from whatever place they had returned. Tereil and the Amarian’s would likely be the first to face the hordes of the east as they marched out to bloody conquest. They would take his secret with them to their graves. Neither could his brother or grand-father and or the long dead Ljmarn reveal his lineage from their place in the land of spirits. It would be so easy to just turn and ride away.

  "Are we going on?" Eaudreuil asked.

  "Judas Bloody Hell!" Jack muttered. He'd been shielding his thoughts from the Val'anna but somehow the roan had still managed to detect some hint of his indecision.

  "Of course," he finally sighed. "Of course, we are! But I don't know how the hell we're going to follow them now, or what we can do if we ever find them."

  "The smell of the Dark One will draw us," Eaudreuil beamed. "And when we find Tarsus, we will do what we can. If is but to die in the land of Red Slayer, then we will at least do that for him."

  "Your courage humbles me Eaudreuil," Jack said quietly. "Without you I would turn back right now."

  "No horse-brother," the roan replied. "It is your courage which strengthens me. Without it I would have ran last night during the storm. I would have left you to face the beast-men and their wolves alone had it not been for Gilasha. I should have died last night, not him. He would have been a more suitable mount for a king. I have shamed my ancestors. I am not worthy to bear you."

  "Oh Eaudreuil," Jack sighed. "I am the one who isn't worthy. Of you or Tarsus. And I am certainly not worthy to be the Heir to Yhswyndyr."

  "Nevertheless," the stallion beamed, "you are the last herd-kin of the old two-legs king and there are no other Val'anna to take my place. Worthy or not, it is a task the Great Maker has allotted to us."

  "So be it." Jack vowed, strengthened by the stallion's words. "We will go. If it is only to find death, well...no one lives forever. Gilasha will be avenged and Tarsus will not be doomed to Gorthiel without a fight."

  "They could not ask us for more." the Val'anna agreed.

  Despite the bravado of their words, when the pair resumed their journey eastward however their pace grew no faster than a trot. There was no point in exhausting themselves. As fast as the stallion could run, Braedan harbored no wild delusions they could catch the sorcerer now that he was mounted on a dragon. Neither did Eaudreuil seem eager to continue on at his earlier gallop. The ferocity of the dark-King's winged servant and the primal savagery of its attack on the sorcerer's mount had stolen much of the spirit from the young Val'anna. Though determined to avenge Gilasha and attempt Tarsus' rescue, subconsciously at least, both man and horse were content with this new, unhurried pace.

  As they rode, Braedan was careful to keep the sun directly at his back. Though it was true he did not know exactly where he was going, he did know the course he must follow to find the dark-King's tower lay more or less due east of Amar's ancient capital. He'd seen it marked on the maps in Tereil's home when Tarsus had been planning their journey Tanaevar, and though at the time he'd had no plans of venturing anywhere near Graith's old stronghold, its location had been irrevocably burned into his memory.

  On those maps he'd also seen the land separating Tanaevar and the Iron Tower. They were pictured simply as an empty, barren expanse but Braedan knew better than to expect more of the same rocky, rolling hills like those between the Amarian village and the ancient ruins. From the stories he'd heard from Tarsus, and from what little he knew of it from the tales of the battle which had taken place there between the armies of Graith and Ljmarn, he knew the land he must cross was one even hardy Amarian’s had feared to tread for over eight centuries. Only those young men unfortunate enough to hear the ill wind that sometimes blew out of the Bergaweld ventured into it this cursed land. Only because Ulgog’rel, Hell's Breath, filled them with a madness forcing them to wander out into the wasteland in search of battle and death. As far as Jack knew, no one except Tarsus had ever traveled into the Bloody Plains and come out again alive. It was into this forbidding land their path lead, a shadowy region of death and horror marking the final boundary between east and west.

  Braedan spotted it about an hour before sunset and reigned Eaudreuil to a halt. Though they were still some distance from its border, he could already see it all too clearly. It wavered the horizon like some sort of hemorrhaging mirage. Even so far away as this the sight of the Bergaweld sent shivers of revulsion down his spine.

  "Will we wait until morning?" Eaudreuil queried.

  "I think that would be best," Jack responded absently.

  "A wise choice," the stallion beamed, and blew a mighty gust of air through his nostrils in an involuntary sigh of relief. "Of course, this does not mean we are afraid."

  "Of course not," Jack agreed, dismounting.

  "Especially of ghosts."

  "Especially of grim'Hiru ghosts."

  "As long as that is clear," Eaudreuil neighed.

  Despite the decided lack of humor in the situation, Braedan could not stop the small smile suddenly appearing on his lips. Though he could not admit it even to himself, it was for this very reason he planned to wait until morning before setting foot into the Bergaweld. He was not sure if he actually believed the tales about the spirits of slain grim'Hiru and the dead warriors of the ancient Whesguard Alliance haunting this place, but after last night? Well...after last night a little hesitation shown on his part before entering an unfamiliar land after dark surely couldn't be considered anything other than healthy caution.

  Could it?

  The temperature was beginning to plummet with the sun sinking in the west and Braedan spent the last few minutes before nightfall gathering what passed for firewood so far out on the plains. After examining the pitiful pile laying before him some thirty minutes later; a few scattered twigs and some thorny bushes dead or near dying because of the lateness of the season, he began tying together small bundles of grass. They would make a poor fire, gorged as they were by last night's storm, but they would at least provide some warmth against the cold night air.

  When he had the damp grass burning as well as he could, Braedan unsaddled Eaudreuil and draped one of the bearskin blankets across the stallion's broad back. After wrapping himself in the other, he threw his saddle onto the ground for a pillow and lay down as near to the small fire as he dared. Tired as he was, Jack did not even bother unbuckling his sword belt. Almost immediately he fell into a deep, heavy sleep, no
t caring if an entire army of grim'Hiru or even Graith himself lurked in the darkness outside the circle of his campfire. God or Yh or whatever force for good remaining in the world would have to protect him tonight. After all, shouldn't the descendant Ljmarn Bra‘Adan have a right to expect divine help now and again?

  Braedan awoke not long after sunrise actually feeling refreshed and rested. He yawned and stretched away the minor stiffness in his back and limbs, then threw off his bearskin blanket only to be greeted by an overcast, steel-gray sky. Apparently during the night, the powers that be had decided to match the futility of his quest with appropriately cold and dreary weather. It seemed as if fall had barely arrived, and now it was struggling to hold off winter’s chill.

  Braedan shivered in the damp morning air, wrapped the warm bearskin cloak back around his shoulders and began carefully pyramiding the last few twigs and bundles of grass over the coals of his fire. He blew on them and poked and prodded until a weak flame was rekindled, then began to rummage through his saddle bags. The only things remaining of the rations he and Tarsus had brought with them when they left the village trains was two small biscuits, now stale, and one strip of salted jerky.

  After warming up one of the biscuits over the sputtering flame of the campfire, he ate it and the entire strip of dried beef. As his stomach grumbled loudly, he looked longingly at the other hard cake, then sighed and placed it back in the saddle bag. Eaudreuil walked over and nuzzled his shoulder, venturing an inquisitive nicker.

  "I don't think so," Jack said, pushing him away. "Eat some grass if you're hungry. But I will split the rest of the water with you."

  He untied the two skins from the horn of his saddle and drawing his knife, scooped out a shallow bowl in the earth for Eaudreuil. Pouring out the entire contents of one of the containers into the hole so the stallion could drink, he then turned up the other himself. Braedan only drank about half of the water before replacing both skins back on the saddle horn. He chided himself for not finishing the rest, knowing the water would have done him better in his belly than in the skin, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Although he had heard the desert stories of men dying of dehydration with water still sloshing around in their canteens, he still wanted to have something left in reserve for the long trip across the Bergaweld, even if it was just a token amount. Heaven alone knew if there would be any water fit to drink in the red wasteland that lay between him and the Iron Tower.

  "Well..." he sighed, brushing bits of grass from his clothes as he stood, "we've got one stale biscuit, less than one quart of water, and the whole of the Judas Bloody Plains to cross. You know something Eaudreuil? In the stories they never seem to mention how cold it is or how hungry the hero gets."

  "Or how much he complains." the Val'anna added.

  "Very funny," Jack muttered, pulling the bearskin blanket off the roan and rolling it up.

  "I was only..."

  "I know what you were only," Jack interrupted, tossing the saddle onto the stallion's back. "I'll remember it the next time you ask me to get down and walk."

  "I have never asked you to do that!" Eaudreuil protested vehemently.

  "Jeez, don't get your panties in a knot," Jack grumbled cinching the girth strap of Eaudreuil’s saddle. "I was joking. Let's get moving. We're burning daylight."

  "As you wish horse-brother," Eaudreuil beamed. "We really should be going. We need to need to reach the Bergaweld...before I put you to walking."

  They set off with lifted spirits but under the weight of the cold gray sky their playful mood quickly darkened, ending any idle banter that would have helped to fill the empty silence of the plains. Throughout most of the morning Braedan remained wrapped in his bearskin blanket, not so much to ward off the chill, but for the psychological protection it provided against the cold dread growing in him with each step Eaudreuil took towards the Bergaweld.

  Around noon, they happened upon a small, slow moving stream. This near the Bloody Plains however, Braedan was somewhat suspicious the water might be tainted. From the way the Amarian’s talked of the Bergaweld, when they talked of it at all, the very ground itself was poison. He dismounted and knelt beside the sluggish brook and carefully sniffed the air. Though there was no ill odor he could detect, Eaudreuil made no move to drink, which did nothing to allay his fears.

  "Well?" he asked, looking up at the stallion.

  "Well what?"

  “Do you think it’s safe to drink?” asked Jack.

  “How should I know horse-brother?” replied the roan.

  “Can’t you just…sense it or something?”

  “Can you?”

  “Of course not,” Jack replied.

  “Then why should I be able to sense if it is safe?”

  “Taste it,” Jack said.

  “You taste it horse-brother,” the Val’anna said, moving away and chewing on a tuft of grass. “I am not thirsty.”

  Jack sighed. Arguing with a horse? That’s what his life had become. He leaned over and scooped a handful of the water. He sniffed it again, then took a tentative sip. No strange taste. No bitterness. A little gritty from last night’s rainfall, but otherwise it wasn’t bad. Better than dying of dehydration by far.

  Eaudreuil stuck his head in the stream and began to drink noisily.

  “I thought you weren’t thirsty?” He muttered at the stallion.

  “Not thirsty enough to try it first.” The Val’anna replied, but did not slow his drinking.

  Jack sighed again, wondering if being able to talk to the horse was a gift or a curse. Braedan drank several more handfuls, then refilled his water skins. When Eaudreuil had consumed his fill as well, Braedan remounted and the pair began to make their way east once more.

  They reached the edge of the Bergaweld two hours later.

  When Braedan had first seen it at sundown the night before, the Bloody Plains had appeared to be a hemorrhage on the horizon, throbbing like a painful wound on the flesh of the earth. Now he understood why. Though the grass of the plains was not actually stained red as he had feared, the memory of all the blood which had been spilled here, the life force of two great armies, still haunted this region like a ghost, forever hovering just below the surface. Eight hundred years had not been enough time to wash away the magnitude of terrible slaughter which had been visited upon this land. It was quite possible all pf eternity would not be sufficient to remove the horrible imprint of violence stamped upon this cursed region.

  Summoning all his resolve, Jack drew a deep breath. "Ready?"

  With a snort of dread, Eaudreuil lifted a foreleg and stepped tentatively into the Bergaweld.

  The transformation was instantaneous. One-minute Braedan and the Val'anna stallion were in the Plains of Amar, wide and empty but still filled with life, then the next they had crossed over an invisible barrier into a barren wasteland. The complete absence of life struck Braeden's special gift like a physical blow. Since awakening with his talent, Jack could always reach out and detect some life, even if it was only a solitary, stupid little field mouse with no thought beyond food and shelter. Here he could sense...nothing. It was as if nature had decreed the violence done in this land made it forever unsuitable as a dwelling place for her creatures. It had become instead, a place fit only for the restless souls of the dead.

  Both man and horse half expected crimson fluid to come spurting from the grass stalks as the stallion's iron shod hooves struck the ground. Much to their relief however, they soon discovered the dread aura of blood which lingered just below the surface did not actually flow up into the plant life above. This did not altogether ease Eaudreuil's reluctance to walk upon this cursed ground and his steps remained cautious and awkward for quite some time. Braedan could sympathize with the Val'anna. The mere sight of this place hammered at his soul like a demon blacksmith forging the chains of hell. He was not sure if he would be able to summon the courage to climb down from the safety of his perch on Eaudreuil's back when darkness came to this cursed land and it w
as time for sleep.

  Luckily, when sundown arrived the thick cloud cover which had hidden the sun all day now also concealed the moon. Though it made the overcast sky glow silver, its light could not reach the ground below and the land was mercifully covered in shadow. Cloaked in darkness, the crimson tainted hue of the plains lost much of its repulsive aura and Jack summoned the nerve to swing down from Eaudreuil's back. Although he could no longer see cursed ground, Jack could still sense it and didn't dare gather bundles of the grass for campfire fuel as he had the night before. Afraid of what might happen when such grass was lighted, this was the only part of last night's ritual he did not repeat.

  After removing Eaudreuil's saddle, he rubbed the horse down as best he could, then shared the contents of one of the water skins with him, pouring it out into his hand to let the stallion drink. Braedan finished the rest of it himself, then covered Eaudreuil with one of the bearskin blankets. He spread the other on the ground, wrapped its warmth around his shoulders and despite his surroundings, soon drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Ghosts of the Bergaweld

  Unlike the previous evening, tonight Jack Braedan slept in the Bergaweld and his rest would not go undisturbed. Soon after he'd settled into a fitful sleep, he was awakened by the nervous shuffling of the Val'anna's hooves in the grass, followed quickly by a low, eerie moan. It was unlike any cry he'd ever heard before. Not even the howling of the wolves at the ruins of Tanaevar two nights ago had been so unnerving. He threw off his cover, instantly alert, and drew his sword.

  "Easy," Jack whispered, moving close to the roan, partly to calm the Val'anna but also because the haunting cry had made his very hairs of his head stand on end. He searched the night with desperate eyes but the faint glow filtering down through the clouds did not provide enough light to penetrate the gloom. "Can you see anything?"