by R D Wolfe
At camp that night, they passed the time by discussing Darien’s life back at the Academy. Evatra was particularly interested in the history of Earth, which was a safe enough subject. He gave her whatever details he could from his memory; history hadn’t been one of his better subjects, but how would she ever know what details he got wrong?
When they rose early the next morning, Darien felt refreshed and informed Evatra that they could afford to push harder. Around midday, she called for him to stop, eyeing the ground around them.
Swinging her leg off her horse, she dismounted and tossed the reins into Darien’s hands. The horse gave an annoyed sputter of its lips before falling silent. Evatra studied the ground around them, looking at the various markings which Darien couldn’t make out himself.
“What is it?” Darien finally asked.
“Tracks,” Evatra said, her mind clearly focused on examining the ground in front of her. She walked around for several more minutes. Darien became annoyed by the diversion.
“Look, we need to get back to—”
Evatra cut him off with a frantic wave of her hand. The look on her face was difficult for him to read. There was a veiled excitement spread across her eyes, brow, and mouth.
“Darien, it’s the marauders,” Evatra said in disbelief. “They came by here no more than a day ago.”
“Are you sure?” Darien asked, unsure of how she could know just by some markings in the ground.
“Positive. It took me a few minutes to make sure, but I’d know these tracks anywhere. I’ve had to follow them often enough when I went out on a scouting run during one of our moves. They’re just that way,” she said, pointing west.
“Why would they have come through here?” Darien asked.
Evatra shrugged, “I don’t know. Last I knew, they intended to travel down the eastern coast towards Veritrium. I don’t know why they would have changed directions. They must have started coming this way right after we left to have made it so far.”
“Well we have to go get them!” Darien said, a new thought racing through his mind.
“Huh?” Evatra seemed genuinely puzzled, but Darien talked, excited.
“If anyone can help us fight Cyprin’s army, it’s going to be the marauders. Can you name anyone more right for the job? Besides, Totra-Dal told me just before we left, if I ever asked him, he’d come help, no matter what.” Darien tossed the reins back into Evatra’s hands, “Don’t you see? This is perfect. We couldn’t get the wraiths, but I know we can get Totra-Dal to help.”
“Darien, I…” Evatra said, worry creeping into her voice.
“What? What is it?” Darien said, confused at her lack of excitement.
“I don’t want Atreya to go to Farkland Reach,” she whimpered. “If Totra-Dal helps us, he’s going to send everyone there.”
Darien thought for a few seconds, and then came up with an idea he hoped she’d like.
“What if not everyone came? The wagons and everything are too slow to make it there before the army gets to the city, anyway. Totra-Dal can send the bulk of the marauders with us. The rest can meet us at the city a few days later. By then, the battle will have been either won or lost.”
Evatra considered for several heartbeats, staring in the direction of the caravan.
“Evatra, please,” Darien pleaded with her. “You know we need all the help we can get.”
She looked at him, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes, but not spilling over. She nodded in an almost imperceptible move of her head. The two of them spurred their horses west, following the trail left behind by the caravan of marauders.
Before the end of that day, Darien caught sight of the caravan and, as night fell, they had nearly caught up with the group, who was beginning to unpack for the night. As they prepared to ride into the camp, Darien looked at Evatra, whose face had grown hard and expressionless.
“Are you ready?” Darien asked, concerned.
Evatra nodded, a small subtle tilt of the head barely visible, and they approached the perimeter of the camp.
“Ho there, turn away from here. You’ll find nothing but trouble,” a familiar voice called out to them.
“Drack? Is that you?” Evatra called back excitedly.
“Evatra?”
Evatra spurred her horse into a run and closed the distance between them, with Darien following closely behind.
“By the seas and skies, what are you doing out here? And you too?” Drack said as he saw Darien, “I thought we’d never see you again. You were supposed to be off on some glorious journey, weren’t you?”
“Drack, we need to talk with Totra-Dal,” the smile in her face dropped to a sudden seriousness. "It’s urgent.”
The goblin looked back and forth between the two of them and, seeming to understand, ushered them past him, pointing in the direction of the leader’s walled-off campsite. Quarantined from the rest of the camp, Darien saw what he thought might be Totra-Dal, the large man moving around inside the canvas walls. The smaller wagon was also now enclosed within the camp. Darien guessed that was where Atreya traveled.
Darien and Evatra dismounted their horses, leaving them with Drack to care for. Walking through the camp, marauders caught sight of the two of them, shouting greetings to Evatra and looks of confusion at seeing Darien again. As they entered the campsite, Darien could hear Totra-Dal’s gruff voice.
“I couldn’t give two boars tusks about that. I just need you to maintain some semblance of peace out there. If you can’t keep your group in line, then I’ll—”
Totra-Dal stopped, turning to see what Kort had been looking at. The red-bearded man was engaged in some sort of argument with the goblin who stood with arms crossed, a sour look in his eyes.
“Evatra, you’re back! What took—Darien?! What are you doing here?” Totra-Dal asked, clearly thrown at the sight of him.
“Hello, Totra-Dal,” Darien said in a friendly voice, “I’ve come to collect the promise you made.”
“My… promise? What promise?” Totra-Dal looked guardedly between the two of them.
“Your promise to help, should I ever come calling for it? I need it, and so do the people of Farkland Reach,” Darien answered.
“What is he talking about?” Kort cut into the conversation.
“More importantly, what do you need my help for boy?” Totra-Dal asked harshly.
Darien bristled at being called ‘boy’ again. He had grown accustomed to being treated with a subtle sense of awe at being part of the Four, something Totra-Dal didn’t share with the people of Farkland Reach.
“Auntie E!” Atreya yelled through the opening of the wagon.
The young troll ran across the clearing towards Evatra, who caught her in her arms.
“Oh, Atreya! I’ve missed you so much!” Evatra squealed, pure joy radiating on her face.
“You were gone so long!” the tiny voice squeaked, clearly excited to see Evatra.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Evatra said soothingly. “I had some important stuff to do.”
“But you’re going to stay now, right?” she asked, making Darien look away from the pair, feeling guilty at what he knew was the answer.
Evatra hesitated, looking back at Darien, then at Totra-Dal, before turning her face to Atreya once more, saying carefully, “You know, I have to talk with the people here and figure out what we can do to make that happen. Do you think you could go play for a little while? I’ll come find you in a bit, okay?”
“Okay!” The child’s innocence made Darien smile as she took off back into the safety of the wagon. A knot in his stomach turned at the thought of what might happen to her, or any of the other children of Farkland Reach should the battle go poorly.
“Totra-Dal,” Darien began, a note of leadership he hadn’t used since coming to Olympus creeping into his voice. “The Scillan was right. The thing that attacked us was a soldier sent by Cyprin. He sent another one into the city, a troll. They killed the King. There is an army amassed in
the plains just east of Farkland Reach, three days away from the city’s gates. I don’t have to tell you that the city is the center of Olympus. If it falls…”
“Who cares about some troll city?” Kort spat. “What are they to us? The Four are all here, aren’t they? They’ll just do what they’ve always done, and this army will get sent back to whatever hole it crawled out of.”
“Are you that stupid, Kort?” Evatra turned to face the sallow goblin. “Don’t you realize what’s happening? Cyprin has raised an army, the first army in three thousand years to set foot in Olympus. He’s not going to stop. He’s already tried to steal one of the weapons, and he’s assassinated the King. What else do you need to see that this isn’t like any of the other Cycles?”
“Bah.” Kort said, waving away the thought. “No one has ever had to help us. Why should we help them? All they do is drive us off caravans and send us into their prisons if they capture us. I’ll have no part of it, and neither will anyone else here, mark my words.”
Totra-Dal turned to Kort, a terrifying expression on his face. This was clearly the crescendo of a long fight the two had been having, and Totra-Dal was at the end of it.
“You will do as you’re told!” he bellowed. “If I send us north to the city, you will go!”
“I’ll do no such thing!” Kort snapped back.
“Fine, you coward, stay behind with the children and be their nurse maid.”
Totra-Dal turned his back on the goblin. An expression of pure hatred burned in Kort’s eyes. Before anyone realized what was happening, Kort drew a dagger from his belt and plunged the wicked blade deep into the giant troll’s back.
“No!” Evatra and Darien cried in unison, both drawing their swords.
Kort sneered at them, a light hiss sounded as his sword slipped from its sheath.
“I claim ownership of these people!” he cried. “If any of you challenge that, test your skills against mine. Blade to blade, as it should be.”
“Evatra, see to Totra-Dal. I’ll stall him for as long as I can,” Darien ordered.
Evatra looked at Darien, who flicked his eyes at her, loathe to take them off Kort. The goblin assumed a fighting stance, ready to pit himself against either of the two in front of him.
Evatra relented, sheathing her sword as she rushed to Totra-Dal. The man breathed heavily, but she managed, in spite of his screams of pain. to pull him out of the campsite and towards a group of marauders.
“So, I finally get to see what a member of the Four is all about?” Kort sneered at Darien.
Darien stayed silent, refusing to be goaded into action as the goblin continued.
“Tell me, was it your fault the King of that pathetic city got killed? Couldn’t protect him? Just like Totra-Dal? Just like you won’t be able to protect Evatra when I’m done with you?”
The rage boiled within him, but he subdued the emotion, working to calm his mind as he always did before a fight. He was still weakened from his encounter with the wraiths, but he refused to allow himself to believe he would lose this fight. He remembered what Rist had said back in the city just outside the market.
“The only way that will come to pass is if you choose to let it.”
“I don’t want to kill you Kort,” Darien called, hoping to end the fight before it started. “Please, just let this go. Put your sword down and leave the camp. If you don’t want to come and help, then fine, but this is stupid!”
Kort laughed wildly. He glared at Darien, madness taking control of him as he rushed towards Darien, who simply side-stepped the blow, whirling to find Kort’s sword sweeping backward. Darien swung his own sword quickly, deflecting the blow from hitting at his ankle.
“This is gonna to be fun,” Kort said, a vicious, toothy smile bursting through his lips.
Darien’s defense was simple enough, but it kept Kort at bay for several seconds until Kort dramatically altered his fighting style, forcing Darien to adjust, which he was barely able to do in time.
The two of them exchanged blows, Darien not attacking once, trying to force Kort to over-exert himself. If he could make that happen, it would allow him to work his way past Kort’s defenses and disarm the goblin. Darien wanted to avoid killing him if it was at all possible, but he wasn’t sure it would be.
Kort was showing signs of frustration, irritated by Darien’s refusal to attack, and so he pressed his offense even more forcefully, the ringing of steel echoing through the campsite. Finally, Kort disengaged, taking several steps back.
“Fight me you coward!” the goblin screamed.
“I have no reason to hurt you,” Darien said, controlling his breathing. “We could use you, Kort. We need you to fight with us, not against us!”
“I don’t fight for anyone but myself!” Kort spat.
He lunged at Darien again, recklessly swinging for the neck. Darien blocked and grabbed at the goblin's wrist, twisting the blade from Kort’s grip, now holding both weapons in the air. Kort realized what was happening and clawed desperately at Darien’s sleeve, pulling them both to the ground. Darien looked at the goblin’s green face past the dust the billowed and settled over them. The eyes held a curious expression. There was a sudden wet warmth in his hands. He pushed Kort off of him, losing his grip on the goblin’s sword. Kort spilled onto the ground and Darien looked at his hand, covered in dark red liquid. It was blood.
Darien looked down at the goblin, whose face was slack as he stared up into nothing sword sprouting from his gut. He had impaled himself on his own sword as they fell to the ground. Darien cursed under his breath, his hands shaking. Why had Kort made him fight? It was pointless, and it cost the goblin everything. Darien felt a wave of nausea roll over him, which he worked to hold back. He wiped his hand on the fallen goblin’s clothes.
Darien looked back to where Evatra had left the campsite. She stood there in shock as he approached her.
“Is he…?” Evatra asked tentatively.
“Dead,” Darien said flatly. “Totra-Dal?”
Evatra shook her head.
“He’s alive, but it doesn’t look good,” she said, fear filling her voice. “It was a wonder he made it out of the campsite before he lost consciousness.”
The two of them stared at the others face, Evatra, an expression of fear and worry, Darien’s of purpose and resolve.
“Evatra, you need to take control of the marauders,” Darien urged.
“What?!” She was clearly taken aback.
“Listen,” Darien began in hurried whispers, “Totra-Dal is hurt. He might not survive. Kort is dead. Can you think of anyone else here who has even a chance of gaining their loyalty and respect?”
“No, I couldn’t.” Evatra said, almost panicking. “I don’t know the first thing about leading these people.”
“You know more than Kort would have,” he reassured her. “Listen, I can help you. I killed Kort. I have authority, don’t I?”
“Whoever kills the leader of the marauders has claim to the title.” Evatra nodded. “Totra-Dal isn’t dead, but there’s no one else, besides Kort.”
Darien nodded, a single sharp movement of his head, “Then they’ll listen to me when I give that title over to you. Besides," Darien said with a slight grin. "I'm one of the Four."
Evatra looked into Darien’s eyes, fear clearly evident within her own.
“You can do this Evatra. Do it for Atreya,” Darien encouraged. “Who can guide the marauders to protect her better than you would? And you wouldn’t have to raid anymore, either. You could stay and care for her. If Totra-Dal recovers, then everything goes back to normal.”
They stared into each other’s eyes for several seconds before Darien saw a subtle change in her expression. It was one of resolve, the same he had seen when she was in the dirt, looking into the face of the beast she thought was going to kill her before Darien’s sword had sprouted from its gut.
“You’re right,” Evatra sighed in acceptance. “We need to be careful, though. We wait until mornin
g, when everyone wakes up. We can talk to all of them, then. Maybe Totra-Dal will be awake by then.”
“As you command, this is your camp now.” Darien gave her a wan smile.
The two of them cleaned up the mess that was Kort’s body. Leaving Totra-Dal in the care of the two Scillans who worked to keep the big man alive, applying salves and wrapping bandages around his broad chest.
Once Evatra retrieved Atreya, who had been so immersed in her own playful imagination, she had heard none of the fighting outside of her wagon. They sat together and looked over the girl’s father, Evatra promising to stay with her as long as she wished when they met again in Farkland Reach. Finally, they finished preparing for the next day’s trials. Spotting one of Totra-Dal’s chairs along the perimeter of the camp, Darien sat down and before he knew it, fell asleep.
He awoke to see Evatra’s face leaning over him in the early glow of the sunrise.
“Darien,” she gently called his name, a hand on his shoulder. “Darien it’s time to wake up. It’s time.”
Darien stared at the black eyes and dark hair of the woman standing before him, she looked incredibly beautiful, the glow of the sunrise creating a halo behind her head. A stupid grin crossed his face.
Stop it! What about Kara?
Guilt turned into grief.
You might never see Kara again.
He found himself strangely accepting of the idea. He and Kara had decided to go their separate ways at the end of the year, anyway. It just looked like Darien’s had come a little sooner than expected. He had to push this from his mind. There were more important things to worry about.
Darien stretched his arms, causing Evatra to stand up to avoid being inadvertently punched in the face as he yawned. Standing, he turned to face her.
“Alright, let’s do this, and get back to Farkland Reach. We don’t have a lot of time. Totra-Dal still isn't awake. You'll do great.”
Evatra nodded, a sudden apprehension for the coming task seeming to take hold of her.