《Divinium Saga》


 1. Do You Feel His Love?

    Octuplets upon octuplets, They took on names, sounds that spoke of stars and dust and life.


    Bor ¨C the Light ¨C set Them off, with the knowledge that the Fertile Blackness was Theirs upon to grow.


    They made Kyr Vera and the elesvium, but with a drop of Sim¡¯s blood the all-sight was occluded.


    Churned, the winds of war.


    ¡°Do you feel His love?¡±


    Answerless, Heror glanced at Thaeolai.


    The waters of the Publaic shivered silently in the early morning hours. Rogue waves sloshed at the edge of the docks, driven in by a cool breeze. Far in the distance, where the ocean touched the sky, droplets of amber pooled as the Sun eclipsed the horizon ¨C its outer edge sending a weak beacon of light up into the sky, until it mixed and dissipated in the fields of stars above.


    As Thaeolai looked up at the night retreating, the light of the young morning caught her eyes, mingling with emerald embers. Then she met Heror¡¯s glance. She smirked only for a second, let out a ¡®hmph¡¯, and lowered her head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes fell back to the ocean¡¯s edge. His feet hung just above the ripples around the dock supports. He dipped his toes into the surface waves, feeling the cool rush of the water against his skin. He thought for a moment, then brushed his thoughts away with a quick sigh. His eyes lifted toward the Sun. He nodded to himself.


    ¡°Today¡¯s the day, Thaeolai. Today¡¯s the day I leave to find my mother.¡±


    He dipped his toes in farther, letting the waves roll across the balls of his feet.


    ¡°Today¡¯s the day,¡± he repeated, as if to convince himself.


    Thaeolai glanced at Heror as he spoke. Even from her periphery, she could see the fire and stubborn determination in his eyes. But he had been ready to leave for years now. And yet, here he still remained, sitting on the southernmost dock in Cephragon.


    ¡°You really think so?¡± Thaeolai said softly.


    Now Heror glanced at the girl, and she looked at him. He seemed elvish, just as she was, but it was clear that he was different. Where other Opelites¡¯ skin had a golden luster, Heror¡¯s skin was dull. Where other elves had locks of light hair, Heror¡¯s was matted, curled, and brown. His face had all the simple charms of an else ¨C a human ¨C but his angled ears and blazing blue eyes made him something beyond that.


    His hair rustled lightly in the breeze as he pursed his lips beneath a thin layer of stubble. He turned his eyes back to the water, where the Sun¡¯s light was starting to spread.


    ¡°How will you get through the gates?¡± Thaeolai asked. ¡°And the toll roads?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find a way.¡±


    ¡°How will you escape the Kingdom?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go north to the Mides.¡±


    ¡°And how will you survive then?¡±


    Heror furrowed his brow, then sighed and hung his head. He pulled a rolled cloth from his pocket and unrolled it, laying it across his lap. It was an intricately-woven cloth, made of designs and weaving patterns from beyond the Kingdom. Stitched along the edges, blue waves rolled and rolled, and on the left side, a jagged cliff lay. On that cliff, a lone wolf stood, stray fletchings of cloth acting as fur as the wind swelled and sank. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched in dark gray thread.


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to be practical,¡± Thaeolai reasoned, her eyes falling on the cloth under strands of blonde hair.


    Heror folded the cloth and stowed it again. He then rested his hands at his sides and let out another sigh. His eyes went back to the Sun. The star rose toward the heavens, nestled on the horizon like an egg in a nest. By now, the ocean was a sea of rich amber. Encased in the orange light of the morning Sun, far in the distance, there was the silhouette of a sail.


    ¡°I could take a ship,¡± Heror said instinctively.


    ¡°And where would you go then?¡± Thaeolai pressed, growing tired of Heror¡¯s persistence. ¡°The navy would stop you if you tried to circle past Fyre. There are no ports on the way to Pylantheum, and even if you could port, who¡¯s to say the navy doesn¡¯t spot the stolen ship, or the Midans don¡¯t take you out of the water?¡±


    ¡°But if I got past them,¡± Heror argued, eyes intent. ¡°I could find her.¡±


    Thaeolai didn¡¯t hide her concern. But she¡¯d had this conversation with Heror many times before. After a moment, she shook her head and smiled slightly. She bowed her head in resignation, and turned her attention to the soft ripples hitting the edge of the dock.


    ¡°I suppose you could.¡±


    They were at the docks early for their coming shift. The boats wouldn¡¯t be back until mid-morning, and so they sat in the fledgeling daylight, away from the prying stares and impious crowds of the Jeweled City. Outside the eastern gates of Cephragon, in the dockyards, the wind moved with freedom, and the hum of the Publaic never rested. If they didn¡¯t look back at the gleaming crystalline towers dominating the city center, they could almost imagine themselves someplace else.


    ¡°Where would you go?¡± Heror asked. ¡°If we could leave?¡±


    ¡°Where would I go?¡± Thaeolai echoed, blinking.


    ¡°There has to be a place you¡¯d go,¡± Heror persisted. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to stay here.¡±


    ¡°Of course I don¡¯t want to stay here.¡±


    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you ever talk about leaving?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s not realistic. Even during peacetime, they wouldn¡¯t let laborers leave. And especially now, it¡¯s not safe for us if we do leave, with the Midans knocking on the border and the soldiers capturing whoever isn¡¯t supposed to be on the roads. It¡¯s not worth daydreaming about. It¡¯s not going to happen.¡±


    The girl let out another sharp sigh, shoulders hunched as she leaned forward in frustration. After a moment, she glanced at Heror, and saw that he had turned away, his head bowed again in a pained expression. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and leaned back again, eyes glinting in the sunlight.


    ¡°Tephire,¡± she conceded.


    Heror glanced at her.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I would go to Tephire,¡± she said again. ¡°There¡¯s supposed to be a place there ¨C a city built on the edge of a great, crystal blue lake ¨C called¡­ Marteliphi, I think. There¡¯s supposed to be a college there where you can learn how to hone your magic. I could learn keatuu¡­ maybe.¡±


    She glanced down at the water and rolled her wrists. As she did so, a stationary whirlpool formed at the edge of the dock, layering in on itself until it was gone, reduced to a fading imprint. She placed her hands back on the dock and exhaled.


    ¡°What about you?¡± she asked. ¡°After you¡¯ve found your mum.¡±


    Heror thought for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. After a short while, he cracked a smile and huffed out a laugh through his nose.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to choose,¡± he said simply.


    ¡°Come on, there¡¯s got to be one place that stands out above the others,¡± Thaeolai encouraged him. ¡°If you could only visit one place, what would it be?¡±


    Heror thought again, then shook his head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve heard enough to make that decision,¡± he admitted. ¡°Ucankacei¡¯s told me plenty of stories, but¡­ I can never be sure if they¡¯re real or not.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ what have you heard?¡± Thaeolai asked, her voice just above the breeze.


    ¡°He says there¡¯s a desert in Pylantheum,¡± Heror started, arms unconsciously moving as he spoke. ¡°Larger than the entire Kingdom of Ardys, where entire cities have been swallowed up by the sand. And to the west of that desert, is a giant mountain range twice as big, with peaks that pierce the clouds and catch stardust. Even farther north, there¡¯s a city made of ice, and a sea that the Gods paint with colors at night.¡±


    ¡°To the west, he says there¡¯s a vast plain running across Ghiovan and Mathingar, where buffalo roam, where clouds mold into awesome shapes and formations, and sometimes reach down to touch the Aelyaatu with a finger, spewing up dust and dirt with swirling winds as lightning strikes.¡±


    ¡°South of the plain, there¡¯s another mountain range, rising up from the land like the spine of a dragon, fuming with plumes of gray and black, secreting glowing red-hot rivers of Aelyhiuu. And in the far west, past Tephire and Hithain, there¡¯s an ocean just as vast as the Publaic, catching the sunset, not the sunrise.¡±


    Heror stopped for a moment, his eyes still lost in fantasy.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see that sunset,¡± he said to himself.


    Thaeolai watched Heror as he once again sat in silence. By now, she could read his face, and all of its minute details. She saw the glint of hopefulness in his eyes, clashing with a sharp bitterness bred by reality. She saw as his lips refused to curl into a smile ¨C instead locked in a level silence, jaw clenched as he fought the urge to say more about things he would never see.


    She sighed and looked back out to the sea, wincing as her stomach rumbled. The Sun now hovered above the horizon, and the stars faded above, gone behind a cloak of cerulean. The boats were nearing the dockyards.


    Thaeolai forced a smile and gave Heror a quick kiss on the forehead.


    ¡°You¡¯re a dreamer, Heror,¡± she mused.


    The girl stood and stretched her limbs.


    ¡°We should head to the wharf,¡± she said, glancing north, where dozens more docks and wooden walkways lined the shore. ¡°You ready?¡±


    For a moment, Heror didn¡¯t answer, his eyes fixed in a glare. But soon enough, he rose to his feet, and the two headed down the pier.


    In the light of late dawn, activity on the pier was picking up. Laborers traveled to their jetties in groups, dirty and disheveled. Beached sailors made their way to boats still roped in the harbor, aiming to set sail while the tides were calm.


    On the inland side of the pier, small shop stalls lined the wooden walkway, manned by downtrodden merchants pitching stale bread and half-spoiled fruits and vegetables to desperate dock workers. Seabirds of all colors whisked around in the open air, chirping and crying their morning calls. Some perched on posts, while others dove under the water to claim their share.


    As Heror and Thaeolai made their way through the crowds, something caught Thaeolai¡¯s eye. She looked across the dock to see a fruit cart. Stacked inside were dozens of yellow pepons; most were dull and nearly rotten, but one still had its bright yellow color, perched in the corner of the cart. Almost immediately, Thaeolai¡¯s mouth started to water.


    ¡°Heror, look,¡± she said, grabbing his arm and pointing to the cart.


    Heror followed her eyes to the ripe fruit. He eyed Thaeolai with skepticism.


    ¡°You have the Kivs for it?¡±


    Thaeolai frowned. Her stomach rumbled again.


    ¡°Not¡­ exactly¡­¡±


    Heror shook his head.


    ¡°No,¡± he said abruptly. ¡°Remember what happened last time?¡±


    ¡°Could¡¯ve been worse,¡± Thaeolai muttered.


    ¡°Could¡¯ve been a lot better too,¡± Heror argued. ¡°Come on.¡±


    As Heror pressed forward, dragging Thaeolai with him, he bumped into another dock worker. The tall Opelite, ragged and thin with wispy hair, spat at Heror and shot him a toothless snarl.


    ¡°Open your eyes, chin¡¯p,¡± the worker hissed.


    Heror glared, and the two stared at each other for a moment before the worker turned and left. Heror kept looking, however ¨C blood curdling at the sound of the slur. Now it was Thaeolai¡¯s turn to pull him away.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she said solemnly, grabbing his arm. ¡°To the wharf.¡±


    After a few minutes ¨C passing through crowded dockyards dotted by Ardysan guards in gilded armor and red robes ¨C they reached the northernmost dock, where they were to work. Farther down the walkway, the dock ended ¨C its edge roped off and blocked by crates and barrels. Beyond that, the shoreline continued, with rich green subtropical trees and plants splaying out over the sand and the clear blue water.


    The wharf was larger than the other docks, allowing room for larger ships to port and unload. Already, workers collected at the edge of the dock. They waited as more ships appeared in the distance. After a spell, one ship broke off from the others, streaks of fire periodically appearing behind it as it gained speed, nearing the shore.


    ¡°Navy ship,¡± Thaeolai muttered.


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Keatuuchei,¡± Thaeolai replied. ¡°Thruster mages.¡±


    Heror squinted his eyes and shielded his face from the Sun to get a better view. After a moment of concentration, he could see two distant figures at the tail end of the boat. Flames sprouted from their hands and whirred through a set of brass turbines on each side of the boat. As they maintained their rhythm, the ship hurried forward, nearing the southern naval gate.


    ¡°Must be a scout ship from the north,¡± Thaeolai theorized. ¡°They usually travel alone.¡±


    ¡°Wonder if there¡¯s any news,¡± Heror pondered.


    ¡°Oh, there is.¡±


    At that moment, a short, skinny else with raggedy black hair and a beard came up from behind and put his arms around Heror and Thaeolai, presenting a toothy grin.


    ¡°Destus, hello,¡± Thaeolai muttered, making no attempt to hide her lack of enthusiasm.


    ¡°I heard,¡± Destus started, glancing between Heror and Thaeolai, ¡°that the Midans made the first move.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Heror gasped.


    ¡°Really,¡± Thaeolai grumbled, unconvinced.


    ¡°Oh, yes, they did,¡± Destus continued, face twitching with excitement. ¡°An invasion force from Mote snuck up to the border wall in the night on the 7th. Ten-thousand strong, with flaming catapults and ballistae and battering rams and balls of fire¡­¡±


    ¡°... also known as flaming catapults¡­¡± Thaeolai mumbled.


    ¡°... they bombarded the border wall¡­ and in the twilight on the 9th, they broke through.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Heror exclaimed.


    ¡°They also launched an attack on the navy. Word is that they took out four ships, and that the lliaothe has made a reappearance off the coast of Srassen Xai, guarding their waters.¡±


    ¡°I, for one, am convinced,¡± sighed Thaeolai.


    ¡°Is Cirei going to declare war?¡± Heror questioned.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t made the declaration yet, but I would expect something very soon,¡± Destus replied with an unnerving smile.


    ¡°How did you hear all this before the scout ship even got back?¡± Thaeolai prodded, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°I have connections,¡± Destus answered, his smile curling upward.


    Thaeolai scoffed, shoving his arm off her shoulder. Destus made his way around them, starting down the wharf. But before he left, he turned back around.


    ¡°By the way¡­ I got a little kick ready if you¡¯re interested. I hear it¡¯s going to be a long shift today.¡±


    At that moment, Destus pulled a pocket-sized leather case from inside his shirt. He made sure the guards farther down the pier wouldn¡¯t notice, then cracked it open to reveal a pile of small white, glassy pellets. Instinctively, Heror took a slight step back, and Thaeolai shook her head.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have any Kivs,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°No, you can owe me,¡± Destus insisted with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s wartime. Folks are on edge. Gods smile on the generous souls.¡±


    Thaeolai debated silently for a moment. But after her stomach growled loudly, and a wave of exhaustion ran over her, she impulsively held out her hand, and Destus sprinkled a few pellets into it. Thaeolai quickly turned away, sniffed the pellets, and took a deep breath.


    ¡°What about you, Heror?¡± Destus asked, shaking the box discreetly.


    Heror looked at the leather case. He was tired, and for a moment, he felt the urge to hold out his hand. But just as the thought entered his head, he swatted it away with a shake of his head. Destus eyed him.


    ¡°You sure? The world¡¯s going to shit. Need something to tie you down¨C¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Heror reiterated quickly.


    Destus frowned, and then he left the two. Soon, more workers began to pool at the edge of the dock. Heror glanced at Thaeolai.


    ¡°I thought you were going to clean up,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± Thaeolai hissed under her breath.


    They waited. The inland wind slowly began to pick up, and soon, the commercial ships were in the shallows. One by one, ships branched off to their designated docks. Some carried nets filled with fish, while others carried supplies and cargo from coastal cities to the south.


    The ship at the end, however, came in with different cargo. The starboard side was glazed over with red as it settled in beside the dock, and immediately, the stench of a successful whale hunt was driven onto the shore by the breeze. On the ship¡¯s deck, Heror could see dozens of barrels stocked to the brim with whale blubber, whale oil, and other spoils of the voyage.


    The ship came to a halt, and a quick episode of shouting broke out from the deck. A long wooden board was lowered to connect the deck to the wharf platform, and two younger sailors sprinted down onto the wharf. They ran around to the pier, past Heror and Thaeolai, and stopped in front of the ship. One of the sailors pulled a rope from his belt and looped it through a metal hoop below the ship¡¯s beak. He then tied the rope to a stable post on the pier, keeping the ship in place as it floated above the tide.


    As the ship was moored in place, a noble elf with a gaunt face ¨C cloaked in a pristine silver robe ¨C emerged from the crowds on the pier, passing Heror and Thaeolai. He approached the plank that connected the ship to the dock. As he reached the side of the ship, the workers started to cluster around him, waiting for the call to proceed onto the deck.


    ¡°What¡¯s the haul, Ikascei?¡± the noble beckoned to the ship.


    At the sound of the shout, an older elf ¨C presumably the ship¡¯s captain ¨C appeared at the railing, a crooked grin on his face.


    ¡°Ah, Khasei! Fine mornin¡¯ to ya! We got thirty-one barrels ¡®a blubber, eleven barrels ¡®a head oil, two strips of baleen, and a bag of grisamber to top it off.¡±


    ¡°Must have been quite a trip!¡± the elf named Khasei chimed with a smile.


    ¡°Yessir, i¡¯twas! I¡¯d wager Opela herself wouldn¡¯t have been as much a beauty!¡±


    ¡°Did you clean the baleen?¡± Khasei inquired.


    The captain started to answer, then paused, his mouth hanging agape as he stumbled on his words. Khasei¡¯s smile faded, and Ikascei let out a nervous laugh.


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s what they¡¯re for!¡± the ship¡¯s captain exclaimed, pointing to the workers on the wharf.


    ¡°You better hope the mongrels can get rid of the smell, or it¡¯s coming out of your pay,¡± Khasei warned, his voice suddenly cold.


    Khasei turned around, shaking his head.


    ¡°Get up there,¡± he lashed at the workers, before disappearing down the pier.


    Most of the sailors exited the boat and made their way toward the city, and the ragged workers filled the empty deck, with the urgency of a zombified horde. They made their way past the railing, and were met with a grisly sight.


    The deck was almost completely covered in dried blood, fat, and grease from the whale hunt. Entrails looped over the port side of the ship, where the whale had been latched for preparation. A putrid smell hung over the concourse, and near the mast, where the railings converged, a dozen metal buckets sat, filled with soapy water.


    As the odor reached Heror¡¯s nose, he winced and scrunched his face, turning away. Thaeolai¡¯s head was already spinning, and as the smell wafted over her, she lost her balance a bit. Heror grabbed her arm, as the white-haired captain barked out orders.


    ¡°A¡¯ight¡¯re, we got forty-two barrels to unload! We got two baleen strips an¡¯ hooks to scrub good! An¡¯ we need the deck and the side nice and pearly so ol¡¯ Pyn can get a good look at us!¡±


    While a few sailors stood by to watch over the work, the workers dispersed, taking on different jobs. Thaeolai started toward the buckets in the corner. Heror went to follow her when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw captain Ikascei pointing toward the barrels.


    ¡°We need you on the barrels. Go to it.¡±


    Heror nodded, struggling to keep eye contact. He turned away, making his way toward the barrels near the boat¡¯s helm.


    ¡°Get the barrels to the edge of the dock!¡± Ikascei shouted as the workers bustled. ¡°Don¡¯t roll ¡®em! We need hands on the pier to take the barrels to the gate!¡±


    Heror came to the first barrel and bent down, digging his fingers under the slats on the barrel¡¯s underbelly. The barrels were not tall, but were densely packed and hard to move, and so Heror had to wait until another worker came to help. After a moment of struggling, the two were able to lift the barrel off the ground. They began their trek to the ship¡¯s edge, and from the edge to the plank. The plank flexed beneath their weight. Caught below the barrel, Heror was stuck with the brunt of the work.


    Back on the ship¡¯s deck, Thaeolai had grabbed a bucket and started cleaning the wooden boards. She took up a spot in the opposite corner, far away from the ship¡¯s captain, with the hope that she wouldn¡¯t be noticed. She soaked a rag in the soapy water, then knelt down onto the deck.


    The blood and fat had dried by now, making for a harder cleaning. It was firm and sticky, and some of the whale matter had seeped in between the boards. Thaeolai didn¡¯t bother trying to clean those areas; her head was already light and dizzy, and as she scrubbed harder, she only felt herself slipping more. Her scrubs were reduced to indifferent swaths over the boards. All the while, the pungent odor caused her nostrils to sting and her head to ache.


    The work continued. Hours blended together. The Sun reached its crest in the sky and began to descend. Thin ocean clouds rolled through to the east. By mid afternoon, most of the barrels had been moved, but the workers were exhausted. A mere few remained alert, and those who dared to sit were soon beckoned up by a slap or a shout from the sailors.


    The Sun was just above the city walls to the west when Heror returned to the boat for another time. He¡¯d lost count of the barrels he¡¯d hauled, but his muscles ached and his face was caked with sweat and grime. He could feel the dehydration and exhaustion in his joints. His tongue felt like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth, and his eyelids were heavy and sticky in the heat. By now, he regretted not taking the lift Destus offered earlier.


    Passing two struggling workers, Heror made his way back to the barrels. There was only one left to load onto the docks, nestled against the wall of the captain¡¯s quarters. The captain had gone inside, but a bearded sailor still stood nearby ¨C disinterested, his arms crossed as he oversaw the work.


    As Heror reached the barrel, he glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes fell on Thaeolai. She was still in the corner, and he could tell from her movements that she was close to unconsciousness. Her rag was dirty, and still, she swiped it back and forth with a detached feebleness ¨C eyes only half open.


    Heror made a mental note to help her after the last barrel, then turned around and grabbed the hem of the barrel¡¯s lid. Then his eyes rose, as he searched for help. As he surveyed the deck, however, he realized that help would be unavailable.


    On the deck, few workers remained. One had passed out by the railing, and another worker ¨C limp and lifeless ¨C was being carried to the opposite railing by two sailors, who then tossed him overboard. Heror grimaced and turned away, setting his eyes back on the barrel. After a moment, he looked up, and again noticed the bearded sailor standing by.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Heror said tiredly. ¡°Hey.¡±


    They made eye contact.


    ¡°Help,¡± Heror mustered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk to me, mutt,¡± the sailor growled.


    Heror¡¯s skin flushed with anger, and his fingers clamped down on the barrel¡¯s lid. But at that moment, the sailor peered past Heror and noticed something at the other end of the boat. The sailor brushed past Heror.


    ¡°Hey!¡± the sailor shouted. ¡°You call that ¡®clean¡¯, gutter rat?!¡±


    Heror heard the bearded man¡¯s heavy stomps on the wood, and as he turned around, he saw the sailor approaching Thaeolai. The sailor stopped above Thaeolai and grabbed her wrist, ripping the dirty cloth from her hand. He then slapped her, sending her head to the deck in a mess of blonde.


    ¡°Filthy addict!¡± he yelled.


    Then there were footsteps. The sailor turned around just in time to see Heror sprinting toward him. Before the sea dog could react, Heror tackled him at full speed, slamming him into the wall of the bow. The bearded man squirmed out of Heror¡¯s hold and tried to stand, but before he could get on his feet, Heror trapped him against the wall and sent a fist into the sailor¡¯s face. A chorus of shouts stirred behind them as Heror cocked his arm back again and again ¨C a half-dozen times ¨C until the sailor¡¯s nose was crooked and bloody, and Heror¡¯s knuckles were bruised.


    Even as the frightened seafarer put his hands up to signal a surrender, Heror wound his arm. He was about to strike once more, but as he brought his fist forward, his wrist was grabbed from behind. Heror¡¯s arm was wrenched behind him, pulling him up to the center of the deck. He fought his way free and quickly turned around, but was met with a disorienting punch to the face. He fell to the ground, and when his vision cleared, he saw the captain standing over him, face darkened.


    For a spell, the deck was silent, save for the hum of the waves. A half dozen sailors stood, while workers from the docks lingered behind them, drawn to the commotion. Captain Ikascei stared down at Heror, nostrils flaring.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have that ¡¯round here. Y¡¯hear me, boy?¡±


    Heror fumed, a small trail of blood seeping down from an open cut on the bridge of his nose. Ikascei took a step forward, craning his head down.


    ¡°You hear me?!¡±


    Heror did not respond. Ikascei nodded, his jaw clenched. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two golden coins. He tossed them to the ground, and Heror watched as they rolled to a stop at his foot.


    ¡°Your shift¡¯s over,¡± Ikascei declared. ¡°Get off my ship.¡±


    ¡°I was owed ten,¡± Heror protested.


    ¡°¡®Scuse me?¡±


    Heror rose to his feet and matched the captain, eyes fierce.


    ¡°I was owed ten.¡±


    ¡°Take the two, or take a swim. Your choice. No one¡¯s gonna miss ya.¡±


    By now, the sailors had started to close in, some of them brandishing swords. As he realized the odds were against him, Heror¡¯s anger faded. Demoralized, he knelt down and picked up the two gold coins, slipping them into his pocket. Then he turned, helped Thaeolai to her feet, and made his way off the ship as she dragged her feet beside him. The workers diverged to allow Heror passage onto the ramp. As he descended to the docks, sailors jeered at him from the deck above.


    He ventured south, back toward the city gate. The pier was much less crowded in the early evening, and as Heror helped Thaeolai along, he passed by the pepon cart again. It was empty; the merchant had gone off somewhere. Carved into the front was a message: ¡°¡®Pepons, 5 Kivs each.¡¯¡± And propped in the corner, still, was the ripe pepon, almost a half-foot across.


    Heror shot a brisk glance behind him to make sure there were no guards around, then approached the cart. He grabbed the fruit and slid it inside his shirt, then carried on toward the gate, as the amber Sun began its descent below the city.

 2. A Call to Arms

    Even inside the gates, the Jeweled City felt distant.


    Cephragon was a massive city, broken up into sections. Inside the west gate, where travelers often entered and stayed, there was a bustling block of stores, market stalls, and lodging houses. Further inward, the wealthy took up residence in stone and marble mansions, just outside the center. And at the center, there was the Jeweled City, a royal palace complex made of brilliant aquamarine crystal, with a great spire at its core. These were the towers that travelers could see for miles from the west and the north and the south, and the towers that blocked the sunset each evening, as if nothing could be more brilliant than them.


    The residential sections completely encircled the Jeweled City, and in Cephragon¡¯s easternmost section, closest to the dock gates, the mahallas lay. This is where the workers lived, in the rundown buildings on the outskirts of the city. Abandoned one and two-story shop buildings, lodging houses, and shacks were filled room to room with dock laborers, fishermen, farm hands, and sailors, and some rooms were shared by two or more families.


    As Heror helped Thaeolai cross the cobble street toward a shanty, he glanced at the towers to the west. They appeared so close, looming over him as they stretched toward the golden sky, from bases obscured by the section wall. But Heror had never been allowed into the royal oval. It had been years since he¡¯d even tried to reach the west gate. For a moment, he pondered dropping everything and sprinting for the exit ¨C forcing his way past the guards and running through the city center.


    Today¡¯s the day I leave to find my mother.


    The day was almost over. And Heror, tired and bruised and dirty, turned away from his escape, back toward the mahallas. He helped Thaeolai across the street, toward one of the smaller lodging houses. As he walked, vagrants and vagabonds wandered the slums. Aimless voices assailed the evening air. Not far down the way, a drunken preacher swayed and spoke loudly, to all and to none.


    ¡°¡­ and His love is true! In His boundless wisdom, Bor sees thine struggle, and with weary eyes, He calls you to him! You ask yourselves why you are here, in the doldrums of despair¡­ and it is because you do not answer the call! You turn your backs on Him and do evil in the shadows! You must repent from your wicked ways, my brothers and sisters! Only then wilt thou be lifted from this place! Only then wilt thou feel the Divines¡¯ warmth and receive the blessings of the Al-Ra ¨C health, prosperity, love, and peace! Only then wilt thou¡­¡±


    The voice faded as Heror crossed. When he reached his lodging house, he entered the front door with Thaeolai, and Ucankacei was waiting for them. The old elf sat at a dusty wooden table, quietly eating from a plate he¡¯d prepared for himself. He was thinly built and hunched over from decades of work, and his hair was a smooth gray, loosely combed over. His skin had dulled from a golden color to a light bronze, and as he looked up from his plate, his sea green eyes lit up at the sight of his housemate ¨C with a twinkle that could brighten any room.


    ¡°Heror!¡± he exclaimed with a smile, his voice jubilant. ¡°Good to see you!¡±


    Heror walked past the entry room to the far end of the hallway, and into a small room where a bed roll sat on the floor. He gently laid down Thaeolai, who was too exhausted to move. Once she was settled, he went out into the main room, joining Ucankacei at the table.


    ¡°You¡¯re back early,¡± Ucankacei noted. ¡°There¡¯s water in the basin.¡±


    Heror nodded and went to the wooden counter by the southern wall. He cupped his hands in the basin and drank the handful, then grabbed a small clay cup and filled it with water. He took the clay cup back across the lodging house, into Thaeolai¡¯s room. He knelt down beside her, holding the cup in his hands.


    ¡°Thae,¡± he said.


    At first, Thaeolai said nothing, her eyes closed. Heror ran a hand across her forehead. Beneath her blonde hair, he could feel a small bump where she¡¯d been hit.


    ¡°Thaeolai,¡± he said again.


    Thaeolai blinked tiredly, then took a deep breath, lying on her side. Heror held the cup close to her face, and after a moment, Thaeolai leaned forward and took a sip. Heror then took out the pepon.


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave these here with you,¡± Heror told her.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Thaeolai murmured, her voice barely audible.


    Heror returned to the dining room and sat down again, wincing as he fit his sore legs beneath the table. For a moment, the house was silent, save for the weak clanks of Ucankacei¡¯s wooden fork against his plate. Outside, the light of the sunset began to fade. Across the road, distant voices could be heard as more people came in from the docks.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Ucankacei asked, motioning to the cut on the bridge of Heror¡¯s nose.


    Heror said nothing at first. Then he looked at Ucankacei¡¯s plate.


    ¡°Got any food?¡± Heror asked simply.


    Ucankacei eyed the young man for a moment, then nodded and stood. He went to a cupboard in the corner behind him and swung open the door. Then he pulled out another bowl with a cloth wrapped over it. He set the bowl down on the table and removed the cloth, revealing a small assortment of meats.


    ¡°Managed to get some beef from the market. Told you I was saving up for it, ¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°Not the best cuts, but I cooked it as best as I could. Also some gleamfish leftover from today¡¯s haul.¡±


    Heror quickly grabbed the cooked beef and bit into it, lips smacking as he savored his first meal of the day. Though still tired, he felt a bit of energy come back to him as he ate.


    ¡°How was today?¡± He asked Ucankacei through stuffed mouthfuls.


    ¡°A lot better take than usual,¡± Ucankacei said with a small smile. ¡°A khilii ship came in and spooked the fish toward shore. Made around thirty Kivs, and was able to take the rest of the stock back here.¡±


    ¡°Where were you?¡± Heror asked, chewing slowly.


    ¡°Craelai¡¯s Lagoon, to the north,¡± Ucankacei answered.


    ¡°The basiisks didn¡¯t give you any trouble?¡±


    ¡°They did. Prehistoric nuisances, scaly simpletons¡­¡± Ucankacei lamented. ¡°But I know how to deal with them by now.¡±


    Heror took another bite of the beef. His dry mouth started to water.


    ¡°I saw a purk a little ways out,¡± Ucankacei continued, letting out a small laugh. ¡°Had to be almost three feet long! I thought I could spear it, but I threw out my shoulder instead. Ha¡­ embarrassing.¡±


    ¡°Did you hear anything about what the navy ship was doing, coming back?¡± Heror asked, his mind set on the ship after hearing it mentioned again.


    ¡°Some rumors,¡± Ucankacei said with a nod, before glancing up at Heror from his plate. ¡°Why? Did you hear something?¡±


    Heror paused for a second, then met Ucankacei¡¯s gaze.


    ¡°Destus said war has started.¡±


    Ucankacei let out a small laugh, then finished his final bite and stood from his seat. He went to the wash basin against the west wall and poured some water into it, cleaning off his plate.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be careful about what you hear from him,¡± Ucankacei warned, wiping off his plate with a cloth. ¡°The Rhirefolk love to sensationalize things.¡±


    ¡°He said he has connections,¡± Heror offered.


    ¡°What exactly did he say?¡± Ucankacei asked, glancing toward Heror.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Heror started, thinking back. ¡°He said the Midans broke through the border wall.¡±


    Ucankacei let out another laugh.


    ¡°What?¡± Heror asked.


    The old man slid the clay plate onto a stack in the corner and turned around, resting his hands on the wooden counter.


    ¡°You think Destus has actually seen the border wall?¡± Ucankacei chuckled.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Heror muttered.


    ¡°I have,¡± Ucankacei continued. ¡°Fifty years ago, I was an officer in the Ardysan army. I was stationed there plenty of times. It¡¯s twenty-five feet tall all the way across, and fifty feet tall at the gates. Three metras thick of pure, compacted stone and brick. There are stairs to the top on our side, where archers and keatuuchan stand ready on a fortified walkway, dropping boulders and arrows and flames and lightning down onto invading forces. And behind the wall, there are over a dozen Khi Thung -- fortresses spaced out across the border, where thousands of the King¡¯s foot soldiers stand by to provide reinforcements.¡±


    He paced to the south window, peering up at the sky as the stars made a reappearance.


    ¡°No one just breaks through the border wall,¡± Ucankacei concluded. ¡°This isn¡¯t the first time the Midans have tried. And it won¡¯t be the last time they fail.¡±


    Heror fell silent, finishing his food. Ucankacei eyed the boy, then pursed his lips and sat back down at the table.


    ¡°On a related note,¡± Ucankacei added. ¡°You want another sword lesson tonight? You picked up the forte counter well.¡±


    Heror shook his head, now diving into the gleamfish meat.


    ¡°I think I need to rest,¡± Heror replied with a sigh. ¡°There¡¯ll be time to learn more tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°But we haven¡¯t had a lesson in a week,¡± Ucankacei countered. ¡°Is something wrong? I think you have tremendous potential.¡±


    Heror frowned and gazed at the window, his thoughts dwelling on the western gate again. After a moment, he shook his head again and took another bite of his meal.


    ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± Heror muttered. ¡°I¡¯ll never use it.¡±


    ¡°But Heror, you already have,¡± Ucankacei argued. ¡°The art of the sword isn¡¯t a mere combat exercise. It¡¯s deeper than that. To wield a sword, you need endurance. You need imagination. And you need an unflinching resolve, both physically and mentally. These are traits you use in every walk of life. The sword not only necessitates these traits, but develops them further.¡±


    ¡°What are you getting at?¡± Heror murmured.


    ¡°Swordcraft isn¡¯t just waving around a blade carelessly,¡± Ucankacei carried on as he sat up straight, a regal tone in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s resilience. It¡¯s perseverance. It¡¯s¡­ are you swallowing those whole??¡±


    Heror popped another gleamfish in his mouth and looked at the plate. Only two remained. His cheeks full, he blinked, then slid the plate to the center of the table.


    ¡°Leave some for Thaeolai,¡± Ucankacei told him with a slight chuckle. ¡°Or me, preferably.¡±


    Heror swallowed and let out a small burp, then dropped a hand to his stomach. Ucankacei smiled and continued.


    ¡°Swordcraft is an extension of some of the most essential qualities of life,¡± Ucankacei explained. ¡°And by the art of the sword, you can become more resilient, more adaptable, and more steady in crisis. In my opinion, these are already strengths of yours.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not,¡± Heror glowered, shaking his head.


    Ucankacei eyed the young man with a look of concern, but soon, his warm smile came back. He stood, spreading his hands out on the table.


    ¡°Maybe one day you¡¯ll see it as I do,¡± he told him. ¡°But all in good time¡­ I suppose.¡±


    At that moment, there was stirring from the other end of the shanty, and Heror turned to see Thaeolai walking gingerly into the dining room. Ucankacei offered her a smile, but the girl did not return the gesture as she sat down beside Heror.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Thaeolai,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°How are you?¡±


    Thaeolai didn¡¯t answer. Ucankacei took a deep breath and stood, making his way to the cabinets on the far wall.


    There was a fragile silence in the dwelling; the silence of a fractured home. Three inhabitants, from three separate families. They cared for one another, and worked for one another, but in these moments, Heror could tell Ucankacei didn¡¯t understand them as much as he¡¯d like to. There was an understanding that only came from blood, Heror surmised.


    Ucankacei had told the young ones about his family, but scarcely spoke of them. How he¡¯d been born in a lower-class family, in a small wetland town called Yhvvel, north of Fyre and the guard tower that watched over the city. His father was a lowly station commander, and Ucankacei followed him to the army at just 20 years old. He never saw his mother again after that, and his father died of sickness ten years later. The army became his family. For the better part of seventy years, Ucankacei traveled back and forth across Ardys, even beyond the border at times, rising to the rank of officer.


    Ucankacei never told them what happened after that, but Heror could tell he¡¯d been cast aside. His sword arm was weaker. His joints creaked. Even his eyes, as jubilant and jovial as they so often appeared, had a gray haze that lingered. As if a past injury had never healed.


    Thaeolai¡¯s story was different. She was born to an affluent family just outside the Jeweled City. Ten years ago, she¡¯d been caught thieving. Barely a juvenile, they threw her out onto the street without a word. Heror never forgot that.


    He suspected this was one reason why Thaeolai never liked the idea of him leaving to find his mother. How much could a mother be worth, if hers was worth nothing? A mother that cast him aside, just like hers had done?


    Night soon came upon them. Heror retreated to his lodging room, across from Thaeolai¡¯s. He had a view of the dock gate from his glassless window. By luck, or the grace of the Gods, it was a clear night, with no rain or wind coming from the east, and no moon.


    Ucankacei had warned him before not to go out on nights with a new moon. He said it was dangerous ¨C that the protector god Gantuin wasn¡¯t out to watch over them. There had been nights before where Heror didn¡¯t listen ¨C he didn¡¯t care for Ucankacei¡¯s superstitions. But on this night, he stayed in. He needed the rest.


    Tired and worn, with his face turned away from the window, Heror began to drift to sleep. He closed his eyes and relaxed into the bedroll.


    Some time later, his eyes jolted awake, stirred by commotion outside.


    ¡°Heror!¡± He heard Ucankacei call from the other room. ¡°Thae!¡±


    Blinking himself awake, Heror rose to his feet and went into the living room to find Ucankacei and Thaeolai standing by the door. Outside, people from the mahallas were starting to gather, bathed in collected torchlight. Beyond the crowd and noise, Heror could see orange glints of what appeared to be armor, but nothing was clear.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Guards are here,¡± Ucankacei replied, turning to Heror. ¡°Is this about you two? What exactly did you get yourselves into today?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Heror answered, sharing a suspicious glance with Thaeolai. ¡°Come on.¡±


    Heror led the two out into the street, where the noise only grew louder. Dock workers and laborers hurled insults and jeers toward the visitors. As Heror slipped through the crowd, making his way toward the front, he saw what was causing the stir.


    In the middle of the cobblestone courtyard, two dozen Ardysan soldiers stood, and ahead of them, five Opelites led the group, their black armored robes bearing the sigil of elvish royalty. The four robed elves on the ends wore intricate hoods that concealed their faces, but the center figure¡¯s hood was down, revealing bright golden skin, sharp yellow eyes, and a rigid face with the authority of age. Around his neck, he bore a gilded necklace with the flowering Sun symbol, honoring the Gods of the Divine Consortium.


    ¡°Is that the King?¡± Thaeolai asked, leaning in to be heard.


    ¡°No,¡± Ucankacei muttered, shaking his head as he stood next to them. ¡°But that¡¯s one of his Kci Talon. Equally impressive.¡±


    ¡°Chi¡­ thalon?¡± Thaeolai struggled.


    ¡°Kci Talon,¡± Ucankacei corrected. ¡°Elite battle whyzards. His most trusted guardians. Almost never seen in public.¡±


    The center Opelite tried to calm the crowd, lifting his hand in a gesture of concession. But the laborers would not quiet down. After a moment, the Kci Talon leader whispered a command to those at his side. In a quick, strong motion, the four robed elves beside him raised their arms, all at once sending monstrous plumes of fire into the sky with closed fists. There was a noise like thunder, and the courtyard rumbled as a shockwave rolled through the masses. When the mages retracted their spells, the courtyard was completely silent, save for a few coughs near the back.


    ¡°Good,¡± the center Kci Talon started, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. ¡°Now that that¡¯s settled¡­¡±


    The royal wizard reached into his robe and pulled out a scroll. As he spread the golden rollers, a gilded sheet of parchment stretched before him. The mage took a deep breath. His eyes then rose to the crowd.


    ¡°My name is Li-kei,¡± the elf stated. ¡°On this day, the 14th of Rimvalen, I approach on behalf of Kcirun Cirei, the 125th King of Ardys, chosen of Opela, vessel of the divine Blood. I come today with an urgent message that requires action. The northern border wall has been breached, east of Tularis.¡±


    Murmurs started to make their way through the crowd again. Heror glanced at Ucankacei, who was silent in disbelief.


    ¡°Hostilities continue at the border as the Midans persist in their attempt at entry,¡± Li-kei went on. ¡°For now, we have contained them at the site of the breach, but we need more numbers.¡±


    Now Li-Kei¡¯s eyes fell onto the scroll. He read the elvish etchings.


    ¡°All able-bodied men are to report to the Crystal Tower tomorrow morning for medical inspection and assignments pending approval. Additionally, all practitioners of keawal and keatuu, please report as well. All potential charges of unlawful practice are hereby lifted. You will also submit to inspections by myself and the rest of the Kci Talon. Those who pass will be kept and trained. Those who fail will move on to the general inspection. A census will be taken at the inspection. If you meet the qualifications and you do not come, you will be subject to incarceration.¡±


    There was silence from the masses. Li-Kei looked around, then rolled up the scroll, its frame clinking lightly in the empty night air.


    ¡°That is all,¡± he concluded. ¡°Idvae.¡±


    The Kci Talon reorganized and turned in silence, and the Ardysan soldiers followed. As they left, voices murmured and raised in the crowd. In moments, the whyzards disappeared, and confusion fell over the courtyard. Families returned to their lodging homes with haste, parents tugging children along with them, while others lingered, talking amongst themselves in urgent tongues.


    After a moment, Ucankacei turned without a word and started back to the lodging house. Thaeolai shot Heror a glance before following Ucankacei through the crowd. She hurried back to the house, and upon entering, she found Ucankacei pacing just beyond the entryway, muttering to himself.


    ¡°Ucankacei,¡± she started. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Ucankacei stopped, then froze, his thoughts running fast. He then turned and went to the east end of the room, where a small wooden chest sat. He opened it and pulled out a dented elvish sword. He held the damaged blade up to his face with a frail arm, inspecting its wear.


    ¡°You¡¯re not actually thinking about going, are you?¡± Thaeolai scoffed, concern seeping into her voice.


    It was then that Heror walked in, standing next to Thaeolai. Ucankacei¡¯s eyes jumped between them, wide and frantic.


    ¡°My Kingdom needs me,¡± the old man said, turning his attention back to the blade.


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t,¡± Heror argued.


    Ucankacei took a hammer from the chest and glanced at Heror, his brow creased. Then he stood and motioned to the chest.


    ¡°Come grab your sword,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°We¡¯re doing a lesson.¡±


    Ucankacei went over to the dining table, while Thaeolai stepped forward. The old man set the sword down on the table and started striking the dent with the hammer ¨C with no care for the table itself.


    ¡°Ucankacei, with respect, I think your fighting days are behind you,¡± Thaeolai reasoned.


    ¡°Heror, sword!¡± Ucankacei repeated, pointing to the chest.


    ¡°No!¡± Heror lashed out.


    ¡°Are you deaf, boy?¡± Ucankacei growled, showing a fiery side. ¡°The northern border wall has been breached! I don¡¯t think you understand the gravity of the situation.¡±


    ¡°I understand it!¡±


    ¡°Good! Then come get your sword and get ready to fight!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not fighting.¡±


    Ucankacei paused his hammer work and stared at Heror, his mouth agape. Heror took a step forward into the living room.


    ¡°You think they care whether or not you get killed on the battlefield?¡± Heror exclaimed. ¡°They don¡¯t care about us. They want to save themselves, not the Kingdom. I guarantee you, if we go to that inspection tomorrow, they¡¯ll put us on the front line. Fresh meat to slow the Midans down while they cower behind the gates.¡±


    ¡°This is not the time to take a stand against¡­ an ¡®oppressive¡¯ government,¡± Ucankacei scoffed. ¡°The Midans are coming and they intend to kill every last one of us!¡±


    ¡°Let them come!¡± Heror seethed. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone!¡±


    Now both Thaeolai and Ucankacei eyed the young man. Heror saw their confusion and shook his head.


    ¡°How can neither of you see this golden opportunity in front of you?¡± Heror went on. ¡°For years, we¡¯ve only dreamed of going beyond the gates, and now, they¡¯re going to take us there. They¡¯ll give us food, weapons, and armor, and then we can¡­¡±


    He trailed off, feeling the sharpness of Ucankacei¡¯s stare. He glanced at Thaeolai, then he lost his words.


    ¡°We can¡­¡±


    ¡°Desert,¡± Ucankacei concluded.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I was going to say¡­¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s what you plan on doing,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°Deserting.¡±


    Heror found himself at a loss. He opened his mouth, but he could not refute Ucankacei¡¯s claim. Ucankacei frowned and shook his head, turning away from Heror.


    ¡°I will spare you my sharper words,¡± the old man glowered, before scoffing and shaking his head again. ¡°No loyalty.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t owe Ardys any loyalty,¡± Heror argued. ¡°And neither do you. They wouldn¡¯t even notice you¡¯ve gone. They haven¡¯t noticed you since you left the army. Have they ever sent anyone to check on you? Have they supported you in any way? No. You got older, you lost value in their eyes, and they left you to collect dust.¡±


    ¡°¡®Left me to collect dust,¡¯¡± Ucankacei mocked before turning back to Heror. ¡°I wasn¡¯t the only one left to collect dust!¡±


    Heror froze. Ucankacei noticed the effect of his words, and his frustration turned to sadness. The old man shook his head and sighed, his eyes falling to the floor.


    ¡°These dreams of freedom¡­ are not ones I share with you,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s not always better on the other side. I took an oath a century ago. That is what¡¯s most important to me.¡±


    Heror watched as Ucankacei returned to his hammer work, carelessly denting the table as he struck metal. The boy shook his head in frustration and turned to Thaeolai.


    ¡°Thae, you have to agree with me,¡± he pleaded. ¡°This is our chance to leave. I can find my mother. You could go to Tephire. We could see the world.¡±


    Thaeolai bit her lip, then shrunk against the doorframe.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Heror,¡± she said. ¡°I¡­¡±


    She paused, seeing the excitement leave his eyes, like a breeze blowing out a candle.


    ¡°It¡¯s not safe,¡± she went on. ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ let¡¯s say you somehow manage to leave. You¡¯re now a criminal in Ardys. Wanted for desertion. Likely marked for death. How do you plan on getting to Pylantheum? You want to travel hundreds of miles west to the Bay of Ocinion, and risk capture and execution? Or do you want to travel north through the Mides? The only way through is beyond the border wall. Once you get past that point, you¡¯re in a war zone, in enemy territory. In an unfamiliar place. How do you get to Pylantheum then? And when you get there, how do you get through the desert? What then? You said it yourself. That desert is larger than the entire Kingdom of Ardys. ¡±


    Heror took a deep breath and grinded his teeth. She could tell he was frustrated. She blinked, feeling her skin flush. She glanced at Ucankacei ¨C who¡¯d stopped his work and now looked at them ¨C and then she turned back toward Heror, placing a hand on his arm.


    ¡°I¡¯m not trying to kill your spirit,¡± Thaeolai persisted. ¡°I just¡­ I know how eager you can be sometimes. But if you do this¡­ you could wind up dead. Neither of us want that to happen.¡±


    The lodging house was silent. Heror shifted his gaze between Thaeolai and Ucankacei ¨C his brow furrowed, and his sharp blue eyes fierce. After a moment, he turned toward the bunk rooms, granting Thaeolai only half a glance.


    ¡°At least I¡¯d have a choice,¡± he said softly.


    With that, Heror retired into his quarters, closing the creaky wooden door behind him. Thaeolai sighed and shook her head. She looked at Ucankacei, who frowned and returned to his work.


    ¡°He¡¯s stubborn,¡± Ucankacei muttered. ¡°He¡¯ll learn.¡±


    The night deepened. Soon, Ucankacei went to bed, leaving his slightly-crooked sword on the wooden table in the front room. Thaeolai also went to her quarters, but after hours of sleepless thoughts, she stood and went across the hall to Heror¡¯s room. She found Heror lying with his face toward the window. She sat down next to him and gently touched his shoulder. She could feel him stirring; she knew he was still awake.


    ¡°I hate this place as much as you do,¡± she said. ¡°You know that. And you know I¡¯d leave with you and travel the Kingdoms if I had the chance. But even after we leave to fight at the border¡­ I think we¡¯ll still be walled in. Just¡­ in a different way.¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t answer. Thaeolai attempted an embrace.


    ¡°As long as we stay together, maybe we can wait it out,¡± Thaeolai tried to reason with him. ¡°And maybe, in a few years, if the fighting dies down¡­ maybe we can sneak away. Maybe then we can escape.¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t answer. Thaeolai waited. After a moment, she leaned in closer.


    ¡°Heror?¡±


    Heror squirmed away from her, and spoke as he faced the wall.


    ¡°Please leave, Thaeolai.¡±


    Thaeolai felt her eyes start to well up and she quickly rose from the bed. She started for the door, then turned to say one more thing. But before the words could escape her mouth, she bit her lip and left, shutting the door behind her.

 3. Conscription

    Morning came. A deep blue poured into the sky, seeping into the heavens. There it soaked the stars, until they mixed and disappeared within the rising light, like salt grains in water. The Sun itself was blocked by the walls of the city, and as Heror awoke, he was greeted by the eastern wall outside his window, encased by an amber glow.


    Heror walked out into the foyer and found Ucankacei sitting at the table, slowly chipping away at a piece of stale bread. Heror stopped, and for a moment, the two stared at one another.


    ¡°Heror,¡± Ucankacei started, regret in his voice. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my words yesterday. I just¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you think we have time for a quick lesson?¡± Heror asked. ¡°Before the inspection?¡±


    Ucankacei thought for a moment, then gave Heror a small smile.


    They met in the light of dawn outside the lodging house. Ucankacei had his dented sword sheathed, and in his right hand, he held out Heror¡¯s sword for him to take. Heror took it, and Ucankacei spoke.


    ¡°Today, we¡¯ll do a quicker lesson,¡± the old man said. ¡°More of an introduction, if you will. You¡¯ve picked up most of the mechanical aspects of sword fighting. You have a strong base, quick reflexes, and an excellent awareness of positioning. Now, it¡¯s time to begin expanding on that foundation.¡±


    Ucankacei unsheathed his sword, but as he did so, the dented region snagged on the sheath. Ucankacei grumbled and tugged at it for a moment, and soon enough, it came free. He then entered his ready position. Heror matched, setting his base.


    ¡°I am going to come at you with a high strike,¡± Ucankacei explained. ¡°Defend yourself as I have taught you.¡±


    At that moment, Ucankacei pulled up his sword with both hands, raising it above his head. Heror adjusted his footwork, falling back with his dominant foot and leaning into the parry as he too raised his sword. Ucankacei started to swing forward, but before their swords made contact, the old man diverted course and let loose a quick kick to Heror¡¯s gut. Heror winced and stumbled slightly, and now Ucankacei quickly swung his sword around and held it to Heror¡¯s neck.


    ¡°What, a kick?¡± Heror scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re learning?¡±


    ¡°Not entirely,¡± Ucankacei said, lowering his sword with a smirk. ¡°The kick is a physical representation of another necessary element of swordcraft: Deception.¡±


    ¡°But did you actually have to kick me?¡± Heror complained, holding his rib.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Ucankacei replied a bit too excitedly. ¡°Now that you have experienced the kick, you know how debilitating it, or something like it, can be to an opponent. How did you know I was going to attack with a high strike?¡±


    ¡°You told me,¡± Heror muttered.


    ¡°No, I mean, in an actual combat situation, how would you know? What is the indicator?¡±


    ¡°The arms are rising,¡± Heror replied through a sigh.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Ucankacei exclaimed. ¡°And to match, you too raised your sword in a bar position, to absorb the blow. But you see, I never intended to strike high. My main intent was to deceive you with a false indicator. I got you to open up your torso, and I capitalized on the situation. By doing so, I was able to get you off-balance and gain an advantage. Swordcraft, in its most fundamental form, is manipulation of a constantly changing environment. Be aware of what responses your actions elicit as a swordsman, and be prepared to divert course with quickness. Being unpredictable is what separates the beginner from the adept.¡±


    Ucankacei returned to his ready position.


    ¡°You try the same combination,¡± he told Heror. ¡°I will react as an unsuspecting opponent.¡±


    Heror nodded and gripped his sword handle with both hands. He stepped forward into his attack and raised his hands, and Ucankacei responded accordingly, preparing for a block. As soon as the old man raised his sword, Heror rotated and let forth a powerful kick to Ucankacei¡¯s ribcage. Ucankacei let out a grunt and chuckled, holding his side.


    ¡°Much more nimble than mine,¡± he joked. ¡°And more forceful. But most importantly, you hit the mark. A natural!¡±


    Heror lowered his sword, and Ucankacei stretched out his side.


    ¡°Positioning is very important when you attempt this maneuver,¡± he cautioned. ¡°If you¡¯re not close enough to your opponent, you¡¯ll get caught lurching, and your intentions may backfire.¡±


    ¡°What other moves are there?¡± Heror asked, starting to grow curious.


    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t have time to go through them all,¡± Ucankacei answered. ¡°But I love your enthusiasm! There are dozens of combinations you can use. The key is being in control of your motions, and being aware of your indicators. You have to be adaptable at a second¡¯s notice. Only the best swordsmen have the attention to detail and reaction quickness necessary to capitalize on moments of opportunity. You have the capability and the quickness. Now, I must instill in you the level of attentiveness. One more move before we depart.¡±


    Ucankacei raised his sword again, and Heror matched, his fingers gripping the hilt. Ucankacei set his feet and nodded to the young man.


    ¡°This move is a bit more complicated. It is a feigned stab, leading into a spin and slash. The spin isn¡¯t for show. The spin is the fastest transition from the stab to the slash. In fact, it is an extension of the slash itself, building momentum into the final blow. Like the slash, your rotation must be swift, sudden, and unanticipated. As you stab forward, your opponent will seek to guard his midsection. As he looks to defend himself, or prepare a counter, you spin to the left or right with suddenness, carrying your sword with you. Upon completing your rotation, you may levy a demobilizing blow to your opponent¡¯s legs. I will demonstrate.¡±


    ¡°But you won¡¯t actually slice my calves open, will you?¡± Heror jabbed with a slight grin.


    ¡°No,¡± Ucankacei said with a laugh. ¡°No, not this time.¡±


    Ucankacei readied his sword, and Heror set his feet to defend. Ucankacei pulled his weapon back, preparing his demonstration. However, at the height of his pull, he winced, dropped his sword, and held his side. Heror lowered his weapon and eyed the old man.


    ¡°You alright?¡±


    Ucankacei let out a laugh and gave Heror a weak smile, which soon devolved into a sad, lifeless gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± he said, trying to force a smile again. ¡°Well, bones are like flowers. They grow and they wilt.¡±


    ¡°Maybe we should get you some sunlight,¡± Heror quipped, glancing to the east. ¡°And a vase.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Perhaps,¡± Ucankacei chuckled tiredly. ¡°Here, you perform the maneuver based on what I¡¯ve told you. It¡¯s alright if you don¡¯t get it on the first attempt. The key is first becoming familiar with the motion. The rest will follow.¡±


    Heror nodded and raised his sword again. He performed a slight hop-step before leading into his stab. Ucankacei lifted his sword to defend, and Heror approached the midsection. As Ucankacei held firm, Heror suddenly pulled his sword back and spun to the right, carrying his sword with him. He swung around and stopped his weapon inches from Ucankacei¡¯s ankles. But by that point, Ucankacei had already lowered his sword to block the blow.


    Heror eyed the old man and asked: ¡°How was that?¡±


    ¡°Well, predictably a little slow ¨C which is to be expected for someone just now picking it up,¡± Ucankacei critiqued. ¡°You¡¯ll want to be more brisk in the future. Some of that can be cleaned up with your footwork. Your stance was a little too wide entering the turn. You want your base to be strong, but when you¡¯re attempting this move, you have to streamline your motions a bit. A base too wide creates more of a winding progression, which can key in your opponent on your actual intentions. As you saw, I was ready for it.¡±


    ¡°So what exactly should I change?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Quicken your feet,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°Condense your base ¨C around shoulder width and no more. You are looking for maximum speed and efficiency on this maneuver. Again.¡±


    Heror nodded and took a few steps back, returning to ready position. He waited for Ucankacei to return to his mark. Once Ucankacei was in position, Heror took a deep breath and tried again. He led with the stab and made his turn, his feet tracking close together as he whirled around, sword in tow. He reached the end quickly, but found that he was farther back than before. His sword fell harmlessly to the pebbles on the ground, a couple feet short of where Ucankacei stood.


    ¡°Positioning,¡± Ucankacei said immediately. ¡°You timed your spin too early. Your feet were better this time. Next time, don¡¯t spin until you¡¯ve reached proper positioning and sold me on your intentions. Wait until the last possible moment. One more time.¡±


    Heror nodded and turned back to his starting point. He waited a moment, running through Ucankacei¡¯s advice in his head. Once he was comfortable, the young man nodded again and raised his sword. He let out one quick exhale before starting his advance. He brought his sword in for a stab, and quickened his approach. Ucankacei set his feet and raised his sword laterally, prepared to counter.


    Heror held strong, appearing to proceed with the stab, but at the last second, just inches from Ucankacei, he abruptly swung his sword around and whirled to the right, bringing his blade around with his feet in one torrid motion. At the end of his spin, he brought his sword to the ground violently, right beside Ucankacei¡¯s ankle, sending up a flurry of sparks with his strike. A half-second later ¨C a half-second too late ¨C Ucankacei¡¯s sword came to meet it.


    Heror looked up, and for a moment, his eyes met Ucankacei¡¯s. Then, Ucankacei cracked a smile and started to laugh heartily, retracting his sword.


    ¡°Very good,¡± he concluded. ¡°Immaculate, if I must say.¡±


    Heror couldn¡¯t help but smile. He stood up straight and sheathed his sword, and Ucankacei did the same, forcing the dented region past the sheath.


    ¡°Remember that rhythm,¡± Ucankacei advised. ¡°But do not be afraid to stray from it. The worst thing a swordsman can become is predictable. Every opponent you face will be different. It¡¯s up to you to discern what their weak points might be. Attack those points with speed and deception, and you¡¯ll live to see another day.¡±


    The young man nodded and gazed at the eastern wall again. The light was now pouring out from below the gate, and golden sunbeams streaked into the sky where the parent star would soon emerge. The heavens were now a brilliant orange. Houses began to stir.


    Ucankacei eyed the lodging house, then turned to Heror.


    ¡°You should get Thaeolai,¡± he said. ¡°She must¡¯ve slept in.¡±


    Heror entered the shack and stood in the foyer for a moment, listening for sounds beyond the walls. When he heard none, he made his way to Thaeolai¡¯s room, creaking the door open only a sliver. He found Thaeolai still asleep, even as the young morning light reached the back wall of her quarters.


    ¡°Thae,¡± Heror said, his voice hoarse at first.


    The girl did not stir. He knelt down beside her and ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside a few stray blonde hairs.


    ¡°Thae.¡±


    Thaeolai took a deep breath and rolled onto her back, still half asleep.


    ¡°Thae,¡± Heror murmured. ¡°You ready to go?¡±


    ¡°My head hurts,¡± Thaeolai muttered.


    Heror sighed, then noticed that Thaeolai¡¯s finger was twitching, ever so slightly. He put an arm around her as she sat up, her hair falling over her face again.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Heror told her. ¡°We have to get to the Jeweled City.¡±


    ¡°I need my fix,¡± Thaeolai grumbled, her voice slurred.


    ¡°No, come on,¡± Heror said again, trying to help her up. ¡°We need to move.¡±


    ¡°Just let them take me to prison.¡±


    Thaeolai squirmed out of Heror¡¯s grip and crumbled back to the floor. Heror leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.


    ¡°You said we should stick together,¡± he went on. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re going to do. Come on.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t want to,¡± Thaeolai murmured, turning onto her side, facing away from Heror. ¡°You turned me away. You¡¯re just going to leave the second you get the chance.¡±


    ¡°Thae, no¡­ Thae.¡±


    Heror shook Thaeolai¡¯s shoulder, and Thaeolai rolled over, squinting at the sunlight as it shined in through the hallway.


    ¡°Thae, I¡¯m not leaving, alright?¡± Heror promised. ¡°You were right¡­ it¡¯s not¡­ it¡¯s not practical.¡±


    Now Thaeolai sat up and looked at him, her tired eyes trying to read his expression through slats of blonde.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving,¡± he said, clasping her hand.


    Thaeolai stared at him. Her face did not change. Heror gave her one last nod.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving. Now come on.¡±


    Heror could tell she didn¡¯t believe him. But nevertheless, she sighed and stood up slowly, her arms wobbling as she pushed herself off the wooden floor. Heror helped her, and soon, she was back on her feet. She brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and shielded her eyes from the sunlight.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Ucankacei?¡± she muttered.


    ¡°He¡¯s waiting outside,¡± Heror replied. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The three reconvened in the early morning light and set a course for the Crystal Tower. It was a long walk, first through the easternmost section of Cephragon. The mahallas stretched on for a few more miles, blocks upon blocks of decrepit shanties and down-ridden lodging houses with broken windows and caved-in doors.


    From these houses, more and more people began to emerge, some men bidding good-bye to wives and children. Some dwellers sat outside their houses, their minds absent. Others huddled in small circles, talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. At one point, Heror spotted Destus, who smiled teethily and nodded to him from across the cobble street. Heror only offered him a glance as he walked past.


    As they neared the next district, guards began to appear, making their way down to the other end of the mahallas to help move the conscripts along toward the Jeweled City. They were clad in the traditional Ardysan armor -- a golden-bronze breastplate and plackart bearing the Kingdom¡¯s seal, with darker, lightweight pauldrons covering the shoulders. A similar lightweight bronze cuisse was worn on each thigh, along with golden greaves that linked to gold and silver boots, lamed at the shins. All this armor was linked by rich crimson linens, and each soldier donned a lightweight armet ¨C a smooth, gilded helmet that featured a protective visor hinged at the height of each cheek.


    ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯ll be wearing,¡± Ucankacei said, leaning toward Heror as two guards walked past. ¡°More mobile than pure plate armor. Visor doesn¡¯t hurt your peripheral vision. Still good protection. Much more efficient than what those Cuyochs wear over in Ghiovan. Honestly, I don¡¯t know how they move around. Might as well be wearing suits of stone.¡±


    They kept walking in the morning sunlight. The mansions of the affluent district grew closer on the horizon. Ucankacei went on.


    ¡°The cloths are significant,¡± the old man explained. ¡°Color-coded based on rank. Garnet red for the infantrymen, who must shed blood to prove the value of their own. Green for the unit commanders who lead the infantrymen on the field and develop their skills. White for the captains who are proven in battle, and wear the blood of others on their robes. Royal blue for the generals, who dabble more in strategy. Aquamarine for the Royal Guard. And gold for the Kcirun himself. The Kcirun hasn¡¯t set foot on the battlefield himself in ages, though. Not since¡­ Tylei, the 17th, I think. Gods¡¯ Blood, it¡¯s been 2,500 years now. I wonder if it¡¯ll happen again¡­¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    They rounded a corner once they reached an area blocked by the outer wall. When they turned, they saw a pillared structure running across the length of the cobble road not far in the distance. At the structure, several more infantrymen stood waiting, checking citizens as they filtered into the affluent district.


    ¡°I was a greencloak, like my father,¡± Ucankacei reminisced. ¡°Started as a redcloak, as they all do. Worked my way up to the Emerald ranks. Of course, battles were in short supply in my day. Most of our days were spent squashing bandit raids and militia rebellions. A few times, we were enlisted to help deal with pirate activity, off the bay. Always from Cuyasa, those pirates. That dung heap of a city. And the bay is so big, sometimes they could swipe ships without so much as a trace. But we¡¯d take a boat across the border and sneak onto the Midan beaches. We¡¯d make our way there and seize back our ships when they docked. They got clever sometimes. Waited out in the sea for days. Through storms and all. But we¡¯d be waiting when they got there. Same as always. We had the numbers and the strength of arms. All that was left¡­ was to wait. Sometimes we¡¯d sit in the taverns for days, just sweetin¡¯ on women and drinking mrus. Heh¡­ half the fight was staying occupied. Lots of waiting¡­¡±


    Above, a stray sheet of stratus drifted in from the west. As it tracked over the Sun, their shadows dimmed, cast ahead of them as they walked. In minutes, they reached the pillared structure, which served as a checkpoint for the guards. Beyond the pillars, Heror could see larger, more elaborate houses. They were almost to the affluent district.


    Upon approach, two redcloak guards met the trio. The first one motioned to a large wooden box that sat on the ground in front of a pathway between the columns. The second carried a notepad of parchment bound by string, with dozens of tabs on each page. Inside the open box sat various weapons, mostly rusty daggers and swords.


    ¡°Malvae, good citizens,¡± the guard said. ¡°It¡¯s at this time that I ask you to place any weapons you might have in the collection box, as weapon transport is prohibited beyond this point. Do not worry; all weapons placed in the collection box will be marked with your name by my friend here. Upon your return to Cephragon, they will be given back to you. If you are given khilung assignments, weapons and armor forged and approved by the khilung will be provided to you. We¡¯ll start with you, maes.¡±


    The guard motioned to Thaeolai, and the girl stepped forward. After a moment of silence, and a glance back at Ucankacei, she turned around and gave the soldiers a small shrug.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any weapons.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see,¡± the guard muttered, nodding to a third guard. ¡°Ryancilei.¡±


    At that moment, the third guard approached Thaeolai and began to pat her down. Thaeolai shoved him away.


    ¡°Maes, please, it¡¯s just part of our security procedure,¡± the first guard reasoned.


    ¡°I¡¯m not comfortable with this,¡± Thaeolai growled.


    ¡°Then perhaps you¡¯d prefer the brig,¡± the guard suggested. ¡°Treason and resisting an officer. I shudder to think what might come of that.¡±


    Thaeolai glared but said nothing. Heror stepped forward, but Ucankacei grabbed his arm and shook his head discreetly. After a moment, the guard nodded again to his comrade.


    ¡°Continue.¡±


    The second guard returned to his work, patting down Thaeolai to her displeasure. After a few moments, he was finished, and came away with no weapons. Hugging her arms in defeat, Thaeolai stepped into the shadows of the pillared structure, and the guard turned his attention to the next in line.


    ¡°Next.¡±


    Heror glanced at Ucankacei, who motioned for him to go first. Heror stepped forward, his blood still pulsing. He lifted his sword and tossed it into the collection box, then remarked: ¡°Need anything else, ghyyllos?¡±


    ¡°May I first remind you that you¡¯re speaking to an officer of the Ardysan army,¡± the first guard cautioned. ¡°Please watch your tone and your language. And yes, your name, please, so we can mark your weapon.¡±


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    ¡°Heror,¡± the guard echoed, motioning to the second guard, who now wrote the name down on a tag and tied it to his weapon. ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like an elvish name. Then again, I suppose I shouldn¡¯t be surprised.¡±


    Heror glared, his nostrils fuming.


    ¡°Almost done, maesas,¡± the guard continued. ¡°Search him.¡±


    The second guard approached again and started to pat down Heror, beginning with the shoulders and working his way down the torso. Around Heror¡¯s midsection, the guard stopped, his fingers clasping around the outline of Heror¡¯s family cloth. The guard started to pull the cloth from Heror¡¯s garb, but Heror gripped the other end, and for a moment, the two struggled for the item. The first guard started to unsheathe his sword, but Ucankacei stepped forward, placing his hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Heror, it¡¯s alright, let it go¡­¡±


    Reluctantly, Heror released his grip on the cloth. The second guard pulled the cloth from Heror¡¯s garb and started to unroll it.


    ¡°Any weapon?¡± the first guard asked, stepping forward.


    ¡°No,¡± the second guard replied, letting the cloth flutter in the wind. ¡°It¡¯s empty.¡±


    The first guard swiped the cloth from his comrade¡¯s grasp and observed it, his eyes running over the intricate stitching.


    ¡°¡®Heran¡¯,¡± he read off the cloth. ¡°Sounds Pylanthean. Wait a minute¡­¡±


    The guard looked up at Heror, then back down at the cloth.


    ¡°We heard about some half-breed who ate shit over at the docks the other day,¡± he said, starting to chuckle to himself. ¡°That was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Heror glared and said nothing. The guard laughed quietly to himself and rolled the cloth back up. He tossed it to the second guard, who then handed it to Heror.


    ¡°Taking iron to the gut out at the border should suit you better,¡± the guard jabbed, his eyes darkening. ¡°You¡¯re cleared to proceed.¡±


    Heror said nothing, grinding his teeth as he stepped into the shadows and joined Thaeolai. Now Ucankacei took his turn at the checkpoint. He handed his dented sword to the guard, who then asked for a name. Upon providing it, Ucankacei was patted down and subsequently cleared to proceed. He joined Heror and Thaeolai, and they walked through the shaded area.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t say anything,¡± Heror lamented to Ucankacei as they walked. ¡°You should¡¯ve said something.¡±


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have solved anything,¡± Ucankacei replied dismissively.


    It wasn¡¯t long before they emerged on the other side of the checkpoint, greeted by guards who nodded them forward. Past the checkpoint, they were surrounded by lavish landscaping and stonework on either side as they walked. The cobblestone path, once mangled with dirt and grime, was pristine and well-kept. Not far in the distance, the central Crystal Tower loomed over the city streets, closer than it had ever been.


    ¡°The sahiris,¡± Ucankacei said to himself as he eyed the marble mansions. ¡°My, this place certainly is a beauty.¡±


    ¡°All that loyalty, and you still didn¡¯t deserve a house like this,¡± Heror grumbled.


    Ucankacei ignored the young man. They carried on through the affluent district, slowly making their way through the wide, circular cobble road that seemed to orbit the Crystal Tower. On either side, stone and marble fencing protected mansion lawns from trespassers. Some houses had grand entryways and polished marble steps leading to ornate doors, while others hid beyond spectacular golden gates, past yards of fountains and flowers ¨C all of it shimmering in the climbing sunlight.


    The streets of the affluent district were surprisingly quiet. Where families had begun to gather and say their goodbyes in the mahallas, the streets of the sahiris were eerily empty. Even the guard presence was light beyond the checkpoint. Every so often, pairs of soldiers strolled past. As quickly as they appeared, however, they were gone, and the street was silent again. The only sound was that of the cobbles, which crackled ever so lightly under the travelers¡¯ feet.


    ¡°Wonder where everyone is,¡± Ucankacei commented, breaking the silence.


    ¡°These ones probably didn¡¯t get called to battle,¡± Heror theorized.


    ¡°No,¡± Ucankacei scoffed, shaking his head. ¡°They¡¯re probably already at the Crystal Tower. Not as long of a walk from these parts.¡±


    They kept walking, but before long, Thaeolai slowed and came to a stop. Heror glanced over his shoulder to see Thaeolai staring at one house in particular: A mid-sized mansion with a small white marble staircase leading to a smooth stone porch and an intricate wooden door. On the door, he saw a family seal carved into the woodwork ¨C a dove and a feather ¨C and recognized it as Thaeolai¡¯s family seal, one she¡¯d told him about long ago.


    By now, Ucankacei had stopped as well. Thaeolai remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the house¡¯s entryway.


    ¡°Thaeolai, we should keep moving,¡± Ucankacei advised.


    Thaeolai didn¡¯t answer. She started to take a step forward toward the door, when Heror grabbed her arm and stopped her. His eyes met hers, and he shook his head and went on his way. Thaeolai gave the door one last glance, then followed, and they carried on to the Tower.


    It took them around fifteen more minutes to traverse the affluent district. Once they reached the other side, they were greeted by a great gate on the eastern edge of the road. Beyond that gate, they could see a grand courtyard, and a wide, ornate gemstone staircase that led to the central Crystal Tower.


    In front of the gate, commoners from the mahallas had already begun to cluster, held back by a trio of guards that stood blocking the metalwork. Heror, Ucankacei, and Thaeolai stopped at the rear of the group, standing in the morning sunlight as they waited to be let into the concourse.


    ¡°In all my years, I never thought I¡¯d enter the Crystal Tower,¡± Ucankacei started. ¡°They say the central tower stands 500 feet, and the other two towers stand at 300 each. The Kcirun resides at the very top of the central tower, with the Kci Talon and his most trusted military and political advisors. There¡¯s supposed to be a lift inside that takes you up through the levels ¨C a true marvel of engineering. All of it encrusted in the finest aquamarine gemstone ¨C sapherald from the swampland mines of the south. It took over a century to build, over three millennia ago. There¡¯s a monument to Ghisei, the 9th King, in the courtyard. He was the one who put construction in motion, I think¡­ it¡¯s certainly a wonder.¡±


    Heror wasn¡¯t impressed. He stood silently as several more men and women began to file in behind them, forming a line that stretched into the road. After a few minutes of hushed conversation and patient waiting, a guard ran down the steps and approached the gate. He whispered something to the center guard beyond the gate, then turned and hurried back up the steps. The center guard turned to the crowd, stepped forward, and raised his voice.


    ¡°Attention!¡± the soldier exclaimed. ¡°We will now be taking groups up to the Crystal Tower for inspection! In the Great Hall, there will be a checkpoint where those conscripted for combat and those conscripted for keawalatuu will be separated. At this time, the gate will now open for the first group. Please watch your step as you make your way up the staircase.¡±


    At that moment, the other two guards turned and pushed open the gates, opening the path to the Crystal Tower¡¯s courtyard. In silence, the first commoners proceeded onto the smooth stone walkway. As the group went, so did the three. Ucankacei led the way, eyes showing no expression but awe, while Heror and Thaeolai lingered behind him. Once they were through, Heror heard the gates close. They shut with a metallic chatter, and as they did, Heror made his way to the staircase.


    On either side, Heror was surrounded by elegant lawn decor. Grand fountains made of ribbed stone and marble ran, spewing intricate patterns of water into the air, through gilded statuettes of past Kings. Beyond those foundations, dozens of ancient trees lined the outer expanse of the courtyard ¨C thick, brown tributary roots stretching into the fountain pools, flowering at the edges of the water with colors of pink and blue and orange. Along the walkway, and at the base of the stairs, Ardysan guards lined the edges, stoic and silent as the conscripts made their way to the palace.


    Before long, Heror reached the staircase. There were only a dozen steps, but it was enough to lift the group up to an elevated walkway. This led to the main palace platform, a polished stone entryway inside a great domed rotunda, with reliefs of ancient Ardysan history carved into the curved ceilings above. Once underneath the rotunda¡¯s cover, the guards stopped, and the group halted behind them. The center guard then turned around again, and motioned to two walkways branching off from either side of the chamber.


    ¡°We¡¯ve reached the entryway,¡± the guard proclaimed. ¡°It is here that two groups will divert and proceed to their specific inspections. Combat conscriptions, please proceed down the pathway to your left. Practitioners of keawalatuu, please proceed down the pathway to your right. From there, you will undergo inspections and be given further instructions regarding your pending assignments.¡±


    Thaeolai started down the pathway to the right, shooting one last glance to Heror before she disappeared among the other subjects. Heror turned and followed Ucankacei to the pathway on the left. In a group of about two dozen, they made their way into a columned hallway, stone arches on the left channeling in calm gusts of wind from outside.


    The pathway led to a cylindrical end structure with an ornate wooden door. A guard opened the door and stood aside, allowing the group to enter. Upon entering the structure, the group followed a spiral staircase up to the second level, where another short hall led to an open circular chamber, with long windows that stretched from floor to ceiling every few feet. At the center of the domed ceiling was a large skylight, sending in morning rays that cast across the walls.


    At first, the design of the room took Heror¡¯s attention. It wasn¡¯t long before his eyes fell to the floor, however. There, he saw a long, delicately-crafted wooden table with gold inlets, at which four Ardysan officials sat. Remembering what Ucankacei said about the robe colors earlier, Heror saw two greencloaks, and two bluecloaks. They sat in silence, watching the subjects as they entered the room and spread out by the entryway.


    ¡°Please form a single-file line,¡± a redcloak by the door instructed. ¡°Parallel to the table.¡±


    The subjects did as they were told, organizing into a line that stretched from wall to wall. Heror and Ucankacei stood near the far end of the line, with only two others between them and the side window.


    As the subjects settled into their places, the room fell silent. A redcloak walked to the table, and as he did so, a bluecloak motioned for him to approach. The bluecloak whispered something into the redcloak¡¯s ear, and the redcloak nodded, turning back to the group.


    ¡°Inspections will begin now,¡± the redcloak declared. ¡°We¡¯ll start with this end.¡±


    The redcloak pointed to the end opposite from Heror and Ucankacei, and the first commoner stepped forward. He was a thin, emaciated figure with a shaggy beard, dirty clothing, and a twitch in his eye. The officials viewed the man from behind the table for several seconds. Then, after a moment, one of the bluecloaks picked up an ink quill and prepared a sheet of parchment. He looked at the man.


    ¡°Name,¡± the bluecloak requested.


    ¡°Kulaimolei,¡± the man said, his voice hoarse and weak.


    The bluecloak began writing on the parchment. Heror leaned over to Ucankacei, his voice no more than a whisper.


    ¡°Front line,¡± Heror guessed.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure,¡± Ucankacei whispered back.


    After a few more seconds of silence, the bluecloak stopped writing and glanced up at the first subject.


    ¡°Nihlukei¡¯s guard,¡± the bluecloak concluded.


    The disheveled subject snapped, and he started to shout, his voice rising and falling erratically. A redcloak rushed over and grabbed his arm, and as the subject was tugged away, he continued to wail, lamenting his impending doom.


    Another redcloak grabbed his free arm, and the two soldiers dragged him back through the entryway, to the spiral staircase. His voice faded as he went, until it was only an echo. Heror glanced at Ucankacei. Once the subject was gone, the bluecloak cleared his throat and motioned for the next subject to step forward.


    ¡°Next,¡± he muttered.


    The next commoner was more solidly built. He was a tall Opelite with long blonde hair, a thin, patchy beard, and a square jaw. He stood still as he faced inspection, and soon, the officials at the table were whispering to one another in hushed voices. After a short moment of deliberation, the penned bluecloak turned his attention to the subject.


    ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Amantulei.¡±


    ¡°Amantulei,¡± the bluecloak repeated. ¡°You¡¯ll be assigned to Shinuei¡¯s guard. Next.¡±


    Another redcloak approached Amantulei and led him away, more peacefully this time. Now Ucankacei leaned toward Heror.


    ¡°Shinuei is a very prestigious commander,¡± the old man whispered. ¡°Surprising.¡±


    The officials made their way down the line. As the minutes went by, more and more commoners were led away by redcloaks after receiving their assignments. Heror noticed that most of the subjects had been assigned to two units -- Nihlukei¡¯s guard and Tralics¡¯ guard. Heror assumed that these were the front line units. Most of the subjects were frail and famished, and those that weren¡¯t were dirty and unbecoming of Ardysan appearance. It seemed to be nothing more than an eye test, and few had succeeded.


    Before long, the judges reached Ucankacei. The old man stepped forward in silence, and the officials began to evaluate. After a moment, Ucankacei cleared his throat.


    ¡°I have khilung experience as a commanding officer if¡­¡±


    ¡°Do not speak unless spoken to,¡± the bluecloak interrupted.


    ¡°My apologies,¡± Ucankacei said, his voice shrinking.


    The officials stared at the old man, with no conversation between them. And then the bluecloak whispered a quick word to his adjacent and turned back to the parchment.


    ¡°Name,¡± he requested.


    ¡°Ucankacei.¡±


    ¡°Ucankacei,¡± the bluecloak echoed. ¡°Tralics¡¯ guard.¡±


    Ucankacei nodded, his face uneasy. At that moment, a redcloak approached Ucankacei from the corner of the room and motioned for him to exit. The old man did as he was told, and soon, Heror was one of just three subjects left. He took a deep breath as silence settled in. Then the bluecloak spoke again.


    ¡°Next,¡± he demanded.


    Now Heror stepped forward. His Pylanthean blood, combined with years of hard labor, had hardened him. He was stronger and more physically fit than most of the subjects, and as he stood, the officials seemed to reach the same conclusion. They quickly began deliberations, whispering amongst themselves. The whispering carried on for longer than usual. Heror tried to listen in, but the voices were hushed, and the officials were turned away, leaning in toward one another. A minute passed, and finally, they turned back toward the young man. The bluecloak picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink canister.


    ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    The bluecloak began writing, and as he did so, with half a thought, he brought forth Heror¡¯s assignment.


    ¡°Nihlukei¡¯s guard.¡±


    Heror remained silent, a lump forming in his throat. A redcloak approached him and gestured for him to lead the way to the staircase. At first, Heror did not move ¨C staring down the bluecloak who only intended to send him to his death. The redcloak soon grabbed Heror¡¯s arm, and the young man snapped out of his angered trance. He followed the redcloak to the spiral staircase, down the steps, and into the open passage. An overcast crept in from the north. The winds began to change.

 4. To the Fortress

    They left the city of Cephragon by sunset, traveling in armored carriages tugged by horses. For the first time in his life, Heror could see the orange glint of the parent star in the west. But it was corrupted -- blocked by layers of tall, woodland trees, and obstructed further by the metal sill of the chariot¡¯s window. Before long, the Sun set. And Heror fell under a familiar shadow.


    They were on their way to Alaris Khi Thung -- the Ardysan fortress closest to the wall breach. At least, that¡¯s what Heror had been told. That was all he¡¯d been told. After the inspection, the conscripted fighters and mages were sorted to their respective assignments, and boxed into separate carriages like fish in barrels. Bunched shoulder to shoulder with men he¡¯d never met, Heror sat in silence as the chariot made its way forward at a steady pace, lonely hooves clopping beyond the walls as the wheels churned below.


    Heror didn¡¯t know where Ucankacei and Thaeolai were. He hadn¡¯t seen them since the inspection. He knew Ucankacei was on a chariot, but he had no way of knowing if Thaeolai had passed. He¡¯d seen her perform keawal before, but he didn¡¯t know what the elvish standards were. If she passed, she was on a chariot to war. If she didn¡¯t, she was back in Cephragon, alone. As he pondered her fate, he didn¡¯t know which was worse.


    At least she¡¯s pure-blooded, Heror thought to himself. That must¡¯ve helped her chances.


    The chariots carried on along the lush forest roads through the night, traveling north from the Jeweled City. Hours must have passed; Heror fell asleep at some point, and awoke only to the subtle jolt of the chariot¡¯s motion ceasing. Several other conscripted soldiers had also fallen asleep, but stirred at the same feeling. A young, dark-skinned else toward the back glanced outside his window and turned to the rest of the group.


    ¡°Why are we stopping?¡±


    Silence fell over the group again. Outside, isolated shouts could be heard from guards up toward the front of the chariot caravan. Heror craned his neck to peer out the window.


    ¡°Have we arrived?¡± the else asked, his eyes wide.


    ¡°No,¡± an older man grumbled; he had the gray skin and dimly-glowing silver eyes of an ashen elf, a brunuul ¨C another kind the Opelites condemned. ¡°Couple hours more. Should be there just before dawn.¡±


    ¡°Why did we stop?¡± Heror repeated, leaning to try and get a better view out the window.


    ¡°Probably just a scout passing by,¡± the ashen elf told him. ¡°Passing along information.¡±


    Sure enough, the chariot began moving again after a few minutes, and Heror watched a lone redcloak pass by on horseback, heading south with a torch in hand. It wasn¡¯t long before a light rain began falling down, gently drumming on the carriage roof. Every so often, a droplet or two slipped into the chariot through the window.


    After a long silence, the else spoke again.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice to meet you all,¡± he said with misplaced excitement. ¡°What are your names?¡±


    No one indulged the young else at first. But after he glanced from person to person with nervous, pleading eyes, one ragged Opelite offered an answer.


    ¡°Liantholei.¡±


    ¡°Braylyn,¡± the ashen elf murmured, a white fuzz hugging his gaunt, gray face.


    The else looked around, seeking more answers, then stopped at Heror. Heror had spoken earlier, having made himself familiar.


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t feel like speaking again, but after meeting the else¡¯s eyes for a moment, he conceded.


    ¡°Heror,¡± he answered, with a small nod.


    The else nodded, then turned to the rest of the group. When no more soldiers answered, he started to speak.


    ¡°My name is Khoulane,¡± he chimed. ¡°I¡¯m from Tu-Taili, over in the southern desert, in Mathingar. I came here when I was young. Where are you all from?¡±


    Again, silence fell over the group. Then, after a moment, the ashen elf Braylyn laughed quietly to himself and eyed the lad.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    Khoulane didn¡¯t speak after that. The carriage moved on through light rainfall. Soft, steady winds cooled as they moved north. It was a quiet, peaceful night. But in the air, there was a tense, lingering anticipation, made louder by the drumming whispers of the rains. As they went on, Heror heard soft rumbles of thunder far in the distance. The torches hitched to the frames of the carriages gave off the odor of heat and smoke, but as the road grew longer behind them, the smell seemed to grow heavier ¨C as if there was another source beyond.


    After a while, Heror dozed off again, but it wasn¡¯t long before the carriage¡¯s movement woke him a second time. The smell of smoke was pungent now, and as he sat up in his seat, he heard voices hailing in the carriage from beyond the walls. He leaned to peer out the window, and he watched as the carriage passed through a checkpoint of some sort. The road was lined by patrolling redcloaks, and as the carriage turned, he caught his first glimpse of the Khi Thung.


    The Khi Thung was a massive structure situated on a short, wide knoll, stacked with several walls beyond the inner portion. The outer wall was made of compacted stone, with staggered watch towers running along the walkway at the top of the alcove. Inside the outer wall, Heror could see a more ornate structure with a sloped roof and walls mixed with wood and stone, lanterns hanging from layered balconies that stretched to an angular peak.


    In front of the fortress, a vast and open yard lay, dotted with smaller reinforced structures designed for quick, sturdy defense, lit only by torches. Through this field of orange and black, a lone, wide dirt path stretched, until it came to a vertical metal gate activated by a chain-and-pulley system.


    As Heror surveyed the fortress, the carriage made a sharp turn to the left, stopping at the checkpoint before the path. There were voices outside, as fortress troops identified the caravan as friendly. Soon, the carriages again began to move, making their way onto the dirt path leading to the main gate. As they went, guards watched in silence from their defensive posts, gilded helmets gleaming in the broken firelight.


    The carriage rumbled along on the unkempt dirt road, and soon, at the command of the horse riders, it came to a stop just ahead of the gate. There was another shout, followed by more distant chatter. Not long after that, a metallic sound filled the night air. The gate lifted slowly as two redcloaks cranked chains on opposite sides of the entryway. Once the gate reached the height of the archway, it locked into place, and more voices called for the carriages to move forward. Heror then felt the carriage lurch forward as it moved within the cover of the fortress. As quickly as it started, it stopped again. Seconds later, an older redcloak slid open the sheet metal door in the back.


    ¡°Alright,¡± the redcloak said gruffly. ¡°Time for yu¡¯all to come out.¡±


    One by one, the conscripted soldiers slowly filed out of the armored carriage. The elvish man called Liantholei went first, followed by the brunuul Braylyn. Others followed, stepping gingerly onto the dirt as they scaled the slight drop from the carriage to the ground. When it came time for Khoulane to exit the carriage, the boy simply sat there ¨C eyes wide ¨C forcing the guard to give a stern reminder.


    ¡°Boy!¡± the guard glowered. ¡°Out with you!¡±


    Now Khoulane rushed out, and after two more exits, it was Heror¡¯s turn. The young man stood, leaning to avoid hitting his head on the carriage ceiling. He dropped down from the carriage, landing softly on his feet in the dirt. Three more conscripts joined the group, and after that, the carriage was empty. The guard wasted no time giving them their next orders.


    ¡°Paiyuel!¡± he shouted above the noise, as other groups organized around them. ¡°Everyone line up in rows! We need to take accounts!¡±


    After a moment, the conscripted soldiers organized into a formation, and the guard pulled out a sheet of parchment, his eyes tracing the contents.


    ¡°Anthrukei!¡±


    A middle-aged elf toward the front of the group raised his hand. The guard glared at him.


    ¡°Say ¡®present¡¯ when your name is called!¡± he yelled.


    ¡°Present,¡± Anthrukei said quickly.


    ¡°Braylyn!¡±


    ¡°Present.¡±


    ¡°Correlicai!¡±


    ¡°Present!¡±


    ¡°Hamilcar!¡±


    ¡°Present, maesas.¡±


    ¡°Heror!¡±


    Almost by instinct, Heror initially refused to comply. But when the guard¡¯s prodding eyes rose from the parchment, his brow lifted, Heror snapped out of his rebellious phase.


    ¡°Present,¡± he murmured.


    The guard made his way down the list, and soon enough, it was confirmed that every conscript assigned to Nihlukei¡¯s guard was present at the fortress. At the sound of the last name, the carriages were turned away, and soon they were gone. The gate closed behind the last carriage, enclosing the conscripts within the walls of the fortress.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Once the gate closed, a voice rang out from behind the soldiers. The clustered groups turned around to see a bluecloak standing in the center of the dirt road within the gate. Joined by redcloaks on either side, the bluecloak held a helmet against his waist. He was an older Ardysan, with long white hair and an angular face that jutted out at the chin.


    ¡°Malvae! And welcome,¡± he exclaimed to the soldiers. ¡°You are now siephalls of the khilung ¨C soldiers of the Ardysan ground force. My name is Sulemei. I am the siekangh here ¨C the chief commanding officer of Alaris Khi Thung. By now, each of you have been assigned to separate siekarums ¨C unit commanders. Please follow me and stay with your groups, and I will give you an overview of the layout of the Khi Thung. Shortly after, you will be directed to your separate units, where you will then be briefed further by your siekarums. This way.¡±


    As they began walking, Heror scanned the crowd for Ucankacei. He lifted his head to search, squinting in the low light. However, he soon found that it would be difficult. He was near the rear again. In the dim torchlight, most of the soldiers were mere silhouettes, sifting back and forth as the groups began to move.


    They carried on along the dirt path, making their way toward the central building. The path was lined by tall stone walls that extended from the main gate. Above, night nimbus clouds sent down gentle rains. The path soon opened up into a courtyard, and the dirt gave way to polished stone tiles. At each corner of the courtyard was a guard tower, and toward the center, a wide stone staircase led to the massive central building. The yard was dotted by redcloaks on patrol.


    As the conscripted soldiers made their way up the steps, Heror got a closer look at the central building. It was built on a stone foundation, but hidden beyond the bulwark, the central building was largely made of wood and brick. At the top of the staircase was an open concourse of stone, shielded from the rains by a balcony that was held up by tall wooden pillars. At the back of the concourse, a large wooden dual-sided door sat, with large rectangular wooden plaques on either side, filled from top to bottom with red elvish glyphs. From the scaffolding above, lanterns hung, bathing the area in amber light.


    The siekangh stopped at the doors, and the soldiers halted behind him. He motioned for two guards standing by to let them into the structure. The redcloaks rushed to the door, each grabbing a handle. With some effort, they pulled open the wooden doors, and the siekangh started inside, followed by the conscripts.


    Once the conscripts were inside, the doors closed behind them. The siekangh made his way through the entryway and into another open room. This room was lined with wooden tables and chairs, and capped by a large ceiling that angled as it neared the top. Along the edges of the room, torched pillars held up the second level of the building, and up above, railings lined the second floor as it encircled the great hall. From the scaffolding underneath the second floor, iron circlet chandeliers hung, further illuminating the area.


    ¡°This is the assembly hall,¡± Sulemei explained, his voice echoing in the empty room. ¡°Mornings and afternoons, you will eat your meals here. Up above, you¡¯ll see that there is a second level and a third level. Most of your time here will be spent on the ground floor, however. The second level is mainly for overflow housing, keawalatuu practitioners, and administrative personnel. The third level is for interior defense and efficient access to the bulwark.¡±


    The siekangh abruptly diverted toward a hallway that branched off from the assembly hall. The soldiers followed him, clustering together as they funneled into the smaller passageway. Heror again peered above the group, trying to spot Ucankacei. And again, he was unable to find his friend in the crowd. His eyes fell back down to the wooden floor.


    ¡°This hallway runs around the entirety of the khilung house,¡± Sulemei continued. ¡°Barracks run along the north and south hallways, while the east and west hallways are reserved for storage, smithing, equipment repairs, and medical wings. Along the south hallway, there is a door that leads out to a training courtyard. You¡¯ll spend lots of your time there, honing your skills. Since we are currently making our way down the north hallway, I will direct you to your assigned barracks once we arrive. Up here on the left is our first barrack unit.¡±


    Sulemei stopped at a single wooden door and pushed it open, and the conscripts peered inside. The room was filled with dozens of single straw beds arranged in rows, and along the walls, tables and chairs were assorted for use. Torch sconces lined the room, and although most of the beds were empty, several soldiers lay sleeping, with their metal armor parts discarded beside their beds.


    ¡°Many of the siephalls and siekarums assigned to these units are still returning from work at the border wall,¡± Sulemei explained. ¡°There should be more than enough beds for everyone, so simply pick one. I believe this barrack is set aside for¡­ Volocei¡¯s squadron. Anyone assigned to Volocei¡¯s guard?¡±


    After a brief moment of silence, two conscripts stepped forward and entered the room, their eyes tired and dull. One turned around as if to ask a question, but by then, Sulemei was already moving on down the hallway.


    The siekangh led the remaining conscripts further down the passage, until they came to another barrack on the left side. This one was completely empty. Sulemei leaned inside and read a sheet of parchment nailed to the wall.


    ¡°This one is¡­ Shinuei¡¯s quarter, I believe,¡± Sulemei stated. ¡°His unit is still at the wall. I¡¯d imagine he¡¯ll be back within a day or so.¡±


    At that moment, the tall elf called Amantulei stepped forward and entered the room. Sulemei nodded to the conscript.


    ¡°Tomorrow morning, head to the assembly hall for food and get fitted for armor on the east side of the house,¡± Sulemei advised the elf before turning away. ¡°Moving on now.¡±


    They pressed on, and it soon occurred to Heror that the fortress house was much larger than it had appeared on the outside. They passed two more barracks, but those barracks were full, and not expecting conscripts from Cephragon. After a few minutes, they finally came to the end of the northern hallway. Tucked in just beside the corner of the two passages was a smaller barrack. Sulemei pushed open the door and turned to the group.


    ¡°Nihlukei¡¯s guard,¡± he said, his voice suddenly darker. ¡°He¡¯s expecting quite a few of you.¡±


    There was a slight delay while the other conscripts cleared the way for the members of Nihlukei¡¯s guard to step forward. Once a path was cleared, those assigned to Nihlukei¡¯s guard slowly filtered into the barrack. Heror eyed the others as he followed the line, and he finally found Ucankacei, standing close to the door, in the front row. The two exchanged a wordless glance, and as Heror walked by, Ucankacei gave him a comforting pat on the back. Once Heror was in, Sulemei closed the door behind him, leaving the conscripts alone.


    Heror¡¯s eyes now turned to the room ahead, and when they did, he was met with a grisly sight. Like the other barracks, there were dozens of single beds, many of them splotched with shades of red and crimson. Less than ten beds were filled by resting soldiers, many of whom had reddened bandages wrapped around wounds. One siephall lay whimpering in the corner while another applied a bandage to a deep ankle wound. In the opposite corner, a silent greencloak knelt next to an unconscious soldier, his hand on the siephall¡¯s shoulder.


    At the sound of the door closing, the greencloak rose silently and turned his gaze, and Heror saw his face. He was a younger-older man, or an older-younger man, with parted brown hair that waved as it fell over his elvish ears, and a dimple at the base of his chin. His olive face was gaunt at the jaw, but full at his cheeks, and his emerald eyes fell over the group, emotions obscured behind exhaustion. He was the only one in the room still wearing his battle armor ¨C its rich green cloth and gilded metal matted with dull reds and dirty browns.


    Before any of the conscripts had the chance to speak, the greencloak began.


    ¡°You¡¯re the conscripts?¡± he asked ¨C his voice sturdy, fast, but clear.


    After a moment of silence, Braylyn nodded, standing near the front of the group. The greencloak turned and walked to the back of the room, picking up a wrinkled sheet of parchment that sat on a wooden table. He unfurled the document and read down the list. As his eyes scanned the parchment, the conscripts remained silent.


    ¡°I assume they took accounts at the gate,¡± the greencloak surmised. ¡°Was there anyone missing?¡±


    Again, the group remained silent. The greencloak waited for an answer. After a few moments, his eyes rose from the paper, falling on the ashen elf Braylyn.


    ¡°You may speak,¡± Nihlukei told him.


    ¡°No,¡± Braylyn replied after clearing his throat. ¡°No one unaccounted for.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    The greencloak set the parchment back down on the table. He then turned back toward the group and nodded to them, tucking his hands behind his back.


    ¡°My name is siekarum Nihlukei,¡± he announced. ¡°I am the commanding officer for this unit.¡±


    ¡°Are you expecting more to return from the wall?¡± Khoulane asked hesitantly, looking around at all the empty beds.


    ¡°No,¡± Nihlukei replied, his eyes sinking to the stone floor. ¡°No, this is my unit.¡±


    There was another uneasy silence among the conscripts. Nihlukei himself was taken away by his own thoughts, but after a few seconds, he cleared his throat and gave his attention back to the group.


    ¡°The siekangh has given me the task of briefing you on our current situation. I will try my best. The khilung is actively engaging in defense of the border wall breach. The Midans managed to break down a small section of the wall east of Tularis, approximately 30 to 35 miles north of here. Their ensuing attacks have been funneled through that breach, and have thus been withstood, for the time being¡­ though not without loss. The Midans exhausted many of their siege resources in their initial invasion, so most of the recent attacks on the wall have been engineered by ground forces. Even so, we must prevent the Midans from gaining a foothold in Ardys at all costs. Furthermore, our main strategic objective is to regain control of the breach before the Midans resupply their siege arsenal. At that point, we may be able to launch an offensive and cripple the Midans¡¯ attack capabilities.¡±


    The siekarum glanced around the group.


    ¡°Before I continue, are there any questions?¡±


    No one spoke. Nihlukei continued.


    ¡°My guard is one of the front line units. At the moment, there are four functional front line units in total, and together, all are tasked with serving as the initial bastion against enemy forces, protecting the main body of the khilung. As siephalls under my command, you will likely be heavily engaged in combat. As your siekarum, it is my duty to prepare you for this combat. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you have the skills required to win in battle. Your work will begin tomorrow. After breakfast, I will lead you to the armory, where you¡¯ll be outfitted and given weapons. Then we will begin training. I will do my best to prepare you with the limited time that we have, but given the nature of our situation, we may be called to the wall at a moment¡¯s notice. We also may have extended stays at the wall. I want you to be ready for anything.¡±


    The siekarum took a deep breath, then kept going.


    ¡°For now, pick a bed and get some rest,¡± he told the group. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re tired from the journey north. Tomorrow, we¡¯ll regroup and do introductions. And if anyone has any questions along the way, you are always permitted to ask.¡±


    With that, Nihlukei turned away and retired to a bed at the far end of the room, slipping off his metal armor and dropping it beside him. He fell onto the bed and went limp with exhaustion, and the conscripts followed suit, silently settling at beds of their choosing. Heror chose one closer to the door, and it was only when his legs fell out from under him that he realized how tired he was. He set his head on the flat straw pillow, and within minutes, he was asleep, eyes shut as he rested for the day ahead.

 5. Nihlukei

    They woke in the morning. Nihlukei was up before the rest of his unit, and he rang a bell by the door, its high-pitched vibrations filling the room from corner to corner. The bell woke the rest of the soldiers, and slowly, they organized and made their way back down the northern hallway, to the assembly hall. There, other soldiers were already eating breakfast, but there were still many empty tables, already set with food and silverware.


    Nihlukei sat at a table, and the rest of the soldiers followed suit. Heror set himself down near the edge of the table, and immediately, the warm wafting fumes of food reached his nostrils. He looked down to see a full plate of breakfast, with eggs, bread, bacon, and cheese. It was the first time Heror had seen a full plate in years.


    Beside the plate was a metal goblet, filled with a sweet-smelling beverage. Heror started to lift up the goblet, but before he could drink, Nihlukei came around the table and approached Heror.


    ¡°May I have your name, please?¡±


    Heror eyed the siekarum, then set down the goblet.


    ¡°Heror,¡± he answered blankly.


    ¡°Heror,¡± Nihlukei echoed, with a slight bow. ¡°Good to have you.¡±


    The siekarum then moved on, and Heror watched as he made his way around the table, performing introductions with the other conscripts. Heror picked up the goblet again and took a sip, his eyes fixed on the siekarum as he spoke with other commoners from the mahallas.


    Heror still didn¡¯t trust Nihlukei. Opel elves had done little to earn his trust over the years, and so he was waiting for Nihlukei to slip. But the siekarum had been respectful so far. Nevertheless, Heror wasn¡¯t convinced. Even as he began to eat his food, he had a watchful eye on the officer.


    The hungry conscripts ate their meals fairly quickly. Once finished, Nihlukei led them through the assembly hall and past the kitchen, down to the east hallway where they then made their way to the armory. Eventually, they came to a short passage that branched off of the east hallway. They carried on through that, and soon, they came to a vast, open room, teeming with soldiers and other Khi Thung workers.


    At the south end of the room was a smithing area. There, several smiths were already hard at work, grinding and hammering metals, while other workers stitched finished sheets to red cloths for armor. Large wooden slats were open on the ceiling above, controlled by a rope system, letting in the bright morning sunlight. Smoke and steam from the smithing work rose through the makeshift skylight, and a gentle breeze filled the armory.


    At the north end of the room, finished armor sets and weapons were stacked and assorted for soldiers to choose from. Nihlukei led his unit here and stopped short of the collection. Other soldiers were already sifting through for supplies, so Nihlukei turned and addressed his group.


    ¡°Once they¡¯re done, you¡¯ll choose your armor,¡± he explained, speaking loudly so as to be heard above the noise. ¡°The armor sets are sorted from smallest to largest. The straps are reasonably adjustable, so you¡¯re not looking for a perfect fit. If you can move, and you feel protected, the armor¡¯s yours.¡±


    He now took a few steps to his left and motioned to the weapons armory in the northeast corner, where swords and other tools were arranged for selection.


    ¡°Next, you¡¯ll pick a sword,¡± he continued. ¡°The khilung traditionally employs a lightweight longsword in combat, less than a metra long. These blades are not hard to swing, and can be used with either one or two hands with relative ease. No other weapon preferences will be entertained at this time. If you have negligible experience with a longsword, let me know, and I will do my best to give you careful attention during instruction.¡±


    The siekarum took a couple more steps and now neared the end section of the armory, where strange shield-like items sat in rows, made of gilded metal and leather straps.


    ¡°This will be the final part of your outfit,¡± Nihlukei went on, picking up one of the shield-like items. ¡°The aspidan. Many of you may be familiar with the traditional royal aspis of the city guards. But siephalls and other foot soldiers of the Ardysan infantry use a different means for torso protection.¡±


    Nihlukei took the aspidan and began strapping it to his arm.


    ¡°The aspidan is a long, thin, curved sheet of metal that conforms to the bend of your free arm,¡± the siekarum explained. ¡°It can be strapped to the arm for autonomous protection, but there is also a folding leather handle on the inside of the aspidan. This handle can be grabbed, and the aspidan can be swung as an ancillary piece to the sword. Proper use is essential, as the aspidan doesn¡¯t offer as much heft or security as a traditional shield. But I assure you, on the battlefield, this tool has saved my life countless times.¡±


    The armor area started to clear out, and soon, there was enough room for the conscripts to browse and select their items. Nihlukei motioned for his unit to proceed.


    ¡°Pick your armor, then put it on,¡± Nihlukei instructed. ¡°Then pick your weapon and your aspidan, and return to me when you¡¯re finished. Once we regroup, we¡¯ll head to the training grounds.¡±


    Heror started at the middle of the armor section. After some searching, he found an armor set that might fit him. He lifted the cuirass and gave it a look, but soon noticed that another conscript was lingering to his right. He turned to see the young else Khoulane, who was struggling to find an armor set that fit.


    Looking at the boy further, Heror surmised that he couldn¡¯t be older than 15 years. The boy lifted one of the larger armor sets with dark hands, holding it to his small, thin body as if to compare. The cuirass stretched all the way down to his knees, however, and after a minute, he set down that armor and picked up an even larger one. This went on for a few more moments, until it pained Heror to watch further.


    ¡°Those are too big,¡± Heror grumbled.


    Startled, Khoulane looked at Heror, then back at the armor that hung over his legs.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± the boy asked, eyes wide as he hugged the cloth to his chest.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Heror sighed, nodding to the left. ¡°Smaller sets are over there.¡±


    ¡°Oh, alright,¡± Khoulane said with a nervous twitch. ¡°Thank you, Heror.¡±


    Skittish, the boy set down the armor and hurried past Heror, making his way down to the smaller armor sets. At that moment, an older, burlier conscript with a full black beard stepped beside Heror, watching Khoulane as he left. He let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose and shook his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one who wouldn¡¯t shut up,¡± the man muttered.


    Heror grinned. The man sifted through armor sets with his hands, eventually settling on one from the middle of the pile.


    ¡°You can see it in the eyes. He¡¯s touched in the head,¡± the man went on. ¡°Don¡¯t know why the Gods make people like that.¡±


    Heror¡¯s grin faded, and he glanced back at Khoulane, watching as the boy still struggled to find an armor set for himself. As the bearded man left with his outfit, Heror took a deep breath and turned back to the armor array, setting down his chosen set as he now sought out a helmet. The helmets ¨C smooth gilded armets ¨C were less variant in size, and so he quickly found one that provided adequate comfort and support. After that, he picked a pair of armored boots and gauntlets to complete his ensemble. Then he checked on Khoulane again. The boy was still grappling over his decision.


    Heror let out an exhale and tucked his armor set underneath his arm, carrying his other items by their straps in his other hand. He walked over to Khoulane, who only gave him a glance as he grew near.


    ¡°That should be good,¡± Heror told Khoulane, motioning to the armor set in his hands.


    Khoulane stared at the armor, then looked at Heror.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure,¡± Heror said with a nod.


    ¡°I just want to make sure there¡¯s enough metal,¡± the boy went on. ¡°Back home, one of my cousins got his leg cut off by a ta¡¯r¡¯ha¡¯jee with an axe. Clean gone under the knee. I told him not to go in just pants. Nothing to stop the blade from running right through if it¡¯s got a good angle. He was running with a rival clan, said the healers in Render would just fix him up afterward. I told him, ¡®yeah, but not even them can give you a new leg¡¯. Now he walks with a wooden stick for a calf. I want to keep my calves. I¡¯m not looking to¨C¡±


    ¡°Khoulane,¡± Heror interrupted with a reassuring smile. ¡°That should be good.¡±


    Khoulane glanced at the armor, then back at Heror, struggling to make eye contact.


    ¡°Oh¡­ alright,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you, Heror.¡±


    The boy left, armor in hand, and Heror eyed him for a moment longer. He then took his own armor selections and began slipping them on, starting with the cuirass. He lifted the garment by its interior pads and guided his head through the torso. Once it was on securely, he felt the heavy tug of the metal pauldrons on his shoulders. The golden bronze breastplate pressed against his midsection, and a smaller sheet protected his upper back. Red garbs stitched together between armor pieces hung down like a cloak, falling over his back and his upper arms.


    After putting on the cuirass, Heror strapped on his cuisse and boots next. Each cuisse wrapped around most of his thigh, snapping into place with a leather strap that wrapped around the back end of the leg. The boots slid on fairly easily, covering everything up to his kneecap, and once on, Heror buckled them at the shins and the bridges of his feet, tightening the fit.


    Now, Heror palmed his helmet with both hands, lifting it up to his face. In the light gold metal cranium, he could see his reflection, distorted by the swift curvature of the head guard. He saw his face, and he saw the pauldrons of Ardysan armor, perched upon his shoulders. This was the armor he¡¯d grown to hate in Cephragon.


    For a moment, he wondered why he didn¡¯t just run when the gates opened for him. Maybe he could have found a chance. He then thought of Thaeolai and Ucankacei, but neither of them were there anymore. He¡¯d chosen to stay for them, but now they had been separated. Heror huffed and shook his head at the cruel irony, then lifted the helmet and put it on. Seeing that it fit, he took it off again and moved on to the weapon selection.


    The longswords were of high quality, made of a gilded metal mix that matched the armor set. The handles and hilts were made of grooved bronze, while the blades themselves were a sharp and brilliant gold, each linear with a long temper line running down the middle of the blade flat. Heror was almost impressed by the craftsmanship, and how it had been replicated time after time. Seeing no difference among weapons, he picked a sword at random and picked a red leather sheath to go with it, tucking the sheath onto his armor belt.


    Finally, Heror came to the aspidan. Ucankacei had never trained him in the use of shields, so Heror liked the idea of a tool that would allow him to use two hands for his sword. He picked up an aspidan with his left hand and saw how the shield hybrid almost wrapped around his forearm, extending past his elbow on one side. The metal had the thickness of a light shield, but it could be adjusted by the straps inside. As Heror held the aspidan, its lack of rigidity startled him.


    ¡°It¡¯s interesting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Heror turned to see the ashen elf Braylyn, who was holding an aspidan of his own, looking down at it with a perplexed expression.


    ¡°I fought a long time ago for the War Chancellor in Charondor,¡± the ashen elf said. ¡°We used greatshields that reached from toe to chest. Could stab them into the ground for defense against arrows. This is just about the opposite.¡±


    ¡°Surprised they held the border wall this long with these,¡± Heror muttered.


    Braylyn let out a short chuckle, and Heror smirked, adjusting the aspidan in his hand. Braylyn turned away and made his way back toward Nihlukei, and Heror followed. They waited for a few more conscripts to finish choosing their tools, and once everyone was accounted for, Nihlukei led them out of the armory and back into the fortress house¡¯s eastern hallway.


    From the eastern hallway, the group carried on, making its way to the southern hallway, where more barracks lined the passage. After a few more minutes of walking, they came to another adjacent hallway that branched off from the southern hall. Nihlukei led his men down this hall, and soon, the hallway opened into a small entryway, dimly lit and underlain by a stone floor. At the end of the entryway, a large wooden door sat, thick and heavy on its hinges, guarded by a siephall on either side.


    Nihlukei nodded to the guardsmen and approached the door. Once he came to it, he wrapped both hands around the large, curved metal handle. With a little effort, he managed to pull the door open, and as he did so, bright light poured into the room. Heror had to raise his arm to shield his eyes, and even when his eyes adjusted, the light of the midday Sun was all he could see.


    ¡°Siephalls,¡± Nihlukei said, turning back to his group. ¡°Let¡¯s get to training.¡±


    Nihlukei walked through the door, and the others followed. When they emerged on the other side, they were met with the sight of the training grounds.


    The training grounds were vast ¨C far larger than Heror had anticipated. They stretched over one-hundred yards to the south, and over twenty-five yards on either side. The entire yard was a massive, flat plot of limestone brick and terracotta. The bricks took on a block-by-block pattern, with redder bricks outlining large squares of space, inside which siephalls from other units sparred with one another. Beyond the plot, Heror could see nothing but rolling green hills and forests, made dense by distance. Above, a full blue sky greeted him.


    It was the most freedom Heror had ever felt. But soon, his eyes fell on the far edges of the plot. There, Heror could see a ten-foot stone wall that seemed to box the soldiers in, and at each corner of the plot, a guard tower sat.


    Heror frowned, but it wasn¡¯t long before the siekarum demanded his attention again. Nihlukei called out to his siephalls, and when they all gave him their eyes, he motioned to the expanse of the plot.


    ¡°These are the training grounds,¡± the siekarum explained. ¡°For however long we stay here, this is where you will hone your skills and prepare for battle. There is no true substitute for experience on the battlefield, but here, I will do my best to enable you to succeed. Today, we¡¯ll start by simply growing familiar with our equipment. I will also gauge your skills, and determine who needs more of my attention at the moment. Come, this way.¡±


    Nihlukei turned and started the trek across the training grounds, and his siephalls followed. They walked past dozens of other soldiers occupying plots of brick, until they came to an empty section of the training grounds near the back corner. Under the gentle warmth of the sun, the siephalls spread out across their designated area, by Nihlukei¡¯s command. Once the siephalls were spread out, they awaited Nihlukei¡¯s next order. The siekarum performed a quick count, then nodded to himself.


    ¡°There are twenty-one of us here, with nine others resting in the barracks,¡± he confirmed. ¡°I don¡¯t expect the others to join us, so we will organize into pairs with this current group.¡±


    Nihlukei paused for a moment. Then, to Heror¡¯s surprise, the siekarum¡¯s eyes fell on him.


    ¡°Heror, correct?¡± Nihlukei asked.


    Heror eyed the siekarum with a look of confusion, then nodded.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be sparring with me,¡± Nihlukei told him. ¡°The rest of you, organize into pairs. Once you¡¯ve done so, we will begin our training session.¡±


    The conscripts began assembling into pairs, and Heror reluctantly made his way over to the siekarum. The two exchanged a glance, but Nihlukei said nothing to him, instead turning his attention back to the group. Heror watched as Nihlukei walked away from him, toward the group. The siekarum approached Braylyn and said something to the ashen elf that Heror could not hear, then returned to his position with Heror and remained silent.


    As they stood, Heror squinted his eyes in Nihlukei¡¯s direction, still untrusting of the Opelite. In moments, ten pairs were formed, and Nihlukei unsheathed his sword, holding his aspidan by the handle in his other hand.Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Good!¡± he called out, his voice taking on added volume. ¡°Now, our first sparring session will focus on acquiring balance between the sword and the aspidan. Simply trade light blows with your partner. Strike with the sword, and block with the aspidan. Become familiar with your instruments, and decide what is comfortable for you. Use some restraint, but bring urgency. We are not just introducing ourselves to the tools we will use. We are simulating battle. Helmets on! Opvae!¡±


    The siephalls began to spar with one another, and Heror turned to Nihlukei. He slipped on his helmet and drew his sword, blue eyes staring intently at his target. After a moment of anticipation, Nihlukei nodded feverishly, his own eyes glinting in the shadow underneath his helmet.


    ¡°Opvae!¡± he exclaimed with newfound energy.


    On command, Heror lurched forward and swung his sword at Nihlukei, and the siekarum deflected effortlessly with the aspidan. With unexpected quickness, Nihlukei began his swing, and Heror saw the siekarum¡¯s sword flying toward him. He lifted his aspidan to deflect the blow, but was late with his defense, and was knocked off balance by the power of Nihlukei¡¯s strike. It took Heror a moment to regain his footing, and by then, Nihlukei had stepped forward, putting pressure on the young siephall.


    ¡°Opvae!¡± Nihlukei shouted again, with unnatural intensity.


    Heror grunted and swung again, this time aiming for Nihlukei¡¯s left side. Nihlukei was ready, however, swinging his aspidan and wrenching Heror¡¯s blade aside. Before Heror could recover, Nihlukei swung toward him, and Heror was forced to swing his aspidan at the last second, just barely deflecting Nihlukei¡¯s blow. In the ensuing movement, Heror¡¯s feet were twisted up, and he stumbled to the ground, falling onto his back. He rolled to the side and rushed to his feet, and when he entered his stance again, Nihlukei was still waiting for him.


    By now, Nihlukei was twitching with energy. While Heror was sluggish and caught off-guard, Nihlukei was pulsing with fire, his feet ever so subtly hopping with a frantic rhythm as he maintained his stance. The siekarum smiled, invigorated by the combat, and as Heror saw this, a wave of anger washed over him. He felt eyes watching him as he struggled against the siekarum. And he realized why Nihlukei had chosen him, the half-breed, as his partner: To embarrass him.


    Now Heror came to life. With sweat rolling down his forehead, he lunged forward and pursued Nihlukei¡¯s left side, then diverted course and attacked his right at the last second. Nihlukei reached to block the slash with his aspidan, but his balance suffered, and he had to take a step back. Now Nihlukei sent his sword back toward Heror, but Heror was ready this time. With his aspidan, he swung and scraped Nihlukei¡¯s sword away. Using that same momentum, Heror spun to his right and, using the move that Ucankacei had taught him, sent a searing swipe down toward Nihlukei¡¯s legs.


    The siekarum¡¯s eyes widened, shocked by the quickness of Heror¡¯s recovery. He managed to position his aspidan just in time to prevent Heror¡¯s sword from meeting his boot buckles, but by lowering himself, he again lost his balance, and stumbled backward, barely keeping his composure.


    Heror stood, his stance strong, and as the siekarum recovered, Heror expected him to grow angry over the young siephall¡¯s success. Instead, to Heror¡¯s surprise, when Nihlukei turned around, his smile had only grown wider, and there was a spark in his green eyes as he looked toward Heror.


    ¡°Yes!!¡± the siekarum exclaimed with excitement. ¡°Everyone! Stop what you¡¯re doing for a moment and look here!¡±


    The other conscripts ceased sparring, and Heror glanced around the group, suddenly confused. He turned toward Nihlukei, whose sword was lowered as he gave a lecture to the unit.


    ¡°Heror just gave me a perfect example of combat balance that I want to show to you all,¡± Nihlukei explained, pacing the grounds. ¡°A beginner¡¯s first inclination may be to use the aspidan as one would use a shield. But the use of the aspidan is not meant to be passive. One must be active and aggressive when using the aspidan. And by being active, one¡¯s energy, balance, and reaction quickness can be maximized. The aspidan is not merely a protection tool, but a catalyst for superior swordsmanship. With the aspidan, you can not only deflect opposing blows, but better redirect them and open pathways for your sword. Observe!¡±


    Nihlukei now returned to his spot across from Heror and raised his sword and aspidan. He motioned for Heror to do the same.


    ¡°I am going to attack Heror,¡± Nihlukei went on. ¡°When I do, watch the manner in which he uses the aspidan, not just to protect himself, but to use my sacrifice of balance, and gain an advantage.¡±


    Now he turned his gaze to Heror and nodded emphatically, an eager smile returning to his face. Heror readied himself, and Nihlukei pulled back his sword, approaching with a standard upright swing. Heror positioned his aspidan before the blade, and as Nihlukei brought his sword down, Heror swung the aspidan, disrupting the path of the sword, sparks flying as metal clashed with metal. Now Heror performed a half-swing on Nihlukei¡¯s vulnerable torso, halting his sword in midair. Nihlukei snapped out of his combat stance and turned back to the group.


    ¡°See how he is active, opportunistic ¨C not passive ¨C with the aspidan?¡± Nihlukei explained. ¡°That is the mindset I want you to maintain on every single repetition. Even in defense, attack! Attack! Attack! Again, Heror.¡±


    The two returned to their positions, and Nihlukei replicated his motions from before. Heror again redirected Nihlukei¡¯s sword with the aspidan, following that redirection with a swing of his sword.


    ¡°Watch his eyes. Watch his feet,¡± Nihlukei instructed the others. ¡°His eyes are always on the sword. The weapon. The weapon is what can hurt you. Focus on the weapon. Don¡¯t let it leave your sight. See his feet? See how his base remains strong even through his movement? How his feet move as he transfers his weight? You want to flow like that as you engage your opponent. Maintain that physical synergy, and mentally, you must seek to always be on the attack. Again.¡±


    ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°Again. Excellent, Heror!¡±


    They continued sparring for hours, until the Sun started to fall in the west, bathing the horizon with golden light. At the first hint of sunset, the siekangh came out onto the training grounds and called the siephalls inside to eat their last meal of the day. Most of the siephalls went inside, but a few lingered afterwards, chatting quietly in the calm, evening air. Had he not known better, Heror might¡¯ve assumed there was no war nearby.


    Near the eastern wall of the training yard, Nihlukei spoke with Braylyn. Near the center, Heror stood alone ¨C exhausted but strangely content ¨C watching the setting Sun as it hovered: A blinding obelisk in a sea of colors ¨C orange, red, blue, white, and gold. It was more than he had imagined, but there was no water to collect the droplets of light beneath the sun, and so its light sank into the darkened landscape, below rolling hills of shadow, into the depths. But even there, Heror could see a residual glow outlining the landscape, as if even the light that went under never left.


    Minutes passed, and soon, Heror heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Nihlukei approaching on his right side, the siekarum¡¯s hands tucked behind his back. The yard was mostly empty now, save for a few redcloak guardsmen who hovered near the main door, talking and laughing amongst themselves.


    ¡°What are you still doing out here?¡± Nihlukei asked, his calm demeanor having returned.


    Heror didn¡¯t answer at first. He turned his gaze back to the sunset, then glanced at Nihlukei, choosing his words carefully.


    ¡°Just¡­ taking in the scenery,¡± he said. ¡°Never got to see this in Cephragon.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded in silence. For a moment, the two stood, letting a soothing breeze pass by. Somewhere on the walls, two birds called to one another.


    ¡°You did well today,¡± Nihlukei said after a few moments.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Heror managed, glancing at Nihlukei, his voice somewhat uneasy.


    There was another silence.


    ¡°What made you choose me?¡± Heror asked the siekarum. ¡°To be your sparring partner? Was it random?¡±


    Nihlukei shook his head, then looked at Heror with a small smile.


    ¡°You looked like a fighter,¡± he replied. ¡°I was not disappointed.¡±


    Heror thought for a moment, then blinked and turned back toward the sunset. The compliment surprised him. Nihlukei started toward the fortress, then turned around after he took a few steps.


    ¡°Come along,¡± he called in the silent evening air. ¡°A good day of work deserves a good meal.¡±


    They returned to the assembly hall, where there was food waiting for them. By then, most of the siephalls at the fortress had finished eating, but a few clusters of soldiers remained, talking amongst themselves at the tables.


    As Heror sat down, Nihlukei remained standing, his eyes veering off toward the eastern hallway. He picked up his plate and glanced at Heror.


    ¡°I should head back to the barracks and check on the wounded,¡± he told Heror. ¡°Meet us there when you¡¯re done.¡±


    Heror nodded, and the siekarum left. The young man began eating. As he did so, he scanned the room for Ucankacei. There were around a dozen siephalls left in the assembly hall, spread evenly across a few tables. Heror did not see Ucankacei among the remaining soldiers. At first, his eyes fell back onto his food, but after noticing something out of the corner of his eye, he looked back up to see a few siephalls glancing in his direction and whispering to each other across the room.


    As Heror saw them, his pulse jumped a hair, and he stopped chewing. He sent a glare in the siephalls¡¯ direction, but they didn¡¯t seem to notice or care. They kept whispering, and after one let out a stifled laugh, Heror stood up without a thought, taking his full plate with him as he retreated to the eastern hallway.


    After a few minutes of walking through the eastern hallway, Heror found his way back to the barracks for Nihlukei¡¯s unit. He nudged open the door with his shoulder, carefully holding his plate with both hands. Inside the barracks, the conscripts were lounging about on their beds, some of them talking quietly with one another. Heror spotted Nihlukei tending to an injured soldier, and went to his bed in the corner. He sat down, feeling the straw mattress bounce under his weight, and again began eating.


    Minutes blended together, and soon, Heror was done with his food. He set the empty plate on the floor and slid it gently under the bed. He rolled onto his side and rested his head on his pillow, starting to doze off. However, it wasn¡¯t long after that Nihlukei called the group¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Siephalls, a few words,¡± Nihlukei started, standing by the table near the back center of the room. ¡°First, I would like to thank you all for an excellent first day. I have a good feeling about this group. You¡¯re all growing quickly, and I am eager to stand beside you in battle.¡±


    There was a swell of gratitude from the group. Heror looked around the room, seeing ashen elves and elses and Opels alike celebrating one another. He couldn¡¯t help but smile a bit.


    ¡°Next, I want to thank those who helped me during our training session today,¡± Nihlukei continued with a bow. ¡°Let us acknowledge Braylyn, who imparted his decades of military experience in Charondor onto our younger men-at-arms. Since I too was sparring, I wasn¡¯t always able to pay close attention to every fighter. But Braylyn helped keep track of performance across the group, provided advice to others, and reported to me at the end of the day. With his help, I hope to get you ready quicker than expected.¡±


    There was a quick applause for Braylyn, who sat across the room, giving a nod to the others. Soon after, Nihlukei turned his gaze to Heror, and a grin crept onto his face.


    ¡°Let us also acknowledge Heror,¡± he announced. ¡°I choose to spar with siephalls to challenge them, and Heror not only stood up to that challenge, but flourished under pressure, and provided an excellent example of swordsmanship to follow. By watching him, you were all able to learn and apply his skills to your own development. In the future, I may call on Heror again, to help you all become better swordsmen.¡±


    Now there was a brisk applause for Heror. Heror nodded to the others in the room, and was startled when a siephall from across the room spoke.


    ¡°I thought he was going to put you on the ground, the way he was swingin¡¯ at ya!¡± the siephall exclaimed.


    Light laughter now filled the room, and Heror couldn¡¯t help but smirk. Nihlukei smiled widely and waved a hand.


    ¡°It was one of the toughest challenges I¡¯ve faced from a siephall,¡± he admitted. ¡°Not the toughest, but close. I¡¯ve still never been knocked down.¡±


    ¡°I think I could take you!¡± Khoulane said excitedly.


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± another siephall chimed, his voice gruff. ¡°He¡¯d blow air on you and you¡¯d fly away.¡±


    There was more laughter, and Khoulane glanced around, unsure how to react. Nihlukei smiled, then nodded to the boy.


    ¡°I love the spirit,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll give you that chance one day.¡±


    Khoulane¡¯s eyes lit up. Nihlukei let out a light sigh. The siekarum peered up at a circular stone window near the peak of the ceiling. No more natural light came in from outside, and the torchlight danced along the walls.


    ¡°If we weren¡¯t in wartime,¡± Nihlukei muttered, ¡°I¡¯d almost run down to the assembly hall and grab a couple bottles of mead.¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± a siephall prodded. ¡°Dooo it.¡±


    There was chatter as the soldiers egged on their siekarum to follow through on his desire. Nihlukei only smiled and shook his head.


    ¡°No, no,¡± he chuckled. ¡°It would be irresponsible of me. Maybe after we¡¯ve won our first battle. How about that?¡±


    Nihlukei¡¯s proposition was met with a mix of boos and cheers. The siekarum grinned and shook his head. At that moment, Braylyn stood and approached the siekarum. Once he reached Nihlukei, he reached into his cloak and pulled out two bottles of mead. The siephalls erupted in excitement, but Nihlukei¡¯s smile faded.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you get those?¡± the siekarum asked, perplexed.


    ¡°From the assembly hall,¡± Braylyn replied. ¡°Trust me. Soldiers need more mead during wartime, not less.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Nihlukei said with a laugh. ¡°But¡­ I suppose two bottles shouldn¡¯t hurt. Pass that one around, will you?¡±


    Nihlukei took the second bottle from Braylyn¡¯s hand, and again, there was a cheer from the siephalls. Nihlukei cranked open his bottle and pulled it back. Heror watched as he took a long swig, then wiped his face with his arm and took a breath.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only been knocked down once in battle,¡± he began as the siephalls passed along the mead. ¡°It was peacetime in Ardys, and so I left to seek out battles for more experience. I traveled to Hithain, where, at the time, they were in a war with the Kingdom of Tephire, fighting over territory at the border. They¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been to Hithain?¡± Heror asked suddenly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Nihlukei answered with a nod after taking a quick sip. ¡°Ardys¡­ frowns on traveling across Kingdoms to seek fighting knowledge, but I was still a siephall at the time. Siekarums can only teach you so much if siephalls can¡¯t apply it in battle, so I sought out battle on my own, serving as a hired hand of sorts.¡±


    ¡°You were a mercenary?¡± Khoulane assumed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like to use that term,¡± Nihlukei answered, shaking his head. ¡°I knew who was fighting who. I didn¡¯t just follow the Kivs. I made a choice and offered my services. They accepted, and I was compensated for it. But we¡¯ve gone far enough off track. So I went to Hithain¡­¡±


    The siekarum continued telling his story, encouraged by the mead. The second bottle was passed around the room, and when it came to Heror with just over a quarter left, he took a sip. One story led to another from Nihlukei, and soon, Braylyn was off telling his tales of combat. This carried on through the night hours, until several siephalls had nearly dozed off, eyelids heavy and dark. Nihlukei glanced at the window again, then let out a sigh, setting his empty mead bottle on the table as he sat down.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s late,¡± the siekarum managed. ¡°I think we should sleep.¡±


    ¡°No, you must have one more!¡± Khoulane chimed, steeped in excitement. ¡°Have you fought any pirates?¡±


    The siekarum smiled, then started to answer. But before he could get any words out, the door to the barracks burst open, and a panting siephall stood in the doorway, his wide eyes falling on Nihlukei.


    ¡°Siekarum Nihlukei,¡± he said quickly between breaths.


    A couple soldiers woke at the sound of the door. Heror leaned forward from the corner. Nihlukei was silent for a moment, eyes squinted in confusion. Then he spoke.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°The Midans are advancing on the border,¡± the redcloak explained. ¡°You¡¯re needed at the wall.¡±


    ¡°How soon?¡±


    ¡°The siekangh wants you at the carriages as soon as possible.¡±


    The room went deathly quiet. Nihlukei glanced around at his soldiers, then turned back to the siephall and nodded. The siephall nodded back and hurried away, letting the door creak shut on its own. Nihlukei stood, took a deep breath, and eyed his men.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get up then,¡± he said, breaking the silence. ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡±

 6. Battle at the Wall

    The carriage wheels turned again.


    They traveled north, over dried dirt roads. Clouds rolled in, brought on by a breeze. No one spoke on the way. Many slept as best they could, making up for the sleep they would lose on their journey. The carriage body quietly rumbled, and outside, in the nearby woodland marshes, crickets cooed. As they pressed on, the crickets faded, giving way to the empty noise of windful night.


    Less than two hours into the ride, Heror woke, smelling smoke again. He glanced down to the far end of the group where Nihlukei sat, eyes open as he peered out the back of the carriage. Behind them, two more carriages followed, each lit by torch sconces that doused the road in rust.


    Another hour. Soldiers on patrols passed by more frequently. A scout overtook them on horseback, heading to the wall to inform the khilung of coming reinforcements. Soon, Heror heard a shout in the distance. He looked out the carriage window, and saw the outline of the wall for the first time, visible above the dark forest canopy.


    More shouts came from down the road, and soon, the carriage slowed down. They passed a torchlit checkpoint manned by siephalls, and after a short pause, continued on their way. The conscripts woke one by one. Heror watched as the wall grew larger and larger, until finally, the forest line broke, revealing a massive Ardysan army camp in front of the base of the fortification. Shamefully, he felt awe.


    ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Nihlukei said, glancing out the back.


    The carriage ventured into camp. As Heror looked out the window, he saw rows upon rows of red fabric tents, and controlled fires by which Ardysan soldiers lingered. The light of the fires collected, coalescing into an orange glow that hovered over the area. The camp was bustling, and most soldiers were darting about, with many moving toward the wall. Voices mingled in the night air, urgent and isolated. Deep within the encampment, on the eastern side of the road, Heror saw a longer, taller tent with the Ardysan seal running along the side. He assumed that was where the higher officers conducted their business.


    ¡°I regret that we could not train more,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°But I can give us a prayer. For the best soldiers are not only capable, but also at peace with the will of the Gods.¡±


    The siekarum took a deep breath and closed his eyes.


    ¡°Great and mighty Al-Ra, our people need us, but we cannot help them alone,¡± Nihlukei spoke. ¡°We pray that you favor us in the coming battle. We pray that you help us as we protect our Kingdom, in our duty to Opela, who first blessed these lands with light. Please entrust in us a droplet of the power of the Divinium, so that we may guide our many mortal spirits home in triumph, to humbly serve you for another day. Akh aqkeatuu entau. Siamolanh.¡±


    Nihlukei ceased speaking, and the carriage fell silent again. It was the first time Heror heard his voice waver ¨C ever so slightly, like the stem of a flower twitching in a gust.


    The dirt road carried on a bit longer. Up ahead, it came to a stop at a small fortress near the base of the border wall. Now Heror could see just how far the wall stretched. It was just as big as Ucankacei had described ¨C a massive structure rising with the trees, with firelit towers that dotted its heights and multiplied along the structure¡¯s path. Heror craned his neck to try and see the collapsed section of the wall, but the carriage blocked his view.


    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe the Midans broke through the wall,¡± one conscript said, shaking his head.


    ¡°In ancient times, the Opelites of Ardys and the Midans fought fierce wars. The ancient Akintari ¨C the Midans¡¯ ancestors ¨C even attempted to conquer Kivveneth,¡± Nihlukei explained. ¡°But those days have long passed. For centuries, Mide has been a chaotic, crownless Kingdom ¨C a place of civil war and frequent infighting among the dozens of beastfolk tribes. They never liked us, but they never had the collective strength necessary to attack us. But then¡­ something happened. They organized.¡±


    Heror peered out the window again and saw a makeshift medical tent not far off the road, where healers frantically attended to bloodied soldiers.


    ¡°What organized them?¡± Heror asked, turning back toward Nihlukei.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± Nihlukei replied, shaking his head. ¡°But we¡¯re not on a fact finding mission. Our priority is reclaiming control of the wall breach and refortifying our position. I don¡¯t think the Kcirun intends to prolong this conflict with an offensive campaign. I know I wouldn¡¯t. Too many lives have already been lost.¡±


    ¡°But what if the Midans don¡¯t back down?¡± another conscript questioned.


    Nihlukei thought for a moment, pursed his lips, then took a deep breath. His focused eyes scanned the carriage interior, and then he gave a small nod.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s up to us,¡± he concluded. ¡°To convince them.¡±


    At that moment, the carriage came to a stop near the end of the road. Nihlukei emerged first, dropping to the Aelyum. The conscripts followed. Once the last conscript leapt down, Nihlukei called out to the carriage driver, who then rode away.


    The group walked up the path a ways, and soon, they joined up with a much larger unit from the Khi Thung. Nihlukei led the way through the crowd of redcloaks, until he came to a middle-aged greencloak with a patchy blonde beard at the front of the crowd. Heror watched as Nihlukei patted the greencloak on the shoulder, and the greencloak reciprocated the gesture.


    ¡°Tralics,¡± Nihlukei greeted the officer. ¡°Are your men ready?¡±


    ¡°I would¡¯ve liked another day or two for the fresh ones,¡± Tralics replied with a smirk. ¡°But they¡¯ll have to make do.¡±


    Tralics. The name was familiar to Heror. He was the siekarum for Ucankacei¡¯s unit. Heror¡¯s eyes darted around the group, and soon, he saw Ucankacei not far away, his helmet off as he spoke with another redcloak. Heror started in Ucankacei¡¯s direction. Once he reached his friend, he patted him on the shoulder, and when Ucankacei turned, his eyes lit up.


    ¡°Heror!¡± he exclaimed.


    The two exchanged a brief hug, and when they pulled back, Ucankacei noticed Heror¡¯s armor. He stared in disbelief, and after a moment, a proud smile made its way onto his face.


    ¡°My, look at you,¡± he said. ¡°You were meant for this, my boy. You¡¯re a warrior.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t look bad yourself,¡± Heror chimed. ¡°How does it feel to be a redcloak again?¡±


    ¡°I always joked about wanting to be young again,¡± Ucankacei replied with a hearty smile. ¡°I think this is the closest I¡¯ll get.¡±


    Heror smiled and glanced down the road, toward the base of the wall. He saw a figure on horseback approaching, guarded by several siephalls. His smile started to fade, and he turned back to Ucankacei.


    ¡°Are you nervous?¡± Ucankacei asked.


    Heror thought for a moment.


    ¡°It¡¯s more that I don¡¯t know what to expect,¡± Heror admitted. ¡°But I feel ready.¡±


    ¡°You should! I told you all those lessons wouldn¡¯t be for nothing,¡± Ucankacei said with a chuckle. ¡°As long as you trust your swing, maintain your composure, and stick with your line, you should be safe. We¡¯re in a defensive position, with some control of the wall remaining. We have the strategic advantage.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Heror asked, his eyes falling on the old man¡¯s arm. ¡°Are you up for this?¡±


    ¡°Heror, remember who you¡¯re talking to,¡± Ucankacei joked.


    ¡°The man with the wilting bones?¡± Heror surmised, offering a smirk.


    ¡°Ah, yes, but he sticks to his roots.¡±


    There was a whistle, and Heror turned to see the horseman lingering at the front of the group. He was a whitecloak ¨C second only to gold on the battlefield ¨C with a fierce glare and gleaming armor that burned like fire in the torchlight. A deep scar ran across the bridge of his nose. Ucankacei leaned in and whispered to Heror.


    ¡°That¡¯s Plekei, the siekcithung. You¡¯d better get back with your unit. We¡¯ll talk soon.¡±


    Heror nodded and made his way back through the crowd. As he did so, the whitecloak Plekei began speaking.


    ¡°Warriors of the khilung!¡± Plekei bellowed, his voice full and thunderous. ¡°Tonight, the enemy makes the grave mistake of attacking the Kingdom of Ardys. 2,500 djauuls approach-- filthy half-elvish traitors, nimble and aggressive, but small and weak against our resolve. Their forces are already depleted. Win this battle, and we may be one step closer to putting the Midans back beneath the dirt from which they came. Siekarums! Formations!¡±


    At that moment, several siekarums gave orders to their units, repeating the command from the siekcithung. On the front line, Nihlukei turned and shouted to his men.


    ¡°Rows! Quickly now!¡±


    The soldiers began to organize, but Nihlukei¡¯s unit, being the smallest by a large margin, only amounted to two rows of twelve, boxed in by other units. Only three of their wounded had been able to make the journey. Heror found himself at the front beside Nihlukei, with Braylyn farther down the line. To his right, another younger siephall eyed him and nodded from under his armet, blonde hair clumped at the base of his neck.


    ¡°I like to know the name of who I¡¯m fighting next to,¡± the siephall muttered. ¡°Heror, correct?¡±


    Heror nodded.


    ¡°And yours?¡±


    ¡°Plaezekei,¡± the siephall replied, his voice shaking just a bit.


    The whitecloak lingered at the front of the group until the rows were formed. Then, when the army¡¯s formation was set, he paced through the rows and situated himself near the center. They numbered almost a thousand, with fifty rows of around twenty men from the camp and the Khi Thung mixed together.


    Now at the front of the line, with no one ahead of him, Heror saw the wall breach. It sat around one hundred yards in the distance ¨C a low-lying pile of rubble inbetween two intact sections of the wall, around thirty feet across. Clustered pockets of fire lit the wall in a sea of orange, but at the breach, there was no wall to catch the light, and so it was mired in darkness.


    Exposed at the front, a feeling of nervousness suddenly came over Heror. It didn¡¯t help his unease that they were outnumbered; he was hardly shocked that Ardys might be unprepared or undermanned. His pulse started to elevate, but before he could calm himself, a bellowing command came from the whitecloak farther back.


    ¡°Opvae!!¡± the siekcithung yelled. ¡°March!¡±


    The soldiers marched forward in rows. Heror took a deep breath, but sweat already started to bead on his forehead. He didn¡¯t know why, but he now thought of Thaeolai. And his mother. The kinship cloth, hidden in a pouch beneath his armor, suddenly grew heavy. And as his legs moved forward, his mind stayed behind.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    He snapped out of his trance and turned to Nihlukei, who nodded to him.


    ¡°You ready?¡± the siekarum asked as they walked.


    Heror said nothing, offering only an unsteady glance. Nihlukei nodded again and turned his gaze to the wall.


    ¡°There are archers on the wall beside the breach,¡± the siekarum explained. ¡°They¡¯ll pick off as many enemy soldiers as they can, but some will trickle through and find their way past the breach. Djauuls are fast and unpredictable, but they¡¯re not as strong or as disciplined as we are. Keep them in your sight, and don¡¯t give them any space. I¡¯m eager to fight alongside you.¡±


    Heror looked at the siekarum, and his nervousness faded. Nihlukei nodded to him one last time, then fixed his eyes ahead. They were nearing the breach. Nihlukei raised his voice now, speaking to the rest of his outfit.


    ¡°Siephalls!¡± he erupted. ¡°Remember your training! These enemies will try to intimidate you, but you have the strength to maintain control! Stay active! Stay aggressive! And the Sun will rise again!¡±


    Soon, they reached their position ¨C situated twenty yards away from the rubble mound underlying the wall breach. There, they stopped, and as the army¡¯s motion ceased, an eerie silence set in. Beneath the silence, Heror¡¯s heartbeat pounded inside his ears, and in the night air, all that could be heard was the crackling of the fires nearby.


    They waited. For seconds. Minutes. They waited, and at first, no one came.


    After some time, Heror glanced at Nihlukei, expecting the siekarum to be as confused as he was. Instead, he saw the siekarum¡¯s eyes locked ahead in a strange, predatory glare, as if he sensed the enemies coming. Unnerved, Heror remained silent and let his eyes draw ahead again. He swallowed a lump in his throat and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword.


    Then, as swiftly as the silence set in, a shout from the wall ended it. Heror heard the first volley of arrows launch from above. From the other side of the wall, a feverish scream erupted, followed by others. The ground rumbled, and the noise crescendoed into a crowded wail, as hundreds of warriors let out battle cries from the dark beyond the wall.


    ¡°Steady!!¡± the siekcithung shouted from the formation.


    Heror heard the sound of metal piercing flesh from above. An Ardysan archer fell from the wall, a spear in his chest as he landed hard on the dirt ground, motionless.


    ¡°They have spears!¡± a siephall exclaimed.


    Heror turned to Nihlukei again. The siekarum still did not move, entranced in a zen state. The young man looked away and tried to calm himself, slowing his breaths. Archers hailed more arrows, and screams of the enemy could be heard as fletched blades hit their marks. The fighting had not yet reached the khilung formation. For now, it was just out of sight, hidden behind the rubble mound.


    But it was coming.


    Staring at the breach in anticipation, it wasn¡¯t long before Heror saw his first enemy. He was a thin, lanky elvish figure with a black armored tunic and dark blue-green skin, scrambling over the top of the rubble pile with a sword in hand. He shouted as he advanced ¨C bright blue eyes glowing lightly in the night ¨C but they soon went dark as an arrow struck him in the back.


    Just as this djauul fell, however, two more took his place, crawling over his body as they charged the breach. They began to multiply. Even as arrows rained down on them, their numbers grew ¨C a mob atop the rubble ¨C until a select few were able to make it to solid ground on the other side. An archer shouted to the siephalls below, and now they raised their weapons as the first group of djauuls hurried toward them. Instinctively, Heror took a step forward, but Nihlukei¡¯s hand hit his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°No,¡± Nihlukei said, his eyes still locked ahead. ¡°Make them come to us.¡±


    Heror glanced at the siekarum and stepped back into the formation, readying his sword and aspidan.


    The djauuls closed in, scrambling and shouting, and they hurled spears. Nihlukei deflected one with his aspidan, knocking it to the ground as if it were a twig. The soldiers raised their shields, and metal hit metal. In his periphery, farther down the line, Heror saw a spear hit its mark.


    Now the djauul spearmen brandished swords, numbering in the dozens as they blitzed the Ardysan formation. Heror set his foot in the dirt, readying himself. From behind them the siekcithung let out a war cry, and Nihlukei joined in.


    ¡°Opvae!!¡±


    The voices mixed in the center of the battleground, noises cascading into an inferno of sound. And as soon as the two sides met, it all collapsed into chaos.


    Heror hit his first enemy with a quick slash to the neck. Another charged him and stabbed. Heror scraped the blade away, then levied an uppercut with his own, slashing the djauul¡¯s chin open. A third djauul tried to rush him. But as the djauul swung, Heror sidestepped to the right again and spun around, slashing the enemy¡¯s back with intense speed.


    While Nihlukei¡¯s guard managed to hold its own, the rest of the line slowly began to give ground. Heror could see a crowd of djauuls harassing Tralics¡¯ unit, cutting down several siephalls on the front line. His breath hopped for a moment as he thought about Ucankacei, but a war cry from his left forced him back into focus. Another djauul was almost upon him.


    Heror was late to raise his aspidan, but just before contact, his fellow siephall Plaezekei dove and rolled toward the enemy, sweeping his legs out from under him with the aspidan. The enemy hit the ground and tried to scramble back to his feet, but now Plaezekei, who knelt behind him, sent his sword through the djauul¡¯s head.


    Now it was Heror¡¯s turn to protect his comrade. Heror leapt over Plaezekei and engaged the enemy, bashing him with the aspidan and then slicing upward with his sword. At that moment, however, his position was compromised. Out beyond the Ardysan line, four djauuls closed in on Heror. With no time to think, Heror set his feet again and raised his aspidan in a futile gesture. He was outmatched.


    Just before the first djauul reached Heror, however, a sword flew in from the left as a projectile, mounting violently in the djauul¡¯s chest. The enemy fell to the ground, retching, and Heror watched as Nihlukei sprinted in, wrenching his sword free from the dead enemy¡¯s chest. The siekarum then took out two djauuls with one monstrous swing, sending them to the ground discarded. He ducked the next attack and cut down another. And as soon as he cleared Heror¡¯s position, Nihlukei jumped to his feet and stood next to Heror, glancing back toward the line, his sword out in front.


    ¡°Siephalls! Forward!!¡± he yelled. ¡°Match!!¡±


    From the right, Heror heard Tralics and several other siekarums repeat Nihlukei¡¯s command. And Nihlukei¡¯s entire unit stepped forward to join them, while the rest of the formation filled in farther back. Heror felt a tinge of confidence, and as the next wave came, he was ready. He glanced at Plaezekei and nodded. Then he turned his gaze forward and raised his aspidan.


    They came again, but their numbers were dwindling. The Ardysan line was strong. They had the momentum, the confidence, and the balanced position. Djauuls were neutralized a dozen at a time as they engaged the line, and soon, Heror¡¯s individual attacks blended into a rhythm. Block, slash, defend, advance.


    Defend.


    Advance.


    Defend.


    Advance.


    Soon, a line of bodies stretched across the length of the Ardysan front, and the remaining djauuls slowed their advance. The enemies still poured in from across the rubble pile, but Heror could tell their forces were thinning.


    There was a break in the action as the djauuls reorganized and let forth another hail of spears. Nihlukei gave a warning, which echoed across the battlefront. The siephalls raised their aspidans in defense, as sharp rain came down. Heror deflected a blade, but not far down the line, he saw one of Nihlukei¡¯s men go down. Before he could see who it was, Nihlukei signaled another wave. Heror again deflected, and when the second wave cleared, the Ardysan line was still intact.


    And then the djauuls came again. One raised his sword high in the air, as he let out a battle cry.


    ¡°Aclach Parun!!¡±


    But the battle, they were losing. Bodies strewn across the ground slowed their advance, and when they reached the Ardysan line, the Ardysans were ready. Heror blocked an aimless swing and slashed his enemy¡¯s legs. He stabbed an attacker¡¯s exposed midsection. Another approached with a high swing. Rather than meet sword with sword, Heror instead unleashed a brutal swing of his aspidan, striking the djauul below the jaw. The djauul flew backward from the impact and hit the ground, going limp once he settled.


    It was then that one djauul quickly rose off the ground, having hidden among the dead. The djauul caught Heror off guard with a fast swing, and the young warrior couldn¡¯t get his aspidan up in time. His thoughts racing, Heror suddenly remembered a move from Ucankacei¡¯s training, and he raised his sword, clasping the hilt with both hands. As the djauul swung forward, his blade scraped against the forte of Heror¡¯s sword, sending sparks into the firelit air. Now Heror had the leverage, and with a forceful push, he wrenched the djauul¡¯s weapon away.


    The djauul lost his balance and stumbled backward, but Heror did not advance, and instead held his position. Frustrated, the djauul yelled and started forward, swinging for Heror¡¯s midsection. The djauul¡¯s blade flared with tremendous speed, but Heror kept a watchful eye on its sharp edge, and he thrust his aspidan toward it, just before it could hit. The djauul lost his grip upon impact, and his sword flew from his hand.


    Now disarmed, the djauul stood motionless. Heror was about to swing, but the djauul stepped back, and fear flashed in his eyes. It was a look Heror had seen often in the mahallas, and looking at the djauul further, he saw more and more of his past. The emaciated figure. The disheveled hair. Bruises and scars on his bony, pale-skinned body. Dirt on his face.


    Suddenly, Heror¡¯s head became cloudy, and a wave of heat washed over him. His sword froze, and his chest clenched. The djauul stumbled and fell to the ground, and for a moment, the two only stared at one another.


    It wasn¡¯t long before anger returned to the djauul¡¯s eyes again, however. The djauul grabbed a sword from one of his dead comrades and leapt forward again.


    ¡°Aclach Parun!!¡± he screamed, an enraged vigor in his voice. ¡°Aclach Sim!!¡±


    The djauul lunged ahead with his blade. At the last second, Heror snapped out of his trance and started to react, but before he could, a voice rang out from his left.


    ¡°Heror!!¡±


    Before Heror could make a move, a sword slashed the djauul in the neck, sending the enemy to the dirt, and Nihlukei stepped into Heror¡¯s sight, eyeing the young siephall with concern.


    ¡°You alright?¡±


    Heror swallowed another lump in his throat and nodded. Nihlukei nodded back, sweat caked on his helmet-covered face.


    A group of around fifty djauuls remained between the Ardysan line and the wall breach. No more djauuls came in from beyond the wall. These were the last. Seeing their impending doom, the djauuls stood frozen between fates. But when the archers fired upon them again, the djauuls saw no choice but to advance. With one resolute cry, they charged the line. Out of the corner of his eye, Heror saw the siekcithung Plekei emerge from the Ardysan line, his sword raised high in the air.


    ¡°This is it, men!¡± Plekei yelled. ¡°Snuff them out!¡±


    ¡°Opvae!!¡± Nihlukei yelled again, rushing forward.


    The siekarums and the siekcithung advanced, and the siephalls followed. All at once, an army of almost a thousand Ardysans closed in on the surviving enemies. The djauuls froze at the sight, and tried to hold their position, but once the officers reached them, they dispatched them with quickness. Nihlukei himself cut through several djauuls in an instant, swinging his aspidan and sword with tornadic speed and precision. Alongside him, Heror and Plaezekei cleaned up what was left. Several djauuls tried to resist, but they were hopelessly outnumbered, and it wasn¡¯t long before most of them fell at the hands of the siephalls.


    Seeing definite defeat, a few djauuls dropped their weapons and started to run back toward the wall breach, but before they could make it, they were struck by arrows from above. One made it back to the rubble pile, but as he tried to climb it, an arrow lodged itself in his shoulder. The djauul spun around in pain and fell into the dirt, and as he tried to stand, a second arrow pierced his skull. At that moment, he fell limp, and the battlefield went silent.


    And then the siekcithung lifted his sword in triumph.


    ¡°Jitae!!¡±


    The officers joined in on the cry of victory. So too did the siephalls. Heror raised his sword, but he did not speak. He was still shaken. He sheathed his sword and took off his helmet, running a hand through his sweat-plastered hair. It was then that he felt a hand on his right shoulder, and he turned to see Plaezekei.


    ¡°Thanks for having my back,¡± Plaezekei said.


    Heror took a deep breath and laughed lightly.


    ¡°Could say the same to you.¡±


    Heror turned to his left, now looking for Nihlukei, but he could not find the siekarum in the crowd of siephalls. The crowd bustled now, and as Heror tried to navigate through, he found himself lost in the commotion. For a moment, he stopped and scanned the lines, when he heard Nihlukei¡¯s voice above the noise. He looked in the direction of the voice and saw a siekarum waving his arm in the distance.


    ¡°Nihlukei¡¯s guard!¡± Heror heard the siekarum shout. ¡°This way!¡±


    Heror started in Nihlukei¡¯s direction. He walked past a pair of soldiers carrying an Ardysan body, and his mind went to Ucankacei. Telling himself not to worry, he pressed on, and in minutes, he reached the remainder of his unit. Nihlukei stood near the edge of the wall encampment, with other members of his guard clustered around him. It wasn¡¯t long before Plazekei joined the group as well.


    Nihlukei peered into the distance, his eyes straining in the dim torchlight. The crowd near the wall was starting to thin, and most of the siephalls were heading back to camp. Voices of officers rang out in the night, ordering their groups to organize farther inward. Nihlukei glanced around his group for a moment, his helmet at his side.


    ¡°Do we have everyone?¡±


    No one answered. Nihlukei now looked at Braylyn.


    ¡°How many did we lose?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Two,¡± Braylyn replied.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Anthrukei and Kulaimolei.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded, his face grim. He looked around the group and squinted.


    ¡°Where are their bodies?¡±


    Again, no one answered. Then, after a few seconds, Khoulane spoke from the back, holding an open wound on his forearm.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t grab them,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go get them,¡± Nihlukei advised. ¡°There are a few tents reserved for us down the road. We¡¯ll bury them near there. Those of you who are wounded, go to the healers, on the east side of the road. They¡¯ll do what they can.¡±


    They returned to the battlefield and found their comrades among the dead. Nihlukei and Braylyn picked up one body, while two siephalls picked up the other. Some left for the healers, while the rest made their way back to the dirt road. Walking past rows of tents, they eventually came to the edge of the encampment, where the firelight faded and wilderness returned. At the edge, on the west side of the road, a few red linen tents sat around a well-stoked fire.


    Nihlukei stopped at the camp, and the soldiers set down the bodies. The siekarum found a pair of shovels, and took them past the encampment into the trees, where the light barely reached them. In silence, they began digging in the soft forest soil. In around thirty minutes, two holes had been dug. The bodies were buried. Once the dirt was patted down, Nihlukei offered a small prayer.


    ¡°Divines, please guide Anthrukei and Kulaimolei to peace and warmth in the next life,¡± he said softly. ¡°For they gave their lives for us.¡±


    The siephalls lingered, some speaking quietly amongst themselves. Heror stood by himself, lost in thought as he leaned against a tree. His thoughts were broken, however, when he heard rustling in the leaves to his left. Still somewhat on-edge, Heror¡¯s eyes whipped in that direction, and his hand grazed his sword. But there was no enemy. Instead, a red fox peeked out from behind a tree, its nose twitching as it sniffed the ground in search of food.


    ¡°Must be Llegliagu,¡± a voice said. ¡°Taking them to Sereweh.¡±


    Heror glanced to his right to see Nihlukei standing next to him, watching the fox as it scavenged the brush. Nihlukei eyed Heror, as if waiting for an answer, but Heror only gave him a confused look.


    ¡°Not religious?¡± the siekarum asked.


    Heror shrugged, then crossed his arms and looked at the ground.


    ¡°Never had a reason to be.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded to himself, then cleared his throat. For a moment, it was silent. The fox made its way to a thick tree root and started to dig through the leaves beside it, paws sifting lightly.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Llegliagu?¡± Heror asked, breaking the silence.


    ¡°Well¡­ for worshippers of the Al-Ra ¨C the Gods of the Divine Consortium,¡± Nihlukei began, ¡°tradition holds that the soul is bound to the physical body by one¡¯s living essence. When one dies, their soul is freed, but can no longer live on in this world. After Kirelay created life, and when the divines banded together to create the elesvium ¨C humans ¨C Llegliagu was the one who gave us souls. In doing so, he became the Soul Keeper. After the soul becomes no longer tethered to the body, Llegliagu guides them to the spirit world Sereweh, where they will live on. Llegliagu¡¯s totem is the fox, and so each fox is one of his servants, helping to gather souls and lead them to the next life.¡±


    The fox poked its nose under the leaves, its tail wisping in the night air. Nihlukei watched it for a moment longer, but soon, at the sound of a broken twig, the fox¡¯s ears perked up, and it ran away into the shadows. Nihlukei took a deep breath.


    ¡°I imagine He has his hands full right now,¡± he pondered.


    Before long, the soldiers left the outskirts of the woods and returned to their tents. In the distance, there was celebration and laughter, but Nihlukei¡¯s unit was quiet. Most of the siephalls sat in silence on the wooden benches ¨C tired, yet too stirred to sleep. Nihlukei himself was also silent, his wandering eyes dancing with the firelight. He only looked up when a siephall approached the camp minutes later, wearing a unique patch on his right pauldron.


    ¡°Siekarum!¡± the siephall exclaimed.


    Nihlukei gave the soldier his attention.


    ¡°Yes, courier?¡±


    ¡°Your presence is required. All officers are to meet at the longhouse, for a briefing and a losses count.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded, then turned to his soldiers, who still encircled the fire, eyelids heavy.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be dawn soon,¡± Nihlukei told them. ¡°Get as much rest as you can. We¡¯ll talk about what¡¯s next tomorrow. Good fighting today.¡±


    The siekarum stood and left with the courier, leaving his men in silence. At first, Heror¡¯s thoughts kept him awake. For a time, he too stared into the fire ¨C amber flares clashing against the bright blue of his pupils. But soon, sheer exhaustion set in, and the soldier¡¯s eyes closed. A breeze guided the warmth of the fire to him.

 7. The Pack

    When Heror woke in the morning, the Sun was already above the horizon ¨C golden light occluded in a halo behind a sheet of overcast. A light breeze swam through the open air. In the distant forests, birds sang and chattered.


    The air was cooler at the border. It was a welcome change for Heror. While Opelites around him shivered and huddled closer to the fire, Heror was soothed by the cool winds. It wasn¡¯t long before it reminded him of Pylantheum, however, and his longing to leave returned. He tried to dismiss the thought as soon as it came. He was here now. And it wasn¡¯t as bad as he¡¯d expected.


    Braylyn cooked breakfast and distributed rations of eggs and meat in wooden bowls, calling up soldiers one by one. Heror took food and water back to his bench. He started to eat, spearing a clump of eggs with a wooden fork. After a moment, however, he glanced around the group and saw that someone was missing.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Nihlukei?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± Braylyn responded. ¡°Probably back at the longhouse. Saw a couple soldiers enter camp through the breach earlier this morning. I assume they were scouts, returning with more information.¡±


    ¡°Has he slept?¡± Heror said, peering in the direction of the main encampment.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he does that,¡± Plaezekei muttered with a chuckle.


    The other camps began to stir just as they did. Siephalls emerged with weary eyes and dried bandages, talking amongst themselves in hushed morning voices. The Sun continued to rise, but a light layer of shade still blanketed the land. Soon, Nihlukei approached from the north. Braylyn saw him first, and called out to the officer.


    ¡°Nihlukei!¡± Braylyn exclaimed. ¡°Care for some grub?¡±


    ¡°Thank you, but I already ate,¡± Nihlukei replied, stepping into the campsite. ¡°I have news from the briefings. Is everyone present? If anyone is sleeping, someone please wake them up. This is important.¡±


    Heror and Braylyn fetched the soldiers who remained in their tents, and soon, everyone was situated. Nihlukei looked around the group one last time and nodded.


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s begin,¡± the siekarum said. ¡°I attended two briefings overnight, one after the battle, and one early this morning. The first briefing began with a losses report. I¡¯m pleased to say that in the fighting last night, our Ardysan force of one thousand soldiers only lost thirty-six men. Although our unit is the smallest, we fielded the least losses, with only two. Meanwhile, we managed to wipe out 2,500 Midan foot soldiers, thinning their numbers even more. It was a decisive victory, and I can¡¯t help but think we played a large part in making it that way. Let¡¯s acknowledge each other for the excellent performance, with minimal preparation, no less.¡±


    Nihlukei started to clap, and the others followed. After a few cheers, the noise died down again, and Nihlukei took a deep breath.


    ¡°The first briefing was primarily a post-battle report,¡± he went on. ¡°The second was a field report, brought in by scouts who returned from Mide overnight. These scouts gave us crucial updates regarding the status of the Midan army near the border. From this information, the commanding siekangh Oranthei has planned our next course of action.¡±


    Nihlukei paused for a moment, ensuring he had everyone¡¯s attention. Then he continued.


    ¡°We know that most of the Midan forces to this point have been supplied from Mote, the Midan city to the northeast,¡± he explained. ¡°But closer to the border, on the southern ridge of the Mides, directly north of the breach, our scouts have identified a potential staging ground for attacks on the wall. It¡¯s a small peak, accessed through a gap in the highlands known as Kraana¡¯s Pass. Our scouts surveyed this staging ground, and found that the Midans are estimated to have less than 5,000 soldiers at this position. Most of these soldiers are djauuls. There does not appear to be a strong presence of elinji ¨C traditionally the Midans¡¯ best soldiers.¡±


    ¡°5,000? That¡¯s still more than our numbers by a long shot,¡± one siephall scoffed.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s true,¡± Nihlukei said, a small smile inching onto his face. ¡°But not when 12,000 reinforcements arrive from other Khi Thungs along the Ardysan border.¡±


    The group went silent for a moment. Eyes went wide. Nihlukei nodded, his smile slowly fading as a serious air overtook him again.


    ¡°The decisive victory last night was the last of three failed campaigns against the wall by skirmishing djauul forces, and the most lopsided defeat for the Midans,¡± Nihlukei continued. ¡°Beyond their numbers being thinned, we believe their confidence to be shaken, and we think we can cement our control of the wall breach by eliminating this staging ground with an offensive attack. We¡¯ll remain here in defense of the wall until the reinforcements arrive. And then, we will storm the pass. If all goes well, with Opela¡¯s grace, we¡¯ll take the peak, sever their connection to the wall, and end this conflict.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be that easy,¡± Braylyn grumbled, shaking his head. ¡°By Shen, they broke the wall! They can¡¯t already be on the ropes.¡±


    ¡°I was surprised, too,¡± Nihlukei admitted. ¡°But our scouts¡¯ information is reliable. All we can hope is that the Midans won¡¯t strengthen their position before our reinforcements arrive. The forces from the westernmost Khi Thung are expected to arrive here in a few days. Until then¡­ we¡¯ll have to hold out against any recurring attacks. I don¡¯t expect any at this point. Not while the Midans are still recuperating.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t want an offensive campaign,¡± Heror prodded, eyeing the siekarum.


    ¡°I certainly don¡¯t want a prolonged offensive campaign,¡± Nihlukei answered. ¡°But we can only do so much from behind the wall. With this one attack, we can give ourselves enough space to refortify the wall before the Midans regain their strength. It¡¯s an offensive maneuver, with long-term defensive implications in mind.¡±


    The siekarum glanced around the group and nodded.


    ¡°In the meantime,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ll bide our time here. You may take this day to rest and walk about the camp if you want. Those who wish to train can speak to me. And tomorrow, we¡¯ll begin our full unit training sessions again.¡±


    Most of the siephalls began eating and talking again, but Heror stood from his seat on the bench and approached Nihlukei.


    ¡°Siekarum.¡±


    Nihlukei gave Heror a curious look and a small laugh.


    ¡°Just ¡®Nihlukei¡¯ is fine. What is it?¡±


    ¡°I was wondering where Tralics¡¯ tent was,¡± Heror went on. ¡°I have a friend in that unit.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Nihlukei replied, pointing in the direction of the wall. ¡°It¡¯s on the eastern edge of the road, lined up with the longhouse. If you have any trouble, just ask around and you should be able to find it.¡±


    Heror nodded. He quickly finished his meal and set the empty wooden bowl down on the bench. Then he left the camp, heading north along the dirt road, leaving his helmet behind.


    The overcast slowly started to clear, and as Heror carried on down the road, he felt the warmth of the Sun greet him from the east. It was still a quiet morning. Many of the siephalls rested at their camps. Few traversed the roads. Heror appreciated this morning walk. In Cephragon, morning walks were accompanied by prying eyes and judging scowls. Here, Heror still wasn¡¯t an equal. But he at least felt closer.


    The young lad found Tralics¡¯ tent, and was then informed ¨C after some petty deception from the siekarum ¨C that Ucankacei had been injured, and was in the medical tent to the south. Heror hurried away and ventured past scarlet canvases, through wisping smoke and cool morning air, until he came to his destination.


    The medical tent was tall, and it had looming flaps on either side. As Heror approached, soft cries of agony met his ears. He winced, his eyes falling to the dirt. There, he saw dried remnants of blood spots, long seeped into the ground. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, pushing past the flap.


    Inside the medical tent, eight rows of beds were sprawled out, stretching all the way to the other end of the enclosure. The wind snuck through the tent¡¯s stitching only in small whispers, and the air was heavy, filled with the scent of liquor and blood. In the shade, Heror saw dozens of soldiers lying in beds. Some were unconscious, while others labored at pains, reddened bandages wrapped around deep cuts and intrusions. The healers were gone, no doubt resting after a long night of work. In their absence, a fragile silence lingered.


    Grimacing, Heror scanned the area. After a moment, he saw what looked like an older, thinner man in the northeastern corner. He started that way, and soon enough, his suspicions were confirmed. Ucankacei lay on a bed in a shadowy corner, sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with a gentle rhythm.


    Heror smiled slightly, knowing his friend was safe. He then saw the old man¡¯s wound. A wide bandage had been wrapped around his left calf, and on the backside of the calf, Heror saw a slight indent and a stain of red. Heror¡¯s smile faded. He took a deep breath.


    After a moment, he placed a hand on Ucankacei¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Ucankacei.¡±


    Heror said the name again, and soon, Ucankacei woke, his eyes dreary. They soon lightened as he saw Heror, however. With a jolt of energy, Ucankacei smiled and sat up.


    ¡°Heror!¡± he exclaimed.


    Heror smiled and patted Ucankacei on the shoulder.


    ¡°Lie back down,¡± Heror said with a chuckle. ¡°You should be resting.¡±


    Ucankacei groaned and leaned back into his straw pillow. Once he was settled, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, my boy,¡± he told Heror. ¡°Not that I was worried. I knew you¡¯d make it through.¡±


    ¡°I was a little worried about you, if we¡¯re being honest with each other,¡± Heror admitted.


    ¡°Oof,¡± Ucankacei chuckled. ¡°If you¡¯re going to call me old, just say it. Ha!¡±


    Heror grinned, then motioned to the bandage on Ucankacei¡¯s calf.


    ¡°What happened there?¡±


    ¡°Oh, it was a stupid mistake,¡± Ucankacei grumbled. ¡°Toward the end of the battle, the djauuls engaged Tralics¡¯ line with force. We were pushed back a bit, and rather than step back with my line, I tried to be a hero. I bested one of those damned things, but another nicked my tendon with his blade. It wasn¡¯t a direct cut, but it did some damage. Luckily, another one of Tralics¡¯ men pulled me back. I limped on it for the rest of the battle, and when the adrenaline wore off, I just fell down. Ha.¡±


    Ucankacei shook his head and smiled sadly, his eyes drifting off. Heror¡¯s own eyes fell to the ground for a moment. He crossed his arms and leaned against a wooden tent stake.


    ¡°Well, at least you got through.¡±


    ¡°I saw Nihlukei¡¯s unit was holding its own,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°I couldn¡¯t recognize you through all the armor. Were you in the front row?¡±


    Heror nodded. Ucankacei chuckled and shook his head again.


    ¡°And you got out without a scratch,¡± he lauded. ¡°I told you, boy. You were meant for this.¡±


    ¡°I had some help,¡± Heror admitted.


    ¡°Ah, everyone has help,¡± Ucankacei muttered. ¡°But I¡¯m willing to bet you helped someone else along the way. That, my friend, is the mark of a good soldier. The siekarums have the option of promoting siephalls to the rank of siekariphae. I have no doubt you¡¯ll be on your way there soon.¡±


    Heror smiled, but inside his head, his thoughts were conflicted. He brushed away the fog with a blink and glanced down at Ucankacei¡¯s wound again, clearing his throat.


    ¡°How long is that going to hold you up for?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°The healers did what they could, but the cut was still mighty deep,¡± Ucankacei replied. ¡°Makes me wonder what would¡¯ve happened if the blade had gone clean through. I¡¯d be stomping around with a stump for a foot, ha. But they said it¡¯ll take time. At least three weeks before I can start walking again. I imagine I¡¯ll be limping for a while. But at least I can say I have battle scars now.¡±


    Heror nodded. Ucankacei now eyed him.


    ¡°I assume you heard about the plan?¡± the old man asked.


    ¡°Nihlukei told us this morning.¡±


    Ucankacei grinned and adjusted his neck upon his pillow. He let out another sigh and gritted his teeth.


    ¡°I wish I could be there with you,¡± he lamented. ¡°Taking the fight to the Midans. Can I tell you something, Heror? In all my years as a siekarum, all my years serving for the glory of Ardys¡­ I never fought in an actual battle. I might have called them battles to¡­ sensationalize, but¡­ I never fought in a real battle. I roamed and roamed and called myself more than what I was. The stakes were never this high. The responsibility never greater. And now, when it¡¯s actually real¡­ I can¡¯t be there for my people¡­¡±


    Ucankacei¡¯s voice broke a bit, and Heror stepped forward, kneeling beside the old man¡¯s bed. Ucankacei let out a wrinkled sigh and whimpered. Heror put a hand on Ucankacei¡¯s shoulder. Ucankacei clasped Heror¡¯s hand with his worn palm, smiling warmly at the young man, his eyes welling up.


    ¡°You go make me proud, Heror,¡± he managed. ¡°I¡¯ll fight on through you.¡±


    Heror said nothing. He swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded to his friend, grasping his hand tighter. Soon, Ucankacei drifted back to sleep, but Heror stayed with him. He knelt beside the bed, his head hanging down as he lost himself in thought.


    It must have been hours before Heror stood. Through the tent¡¯s stitching, the Sun was at its pinnacle, slowly sinking into the west. Heror heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Nihlukei approaching, green cloaks flowing behind him.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Heror,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°Tralics told me you came this way.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a minor thing. Khoulane wanted to get some training in today. I¡¯ve been trying to assist him with his form, but there are a few things he just isn¡¯t getting. I thought maybe having a visual example to follow would help him gather things quicker. Would you mind helping me teach him?¡±


    ¡°I can help.¡±


    Nihlukei smiled and nodded, then looked past Heror toward Ucankacei.


    ¡°Is this your friend?¡±


    Heror nodded.


    ¡°He¡¯s the one who taught me,¡± Heror added.


    ¡°It was his best work,¡± Nihlukei commented with a smile. ¡°He¡¯ll be alright if you leave him on his own?¡±


    Heror nodded again. Nihlukei turned and motioned for Heror to follow. They ventured outside and made their way back to their camp, where several siephalls sat in the Sun. Some sat in a circle in the dirt, playing a betting game, while others chatted. Heror grabbed his sword and aspidan from his tent and followed Nihlukei.


    In the long green grass field beyond the encampment, Heror saw Khoulane standing on his own. The boy had his sword in hand, swinging over and over and over ¨C faster and faster ¨C his form different every time. Heror could tell the boy was becoming agitated; even in the mild afternoon air, his forehead was caked in sweat, and as they approached, they could hear him straining.


    ¡°Khoulane!¡± Nihlukei exclaimed. ¡°Khoulane, stop. Rest.¡±


    Khoulane swung one more time, then lowered his arms and started to catch his breath. He saw Heror and Nihlukei approaching, and he shrugged, shaking his head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing wrong,¡± Khoulane rambled. ¡°Nothing feels wrong. But maybe that¡¯s because I don¡¯t know what feels right. I don¡¯t know what feels wrong because I don¡¯t know what feels right. I just¡­ I just don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Khoulane, it¡¯s alright,¡± Nihlukei offered, raising a hand to calm him down. ¡°Get some water. Take a break, and in a few minutes, Heror will help you.¡±


    Khoulane looked at Heror, and there was a spark of recognition in his eyes. He took a deep breath, nodded, and started back toward the campsite to get his canteen. Nihlukei watched him as he went. So too did Heror.


    The boy was smaller, and naturally, Heror worried about his odds in the coming charge. But he was quick, and he was eager. Those two things, Heror thought, were things they could build on.


    Nihlikei seemed to agree.


    ¡°He¡¯s eccentric,¡± the siekarum said after a few seconds. ¡°But he has spunk. And he just wants to learn.¡±


    Heror watched the siekarum as he spoke. It never ceased to surprise him how Nihlukei acted toward his subordinates. Other siekarums might have looked away from Khoulane at the sight of his skin, or the way he acted. But Nihlukei talked about his strengths and his weaknesses. His potential, and his energy. Heror had assumed that no Opelite like this existed. And here, he knew he had been wrong. He wanted to be jaded still ¨C it¡¯s how he¡¯d lived for so long ¨C but he couldn¡¯t help but feel hope.


    Khoulane returned with his canteen in hand, and they began working. Nihlukei paced back a few steps and stood across from Heror.


    ¡°Just watch this time, Khoulane,¡± Nihlukei told the boy. ¡°I am going to defend against a standard attack from Heror. Watch Heror¡¯s feet, and how he starts with his dominant foot back, before transferring his weight with his swing.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded to Heror, and Heror performed a standard outside swing toward Nihlukei¡¯s left side. Nihlukei blocked the sword with his aspidan, then looked to Khoulane.


    ¡°Did you get that?¡±


    Khoulane thought for a moment, then shook his head. Nihlukei sighed and started to ready himself again, when Khoulane spoke.


    ¡°Could you slow it down a bit? I think I just need to pay attention to the details.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Nihlukei replied. ¡°Heror.¡±


    Heror swung again, slowing his motion to emphasize the different checkpoints. Nihlukei again contacted Heror¡¯s sword with the aspidan. After the rep was over, they both looked at Khoulane.


    ¡°Why are his legs moving?¡± Khoulane asked, pointing at Heror. ¡°I thought we were supposed to keep a strong base.¡±


    ¡°A strong base is not a static base,¡± Nihlukei explained. ¡°If you keep swinging and don¡¯t move your feet accordingly, you¡¯re going to lose your balance eventually. A common fallacy is that only the upper body matters in swordcraft. That¡¯s not true. The upper and lower body must be in harmony. A strong base adapts to every swing, to maintain balance.¡±


    Khoulane stared. Nihlukei raised an eyebrow, his eyes tired.


    ¡°Does that make sense?¡± he asked.


    Khoulane thought to himself again. Then he turned to Heror.


    ¡°Do it a few more times,¡± he answered. ¡°I want to see it.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded and turned back to Heror with a smirk. Heror swung a couple more times, keeping his form steady. After a few repetitions, he glanced off to the side and saw Khoulane mimicking his motions, his feet moving with his arms. After a few minutes of wordless demonstrations, Nihlukei turned back to Khoulane.


    ¡°How about now?¡± the siekarum asked. ¡°You think you can put it into action?¡±


    Khoulane mirrored the motion once more. Then he nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ll give it a try.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°Try it against Heror.¡±


    Khoulane picked up his sword and aspidan and approached Heror, while Nihlukei stepped back to observe. Khoulane readied himself, widening his stance and sliding back his dominant foot, as he¡¯d seen Heror do. He then swung forward, rotating his lower body as he did so. Heror blocked, and Khoulane rotated back, as if his left leg was a hinge. He swung a few more times, each time mirroring what Heror had shown him. After his fifth swing, Nihlukei clapped twice and stepped forward, smiling widely.


    ¡°Yes!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Very good, Khoulane! How did that feel?¡±


    ¡°Better,¡± Khoulane admitted.


    ¡°It looked better, too,¡± the siekarum said. ¡°Now you¡¯ll go against me. If you repeat that rhythm, we can move on to something else.¡±


    Khoulane indeed repeated the rhythm, and his fundamentals were noticeably smoother after watching Heror. They trained until sunset. Nihlukei taught, while Heror demonstrated techniques. By the time the Sun hit the western horizon, its orange light seeping into the trees below, Khoulane was a new swordsman. Although he was smaller than Heror and Nihlukei, he sent forth impressive momentum with each advance, and with his last sparring attempt, he almost knocked Nihlukei off-balance ¨C as he¡¯d set out to do.


    ¡°Excellent, Khoulane!¡± Nihlukei exclaimed, catching his breath. ¡°You see how reworking your base allowed you to open up your arsenal of moves? Keep that balance, and you¡¯ll grow into a fearsome swordsman.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Nihlukei,¡± Khoulane said with a nod.


    He then turned to Heror, who stood off to the side, watching with a small smile on his face.


    ¡°Thank you, Heror.¡±


    Heror nodded, and Khoulane turned back toward camp. Heror started to follow him, but before he could, Nihlukei laid a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Heror, actually, could you wait here? I¡¯ll be back in a moment.¡±


    Heror was confused, but he nodded to the siekarum, and Nihlukei left, heading back toward camp. Silence fell in quickly, and Heror turned back toward the sunset. The rains were far gone. Vermillion cirrocumulus clouds snaked across the sky in long, velvet tufts. A gentle, steady wind came in from the northwest. Heror could hear the soft hum of the tree leaves.


    After a few minutes, Heror heard a voice call out behind him, and he turned to see Nihlukei returning with two other siephalls: Braylyn and Plaezekei. As they approached, Nihlukei nodded to Heror, then turned to the others.


    ¡°If you three would line up for me,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°I have something for you all.¡±


    Braylyn filed in on Heror¡¯s right, while Plaezekei stood to his left. Once they were settled, Nihlukei reached into his armor pouch and pulled out a small wooden container with a hinge on the back. He opened the container, and inside, Heror could see five small stitched patches with metal pins. Before he could surmise the meaning of the pins, Nihlukei started to speak, face bathed in amber light.


    ¡°Every siekarum has the option to promote as many as five siephalls under their command to the position of siekariphae,¡± Nihlukei began. ¡°I¡¯ll inform the others later, as many of them are currently resting. But I have decided to award the three of you with this position.¡±


    There was a short pause. Heror glanced at each of his comrades -- an ashen elf, and an Opelite from the mahallas of Cephragon.


    ¡°I often regret how restrained I am when awarding the rank of siekariphae,¡± Nihlukei went on. ¡°I take this very seriously, and I don¡¯t often know my siephalls long enough to adequately judge their character and worth. But in the short time knowing you three, I¡¯ve watched you all go above and beyond with your duties. I believe you all to be deserving of this honor. Under normal circumstances, I would wait to give you these. But in a few days, we¡¯ll march into Mide for the first time in a thousand years. It will be dangerous. And if I don¡¯t make it back, I want one of you to lead the men in my stead.¡±


    Nihlukei glanced down at the box in his hand. He stepped toward Braylyn.


    ¡°The siekariphae takes over for the siekarum when the siekarum perishes,¡± he explained. ¡°The siekariphae assists the siekarum with all duties relating to the betterment of his unit. But even more than that, the siekariphae is an example for siephalls to follow, should they commit themselves to protecting the Kingdom of Ardys, and all within.¡±


    Now Nihlukei reached into the container and pulled out the first patch, one with an intricate turtle design embedded in its stitching.


    ¡°For Braylyn,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°The siekariphae mark of the turtle. You have many years of wisdom, and you provide shelter for our ranks. But beyond that, you are battle-hardened, strong, and in times of great turmoil, your shell provides us with a haven from it all.¡±


    Braylyn took the turtle patch and nodded to Nihlukei. The siekarum then made his way across the line to Plaezekei. He pulled out a second patch, this one depicting the rugged head and beak of a bald eagle.


    ¡°For Plaezekei,¡± Nihlukei continued. ¡°The siekariphae mark of the northern eagle. You are quiet, sometimes distant. But when one of your own needs your help, you swoop in and lay your own life on the line to preserve theirs. I saw you do it for Heror, and I saw you do it for Correlicai. Your selflessness makes you an ideal servant for the good of Ardys, a role I know you will cherish.¡±


    Plaezekei took the patch and studied it. Now Nihlukei came to the center of the line, holding the last patch for Heror to take. Heror took it from the siekarum, and as he flipped it over, he saw the profile of a wolf staring back at him, its gray fur swallowed by a sea of navy blue stitching.


    ¡°For Heror,¡± Nihlukei concluded. ¡°The siekariphae mark of the wolf. You are a fierce fighter, and you rally the pack around you in battle. But wolves must also care for the pack, and support the pack. At times, you will be called on to lead the pack. You have the temperament of a lone wolf, stoic and righteous. But because the pack needs you, you will be there for them, just as the wolf is there for his pack.¡±


    The siekarum stepped away, but Heror¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the wolf patch. At the sight of the symbol of Pylantheum, he became stuck between Kingdoms.


    He had always dreamed of belonging elsewhere. He hadn¡¯t expected to find that feeling here.


    As Heror grappled with his thoughts, Nihlukei stood in front of the newly-promoted siekariphae. He addressed them again.


    ¡°I¡¯m excited to see what the future holds for all of you, and I thank you again for helping me. I¡¯ll admit I was a bit disheartened on the night you came to the Khi Thung. The two previous battles had been costly for my unit. But this new group has given me newfound energy. And I know that we will meet any challenge head-on, now that we have you three helping to lead us.¡±


    Nihlukei glanced past the three. The Sun was almost set below the trees. The sky darkened into a deep blue. Stars began to show through the fading orange canopy.


    ¡°You may head back to camp now,¡± Nihlukei told them. ¡°Keep the news to yourselves for now. I will tell the others in the morning.¡±


    Braylyn and Plaezekei left, heading back to the tents. Heror, however, was frozen in place, his eyes fixated on the patch. Nihlukei started to leave, but he noticed Heror wasn¡¯t moving. The siekarum stopped.


    ¡°Heror?¡± he asked. ¡°Everything alright?¡±


    Heror glanced at Nihlukei and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he pursed his lips and turned back to the west, trying to catch the last light of the Sun as it fell below the woodlands. Nihlukei stepped up beside him. Heror gave him another glance, then took a deep breath.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Nihlukei asked.


    Heror looked at the siekarum.


    ¡°Have you ever been to Cephragon?¡±


    Nihlukei nodded. Heror cast his eyes ahead.


    ¡°Do you know about the mahallas?¡±


    Nihlukei nodded again.


    ¡°So you know how badly they treat us,¡± Heror continued. ¡°How badly they treat anyone who isn¡¯t exactly like them¡­¡±


    He trailed off, unsure how to articulate his thoughts. He sighed in frustration and glanced at the siekarum.


    ¡°I¡¯m half-else. My blood is dirty,¡± he went on, agitation stirring. ¡°Braylyn is an ashen elf. That doesn¡¯t bother you? That doesn¡¯t bother the other siekarums?¡±


    ¡°It bothers them,¡± Nihlukei replied quietly with a nod. ¡°Not me.¡±


    Heror looked at Nihlukei, exasperated. After a moment, his eyes rose up, and he shook his head.


    ¡°I spent my entire life in the mahallas,¡± Heror went on. ¡°And all that time, I may as well have been dirt to them. Every day, they told me they didn¡¯t want me, but they trapped me there anyway. I never wanted to stay there. I wanted to get out and find my mother. Find out why she left me there. But even outside the walls, I¡¯m still¡­ I¡¯m still¡­¡±


    His voice broke, and he stopped mid-sentence. His mind went back behind the walls of Cephragon, and the great domineering towers. He remembered the words he¡¯d heard from Thaeolai, the night before they were separated.


    Even after we leave to fight at the border¡­ I think we¡¯ll still be walled in. Just¡­ in a different way.


    Heror hung his head, shaking it slowly as a dusk wind whistled through the blades of grass.


    ¡°I never wanted to fight for Ardys.¡±


    Silence settled in, as the last light of the Sun lingered on the tops of the trees.


    ¡°Then don¡¯t.¡±


    Heror heard the words, but he wasn¡¯t sure he heard them correctly. He turned toward Nihlukei, eyes wide in disbelief. In Nihlukei¡¯s face, there was only conviction.


    ¡°Fight for us,¡± Nihlukei said. ¡°Fight for your pack.¡±


    Nihlukei offered Heror a small smile, then departed for camp. Heror dwelled on the words in the dying light. And as the last sliver of sun fell into clouded darkness, he gave the wilderness a parting glance, then turned and followed the siekarum, toward the fireglow.


    Behind him, a cold wind crept in.

 8. Into Mide

    The next four days followed a strict schedule. Eat in the morning, train, eat at night, sleep. Nihlukei¡¯s voice took on an added furor as he prepared his men for the largest battle of his lifetime. Heror and Braylyn stood beside him, giving the troops instruction as they spent time learning forward attack techniques. His lessons were urgent and grueling, and each evening, the conscripts came away with sweat layered over their faces, their limbs floating lifelessly from exhaustion. Nevertheless, they slept well, something they hadn¡¯t done in weeks.


    Each night, after dusk, the three siekariphae met Nihlukei in the central tent to discuss the progress amongst the troops, and Nihlukei passed along the khilung¡¯s strategy for the coming attack. Their strategy was fairly straightforward; they intended to move through Kraana¡¯s Pass swiftly, and overwhelm the Midan fortress with sheer numbers and strength. Nihlukei confided in his siekariphae that he would have liked more detail from his superiors, but he was confident that, so long as each unit did their part, they would emerge victorious.


    Braylyn and Nihlukei often debated about the Ardysan strategy, but Heror and Plaezekei focused more on the operations of the group. As siekariphae, Heror no longer sparred, but instead watched each fighter and gave advice on form and posture. Plaezekei, meanwhile, sparred to give the conscripts more experience against an able fighter, and also provided hands-on assistance. The two spoke every so often. Heror learned that Plaezekei was an orphan like him. His father had been a fisherman, before a storm swept him out to sea. His mother died of sickness. Like Heror, he¡¯d worked on the docks.


    Heror thought about how many times he might have passed by Plaezekei. How many times he might have worked alongside him. And through it all, as the days blended together in an unconscious ambrosia of heat and hunger, he hadn¡¯t even noticed.


    A quiet friendship formed between Heror and Plaezekei, but on the last night, it was Heror who stood alone past the edge of the encampment.


    The tents now extended far beyond Nihlukei¡¯s area, sprawling out along the edge of the wall. Each day since the last battle, around 2,000 Ardysan soldiers had arrived from the south, each led by an outfit of siekarums. They set up camps and fires, and lingered in silence, waiting for their call to action. Heror knew they would see him differently if he approached them, but from afar, their stares did not reach him. And at last, he felt like he was a part of something.


    On the fourth night, Heror again stood in silence, watching as the Sun¡¯s amber beacon fell below darkened tufts of cumulus. He glanced down at his wolf patch, now clipped to the red cloth just below his breastplate. He then reached inside his armor pouch and pulled out his kinship cloth. In the dying light of the Sun, it was hard to see, but he could make out the name ¡®Heran¡¯ against the dark background, and the stray white wolf fur fletchings that danced in the wind.


    He¡¯d never been one to dwell on the Gods. He didn¡¯t think they dwelled on him very much. But he wondered if it was a coincidence. The wolf on the cloth, and the wolf on the pin. Nihlukei¡¯s words. He wondered if there was some hidden meaning he wasn¡¯t seeing. But he refused to believe anything other than coincidence. The Gods hadn¡¯t been there for him before. He struggled to understand why they¡¯d try and speak to him now.


    Like most nights, he was lost in thought, when he heard a voice behind him.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    The young man jolted from his daze and turned to see Nihlukei approaching. Heror nodded to the siekarum, folding the kinship cloth back inside his torso, and the siekarum nodded back. Nihlukei stepped up beside Heror, and the two stood in silence for a minute or two.


    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Nihlukei asked after a moment.


    Heror glanced at the siekarum, then gave a single nod.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m ready,¡± he replied. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°I would be,¡± Nihlukei said with a chuckle. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t talked to Braylyn.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Braylyn saying?¡± Heror inquired.


    ¡°He¡¯s still not very keen on the idea of charging a pass without more information,¡± Nihlukei explained. ¡°I can¡¯t say I disagree with him. He fought for decades in the Charoctides, for Opela¡¯s sake. He has far too much fighting experience for me to discount what he says.¡±


    ¡°Did you ask the higher officers for more information on the pass?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Nihlukei replied. ¡°But they emphasized that our information we have now is sufficient. They say we have the numbers advantage, and that the Midans¡¯ strongest soldiers ¨C the elinji ¨C are not present at the base. We¡¯ll have to trust them.¡±


    ¡°Do you trust them?¡± Heror asked.


    Nihlukei gave Heror a small glare, then sighed.


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t like them,¡± he said. ¡°But they would never knowingly put their soldiers in harm¡¯s way. And I have to say, I feel much more confident now that the forces from the other Khi Thungs are here. We have the greater numbers, and we have the greater fighting capabilities. If the Midans have something in store for us, we¡¯ll be ready.¡±


    Heror eyed the siekarum, then turned his gaze back to the setting sun. Another short silence set in.


    ¡°The troops are learning quickly, too,¡± Nihlukei added. ¡°Correlicai is starting to catch on. And Khoulane¡­ something has clicked for him. After we helped him a few days ago, he¡¯s become almost unstoppable. He¡¯s instinctive, and lightning quick. I can¡¯t wait to see him when he becomes older, and stronger. He needs time to learn new things, but once he¡¯s seen it, it sticks. I see lots of potential with this group.¡±


    Nihlukei smiled to himself, then paused. His smile faded.


    ¡°That¡¯s my biggest fear, actually.¡±


    Heror glanced at Nihlukei again.


    ¡°What is?¡±


    Nihlukei was silent for a moment. Then, after a few seconds, he let out a short, cynical laugh, and his eyes fell to the ground.


    ¡°The legends make it seem like there¡¯s a rule,¡± he began. ¡°That all great swordsmen live longer than the rest. That the swordsmen who live the longest are simply the greatest by default. But in truth¡­ there is no mercy in battle. Not for the worst, and not for the best. Not for good men. Not for the young. Not even the Gods protect their chosen heroes when a blade is heading for their throat. On the battlefield, death is a fate we all must be ready for. I thank the Gods every day that I¡¯ve lived this long. But even I know that tomorrow¡­ they may call me to Sereweh. And I cannot deny that call.¡±


    He let out a sigh, and his eyes rose again to catch the Sun¡¯s last light.


    ¡°Far too many great swordsmen die before they are great,¡± Nihlukei told him. ¡°Some of the best swordsmen I¡¯ve known died because they made one mistake. This is what worries me.¡±


    Heror remained silent, Nihlukei¡¯s words again echoing in his mind. After a moment, Nihlukei let out a sigh and shook his head.


    ¡°But we are as prepared as we can be. I have faith that we¡¯ll succeed.¡±


    Now they both looked on, toward the western horizon. The sun was gone in an eerie mist of vapor, and above, the stars dominated the skyscape. It was peaceful, like the nights before, but an overcast trickled in from the mountains to the north. Nihlukei turned toward Heror one last time. He gave the young man a pat on the shoulder, and then started his journey back to camp.


    ¡°We should rest,¡± he told the siekariphae. ¡°Big day tomorrow.¡±


    Heror nodded. He turned, and the two walked back to camp, side by side, saying nothing as they did so. The cold hovered over the fields, wrestling with the fires.


    ~:{~}:~


    On the fifth day, the soldiers woke. And it was time.


    They ate and drank what they could, then started for the wall breach. A light overcast sent down a gentle drizzle which dampened the dirt road. There was no thunder in the distance or sharp gusts of wind. Only silence.


    By now, the Ardysan force numbered around 13,000. The siephalls clustered in endless rows, their gilded armor and red robes dulled by the cloud cover. A few isolated siekarum commands echoed through the dense morning air, but aside from that and the sound of boots, it was quiet.


    Nihlukei got his unit ready early, but by the time they reached the road, the army was already forming. Nihlukei led his troops alongside the crowd, in the mud on the side of the road. Eventually, they came to the front of the armored force, not far from the wall breach. A gap in the front lines lingered on the left side, and slowly, Nihlukei¡¯s men filled the open space.


    Heror stood next to Nihlukei and Plaezekei in the front row. He took a deep breath and glanced to the right, toward Tralics¡¯ unit. For a moment, he tried to find Ucankacei in the crowd, but it wasn¡¯t long before he remembered that Ucankacei would not be joining him this time. His gaze returned to the wall breach. His fingers tapped nervously against the hilt of his sword.


    They stood for some time, in the unsteady silence of the morning. After some time, Khoulane spoke up from the second row, standing behind Plaezekei.


    ¡°What are we waiting for?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡°They must be getting the formation ready behind us,¡± Nihlukei answered, glancing over his shoulder. ¡°For larger armies, a horn is used to coordinate advances. Once we hear that signal, we¡¯ll march. Patience.¡±


    They waited for a few minutes longer, but the entire moment seemed frozen in time to Heror. Embers of dead campfires simmered and smoked in the drizzle. Heror only heard his pulse inside his head, and the deep lurch of his breathing as he inhaled and exhaled. After a short while, however, he heard a horse¡¯s hooves coming up on the left. He turned his head to see a lone scout racing toward the gap in the wall. The scout rode over the flattened rubble pile, a smaller horn hanging from his neck, and disappeared into the morning mist.


    ¡°Battle scout,¡± Nihlukei commented. ¡°A safety measure. He¡¯ll alert us if we need to fall back.¡±


    Heror could tell Nihlukei took security in the scout¡¯s presence, but he himself still felt uneasy. He took another deep breath, waiting as the mist collected on his forehead, mingling with dry, cold sweat. Silence set in again, but not long after it did, a distant voice carried through the empty morning air.


    ¡°Forward!¡± the voice bellowed, barely audible from the front of the group. ¡°Through the breach!¡±


    Several siekarums repeated the order, and without delay, the front lines started forward, making their way toward the wall breach. To a chorus of boots and clicking buckles, they marched on soil and stone. As they came to the breach, the rows condensed, and one by one, the soldiers stepped over the rubble.


    ¡°Reorganize on the other side!¡± a siekarum shouted from the right.


    Heror climbed over the wide rubble pile ¨C stepping carefully over clumps of crumbled rock and brick ¨C then dropped down. And now he was on Midan soil. He stopped for a moment, looking down through his helmet slats to see if it was any different. He¡¯d heard stories from Ucankacei, about how the soil was a dark, ungodly blue, and how the blades of grass had prongs, through which the wind hissed and snarled. At first glance, he didn¡¯t notice any difference. He twisted his boot into the ground to get a better look, before he heard Nihlukei say his name.


    ¡°Heror, we need to keep moving. So they can pass through.¡±


    Heror nodded and started forward again, lining up with his row. The dirt road ended on Ardys¡¯ side of the wall, and so on the Midan side, they marched forward through an unkempt field of dirt and grass, ahead of which a small forest lay. At the edge of the forest, Heror saw the battle scout through thin wisps of fog, sitting on his horse as he waited for the army to reach him.


    They kept marching until they reached the forest edge. By then, Heror¡¯s boots were heavy with mud. Once they reached the edge, a voice called out from far behind them. Nihlukei stopped marching, and the other siephalls followed his lead. For a moment, the morning¡¯s silence returned. But not long after it settled, it was broken again.


    ¡°Siephalls!¡± a distant voice roared. ¡°Today¡­ we march¡­ on Mide!!¡±


    There was a war cry from a cluster of soldiers farther back. Heror glanced at Nihlukei, whose steely focus from the first battle had returned, his eyes staring into the mist. Shortly after the battle cry ceased, a lonely, hollow horn released a note into the dawn. Then, Heror heard the familiar voice of the siekcithung, a few blocks behind them.


    ¡°Opvae!!¡±


    Now Nihlukei repeated the order, as did Tralics, and the other front line siekarums. The line began to move again, and the Ardysan army took its first steps into the high woodlands of Mide, through fog and flora.


    Heror glanced back, and as he did so, he saw that the army formation stretched all the way to the wall, which was now more than a half-mile in the distance. Rows and rows of siephalls layered upon one another, devolving into a metallic mix through the light fog. When Heror turned his eyes back ahead, they were entering the forest.


    Their boots trudged through the underbrush, golden buckles glistening with dew. All through the forest, a soft pitter-patter filled the air, as drizzle from above collected on the leaves of the canopy, and fell to the ground as second rain. Far above, a bird cawed, its call echoing through the trees.


    As they walked, Braylyn spoke from down the line, positioned to Nihlukei¡¯s left.


    ¡°Clouds are low,¡± the ashen elf warned. ¡°Visibility will be even worse up the pass.¡±


    Nihlukei nodded, then turned to the rest of the group.


    ¡°Stay alert,¡± he said firmly, careful not to raise his voice too far. ¡°Eyes open.¡±


    ¡°Must be that damn Sakhlogh having some fun with us this morning,¡± a siephall behind them muttered.


    They carried on through the woods by the hundreds, redcloak rows only breaking to part around elder trunks. The trees themselves were tall, wide, and nearly covered in sheets of blue-green moss that snaked down from the tops. The moss clustered near the roots, which spread and stretched across the littered forest floor, rising and falling through a blanket of organic detritus, like serpents in a lagoon.


    After some time, the ground started to rise, and the soldiers continued up a slight incline. Walking past a wide tree, Heror caught a glimpse of the battle scout in the distance, his horse turned sideways as he waited for the army to close in. When they were halfway to the scout¡¯s position, the scout rode off into the fog again, swift and discreet.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Do we know where we¡¯re going?¡± Heror muttered to Nihlukei.


    ¡°If you have to ask, yes,¡± Nihlukei said softly, with a small laugh. ¡°The scout knows the way, but they provided the directions to us in briefings. Straight north from the breach. We¡¯re on our way up to the pass now.¡±


    Heror glanced back behind him. From what he could see, the first 4,000 or so siephalls were clustered together in one large group, walking in silence, but far back in the distance, he could see a gap starting to form between the formations. He pursed his lips and turned his eyes ahead again, keeping his right hand close to the hilt of his sword.


    They walked for a few minutes longer in the morning fog, when suddenly, out of the silence, a high-pitched cry emerged. Heror jolted into focus, unsheathing his sword and raising his aspidan, and many others did the same. Nihlukei, however, listened in. The cry repeated itself, and Nihlukei¡¯s hand crept toward his sword as well.


    ¡°Sounds like djauuls,¡± he muttered. ¡°Xaktili dialect. Communicating to others.¡±


    ¡°Shoop! Shoop, shoop!¡±


    The cry echoed through the empty forest air and reverberated off the trees, first from their left. Soon, an identical cry emerged from the right, and then Nihlukei unsheathed his sword.


    ¡°It¡¯s an ambush,¡± he told Heror hastily, before turning back to his men. ¡°Ready!!¡±


    At that moment, a hail of spears came toward the formation from all directions, flying in from beyond the fog. At the same time, several djauuls dropped from the trees and onto the formation, blades careening into unsuspecting targets. Several siephalls fell after being impaled by spears, and there was an uproar as the siephalls inside the formation rushed to respond to the surprise attack.


    Heror deflected a spear as it flew just inches from his face, and as he did so, three djauuls emerged from the fog in his line of sight. One djauul swung for Heror¡¯s side, but Heror easily parried the attack and sliced upward, sending the bloodied djauul into the dirt. Another engaged Heror from the left, but as they swung, Heror spun away from the blade, resetting his feet and bashing the djauul in the face with his aspidan. The djauul stumbled backward, and Heror sent a devastating backhand swing into the djauul¡¯s legs. The djauul fell to the ground, and Heror quickly readjusted his blade, before killing the enemy with a final stab to the midsection.


    At that moment, Heror turned to his left and saw Nihlukei decapitate two djauuls with one swing. A third lingered behind them and stopped. He turned and started to run, but Nihlukei quickly picked up a spear and sent it back to its owner, impaling the djauul in the back. The djauul fell forward from the momentum, and disappeared into the fog.


    Nihlukei stepped back into the formation, readying his sword. His eyes darted around. Then he leaned forward and peered down the line.


    ¡°Tralics!¡± he shouted. ¡°See any more of them?¡±


    ¡°No, siekarum!¡± Tralics replied from a distance, before calling out to the siekarums on his right.


    Nihlukei glanced at Heror, his brow furrowed, and then he turned forward. And the horn sounded off again. This time, it played two notes in succession, and the lines began to move again, slightly faster than before.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Heror asked Nihlukei, his eyes falling on a dead djauul as they started walking again. ¡°Twenty men isn¡¯t an ambush. It¡¯s just a waste.¡±


    ¡°They must be trying to spook us,¡± Nihlukei theorized, though he himself sounded uncertain. ¡°We need to pick up the pace. They¡¯ve likely been alerted of our presence.¡±


    The formation continued through the forest, a few men lighter than before. As they did so, the siephalls on the boundaries peered through the fog, eyes wide as they remained ready for further attacks. The ground started to become more rocky, and after some time, they passed a short waterfall and grove on the left side. They didn¡¯t stop to rest, however; the horn urged them on again, and they kept moving.


    It had been almost three hours since they started moving through Mide, when a break in the tree cover appeared far in the distance, letting in distorted daylight. The rain had stopped falling, but a low overcast still plastered the sky in a peeling white, and a light fog lingered. The air was cooler as they moved farther up the ridge, but even so, hauling a suit of armor for hours had begun to take its toll. Even though it was lighter armor, Heror felt a dry, cold sweat lingering around his shoulders and armpits, and inside his boots, water from the wet underbrush had begun to pool.


    As they walked, Heror kept his eyes out for the battle scout. He didn¡¯t see the horse rider at the edge of the forest, and in the low visibility, the missing scout made Heror nervous.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen the battle scout in a while,¡± Heror noted to Nihlukei.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Nihlukei muttered, his eyes focused on the path ahead. ¡°They¡¯re trained to avoid danger.¡±


    Heror eyed the siekarum.


    ¡°But they¡¯ve never trained for this.¡±


    ¡°Yes they have,¡± Nihlukei argued, sending a glare in Heror¡¯s direction. ¡°Just keep your eyes up.¡±


    Heror took a deep breath and looked ahead once again. He again scanned the forest edge for the horseman, but he saw no one through the trees.


    They kept walking, and in minutes, the front line of the Ardysan army reached the edge of the woods. There, the forest gave way to a clearing underlain by short, dried grass, through which the incline continued upward. The clearing was around fifty yards wide, marked by rocks jutting out of the dirt on either side. A tall, steep cliff face loomed on the right. The clearing stretched ahead for what seemed like miles, lined on the edges by dense, spiny alpine forest. Still, the thin fog sat in the air, flowing like water in a calm pond.


    ¡°This must be it,¡± Plaezekei remarked, catching his breath. ¡°Kraana¡¯s Pass.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Nihlukei said with a nod. ¡°The fortress is a few miles up.¡±


    At that moment, a shout rang out from far behind them. Heror turned, and through the trees, he could barely make out a gap that remained at the edge of the first group, which was still around 4,000 soldiers strong. The other 9,000 were still in the forest. Something was holding them up.


    ¡°They¡¯re lagging behind,¡± Nihlukei growled, growing agitated.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Plaezekei wondered, listening as the shouts continued.


    ¡°Sounds like another small band of djauuls, trying to break the formation,¡± Nihlukei replied, before muttering to himself: ¡°Just deal with them and keep moving.¡±


    The front line lingered at the edge of the forest as the fighting continued far behind them. As they waited, Nihlukei kept his sword and aspidan ready, and he scanned the pass.


    ¡°Stay alert,¡± he said firmly after a long, frozen silence. ¡°It¡¯s no good sitting and waiting like this.¡±


    As they waited for the rest of their group, Braylyn too scanned the pass, eyes fighting past wisps of fog and haze. After a few minutes of uneasy silence, he shook his head and leaned in toward the siekarum.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Braylyn muttered.


    ¡°What about it?¡± Nihlukei grumbled.


    ¡°Looks like a good spot for an ambush,¡± Heror analyzed.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Braylyn exclaimed in a whisper. ¡°Low visibility, thick tree cover along the clearing. Small but steady incline. This is a damn trap, siekarum, and we¡¯re the prey.¡±


    ¡°They only have 5,000 soldiers,¡± Nihlukei hissed in an urgent whisper. ¡°They have to leave some in defense of the base. There¡¯s no way they¡¯d leave enough to thin our numbers here.¡±


    ¡°What if they have more?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Heror, enough,¡± Nihlukei scolded.


    ¡°I know you trust them,¡± Heror said. ¡°But I don¡¯t see the battle scout anymore.¡±


    Heror eyed his siekarum, who stayed silent, his jaw clenched.


    ¡°What if they miscalculated the threat?¡±


    Nihlukei fumed silently for a moment, but soon, he saw the reason in Heror¡¯s words. He sighed and shook his head, his eyes falling to the ground. He opened his mouth and was about to speak, but as he did so, a noise stopped him. In the cool mountain air, the Ardysan horn sounded again, this time even more distant than before. Nihlukei glanced behind him and saw that the gap between formations remained. They were only 4,000 strong at the pass. The others were farther back.


    ¡°They¡¯re calling for us to advance,¡± one siephall said in shock.


    ¡°Are they mad?¡± Braylyn scoffed. ¡°We should at least wait to reorganize!¡±


    At that moment, a shout rang out to the right. Heror turned to see Tralics standing in front of his unit, donning gilded armor and rich green robes. He lifted his sword high in the air, letting the tip catch the silver sunlight.


    ¡°Opvae!!¡± he yelled. ¡°For Ardys!!¡±


    Now Tralics¡¯ unit started forward, unsheathing their weapons, and several other siekarums on the right side followed his lead. Even the siekcithung Plekei, lingering in the middle of the group, advanced with little hesitation, his white robes mingling with the fog. Nihlukei, however, did not. Holding the left side of the line, he stood still, swallowing a lump in his throat.


    ¡°Siekarum, it has to be a trap,¡± Braylyn persisted. ¡°It has to be.¡±


    Nihlukei blinked, his chest heaving as he stood still, in a tense moment of indecision. Low murmurs began to fill the air in the units behind him, as they waited for the order to advance from the front line commander. Braylyn glanced toward the men in the back, then looked back at Nihlukei.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap, Nihlukei.¡±


    Nihlukei thought for a moment longer. Then he nodded. And he raised his sword into the air, signaling for the group to advance. Braylyn¡¯s eyes went wide, and he gritted his teeth.


    ¡°Nihlukei, it¡¯s a trap!¡±


    Nihlukei took a step forward. His sword stretched into the sky.


    ¡°I know,¡± he managed.


    Braylyn turned back toward the pass, his eyes still wide.


    ¡°Then what are you doing??¡±


    Nihlukei clenched his jaw again, then let out a strained breath, eyes frozen ahead.


    ¡°I can¡¯t let them go alone.¡±


    With that, Nihlukei ran forward, hurrying to catch up with the others. Before he could think twice, Heror¡¯s legs carried him after the siekarum, and he too was charging into the pass. The other siephalls and siekarums followed, and soon, they caught up to the rest of the 4,000.


    As they jogged ahead, Heror¡¯s eyes darted from end to end. He was closer to the left edge of the pass than the right, but there were too many soldiers between him and the forest for him to see anything. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, but the woods provided too much cover for him to be at ease.


    After a few minutes, the soldiers on the right started to slow down, and soon, Nihlukei¡¯s guard caught up with them, reforming the rows. Nihlukei glanced to the right and saw that Tralics had stopped. The fog started to settle in again, and as Heror looked right, he saw Tralics frozen ahead of his unit. The siekarum was staring at something up ahead. Instinctively, Heror gripped his sword tighter. His pulse began to elevate, as the front lines were halted again.


    Nihlukei opened his mouth, as if to call out to Tralics, but before he could, a noise farther up the pass stopped him ¨C an inhuman shriek that carried through the trees. It faded, and for a moment, an eerie silence settled in. Then the shriek came again, closer this time. Nihlukei¡¯s eyes darted through the air as the fog thickened. And then, only about thirty feet in the distance, a horse emerged from the mist, kicking wildly and bucking its head. As Nihlukei¡¯s eyes fell on the horse¡¯s saddle, he saw the seal of Ardys.


    It was the horse of the battle scout, with no rider atop it.


    The horse let out another raspy shriek and skidded to a stop when it saw the Ardysan force. Spooked, it bucked back to the left. As it did so, several siephalls gasped, seeing the scout¡¯s disembodied foot strapped inside the stirrup, bloodied at the ankle. As soon as the horse turned, it scampered into the woods, screaming until its calls were nothing but a dying echo.


    Heror glanced at Nihlukei, and for the first time, he thought he saw fear in the siekarum¡¯s eyes.


    For what seemed like an eternity, the Ardysan force stood frozen, as the fog lingered all around them. The silence was deafening. Heror felt his heartbeat pounding inside his ears, and his chest was heavy. He squeezed his hand around his sword even tighter, but by now, a thin layer of cold sweat caused his fingers to slip, and he had to wipe his hand on his cloak before adjusting his grip. He repositioned his aspidan, eyes staring ahead.


    The timeless moment persisted. They waited, for the fog to birth their reckoning.


    And then a lone figure emerged from the fog, and the siephalls all readied their weapons in a dazed, synchronous gesture. The figure was a hulking half-man, unlike anything Heror had ever seen before. It stood almost eight feet tall, holding a barbed club that was almost half as long, with a spear tip on the bottom of the handle. It had dark, wide trunks for legs, massive arms that bulged at the shoulders, and a powerful upper body upon which a dark metal chestplate sat, streaked with red.


    As Heror observed the figure further, he saw that his upper body faded into a hairy mess as it worked upward, and his head was not that of a human, but that of a bull, with three ivory horns jutting out from his skull -- two to the side, and one forward. One of the figure¡¯s eyes was a dark, muddy gold, while the other, marred by a scar that crawled down its face and onto its snout, was black.


    As the bull-person approached, more figures appeared from the fog behind him. They too were bull-people ¨C elinji ¨C though none were quite as big as the first, and some had human facial features. One next to him wielded a long spear and had a tall, sharp pauldron on his right shoulder. The others carried clubs and spears. Their steps shook the ground ever so slightly. All the while, the Ardysan force stared them down, soldiers paralyzed by fear and confusion.


    Now, as the elinji appeared, several djauuls approached as well. One djauul donning a robe and a spear stepped next to the three-horned bull, ahead of the Midan formation. Heror could see his eyes -- a fiery mix of bright blue and orange -- biting through the fog. The robed djauul leered, as the three-horned bull remained silent next to him. Heror glanced at Nihlukei, but before he could say anything, the djauul spoke, his voice strangely calm and firm.


    ¡°Perix lich achlach Sim,¡± the djauul said. ¡°He thanks you¡­ for your sacrifice.¡±


    Now the Midans started to advance. Dozens more emerged from the fog, picking up speed as they closed in on the Ardysan front. Nihlukei set his feet, digging his heel into the dirt. He turned down the line, eyes fierce as he gave a command.


    ¡°Defend!!¡±


    Several other siekarums echoed the command, and the siephalls raised their aspidans. However, as they did so, a tremor began to shake the ground, and a furor erupted from either side of the line. Heror turned to his left. More elinji flanked the Ardysan force, charging them from within the woods. They made impact on the side of the formation with the force of a wave, sending several siephalls flying into the air with their first attack. At that moment, the formation began to collapse.


    Now Heror turned his eyes back to the front. The Midans ahead were closing in quicker. More Midans cut through the group to his left and right, and already, the noise of the fighting swelled, filling the air. The other siephall units were thinning quickly.


    Nihlukei saw this, too. The siekarum blinked and turned forward again. He nodded to himself ¨C wide-eyed, as if in epiphany.


    ¡°Show no fear, men!!¡± the siekarum bellowed as the Midans charged toward them. ¡°No matter what happens¡­ they have no claim to your soul!! Show them the fire that lurks!!¡±


    Heror dug his feet into the ground. At the thought of his own demise, his heart raced, but with a string, he kept his focus. The horde was coming. Like a wave, crashing and sprawling. Deafening. Reaching. Reaching¡­


    Fifteen feet away.


    Ten feet¡­ Five feet. Two feet.


    Impact.

 9. Metal and Blood

    Metal and blood. Heror smelled the latter. He tasted the former.


    A hail of clubs hurtled toward the front line, knocking several siephalls off their feet. Heror focused, and he followed his enemy¡¯s club with his eyes, then ducked it at the last second. He rolled between the attacker¡¯s legs and swiped upward with a fearsome swing, slicing the bull¡¯s spine.


    The first elinji fell, and another charged Heror, cocking back his club to lead into a powerful backhand attack. The bull sent the club forward with otherworldly force, and Heror had to crumble and roll onto his back to avoid the blow. The bull quickly redirected the club into a vertical swing, and he sent it back down toward Heror. But Heror raised his aspidan at the last second, absorbing as much of the blow as he could.


    He felt his stomach lurch beneath the force of the swing as a dent formed in his aspidan, and then he rolled to the side to avoid the next swing and rose to his feet. The bull was about to swing again as Heror stood, but just as it pulled back, a sword carved into its head, and Nihlukei dispatched it with quickness.


    More Midans engaged. As Heror turned ahead again, he saw a seven-foot bull rumbling toward him, spear in hand. Heror managed to block the blade with his aspidan, but the force of the charge sent Heror skidding in the dirt. Heror fell to his knee, and saw the bull charging in again. But before the bull could land his next attack, Khoulane dove in between them.


    The boy slashed at the bull¡¯s legs with ferocious speed, and when the bull stumbled, Khoulane sliced his throat open, sending him falling onto his side. Two more Midans attacked. Khoulane quickly dispatched a djauul, then vaulted over a two-handed spear, using his agility to circle back and slash the spearman in the back.


    Now Heror rose to his feet and came to Khoulane¡¯s aid, fending off Midans as the boy did the same. Their backs to one another, they swung their weapons in near unison, tearing through a djauul spear unit. Soon, there was a slight break in the action, and an unknown siekarum approached from the right, followed by a wounded Plaezekei and several other siephalls.


    ¡°Fall left!!¡± the siekarum shouted. ¡°Condense formation!!¡±


    Heror glanced past the siekarum and saw that Tralics¡¯ unit had been almost entirely wiped out. The Midans now dominated the right side of the pass, and started to close in on the Ardysan formation from all directions. The siekarum Tralics started to pass Heror when a spear embedded itself in his abdomen, sneaking past his armor. He fell to the dirt, and Heror and Khoulane were exposed at the front of the group. Another spear throttled toward them, but before it could hit, Plaezekei dove in front of it, taking the blade to the shoulder. He rolled and cried out in pain, but when Khoulane stepped forward to help him, Plaezekei shook his head feverishly.


    ¡°I¡¯m dead already!¡± he shouted. ¡°Go join the others!!¡±


    Heror grabbed Khoulane¡¯s arm and wrenched him away, pulling him to the left. They turned and ran across the pass ¨C grass littered with bodies ¨C toward what was left of the Ardysan formation, as the other siephalls behind them were cut down by flying spears.


    What once had numbered 4,000 men was now no more than 400. The surviving Ardysans stood in an unorganized group, clustered near the forest edge on the left side of the pass. Near the front of the group, Heror saw Nihlukei. The siekarum¡¯s breastplate was cracked on the right side, and his green robes were matted with red. Not far from Nihlukei, Heror saw Braylyn lying on the ground -- if not dead, then dying.


    Heror and Khoulane filed in with the rest of the siephalls, and as they turned, another volley of spears came toward them. Heror deflected one with his aspidan, then turned to Nihlukei.


    ¡°So we¡¯re just going to die here??¡± Heror managed.


    ¡°We just need to hold out until the reinforcements arrive!¡± Nihlukei exclaimed. ¡°They should be here any minute!¡±


    Heror glanced back down the incline and toward the entrance to the pass. The fog still lingered, but through gaps in the fog cover, he saw no Ardysan soldiers in the trees. Now his eyes went back to the battlefield. The Midans were closing in again. Heror watched as the siekcithung advanced on one bull, only to be speared and hoisted into the air.


    ¡°We should retreat into the forest while we still can!¡± one siephall cried out.


    ¡°What if they¡¯re waiting for us there, too??¡±


    Heror glanced at Nihlukei, silent as he watched the siekarum think. The siekarum swallowed a lump in his throat and took a deep breath.


    ¡°They¡¯ll be here,¡± Nihlukei tried to convince himself. ¡°They¡¯ll be here¡­¡±


    Now the Midans engaged the right side of the remaining Ardysan force. The Ardysans tried their best to defend against the attack, but their aspidans were no match for the mammoth weapons of the bull-people. Heror watched as the formation started to cave in on the other side. Siephalls shouted out for help, but on the left, more Midans approached, giving them no chance to reorganize. They were closing in on Heror¡¯s position.


    Nihlukei reacted first. As the first Midans attacked the left flank of the surviving force, Nihlukei swung his sword with might, cutting the first bull¡¯s arm off at the elbow. He then stabbed the bull in the torso and wrenched the sword free, using that momentum to swipe another bull-person as he approached. A third bull tried to catch him off-guard with a dominating downward swing, but Nihlukei absorbed the blow with his blade and his aspidan crossed together, showing off his strength. He then slid free from the weapon lock and slashed the bull twice with ferocious quickness.


    Heror wasn¡¯t as efficient, but he held the line. One bull came in and swept at his feet with a menacing club swing, but Heror leapt above the weapon just in time. He regained his footing and raised his aspidan just in time to meet the bull¡¯s second attack. Heror swiped at the club with his aspidan just as it reached him, barely avoiding direct contact. He stumbled and spun backward, and as the bull swung again, Heror rolled beneath the attack and now carried his blade forward.


    The bull flashed his club to the left, blocking the blade, but he turned his body sideways, and gave Heror a window to engage. Heror leapt onto the bull¡¯s hunched back, taking his sword with him. The bull swung around his own body, trying to catch Heror with the snap of his club. But Heror, perched on the bull¡¯s shoulders, ducked the club, then stabbed his sword into the bull¡¯s upper body a dozen times, until the bull fell to his knees and crumbled to the ground.


    Heror rolled off the dead bull, and for a moment, he felt a tinge of confidence. But that confidence was snuffed out when he saw more approaching with the three-horned leader. With one fell swoop, the three-horned bull dispatched two siephalls with his club, and slowly stepped toward the fractured formation, as the Midans advanced around him.


    Now Heror glanced over his shoulder again. The right side of the formation had collapsed, and siephalls were scrambling just to stay alive. The rear flank was compromised, and as Heror¡¯s eyes carried over to the southern forest edge, he saw that the rest of the Ardysan army was still nowhere to be found.


    Heror¡¯s blood pulsed with heat and anger, and as his eyes made their way back to the front of the formation, they met Nihlukei¡¯s for a moment. Nihlukei gave him a look of futility, then backed toward the forest edge with his weapons ready. The remaining siephalls condensed around Nihlukei, but by now, their numbers were steadily dwindling, as the right side all but vanished in a sea of Midans.


    Khoulane stepped forward and swung at several attackers, besting them with his quickness and precision. But he only got through three before the three-horned bull sent a gigantic swing down toward him. Heror could only watch as the barbed club hit Khoulane directly in the midsection. There was a deafening metallic crunch as the club collapsed Khoulane¡¯s breastplate, and Khoulane flew into the air. His body was thrown into the woods from the blow, and he fell out of Heror¡¯s sight.


    Now they numbered less than 90, and their numbers dwindled still. Heror stared at the three-horned bull as the menacing creature now turned its gaze on him. He glanced over his shoulder, and then frantically, his eyes shot back to the three-horned bull. The monster took another lumbering step toward him. Heror breathed heavily, sweat and grime streaking down his face in trails. As he glanced back again, he saw a Midan approaching his right side. The three-horned bull pulled back his barbed club again, and Heror dodged to the left, falling in toward Nihlukei. The three-horned bull swung anyway, killing its comrade as it did so. Unfazed, the three-horned bull turned to its right, again advancing toward Heror.


    Less than 60 now, and still, the Midans did not relent. Heror and Nihlukei stood next to each other, the trees at their backs. Midans closed in from all directions, slowly cutting down the rest of the Ardysan unit. Heror glanced at Nihlukei as they backed in, weapons drawn against an unstoppable force.


    ¡°It¡¯s been an honor, Heror,¡± Nihlukei told his siekariphae, his voice grim.


    Heror stared at the siekarum for a moment, then nodded. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. More Midans filled in ahead of the three-horned bull, and with one glance, Heror and Nihlukei chose to fight.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    They each engaged one bull to start. Nihlukei deflected the bull¡¯s swing with his aspidan, and Heror charged in, stabbing the creature in the throat. The siekariphae then swung back and cut down another, and as a third attempted to take advantage of Heror¡¯s compromised position, Nihlukei rushed in and killed it with a quick stab to the chest.


    Two more smaller bulls charged in after the first group, and Heror and Nihlukei kept their rhythm. Side by side, they stood their ground, deflecting attacking blows and recoiling with sharpened blades. One bull managed to swipe Heror¡¯s legs out from under him with an indirect swing, but as Heror recovered his stance, Nihlukei stepped in to defend him, and ruthlessly tore down over a dozen bulls that closed in on their location.


    The siekarum¡¯s sword whirled around with inhuman quickness and force, and the siekarum himself let out a roar, blood spewing around him as more and more bulls met certain death within his reach. Even Heror himself was at a loss as he watched Nihlukei. Each swing was deadly accurate, with no wasted motions. Each movement carried into the next, and each bull that came near Nihlukei fell. Even when two came at him at once, Nihlukei made his swings bigger, and more violent. Even as they attempted to surround him, he spun like a vortex ¨C like a mage whose magic was the blade.


    Now Heror sprung back into action, using the attention drawn by Nihlukei to catch others off-guard. The young siekariphae found himself energized, and rallied next to his leader. He sliced his way through several more bulls. One tried to flank Nihlukei from the rear, but Heror bashed the bull¡¯s club out of his hand with the aspidan. When the bull-person let loose a strong kick, Heror dodged to the right and slashed the bull in the throat. A second bull came to assist, but Heror was ready. He unleashed a devastating swing toward the bull¡¯s temple. Adrenaline took over, as he cut down approaching enemies left and right.


    Soon enough, over thirty bulls had fallen at the hands of Heror and Nihlukei alone. Nihlukei stood over a mound of bodies. Only the three-horned bull remained on their side of the line, standing in silence.


    Catching his breath, Heror glanced over his shoulder one more time. The Midan forces had thinned, but they still outnumbered what was left of the Ardysans ¨C less than 40 now. And as Heror¡¯s eyes again went to the entrance to the pass, he saw that no reinforcements were coming.


    At last, the three-horned bull stepped toward Heror and Nihlukei, huffing through its nose. Nihlukei glanced at Heror before turning his attention back to the enemy. Then, the three-horned bull swung toward its foes.


    With a thunderous lurch, the bull swung its barbed club toward the two soldiers, and both Heror and Nihlukei were forced to duck. Once it completed its first swing, the bull gripped the club in the opposite direction, swinging the spear tip back toward the two. Heror dodged low again, while Nihlukei leaned back, hearing the hollow hiss of the metal tip as it seared just inches away from his face.


    Growing agitated, the three-horned bull now swung the club over its head and sent it toward the ground with tremendous force. The club shook the Aelyum as it hit, and it lodged itself into the dirt from the force of the swing. The three-horned bull struggled to dislodge the club, and as it strained, Nihlukei ran up the club¡¯s hilt. He vaulted over the bull¡¯s shoulders, slashing it in the back of the neck. The bull let out a cry of pain and wrenched its club free from the ground, then let loose an ear-popping swing toward Nihlukei, who was jumping down from the bull¡¯s shoulders. Nihlukei rolled upon hitting the ground, barely dodging the bull¡¯s swing. Then he rushed to his feet and filed back in next to Heror.


    Now they heard a shout from behind, and as Heror turned, he saw more Midans coming for their rear flank, trickling past the last of the Ardysan force. Nihlukei saw them, too. But he could only turn his gaze for a moment before the three-horned bull swung for him again. Nihlukei engaged the monster, while Heror turned to face the new attackers ¨C intent on defending the last member of his pack.


    His lungs were tired, and his joints ached, but still, Heror willed himself to persevere. With newfound energy, he feigned a high attack against two approaching bulls, then lurched and swung low, slicing at their legs. A third leapt over them, bringing a spear with him, but Heror sidestepped the long blade and shafted the attacker in the chest with his sword. One more came after them, but for the first time, Heror saw them hesitate. Heror reset his feet, daring them to approach with splintering blue eyes. The final bull-person met Heror with a ruthless swing of his club, but Heror used a forte counter to shed the impact, and followed it with a stab to the chest.


    With a break, Heror turned to help Nihlukei. As he turned, however, he feared he was too late. Nihlukei was struggling against the three-horned bull. The beast¡¯s swings were too wide and fast for the siekarum to handle alone, and they came with unnatural quickness, one after the other. Heror started for the siekarum, but before he could, one of the bull¡¯s swings struck Nihlukei¡¯s side, throwing him into a tree. Clutching his ribcage, Nihlukei grunted and tried to recover, but just as he stood, the three-horned bull reared up and sent its club upward in a parabolic whir. And then, with ferocious power, it swung straight downward. The barbed club sent a low ear-rattling hum through the air, and before Heror could do anything, it came down straight onto Nihlukei¡¯s helmet, with the force of a meteor.


    There was a sickening crack, and Nihlukei¡¯s eyes went wide. He stumbled backward into the tree trunk, eyes frozen in a half-alive daze, blood trickling down his face from his temple. Heror let out an unconscious scream and bolted toward the beast, his blade pointing forward. But before he could strike, the three-horned bull sent its club back toward him. The club whirled around and blasted Heror in the midsection. All at once, Heror felt his ribs shatter, and the air rushed from his chest in a forced explosion. The blow tossed him into the air like a rag doll, and he rolled in the dirt, coming to a stop at the edge of the forest.


    At first, he thought he was dead. Lying on his stomach, Heror tried to breathe, but each inhale was met with a sharp pain in his abdomen. Covered in dirt and blood, he watched, with his cheek in the grass, as the last Ardysans were cut down one by one. They fought hard for their last breaths, but by now, the Midans had encircled them. And their numbers dwindled even further. Five, four, three¡­ two¡­


    Until the last Ardysan fell to a spear through the gut. And all at once, the battlefield was still.


    Heror lay frozen, his heart thumping as he watched the Midans disperse without a word. At the edge of his periphery, he saw the three-horned bull turn back toward the center of the pass, walking away from Heror. With the Midans¡¯ backs to him for a moment, he leaned to his left slightly and saw Nihlukei¡¯s body leaning against the tree, eyelids drooping. Heror let out a pained whisper of a breath and started to reach forward, trying to crawl out of sight. As soon as he did so, however, he saw the chief spearman turn in his direction, just thirty feet inside the pass. And he froze again.


    The spearman -- the bull-person with the tall pauldron -- began spearing bodies on the ground. One by one, to ensure that death had been achieved. Other spearmen did the same across the battlefield. From a distance, Heror could hear the croak of a siephall clinging to life, and his heart started to move even faster. Shaking, Heror swallowed and tried to reach forward again, but as he stretched his arm, more pain shot up his abdomen. He gritted his teeth and fought through it, clutching a clump of soil with trembling fingers. He dragged himself forward, and he heard the sound of metal meeting flesh yet again.


    He reached again, heaving through his nose. He heard the spear again. Another reach. Another spear, closer this time. Heror didn¡¯t bother looking back anymore. He reached again, trying to hoist himself up off the ground. But there was too much pain, and he crumbled.


    Now two heavy boots appeared in front of his face, and he felt the chief spearman standing over him. He heard the bull-person huff through his nose, and he heard the metal hum of the spear as the spearman raised it into the air once again. Shaking, Heror closed his eyes, and waited for the killing blow.


    But instead, he heard something else.


    A thick log hit the spearman¡¯s shoulder, and the spearman huffed from his nose again. The bull-person turned around to see Nihlukei, propping himself up off the ground with his sword, trembling as he did so. The siekarum was off-balance, and his eyes were still glazed over, his face striped with blood. But he managed to rise back to his feet and lift his sword and aspidan, breathing heavily.


    The spearman let out a growl and turned away from Heror, walking back toward Nihlukei. As the siekarum stood ready, the bull-person heaved his spear toward him. In an uncoordinated swoon, Nihlukei sidestepped the spear and grabbed it with both hands, pinching his sword beneath his palm. Gritting his teeth, Nihlukei pulled on the shaft of the spear, reeling the spearman in closer. The spearman tried to regain control, but Nihlukei pulled again, letting out an enraged shout. Once more, the spearman tried to pull back, but Nihlukei heaved one last time, stabbing the spear into the tree behind him.


    With this last pull, Nihlukei brought the spearman within range. The spearman skidded forward in the dirt, trying to free its weapon, but before it could, Nihlukei grasped his sword again and thrust it forward, into the bull-person¡¯s chest. After a moment, he pulled it out, and the spearman fell into the dirt.


    Seeing the commotion, several bull-people started in Nihlukei¡¯s direction, and the three-horned bull followed. Heror stared at Nihlukei, and for a moment, Nihlukei¡¯s tired eyes met the boy¡¯s. Nihlukei mouthed something to Heror that Heror couldn¡¯t understand. Then he mouthed it again.


    Go.


    Heror was frozen. Nihlukei moved his mouth again, words no more than a whisper in the wind.


    Go¡­


    Heror glanced back toward the battlefield. They were coming. Torn between defending his friend and making this last stand worthwhile, Heror finally chose a course of action. As they approached, their eyes fixed on Nihlukei, Heror rolled in the grass, rolling until he was hidden in the taller forest underbrush. He slid down an incline, and slowly crawled back up, peering out from behind a tree trunk, watching as the bull-people closed in on his siekarum.


    Nihlukei leaned on the spearman¡¯s weapon, cradled between it and the tree. The first bull-person attacked him with a cleaver, but Nihlukei blocked it with his aspidan and stabbed the bull. The second swung a club at Nihlukei, but the siekarum rolled his shoulder to dodge the blow, then sliced sideways, slashing the enemy¡¯s neck. Angered, the three-horned bull stomped toward Nihlukei, its footsteps shaking the ground ¨C until it towered over him, as the siekarum crumbled against the tree.


    Nihlukei struggled to breathe, and he stared up at the beast with wide green eyes. He sent his sword into the beast¡¯s abdomen, but the giant bull let it enter freely. The sword stuck out of the three-horned bull¡¯s torso, but the beast did not react. Instead, the bull grabbed Nihlukei¡¯s aspidan with its free hand and violently wrenched it from his grasp, breaking the leather straps. Then, as Nihlukei stood helpless, the beast shoved the aspidan¡¯s flat side through Nihlukei¡¯s stomach with brutal force, stabbing it into the tree trunk through his body.


    Nihlukei coughed loudly, and blood seeped out of his mouth. He opened his mouth wide, gasping for air. Heror watched as Nihlukei¡¯s eyes rose to the heavens with his last string of life, as if spotting a ray of sunlight piercing through the clouds. Nihlukei¡¯s chest heaved several more times, and then, the siekarum¡¯s eyes slowly closed, and his body went limp, still leaning against the trunk of the great pine tree.


    The three-horned bull left for good this time, and the Midans reorganized farther down the pass, leaving the bodies to linger in silence. But Heror remained, lying on his stomach just outside the pass, staring with wide eyes at Nihlukei¡¯s body. He hoped the siekarum would wake up again, and somehow, in a burst of life and energy, free himself. But hours passed, and nothing moved. The Sun started to fall in the west, its orange hue trickling through the fading overcast.


    Only when night began to fall did Heror turn onto his back. His mind and body broken, he winced and rose to his feet, holding his ribs with his left hand. With frightened eyes, he took his first step forward into the wilderness, when something in the nearby bushes caught his attention. He froze, but as he watched, he saw that it was only a fox, emerging from a thicket.


    Heror¡¯s nose curled with anger. He grabbed a branch from the ground and hurled it.


    ¡°Get away!!!¡±


    The fox fled into the dark, letting out a chatter. A wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame Heror, and after looking around once more ¨C wide eyes watering, chest heaving ¨C he set off into the forest, to the sound of crickets.

 10. Friend and Foe

    It was midnight when Heror broke through the trees and saw the wall again. Using the light of the Sun to the west, he¡¯d turned south from the pass, and hurried away from the battlefield as quickly as his injured body allowed him to. By the time he reached the wall again, his mouth was as dry as sandpaper, and crusts of dirt grinded against his skin. But he was numb to the pain, and when he saw the wall, his head throbbed with anger.


    The archers readied their weapons as Heror approached, but as he entered the torchlight, the siephalls guarding the breach identified him as an ally.


    ¡°It¡¯s a friendly!¡± one soldier shouted. ¡°He¡¯s wounded!¡±


    As Heror reached the breach, one siephall stepped forward to welcome Heror. The siephall offered a greeting, but Heror did not offer it back. Instead, he fumed through his nose and sped to a run. Before the siephall could react, Heror tackled and slammed him into the ground. Then Heror rose up and cocked his fist, but as he did so, a searing pain shot up his abdomen, and he lurched, falling onto his back.


    Hearing the commotion, several other siephalls made their way over, and the archers readied their bows. But the second siephall beyond the wall held his hand up, signaling for them to hold fire. He stepped toward Heror, who was now in a daze, mumbling to himself.


    ¡°He trusted you¡­¡± Heror whispered to nobody between breaths. ¡°And you left him¡­¡±


    It was then that the second siephall noticed Heror¡¯s wolf patch. He turned to his comrade, who¡¯d gotten back onto his feet.


    ¡°I¡¯ll submit a report. Take him back to the healers.¡±


    Two siephalls hoisted Heror on their shoulders and carried him through the breach. Through half-open eyes, Heror saw the encampment again. But it was different. Many of the campsites were empty, and those that weren¡¯t were occupied by silent soldiers, idling in the light of the flames. On the east side of the road, several new medical tents stood near the first one. Every now and then, siephalls passed with urgent pace, heading toward the wall. But even here, the apathy of defeat lingered in the air.


    They carried Heror into a medical tent on the end, pushing through the flap. Then they set Heror down on an empty bed near the entrance ¨C one of very few empty beds left. The medical tent was filled wall to wall with wounded soldiers and healers who tended to them. Tiredly, Heror watched as healers rushed from person to person, easily outnumbered by the wounded. Remembering the events at the pass, Heror realized that these wounded must have all been from the forest.


    As he thought to himself in a distant stupor, the siephalls spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones.


    ¡°There aren¡¯t enough healers,¡± Heror heard one say. ¡°He could be waiting.¡±


    ¡°There are more healers coming from the south,¡± the second one replied. ¡°He¡¯ll get attended to. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    With that, the siephalls left Heror. He rested on his back in the darkened corner, and through the night, the hours blended together. Through his blurred vision, he saw healers dart back and forth all across the tent, some with bloodied rags to use as tourniquets, others with water basins to clean fresh wounds ¨C voices hushed and hastened.


    Heror must have dozed off for a time. He awoke further into the night, and the medical tent was less busy. Most of the injured siephalls slept, and only a couple healers lingered, at the other end of the tent. He assumed the others were resting. It was quiet. His mouth was dry.


    Alone in the corner, he started to fade again. But after a few minutes, he was woken once more, this time by the sound of voices. Two hooded healers entered the tent through the flap, and convened with a third healer inside. They talked for a moment, and then they wandered about the tent, stopping periodically at patient beds.


    Heror tilted his head and watched as the healers slowly made their way toward him. As they grew closer, he could barely make out the first healer¡¯s voice, old and fragile.


    ¡°This one came in early this morning¡­¡± he heard the old healer say.


    ¡°Has he been tended to yet?¡± one of the new healers asked.


    Heror turned back onto his back and sighed, closing his eyes as he felt the pain return to his ribs. After a short silence, he heard footsteps approaching. Glancing back to the left, he saw two healers approaching, whispering faintly. They stopped before reaching him, however. Suddenly, Heror heard a familiar voice, beneath the second healer¡¯s hood.


    ¡°Actually, Unalai, why don¡¯t you take the others? I¡¯ll help this one.¡±


    The first healer nodded and turned away, and Heror watched as the second healer approached him. In the dim torchlight, the healer approached the bed and stopped beside the frame, blonde locks and bright green eyes visible from beneath the hood. Then, as the healer lowered her hood, Heror saw Thaeolai staring down at him, a mix of relief and worry on her face.


    As if by instinct, Heror sat up in his bed, staring back at the girl. Thaeolai glanced over her shoulder, then turned back and smiled widely.


    ¡°Heror!¡± she said excitedly, in a hushed voice.


    The two locked in an embrace, and Heror hugged her back tightly ¨C and for a moment, all the pain left him. They embraced in the silence of the night. Then Heror broke and began to cry, and tears trickled down his cheeks and face. As Thaeolai pulled away, Heror hung his head and started to sob quietly, his breath raspy as he let his emotions pour out. Thaeolai held him tighter.


    A few minutes passed before Heror calmed down. Thaeolai fetched him water, which he guzzled down quickly before asking for more. She came back with a cup and a clay pitcher, and set both items down on a wooden table beside Heror¡¯s bed. Then, she sat down next to him. Heror took another drink, and for a moment, it was silent.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what happened to you,¡± Heror admitted.


    Thaeolai gave him a sad smile, then blinked. And with a blink, her smile faded. Her eyes fell to the ground.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what happened to you.¡±


    Heror let out a whimper of a laugh, but it wasn¡¯t long before sadness returned.


    ¡°You heard about the battle?¡± he asked Thaeolai guardedly.


    Thaeolai nodded.


    ¡°I heard enough. I heard the Midans split up the army and ambushed each group. They said no one survived in the pass. They just¡­ wiped them out.¡±


    She eyed Heror.


    ¡°Where were you?¡±


    Heror sipped on the water, but at the sound of Thaeolai¡¯s question, he stopped. His mind went back to the mountain pass. The fog. The bull people. The killing. The silence.


    Nihlukei.


    As the fog returned to his mind, a similar fog occluded his thoughts, and his eyes fell to the floor, his face shrouded in shadow. It was silent between the two, and suddenly Thaeolai understood. After a few seconds, Thaeolai cleared her throat, and her eyes dropped as well.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she managed. ¡°I know you probably don¡¯t want to think about it.¡±


    Heror let out a sigh. He shook away his emotions and took a deep breath. Another fragile silence settled in, before Thaeolai stood and eyed the young man¡¯s armor. As she looked it over, she saw dents on Heror¡¯s breastplate, and cracks farther down the cuirass.


    ¡°I heard you¡¯re wounded,¡± she said, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°Care to confirm?¡±


    Heror groaned and nodded.


    ¡°Confirmed.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s hurt?¡±


    Heror cleared his throat. As he breathed, his midsection howled.


    ¡°Ribs,¡± he sputtered.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get this armor off,¡± Thaeolai said, brushing a strand of golden hair aside. ¡°You can be my first patient.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t give me a third arm,¡± Heror muttered.


    ¡°Sounds like you could use it,¡± Thaeolai chimed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry¡­ I¡¯ve picked up a few tricks over the past week.¡±


    ¡°Where were you?¡± Heror asked, grunting as he sat up. ¡°I mean¡­ where were you training?¡±


    ¡°The medical wing at Alaris Khi Thung,¡± Thaeolai replied, helping Heror. ¡°We¡¯d been there for a little over a week. Then we heard the news about the battle, and they brought us all up here this morning.¡±


    Carefully, Thaeolai helped Heror lift his cuirass over his shoulders. Hiding his pain, the young man hoisted his shoulderpads up and handed them to Thaeolai. Then he helped guide the breastplate over his head, and Thaeolai took the armor. She set it on the ground beside the bed, and now helped Heror take off his linen undershirt.


    The shirt was tattered and dirty, and near Heror¡¯s ribs, Thaeolai could see a small red spot where the skin had been broken. Heror winced and lifted his arms again, and Thaeolai guided the shirt off. Once it was clear, Thaeolai set it off to the side as well, then looked at Heror¡¯s rib wound. Heror glanced down as well, and his eyes went wide when he saw the damage.


    The cut was small, and had since scabbed over. But across Heror¡¯s midsection, red and dark purple bruises splotched his skin. Even Thaeolai winced at the sight. Her brow tensed.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    Heror only shook his head, leaning back into the bed. Thaeolai lent him an exasperated eye, then turned her attention back to the injury.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an expert yet, but it looks like broken ribs.¡±


    ¡°Feels like it, too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to have to test for pain centers before I heal you, just so I know where to direct my spell,¡± Thaeolai explained. ¡°Are you ready?¡±


    Heror pursed his lips and nodded. Thaeolai sat down and gently placed her hands on Heror¡¯s ribs. She pressed down on one bruise, and Heror grimaced.


    ¡°How much pain?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A lot,¡± Heror replied.


    Thaeolai nodded and moved her fingers to the left side of Heror¡¯s abdomen. She pressed down again, and Heror winced lightly.


    ¡°A little better, but still there,¡± he muttered.


    Now Thaeolai slid her fingers to the bottom of Heror¡¯s rib cage. She pressed down on a darker spot, and Heror jolted, letting out a pained grunt. Thaeolai nodded and pulled her hands back.


    ¡°Looks like your ribs are bruised all over, but the two primary breaks are here and here,¡± she surmised. ¡°Are you having any trouble breathing?¡±


    ¡°A little.¡±


    ¡°Your lungs might have been impacted too, then,¡± Thaeolai said. ¡°The body should be able to heal this on its own in time, but I¡¯ll do what I can to help. Here.¡±


    Thaeolai leaned forward and placed both hands on the primary pain centers, then whispered an unintelligible spell. Her face twitched in strain, and all of a sudden, Heror felt a fervent, tingling heat pulse through his abdomen. He winced ¨C out of surprise rather than pain ¨C and his midsection shimmered with a faint and fleeting sea green light. And then it was done. Thaeolai leaned back and brushed her hair out of her face. Heror felt the pain slowly recede, and as he looked down at his ribs, the bruised areas were lightening.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Heror gasped.


    ¡°A simple vitality spell,¡± Thaeolai replied, laughing lightly at his tone. ¡°I was only training for a week, so you¡¯re not getting a brand new rib. I¡¯d try a more complex spell, but if those are used incorrectly, it could only cause more damage. This is a safe spell, and it will help quicken your body¡¯s natural healing processes. I¡¯m going to wrap your wound, just so it remains stable. Can you sit up again?¡±


    Heror nodded. He sat up, and Thaeolai grabbed a roll of linen wrap from a nearby table. She started to wrap around Heror¡¯s midsection.


    ¡°For only a week of training,¡± Heror chimed, ¡°you¡¯re not that bad at this.¡±


    Thaeolai smiled, and Heror smiled back. But these expressions were short-lived. After a short and fragile silence, the girl spoke.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Ucankacei. Did he¡­¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s fine,¡± Heror replied. ¡°He was wounded in the first battle, so he wasn¡¯t out there for this one.¡±


    ¡°Thank the Gods,¡± Thaeolai muttered. ¡°Er¡­ not about him being wounded the first time, but¡­ you know.¡±


    Heror lifted his arm as Thaeolai continued wrapping.


    ¡°You should have heard how he was talking about it a few days ago,¡± Heror commented, shaking his head. ¡°He¡¯s alive now, but I can guarantee you, he would¡¯ve wanted nothing more than to die along with the rest of them.¡±


    Confused by Heror¡¯s tone, Thaeolai eyed him, then returned to her wrapping.


    ¡°He has a lot of pride,¡± she accommodated. ¡°Hard to blame him, though.¡±


    Heror scrunched his nose and his brow.


    ¡°Of all the things to place his pride in¡­ You know why all those people died? Because of Ardys. They left us in the pass to be slaughtered. It was a trap. It was right under their noses, and they didn¡¯t see it. And when it was clear that they¡¯d made a mistake, they abandoned us. They left us to die. All this talk of honor and loyalty¡­ It''s all fake. He¡¯s a fool for believing in it, and he¡¯s a fool for wasting his life on it. You saw how he was. Even after rotting in the mahallas for all those years, he was ready to be their slave again when they came calling. And sooner or later, they¡¯ll buy his soul back, and he won¡¯t even notice. They¡¯ll use him until he¡¯s dried up, then cast him back into the gutter, and you know what? I bet he¡¯d thank them for it. He¡¯s a¡­¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Heror trailed off, and at that moment, he realized that Thaeolai had stopped wrapping. His chest heaved, and he felt his breathing wane. He took a deep breath and blinked, then looked at Thaeolai, meeting her concerned eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Heror muttered, his voice breaking. ¡°I just¡­¡±


    Thaeolai set down the wrap and sat on the end of the bed. Her eyes met Heror¡¯s, and then she leaned forward, hugging him again.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    They embraced for a moment longer, in the silence of the night. Then Heror leaned away and let out another long exhale.


    ¡°You were right,¡± he told Thaeolai.


    ¡°Right about what?¡±


    ¡°Even out here, we¡¯re still walled in.¡±


    Thaeolai¡¯s concern remained. After a short moment, she nodded and stood. She finished her final wrap around Heror¡¯s midsection, then tore off the linen and tucked it in, stabilizing it.. She went around the bed and picked up Heror¡¯s undershirt, then handed it to him. Heror slipped the shirt back on. His eyes met Thaeolai¡¯s again, and the girl gave him a sad smile.


    ¡°I missed you,¡± she managed, folding her hands.


    ¡°I missed you, too.¡±


    Thaeolai looked toward the tent wall. Through stitchings, the sun¡¯s light could be seen creeping over the horizon to the east. It was almost dawn. The girl opened her mouth, as if to say something more. But before she could, the tent flap opened, and a siephall entered the medical area. As soon as he did so, the siephall spotted Heror and approached the bed.


    ¡°Siekariphae Heror.¡±


    Heror glanced at Thaeolai, then turned to the siephall.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Your presence is requested at the longhouse, at your earliest convenience.¡±


    With that, the siephall turned and left. Thaeolai raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°What¡¯s that about?¡±


    Heror looked on for a moment, then let out a short sigh. He assumed it was about his promotion to siekarum with Nihlukei gone. But he still didn¡¯t want to believe it was real. He winced and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He took a deep breath, then gingerly rose to his feet, pressing a hand on his bandaged abdomen.


    ¡°Feels better,¡± he noted, turning toward Thaeolai. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Thaeolai said with a smile. ¡°Try not to get hurt next time.¡±


    Heror let out a small laugh. Thaeolai cast her eyes across the tent.


    ¡°Well, if you¡¯re leaving, I should see if they need any help,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll see you later?¡±


    Heror nodded and smiled. Thaeolai turned away, walking to the other end of the medical tent. Heror¡¯s smile then faded, and his face darkened. He picked up his discarded armor and slipped it back on, then turned toward the flap and stepped out into the early morning air.


    It was still quiet as the sky showed the first hints of light. Most of the soldiers were asleep, but a few traveled in groups to the wall, carrying torches to guide them.. Some of the campsites were noticeably empty. As Heror looked around, he wondered how many would stay that way.


    In just a few minutes, the longhouse came into view. It was similarly shaped to the medical tents, but it was slightly smaller, and it appeared more sturdy as well. Large wooden beams held up thick canvas walls of bright red. As Heror approached, he saw the seal of Ardys once again, running along the side. He approached the entrance, and carried on inside.


    The longhouse interior was illuminated by torches that were sconced sporadically along the support beams. Two more guards stood by the entrance inside, and a dark red carpet mat stretched from wall to wall, overlaying the dirt ground. Farther in, near the center of the longhouse, a long table sat, at which four Ardysan officials lingered. One ¨C a greencloak -- was sitting, while the three others ¨C each of them bluecloaks ¨C stood, speaking in hushed voices that Heror couldn¡¯t hear from where he stood.


    Heror headed for the table, and the greencloak glanced toward him. Heror¡¯s eyes met the greencloak¡¯s, and he realized that it was Ucankacei, sitting with his helmet off. Ucankacei nodded to Heror and gave him a nervous smile, then grabbed a wooden crutch leaning against his chair and stood. He limped to Heror, and the two met just beyond the table.


    ¡°Heror,¡± Ucankacei said, his voice unnaturally feeble, placing a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder.


    Heror eyed Ucankacei, then looked past. The other officials were watching him. He frowned, then turned back to Ucankacei.


    ¡°What¡¯s this about?¡± Heror questioned.


    Ucankacei ignored the inquiry, instead looking at the young man¡¯s wolf pin. He motioned to the pin and smiled sadly, only offering Heror a glance.


    ¡°It looks good on you,¡± the old man said, his smile wavering.


    Heror could tell Ucankacei was keeping something from him. The old man turned and led Heror to the table. There was an open seat beside Ucankacei, and Ucankcei directed Heror to it. Heror sat, and the other officials sat down as he did, across the table. Now Ucankacei gestured toward the officials, working his way down to the line.


    ¡°Heror, this is Oranthei, the commanding siekangh of the border defense,¡± Ucankacei stated. ¡°To his left is Jakthei, advisory siekangh from Ellindal. And I believe you met Sulemei once. He¡¯s the siekangh from Alaris Khi Thung.¡±


    The commanding officers turned their eyes to Heror, as though they expected him to greet them. But Heror didn¡¯t say a word. He stared at Oranthei with piercing blue eyes.


    After a short, tense silence, Jakthei cleared his throat and stood from his seat. He was a bit younger than the other siekanghs, with brown hair and golden skin.


    ¡°Siekariphae Heror,¡± he said with a bow. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. You received a glowing recommendation from siekarum Nihlukei. I do hope he is at peace now.¡±


    Heror winced at the sound of the name. Still, he said nothing. Jakthei glanced at the other siekanghs, then sat down and pulled out a small sheet of parchment, handing it to the commanding siekangh, Oranthei.


    Oranthei took the parchment and read from it silently. The siekangh was older like Sulemei, with thinning white hair and a triangular face. His once-blue eyes had since gone gray, and two deep laugh lines dominated his frowning profile. Heror¡¯s eyes did not move from him.


    After reading off the parchment, the siekangh set the sheet back down on the table. He cleared his throat, then spoke.


    ¡°This morning, at around the turn of the night, siekariphae Heror was identified assaulting another siephall,¡± he explained, voice gruff and uninterested. ¡°We have convened to inform the offender of the disciplinary measures that will follow. The immediate recommendation is removal of the siekariphae rank.¡±


    Upon hearing the words, Heror felt a tinge of anger. He shot a look at Ucankacei, but the old man sank his head. Heror¡¯s pulse accelerated, and he turned back toward the siekanghs, eyes darting between them.


    ¡°That¡¯s what this is about?¡±


    Oranthei crossed his fingers on the table and eyed the young man.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Heror sat, his mouth agape, and his head fogged with anger. Oranthei didn¡¯t appreciate the expression. He started to speak again.


    ¡°You were in line for a promotion to siekarum, but seeing your conduct this morning, it was determined that you are instead to be reverted to the rank of siephall.¡±


    Heror fumed silently. His hands begin to shake. He glanced at Ucankacei again, then turned toward Oranthei, fiery blue eyes wide with heat. He remembered the siekangh¡¯s name from Nihlukei¡¯s briefing before the battle.


    ¡°You were the one who organized the attack?¡± Heror asked Oranthei.


    Sulemei leaned forward.


    ¡°Siekariphae Heror, we are¨C¡±


    ¡°Please do not address the siephall by a title he no longer holds,¡± Oranthei interrupted.


    Sulemei stopped himself and nodded silently, then turned back toward Heror.


    ¡°Heror, we are not here to dwell on the events of yesterday¡¯s battle,¡± he explained. ¡°We are here specifically to determine¡­¡±


    ¡°Were you the one who organized the attack?¡± Heror demanded, turning back toward Oranthei.


    ¡°You do not interrupt a siekangh when they are speaking,¡± Oranthei growled.


    Now Heror stood from his seat. Ucankacei lifted a hand toward the boy to try and calm him down, but Heror was already pointing a finger at Oranthei, nostrils flaring.


    ¡°More than 4,000 men died yesterday because of a mistake that you made. Good men died because you failed! Their blood is on your hands!¡± Heror hissed. ¡°And you don¡¯t even care. You¡¯re more focused on taking away my title? Probably because I was never even ¡®worthy¡¯ to have it?!¡±


    ¡°This insubordination will not be¨C¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was your plan all along to split up the army,¡± Heror rambled. ¡°Maybe it was a deal you had with the Midans. To make it look like a mistake and kill off those you considered inferior¡­¡±


    ¡°Heror, enough!¡± Ucankacei broke in.


    ¡°All you talk about is honor,¡± Heror growled, his eyes lashing at Ucankacei. ¡°All you talk about is loyalty to your Kingdom. Nihlukei had more honor than you could ever hope to have in a hundred lifetimes! And you left him to die! You didn¡¯t deserve his loyalty! You don¡¯t deserve my loyalty! Look how much loyalty you have from your loving citizens¡­ You had to round up people like us in the slums just to have a standing army! And you chose us because it didn¡¯t matter whether we lived or not. It didn¡¯t ¨C¡±


    ¡°Enough!!¡±


    Heror froze. Oranthei had risen from his seat, and he towered over the boy. For a moment, the two stared at one another. Ucankacei clumsily stood as well, and started to speak.


    ¡°Siekanghs, if I may, I¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, shut it, tramp,¡± Oranthei hissed.


    Ucankacei swallowed a lump in his throat and shrunk down. Oranthei turned back to Heror.


    ¡°I will not be talked down to by some pathetic mutt,¡± Oranthei glowered. ¡°You¡¯re right. You were never worthy to have it. You¡¯re lucky I wasn¡¯t there at the wall this morning. I would have cut you down without a second thought.¡±


    Heror glared, and by instinct, his hand snaked down to his empty blade sheath. When he remembered he¡¯d lost his sword, he balled his hand into a fist, knuckles white. Oranthei pointed at Ucankacei with a bony finger.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky he¡¯s here, too,¡± the siekangh went on. ¡°He¡¯s the only one here who¡¯s foolish enough to give a damn about you. Your actions this morning could amount to treason, an act punishable by death. But because Nihlukei believed in you, and because Ucankacei believes in you¡­ we¡¯re willing to wait until you die on the battlefield.¡±


    Oranthei then turned to the siephalls guarding the tent¡¯s entry flap.


    ¡°Please remove his patch,¡± the siekangh ordered.


    Heror looked to his left and saw the two siephalls approaching. He grabbed his patch and unpinned it from his red cloak, but before he could pocket it, one of the siephalls grabbed his arm and restrained his other. The second siephall wrenched the patch from Heror¡¯s grasp, then carried it around the table and handed it to Oranthei. Oranthei took out a small, polished wooden container from below the table, and opened it, revealing a felt interior with several other patches inside. He placed Heror¡¯s wolf patch in an open spot, then closed the container and set it down.


    ¡°Now¡­¡± Oranthei began again. ¡°Seeing that there are no members of Nihlukei¡¯s unit left, you will be reassigned as a siephall to another unit.¡±


    Ucankacei raised his finger.


    ¡°I can take him¡­¡±


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Oranthei scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t want this chin¡¯p to have your sympathy. You are hereby reassigned to siekarum Mastudei¡¯s guard. I¡¯ll send a courier to inform him of your assignment. He will supply you with new equipment. You may go now.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes lingered on the box. And then he turned and left without a word. He stormed through the tent flap, silent anger clashing against the calm morning air. He stopped for a moment and tried to collect his thoughts. But he couldn¡¯t. Not this time.


    He was about to leave when he heard his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ucankacei emerging from the tent, rushing after him with his crutch. A siephall held the tent flap open for the old man, and he limped after the boy. Heror took a few steps away from the longhouse. Ucankacei approached. His eyes were unsure.


    ¡°Heror,¡± Ucankacei said. ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°How can you go along with this?¡± Heror lashed out.


    Ucankacei¡¯s mouth hung open, but he couldn¡¯t find an answer.


    ¡°You know what this is,¡± Heror growled. ¡°You know what they are. How can you go along with it?¡±


    Now Ucankacei¡¯s face was one of pain. His brow furrowed. His mouth opened again, and he tried to lighten his expression.


    ¡°Heror¡­¡± he started. ¡°There are ways¡­ one has to act, if¡­¡±


    He trailed off, feeling Heror¡¯s seething stare. He¡¯d never seen Heror look at him this way before.


    After a tense silence, Heror glanced down at Ucankacei¡¯s new siekarum robes. His eyes lifted again, with the same anger that Ucankacei dreaded to see.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Heror jeered, motioning to Ucankacei¡¯s robes. ¡°You can thank Oranthei for that, too.¡±


    He paused, and then his nose curled as he gave Ucankacei one last glare.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re happy,¡± he hissed.


    And with that, Heror turned away, leaving the old man alone.


    Heror didn¡¯t bother heading to his new siekarum. Instead, he went back to the medical tent. His old bed was still open, and so he slipped off his armor and sat down on the bed, leaning forward with his hands crossed. After a few minutes, he heard footsteps behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Thaeolai, her pure elvish skin shining softly in the new morning light.


    ¡°Heror?¡± she asked. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t answer. He took a deep breath and looked ahead. Then his eyes fell again. Thaeolai came around the side of the bed. She looked upon him with worry.


    After a moment of silence, Heror shook his head.


    ¡°Just staying here for a bit,¡± he muttered.


    Thaeolai eyed him for a few seconds, then nodded. She started back toward the other healers when she heard Heror speak again.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    Thaeolai stopped in her tracks. She blinked, then turned back toward Heror, who didn¡¯t offer her another glance.


    ¡°What happened at the longhouse?¡± she asked.


    Heror pursed his lips, wrinkles of tension frozen above his brow.


    ¡°Nothing that hasn¡¯t happened before.¡±


    Theaolai said nothing. Heror glanced over his shoulder one more time.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± he said again.


    He paused, only for a moment. Thaeolai could hear the anger in his voice. Something told her he wasn¡¯t changing his mind this time.


    ¡°Are you coming with me?¡±

 11. Fire and Smoke

    Three days passed. The clouds came south from the mountains and mingled with warmer air from the Publaic. Winds and rains churned. The sunlight faded in and out through squalls. But the men still trained. Their feet sloshed through mud and dirtied rainwater as they sparred, beads of water flaying from their swords.


    At the end of the third day, the rains were gone, but the clouds and the winds remained. And as the Sun set, darkness fell over the land with eager quickness. In the shadow of dusk, campfires dotted the outskirts of the wall ¨C orange light bathing the tents, the dirt, and the dampened soil.


    Heror sat outside his tent again on the third night, silent as he spun his new blade on the ground ¨C tip twirling in the matted grass and dirt. He watched as the firelight glinted off the sword¡¯s metal shaft at each turn, an amber whisper nestled in blackness. Soon he stopped, and his eyes returned to the dirt road.


    His new tent was closer to the wall. Most of the siephalls in his new unit were asleep. Beyond the road, the rest of the encampment was largely quiet. He could see no siephalls stirring near the longhouse. The only activity was near the medical tents. Hooded healers lingered and spoke quietly amongst themselves in the low light.


    As Heror surveyed the area, he heard footsteps. He turned to see his new siekarum Mastudei stepping onto the campsite. Mastudei eyed the young man with a look of disdain, halting at his tent.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been up late every night,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Do you even sleep?¡±


    Heror said nothing. Mastudei stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and pulled aside his tent flap, retreating inside.


    ¡°Stupid half-wit.¡±


    Heror watched as the cover closed behind the siekarum, then turned his eyes back to the road. He was waiting for something. His eyes fell on the path north, which stretched from the wall breach. In the distance, there was a gap in the light that marked the breach. On either side of the breach, guards stood in the torchlight.


    Farther off the road, Heror spotted the staircases that led up to the wall platform. Ucankacei had told him about them not long ago, when describing the wall. There was one staircase on either side of the breach. The one on the left had been partially damaged by the Midans, but the one on the eastern side of the breach was darker, unattended by guards, and fully intact.


    Heror made a note of his target one last time. Then his eyes turned back toward the northern road. Soon, two patrolling siephalls came into view, slowly making their way down the dirt road. One carried a torch, and both were fully armored, with swords at their belts. They spoke discreetly.


    Heror had been watching them the past two nights. Each night starting at dusk, they made their rounds, patrolling the perimeter of the encampment. Heror timed their loop at approximately half an hour, but noticed they slowed their pace as the night went on. It was near midnight now, and as Heror saw the guards approach from the north, he deduced that he had around 40 minutes to sneak to the wall¡¯s eastern staircase before they looped back around.


    Heror waited until the guards walked past. And then, when their backs were to him, he stood and started across the road. A quiet gust of wind rushed past him as he crossed onto the other side. He made his way through the field of tents. To his left, far to the north, he could see the wall looming above the rows of canvas. But he wasn¡¯t going there just yet.


    He made his way toward the longhouse and proceeded past it, and in minutes, he came to the northernmost medical tent. He lifted the entrance flap, scanning the torchlit interior. Upon seeing Thaeolai¡¯s distinctive blonde hair in the distance, he stepped inside and stood for a moment.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Thaeolai noticed him. She gave him a look, then turned and said something to another healer. Heror went to the corner of the tent and sat down on a bed. It wasn¡¯t long before Thaeolai joined him. She approached with a look of apprehension in her eyes. At first, they said nothing. Then Heror spoke.


    ¡°Last chance to change your mind.¡±


    Thaeolai still said nothing. Her eyes fell to the floor.


    ¡°You said you¡¯d leave with me if you had the chance,¡± Heror reminded her.


    ¡°Which Heror is leaving?¡± she asked quietly.


    Heror blinked.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Which Heror is leaving?¡± Thaeolai asked again. ¡°The one that smiles, and jokes, and dreams? Or the one that hates the world?¡±


    Heror frowned. He eyed her for a moment, then pursed his lips and let his gaze fall into the shadows. Thaeolai breathed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll only go with one of them.¡±


    Heror struggled to find words. For a moment longer, he was silent. Then, his eyes went to the red canvas walls around him, and he turned back to Thaeolai.


    ¡°I can¡¯t dream here,¡± he said, shaking his head.


    ¡°And how can you be so sure it¡¯s any better out there?¡± Thaeolai whispered intensely. ¡°How do you even plan on getting over the wall? You¡¯re rushing into things again, Heror, and it¡¯s going to get you killed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to change my mind,¡± Heror muttered. ¡°I just want an answer. Are you going to change yours?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Thaeolai said without hesitation.


    Heror glared at her tone, but soon, his expression lightened. He took a deep breath and started to stand, but before he could, Thaeolai stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Before you go¡­¡± she told him, ¡°let me check on your ribs one more time. Sit back for me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have much time,¡± Heror protested, glancing away.


    ¡°This¡¯ll be quick,¡± Thaeolai reassured him with a forced smile, voice hushed. ¡°We don¡¯t want you trying to climb down the wall with half-broken ribs, do we?¡±


    Heror sighed and sat back in the bed, lifting his feet up onto the mattress. He lifted his armor pads up over his shoulders and tossed them aside, and Thaeolai sat down beside him. She started to unwrap the bandages around his midsection, and after a minute or so, she reached the last layer. As she peeled it away, she saw that his skin was nearly healed. There were only a couple areas of light bruising, now red where they had once been dark and purple.


    Thaeolai observed the injury, then pressed her hand onto Heror¡¯s abdomen.


    ¡°How does that feel?


    ¡°Sore.¡±


    Thaeolai nodded and pressed both hands on Heror¡¯s ribs. She mumbled an incantation again, and Heror¡¯s ribs pulsed green for a fleeting moment. He felt the heat again. The soreness faded. Thaeolai retracted her hands and sat up.


    ¡°Your ribs are mostly stable. This should help heal the remaining bruises. I¡¯ll wrap you again and then¡­ you can be on your way.¡±


    Heror sat up, and Thaeolai started to re-wrap his midsection. He felt less pain as she squeezed the bandages around his abdomen. In the silence of the night, he took a deep breath. He relaxed.


    ¡°Ucankacei came by yesterday,¡± Thaeolai said after a silence. ¡°He was asking about you.¡±


    At the sound of the name, Heror tensed up again. His jaw clenched. He gave a solemn shake of his head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know why,¡± Heror grumbled. ¡°He¡¯s a siekarum now. He has enough to worry about.¡±


    Thaeolai paused wrapping, then frowned and carried on, her brow lowering.


    ¡°Was he involved in whatever happened earlier this week?¡± she prodded. ¡°I tried to ask him, but he was about as talkative as you are. That¡¯s not like him.¡±


    ¡°He has responsibilities now,¡± Heror muttered, thin sarcasm in his voice. ¡°He¡¯s a man of importance.¡±


    Thaeolai tore off the bandage early and tossed it aside in a sudden burst of anger, surprising Heror. She glared at him, emerald eyes flaring.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the way you¡¯re talking about him,¡± Thaeolai growled. ¡°Tell me what happened.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time,¡± Heror said simply, sliding to the edge of the bed.


    ¡°Ucankacei practically raised you,¡± Thaeolai hissed as Heror rose to his feet, his bandage sagging. ¡°He took you off the street. He fed you. He taught you. He protected you. And now you¡¯re acting like he doesn¡¯t exist. What happened for all of that to mean nothing now??¡±


    ¡°I have to go,¡± Heror persisted, putting his armor back on.


    ¡°You realize that if you leave¡­¡± Thaeolai said, her voice fragile, ¡°¡­ it¡¯ll break his heart.¡±


    Heror had started toward the exit flap, but he stopped at the sound of Thaeolai¡¯s words. His nostrils flared, and he turned back around with a seething glare.


    ¡°And it¡¯ll break yours, too?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb,¡± Heror snarled. ¡°Using the old man to try and get me to stay. Trying to make me the one who¡¯s in the wrong. How selfish could you be? I don¡¯t think you ever considered leaving with me. I don¡¯t even know why I came here tonight. I should¡¯ve seen it before now. You¡¯re just like him. You can¡¯t will yourself to leave this hell, so you¡¯d rather I burn with you.¡±


    ¡°Heror, what is ¨C¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know how hard it¡¯s been for me,¡± Heror continued. ¡°Neither of you could understand. I¡¯m done staying broken so you can sleep at night. I need to find my home. I need to find my family¡­ because it isn¡¯t here.¡±


    ¡°I thought we were your family,¡± Thaeolai managed, eyes starting to glisten.


    Heror went to turn, but he began to regret his words. He froze mid-step. His breath shriveled.


    ¡°It¡¯s not you leaving that breaks my heart,¡± Thaeolai continued, her voice starting to shake. ¡°This is what you want. I can¡¯t stop you¡­ It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s you leaving this way.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes stared ahead, pupils twitching back and forth in the shadow. His mouth hung open as he tried to find words. After a long spell of quiet, his eyes fell to the ground. A thick sadness washed over him. He did not turn back around.


    ¡°Goodbye, Thaeolai,¡± he said, his words weak.


    Before he said anything else, he forced himself to leave. He took a brisk step forward and hurried back into the night, leaving Thaeolai in a shocked silence.


    Outside, a gust of wind met Heror. He walked away from the medical tent and stopped beside another, trying to gather himself. He took a deep breath ¨C and another, and another ¨C and then opened his eyes, letting them fall on the wall in the distance. He took a step forward. However, just as he did so, his eyes scattered to the longhouse.


    The longhouse stood not far away, past a few smaller red tents. He could see that the southern entrance was unattended. In the distant torchlight, no siephalls stirred, and the encampment was quiet, save for the wind.


    Heror turned his attention back toward the wall, but his thoughts remained on the longhouse. His meeting with Oranthei and the others. How they¡¯d ripped Nihlukei¡¯s wolf patch from his hand.


    A wave of low anger came over Heror, and his blue eyes snapped back toward the central tent. Before his thoughts could catch up to him, he stepped to the right and made his way toward the longhouse.


    His footsteps were quiet in the matted, brown grass. He thought to glance back toward the road, to check for guards. But he decided not to. This would be quick. He reached the longhouse within a minute, stopping at the southern entry flap. He leaned in toward the canvas, listening for voices, but he heard no one. Now he grabbed the flap and pulled it aside, peering into the large, dimly lit tent.


    It was vacant.


    Heror slipped inside, careful not to make any unnecessary sounds. He hurried toward the central table and surveyed it as he approached, searching for the small wooden box that was supposed to hold his wolf patch. He saw nothing on the table, however. The Ardysan officials must have cleared it off before retiring to their tents.


    Heror¡¯s eyes now darted behind him. On the eastern side of the tent, several smooth wooden writing desks lined the wall, each with cabinet drawers and inkwells. The young man wrenched open the cabinet drawer for the first desk and rummaged through its contents. He found only blank parchment. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    He shut the drawer and went on to the next one. When he opened it, there was a small wail from the wooden joints. He cringed and froze, worried someone would hear. When he heard no one coming to investigate, he carried on. His hand dove into the drawer and scraped from end to end. This one was empty.


    Heror closed the second drawer and now moved on to the third. He slid it open and was surprised when the wooden patch box instantly came into view ¨C dark oak wood glinting in the low torchlight.


    He reached inside the drawer and picked up the box, carrying it with the care of a piece of jewelry. Upon opening it, he turned through the felt pages. In the dim light, however, he couldn¡¯t recognize the designs on the patches, and so he leaned in closer, squinting in focus.


    His fingers worked with speed, and before he realized it, he was at the end of the box collection. He hadn¡¯t seen the wolf patch, but he didn¡¯t panic. He went back to the beginning. In his mind, he repeated the animal names as he saw them. The tiger. The fox. The phoenix¡­


    He reached the end again. Now Heror began to worry. Again, he flipped through ¨C faster. And again, there was no wolf. He was about to repeat the cycle once more, when he heard a voice behind him.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re looking for this.¡±


    Heror dropped the box and whirled around, hand rushing to his sword hilt. He took a brisk step back as he turned, and when he did so, he saw the tall figure of siekangh Oranthei standing in the dim light of the longhouse. The man carried a small wolf patch between his index and middle fingers. A slight smile etched onto the siekangh¡¯s face.


    Heror heard distant laughter beyond the tent wall. His eyes lashed to the left, then back at Oranthei in a frantic rush. Oranthei stepped toward the young man, holding up a hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said, his intentions unclear. ¡°I won¡¯t give you away. Not yet.¡±


    Heror stared at the siekangh, and watched as the siekangh pinned Heror¡¯s wolf patch to his blue cloak. Then, the siekangh reached for his blade. He slid his weapon out of his sheath quietly and observed its sleek metal, flashing in the firelight.


    Heror stepped back, huddling against the wall. When he brushed against the fabric, it startled him. He slowly backtracked toward the southern exit. Oranthei followed, holding out his sword.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you,¡± the siekangh muttered.


    Heror froze.


    ¡°I¡¯m the only one who knows you¡¯re here,¡± Oranthei reasoned. ¡°That changes if you try to run.¡±


    ¡°I made a mistake,¡± Heror said, holding out a hand in defense. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have come here. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Your sorry lies won¡¯t get you anywhere, either,¡± Oranthei growled. ¡°You came here for the siekariphae patch. You¡¯d be the first suspect once we found it missing, so I assume you planned to leave after that.¡±


    Heror said nothing, his mouth agape. A short, disgusted laugh of confirmation left Oranthei¡¯s chapped lips. He took a step to his left, readying his fighting stance.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to die. But I¡¯m going to give you the chance to die with honor. Gods know you don¡¯t deserve it. Ready your weapon.¡±


    ¡°This is a misunderstanding. I can just leave, and we can forget about this¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve dishonored Ardys for the last time. This is the only way you leave this tent alive.¡±


    Oranthei opened his free palm, and tucked within Oranthei¡¯s fingers, Heror saw a small bubble of cosmic keawal energy swimming in the low light. Before Heror could make sense of it, Oranthei clapped his palms together ¨C sword still in tow. From the clap, a keawal forcefield surged out like a soundless tsunami. It swept past Heror and extended to the tent walls and ceiling. Heror grunted in confusion, and for a brief moment, his voice was muffled. As his focus and hearing returned, he realized he no longer heard the low bustle of the camp. Whatever Oranthei had done, their noises were hidden to the world.


    Now Oranthei violently jabbed at Heror with his sword. Heror dodged back and tripped over his legs, nearly falling.


    ¡°Ready your weapon, jhuhk!¡± Oranthei rasped.


    Heror took a few more steps toward the exit, and Oranthei let loose a massive swing to Heror¡¯s right. Heror veered to the left to dodge, and Oranthei cut off the exit. Now Heror backed toward the western wall. Oranthei stayed his advance, eyes burning in the shadows.


    ¡°Worthless cretin. Weak¡­ spineless¡­ Now I see why Nihlukei didn¡¯t leave that pass alive¡­¡±


    Now Heror halted his retreat. His eyebrow twitched. His feet dug into the ground. His jaw clenched. A pulse of red-hot anger rose up inside him, and as Oranthei closed in, Heror¡¯s hand snaked toward his sword handle, concealed in the dark. Oranthei snarled.


    ¡°¡­ Having dung droppings like you at his side.¡±


    Oranthei reared again, but as he sent forth his next attack, Heror ripped his sword from his sheath, scraping it against Oranthei¡¯s blade with sudden speed. Sparks flew as metal contacted metal. Heror stepped away from the canvas wall and entered his stance, matching Oranthei. Oranthei smiled teethily.


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Fight back. Like the animal you are.¡±


    Heror bowed his head in a predatory glare, shadows washing over his face. The two side-stepped slowly as they faced each other in deathly silence. And then Oranthei made the first move.


    Oranthei lunged forward with a low snarl, slicing sideways. Heror blocked, lurching at the surprising force. Now Oranthei heaved his sword in a leftward slice, and Heror had to duck quickly, feeling the breeze of the blade just above his temple.


    As he ducked, Heror lost his balance and fell to his knee, and now Oranthei reeled back, unleashing a heavy downward swing. Heror wrenched his sword up again, locking the two in a sharp embrace.


    They struggled for a moment, but Heror¡¯s superior leverage soon made the difference. He shoved Oranthei¡¯s sword away, and Oranthei stumbled back. Heror used this opportunity to set his stance again. Oranthei lowered his sword only for a moment, heaving as a strand of white hair hung over his face.


    ¡°Going to make this difficult, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Now Heror sent a quick strike forward, and Oranthei rushed to defend. Their swords clashed before Heror redirected and swung downward. Oranthei mirrored the swing, scraping metal against metal until their weapons unlocked.


    In a burst of rage, Oranthei wrenched his sword back to the left. Heror ducked again, then slashed quickly to the right. His sword grazed Oranthei, slicing open the siekangh¡¯s metal thigh guard. Oranthei grunted, and before he could recover, Heror stabbed forward, dislodging Oranthei¡¯s sword from his hand. The blade twisted out from under the siekangh¡¯s fingertips and clanged on the ground behind him.


    Seeing a new opportunity, Heror levied a ferocious swipe, but Oranthei leaned back just enough to evade. Heror let out a cry of anger and swung again. But against Heror¡¯s weaker second attempt, Oranthei was able to palm the flat side of the blade and push it upward. Then he grabbed Heror¡¯s sword hand and pulled Heror toward him by the robe collar ¨C so close that Heror could smell the thick, husky pipe smoke in his breath. Fiery blue eyes clashed with torrents of gray. Oranthei¡¯s nostrils flared.


    ¡°You¡­ delas¡­¡± Oranthei hissed. ¡°You¡­ devil¡­¡±


    Heror swerved to try and pry himself free. Oranthei scowled and spit in Heror¡¯s face, then let loose a brutal kick to Heror¡¯s midsection. Heror felt his stomach spin. Oranthei shoved him back, and Heror loosened his grip on his sword. With a strong pull, Oranthei tore the blade from Heror¡¯s grasp.


    Quickly, Heror¡¯s eyes went to Oranthei¡¯s old sword, which lay on the ground behind the siekangh. He tried to sidestep Oranthei, but the siekangh cut him off, sensing his intent.


    ¡°Say your prayers to the Gods while you can,¡± Oranthei advised, stepping toward the young man. ¡°Though I doubt you¡¯ll even see Sereweh.¡±


    Oranthei sent another strike toward Heror, who attempted to dodge left. But as he flailed, the blade caught his side and sliced open a cut beneath his right armpit.


    Heror winced and clasped the open wound, but Oranthei didn¡¯t relent. He swung again with a loud grunt, and Heror lunged back. The siekangh stabbed forward, the tip of his blade coming within inches of Heror¡¯s face. Heror retreated ¨C until his back slammed against a wooden support beam.


    Suddenly, Heror found himself trapped as Oranthei sent another stab toward him. With only milliseconds to spare, Heror sprang to the left, and Oranthei sent the sword straight through the middle of the beam. The siekangh tried to wrench the blade out from the pillar, but before he could, Heror regained his footing and charged forward, tackling the siekangh to the ground ¨C leaving the sword embedded in the post.


    Heror¡¯s fist connected with the officer¡¯s jaw. The siekangh¡¯s face warped, but it wasn¡¯t more than a second later that his eyes snapped forward again, and his own knuckles scraped Heror¡¯s temple. As Heror swooned from the blow, Oranthei grabbed Heror¡¯s collar with both hands and headbutted, then threw Heror off to the side.


    Heror winced. His head pounded. But as he rolled onto his knees and looked back, he saw Oranthei rushing for the sword on the ground. With haste, Heror scrambled to his feet and turned toward the pillar, where the other sword was still lodged. Heror clasped the handle and ripped the sword backward, freeing it from the beam. In the same motion, he swung and deflected an approaching slash from Oranthei. A flurry of sparks erupted and rained.


    Oranthei rapidly recovered, and so Heror slid around the support beam, dodging the next blow. He then ran toward the tent¡¯s central table, with Oranthei in pursuit. Now Oranthei was enraged, and he charged after Heror, letting out a grunt as he swung again, this time aiming for the legs. Heror leapt to avoid the attack and jumped onto the table, running across its length before dropping down on the other side.


    Lip bloodied, Oranthei ran around the table and swung as Heror dropped down. Heror ducked the swing and brought his sword up to deflect the next, and as Oranthei continued his advance, Heror felt himself growing closer to the northern exit. Before he drifted too far, Heror veered to the left ¨C back toward the table, sword at the ready.


    Oranthei was unraveling. He huffed and heaved as he approached Heror again, seething with rage. He snarled again and let forth a mammoth vertical slice. Heror dodged this to the right. Now Oranthei slashed. Heror scraped and squeezed. And now Oranthei sent back a tremendous wind-up, eyes fixed on his target: Heror¡¯s neck.


    And in a fleeting moment, Heror saw his opportunity.


    With zealous speed, Heror parried Oranthei¡¯s attack and sent forth a quick riposte, stabbing the siekangh in the abdomen. Oranthei grunted in pain and stumbled, and Heror wound back his blood-dipped blade. The momentum was shifting.


    Now Heror slashed down at the siekangh¡¯s legs. Oranthei blocked, but Heror kept his balance and swung again, aiming for Oranthei¡¯s left side. Oranthei blocked once more, but lost his footing as Heror levied another strike. Imbalanced, the siekangh raised his sword for another deflection, as Heror too reared his blade. But in a sudden and swift motion, Heror ripped his sword downward in a sideways sweep, and lashed at Oranthei¡¯s ankles.


    The blade caught one of Oranthei¡¯s boots, and the siekangh crashed to the ground, dropping his sword. He only had time to roll onto his back and prop himself up before Heror pierced the siekangh¡¯s stomach. Oranthei gritted his teeth in agony, and squirmed as he sunk onto his back again. Heror left the blade linger, and then he ripped it out with force, prompting another groan from Oranthei.


    Bleeding from the stomach and abdomen, Oranthei dragged himself back toward a support beam, while Heror loomed above him with a venomous scowl. Strangely, Oranthei was devoid of all emotion, until he leaned up against the beam, and a small, coy smile snuck onto his face. Through serpentine breaths, he laughed lightly.


    ¡°Look at you,¡± he rasped.


    Heror stood above the siekangh ¨C chest heaving, face covered with grime. Oranthei wheezed out a breath. He spit an amalgam of blood and saliva at Heror¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Rabid dog,¡± Oranthei growled, voice thick with hate.


    Heror felt his anger deepen. His eyes snaked down to the wolf patch on Oranthei¡¯s chest. As Heror lifted his sword, Oranthei gulped and rattled, preparing to speak. The siekangh¡¯s mouth churned with revulsion.


    ¡°Even Nihlukei wouldn¡¯t stand the sight of y¨C¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes went wide and he stabbed the sword through Oranthei¡¯s throat. The siekangh choked for a moment, as his words devolved into a gurgling language of spit and blood. And then, mere seconds later, the life left his eyes. His breathing faded, giving way to silence.


    For a time, Heror stood, eyes frozen. An uneasy breathlessness lingered in his chest. He released the sword, letting it fall into the siekangh¡¯s lap, and his eyes fell to the wolf patch. He took a step forward and knelt down. He started to reach for it. But then he froze again. Oranthei¡¯s final words echoed.


    Even Nihlukei wouldn¡¯t stand the sight of¡­


    You.


    Now Heror retracted his hand. His pulse began to race. He stared at the wolf patch, then pressed a hand on his forehead and held it in front of his face. A savage mix of dirt and blood caked his fingers.


    Heror swallowed a lump in his throat and stepped back. He started to retreat from the body and the wolf patch, but was halted in his tracks when he heard a fizzling sound seeping into the air. It rose and crescendoed, and then Oranthei¡¯s sound barrier rebounded and sped back into the tent, at the release of its soul master. Translucent waves of air rushed to the center and imploded above the siekangh¡¯s body with a deafening pang. Everything shook. Everything rang. And then it was quiet.


    Heror cringed. He heard the wind and the fires beyond. And then he heard voices.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°Heard something in the longhouse¡­¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes went frantic. The walls were closing in. Footsteps approached in the crisp, matted grass. Thoughts racing, Heror looked around the tent until his eyes fell on a torch, locked inside a sconce on the nearby support beam. Not far beyond the beam, he saw an unlit gas lantern perched on a stack of wooden crates.


    Quickly, Heror grabbed the torch, then hurried to the tent wall and grasped the handle of the gas lantern. Then he ran to the northern entrance and threw down the gas lantern. The glass shattered on the ground, and lantern oil spewed across the floor and the canvas. There was another shout from outside, but Heror didn¡¯t wait to listen. He swiped the torch along the tent walls, igniting the fabric. Once the fires caught, he threw the smoldering torch onto the floor, lighting the lantern oil ablaze.


    All at once, the northern entrance erupted in flames, orange tendrils flailing toward the ceiling with an unconscious roar. Heror heard siephalls yelling beyond the tent walls. He fell away from the wall of heat and sprinted back toward the southern entrance. He ran past the central table, past the support beams, and blasted through the flaps, emerging into the night.


    Now outside, Heror¡¯s wide and afraid eyes lashed about. He could hear footsteps all around him in the dark. Voices carried and echoed. In a rush, he turned to his left and sprinted away from the longhouse, crouching in the night. He snuck behind a nearby tent, then crept to the far edge and peered around it, shrouded in shadow.


    In the dim torchlight, he saw several siephalls running to the longhouse, sheets of golden armor glinting in the low luminance. The entire northern side of the longhouse was now engulfed in flames that stretched toward the sky. Before Heror could hesitate, he forced his mind and gaze back to the wall. There was a clear path to the staircase, through rows of tents now unattended.


    For a moment longer, he was frozen by some terrible feeling. Only when he heard another shout near the longhouse did he move, survival instinct taking over.


    To the sound of feverish distress calls, he dashed through darkened corridors ¨C quick, light footsteps scampering through the dry grass. As Heror grew closer to the wall, the firelight faded, and he fell behind the veil of the night, guided only by a lonely torch next to the stone staircase.


    Soon, Heror reached the staircase. He smelled smoke. He didn¡¯t look back. He made his way up the steps, his movement careful and light. When he reached the top, he hesitated, expecting archers atop the walkway. However, as he peered past the first layer of brick and stone, he did not see any.


    Warily, Heror stepped onto the bulwark and leaned around the stone. Peering down the western walkway, Heror saw several archers at the edge of the torchlight. He froze, but as he observed them, he saw their eyes were fixed on the growing fire within the Ardysan camp. He could see the fear on their faces, as the orange blaze danced silently against the night, shouts careening in the black abyss.


    With haste, Heror sprinted across the width of the walkway and vaulted over the northern edge. Using creases in the brickwork, he slowly made his way down the wall. He climbed down just twenty feet before dropping the rest of the way, onto Midan soil. His knees buckled at the impact. Then he coiled upright.


    When he hit the ground, he turned and started to run.


    He did not stop running.

 12. Running

    He didn¡¯t slow down. He couldn¡¯t. They were right behind him.


    The boy sprinted down the alleyway, clutching a half-dozen ripe pepons in his grasp. It was as many as his small arms could muster, but as the shouts behind him assailed his ears, he worried he¡¯d have to lessen the load.


    At the next intersection, the boy made a left, turning back toward the gate to the docks. Past passersby, he scampered ahead. As he sped, a lone pepon fell from his clutches, falling onto the cobble street. The boy frantically whirled around and reached with his free hand, but as he did so, he heard another shout. His bright blue eyes shot up.


    Coming around the corner, under the shadow of Cephragon¡¯s Crystal Tower, he saw the first guard, clad in the traditional Ardysan armor set. The Opelite guard shoved past the citizenry, flaring eyes fixed on the boy. Two more guards appeared behind him.


    ¡°By the order of Ardysan law! Stop! Thief!¡±


    The boy grunted, gritting his teeth as he stretched his arm for the last pepon. With straining fingers, the boy managed to snare the fruit, and he swiped it off the stones, lurching to the side all in one motion ¨C just as the guard closed in. The guard lunged for the boy, but the boy was too swift, and a groan of frustration left the guard¡¯s lips.


    The boy rushed down the narrow cobble street, past cloaked commoners huddled in the shade. Past drunken lingerers singing off-tune shanties. Past sailors sitting in circles, gambling with wooden cups and seashell dice. He ran until he came to the easternmost portion of the mahallas, where the blaring spotlight of the mid-afternoon Sun met his eyes. Here, the street opened up into a plaza, lined by run-down lodging houses on either side.


    He wasted no time thinking. Quickly, the boy started forward again ¨C his bare, calloused feet clapping against the cobblestone. He made his way east, toward the gate to the docks. Instead of heading straight for the gate, however, the boy fixed his sight on a small pathway in the distance, which lined the outer city wall that ran north to south.


    The path was tucked behind the outer lodging houses, running parallel to the wall. Near the gate, the wall was solid, without openings. But farther down the path, the wall lowered a bit, and large arches were etched into the barrier. The boy knew he could drop down onto the docks from one of the arches. Maybe then he could lose them.


    The boy reached the narrow pathway, hidden behind the wooden shacks at the corner of the mahallas. He still heard the footsteps of the guards a ways back; he didn¡¯t dare slow down. He turned down the passageway and picked up his speed. Below his feet, cobbles gave way to pebbles and dirt. He ignored the sting of the small rocks.


    As he ran, the boy¡¯s eyes darted through each archway for a view of the docks. He kept looking until he saw the northern edge of the pier, and then he halted. He glanced back; the guards were charging down the alley. A gap had formed between them, as the boy was faster and had no armor to carry. But they¡¯d be there soon. He had to hurry.


    The boy stepped up into the stone arch and looked down. It was almost a fifteen foot drop down to the docks. It was enough to make the boy pause, but a bellowed command from a guard brought back his focus.


    Nestling the pepons between his left arm and his midsection, the boy retrieved a cloth with his right. It was an intricately-woven linen cloth, with the name ¡®Heran¡¯ stitched across its length. Hastily, the boy wrapped the pepons inside the cloth and hugged it close to his stomach. Then, without so much as a breath, he stepped off the arch¡¯s ledge and dropped onto the docks below.


    He tried to stick the landing, but his left foot slipped on an uneven log as he hit the dock. He lurched to the right and slammed into a wooden post, narrowly avoiding falling into the ocean water. His shoulder screamed in pain. His ankle was twisted.


    Grunting, the boy pushed himself around the corner and started south along the dock, but just as he did so, two guards dropped down onto the pier from a nearby archway. They pushed through a small crowd and cut off the boy¡¯s advance.


    Frozen, the boy turned around to see that another guard was dropping down from the northernmost archway. Realizing he was cornered, he quickly reached inside his rolled cloth and pulled out a pepon. He took a large bite out of the fruit and started to chew, but before he could swallow, a guard reached him and slapped his jaw. The moistened food sprayed out onto the planks.


    Now the guard grabbed the boy¡¯s bulging cloth and tried to wrench it from his grasp, but the boy dug in his fingers. It wasn¡¯t long before his wrap unraveled, and as the boy ripped the cloth away, the pepons all fell onto the dock. Some rolled off the jetty and into the shallow waves.


    The guards did not hide their animus ¨C but the chase was over. One guard gathered the remaining fruits off the boards. The closest took a step toward the boy and grabbed his arm.


    ¡°Back to the mahallas with you,¡± the guard growled. ¡°Maybe one of these times, you¡¯ll learn.¡±


    He started to tug the boy¡¯s arm, but the boy squirmed free and shoved the guard aside, then spat in his direction. He turned and tried to run, but the guard grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back. Now the guard dragged the boy back toward the northern edge of the docks, and the others followed.


    Once at the unoccupied northern edge, the guard threw the boy down next to a stack of crates. Somewhere on the way down, the boy hit his head. Disoriented, he tried to stand, but before he could, the guard sent a kick into his midsection. The boy crumpled into a ball, and the guard kicked him again. And again. And again. At first, the boy cried out in pain, but after the fifth kick, it was too painful. He laid on his side, breathing through strained inhales. His eyes started to close.


    Only when the boy was defeated did the guard stop. He scowled at the boy, while the other two guards loomed behind. The guard turned, giving the boy one last glance.


    ¡°Slimy gutter rat. Do us a favor and roll off the dock.¡±


    The guards left, and the boy lay alone, clutching his ribs. The ripples bubbled beneath the pier, and the waves hummed down the coast. The sound drowned out the howls of his stomach and lulled him to sleep. Afternoon turned to evening. Evening turned to sunset.


    At twilight, a lone fishing canoe approached the dock, porting at the isolated northern edge. The boy felt the vibration of the boat¡¯s hull against the planks. He opened his eyes just enough to see a silhouette standing from the canoe, shakily heaving himself onto the dock. The silhouetted man pulled a small sack from the canoe and started for the pier. It was then that he came into the lantern light, and the boy saw his face through tired eyes.


    He was an older man, with once-golden skin that had since gone dull. His hair was a loose, graying blonde, and he was frail and thin. The man¡¯s eyelids were heavy, and well-defined bags lingered under his eyes. His face was empty as he walked onto the pier, half-empty fishing bag dangling from his fingers. He had already started to turn left, ready to make the long walk back to the main gate, when something caught his eye.


    The old man turned to see the boy, lying against the stack of crates. He couldn¡¯t have been more than ten years old. The old man stood still for a moment, frowning at the boy, as if conflicted. But as his eyes observed the child, he began to feel sorrow. The boy was covered in dirt and grime and tattered rags, and his limbs were wiry and fragile. His brown hair was matted over his face, and from where he stood, the old man could hear the boy¡¯s stomach. His pained breaths.


    After a moment, the old man turned and made his way toward the boy. He knelt down beside the child and set his fishing bag on the wooden dock. Without saying a word, he overturned the bag and poured out its contents. Five fish spilled out onto the planks, long dead from suffocation. The boy was tired, but upon seeing the food, he instinctively reached for it. He grabbed a raw fish and quickly bit into its skin. Now the boy slowly sat up against the crates, and continued to eat. The old man watched him as he did so.


    ¡°How long has it been since you¡¯ve eaten?¡± The old man said quietly, thinking aloud.


    The boy froze and stared at the man, startled by his voice. The old man swallowed a lump in his throat. It was then that he saw the bruise on the boy¡¯s face. He took a deep breath.


    ¡°Go on,¡± the old man said. ¡°I won¡¯t hurt you.¡±


    The boy eyed him for a moment longer, then went back to his meal. The old man continued to watch him.


    ¡°Do you have any parents?¡±


    The boy did not acknowledge the old man. After a spell of silence, the old man nodded to himself. He tried to force a small smile.


    ¡°Sorry there wasn¡¯t more,¡± he muttered with a weak chuckle. ¡°Old Pyn¡¯s been playing with the currents. I know that sounds like an old fisherman¡¯s excuse but¡­ well, that¡¯s only half-right.¡±


    The boy kept chewing and started to gnaw around the bones. The old man grimaced, then took another deep breath.


    ¡°If you come with me, I can prepare and cook these,¡± he offered. ¡°Get you a proper meal.¡±


    The boy stopped and looked at the old man again, eyes wide with some mixture of fear and intrigue. He set down his meal and wiped his face with his forearm. It was silent for a few seconds after that. Then the boy spoke ¨C his voice low and timid, and his words segmented.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an animal.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± The old man trailed off. ¡°I know¡­ I just¡­¡±


    ¡°Then stop talking to me like one.¡±


    The old man furrowed his brow and leaned back a bit. His pondering gaze drifted out to sea. But it wasn¡¯t long before the old man shook his head, and a small smile formed on his face. He looked at the boy again, with charming sea green eyes.


    ¡°I know a way we can fix that,¡± the old man said. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The boy looked at the old man, confused ¨C as if it was an unfamiliar question. Then, after a moment, he answered, his voice not any louder than before.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    The old man¡¯s smile widened. He held out his worn, leathery hand and nodded.


    ¡°Heror. My name is Ucankacei.¡±


    Now the boy met the old man¡¯s eyes, and his gaze fell down to the man¡¯s outstretched hand. The world seemed to freeze as the boy thought to himself. The ocean waves slowed to a stop, and the winds fled, and the stars darkened, and the torchlight was swept away, until there was nothing but the old man and his hand.


    Heror took the old man¡¯s hand. And then he jolted awake.


    An eerie silver-blue light met his eyes, and he blinked, clearing his vision. He lifted his hair-matted head off of a moss-covered log, breaking a stream of drool. He spit, expelling grains of tree matter from his mouth, grimacing until his gums were clean. And as his eyes rose, he took in his surroundings.


    He was in a dense forest. A sea of trees extended in all directions, covered in snarling vines and sprawling overgrowth. A thick morning fog had already settled in. From the canopy above, he heard the foreign call of a strange bird.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Trembling, the young man rose to his feet. His boots sank ever so slightly in the lush forest soil. He glanced over his shoulder and saw footprints in the mud and dirt, leading to where he¡¯d lost consciousness. He didn¡¯t remember anything beyond his escape. All he knew was that he¡¯d ran, and kept running.


    He brushed the dirt off of his cloak and winced when he felt pain just under his right arm. He looked down and saw an open wound under his armpit, from his fight with Oranthei. Part of it had scabbed over, but a small section still bled.


    Heror winced again and gently brushed the area clean, then wiped his reddened hand on a tree. The moss on the tree was a strange blue-green color, different from the brilliant, emerald verdure he¡¯d known in Ardys. The events after his escape slowly returned to Heror, and at that moment, a realization came back to him.


    He was in Mide now.


    Heror¡¯s pulse started to elevate, as he stood frozen in an unfamiliar place. A fear crept into his mind ¨C the kind of fear he hadn¡¯t felt since he was a child ¨C but he tried to shoo it away with a shake of his head. He clenched his throat and took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third.


    ¡°You wanted this to happen,¡± he insisted, trying to calm himself. ¡°You wanted this to happen.¡±


    He inhaled and exhaled slowly, then nodded to himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re free.¡±


    The words didn¡¯t give him the joy he¡¯d expected them to. This was what he had wanted, but where had he intended to go after this? The answer eluded him, lost in a haze. It wasn¡¯t until he reached inside his armor pouch and pulled out a small linen cloth ¨C until he opened that cloth and spread it in front of his face ¨C that he remembered his destination.


    The image quickly rooted in his mind, like the sharp imprint of a burning sun. Rolling waves along the edges, jagged cliffs to the left, and on those cliffs, a lone wolf releasing his cry into the skies. The name ¡®Heran¡¯ etched in the center. And the Kingdom¡¯s name came back to him. The great mountain Kingdom. To the north of Mide.


    Pylantheum.


    Heror rolled up the cloth again and slipped it back inside his armor pouch. And then, after wiping his face clean of grime and sweat, he tried to reorient himself. His eyes rose, and he searched for the sun through the leaves and the fog. But it soon became clear to Heror that he was too deep inside the forest to see the sky. The only sunlight that appeared trickled in through cracks and crevices in the tree limbs, distorted into a cool blue.


    Heror knew he needed the sun to reorient himself. But from where he stood, he couldn¡¯t tell which way was east. After a moment of indecision, he let out a frustrated sigh and glanced back at his footprints. Seeing that the prints were more or less straight ¨C at least until they disappeared beyond ¨C he decided to pick up where they left off, and started forward again.


    Each footstep rippled in the uneasy silence of morning, echoing in Heror¡¯s ears between pounding pulsations. The forest was overrun with mosses and vines and curling roots, but as he made his way through, Heror found that there was surprisingly little wildlife on the forest ground. He could hear strange cries in the canopy far above, but on the forest floor, it was eerily quiet.


    By now, he¡¯d lost his sense of time, and he didn¡¯t bother keeping track. His legs pressed on in a mindless rhythm. Left, right, left, right, in the dense forest mud. For seconds, minutes, and miles.


    No matter how far he went, the forest never broke. Roots and vines slithered onward in every direction, as far as the eye could see. Heror almost thought the forest¡¯s tendrils would close in on him at some point, wrap around his limbs as if snakes, and disincorporate him, causing him to be lost forever. At first, Heror brushed the fear away. But as he glanced back and forth at the vines around him, he became convinced that something was moving. Hysteria crept in; he picked up his pace.


    Some time later, Heror stopped, only for a moment, to catch his breath. Out of stubborn hope, he turned his gaze upward again, trying to pick out the sun through the trees. But it was no use. The canopy blocked out almost all of the light, leaving only dim scraps to pool along the forest grounds.


    Heror shook his head and let out a maddened grunt. He took an abrupt step forward, but as he did so, he stumbled and froze. He started to feel dizzy, and as more and more feelings came to the surface, through exhaustion and dehydration, he felt a pain in his side again. Lifting his red cloak, he saw that the cut beneath his armpit was now discolored. He shoved his cloak back down and wiped a layer of cold sweat off his forehead. He forced himself ahead.


    A few more hours passed before Heror finally saw light ahead. It was dim and distant, constricted by endless tangles of vines and roots. But even through tired eyes, Heror could see the white light of the midday sun through the trees. He hurried his pace when he saw it, using the trees around him to steady himself. His footsteps were wobbly and off-balance, but he pressed on. He was getting closer.


    In minutes, the light widened, and Heror saw a patch of blue sky amidst the canopy. He approached the thread of daylight. The vines of the forest slowly receded, their numbers thinning. The roots of the trees no longer stacked and twisted around one another, and as the trees spread out, Heror quickened his steps. It wasn¡¯t long before he reached the edge of the forest and met the light. He shielded his face as his eyes adjusted. Then he lowered his hand and surveyed the landscape ahead.


    He had wandered into the Midan highlands. He stood at a steep cliff face, which fell into another endless sea of green and pine far below. For miles and miles, thick forests overlaid rolling hills, to the tune of wind and wildlife. Above the land, great mounds of cumulus drifted across the sky in isolation, casting shadows over the low mountains below. Just before the horizon, tucked behind two overlapping hills, Heror could see a lake, shimmering.


    Now Heror¡¯s eyes lifted. He found the sun at the pinnacle of the sky, preparing its descent. Lifting a hand over his face, Heror judged the tilt of the sun¡¯s position, and followed it to the leftward horizon, which he deemed as west. He then slowly turned back around until he was facing the hills again. He estimated that he¡¯d been tracking northeast through the forest, and marked the lake in the distance as north. For a moment, he stood in the sun, listening to the steady, subtle hum of the Aelyum. A wave of dizziness came over him again, and so he sat down, crossed his legs, and waited for it to pass, catching his breath.


    When he was ready, Heror set off. He followed the ridge down an incline to the east, and when he reached the base of the valley, submerged into the forest depths once again, he turned left, to the north.


    By now, he was dangerously dehydrated. His mouth was dry, tongue grating against the back of his gums like sandpaper. His stomach howled at him as he walked ¨C a hollow growl that rattled between the ribs. But Heror pushed himself to keep moving. Before, it was the thought of freedom to the north that kept him going. Now, his thoughts were fixed on the lake. Water.


    But the lake had appeared closer than it actually was, and the forest stretched for miles onward, in an endless expanse of cool green. Heror kept his eyes ahead at first, hopeful that he¡¯d see the water¡¯s shine again. The forest, however, enclosed on him as if a tunnel. As his legs continued their unconscious rhythm, his eyes started to drop. His eyelids grew heavy.


    The light that snuck through the canopy soon took on a golden hue, and in the forest depths, darkness started to pool. The daytime calls of the birds above began to fade, and a fragile silence settled in as dusk swept over the woods. In the distance, strange howls could be heard. Not even a gust of wind broke through.


    It was then that Heror¡¯s mind started to leave him. Only the primal need for water kept him on his feet, in a zombified trance. His head was heavy with fog, and even in the chilled night air, he was sweating from head to toe. He shivered as he carried onward, struggling to piece together even simple thoughts. Even the image of the lake was fading. And as the darkness thickened within the forest, his eyes were urged to close.


    Heror¡¯s balance started to wane. His legs grew light and liftless, and his limbs began to tingle, as if his entire body was falling asleep. He stumbled into a tree and clasped it with trembling hands, as his heart began to race. Falling to his knees, he swallowed a lump in his throat. His eyelids begged to sink. He almost let them. But as he stopped moving, and as the silence deepened, he heard something. A familiar sound from his days on the docks.


    Water.


    Heror rushed to his feet and hurried after the sound, trudging through the thick forest grass and detritus. He brushed past several smaller trees and stopped to listen again. And as quickly as it came, the sound of water was gone ¨C taunting him. Heror sulked ¨C his breath short and heavy, hair plastered over his temple in grimy wisps. And then, in the silence, he heard the sloshing again. He jolted forward.


    After taking over a dozen frantic steps, Heror felt the cold rush of water as it seeped inside his boots. He took another step, and the water rose to his ankles. He looked down, and in the last fleeting light of dusk, he found himself standing in a small stream, which ran from farther up the highlands.


    Heror let out a weak, quiet laugh in relief, then sank to his knees. His hands plunged into the cold ripples and scraped the slick muck below, and then he cupped his hands in the water. He lifted a handful and doused his face, letting the jolt bring him back to his senses. He did this twice more, and brought the third handful of water up to his mouth, drinking it without a second thought. The sour, pallid taste of dirt and particulates hit his tongue, and Heror hacked and sputtered, sending the water out as quickly as he¡¯d brought it in. He erupted into a coughing fit, plunging his hands into the muddied dirt to prop himself up.


    It was then, mid-cough, that he heard something.


    It was another howl, lonely and monotone. Closer this time. He froze at the sound and trapped his cough with a tremble. His throat quivered, but he dared not make another noise. His eyes went to the west, where only the orange glow of the dying sun remained below a canvas of black. Between the trees, against the afterglow, he could barely make out a shadowy figure farther up the stream, walking soundlessly through the trees. A large, canine creature lurked alongside the figure, its head low to the ground.


    Heror stared, eyes transfixed. The figure walked adjacent to him, traveling down the tree-covered hillside. The figure disappeared and reappeared between trunks as it walked, but Heror couldn¡¯t tell if it was getting closer. After a moment, the creature made another noise, and Heror saw the figure turn toward the stream, silhouette squaring its shoulders in the moonlight.


    Now Heror felt his heart pounding. Quietly, he stepped back, letting his foot drift in the stream. He didn¡¯t lift his foot out of the water, but instead waded toward the water¡¯s edge. He took another step back, and felt his left boot gently rise back onto the streambank. Now he stepped out with his other foot, and silently shifted behind a nearby tree, hugging his back to the tree bark. He only exhaled when he felt the bark¡¯s rough texture against his shoulder blades, but hearing another twig snap in the distance, his heart kept its pace.


    Frozen, Heror stood with his back to the tree. He tried to let his ears work. He could hear the figure¡¯s movement not far off, but it was quiet ¨C footsteps dulled by woodland debris. He strained his hearing to see if he could gauge its direction, but he could not. One moment, it sounded closer. The next, it sounded farther away. Until finally, after a minute or two, it stopped.


    A new silence settled in. Heror took a mute breath, as an uneasy feeling wrenched in his stomach. He dropped a quivering hand toward his sheath, grasping for his blade. He did so for several seconds, before it occurred to him that his sword wasn¡¯t there; he¡¯d left it at camp, back past the Ardysan border.


    Now Heror lifted his head and curled his lips in frustration. If he could speak, he would¡¯ve cursed. He still heard nothing, and for a moment, he thought that maybe the figure had left. It took another minute for him to gain the courage to move. With caution, he took a step to the left, keeping his back to the tree trunk as his chest heaved. Ever so slowly, he took one more step, sliding his back against the bark.


    After this second step, Heror turned his head and carefully leaned past the trunk. At first, there was nothing. But as he leaned farther out, the shadowy figure suddenly came into view, not more than twenty feet away. A hound-like creature stood next to the figure, leashed on a chain. As Heror peered out, the hound¡¯s yellow eyes shot toward him. For a terrible second, they made eye contact, and the hound let out a high yelp.


    Heror hid again in a rush, and the footsteps started again ¨C closer, and accompanied by the rattling of the beast¡¯s chain. The hound crept toward him from the left, and Heror rotated around the right side of the tree. As it grew ever closer, another sound entered Heror¡¯s periphery: A strange, constant huffing of sorts. It was tracking his scent.


    With his back flat against the trunk, Heror frantically reached down and grabbed the metal cuisse around his left thigh. With shaking fingers, he unstrapped the armor piece. And then, as quickly as he did so, he heaved it to the right with force. It wasn¡¯t long before the metal piece clacked against another tree in the distance, and the hound let out another wail. Heror heard the creature¡¯s feet start off in the direction of the noise, and the figure followed. The chain lashed away.


    Now Heror hurried in the other direction. He leapt over the stream and sprinted into the forest, whizzing past trees and limbs in the dark. He thought he heard the chain whip back around behind him, but he didn¡¯t dare check. He sprinted through the woods, swatting at drooping branches and vines that blocked his path.


    It wasn¡¯t ten seconds after Heror started running, however, that a stray root caught his foot, and he tripped and fell, rolling down a steady incline. He tumbled through the underbrush until he hit a wooden structure. He felt weak planks crack and collapse underneath his weight, and when he came to a stop, lying on his back, he looked up and saw that he¡¯d crashed through a crudely built fence. Now his eyes shot behind him, and he saw a small forest cabin just thirty feet away, beyond what appeared to be a quaint garden. A door sat at the back of the cabin, with strange streaks of red running beside the handle.


    Heror barely took in his surroundings before he heard the chain again. Hastily, he flipped onto his stomach and crawled forward, hiding behind an intact portion of the wooden fencing. He slid up against it and wrestled with his breath, and he went to peer through the slats ¨C when an orange light emerged from the cabin. He whisked around to see a lantern in the window, and then the garden door opened, and an elinji stepped out.


    The elinji was tall and burly, with dark skin and darker fur. A thick beard hugged his jaw, and a dark brown mane streaked down his neck and over his ringed ears. In one hand, Heror saw the bull-person was carrying a second lantern. And in the other, a notched crossbow.


    Almost immediately, the bull-person saw Heror, and Heror¡¯s heart caught inside his chest. Heror started to squirm, when he heard the chain of the tracker just beyond the fencing. He turned to see the tracker coming over the hill, illuminated faintly by the cabin¡¯s lantern light as it flooded into the woods. The hound-like creature led the way, nose still pressed to the ground as its spiny hairs stood on end.


    The tracker stopped just outside the fencing, and now Heror looked back at the bull-person, eyes wide. The bull-person seemed to observe him for a short moment, and then his brown eyes went past Heror, to the tracker. The elinji advanced through a small pathway in the garden. Heror heard the tracker¡¯s voice, raspy and thin.


    ¡°Varsa!¡± the tracker hissed from beyond the fence. ¡°Woh kuin sa lal! Ti-aybrok!¡±


    Heror shrunk against the fencing. The bull-person glanced at Heror one more time, then turned back to the tracker and spoke.


    ¡°Esey sa hel kehn tuig ton gol kapitanhi,¡± the bull-person said in response, the tenor of his voice lower than that of his counterpart. ¡°Id shiam caeo wal sungo.¡±


    The two kept talking. Heror sensed agitation, but he couldn¡¯t understand what they were saying. Their voices were fast and pointed, different from the slow, indulgent pace of conversation he¡¯d come to know in Ardys. For a minute, they went back and forth, and then ¨C to Heror¡¯s surprise ¨C the tracker turned and went back the way he came, disappearing over the forest knoll. The clinking of the chain faded.


    Once the tracker was gone, Heror turned back around and saw the bull-person, still staring at him. The elinji took a step toward him, eyes scanning the wounded stranger. Heror lifted up a shaking hand. His adrenaline started to wear off. Dehydration and exhaustion settled in. He opened his mouth as if to plead, but before he could say anything, his body went limp, and his eyes fell shut.

 13. Unexpected Hospitality

    For the second time in two days, Heror woke unsure of where he was.


    He was no longer outside. He lay on his back, in a bed that was a bit too rugged ¨C staring up at what appeared to be a wooden ceiling, with logs layered upon one another. The boards were rough and loosely fitted, enough so that the wind crept in, in small breezes, carrying smells of mist and moss.


    His head rested on a straw-filled pillow. To his right, he could feel the light and heat of an oil lantern, sitting on an end table. At the other end of the room, a window sat, through which more light poured in. It was a dull, golden-blue light ¨C as if either dusk or dawn. Heror couldn¡¯t tell which.


    For a moment, Heror blinked, as his eyes and mind started to clear. At first, he was comforted by the stitched fur sheets and the straw mattress. But as his thoughts came back, his eyes went wide. He suddenly sat up, brushing his back against the wooden bedframe. It was then that he felt a strange discomfort under his right arm. Wincing, he pulled up his dirty siephall cloak, and saw that the wound from his fight with Oranthei had been bandaged.


    Quickly, Heror reached inside his garb, until his fingers wrapped around his kinship cloth. It was still there. Now Heror took a deep breath and slid his cloak down again. He glanced around the room, and on a nearby end table, he saw a small clay cup filled with water, and a smooth bowl filled with small, green petals.


    Feeling dryness in his throat, Heror instinctively reached for the cup. He picked it up and brought it to his chest, but did not drink. His eyes rose and went to the end of the room, where a door sat, open just a crack. He couldn¡¯t remember if the door had been open when he¡¯d just woken up.


    Heror stared at the door for a moment longer, but soon, his thirst drew him to the water again. He brought the cup up to his lips and started to drink, but just as he did so, he noticed a pair of wide, brown eyes peering out at him from behind the foot of the bed. A small child jumped out and raised his hands in a mocking predatory gesture.


    ¡°Rahhhhh!¡±


    At first, Heror jumped, nearly spilling his water. But his fright soon turned to mere confusion. The child was not an Opelite, or a Pylanthean. It was a Midan child ¨C one of the bull-people, with a furry face and a curled mess of brown hair atop its head. The youngling¡¯s nose was wide and flat and dark, and he couldn¡¯t be more than four feet tall.


    Heror lowered his cup and set it back down on the end table, then slid his legs out from under the patchy fur sheets. He let his boots hit the wooden floor, and then the child scampered around the bed and tried to spook Heror again.


    ¡°Rahhhhh!¡± the child said again, with a playful smile and beaming eyes.


    Heror couldn¡¯t help but smile just a bit. He started to open his mouth to speak, when the door shot open, and an elinji woman rushed in, bearing similar features to the boy.


    ¡°Bhota!¡± the woman lashed, visible anger in her eyes. ¡°Ti-alang! Pian sa wae!¡±


    The woman grabbed the boy¡¯s arm, then let out a quick huff at Heror before pulling the child away. She hurried out and shut the door behind her. Outside the room, Heror could hear the woman¡¯s voice, loud and frantic. Soon, another voice came into range ¨C low, calm, and familiar to Heror. They were clearly arguing, but Heror couldn¡¯t understand the words.


    ¡°Jak mulanma sigorae sa lel wal abak tu lo¡­¡±


    ¡°Ti-ayake! Welu musay ig tu samro je¡­¡±


    Heror gave up listening and grabbed the water cup again. He drank the water in one gulp, then set the cup down and wiped his mouth with his forearm. His throat was still dry, but already he was refreshed by the drink. It had been almost two days since he¡¯d had any water at all.


    The arguing continued as Heror sat in silence. The woman was no doubt agitated, and as the argument carried on, they both began to yell. It went on like this for minutes, until the arguing suddenly stopped. Heror still heard talking, but it was hushed and muffled beyond the walls. There were more sounds ¨C a sliding chair, the opening and closing of a drawer ¨C and then his door opened again.


    In the doorway stood a bull-person ¨C the one Heror had seen the previous night. He wore a light brown garb with a leather belt, which carried an assortment of tools and weapons. In his right hand, he carried a crude wooden chair by its backrest. Hastily, the bull-person set the chair down next to the bed, then slid a small table from the corner and halted it next to the bed as well.


    Now the bull-person pulled a folded sheet of parchment from his garment pouch and placed it on the table. Before Heror could ask any questions, the bull-person left the room for a moment, disappearing beyond the living room wall. Heror heard a few noises ¨C a door opening and closing ¨C and soon, the bull-person came back with a longsword. It was made of an unusual dark steel, with notches on the end and unorganized scratches across the blade.


    Heror jumped at the sight. A flashback of Kraana¡¯s Pass pulsed inside his head, and for a moment, he squirmed, looking for items to defend himself with. But not long after the bull-person came in with the sword, he situated the blade in both hands and held it out to Heror. Heror stared in confusion, and so the bull-person gestured for Heror to take it.


    ¡°Kerit,¡± the elinji said, voice fast and quiet.


    Slowly, Heror grabbed the hilt of the sword and took it from the bull-person, setting it down at the edge of the bed. He nodded to the bull-person, and the bull-person turned away. The elinji left the room again, but only for a moment before returning with a metal pitcher of water. He refilled Heror¡¯s cup, then picked up the bowl of green petals and poured a few petals into the water. After doing so, he held the cup out to Heror, who was hesitant to take it.


    ¡°Kera malam,¡± the bull-person said.


    Heror grimaced, but the bull-person whisked it in front of his face, insistent. After a moment of apprehension, Heror accepted the cup and took a sip. Already, the petals had begun to disintegrate and mix into the water, and the flaky, sour-tasting mixture mingled between his jaws. He gagged for a moment, coughing with his mouth closed, but managed to swallow the concoction.


    Heror quickly set the cup back on the end table, still holding in coughs as an aftertaste lingered. Meanwhile, the bull-person sat down in the chair next to the bed, and rotated the chair toward the table. Now he reached into his garb, and pulled out a rolled sheet of parchment, bound by a small string. He untied the string and unrolled the parchment on the table.


    As the parchment unrolled, Heror saw that it was a map, unlike other maps he had seen before. It was far more detailed than Ardysan maps, with dozens of rivers, ridges, and ravines scattered across the paper, between dense seas of trees and woodlands drawn intricately with a careful hand. Each landmark was labeled by a grouping of Midan symbols ¨C symbols Heror could barely distinguish, let alone read.


    After a moment, the bull-person placed a finger on the map and eyed Heror.


    ¡°Saram sarma ton lamush?¡±


    Heror¡¯s mouth hung open for a mere second, and then he shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Woh sarma Jauvaun?¡±


    Heror¡¯s brow lowered. He shook his head again. The bull-person let out a quick, frustrated huff and turned his attention back to the map. He slowly slid his finger across the map, eyes parsing through the landscape, until he reached the northern edge. With his finger, he stabbed at a small sliver of blank parchment in the far north, marked with another unintelligible Midan symbol.


    ¡°Pylanjuum,¡± the bull-person said. ¡°Woh sarma Pylanjuum?¡±


    Heror narrowed his eyes, and he started to shake his head, when suddenly, something clicked inside his head.


    ¡°Pylanjuum,¡± Heror echoed, his voice fading off.


    The bull-person watched him, eyes intense.


    ¡°Pylantheum?¡± Heror realized.


    ¡°Pylanjuum,¡± the bull-person repeated.


    ¡°Pylantheum!¡± Heror said, nodding excitedly. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m trying to reach Pylantheum¡­¡±


    Before Heror could finish, the bull-person pulled a small clay cylinder from his garb and set it down on the table. Next, he pulled out a long black feather and dropped it next to the map. Afterward, the bull-person twisted open the clay cylinder, picked up the black feather, and dipped the feather¡¯s quill inside. When the bull-person lifted the feather again, Heror saw that the quill was soaked in a red paste. It wasn¡¯t blood; it did not smell like blood.


    ¡°Ku taray,¡± the bull-person muttered with a glance in Heror¡¯s direction, leaning forward in his chair.


    Quickly, the bull-person drew a small red dot toward the south end of the map. He then looked up at Heror.


    ¡°Vole.¡±


    Heror stared for a moment, then shook his head. The bull-person repeated the word, pointing down at the wooden floor. He did so emphatically, until Heror started to catch on.


    ¡°That¡¯s where we are? Here?¡±


    Now the bull-person brought his hand back to the northern end of the map. In the open area where Pylantheum was, he drew another red dot. Heror nodded. He began to understand.


    ¡°Where I am, and where I¡¯m going.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    The bull-person dipped the quill into the paste again, and now turned his attention to a lake, just to the north of the shack¡¯s location. Heror assumed this was the lake he¡¯d seen from the ridge the day before. It was bigger than he¡¯d originally thought; on the map, it stretched for miles, and dozens of its tributaries sprawled out in a complex network to the east.


    Carefully, the bull-person drew a thin red line, from the shack to the lake. He then carried the line past the lake on the western side, through forests and highlands, through thinning plains and semi-arid steppes ¨C until it came to the second dot, at the very top, where there was nothing.


    Now the bull-person brought his quill back to the lake, and hovered his hand to the east. He drew a slash through what appeared to be a city east of the lake. Next to the slash, he produced a strange symbol that Heror had never seen before ¨C what looked like a horned skull and a scythe, loosely layered upon one another.


    ¡°Doumu siay,¡± the bull-person said, his voice low and grim.


    When Heror didn¡¯t say anything, the bull-person gestured to the marking with his free hand.


    ¡°Woh sarma siayma, woh lal ikanq,¡± he continued. ¡°Doumuyul.¡±


    Heror spied the ominous symbol for a moment longer.


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me not to go that way?¡±


    The bull-person merely repeated what he had said before. Heror¡¯s confusion remained, and the bull-person started talking faster in his foreign language to try and explain, when suddenly, a knock on the door stopped him.


    The wife called out from beyond the room, still agitated. The elinji listened. Then, after a few seconds, he rolled up the map and tied a string around it. He then held it out for Heror to take. Heror took the map and tucked it under his belt.


    Now the bull-person stood from his seat and grabbed Heror¡¯s arm. He muttered something to Heror, then tugged, bringing Heror to his feet. As Heror gathered himself, the bull-person reached the door, then turned around and motioned to the sword, still sitting on the end of the bed.


    ¡°Kerit,¡± the elinji said again, opening the door.


    Heror glanced at the sword, then approached the end of the bed and picked it up. He started to slide it inside his Ardysan scabbard when he realized the blade was too wide to fit within the leather casing. Instead, he slid the blade between his belt and his hip, letting the flat end rest against his right leg. Once the sword was strapped in, he started forward, following the bull-person into the main room.


    At the other end of the room, the bull-person was busy fitting supplies into a small, linen sack with a drawstring. Not far away, the wife fulminated at him in their foreign tongue, holding her spooked child close to her waist as she did so. The husband ignored her, at least for the time being, and soon turned, carrying a full linen sack in his right hand. He went to the southern door and opened it, letting in the faded sunlight. He then looked at Heror and motioned for the young man to follow.


    As prompted, Heror walked to the door, feeling stronger than he¡¯d felt when he arrived. Once at the door, the bull-person held out the sack of supplies to Heror, and Heror took it. He slung the sack over his shoulder and looked up at the bull-person, nodding his head.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The bull-person hardly even acknowledged him. With a nonchalant nudge from the bull-person, Heror stumbled out into the forest again, and the door quickly shut behind him. And all at once, he heard nothing but the wind and the sounds of bird-like creatures in the canopy.


    For a moment, Heror stood idle, and his thoughts took hold. Why was he still alive? Why had the elinji helped him? It wasn¡¯t long before Heror brushed these thoughts away, however. There wasn¡¯t any time to dwell on it. He had to get moving.


    It was morning, and so Heror used the early light to set off to the north, guided by the eastern sun. He trudged along the bottom of the ridge¡¯s edge ¨C a thick coating of underbrush and leaves spanning along the forest surface.


    As he walked, Heror tightened shut the bag of supplies he¡¯d been given with the drawstring, and tucked the loose casing beneath his belt. He then took out the map and unrolled it, studying the path drawn out for him.


    His next landmark was the lake, the name of which Heror could not read. As he scanned the path ahead, however, he could not see the lake. All he saw was more forest ¨C rows and rows of trees blotting out the horizon in a sea of blue-green and brown.


    On the map, the lake wasn¡¯t far from the bull-person¡¯s shack, so Heror stayed alert, rolled up the map, and ventured forward. It wasn¡¯t even an hour later when the trees started to thin, and small sand dunes started to appear, obscured by forest soil and detritus. Through the trunks to the north, Heror recognized the blue glow of water, and he quickened his pace.


    Moments later, he emerged on the southern bank of a massive lake, and a cool brush of wind greeted him. Had he not carried a map with him, he might¡¯ve thought it was the Publaic Ocean instead. The water was clear as glass, and as clouds rolled in above, the lake shimmered with a pearlescent silver-blue hue. In the distance, he could see fish hopping out of the water every so often, sending ripples through the subtle waves that rocked back and forth. Along the shore, a four-winged dragonfly hovered, catching aerosolized droplets of water from the soft tides.


    Now at the lake, Heror unrolled the map again and planned his next course of action. The red path traveled along the western edge of the lake. To the east, Heror¡¯s eyes fell on the strange symbol the bull-person had drawn. He still didn¡¯t understand it, but it was clearly meant to be a warning. Either way, he wouldn¡¯t have to worry. The western side of the lake offered the quickest path northward to Pylantheum. Heror would follow that path, and once he reached the northern edge of the lake, he¡¯d be well on his way.


    The sun was gone now ¨C hidden behind tightly-packed tufts of white and silver. Heror had no need to reorient himself, however; he knew he¡¯d come up from the south, so the western edge of the lake would be to his left. Rolling up the map and tucking it away, he started in that direction.


    A light rain started to come down, and the world began to hum softly. As Heror walked along the lake¡¯s edge, he found himself slowing down to listen to the sounds. The water and the trees and the wind mixed and materialized a sound, a whirr ¨C and beneath it, bugs and birds chirped and sang. It was peaceful.


    Heror had heard the wind on the water before. It was a sound he heard often on the docks in Cephragon. But here, it was different. It was deeper. Calls of life mixed into the forest¡¯s unconscious lullaby. Behind Cephragon¡¯s walls, Heror had never heard the trees mingle together. He¡¯d never heard so many calls, from so many different creatures. All of it was new to him.


    Heror almost wanted to stop in his tracks and stand still, close his eyes, and take it all in. But he knew that soon enough, night would fall again. He wanted to be past the lake by then.


    He kept walking, trudging through dampened sand as the light rain fell. He carried on to the west for a time, until the forest neared again. He reached the western edge of the lake, then turned north, hugging the banks as wildlife echoed from beyond the trees.


    Now the lake extended northward for what seemed like miles. Heror would stop periodically, but only for a minute or two before starting off again. His legs started to ache as the hours churned on, and his feet grew numb from dampness and cold.


    He eventually lost track of time ¨C his legs finding their unconscious rhythm again. But soon, he caught a glimpse of red in the west, to his left. He looked up, and the white canopy of clouds had begun to darken. It was then that Heror stopped by a small rock wedged in the banks, just feet from the water. Armor matted with dirt, clothes tattered and torn, he sat down, stretched out his legs, and all at once felt his muscles tense. He winced, waited for the pain to lessen, then gradually relaxed his knees, letting his feet fall loosely into the sand.


    For a moment, Heror sat silently, weathering a wave of exhaustion. His eyes rose, and he looked to the north, following the lake up the bank as far as he could see. He thought he¡¯d be close to the northern edge of the water body by now. But from where he sat, the lake stretched on without end ¨C an idle ocean landlocked and shrouded by woods, as the tree leaves rustled softly in the wind above.


    Heror shook his head and let out a sigh, then grabbed the linen sack that the bull-person had given him. He set the sack down on the thinly-grained silt, then tugged the sack open at the hems, surveying its contents.


    The first item Heror grabbed was soft, wrapped in a small cloth. He tore open the cloth and found a small bread roll, which he quickly devoured, spilling crumbs. Heror nearly tossed the small cloth aside, but thought better and instead stuffed it back into the sack. Still feeling the empty rattle of his stomach, he quickly found two more cloth-wrapped snacks and removed them from the bag. Another roll, and a small cut of mutton. In moments, they were gone too. He left two more for later.


    After the last bite, Heror turned his attention back to the sack. Now his hands dug deeper, and they came across a small, rectangular metal flask. Heror shook it between his fingers and heard the familiar swish of water inside. By instinct, he pulled it out and twisted open the cork at the top, but then paused and thought to save it, and so he corked it and stowed it away.


    The sack felt lighter now ¨C half empty ¨C but as Heror¡¯s fingers snaked through the seams, he came across two more items, buried near the bottom. He clasped them together and pulled them out at once, then took one in each hand.


    The item in Heror¡¯s left hand was another flask, but this one was smaller ¨C no larger than a finger ¨C and made of glass. Inside, it wasn¡¯t water, but instead an opaque, dark red substance. Heror had seen enough blood to know that this wasn¡¯t. It was more viscous and grainy, and splotches of hardened mixture stained the inside of the glass.


    Grimacing a bit, Heror slid the small vial back into the sack, then unpalmed the final item. It was a small stone, thin and sharp, that looked like it had been shaved down at the tip. It was wider on the other end, and as Heror clasped his fingers around the wide end, he realized it was a toothpick.


    Heror eyed the toothpick with a look of questioning, then slid it back into the pack with the other items. At that moment, he felt a sudden urge to take off his boots and let his feet breathe.


    By impulse, he sat up and leaned forward, first unbuckling the shin guards on his boots, and then loosening the straps on the bridges of his feet. Once he felt the fit loosen, he eagerly shoved off the boots, kicking them into the moist sands. In the dim evening light, he saw his feet ¨C muddied, blistered, and bruised, with calluses on each toe. He winced at the lingering soreness, and then his eyes fell on the water just ahead.


    Heror sat forward and slid toward the lake, moving his boots off to the side. He slid until his toes touched the ripples on the shore, and he felt the cool rush of the water against his skin. He felt a tinge of relief and fully submerged his feet, and all at once, the pain receded.


    The clouds thinned as they drifted east, leaving a wide open canvas of red, blue, and black in the sky above the lake. The crickets¡¯ calls crescendoed. Heror took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting this exhale draw out until it mixed and dissipated in the evening air.


    The feeling of the water on his feet was strangely familiar. Heror slowly opened his eyes, and then, as he blinked, visions of an ocean flashed in front of him. A sunrise on the open water, and the tingling sensation of the wind on the skin. He blinked once and it was gone. Once more, and it was back.


    He felt the rough wooden planks of the dock at Cephragon beneath him. Heard the call of seabirds as they flew overhead, above the steady hum of the ocean. Saw the waves swell ever so slightly as a ship carried them inland, underneath the rich cerulean sky. Smelled the foam and the salts and the crisp, open air. He relaxed. He took another breath, drawn out even longer ¨C wrapped in the warmth of the sun¡¯s golden rays. And as his gaze drifted to the right, he saw strands of blonde hair dancing in the breeze, catching the sunlight. She started to look his way, glints of emerald from under her bangs¡­


    Another blink, and it was gone. It was dark. The odor of musty forest brush wafted into the air. The water of the inland lake shivered in silence. The sunset to the west was nothing more than an afterglow, lost beyond the trees.


    Heror sat idle for a moment ¨C alone, armor worn and cloaks tattered, brown hair matted and unruly, skin crusted in dirt and grime and dried blood ¨C and then he started to shake. He pulled his feet from the water and brought his trembling hands to his face. His bottom lip quivered, his nose began to run, and his eyes began to water. His chest heaved. His breath was short. His skin tingled. His feet were cold.


    After some time, the feelings faded, and Heror fell into a tired trance. The afterglow was gone, and the stars clustered above. Seconds passed. Minutes passed ¨C but soon enough, he forced himself to his senses.


    He slid back from the lakehead and leaned over to grab his boots. Then he sat back by the rock, put each boot back on, tightened them, and gingerly rose to his feet, sack in hand.


    After rising to his feet, he turned his gaze back to the south. For a long moment, he looked in that direction. And then, he whisked back to the north, on his path along the edge of the lake. In the quiet and the dark, he carried on, the hollow echo of his steps fading as he went.

 14. The Journey North

    He walked all through the night, and by late sunrise, he reached the northern boundary of the great lake.


    To his left, the mountains and rolling hills had since sunk completely into the land, giving way to flat forest. Up ahead, the canopy was slowly beginning to thin out. To the right, the red morning sun had now crested the horizon of the lake, and amber light washed across the ripples and waves. The chatter of crickets mixed with the chirps of plovers on the shore. There was a whisper of wind.


    In the east, the sky was orange. Above ¨C along the uncovered bank of the lake ¨C it was blue, and in the distance ahead of him, Heror could see specks of skylight, as if the forest trees were starting to spread and scatter farther north.


    Once he reached the northern boundary, Heror stopped to rest. He sat on a small grassy dune by the edge of the lake and opened his sack, eating one of the spare bread rolls left for him.


    The bull-person had left Heror with enough food for several days of travel ¨C if he rationed it well. But even if he reached Pylantheum within that time, Heror knew he¡¯d need more food and supplies.


    He remembered stories Ucankacei told him about Pylantheum when he was younger ¨C how it was a Kingdom large enough to swallow three other Kingdoms inside of it, and how the entire southeastern quarter of Pylantheum was dominated by a great desert ¨C Sparhha, as it was called. Ucankacei once told him that this desert was larger than all of Ardys. An endless expanse of rolling dunes beneath an unforgiving sun.


    His mind on supplies, Heror wondered how he might be able to increase his stock. He couldn¡¯t hunt ¨C he¡¯d never learned, and he didn¡¯t have the tools. But as Heror¡¯s thoughts ran, his eyes fell on the water in front of him.


    When Heror was younger, Ucankacei would take him fishing. There were hundreds of inlets along the coastline near Cephragon, water from the Publaic spilling inland, into the dense, humid marshes ¨C where the air was so thick that warm light seemed to pool in clouds of mist. Often, they¡¯d take crude wooden poles and lures of horsehair, and use bugs and worms as bait. But Heror remembered one day, Ucankacei decided to show him a way to build a net, or weir, out of woven reeds, and block small stream channels to catch fish in the current. It had taken them hours to find a channel small enough to block the flow outside the net, and Ucankacei¡¯s craftsmanship wasn¡¯t perfect ¨C he¡¯d been the first to say it, time and time again ¨C but they still managed to catch a half-dozen gleamfish. Ucankacei¡¯s face always lit up when they¡­


    Heror shook his head abruptly and whisked his thoughts of Ucankacei away. He reopened the sack in his hands and pulled out the small metal flask of water, then unscrewed the cork and took a sip. A sip turned into several. His throat was still dry. The flask was almost empty. His eyes then turned to the clear lakewater. He rose to his feet, stepped to the water¡¯s edge, and dipped the flask beneath the surface, filling it to the brim.


    As he twisted the cork shut and stored the flask, Heror heard quiet splashing to his left. He looked ahead, around the northern bend of the lake, and saw a sandy-colored corsac fox standing in the shallow waters, poking its nose below the surface. After a moment, the fox pulled its snout from the water ¨C a dead fish trapped in its teeth ¨C and doubled back into the woods as Heror looked on.


    Once he was ready, Heror continued north. He left the lake behind and was soon surrounded by forest again. But this forest was different. It was warmer, greener, and no vines sprawled across the floor. Where there had once been pine trees, rough and spindly, the leaves above were softer and lighter, and some trees were still covered in buds, waiting for the cool air of early Rimvalen to recede. As he looked up at the trees, Heror searched for forked leaves and hissing plants ¨C like the ones he¡¯d heard of in stories about Mide. He saw none.


    At one point, when it was light enough inside the forest, Heror stopped. He pulled out the map and unrolled it. He had to be close to Pylantheum now, he thought. He¡¯d been traveling in Mide for the better part of two-and-a-half days. His body ached, his legs were sore, and his eyes were tired.


    But as he looked upon the map, Heror¡¯s eyes fell on the red line the bull-person had laid out for him, and he saw that he was only just over halfway to the border. The northern boundary of the lake marked the halfway point.


    At this discovery, Heror let out a strained breath. He rolled the map up again and slid it back beneath his belt, and all at once, he felt the tinge and pain of wear all across his body, pulsating up and down. He took another breath, closed his eyes, and tried to let the silence calm him.


    There was no steady wind in the forest anymore ¨C only the occasional calls of cardinal, chickadee, and flicker up above, and the quiet hum of the morning crickets in the underbrush.


    His breath still short, and his joints still in pain, Heror now reached inside his tattered siephall cloak. There, inside his armor pouch, he still felt it ¨C the kinship cloth he¡¯d carried with him all the way from Cephragon. His fingers ran across the cloth ¨C as if to feel for any rips in the stitching ¨C and when they found none, he pulled it from his armor pouch, unrolled it, and stretched it lengthwise between his hands. He let his eyes fall on it.


    It was an intricately-woven cloth, made of designs and weaving patterns from the Kingdom of Pylantheum. Stitched along all four edges, as if lining a portrait, blue waves rolled and rolled, and on the left side, a jagged cliff lay. On that cliff, a lone wolf stood, stray fletchings of cloth acting as fur, hanging limp in the idle forest air. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched in dark gray thread.


    Heror studied the cloth; normally, it gave him comfort in its familiar, unfamiliar imagery. Today, those rolling waves reminded him of the tides he watched with her. The cliff, of the looming wall that stole his adolescence. The wolf ¨C alone, isolated ¨C reminded him only of himself. He didn¡¯t find the comfort he sought. And in its place, questions haunted him.


    Did he actually know where he was going? Did he even know what he was looking for? What would he do once he reached Pylantheum ¨C the largest Kingdom? How would he cross the desert? How would he survive? Was there anyone on the other side waiting for him? Was there a family for him to find?


    Frustrated, he rolled the kinship cloth and placed it back inside his armor pouch. At the thought of family, his mind danced back to Thaeolai and Ucankacei ¨C but only for a fleeting moment before he angrily swatted it away. He took another deep breath and let his eyes drift upward. He gazed up at the patches of forest canopy beneath the rich blue sky ¨C green and bronze leaves glinting gold in the morning sunlight, as thin cirrus clouds wisped far above.


    He heard the birds and the crickets and the light rustling of the leaves above as a high gust of wind passed through the upper branches. A hummingbird whisked by not far from him, its wings whirring in the air. His breathing slowed. He started to feel calm.


    ¡°This is what you wanted,¡± he said to himself, trying once more to say the words. ¡°You¡¯re free. You have a chance. This is what you wanted.¡±


    His hand snaked back up to the rolled kinship cloth and patted it softly beneath his breastplate.


    ¡°You have a choice.¡±


    And at last, he found enough conviction to take another step forward, and he started to walk again.


    He walked through the forest for hours more, as the morning sun made its slow, steady climb toward its apex in the sky. The trees slowly began to spread out, and the flat forest ground ¨C free of the twisting, snarling roots he¡¯d seen in the damp mountain woodlands ¨C was easier on his feet and ankles.


    After a few hours of walking, Heror found a wider tree with a cradle-like root structure, and stopped there to nap. He sat in the short forest grass and let his back rest against the tree¡¯s smooth, scaly bark ¨C craned his head and let the calls of the birds lull him to sleep.


    But his body would only let him sleep for so long. It was a light sleep in the forest, and he woke only three hours later. The sun was still high in the sky, but he felt the cool shade of the tree now, as the sun had drifted farther to the west. He stood, stretched, and stepped out from the shadow of the tree. His eyes lifted, and he saw the sun peeking through breaks in the canopy above. Seeing its tilt in the sky, just to the left of his position, he deduced that north was straight ahead ¨C and so he carried on.


    The midday hours took him through a narrow stretch of deciduous forest, which had lined the eastern edge of the Midan mountain range. But as he carried on, the trees stretched farther and farther apart, until the air was more open than forest, and the forest detritus was replaced by tall, olive grass, soft to the touch. The sky opened slowly ahead of him, rich blue mixing with gold and yellow. By the time the sun started its descent in the west, Heror reached the speckled treeline of the forest. And as he emerged from the fading woodlands, feeling the wind meet his skin again, another new world revealed itself to him.


    The forest was gone, and now, from the top of a knoll, he looked on at what appeared to be an endless steppe. Vast plains of long olive grass stretched as far as the eye could see underneath a clear, bronzing sky. Rolling hills gave off green-gold light against the sunset that peered past the edge of the highlands to the west. From where he stood, Heror could pick out herds of antelope and gazelle and saiga ¨C animals he¡¯d never seen before, animals he only recognized from Ucankacei¡¯s vivid tales ¨C commingling with cohorts of buffalo in the far distance, close to the horizon. A brilliant orange plateau stood on that horizon, as if marking the edge of the Aelyum, and spaced out intermittently across the endless plains, savannah trees stood, their branches sprawling out to form golden canopies of their own. He could sniff a hint of dryness on the wind.


    For a moment, Heror stood in wonder, eyes fixed on the boundless landscape ahead of him. His gaze drifted to the west, where the amber sun hovered over the endless hills, producing a warm glow in the lower sky. Then his eyes drifted right, to the east ¨C and he saw a small farmstead not far in the distance, situated at the edge of the forest, at the bottom of a long-sloping hill.


    As his eyes fell on the farmstead, he saw movement, and he instinctively dropped to the ground, hiding in the tall grass. Realizing his armor might have caught the sunlight, he dug his right hand into the dirt and caked mud over his left pauldron, then he did the same with his other side. Then he waited.


    When he heard nothing but the breeze, he slowly propped himself up off the ground with his arms, and peered over the tops of the tall grass. Hidden among the blades, he could just make out a bull-person at the edge of a wooden fence that lined the farmstead¡¯s grounds. The bull-person had a brown linen sack ¨C similar to the one Heror had been given ¨C slung over his shoulder.


    The bull-person was far enough away, and his back was turned ¨C and so Heror rose a bit more, planting his knee in the dirt. He craned his head, and as he peered across the plains, he could make out two more armored Midans by the east end of the farmstead, both on horseback, with bows and arrows slung over their shoulders.


    Heror watched as the bull-person closed a farm gate behind him, then walked ¨C with the slow gait of an elder ¨C to the east edge of the farmstead where the two Midans waited. The bull-person handed one of the Midan soldiers the sack, and the Midan appeared to hand him something in return ¨C perhaps money. Then, Heror watched as the Midan riders turned to the north and rode off. They disappeared behind the farmstead for a moment, then reappeared farther north, fading away beyond the horizon.


    Heror waited until he was sure they were gone, and then he carefully rose to his feet. His eyes went from the plains to the farmstead, and he saw that the old Midan farmer was back inside the fence walls, retreating inside his house for the evening.


    Now Heror looked on at the farmstead. Beyond the lodging house, the fenced area stretched onward, with several cows and bulls grazing on grass within. And to the left of the livestock area, Heror could see a small patch of crops. Judging from the shape of the plants and the stalks, it looked like corn or maize.


    It was then that Heror felt his stomach grumble. He winced, let out a sigh, and clutched his midsection, then lifted up his bag and felt the weight of it. He only had one spare mutton left.


    For a second, he hesitated. But as quickly as the thought entered his mind, he started in the direction of the farmstead, toward the rows of corn that grew on the west flank. He walked slowly through the tall olive grass at first ¨C keeping his eyes fixed on the farmhouse¡¯s door. As he got closer, however, he quickened his pace.


    In minutes, Heror made his way to the edge of the farmstead. He wandered past the fencing, to the sound of murmurs from the cows and livestock, and reached the section of maize. In the wind, the corn husks rattled softly, and the leaves of the ears danced with each gust.


    Heror knew little about harvesting corn ¨C only what Thaeolai had told him once. She came from a wealthy family, and one of her uncles owned a farmstead northwest of Cephragon. When she was very little, she visited there now and then. Ardys wasn¡¯t known for its maize ¨C rather, it was known for the fresh fruits that came within its borders. But Thaeolai¡¯s uncle had many servants, and he grew everything he could. And so she was able to help harvest the corn ¨C snapping the ears off the stalks and shucking them clean. Then she¡¯d basket each ear, and she¡¯d return to the market with a full bushel. Looking back, she would laugh about how she wasn¡¯t able to lift it herself, no matter how hard she tried¡­


    Lost in his thoughts again, Heror came back to his senses. He stepped toward the maize and knelt down next to a stalk that had a fairly large ear protruding from its stem. He sent one last glance back toward the farmhouse before turning back to the corn and grabbing the ear with his hand. The stalk was firm, but with some force, he was able to break and peel the ear off the stem. In the wind, the crack and tear of the husk was little more than a whisper, and he pulled the ear clean off.


    Now Heror held the ear in his hands and ran his fingers over the husk, searching for a place to start shucking. Once he found a crease, the husk tore like thick parchment, and with only a few swipes, he was able to clear off the kernels. But this corn wasn¡¯t like the ones he¡¯d seen in the market in Cephragon. This corn was whiter, more bland in color. The texture was rough, and the kernels were fused together.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He thought to save it for later, or perhaps to check other stalks. But his stomach repeated its growl, and almost instinctively, he brought the corn to his mouth and bit down. He expected a soft crunch, but instead, his teeth could barely make an impression, and the corn tasted of starch. He tried to bite down a moment longer before conceding ¨C the corn wasn¡¯t ripe yet.


    Heror let out another frustrated sigh and tossed the inedible corn aside. The air was getting cooler, and he could feel the light of the western sun fading behind him. Not far beyond the section of maize, from the direction of the farmhouse, he heard a cow moo angrily in his direction. He stood and turned, starting back to the north. When he was far enough away ¨C and the sun was nothing more than a line of red underlying a clear night sky ¨C he ate the last of his food and carried on.


    The steppe was quiet. There were few trees to house the birds, and no forest underbrush for the crickets to hide. Every so often, Heror would pass a tree and hear the hoot of a burrowing owl. In the fields, he could hear distant howls of wolves or coyotes, echoing endlessly in the vast expanse. The wind itself wasn¡¯t cold, but it was constant, and in the darkness of night, it cooled. And soon, Heror found himself shivering. His teeth chattered.


    He wanted to stop ¨C find a tree for shelter, rest his legs and feet, and sleep. But he had no food, and at least two days left of travel by his estimate. Even then, he didn¡¯t know how close he¡¯d be. Racing against time, he saw no option but to keep moving.


    The tall grass brushed against his legs as he went, and his feet again found their unconscious rhythm. He walked up and down the rolling hills of the steppes, straining along inclines and stumbling down slopes. For hours, he carried on.


    Eventually, in the deep of the night, he stopped at the top of a small crest to catch his breath and take a drink. He grabbed the flask from his bag and opened it, then took a few sips of water. Then he closed the half-empty flask and thought to look up ¨C and he was met with an extraordinary sight.


    Whatever light overcast that had rolled in at sunset was gone, and up above him, spread out over an endless flat landscape, Heror could see the entirety of the night sky. Stars dominated the blackness above like grains of sand on a beach. Some twinkled, while others clustered together in tight formations. There was silver, blue, red, yellow, orange, and the white glow of the waxing gibbous moon Gantuin ¨C and underlying it all was the dust and light of a galactic ring, blending the colors into a glowing skyscape.


    Transfixed in wonder by the sparkling sky, Heror forgot about the cool winds and the ache of his bones, and he tried to pick out constellations. Ucankacei had taught him a few ¨C Garriel, the explorer, lifting his eyeglass. The Psolemyte, the great beast, stewing in the shadows. Nisimi, the nymph, flocking stars on her branches like fireflies. Trichus, the warrior, with his belt and his blade. Eodei, the archer, nocking a golden arrow on his bowstring. Tiloprio, the Timekeeper, marking the ages in narrow columns. Hiirvanos, the hero of millennia they called the Divinium.


    Even at night, Cephragon had been a city of light. The torchlight often pooled and blotted out many of the stars. And so Heror had rarely been able to see them all.


    But in the middle of the wilds, with the open sky, Heror could see everything. And he could see the stories they told.


    It was a long while before he started walking again. When he dropped his eyes, the cold came back. He picked up where he left off, and his legs settled back into their rhythm. He traveled up and down small grassy hills, letting the soft ground crunch beneath his feet with each step. By now, the days without much sleep were starting to catch up to him. His eyelids were heavy, and he started to sway as he walked.


    Every now and then, Heror thought to stop, sit down, and sleep. But he told himself to keep going. He was in the fields now, where the horizon was low-sloping ¨C almost flat ¨C and there was little to no tree cover. One could see for miles on end. He¡¯d seen Midans on horseback the evening before, with bows and arrows. He assumed they roamed the steppes and plains, and they¡¯d be able to run him down if they saw him in the open. If he traveled at night and rested during the day, he could avoid being spotted.


    And so he carried on. Exhausted, he walked slowly, painfully, but steadily enough ¨C and in hours more, he began to see the red whisper-glow of sunlight on the eastern horizon, just to his right. He kept walking until the clear sky began to lighten, and the stars began to disappear, and then he made his way to a savannah tree in the distance. Up ahead, past the tree, he could see a small herd of gazelle making their way east ¨C a female hiding its calves in the tall grass as they ventured on.


    Minutes passed, and eventually, in the budding light of dawn, Heror reached the lone savannah tree. Both the roots and branches of the tree sprawled out above and below from the central trunk, and the leaves drooped over the root system in a wide bowl shape, creating shade and cover from the light. Around the root system, the tall steppe grass shrouded the area beneath the tree. It was as good a place to hide as any, and as Heror stepped underneath the tree, his feet collapsed from beneath him, and he crumbled to the ground, letting his back rest against the trunk.


    As the air warmed, and the sunlight crept in from the east ¨C to his right ¨C Heror started to fall asleep underneath the savannah tree, to the sounds of shimmering grass and to the touch of the morning breeze. When he woke, the light came from the west ¨C the rich amber hue of another sunset.


    Safe under the savannah tree, he¡¯d slept for around twelve hours. He was rested, but his body was still tired. He was hungrier now ¨C and as he woke, his tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, and his throat was dry.


    Grimacing, Heror rose to his feet, his back sore from the firm tree bark. Once on his feet, he leaned beside the trunk and opened the sack, pulling out the water flask by impulse. He unscrewed the top and took what felt like a mere sip ¨C but in fact, he¡¯d guzzled the rest of the water in only seconds.


    Sooner than he expected, Heror felt the last drop hit his tongue, and his throat was still dry. He tipped the flask upside down, tapped on the bottom, and waited for any last droplets to flow down ¨C but there was no more water left.


    Heror didn¡¯t bother closing the flask again. He shoved the flask and the cork back into the sack and let out a frustrated grunt. Then he pushed off of the tree and stepped back out into the open evening air, feeling the wind on his face and skin.


    To the north, there were no more trees, and the semi-arid steppe stretched on for miles ¨C tall grass dotted by shrubs and wormwood plants. The plateau he¡¯d seen the night before was closer, but still far in the distance, sitting on the northern horizon. Looking back behind him, he saw that the southern forest and the farmstead were long gone ¨C swallowed up by the fields and grass. No Midan riders were in sight.


    The sun set. Heror walked. The sky was less clear on this night, but he could still see most of the stars through a light, patchy overcast. He remembered a story Ucankacei had told him ¨C about when he was in the Ardysan army, and fought against Midan pirates from Cuyasa, in the Bay of Ocinion. The bay was nestled between four Kingdoms ¨C Ardys and Mide to the east, Ghiovan to the north, and Charondor to the west. The bay was large enough that Ucankacei and the Ardysan sailors sometimes needed to use the stars to navigate at night. He¡¯d forgotten which star the sailors used to find true north. Perhaps it was the Sword¡¯s Edge ¨C the apex star in the Trichus constellation, due upward from Trichus¡¯ belt. Or perhaps it was the columnar star stacked at the very top of Tiloprio¡¯s time obelisk.


    Heror stopped for a moment to study the sky, worried he¡¯d lost his orientation in the dark. He tried to find one of the celestial navigation stars, but as soon as he started looking, he was lost. The overcast faded in and out, occluding the black expanse of the sky. And when it cleared, he¡¯d forgotten his place peering amongst the stars.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Heror started moving again, in the direction he guessed to be north. He¡¯d been walking ¨C more or less ¨C straight north since the lake. The air had steadily grown drier with each passing day. By now, he thought, he¡¯d be nearing the outer edge of the desert Sparhha. And from there, he¡¯d be able to find his way.


    The hills flattened as he carried on in the night. His stomach empty, he walked a step at a time, in a daze ¨C with blistered feet, and with only the wind to speak to him. Up above, he heard the occasional call of a falcon, echoing in the night air. Somewhere off to the far west, a coyote cried. It was as if he was in a realm of limbo ¨C nothing but dark, flat, unrecognizable land for miles on end, under a clouded cosmic canvas. The thought ran through his mind ¨C that if the steppe truly never ended, he might die here and be forgotten ¨C but he brushed it away and kept moving.


    It wasn¡¯t until sunlight started to peek above the horizon that Heror was drawn to a stop. As he looked on with tired and glazed eyes, he saw the red glow of dawn directly ahead of him ¨C and he realized that he had, in fact, skewed to the east while traveling through the night. He turned to his left, and in the low light of early morning, he saw the silhouette of the great plateau almost directly to his west now. He might have gone off course.


    Heror cursed under his breath and twice stamped the ground with his foot, kicking up a patch of grass and dirt. He shouted in frustration ¨C his call dying out quickly across the flat, empty landscape. He fumed silently, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.


    After taking a moment to calm himself, Heror opened his eyes again. The eastern sky was starting to lighten, and a deep blue washed above, flowing around the stars. He was about to turn back to the north and correct his path ¨C but before he did, something caught his eye on the eastern horizon, illuminated by the fledgeling sun.


    East-southeast of his position, Heror could see trees ¨C thick tree cover. More forest. He glanced to the north and saw that the flat landscape carried on for miles more. The air was dry, and the desert Sparhha felt vaguely within reach. But he had no food or water. He¡¯d gone without food for almost two days. If he kept heading north, he didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d be able to find more.


    To the east, a new forest lay. There, Heror could find food. He could find a river and refill his flask. He could rest. He could find shelter from the constant wind that had now chafed his skin.


    He didn¡¯t have to think for very long. After only a moment, Heror started off to the east-southeast, setting his sights on the thick treeline of the forest. It was a few miles away ¨C perhaps an hour walk.


    This morning was clear, like all of the last ones had been. As the sun eclipsed the horizon, it revealed a clear cerulean sky, dotted only by small wisps of cumulus, and cirrus far above. Beneath the blue-gold light of the morning, and in the light swelling breeze, the tall olive grass danced. Heror could hear crickets now.


    Nearly an hour of walking passed, and Heror was within a hundred yards of the treeline. These trees were taller and greener than the ones he¡¯d seen days ago, and they towered over him as he grew closer. Their trunks were wide and strong, tightly packed within the forest bounds. Near the ground, low branches blurred the view inside the forest. And far up the trunks, at the peak of the woodlands, the green leaves above conglomerated to form a dense canopy, which hummed and whirred constantly as it caught the wind from the west.


    As he grew closer, the thoughts of water, food, and protection from the wind filled his mind, and Heror started to pick up his pace. He stumbled once, but kept his eyes ahead, feet trudging through long grass. He picked out a small gap in the trees and started to make his way toward it.


    But just as he started his final approach ¨C just twenty yards away ¨C two Midan archers on horseback emerged from that same gap, and entered the plains.


    Heror¡¯s stomach dropped, and so did his body. All at once, he sank to the ground, hiding in the high grass. His pulse began to race, and after a moment of tense silence ¨C breached only by the wind ¨C he ever-so-slowly lifted himself up to a crouch and peeked through overlapping blades of grass.


    The Midan riders had stopped, and were looking in his direction, unsure of what they had seen ¨C but they had caught a glimpse of him.


    They were djauuls ¨C skin a light, pale gray, clad in thick, dark leather armor banded together by brown leather straps, with steel spaulders and sheet tassets protecting their shoulders and thighs. And atop their heads sat leather helmets with black plumes of horsehair.


    Heror stared them down from his hiding spot in the grass ¨C blue eyes catching the light of the rising sun ¨C as his right hand snaked down to the handle of the dark metal sword Kerit, tucked between his belt and his torso. The riders still did not move, and instead appeared to be talking amongst themselves. They were stopped just beyond the edge of the forest bounds. If he was quiet, and if he stayed hidden, there was a chance Heror could sneak around them.


    Silently, Heror started to sidestep to the right in a crouching position, careful to keep his balance as he rolled his hips toward the forest. His eyes were fixed on the riders, but theirs were fixed on the spot where they¡¯d first seen him. One rider had taken his bow off his shoulder, but neither had advanced yet. As they questioned what they saw, Heror started to reach their periphery, inching closer to the forest line. The whistling wind from the open steppes masked his movements, but inside his head, he could hear the pounding of his heartbeat ¨C so loud he worried they would hear it, too.


    One step at a time. He was almost to the forest line now ¨C where the tall grass faded and gave way to forest underbrush. Once he reached the edge of the grass ¨C he decided ¨C he would turn and run into the forest. He was at the edge of the riders¡¯ periphery now, and they had begun to ride forward, slowly ¨C their attention still on the grass farther infield. If he was quick and quiet enough, Heror would be able to slip away without them noticing.


    One step at a time. Right, left, right, left. Ten yards ¨C eight, six, five¡­ four¡­ three¡­


    As he turned to run into the woods, Heror¡¯s right foot came down on a large branch, snapping it in two. The loud crack echoed in the morning air, and Heror froze. His eyes darted back to the fields, and he saw that the Midan riders now had their eyes set on him.


    In a flash, one rider nocked an arrow and let it loose. Heror leapt forward, into the tree cover, and felt the cool rush of air on his ankles as the arrow just grazed past his reach. Once he was past the treeline, he sped up to a sprint, and heard one of the riders shout from behind him as he ran.


    In a paralyzed silence, Heror rushed ahead, whizzing past thick brown tree trunks and moss-covered vines. He shot a quick glance back toward the treeline ¨C a rich emerald hue trickling down from the dense canopy ¨C then turned his eyes ahead once again. He couldn¡¯t see them yet, but he could hear the gallop of a horse, getting closer.


    His mind racing, Heror kept running ¨C until up ahead, he saw a small log lying on the forest floor, next to a thick tree. He leaned down to grab the log as he veered past it and heaved it into the air, farther into the forest. Then, he turned and slid behind the thick tree and went completely silent, freezing as his chest heaved. With his back to the trunk, he heard the log crash into the tree branches up ahead, and now he heard the hoof-steps of a rider¡¯s horse heading to investigate the noise.


    As he heard the horse grow closer, Heror grabbed the hilt of his sword, choking it near the top so the bottom part of the handle was left exposed. He took a silent breath, hearing the horse coming up to his right. And then, as the first rider made his way past Heror¡¯s hiding spot, Heror spun to the right and swung the hilt of his sword high and over his right shoulder, hammering the rider¡¯s abdomen with ruthless force and knocking him off his horse.


    Spooked, the rider¡¯s horse kicked and dashed off with a cry, and the rider lay on his back in the forest brush, gritting his teeth in pain. Heror now stepped out and stood over the rider. Matted brown curls hanging over his forehead, nostrils flaring, he spun his blade and adjusted his grip, preparing to stab down and finish off the rider. But as he lifted his sword, the second rider emerged from behind a tree farther down the forest corridor, nocked an arrow, and loosed it as Heror had his back turned.


    The arrow knifed through the gap between Heror¡¯s left pauldron and the sheet armor covering his upper back, and a piercing pain suddenly shot up Heror¡¯s left arm from his shoulder blade. He loosened his grip on the sword ¨C letting it fall to the ground ¨C then whirled around, clasping at his left side with his free arm. As he turned, he saw the second rider nocking another arrow. The rider pulled back the bowstring and held it at the anchor point, glaring at Heror from under his leather helmet.


    At the sight of the archer at the ready, Heror froze again. His breath was hoarse from the pain and the running, and for a moment, he and the archer were locked in a staredown. Heror waited for the killing shot to come. But instead, the rider looked past Heror and shouted a Midan word that Heror did not understand.


    Before Heror could react, the first rider was back on his feet, and he snapped the projectile off of the arrow embedded in Heror¡¯s shoulder, then wrapped his arm around Heror¡¯s neck and sent him to the ground in a chokehold.


    Heror fought and kicked for as long as he could ¨C boots scraping up leaves and dirt ¨C but he was weakened and wounded. And after a few seconds, he felt his muscles start to give out. The Midan¡¯s chokehold around his neck tightened, and he gasped for air that he could not take in.


    In just seconds more, his vision went dark.

 15. A Compelling Offer

    When Heror woke, his hand instinctively went to his belt, where no weapon resided. After a moment of grasping, he opened his eyes and sat up in a rush. He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder when he moved, and as he clasped with his right hand, he realized that the arrowhead was no longer embedded in his skin. His wound was bandaged. His Ardysan cuirass was gone ¨C replaced by a soft blue tunic.


    Confused, Heror¡¯s eyes rose. He was on a crude straw bed, in a small tent ¨C tall and narrow, with light brown walls of jute and burlap canvas, and a cloth floor that overlaid flat dirt ground. He could feel a slight breeze sneaking into the tent. A Midan soldier stood guard at the entrance.


    When the Midan soldier saw Heror sit up, he turned and made his way to the corner, where a small wooden table sat. On the table was a wooden tray, holding what looked like a mix of beef, rice, and corn, and a small clay cup of water. The Midan soldier carried the tray to Heror¡¯s bedside, then knelt down and placed it beside Heror. Then the Midan stood.


    ¡°Eat. Drink,¡± he said, his Kivvenean rough, voice heavy with an accent.


    Heror eyed the guard, still confused ¨C but his empty stomach howled, and soon, he dug into the meal, scarfing down forkfuls of meat, grain, and vegetable until it was all gone. The water, he soon drank.


    When he finished and looked up again, the guard had left, leaving him alone. Brow lowered, he sat up straight. He stretched out his sore legs, and as he did so, he realized that something was missing.


    Suddenly in a rush, Heror reached inside his tunic and confirmed his suspicion: His kinship cloth was gone. His breath shortened, and he started to rise to his feet, when the tent flaps opened again, and the Midan guard returned with another man at his side. The man was a thin djauul with gray aging skin, loose black hair, and a thin beard that had been shaved and fashioned below his cheeks. He was clad in light leather armor, but also wore a dark brown cloak, hood down.


    ¡°Where is it??¡± Heror snapped.


    The man did not answer his question. Instead, he motioned outside with a nod.


    ¡°He wants to see you,¡± the man said simply.


    Heror thought to resist, but at the sight of the armed guard, his mind relented. Silently, he rose to his feet. The man held the flap open for him, letting the sunlight shine through. Heror stepped out into the open, and after his eyes adjusted to the midday light, he took in his surroundings.


    He was at the northern edge of what appeared to be a Midan camp. Rows of burlap tents ¨C with their openings facing east ¨C stretched to the south, east, and west. Farther east, past a tall wooden pavilion, he could see a row of wooden posts where horses were tied by ropes. Far in the distance, a small river halted at the camp¡¯s edge, and appeared to stretch from the southeast. To the south, he could see a slight red cliff face past the boundary of the camp, with a green forest lying overtop it ¨C the forest he¡¯d entered before losing consciousness.


    Now Heror turned to the north, and his jaw dropped, frozen in awe, as a gust of dry wind met his face.


    The Midan camp was situated on a flat of rock and red dirt that sloped downward. And less than a hundred yards out, to the north, that red rock ¨C dotted by shrubs and ball-shaped cacti ¨C gave way to an endless sea of sloping sands. Billions of golden grains splayed across the northern landscape to form a field of waves and swells, horizons upon horizons, molded by millennia of wind ¨C and all underneath a rich royal blue sky just as ageless.


    Sparhha. The Great Desert of Pylantheum.


    He had made it.


    ¡°Ser Heran.¡±


    Startled at the sound of the name on his kinship cloth, Heror turned and looked at the man, who gestured to the south.


    ¡°This way,¡± the man said.


    Heror followed the man to the south, walking past rows of tents in silence. Every now and then, a Midan djauul guard passed by Heror and gave him a look, but no words were spoken. In minutes, they reached the southern end of the camp, and the man led Heror to a taller burlap tent nestled at the base of the red rock cliff face. The man brushed open the flap and went in without hesitation. Heror followed.


    Inside the tent, strands of stray sunlight peeked through the burlap stitchings, but most of the light came from strange keatuu runes on the ceiling, washing the tent interior and the cloth floor in a golden hue. This tent was larger inside ¨C not as big as the Ardysan longhouse, but large enough to store a small dining table, wooden chairs, and what appeared to be a war council table at the far end. At the council table, another man ¨C lean and slightly taller than the average djauul ¨C stood with his back turned. But at the sound of the tent flap opening, he turned and gave the man a smile.


    ¡°Ah ¨C thank you my friend.¡±


    Now Heror saw the taller man¡¯s face. He was older, but there was a youthful glint in his purple eyes, which stared ahead with a full ¨C almost startling ¨C focus. Both his hair and his skin were a mix of silver and gold. His face was sharp, angular ¨C but in all the best ways, and his smile was quaint, modest ¨C enveloped by a thin silver fuzz that covered his cheeks and chin. He wore a dark, dull garment, without any capes or colored cloth linings or intricate patches ¨C only a deep blue desert scarf that hugged his neck and hung over his shoulders.


    ¡°Is there anything else?¡± The guide asked.


    ¡°No, Shaail. Thank you again,¡± the man at the table replied, his voice rich and sharp, and his Kivvenean pronunciation clear. ¡°You may go.¡±


    The dark-haired man departed, leaving Heror alone with the other man inside the tent walls. As Heror observed him, the man reached for something on the council table and turned back toward Heror. He approached and held out an item: Heror¡¯s kinship cloth, rolled up neatly.


    ¡°I believe this is yours,¡± the man offered.


    Heror eyed him for a moment longer, then took the kinship cloth and stowed it beneath his tunic. The man went back to the table and now grabbed an object that rested against it. He turned back around, and Heror saw that he was carrying the sword Kerit.


    ¡°And this,¡± the man added.


    Heror blinked, still confused. Then he took the Midan sword and slid it back underneath his belt. The man turned again, gesturing to the tent ceiling as he walked to the council table.


    ¡°I apologize about the illumination runes. I know they can be a little unnerving at first,¡± he chatted. ¡°But something about the smell of smoke just doesn¡¯t sit well with me.¡±


    The man grabbed an empty wooden chair from the corner and carried it over to the council table. As he set it down, he started to speak again.


    ¡°¡®Heran,¡¯¡± he echoed. ¡°A Pylanthean name. And yet¡­¡±


    He glanced at Heror.


    ¡°¡­ you are a half-blood.¡±


    Heror felt a tinge of anger at the sound of this term. His brow furrowed. His nose curled. The man wasn¡¯t fazed.


    ¡°Relax,¡± the man said, with the smallest of smirks. ¡°We can say it when we¡¯re referring to ourselves.¡±


    Now Heror narrowed his eyes and observed the man again, and new connections began to form. The golden hue of the skin. The rich, radiant pigment of the irises. The angled ears, and the golden blonde in his hair. This man ¨C like Heror ¨C was half-Opelite. Half-Ardysan.


    The man had now walked back to the other end of the council table, and he stood behind it. He placed one hand on the wood. And with the other, he gestured to the chair now placed on the other side.


    ¡°You may sit, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°Why would I need to sit?¡± Heror protested.


    ¡°You can stand as well ¨C if you¡¯d prefer that.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I just leave?¡±


    Now the man was silent for a moment. His brow creased, and he gave a slight, calculating smile.


    ¡°My men saw your Ardysan armor and thought you to be a spy. They captured you alive with the intent of bringing you back here, and learning what you knew about our operations. But I saw the wound beneath your right arm. We gave you a clean bandage. The cut was too thin to be made by any Midan weapon. It¡¯s the cut of an Ardysan longsword.¡±


    Heror said nothing. The man continued.


    ¡°I saw your armor ¨C dirty, disheveled, cloths tattered, pieces missing. Your skin, bruised and covered in dried blood. Your empty bag ¨C made from Midan cow leather, not from Ardysan reed fletchings. A Midan map in your possession, with a path drawn out from Ardys to Pylantheum.¡±


    Still, Heror said nothing. The man nodded to himself.


    ¡°You were surviving. Not spying,¡± he deduced.


    ¡°What does it matter to you?¡± Heror growled.


    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m impressed,¡± the man answered. ¡°You traveled over two-hundred miles on foot from the Ardysan border. It looks like you crossed through to the east of the Mides, and traveled up the western side of Lake Llalur. With barely any food and water, you made your way through the steppes. And you would¡¯ve kept going ¨C perhaps to your own peril ¨C if we hadn¡¯t stopped you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡± Heror grumbled. ¡°What do you want from me?¡±


    The man gave Heror another look, then stood up straight. He crossed his arms and smiled.


    ¡°You seem very distrusting by nature,¡± he chimed.


    As soon as he said this, however, his expression darkened. And suddenly, his clever smile gave way to a grave frown ¨C a turn that surprised even Heror.


    ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯d blame you,¡± the man continued, with intentful eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not the first person they¡¯ve cast aside.¡±


    At this, Heror¡¯s expression began to change. There was still that severity in his gaze ¨C but now he listened and leaned in ever so slightly. The man saw this change.


    ¡°The way I see it,¡± the man went on, ¡°we saved your life when we brought you here. What you do when this conversation ends is your choice. But if we hadn¡¯t stopped you, you would¡¯ve carried on into the Pylanthean desert. And you would¡¯ve died of thirst and starvation. The closest city isn¡¯t for another two-hundred and fifty miles. You never would have made it on your own.¡±


    The man took a deep breath, then leaned forward again, resting his hands on the table.


    ¡°You ask what I want from you,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°I want to have a conversation with you. I think you owe me that much. Nothing more at the moment, and nothing less. We¡¯ll see where it leads. And maybe when it¡¯s over¡­ I can help you reach your destination.¡±


    Now the man looked on at Heror, with eyes sharp as daggers, frozen in focus ¨C eyes that commanded Heror¡¯s attention. And at this point, he had it. Heror thought for a moment longer, then stepped forward. He sat in the chair the man had provided for him. The man nodded.


    ¡°Now¡­¡± the man said. ¡°My name is Raldu Ruhun. And yours?¡±


    The young one was silent for a moment. Then he answered, his voice small.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    The tent walls danced in the wind from outside ¨C a subtle sway that caused ripples in the light.


    ¡°Heror Heran¡­ what do you believe in?¡±


    From the trees far above, Heror heard a songbird call.


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to find my family,¡± Heror muttered.


    ¡°So you believe in family then?¡± Raldu posited. ¡°And love?¡±


    Heror opened his mouth as if to give an answer, but he realized he didn¡¯t have one.


    ¡°Do you believe in the Gods?¡± Raldu asked.


    Again, Heror didn¡¯t have an answer.


    ¡°The Divine Consortium,¡± Raldu went on. ¡°The spiritual hierarchy that almost the entirety of the Nine Kingdoms of Kivveneth swears by. Do you believe in them?¡±


    Heror stayed silent for a moment, thoughts starting to run. Then he shook his head and mustered a reply ¨C one he¡¯d given before.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had a reason to believe in the Gods.¡±


    Raldu watched him, as if waiting for more.


    Heror added: ¡°Some people say the Gods have spoken to them. Some people say the Gods have given them things they prayed for. That never happened for me.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Now Raldu asked: ¡°Did you come from Pylantheum originally?¡±


    Heror shook his head. Raldu raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°So you have a kinship cloth from Pylantheum ¨C donning the Kingdom¡¯s great mountains and a clan name ¨C but you yourself are not from there?¡±


    ¡°All I remember is when I was a child,¡± Heror told him. ¡°I grew up on the docks in Cephragon. I was taken in by¡­ by some people. If I was ever in Pylantheum, I was too young to remember it.¡±


    ¡°Cephragon,¡± Raldu repeated, an air of familiarity in his voice. ¡°The Jeweled City. If there was ever such an ironic title.¡±


    Heror looked at him. Raldu dropped his eyes for a moment, deep in thought. Then his focus returned, and he met Heror¡¯s stare.


    ¡°You were orphaned then ¨C as a half-blood, in the Jeweled City,¡± he deduced. ¡°And judging by your armor, you were conscripted into the army. Then you ran away.¡±


    Heror nodded, withholding a few details. Raldu continued.


    ¡°And you were on your way to Pylantheum ¨C to try and find your real family. Do you worry that you¡¯d never find them, even if you made it across?¡±


    After a small, silent moment, Heror gave a solemn nod, his eyes sinking to the floor.


    ¡°So then what do you believe in?¡± Raldu asked again, standing up straight.


    Heror was quiet, lost in thought. A part of him did not understand the question. A part of him did. And another part of him longed to avoid it entirely. And after another long moment of silence, he carelessly shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head.


    ¡°Nothing, then,¡± Raldu concluded.


    Heror didn¡¯t acknowledge the old man. Something about this answer made him sad. He did not know why.


    ¡°You believe in nothing.¡±


    Heror sank his head. Another gust of wind caused the tent walls to swell, ever so softly ¨C like an ocean tide. Lifting and receding.


    ¡°I was like you once, Heror Heran,¡± Raldu examined. ¡°The world is inundated with divine references. Belief is an expectation. It can be suffocating. But there are so many who are forgotten. Neglected. Abused. Mistreated by those who deem themselves superior, more worthy, or closer to the Gods by birthright. I know you understand that feeling. Why should those who are forgotten believe? Why can¡¯t they question things? And why don¡¯t the Gods stop the unjust, if they are so noble, and if they have the power to do so?¡±


    Raldu paced to the end of the table, aligning himself with Heror.


    ¡°I was like you,¡± the man went on. ¡°There were times when I was in need. And I prayed. And I too heard no answer. I had nothing to believe in. So I decided to believe in something else.¡±


    He paused, and waited for Heror to lift up his head again ¨C to make sure Heror saw his eyes.


    ¡°Free will.¡±


    Now Heror¡¯s eyes did meet Raldu¡¯s. And what had once been uneasy acquiescence was now attentive curiosity. He sat back up in his seat.


    ¡°Do you know of the Midans¡¯ plight?¡± Raldu inquired.


    Heror shook his head.


    ¡°The Midans ¨C the elinjii, the servesi, the brahman ¨C all of the tribes and clans and races, save for the djauuls, who came from the jungles of Jandoa ¨C are descendants from a continent far to the east, called Akintar. A terrible place. They first sailed west over four thousand years ago, hoping to find a better life. They arrived before any elves or else had inhabited the lands of Mide, and they made the lands their own. They settled far south past the location of the wall today. Then the djauuls came, driven east by the Opelites, made peace with the ancient Akintari descendants, and lived among them.


    ¡°But then the Opelites came from the south, and the Pylanjuun Cyngoths came from the north. And they flushed the Midans from their homes and fought for the land. Whole centuries went by with the Midans subjected to Opelite or Pylanthean rule, and centuries more went by with the Midans enslaved. They were labeled the ¡®beastfolk¡¯, branded and treated as animals, and some tribes were eradicated entirely. Under the guise of worship for Opela ¨C the God of Beauty ¨C and Sparhh ¨C the God of Courage ¨C the elves and elsish did ugly and cowardly things, and performed acts of great cruelty.


    ¡°At the end of the Mygratium Eoh ¨C over 4,000 years ago ¨C the Midans won their freedom and at last became a sovereign Kingdom, but it came at a cost. The Kingdom was fractured and weak, and years of fighting and strained allegiances turned tribes against one another. Pylantheum¡¯s army never remained as strong as it had been in ancient times ¨C and so it was no longer strong enough to brave the desert ¨C but the Opelites made several attempts at invading Mide from the south, until they grew tired of our resistance, and erected a border wall to protect themselves. And then they told their children stories about our lands ¨C to scare them and make them hate us and brand us as monsters, while they ¨C rotten to the core by hubris ¨C do monstrous things to their others. They¡¯re not the only ones. The Midans¡¯ is not the only story across the Nine Kingdoms ¨C and all the while, the Al-Ra have done nothing.


    ¡°A select few Gods have not forsaken us. But I believe most of the Gods are not what they are made to be. I believe most of them are fickle beings ¨C not as powerful or as noble or as close to us as many would lead us to believe. If they were, we would not have been abandoned for so long. And I believe that this is our realm, and we have the free will to make changes on our own, if we don¡¯t believe in their ability to do so. That is what we ¨C the Midans ¨C aim to do, now that we have the strength to do it. To tear the Divine Consortium from its fundaments, shift the divine order, and refute the divine providence that Kingdoms claim as their own and wield as a weapon against those they oppress.¡±


    Raldu paused. Heror was still listening. Raldu walked around the edge of the table and drew closer.


    ¡°I know you can sympathize with what the Midans have gone through,¡± he continued. ¡°And I offer you the chance to join us. To believe in something, and live for something. Make a change you know this world needs.¡±


    Raldu paused again, waiting for an answer. Heror¡¯s mind went back to so many things. The days, weeks, and months at the docks in Cephragon. Coming back to the mahallas bruised, battered, bloody, and weak. Every day, wondering if he¡¯d be the dying worker who was tossed overboard. The insults thrown his way in the market and on the way to the wharf. Watching families in the Royal Oval just miles away living comfortably, while he starved each day.


    He thought back to Kraana¡¯s Pass. The three-horned bull. Nihlukei. The slaughter of siephalls. The Midans had done the killing, but it was Ardys¡¯ carelessness that set it in motion. And in the aftermath, there was no remorse. They cared more about putting Heror in his place than righting their wrongs, or pondering their mistakes. He thought about his fight with Oranthei, and the things the siekangh had said. And later, when Heror ran away, it was an elinji who helped him survive, when he least expected it.


    But then Heror thought about Thaeolai and Ucankacei. And the flaring conviction in his eyes died out. He shook his head and stood from his chair.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said. ¡°I have friends in Ardys. I can¡¯t fight against them.¡±


    He expected this answer to disappoint Raldu, but instead, Raldu nodded and took a step toward Heror. His expression was understanding but stern, and after a short silence, he spoke.


    ¡°Then fight to save them.¡±


    Heror went outside to think ¨C back to the northern edge of the camp, where he could look upon the expanse of the great desert, and feel the wind as it sloped up the rock cliffs and flats. The sun was starting to fall in the west. To the east, closer to the river that bordered the camp, Heror could hear shouts and laughter. As he looked on, he could see three Midan soldiers in the distance, kicking an animal hide ball in a circle. Soldiers walked about the camp behind him. Some talked amongst themselves, some sat around fire pits and ate their meals, while others sat and meditated. All seemed relaxed.


    Now Heror turned toward the desert again, and he leaned against a wooden tent post, crossing his arms. Ever since he left Ardys, he hadn¡¯t had time to think like this. And as he thought, he realized something: He¡¯d never been able to choose what he fought for.


    He was conscripted into the Ardysan army. There, Nihlukei had told him to fight for his pack ¨C but just days later, they were gone. Raldu had been convincing, but Heror felt apprehensive at another person telling him what to fight for. He¡¯d never been able to truly make the choice for himself.


    But then he thought about Thaeolai and Ucankacei, and all the others who¡¯d suffered with him in the mahallas. As bad as his life had been in Cephragon, he hadn¡¯t gotten close to the worst of it. If he ever had the choice to fight for something, wouldn¡¯t this be his choice? The freedom of others from a Kingdom and a cruelty he knew all too well? This felt right. This felt righteous.


    For a fleeting moment, he thought about what Ucankacei might think. Or what Nihlukei would have thought. But Ucankacei didn¡¯t know any better, Heror told himself. He¡¯d had this conversation with Ucankacei far too many times ¨C trying to show him how little he meant to Ardys, and Ucankacei brushing him off each time. And when Heror needed Ucankacei¡¯s support, Ucankacei chose his Kingdom over him. Ucankacei turned his back.


    Heror sighed and shook his head. It didn¡¯t matter what Ucankacei would think about this decision. He had no reason to care about what Ucankacei thought. Ucankacei ¨C and everything else ¨C was in the past. This decision was Heror¡¯s.


    He had dropped his eyes, but now they returned to the desert. Raldu had said it was two-hundred and fifty miles across to the next city. Looking at it from where he stood, Heror wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if it was even farther. The desert stretched on for what felt like eternity. The sheer scale of it was a sobering sight. And as he watched the sand breeze into the air from the tops of the dunes, forming a golden haze in the evening sunlight, Heror¡¯s thoughts ran again.


    He¡¯d been traveling north to find his family ¨C a family he knew might not exist anymore. His stubborn persistence would have carried him into the desert to his death. And looking at the desert now, he was as close as he¡¯d ever been ¨C but his dreams of finding anything but death in the sands beyond felt more and more distant.


    Perhaps he¡¯d have a chance to find his family someday. Maybe now wasn¡¯t the right time.


    The sun grew lower. The sky turned red. And soon, Raldu came out to meet him, greeting a pair of Midan soldiers as they walked past. The half-elf stepped next to Heror and slid his hands behind his back, taking a deep breath as he too gazed out at the desert.


    ¡°It¡¯s magnificent, isn¡¯t it?¡± he remarked.


    Heror said nothing, his eyes scaling the waves of sand that rolled beneath a now starry deep blue sky.


    ¡°In ancient times, the early Cyngoth Kings ¨C the Caitans ¨C of Pylantheum built great temples and cities in the sands, and used these temples as a bastion when the Opelites tried to stretch their empire north. But in their arrogance, they underestimated the power of the sands and the power of time, and all of their temples and oases were swallowed up ¨C like ships in a storm. No civilization has tested Sparhha since, and creatures have taken their place among the dunes.¡±


    He paused.


    ¡°Smaller parties can reach farther inside the wastes,¡± Raldu went on. ¡°But even then, the way is dangerous. The heat during the day can be overwhelming, and supplies run low quickly. Most who hope to travel north ¨C to the northern city of Pylantheus ¨C travel up the eastern coastline. But the waters are treacherous, and the cliffs farther north are jagged and sharp.¡±


    Raldu glanced at Heror.


    ¡°You need not make a decision today,¡± he pressed on. ¡°But if you decide to keep heading north, I want you to know what you¨C¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Heror blinked and took a deep breath, then nodded to himself. His eyes left the desert to the north, and he looked at Raldu.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll stay. I¡¯ll fight.¡±


    Raldu was silent. Heror nodded to himself again, and then his eyes returned to the sands.


    ¡°I have a choice. This is my choice.¡±


    Raldu eyed him for a moment, then nodded, a slight smile forming on his face. He patted Heror on the back with his right hand, and his eyes went to the desert as well.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± he said simply.


    A spell of quiet fell on the pair, and for a moment, there was no sound other than the wind, racing up the rock flats and flowing into the camp.


    ¡°In truth, you may experience a break in the fighting here ¨C though I think you¡¯d welcome a rest,¡± Raldu spoke. ¡°This camp is of more strategic importance. It¡¯s where instructions from myself and my generals flow southward, through Mote and to the border. But it also gives us a view of the north, and gives us a foothold into the desert, for another strategic objective in our sights.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re the leader?¡± Heror surmised.


    ¡°So they say,¡± Raldu said with a sigh. ¡°The elinji and the Tekhal riders call me Aktaku. The djauuls of the Mire Lands call me Perixilach. I prefer no titles. I only want what my people deserve. I do make commands ¨C but my leadership is just as much of the spiritual variety.¡±


    He paused, then glanced at Heror.


    ¡°To that end, I do have a task for you.¡±


    Heror met Raldu¡¯s glance.


    ¡°The placement of this camp is no coincidence,¡± Raldu began. ¡°Yes, it is an ideal strategic location. Visibility to the north, a supply of water, and protection to the south from distance and land features. But we are also searching for something in the desert. A perilous endeavor ¨C but one that is absolutely necessary for our cause.¡±


    ¡°What are you searching for?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°I assume you¡¯ve never heard of the Divine Artifacts,¡± Raldu commented.


    Heror shook his head. Raldu nodded, squinting in the sharp amber light of the sunset, as his golden-silver hair rustled in the breeze.


    ¡°The divines have intertwined themselves with this world, enough to leave remnants and traces in the form of objects and tools, often for mortal use,¡± Raldu explained. ¡°The most powerful Divine Artifacts, according to ancient texts and legends, are the Boons of the Divine Consortium. Supposedly given to the elesvium in times of great need. Whether or not they truly exist in their mortal forms, even I could not tell you for certain. But we know where one might be. It goes by many names: The Sword of Sparhh, the Divinium Diaphanae. Wingtooth. Spharhhox. It is one of the most powerful swords ever forged. In the wrong hands ¨C perhaps in the possession of the Ardysan Kcirun and high society ¨C you know what this Sword could do.


    ¡°Almost a month ago, we found a library in the desert ¨C approximately 2,500 years old ¨C its entrance partially exposed by sandstorms. And inside that library, we found ancient Pylanthean texts and scrolls that hinted toward the existence of this weapon. We¡¯ve been able to narrow down our search area, and we¡¯ve identified several sunken temples that might house the Sword. But a trip to even one of them is a dangerous, days-long journey that requires horses, manpower, and supplies. And I cannot afford to leave camp for long periods of time.


    ¡°You¡¯ve already proven your survival skills, so with better supplies, I have no doubt you¡¯d be ready. My task for you, Heror: Help us pinpoint the location of the Sword and recover it, so we can ensure that it never falls into the hands of those who would use it to do harm.¡±


    Heror nodded. Raldu reciprocated the gesture with a glance, and then turned back to the desert, upon which night was beginning to fall.


    ¡°You¡¯ll start in the morning,¡± he affirmed. ¡°Your tent is right here ¨C the same one you had this morning. Come find me in the tall tent at dawn. I¡¯ll lead you to the mess hall and introduce you to Adjaash, the leader of our search team ¨C and Brocus Elius, our linguistics expert. Once you all have been acquainted, you can begin assisting with their work.¡±


    Heror nodded one last time, and Raldu turned away, soon disappearing among the many tents farther inside the camp.


    Heror turned his eyes back to the desert, and he saw that the sun had almost completely set. To the west, the afterglow he¡¯d grown familiar with hugged the horizon, and the sun itself was a mere half-ellipse of red, drowning in the land. Nestled between the scarlet sunset and the constellation fields above, the golden waves of the desert rolled and rolled, casting a dark shadow as they went farther east.


    It was then that Heror¡¯s mind went back to Nihlukei. The few times they¡¯d spoken about battle and life, it was at sunset. He wondered how Nihlukei would feel about him fighting for the Midans. For a moment, his expression darkened, and he felt worry ¨C but soon enough, he brushed the worries away and took a deep breath.


    He would understand, he thought to himself. He would understand.


    But it was not something he knew. It was only a hope.


    Once the sun disappeared behind the sands and the rocks, and the wind and the air was all left in darkness, Heror turned and retired for the night. The stars spun ever so slowly up above.

 16. New Surroundings

    In the morning, orange light crept through a dark cloudscape that stretched from the east to the north ¨C cold and shaded tufts that intermingled with the cobalt sky. There was a cold wind on the air, but as the first rays of sunlight hit the desert sands, a tinge of heat began to break through.


    Heror emerged from his tent at dawn, and he traveled the length of the camp to reach the tall tent, at the foot of the forest cliff. There ¨C as he said he would be ¨C Raldu was waiting for him. Raldu led him back out into the camp, past dozens of other small lodging tents, until they came to a tall wooden pavilion, where many Midans had already flocked for breakfast.


    The pavilion was the largest structure in the camp. Around a dozen long wooden benches and tables were evenly spaced out. At the center, a Midan elinji cooked over a contained fire with a cast iron pot and pan. In the pot, he boiled water and cooked rice. In the pan, he mixed together eggs and chopped trout with a cured wooden spoon. On a nearby support beam, a metal shelf was secured by a nail, with various spices and seasonings hanging down to be plucked and mixed into the food.


    As he entered the pavilion bounds, the swell of low morning chatter met Heror¡¯s ears. A few Midans glanced his way as he followed Raldu to the center, but Heror paid them little mind. Once they reached the center, the elinji dished up plates for the two men.


    ¡°Sa lantu, Bohsa,¡± Raldu said to the bull-person as he took his plate.


    After the two grabbed their food, Raldu led Heror to the far eastern end of the pavilion, where another man sat by himself. This man was dressed differently from the Midan soldiers. He still donned their light leather armor, but overtop his cuirass, he wore a rich green tunic with golden embroidering. He was an older else ¨C a kind Heror hadn¡¯t expected to see at a Midan camp ¨C with a short, stocky build, balding black hair, and a patchy beard that had been trimmed with a blade at the cheeks.


    Raldu walked around the end of the table, patting the man on the back as he ventured past.


    ¡°Brocus,¡± he chimed. ¡°How are you this morning?¡±


    Brocus hadn¡¯t heard Raldu coming, and so he jumped in his seat with surprise. He grabbed a nearby cloth and wiped his face clean of food, then looked at Raldu and gave a nod.


    ¡°Was just stellar until you gave me a scare,¡± he muttered dryly.


    As Heror followed Raldu around the table, Brocus gave another nod in the young man¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Who is this?¡±


    ¡°This is Heror Heran,¡± Raldu replied. ¡°He recently arrived from the south, and I¡¯ve asked him to join the search party. He¡¯ll provide whatever assistance is needed. Heror, this is Brocus Elius, our linguistics expert. He studied language and archaeology at Peranon College in Ghiovan.¡±


    Although he did not know of the second study, Heror nodded to Brocus and sat down with his plate. Brocus eyed the young man for a moment, then glanced at Raldu.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you think I need assistance,¡± Brocus prodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you need it,¡± Raldu countered. ¡°But whenever ancient Pylanthean texts are involved, having more than one set of eyes to lean on can be valuable.¡±


    Brocus didn¡¯t appear satisfied with this answer, but after a moment, he nodded quaintly and began eating again. Between bites, Brocus glanced at Heror.


    ¡°Heror Heran,¡± he said to himself. ¡°Your name sounds Pylanthean. From what city do you hail? Pylantheus? Eonos? Marbal? Or perhaps Galan?¡±


    Heror took a bite of his food, chewed and swallowed, then shook his head.


    ¡°None,¡± he answered quietly. ¡°I lived in Ardys as far as I can remember.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s disappointing,¡± Brocus said simply. ¡°So no experience reading with the Sparhhan priests? The Geisrund? The ancient logs of Caitan Nehlox and the explorer, Garriel?¡±


    Heror shook his head. Brocus raised an eyebrow and let out a sigh.


    ¡°Well¡­ at least it¡¯s another set of eyes, I suppose,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Truth be told, Heror is just as much an addition made with protection and survival skills in mind,¡± Raldu noted. ¡°Most of our forces are closer to the border, and I can only spare so many men for this kind of mission.¡±


    At the mention of the border, Heror¡¯s mind flashed to Thaeolai and Ucankacei, and his breath hopped. He repressed this feeling and kept eating his meal, as Brocus carried on.


    ¡°I concede that more eyes could be helpful,¡± Brocus offered half-heartedly, before continuing: ¡°And there are commonalities in the syntax and morphemes from ancient Pylanthean texts to present-day Kivvenean language. Heror, do you know why Pylantheum and Ardys both speak Kivvenean?¡±


    Heror shook his head.


    ¡°Kivvenean is the most prevalent speaking and writing language of Kivveneth,¡± Brocus began. ¡°And it all started with the ancient elsish and elvish peoples ¨C the elses coming from the great and vast arctic continent of Cyngoth, and the elves coming from the southern swamps, jungles, and wetlands of Betzanys. By the time they reached Kivveneth, both peoples were already adept in their nomadic ways, and they soon crossed paths on the Kivvenean continent. In ME 134 ¨C near the very start of recorded history in Kivveneth ¨C the Opelite elves and the Cyngoth elses first made peace in the Pact of Hlyndhis. That peace was strained at times, but millennia of trading, communicating, and intermingling from that point onward made Kivvenean a prominent language across the land, and that language spread to Hithain, Tephire, Mathingar, Ghiovan, all the Kingdoms. The language has changed a great deal since ancient times, but there is more relative uniformity now. In olden times, the different Kingdom dialects were even more distinct.¡±


    ¡°There are tribes and civilizations across the Nine Kingdoms who speak different languages,¡± Raldu added. ¡°And as you might¡¯ve noticed by now, Heror ¨C the Midan djauuls and elinji have their own language as well. That¡¯s why, in spite of Kivvenean being the most prominent language, having a linguistics scholar like Brocus can be invaluable in parsing through the different dialects, and the changes that have been made over the millennia. The ancient texts are indeed very different, even if their roots are the same.¡±


    There was a short silence, and a quiet breeze flowed through the pavilion grounds. Heror was almost finished with his meal. Raldu had only just begun to eat. After a moment, he stopped and looked at Brocus.


    ¡°Where is Adjaash?¡± Raldu asked.


    ¡°Ate early,¡± Brocus replied, a tone of dismissal breaching his voice. ¡°Then went back to the river.¡±


    Raldu nodded, and was about to speak when suddenly, he heard commotion from the eastern side of the camp. Raldu stood and looked out past the pavilion bounds, and Heror¡¯s eyes followed. Soldiers called out from the east, past the rows of tents, and through the gaps in the canvases, Heror could see figures walking through the camp. As they grew closer, making their way to the pavilion, Heror saw that it was a war party ¨C led by the three-horned bull from Kraana¡¯s Pass.


    The hulking half-man ¨C standing almost eight feet tall ¨C led a contingent of Midan soldiers ¨C djauul and elinji alike ¨C to the pavilion. The ground shook with each step he took, and his red-streaked chestplate rattled. Atop his head, Heror saw the bull¡¯s three ivory horns ¨C two sprawling out to the side, and one jutting out from its forehead. And as the bull grew closer, Heror saw its scarred left eye, and the monstrous barbed club in its right hand.


    At the sight of the barbed club, Nihlukei¡¯s death played back in Heror¡¯s mind. The parabolic whir of the club as it stretched upward into the sky, then came down on the siekarum¡¯s head. And the siekarum¡¯s loud cough when the three-horned bull stabbed his own aspidan through his stomach.


    Heror¡¯s nostrils flared, and his hands curled into fists. And as the three-horned bull approached the pavilion ¨C seeking out Raldu ¨C it too saw Heror. The elinji stopped for a moment ¨C its golden right eye narrowing as it recognized an enemy from the pass. In his throat, Heror felt the fumes of a returning rage, and he might¡¯ve gone back on his promise to Raldu, simply to retaliate. But with a shred of self-control, he kept his rage at bay; it would be unwise to indulge it, he thought.


    The bull might¡¯ve thought the same, for after a short moment, it turned its glare away from Heror. Now the elinji stepped toward Raldu, who came forward to meet the warrior, emerging into the open air.


    ¡°Humsa, my friend,¡± Raldu greeted the bull, craning his head ¨C his voice low. ¡°You have news.¡±


    The three-horned bull nodded slowly. Raldu gestured to the south.


    ¡°I¡¯m almost finished up here. Wait for me in my tent, and I¡¯ll join you shortly.¡±


    Then Raldu turned to the rest of the war party ¨C perhaps just over a dozen men.


    ¡°All of you: Tie up your horses, find lodging in our tents, and rest! You¡¯ve come a long way, and you¡¯ll be headed back soon enough.¡±


    The three-horned bull shot one more glare at Heror ¨C which Heror reciprocated ¨C before turning and walking away to the south. As it turned, Heror saw a long cut on the back of its neck ¨C one that Nihlukei had made. Once the three-horned bull was gone, Raldu stepped back inside the pavilion bounds and picked up his still-full plate of food.


    ¡°I will take this to my tent,¡± he decided. ¡°Heror, you are welcome to walk about the camp grounds today. Get yourself acquainted. But at some point, make your way down to the river. That¡¯s where Adjaash likes to spend most of her time while she¡¯s in camp. Make your introductions.¡±


    And with that, Raldu left ¨C following the three-horned bull to his tent.


    Brocus finished his food soon after Raldu went away, and he left without a word, leaving Heror alone at the table. Heror quietly finished his meal as well, and then he sat with his empty wooden bowl, glancing across the pavilion at the many Midan soldiers who sat and talked in the early hours of morning, in languages he did not understand.


    After a moment, Heror¡¯s eyes dropped, and he took a deep breath. His thoughts took him again, but soon enough, he stood and grabbed his bowl. He carried it back to the center of the pavilion and stacked it next to several other dirty dishes. The cook glanced at him and offered a thankful nod, before turning back to his work.


    Now Heror emerged back out into the open morning air. The sky above was blue, but the light was low. Dense stratocumulus clouds carried east and covered the sun, as it wrapped the clouds in a red glow.


    Heror¡¯s first thought was to head to the northern edge of the camp, where he observed the Pylanthean desert once again. At every time of day, the sands of the desert somehow looked different. In the shade of the morning clouds, Heror could see how empty it was. Beneath a brilliant sunset, the golden waves would roll and radiate light, making themselves known. But in the dark, under shadow, the desert appeared as a cold and endless waste, where wind and time and distance were all too punishing.


    Heror watched the wind flow over the desert crests for some time. And then, as the sun began to peer above the clouds, casting amber light over the dunes, he turned to the east and headed for the river.


    The camp was large enough that it took several minutes for Heror to reach the eastern edge. Once he passed the final row of tents and the horses tied to their posts, Heror at last came to the foot of the river. Here, the woodlands from the southern cliff snaked down a slope and lined the river, separated from the water only by a stony, sandy riverbank. On the other side of the stream, the woods thickened again, extending east and south.


    As he reached the river, Heror looked around. This was where the one they called Adjaash was supposed to be, but he saw no one. He heard only the sounds of the wind in the trees, the birds in the canopy, and the distant chatter of the Midan camp behind him. At his feet, the water of the river softly kissed the banks.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Heror glanced back toward the camp for a moment, and then to the north ¨C where the river faded against the rock fields which gave way to the desert. And then he turned south, following the riverbank in that direction.


    Soon enough, he was surrounded by woodlands again ¨C gravel crunching and soot-like soil pasting beneath his boots as he carried on. The water of the river hummed and bubbled, as a soft current carried it forward. On both sides of the river, densely packed trees formed a thick green canopy, through which beams of orange and amber from the morning sunrise trickled through, permeating the air. The chirps and calls of birds composed a constant melody, echoing in the heights.


    He followed the river for some time and saw nothing. As he walked, the river widened and deepened, and ripples gave way to small rapids, as smooth rocks jutted out intermittently across the strait. For a moment, he stopped and thought to turn back. His legs and feet were still sore from the days of walking before reaching the camp. Nevertheless, he decided to go just a bit farther. Up ahead, he saw a rightward bend in the river, as it disappeared behind the trees. He would follow this bend and return if no one was there.


    There was a slight gap in the tree canopy at the bend in the stream, and the orange sunlight shone through as the clouds shrank into the east. Heror reached the bend and stepped over a fallen log, and as he turned the corner, he saw something on the other side of the river ¨C perhaps twenty yards across and a ways down the bank.


    Crouching on the opposite bank, in the near distance, was a younger brunuul woman of medium height, around his age ¨C wearing a patterned brown poncho, light linen pants, and wool moccasins. Her skin was matte gray, like volcanic ash, and her long hair was a brown-silver that shined with iridescence in the morning sunlight. Her hair flowed down over her shoulders, and strands hung over her face ¨C but much of it was pulled to the side by a braid fixed with twine. She had a clear, heart-shaped face with angled ears, and even from where he stood, Heror could see her intense, bright amber eyes fixed on something.


    As Heror took a quiet step around the bend, he could see that the ashen elf girl had a bow in her hand. A wooden bucket was set by her feet. From the bank, she surveyed the waters at the wide river bend. There, the river current slowed and food settled for the fish. The girl was waiting for her shot.


    Heror stepped behind a tree and watched her, as she crouched silently ¨C still as stone. For minutes, it seemed, she was frozen in focus. And then, all of a sudden, in a lightning-quick flash, she reached back, nocked three arrows at once, and let loose a deadly spread of fletched blades into the water. Just seconds later, three dead fish emerged on the river¡¯s surface, arrows lodged in their midsections.


    The girl now lifted a small net from the ground and retrieved the fish, scooping them free from the water and dumping them onto the riverbank. Then, she carefully removed each arrow and placed the fish one by one in the wooden bucket.


    Heror slid back behind the tree on the riverbank and turned away from the girl. He had tracked her along the river, but now he could see she was occupied with her own task. After a moment of thought, he decided he¡¯d leave and head back to camp, then speak to her once she returned.


    Now he glanced back around the tree one last time before setting off to leave ¨C but the girl was gone.


    Heror narrowed his eyes and glanced to the right. But just as he did so, he heard rushed footsteps crescendoing to his left. As he turned, he saw the girl on his side of the river now, lunging forward with a dagger in hand.


    Before Heror could react, the girl slammed him against the tree trunk and trapped him against the bark with an arm. She grabbed his tunic at the collar, while her other hand lined up the dagger against his neck. With fiery eyes she glared, as brown-silver strands of hair fell over her face.


    ¡°Who are you??¡± she snarled, with a clear, husky accent Heror had never heard before. ¡°Why are you following me??¡±


    With the hand that clasped Heror¡¯s collar, she pressed down on Heror¡¯s neck, and the young man coughed, gasping for air. He shook his head and held up his hands, in an attempt to indicate surrender.


    ¡°Raldu¡­ told me to find you,¡± he said through strained breaths. ¡°Maybe that wasn¡¯t¡­ a good decision.¡±


    At the mention of the Midan leader, the brunuul girl loosened her grip and allowed Heror to catch his breath ¨C but her glare remained. She took a step back and brought the dagger to her side.


    ¡°He should know I like to be left alone,¡± she muttered, casting a glance to the north.


    ¡°You¡¯re Adjaash then?¡± Heror surmised after a deep inhale.


    Adjaash offered him a single nod, but only half of her attention. Heror was caught by surprise, as his eyes bounced between her daggers and her bow. He cautiously opened his mouth, and his thoughts spoke.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re a woman,¡± he observed.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Adjaash said, with a harsh tone that made Heror instantly regret his words.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯s just¡­ I¡¯ve never seen a woman with a weapon before.¡±


    ¡°Now you have.¡±


    Adjaash started to turn away, and Heror realized he was losing her attention. He took a step forward and stammered.


    ¡°M-my name is Heror,¡± the young man rambled nervously. ¡°I¡¯m new to camp. Raldu told me you were the leader of the search party for a mission into the desert. He assigned me to your team and told me to introduce myself. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±


    Adjaash eyed Heror for a moment, then shook her head.


    ¡°Good of him to get my input first,¡± she grumbled. ¡°Another jelema who doesn¡¯t know what the hell he¡¯s doing.¡±


    She started to walk away. Heror¡¯s nervousness turned to confusion, and he stepped forward from the trunk, as Adjaash made her way back toward the stepping stones in the river.


    ¡°Can you tell me what I can do to help?¡± Heror called out.


    ¡°Just stay out of the way,¡± Adjaash replied without turning her head.


    Before Heror could say another word, Adjaash was crossing the river again, meticulously hitting each stone with her moccasins before she reached the opposite bank. She went to collect her tools and her fish bucket as Heror looked on ¨C and then she carried on to the south, leaving Heror by himself beneath the quiet noise of the forest.


    Disheartened, Heror went back the way he came. He traveled north through the forest, along the riverbank ¨C and soon, he found himself back at the edge of the camp, where the tents met the water. By the time he arrived back at camp, the sun had almost risen to its apex. To the west, more clouds stewed. Wind rushed in from the north.


    As Heror was returning to camp, he saw the three-horned bull and the rest of the war party approaching the river. The Midan soldiers mounted onto horses they¡¯d taken north from the mountains, while the three-horned bull stepped into a chariot with another soldier. Heror stepped to the side and peered out from behind a tent, and he watched as the bull led his party out of camp and to the south. They followed the riverbank, and soon, they were gone from the eye.


    Heror wondered what the three-horned bull had traveled north to discuss with Raldu. He couldn¡¯t read its expressions, to know whether or not the news was good or bad. And ultimately, he chose not to dwell on it any longer.


    He entered the camp and spent the rest of the day on his own tasks. Close to Raldu¡¯s tent, he found another large tent stocked with armor, and picked up a set for himself. Where the Ardysans had equipped themselves with light metal armor, the Midans had a preference for leather ¨C thick, but light, and more flexible. Midan leather was dark, with brown straps banded across it, but the spaulders and tassets guarding the shoulders and thighs were partly made of steel, as were the shin guards. Heror tried on a helmet, but they were not made for his kind. Even with the djauul helmets, the brow area was too wide for him, and it sank below the bridge of his nose, impacting his visibility ¨C so he chose to go without it.


    Once he had his armor, Heror returned to his tent. He took off his Ardysan boots and let his blistered feet breathe. An unintentional sniff made it clear he¡¯d be leaving his Ardysan boots behind, or burying them, or burning them ¨C whatever worked. He went back to the river and washed his face and skin, scraping dried dirt off his arms and legs. Then he dried off, clothed himself, and went back to his tent. He washed his feet in a water bucket, clipped his toe and fingernails, and slipped on his new Midan boots. He used his toothpick to scrape food out from between his molars.


    But eventually, even these mundane tasks ran dry, and Heror soon found himself back at the northern edge of the camp, overlooking the vast desert beyond. He could¡¯ve tried to find Brocus and help with reading, but the welcome he¡¯d received thus far dissuaded him. So instead, he kept to himself, and stood alone in thought as the sun moved up and then down.


    In Ardys, it had been different. Whenever Heror had been talked down to, or cast aside, it was because of what he looked like, and how he wasn¡¯t the same as everyone else. But here ¨C while there was the freedom he¡¯d longed for ¨C he still wasn¡¯t sure if he belonged.


    Before long, the sun started to sink in the west. In the far distance, an isolated rain cloud spewed over the desert slopes. Thick and dark virga occluded the sky, as the clouds glowed orange on their fringes. It was at this time that Heror heard footsteps behind him, and he glanced behind him to see Raldu approaching. Raldu stepped next to Heror and placed a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°There you are,¡± Raldu started. ¡°How was your first day?¡±


    ¡°I imagined you¡¯d be too busy to talk to me,¡± Heror commented.


    ¡°I make time for my own,¡± Raldu assured him with a small smile. ¡°How was your day?¡±


    Heror took a deep breath, then turned his gaze to the rain over the desert.


    ¡°Still getting settled,¡± he said simply.


    Raldu nodded and bit his tongue, and Heror could feel that he understood. The old man folded his hands behind his back, and his eyes followed Heror¡¯s.


    ¡°You will have a chance to prove yourself,¡± he told the boy.


    Though sparse, these few words were comforting to Heror. He took another deep breath and nodded to himself, then glanced at Raldu.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Raldu smiled and nodded again, then turned and squinted at the sunset.


    ¡°It¡¯s getting late. Be sure to get some rest soon.¡±


    Now Raldu turned ¨C leaving Heror with more quiet confidence than he found him with.


    ~:{~}:~


    While Heror lingered, Raldu made his way back into camp. Most of the soldiers had retired for the night, and so in the quiet, Raldu returned to the tall tent at the southern end of camp. By the time he made it back, the sunset was lower ¨C obstructed by rocks to the west. And so Raldu¡¯s tent was shrouded in shadow, with only the illumination runes to emanate light.


    When Raldu pulled back the burlap tent flap and took a step inside his quarters, the thin, bearded, black-haired djauul was waiting in a chair. Raldu paused his entry ¨C his brow furrowed ¨C and then he entered.


    ¡°Shaail,¡± he acknowledged, his tone low. ¡°What is it?¡±


    The man called Shaail stood, gaunt face shaded under the golden light.


    ¡°You spoke to Humsa earlier?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Raldu confirmed. ¡°He provided an update on our standing at the border. We¡¯ll be rolling more troops forward from Mote.¡±


    ¡°Things are going according to plan?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Raldu confirmed again. ¡°Is this all you wished to discuss?¡±


    Shaail paused before he spoke again. Then he eyed his leader with concern.


    ¡°Humsa told me one more thing before he went south again,¡± he revealed. ¡°The new arrival. The young man in the blue tunic. Heror Heran.¡±


    Raldu raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°What of him?¡±


    ¡°He said he recognized Heror from the battlefield,¡± Shaail replied.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not surprising,¡± Raldu said. ¡°He was an Ardysan siephall, after all. He was conscripted into the army.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that,¡± Shaail went on. ¡°He recognized Heror from Kraana¡¯s Pass. There were no survivors in the pass. It was a slaughter. Humsa said Heror and another man cut down dozens of our soldiers single-handedly, before he killed both of them. All of the wounded were finished off. And now, Heror turns up alive, in our territory.¡±


    ¡°His allegiances were never with Ardys to begin with,¡± Raldu noted. ¡°He chose to run away.¡±


    ¡°It is not his allegiances that concern me,¡± Shaail countered. ¡°He survived a battle that was not survivable.¡±


    ¡°Strange things can happen in battle.¡±


    ¡°And then he survived a days-long journey through the swamps, forests, and steppes, with barely any food or water.¡±


    Raldu looked at Shaail, asking with his eyes what the djauul was trying to say.


    ¡°I am concerned¡­ that the young man is favored by the Gods of the Divine Consortium,¡± Shaail concluded. ¡°I do not think we can trust him within our ranks. He may act against our interests.¡±


    Raldu thought for a moment. He did not shake his head, nor did he nod.


    ¡°He is a skilled warrior, a skilled survivor, and he understands the cause,¡± Raldu said finally. ¡°I believe he could be an asset for us. We need more soldiers like this one. And once we have the Diaphanae, we will be able to quell any concerns about meddling by the Consortium.¡±


    Shaail was not satisfied by this answer. Raldu¡¯s face lightened. He forced a smile.


    ¡°Please, my friend,¡± he went on. ¡°Do not let this trouble you. Go rest. In the morning, our search team will continue making preparations for the next expedition into Sparhha. We are on the path. Achlach Sim.¡±


    ¡°Achlach Sim,¡± Shaail echoed with a stern voice.


    The emissary walked past Raldu and exited the tent, leaving the Midan leader alone in the burlap cave. Raldu then walked to the council table at the far end of the tent. He placed his hands on the wood graining over the table¡¯s edge and leaned forward, taking a deep breath.


    In the far distance, carrying over the wind, a low roll of thunder rumbled from a lonely desert monsoon. A breeze caused the tent walls to swell again. Above, on the sloped tent ceilings, the illumination runes hummed and flickered ever so slightly in the night, as if smokeless fire.


    Deep in thought, Raldu turned his head and narrowed his eyes.

 17. Adjaash (Part One)

    In the darkness, an inhuman shriek. A frantic horse, out of the fog and shadow, kicking wildly, eyes crazed.


    Echoing, a voice: He thanks you¡­ for your sacrifice.


    Heror¡¯s shoulders and lungs compressed, as he felt the weight of 2,000 soldiers on either side. Ahead, out of the void, a monolith monster materialized. Spears stood. They multiplied, until there were dozens dominating the length of the pass, eyes of red and fury.


    They grew closer. The pine trees collapsed inward. Twin tsunamis of sand and dune rose above the conifers and then crashed down, filling the air with dust. There was the rap of metal and torn flesh. Closer. Soldiers fell one by one, the luster of gilded armor gone and dead. Screams and cries rang out and surrounded him, layering and swirling and growing ¨C a maelstrom of sound and terror. Closer. Blood on the grass, like dew.


    Heror tried to move, but his feet were trapped in quicksand ¨C knuckles white against the grooved bronze sword handle. The screams suffocated him. He tried to join them ¨C to call for help ¨C but he was mute. Closer. Louder. Closer. Louder ¨C until above all of it, his heart pounded, accelerated, in a doomed rhythm. They readied their spears and lunged. The three-horned beast swung its club¡­


    And then he woke with a gasp, in a cold sweat.


    His chest heaving, Heror sat up from his bedroll, in the dark of the night. His heart was racing. He entered a cycle of deep breaths to try and calm himself. The Midan camp was quiet. A light rain fell on the burlap tent canvas, adjoining the whisper wind.


    Heror breathed and blinked, and bit his tongue to keep quiet. His brow creased, and his lip quivered ¨C but he did his best not to make a sound. It took a long time for him to lie back down. When he did, he did not fall back asleep.


    ~:{~}:~


    Days passed. The sun would rise to the east, over the red rocks and the trees, and set in the west, submerging below waves of golden sand in an implosion of light. Tattered blankets of cumulus and cirrus clouds passed through, carried by cold and dry winds that sank to the ground and flowed through the camp. Every now and then, a small misting of rain drifted eastward. But on the edge of the desert, blue sky was always visible somewhere above.


    The others often kept to themselves, and so Heror did, too. He would eat, head to the riverbank and refill his flask, and then return to his tent. He acquired a dagger from the camp¡¯s armory and used it to sharpen his Midan sword. He studied his Midan leather armor, and though he did not wear it ¨C the blue tunic was lighter and cooler ¨C he learned where each and every pouch and pocket was, for future storing. When he had nothing to do, he would try and catch up on sleep ¨C often to no avail.


    On the seventh day after his arrival, he was once again inside his tent. He sat with his legs crossed, sword in his lap. The honing motion with his knife had become second nature, but as Heror made each new pass over the length of the blade, he slowed, until finally, he dropped the dagger and stood with his sword in hand. He swung it in the air slowly a few times.


    It had been over two weeks now since he¡¯d truly swung a sword in combat. Almost a month since his last lesson with Ucankacei. He knew, if he was to fight again, he would have to stay ready. But the nightmares made him wary. He¡¯d only had them twice now; on the best nights, he¡¯d only been unable to stay asleep. But he didn¡¯t know what the nightmares meant. He¡¯d never had them like this. Thinking about it all, the sword was just a bit heavier in his hand.


    But as he did so well, he was eventually able to brush these thoughts of worry aside, and he slid his sword back under his belt. He stepped out from his tent, into the open air. It was around midday. The air was calm. The sky was clear and blue. To the north, a thick haze had settled in over the slopes of the desert. To the south, distant bird calls emanated from the trees and thickets.


    By now, Raldu was most likely in his tent, conferring with his officers. There had been no more visits since the three-horned bull arrived the week before. But a few days earlier, Raldu had sent a contingent of soldiers ¨C around two-dozen ¨C south to the border. They¡¯d left on horseback, leaving the camp with only around a half-dozen horses left, and the elinji had taken the largest ones for themselves.


    Brocus was off somewhere, no doubt diving into ancient Pylanthean texts ¨C though Heror hadn¡¯t kept track of him through the week. And Adjaash, he assumed, was out on her own as well. Heror let out a short sigh and glanced around the camp, curled brown hair rustling in the breeze. It was becoming more difficult to keep himself occupied. There was more freedom at the Midan camp than there had been in Ardys, but that freedom also gave way to aimless time.


    After a moment of thought, Heror glanced back down at his sword, nestled between his outer thigh and his leather belt. He¡¯d seen a few Midan soldiers sparring with wooden swords near the riverbank a couple days earlier. Perhaps he¡¯d set off in that direction and join the sparring, to keep himself fresh.


    And so he headed east, through the rows of burlap tents. The camp was emptier now, but there was still activity. Some soldiers carried logs, fresh meat, and grains to the mess pavilion to prepare for cooking. Others carried materials to the armory and smithing area to make and refine tools. And spaced out through the camp, a few pairs of Midan soldiers made their rounds on patrol.


    In minutes, Heror reached the riverbank on the eastern side of the camp. Sure enough, to the right of the southernmost tent, near the forest boundary, he saw the two djauuls he¡¯d seen several days ago, sparring with wooden swords on a small, open plot of gravel. One was older, with a full black beard that covered his cheeks and chin, and a mop of hair thrown back in a long ponytail. The other was younger than Heror, and smaller ¨C his face bare.


    As he approached, Heror watched their forms. The younger djauul didn¡¯t know what he was doing. He struggled to load his base and manage his footwork, and his swings were arm-dominant. The older djauul¡¯s technique was a bit cleaner, but even he wasted motion at times. These were people who had grown up with the bow and arrow. The art of the sword was unnatural to them.


    Heror watched from a short distance for some time, and soon, on the ground next to the two djauuls, he noticed a couple extra wooden swords for sparring. He knelt down to grab a wooden sword, then approached the older djauul, who was in mid-swing when Heror arrived.


    ¡°Excuse me.¡±


    The older djauul finished his swing, and then they both looked at Heror, confused. Heror cleared his throat and continued.


    ¡°Kivvenean ¨C either of you speak Kivvenean?¡±


    Heror glanced toward the younger djauul first, who shook his head. Then he looked at the older djauul, who offered a half nod.


    ¡°Little bit,¡± the older djauul said, voice heavy with a rustic accent.


    ¡°Do you understand it well enough?¡±


    The older djauul nodded again. Heror returned the gesture. He¡¯d at first intended to join in on the sparring, but both of these djauuls needed to improve their form.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to help you two,¡± Heror said, glancing at the older djauul. ¡°Can you translate for him?¡±


    The older djauul affirmed he could. Now Heror stepped into the circle and positioned himself between the two. He readied his wooden sparring sword and glanced at each of them.


    ¡°The first thing I noticed when watching you, is that you can improve your stance,¡± he began. ¡°If you¡¯re looking to enter a combat stance, you should position your feet around shoulder width. Instead of being square to your opponent, bring your dominant foot back, so that you can load your hips on your swing.¡±


    The older djauul began to translate for the younger one, but he paused at one part of Heror¡¯s explanation. He stopped and looked at Heror.


    ¡°Domi-nant¡­?¡±


    ¡°Which hand do you use to swing? To write?¡± Heror asked, lifting his hands in sequence. ¡°Left, or right?¡±


    The older djauul seemed to understand. With a nod, he lifted his right hand, and then he turned to the younger djauul and gave a short explanation in Midan. The younger djauul gave a quick nod as well.


    ¡°In Kivvenean, we call the side where you write, swing, and do other tasks your ¡®dominant¡¯ side,¡± Heror explained. ¡°With the same side that you swing your sword, you should have that same foot back in your stance.¡±


    After a quick translation from the older one, the two djauuls tried out the new stance, and then the older djauul looked at Heror with confusion.


    ¡°Why domi-nant foot back while sword swings forward?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all about preparing your swing,¡± Heror replied. ¡°If your dominant foot is forward, you have no power to draw from on your swing. When you place your dominant foot behind you, you load energy and power for your swing. Your sword should be an extension of your hips as you channel that energy through. And each movement feeds into the next. Here ¨C get your dominant foot back, and try it for a minute.¡±


    As the two djauuls tested the new stance, Heror felt a short tinge of anxiousness. This was all terminology that Ucankacei had imparted on him a long time ago. He had been trying not to think about the old man. He turned back to his students, to banish those thoughts.


    ¡°Good, good,¡± Heror affirmed, before turning to the older djauul and gesturing to the younger. ¡°Tell him to take a swing at you with this new stance. You will have your sword up in a defensive position, and he¡¯ll be able to see how this new stance works.¡±


    The older djauul gave this instruction, and the younger one understood. Once they set up their stances, the younger one sent a powerful swing toward his counterpart. This time, he was able to channel more power from his back foot, rolling his hips through the swing. As he made contact, the older djauul let out a small grunt, losing his balance.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The younger djauul stood in shock for a moment, then gave off a gleeful smile and started to laugh. The older djauul rolled his shoulder and let out a chuckle. As they turned to Heror, their teacher nodded.


    ¡°Good,¡± he said with a smile.


    ¡°Good,¡± the younger djauul echoed, starting to understand this word. ¡°Good!¡±


    The djauuls listened intently now, and by late afternoon, they were sparring at almost full speed ¨C with renewed footwork, counters, and blocks ¨C and a few other Midan soldiers had come to watch. Each swing carried into the next, and with each new progression in the fight, the djauuls would adapt and reset. The younger one was small, but he was fast and quick, with wiry limbs, and his improvement was noticeable. He reminded Heror of someone.


    At one point, the two djauuls stopped sparring for a moment. And then the young one said something to the older one. The elder nodded with a smirk, then turned to Heror.


    ¡°He wants to spar with you.¡±


    Heror smiled. The older djauul stepped away, and Heror entered the fray, positioning himself across from the younger djauul. They entered their stances. The younger djauul raised his wooden sword, and so too did Heror. And then, the younger djauul eagerly made the first move.


    Heror held back, letting the young djauul practice his attacks. The djauul led with a simple outside strike, and as he transferred his weight, he followed it with a backhand swing from the left. Heror blocked with the forte and reset his feet, pulling his sword tight to limit attack angles. The djauul reset and came back with the same combo, and this time, Heror hit him with a swift counter on his second swing, collapsing the djauul¡¯s stance and forcing him to backtrack. Heror¡¯s feet were quick and controlled; the djauul tried to emulate.


    The young djauul¡¯s technique was still unrefined at times, but Heror let him take his time. And then, once the djauul had gotten enough swings in, Heror used one of Ucankacei¡¯s old moves ¨C the spin. He blocked a forehand swing with a horizontal blade, then carried that momentum into a sudden stab inside the djauul¡¯s abdomen. The djauul recoiled and pinched his arms in an attempt to slow the stab, and as he narrowed his stance, Heror whirled like a vortex, bringing his sword around. And before the djauul could react, the sword was frozen at his side ¨C unobstructed. His position was compromised.


    The move was second nature for Heror, but he heard a collective gasp behind him, and he turned to see a dozen Midan soldiers watching, eyes wide with awe. They had never seen swordsmanship like this. They began to cheer. The young djauul said something Heror couldn¡¯t understand in Midan, brimming with excitement, and then he held out his hand for Heror to clasp. Afterward, the older Midan did the same.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the older djauul managed, with a final nod.


    Heror smiled and nodded. As he did so, he looked beyond the older djauul ¨C toward the river ¨C and saw Adjaash standing at the edge of the forest. Her bow was slung over her shoulder. In one hand, she had a bucket full of fish, and in the other, she held a Midan leather sack, with what looked to be game meat inside. She had returned from the woods, and she too had stopped to watch Heror as he trained the Midans. He eyed her only for a moment, before she dropped her gaze and started back along the riverbank, walking into camp.


    The sun was starting to descend in the west, and so Heror said goodbye to the soldiers and left them to keep sparring, while he returned to his tent. He set his sparring sword on the floor and sat down on his bedroll, then laid down to rest. It wasn¡¯t more than fifteen minutes later, however, that he heard footsteps outside. As he sat up again, the tent flap opened, and he saw the silhouette of Adjaash standing there, reddening skylight seeping in behind her.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± she said simply.


    Confused, Heror stood and followed her outside, emerging back into the open air. Without a word, Adjaash started back to the east, toward the river. A few minutes passed, and they reached the riverbank. A few Midan soldiers were still sparring and drinking water near the stream¡¯s edge, trying and failing to replicate Heror¡¯s moves. The pair carried on past the soldiers and ventured south. Then, as the cliffs began to rise up from the riverbank to the west, Adjaash turned and followed the cliff¡¯s edge through the forest, as Heror walked beside her.


    For a long time, it was silent between them ¨C the only sounds being the calls of the birds above and the light wind brushing through the forest canopy. And then Adjaash spoke, her voice low.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for our first encounter. You startled me, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Heror eyed her, then looked ahead.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m sorry, too.¡±


    The wind rushed in again. Far above, a woodpecker¡¯s rattle.


    ¡°Thank you for training the soldiers,¡± Adjaash offered, quiet and reserved. ¡°Most of them grow up only knowing the bow and arrow here, so any sword experience is good for them.¡±


    Heror glanced at her again, then nodded.


    After a moment, he asked: ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°The fields,¡± Adjaash answered. ¡°There¡¯s something you need to do before we go into the desert.¡±


    The forest underbrush crunched beneath their boots and moccasins as they walked. In the leaves and vines below, a small snake slithered for shelter. Through the breaks in the canopy above, the red light of a young sunset flowed into the woods, mixing with the emerald light in a blaze of color.


    As they walked, Heror spied Adjaash from the edge of his sight. It was still silent between them, but she was not avoiding him. He could see that she was taking in the sights and sounds of the forest. At every call and cry of the wildlife, she turned her head, always on alert ¨C but at the same time, she was calm. As if relaxed by the sounds of life, and the sweet smell of the grass and the moss.


    They walked for around twenty minutes, and eventually, they came back to the treeline, north of where Heror had originally entered the forest a week ago. Ahead, he saw the steppes splay out once again ¨C miles and miles of tall, olive grass growing atop rolling hills and low-sloping mounds. In the distance to the north, the red rock flats gave way to the Great Desert ¨C but here in the south, the steppes dominated. And in the fields beyond, Heror saw dozens of wild horses, roaming and grazing in the evening light ¨C coats giving off a metallic shine in the light, of colors ranging from black and brown to cream and silver.


    After a moment, Heror turned to Adjaash, who met his glance and gestured out to the fields.


    ¡°When we go into the desert, we travel by horseback,¡± she explained. ¡°Most of our horses were taken south to the border a few days ago. You¡¯ll need to tame a horse for yourself so you can join us.¡±


    Now Heror surveyed the open fields, with light-littered blue eyes.


    ¡°These are Tekhal horses,¡± Adjaash continued. ¡°Fast and strong. Native to the steppe. They roam around these plains. They know of us, and they have some comfort around us, and they never stray too far from the northern fields here.¡±


    She paused again, orange sunlight radiating off her hair. After a moment, Heror did a double-take.


    ¡°You want me to tame one¡­ by myself? Right now? I¡¯ve never¡­¡±


    ¡°No, not right now,¡± Adjaash reassured him, gifting the smallest of smiles. ¡°You¡¯ll have to learn roping technique, and you¡¯ll have to use one of our other horses to keep up with your target. I¡¯ll help you when the time comes. Today¡­ you¡¯ll choose your horse.¡±


    ¡°How do I do that?¡±


    Adjaash gestured ahead to the fields, and again gave that small smile.


    ¡°Just go out there. Slow. You¡¯ll see.¡±


    Heror looked on, squinting as the orange sun hovered above the horizon. The first horses were around fifty yards out, and so he began his walk through the tall olive grass, leaving Adjaash at the treeline. Beneath his thin linen pants, he felt the soft brush of the stems. A warm wind from the west washed across his face. The grass whistled as the breeze traveled through it. Far above, there was the call of an eagle.


    There was a nervous lightness on his breath as Heror approached the herd, eyes focused beneath brown curls and bangs. He¡¯d rarely seen horses growing up. In fact, his chariot ride from Cephragon to Alaris Khi Thung had been his closest exposure.


    As he neared, he watched their mannerisms. Farther out in the fields, a group galloped, racing in the evening light. Nearer to the forest boundary, another dozen were spaced out sporadically. To the north, a couple danced and rubbed their necks against one another, and a pair of young broncos bucked and played. To the west, a cluster of stallions idled and grazed, heads low in the grass. Farther south, a mare and foal sauntered through the sun-kissed blades.


    Heror approached the cluster of stallions, now within ten yards of his first target. It was a male, with a tan coat and a dark brown mane. Heror stepped toward it. He turned to his side and held out his hand. His pulse picked up. He drew his hand closer, and the horse lifted and bobbed its head from the grass, ears fluttering. Heror slowed his steps now, and his hand rose ¨C when the horse suddenly jumped to its right and turned away from him. Startled, Heror jumped back as well. The animal gave him one last look of consideration, before letting out a gruff exhale and trotting away.


    Heror blinked and took another breath. These horses appeared to be docile creatures, and so he started to calm. He collected his thoughts, and then turned to his next target ¨C a chocolate brown horse with a long, thick black mane.


    This one was larger and already closeby to him, and so he inched toward it, delicately rolling his feet from heel to toe ¨C settling softly in the silted soil beneath the grass. He only got half as far this time, however, before the brown horse brought up its head and veered away from Heror with a low, dismissive snort, prancing to a plot of grass farther west.


    Heror let out a quick, isolated sigh ¨C but he didn¡¯t let this discourage him. In the open air and wind, he surveyed the area, and his eyes fell on a third target: A dark, almost black stallion of medium stature, with a silver-gray mane, a smoky mark above its nose, and a long forelock that almost drooped over its eyes. This horse was younger ¨C not long ago, it must¡¯ve been a juvenile ¨C and it was off on its own. It didn¡¯t take long for the horse to notice Heror, as he started his approach.


    Heror was ten yards out now. He paused when the creature looked his way, but neither of them were scared off. The young man took another step, careful and slow. The horse stared with focused, curious, anxious eyes. Its ears perked; otherwise, it didn¡¯t move a muscle.


    Another step ¨C softly. And another. He was almost within arm¡¯s reach now, and he started to lift his right hand. The young stallion jolted ever so slightly to the left, its posture stiff and tense. Heror paused again, then took a deep breath and started his next step. Midway through, the horse suddenly reared up and kicked its front hooves, neighing in an impulsive outburst.


    The sudden action frightened Heror, and he took a quick step back ¨C but to his surprise, the horse did not run away. It fell back to its feet and matched Heror¡¯s step back ¨C but stood its ground and kept its focus on him.


    One last time, Heror recollected himself. He took another step ¨C finally closing the gap between them. Slow and cautious, he reached out and placed his hand on the bridge of the black stallion¡¯s nose. The horse stared, but did not flinch or recoil. After the first pat, Heror ran his hand down its muzzle, petting it twice ¨C and then for a brief, timeless moment, he left his hand on the horse.


    The dark horse let the hand rest. Seconds felt as minutes. And then, it whisked away with a quick and light murmur, galloping into the fields.


    Heror looked on as the stallion shrunk in the distance, joining the rest of the herd ¨C and a small smile found its way onto his face. The sun now touched the western horizon, droplets of amber light pooling over the hills. He let his eyes linger a moment longer, and then he turned and started back toward the treeline. Adjaash was waiting for him when he returned. He gave her a smile.


    ¡°I think I found him.¡±

 17. Adjaash (Part Two)

    Heror slept better that night, and the next day was a clear day.


    He ate breakfast early, and at the pavilion, Adjaash was waiting for him. She made plans to take him back to the treeline once she was done gathering food and supplies in the forest. Heror sparred with the Midan soldiers again, teaching them the ways of sword fighting. In return, they taught him Midan words, which he regrettably forgot. When Adjaash returned to camp in the late afternoon, Heror went with her to the steppe. Again, he walked out into the fields and found the young black horse. And again, the horse stayed put when he approached, and allowed him to touch it. On the third day, Heror brought an apple to feed it. On the fourth, he spoke to it, and the horse came to greet him as he walked out.


    On the fifth day, white and gray clouds rolled through in the late afternoon, striping a sky of blue and orange. And on this day, Heror and Adjaash stopped at the treeline, merely observing the roaming herds. They sat at the forest¡¯s edge ¨C Adjaash with her back settled against a tree trunk, and Heror sitting forward, arms crossed on his knees.


    ¡°What will you name him?¡± Adjaash asked, her long braid spilling over her shoulder with waves of color.


    Heror glanced at the girl, to his left. He thought for a moment, biting his lip, then let out a short chuckle and shook his head.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t thought about it yet.¡±


    Adjaash pondered for a moment; her eyes lifted to the canopy edge, where green leaves caught rays of red and gold sun.


    ¡°You should name him Shaadur,¡± she told him. ¡°It means ¡®storm.¡¯¡±


    ¡°¡®Shaadur,¡¯¡± Heror echoed, letting the name roll off his tongue. He liked it.


    As it had each evening before, the wind raced from the open fields and intermingled with the leaves above. A steady hum resonated, swelling and sinking with the breeze.


    ¡°What¡¯s your horse¡¯s name?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Ashanji,¡± Adjaash replied. ¡°It means ¡®midnight¡¯ in my home language.¡±


    ¡°Home language?¡± Heror extracted. ¡°You¡¯re not from Mide?¡±


    There was a pause. Heror had only met one ashen elf before ¨C Braylyn. And Braylyn hailed from the Kingdom of Charondor.


    ¡°Are you from Charondor?¡± Heror guessed.


    Adjaash at first said nothing; it seemed from her expression that she regretted bringing about this topic. She opened her mouth and started to speak¡­


    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m from¡­¡±


    But then she trailed off. Her throat clenched, and then she began fiddling with something strung around her neck by string and thread. As Heror looked closely, he saw that it was a necklace of some kind. He¡¯d seen similar necklaces on the docks in Cephragon, worn by sailors. It was a shark tooth necklace, with thick and pointed denticles spaced evenly on both sides of the string. These teeth were darker and larger than the ones Heror remembered seeing in Cephragon, however ¨C and at the bottom of the necklace, a small red-orange gemstone sat locked in an intricate rose gold metal casing, shaped like a sphere of branches and leaves.


    Adjaash fiddled with this necklace for a moment longer. And then she blatantly deflected, trying to lighten her tone.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    Heror was naturally reluctant to answer, but Adjaash seemed curious. He took a deep breath and reached inside his tunic, retrieving his kinship cloth. He unrolled the cloth, and his eyes fell on the wolf ¨C stitched together by threads of gray and white.


    ¡°I grew up in Ardys,¡± Heror answered simply.


    ¡°What¡¯s it like there?¡±


    Heror frowned and cleared his throat. The questions were testing him.


    ¡°I lived by the ocean,¡± he reflected, with a short pause. ¡°The water was always nice.¡±


    He stopped ¨C he¡¯d shared all the memories he wished to share ¨C and then his eyes sank to the ground.


    ¡°I only grew up there, though. I was left there as a child, with this Pylanthean cloth. I¡­¡±


    He paused. He didn¡¯t want to reveal his trauma, but she was waiting for an answer.


    ¡°I never met my parents.¡±


    As soon as he said it, he regretted saying it, and so he decided he was done talking. He rolled up the kinship cloth and slid it back inside his tunic, then lifted his gaze and watched as a sliver of sun peered through shaded clouds in the west. He was about to lose himself in this sight, when Adjaash spoke.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Heror looked at her, and for a moment, their eyes met. Her empathy took him by surprise ¨C and then he looked away and shook his head again.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he told her. ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll find them one day.¡±


    But this conversation took Heror¡¯s mind away and sent it adrift. His eyes stared ahead ¨C at everything and nothing all at once ¨C until Adjaash spoke again.


    ¡°I¡¯m from a place called Torwa,¡± she shared.


    Heror glanced at her, his eyes prodding for more. He¡¯d never heard of Torwa before. This, Adjaash could recognize.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a part of Kivveneth,¡± she expanded. ¡°It¡¯s a place with mountains and jungle far to the southeast, across the Nebesaea ¨C the ocean you call the Publaic.¡±


    Heror looked at her for a moment, feeling awe simply at the existence of this place. But as he watched her eyes, he did not see the wonder he felt. He saw a different emotion.


    ¡°How did you end up here?¡± he inquired.


    Adjaash took a breath ¨C a hardened edge trapped inside her gaze. In the wind, the light danced ever so subtly inside her amber irises ¨C like the billowing of a gale.


    ¡°I was young, and we were attacked,¡± she divulged. ¡°I was captured and taken on a ship, as a prisoner. I escaped on a wooden lifeboat. Current took me here.¡±


    Heror nodded, as a fascination began to brew. Most people he knew from Ardys would have credited the Gods for leading them along such a path. But for Adjaash, it was the current ¨C the world itself. He didn¡¯t know what she believed, but he appreciated what appeared to be the absence of blind faith or pride.


    ¡°What led you to join up with the Midans?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°They pay me to find things,¡± Adjaash said simply, fiddling with a twine of grass in her hands.


    ¡°That¡¯s where it starts and ends for you?¡±


    Now Adjaash looked at Heror, giving him a smirk that was hard to read.


    ¡°What does it matter to you?¡± she quipped, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Heror replied. ¡°Now that you don¡¯t have a dagger to my neck, I¡¯m curious.¡±


    Adjaash let out a short laugh, then dropped the torn piece of grass and plucked another.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s where it starts and ends for me.¡±


    It was quiet for a spell, and then Adjaash adjusted her seating so she was facing Heror. Her back still against the tree, she shot a teasing smirk his way, as the ends of her hair flitted with each gust.


    ¡°And what about you?¡± she chimed. ¡°Did you come here to join a revolution? Fight the ¡®good fight?¡¯¡±


    Heror could sense light mocking in her voice. His first instinct was to feel defensive; in Ardys, he¡¯d never been comfortable laughing at himself. But something in her tone caused him to brush away these feelings and smile small.


    ¡°Not at first,¡± he answered. ¡°But now that I¡¯m here, and now that I¡¯ve been here¡­ it does feel good to fight for something that matters.¡±


    He paused, then eyed the girl.


    ¡°Is that naive?¡±


    Adjaash kept her teasing grin, and there was a glint in her eyes as she glanced at Heror. She twisted another blade of grass within her fingers, letting its fibers flutter to the ground.


    ¡°Only a little.¡±


    At dusk, the two returned to camp. Night fell. Morning came, and the next day, Heror and Adjaash met at the pavilion beneath a clear sky. They ate breakfast ¨C eggs, fish, and a fermented milk treat the Midans called yugurt ¨C and then Adjaash led Heror to the posts at the edge of the camp, where the remaining horses were leashed by ropes.


    Adjaash first approached her horse, situated at the end ¨C a jet black Tekhal mare with a long mane and lean legs. The young woman held out a carrot, which her horse gladly accepted, and then she patted the animal on its side.


    ¡°Pai koro, Ashanji,¡± she said in a hushed tone. ¡°Pai.¡±


    Now Adjaash turned and walked to the left of her horse, where a bundle of rope sat coiled on the ground. She picked up one band of rope and held it out for Heror to take. Heror grasped it in his right hand, feeling the grooves of cotton and hemp strands beneath his fingers.


    ¡°Horses are social animals,¡± Adjaash explained. ¡°You¡¯ve already established a bond with yours, so he shouldn¡¯t struggle for too long. But this is for guiding him back to the camp. I will show you how to tie the knot.¡±


    While Heror held one end of the rope, Adjaash uncoiled and loosened the slack, until she had the opposite end of the rope in her hands. She then made a small loop and overlapped, tightening a wide knot on her side.


    ¡°We each make an overhand knot on one side,¡± she elaborated. ¡°Make a loop with your end and then pass the remaining slack through it.¡±


    Heror did as he was told, and soon, he had a knotted hoop on his side of the rope. Adjaash nodded, then dropped her end of the rope to the ground.


    ¡°Now pull your knot through the opposite loop that I made on my side,¡± she went on. ¡°Bring the length of the rope through, and tighten it to finish. And then you¡¯ll have the proper knot.¡±


    Heror grabbed the free end on the opposite side of the rope, and fed the cord through the loop. Once his knot was through, he pulled on both sides and tightened the knot until the opening closed, leaving a strong knot ahead of an encircled opening.


    ¡°Good,¡± Adjaash remarked. ¡°Keep that here. You won¡¯t need it today, but you¡¯ll want to keep track of it. Now¡­ onto the next task.¡±


    After Heror coiled up the knotted rope and set it down, Adjaash led him past her horse again, to the next horse down ¨C another mare of cream color, with a sandy blonde mane.


    ¡°Nariyu ¨C one of the soldiers in our search party ¨C offered to let you borrow his horse over the next few days. Her name is Kauta. She¡¯s nice ¨C don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Heror looked at the horse, then at Adjaash ¨C then back at the horse.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never mounted a horse before,¡± he told the girl, apprehension in his voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s easy. Besides ¨C it¡¯ll only be me who sees you if you fall off.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°That¡¯s one too many people.¡±


    Adjaash smirked.


    ¡°You can relax for a minute,¡± she reassured him. ¡°There are a few checks we have to make before we ride out. First¡­¡±


    She walked around to the horse¡¯s right side, and grabbed a leather strap that looped underneath the horse¡¯s midsection ¨C connected to the leather and hide saddle that sat on the horse¡¯s back.


    ¡°¡­ you¡¯ll want to check the girth here to make sure it¡¯s tightened,¡± she went on. ¡°This is what keeps the saddle on your horse. Use your fingers to tuck underneath the girth and make sure there¡¯s no loose space.¡±


    She did the motion quickly, and then stepped back so Heror could do the task himself. With his left hand, he reached out and slid his fingers between the leather girth and the horse¡¯s abdomen. He could only get his fingers to the first knuckle, before the space was gone.


    ¡°Seems tight enough,¡± he confirmed.


    ¡°Good,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°Now, make sure the stirrups are in the right spot.¡±


    She tugged at a leather strap hanging down the left side of the horse, which mirrored on the right side. At the bottom of the strap was the stirrup. The Midan stirrups were fashioned from old animal bone, contrasting from Ardysan leather ¨C foot-width loops with flat bottoms, shaved down along the edges.


    ¡°The straps attached to the stirrups can be stretched out a bit, which is by design,¡± the girl went on. ¡°You¡¯ll want the stirrup to be at its lowest point as you start the mounting process. Now come this way.¡±


    Adjaash went back to her horse Ashanji, and Heror followed. Once she reached her horse, Adjaash turned and glanced at Heror.


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you how to mount. Watch what I do, and then you¡¯ll get a chance to try it for yourself.¡±


    Now she turned back to her horse. With her left hand, she grabbed a longer dark leather cord that hung loosely from the horse¡¯s headpiece, connected to the bridle on either side of the horse¡¯s hackamore.


    ¡°These are the reins. As you get better and more comfortable with horse riding, you¡¯ll use these to steer and pace. For mounting, I grab both sides of the reins and clasp them together, and I grab a small clump of the horse¡¯s mane as well, for more support. Don¡¯t worry ¨C it doesn¡¯t hurt them. Then¡­¡±


    Now that she had the reins and a tuft of horsehair within her fist, she stretched her left leg up and bent it at the knee, fitting her foot carefully into the stirrup.


    ¡°Step up into the stirrup with your left foot, going no further than the ball of your foot¡­ and then¡­¡±


    Once her foot was stable, she vaulted her right leg over the horse and sat firmly on the saddle. Then, she slid her right foot into the other stirrup, and spread the reins in each hand, loosely gripping her thumbs overtop. She brushed her hair back over her shoulder and gave Heror a smile.


    ¡°That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±


    ¡°You see, just by saying that, you¡¯re setting me up for failure,¡± Heror sighed.


    ¡°Maybe that was intentional,¡± Adjaash chimed with a shoulder shrug, before sliding off her horse.


    Now Heror turned to the horse Kauta. He took a deep breath and sought out the stirrup with his fingers. Once he had it, he stretched the strap downward to lower it. Then he grabbed the reins and a tuft of horsehair, and lifted his left foot.


    He wasn¡¯t quite as flexible as Adjaash, and so for a moment, he struggled to find his balance. Soon enough, he was able to lodge his foot onto the stirrup by the toe. But with too much haste, he tried to hoist himself up. His toe slipped and he lost his leverage. Though he did not fall at first, the horse was startled by this sudden motion, and she jumped and jolted ahead. Heror¡¯s toe lost its grip inside the stirrup, and his stomach lurched as he teetered and fell to the ground with a ¡°whoaa!¡±, thumping his back against the dirt with a pained grunt.


    Kauta stopped running as soon as she started and stared back at Heror ¨C but was just as soon startled again when Adjaash snorted and erupted into laughter. Heror groaned and sat up, while Adjaash tried to catch her breath between light chortles. Heror winced at first, but managed a conceding smirk.


    ¡°Glad you enjoyed that,¡± he grumbled, brushing himself off.


    ¡°Very much so¡­¡± Adjaash managed through exhales, slurring: ¡°I didn¡¯t expect it to happen so quickly!¡±


    Heror got back on his feet, and after a few more exhales, Adjaash ¨C with a coy grin still on her face ¨C grabbed Kauta¡¯s reins and led the mare back to her post. She gave the horse a calming pat, then turned back to Heror.


    ¡°Make sure it¡¯s the ball of your foot,¡± she advised. ¡°Not the toe. The toe and the heel don¡¯t give you enough stability. Your foot has to be balanced.¡±


    Now Adjaash stepped back and allowed Heror another attempt. He started off as he had before ¨C clasping the reins and a tuft of horsehair within his grasp ¨C and then he lifted off and set his left foot inside the stirrup. The motion felt more natural to him now, and as soon as his foot landed, he centered it and found balance. Then, after a short breath, he vaulted over the same way Adjaash had earlier, and sat firmly on the saddle, sliding his right foot into the opposite stirrup. As he settled in, he felt the horse¡¯s heavy breaths underneath him; it was a strange feeling.


    ¡°Good!¡± Adjaash exclaimed.


    ¡°What do I do now?¡± Heror asked dryly, confused as he held out his hands.


    ¡°Now you set your grip on the reins,¡± Adjaash replied, walking toward him again. ¡°Even the reins out between your hands, and hold them in a loose fisthold, with your thumbs overtop ¨C like this.¡±


    She mimicked a grip for Heror to emulate, and now Heror did as she instructed. He evened the reins out between his hands so there was enough slack on either side, and then he adjusted his hand positioning, before securing his grip.


    ¡°A little too tight,¡± Adjaash advised. ¡°Loosen your hands a bit.¡±


    Adjaash reached up and guided Heror¡¯s hands outward. Heror relaxed his fingers just a touch. Adjaash nodded with a small smile and lowered her hands again.


    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡±


    Now Adjaash loosed the rope that fastened Kauta to the post. Then she turned away from Heror and Kauta and returned to her horse Ashanji. Quickly, with muscle memory, she mounted her horse ¨C vaulting over the barrel of the equine and setting her feet. Then she readied the reins. Once she was situated, she looked at Heror.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d get this far,¡± she quipped. ¡°Off to a good start.¡±


    ¡°Ha-ha,¡± Heror grumbled sarcastically, before asking: ¡°What now?¡±


    Adjaash grinned.


    ¡°Now we ride,¡± she answered. ¡°The reins are for steering. When you want to go right or left, pull the reins outward in that direction. A longer pull means a sharper, more abrupt turn. A weaker pull means a more gradual turn. Keep your elbows tucked, and don¡¯t pull back ¨C only to the side. Pulling back is for when you need to stop your horse. Now, to start walking, it¡¯s as simple as this: Gently squeeze the horse¡¯s midsection with your feet.¡±


    With her moccasins, Adjaash hugged Ashanji¡¯s rib cage ever so subtly, and with a huff, the black horse began a slow walk. Heror looked on as Adjaash¡¯s horse started toward the riverbank, and he tried for himself. With his light boots inside the stirrup, he squeezed Kauta¡¯s midsection. Suddenly, he was on the move, too.


    At first, Heror was startled by the abrupt motion ¨C but he kept himself calm, knowing Kauta was skittish. He held the reins at the ready, and the horse followed Adjaash and Ashanji to the riverbank, walking the length of the post line. As they reached the gravel running beside the stream, Adjaash softly pulled her reins to the right, and her horse made a slight right turn. Heror watched as she did and followed suit, and soon, they were both traveling along the riverbank on horseback, toward the forest to the south.


    Once they passed the forest line, Adjaash turned to the west. Heror followed, entering the thick of the trees. Cumulus clouds had since rolled in, and in the shade of the forest and overcast, the birds and crickets cooed and chirped. At first, the feeling of the horse¡¯s haunches oscillating beneath him had unnerved Heror, but he was growing comfortable with it. And in the forest air, with the sounds of nature to calm him, he felt a sense of bliss riding atop the horse that he hadn¡¯t felt in a long while.


    They ventured through the forest and to the open steppes and plains in the west. There, Adjaash taught Heror how to direct his horse to turn, trot, and eventually gallop. Every now and then, Heror would pull the reins back too far while attempting to change directions, staggering his horse¡¯s movements. But as he repeated the motions, he steadily learned how to steer and pace.


    The next day, they returned to the fields by late morning. They rode the length of the forest line, drifting through sporadic herds of gazelle. The day after that, they went back again. Three days later, they raced to the forest¡¯s edge. Adjaash won, but Heror made it close. The next two days Adjaash spent teaching Heror roping technique.


    Soon ¨C roughly a week later ¨C it was time.


    It was another clear day. Adjaash and Heror rode out to the treeline and surveyed the steppes. Adjaash brought her own rope, to serve as backup in case Heror couldn¡¯t tame the horse himself ¨C but she would let him have the first try. They waited until sunset, when the herds of wild horses grazed. And then Heror searched for his horse Shaadur. It didn¡¯t take long for him to spot the young horse¡¯s smoky coat and silver-gray mane, as it pranced around with a foal in the evening sunlight.


    Once he saw his horse, Heror rode out into the fields with Kauta. He tucked the rope¡¯s slack underneath his left elbow like Adjaash had taught him. And with his right, he choked the bottom of the lasso loop, keeping his wrist loose.


    As he neared Shaadur, the young horse noticed him. It turned to face him, ears perked and eyes wide, while the foal left to find its mother. Heror led Kauta toward the young horse in a steady trot, then sped up to a canter with a quick nudge of his shins.


    At this, Shaadur was prompted to run. The young horse let out a quick neigh and whirled around to the south, whisking through the olive grass. Heror gave chase, and with another light kick of his heels, Kauta reached a hastened gallop.


    Hooves clopping through the soil and grass, the two horses seared through the steppes at high speeds ¨C Heror leaning forward as he pressed on. Shaadur was fast, but Kauta was, too ¨C and after a short straight-line chase, Shaadur made a sharp left turn, then doubled back to the north. Heror pulled left, and Kauta mirrored the young horse¡¯s turn, right on its heels. Now they were close to the treeline again, closing back in on Adjaash¡¯s position ¨C and Heror had an opportunity.


    As the trees whizzed by to his right, Heror brought up the rope with his right arm and started to widen the loop with his wrist. Shaadur was straight ahead, and Heror let the rope fly, flicking it in a flash. The rope fluttered in the air and shot past Shaadur, and almost came down over his ears ¨C but the young horse was crafty and quick to react, and he ducked his head and jolted to the left, side-stepping the lasso. The rope brushed by his muzzle and fell harmlessly into the grass.


    Heror let out a small curse and tried to reel the rope back in, but his grip on the reins weakened, and Kauta slowed and came to a stop. Feeling a low panic, Heror dragged the rope back with forceful tugs ¨C but the horse Shaadur was starting to pull away. Adjaash saw that Heror was struggling, and now she entered the chase.


    As Shaadur approached her position ¨C not noticing her in the forest brush ¨C Adjaash suddenly rode out with Ashanji, startling the young horse and flushing him back out into the fields. She glanced back down the treeline and shouted out to Heror.


    ¡°When you¡¯re ready!!¡± She yelled, voice carrying in the breeze.


    As Adjaash raced after Shaadur, Heror nodded and calmed himself with a deep breath, then turned his attention back to the rope. He fixed his grip and coiled the rope at a faster pace, until he had most of the slack underneath his right arm. Now he fastened his grip on the reins again and made sure his feet were firmly planted inside the stirrups. Then, at last, he squeezed Kauta¡¯s ribcage with his shins and flicked the reins.


    ¡°Yagh!¡±


    Now Kauta started off again. Heror gave her a couple more nudges to get back up to speed ¨C and soon, he was riding into the plains once more. He could see Adjaash and Ashanji in the distance, underneath the amber light of the sun, as Shaadur swam through the low-sloping waves of olive grass at lightning speed. This horse was fast, and it had stamina ¨C but Heror had an idea.


    ¡°Adjaash!¡± he shouted as he slowly closed the gap. ¡°Get outside him!¡±


    Adjaash heard his command in the distance behind her, and she nodded to herself with a grin. Hot on the horse¡¯s heels, she urged Ashanji to reach her top speed, and then she skewed the rein to the right just a touch. The horse Shaadur was fast, but Ashanji was faster, and Adjaash was able to get up alongside him and flank him on the right. Once the young horse noticed, he let out a light whinny and turned back to the left. As he turned, however, he saw Heror and Kauta closing in from that direction.


    Now Shaadur bolted back to the west ¨C but Heror and Adjaash were close in pursuit on their horses, side by side. All three at full speed, they dashed through the fields, olive grass brushing against their feet as they went on, wind and air flowing across their faces, as if in a clear-skied storm.


    ¡°First shot is yours!¡± Adjaash exclaimed to Heror. ¡°Take the lead!¡±


    Now Adjaash peeled off and got behind the line, and Heror surged ahead on the back of his horse ¨C pulse hastened by the rhythm of horse hooves, hair dancing in the breeze. This time, he hugged Kauta with his ankles and rose ever so slightly off of the saddle to get more leverage with his toss, awash in the rushing of the wind. Shaadur was directly ahead, pressing forward in a mindless gallop ¨C but he was starting to slow just enough for Heror to get within range.


    Heror came into a steady focus. He brought the rope up again in his right hand, and started to widen the loop with his wrist. And in one rapid, crisp motion, he sent the rope aloft. Its pace was quicker this time, and its placement more precise. And just as Shaadur saw the golden straw swooping in over his head and started to attempt an escape, Heror suddenly pulled back on the rope.


    All at once, the rope constricted back and rolled past Shaadur¡¯s head. It tightened around his chest, just before his forelegs. Shaadur tried to divert left to break free, but the rope was fastened now, and he bucked in a fleeting gesture while Heror kept his grip strong. After a short moment of resistance, Shaadur slowed from a gallop to a canter, and from a canter to a trot. And then he stopped to catch his breath, inside the grasp of Heror¡¯s rope.


    The air calmed as Heror too slowed to a halt, and soon enough, Adjaash rode up alongside him. And they led the horse Shaadur back to camp, as the sun set at their backs.

 18. Final Preparations

    The days went on. The search party began preparations for its next journey out into the great desert. The last days of Rimvalen passed, and within a week and a half, the warm winds of Kynvalen ¨C early summer ¨C washed over the camp. To the south, in the lush forest, the birds and crickets sang their circadian rhythms, as clouds and rains and thunderheads came north and east off the distant mountains, through the steppes. But to the north, the air was dry. Dryer than before.


    During the days, Heror would spar with and train the Midan soldiers. Through the day and into the evening, he would tend to his horse Shaadur, who slowly grew more comfortable inside the camp. He outfitted Shaadur with riding equipment. He would feed him, give him water, and ride out in the fields, where the horse could roam and be free again. In those moments, Heror felt just as free.


    But in the mornings, Heror would always make a trip down the riverbank, to join Adjaash in the forest and help her gather supplies. She watched for him now ¨C quietly, surreptitiously. Every now and then ¨C kneeling on the riverbank to prepare the food for storage and preservation ¨C she would steal a glance toward the bend in the river to the north. Eventually, Heror would appear, and she would smile to herself.


    While Adjaash stocked up on meat to dry and ready for future use, she tasked Heror with finding wild blackberries in the forest ¨C meant for faster preparation and consumption. She also sent him off to find mulberry leaves, but this was for another purpose: Feeding silkworm farms back at the camp, to help with the harvesting of silk.


    When they were finished, Heror and Adjaash would return to camp. Adjaash would drop off the hunting meats at the mess tent, where the meat was then put through the preservation process. The Midans used a strange, sour-smelling liquid called vynegar ¨C processed from figs ¨C to preserve the meat in clay jars that were then sealed by crimped cloth and stored away. They already had dozens of jars ready for the journey ahead ¨C first preserved months ago. Heror admired how self-sufficient they were, through their knowledge of the land.


    Heror would drop off mulberry leaves at the silkworm farm tent ¨C situated near the western end of the camp ¨C and he¡¯d leave with harvested silk stored in soft fabric rolls. He then took this harvested silk, and the berries he¡¯d gathered, and spread it evenly among the leather packs set aside for the search party.


    The search party was six strong ¨C Adjaash, Heror, Brocus Elius, and three other Midan djauul soldiers. And on the 2nd of Kynvalen, they were nearly ready to set off.


    That night ¨C a clear and quiet night ¨C Raldu called the party to the tall tent. They sat around the wooden council table ¨C spaced evenly around the perimeter, with Raldu at the head of the table. At the table¡¯s center, a large parchment map sat unrolled. It was similar in texture and style to the one Heror had been given ¨C but it was a map of northern Mide, which stretched out into the Pylanthean desert. There was a distance scale at the bottom, and several ink markers in the blank wastes beyond.


    ¡°Thank you all for coming, and for your diligent work in preparing for this task,¡± Raldu said once they were all seated. ¡°To reiterate: Our target for this expedition is one of the central temples we¡¯ve identified in the desert, around 80 miles to the north-northwest of camp. Adjaash knows the way, and she will lead the party to the temple. From what we can tell, its entrance is a domed rotunda supported by columns, and it likely stretches farther under the sand. We were only able to see it from a distance on the last journey. This time, you¡¯ll get in close. With Brocus taking the lead, you¡¯ll cross-analyze whatever markings and symbols you can find. If the glyphs match what Brocus has associated with the Sword through his research, press on and search for it. If the temple appears to bear no association, don¡¯t idle there. Come back and save your resources.¡±


    Now Raldu turned his head and looked to Brocus.


    ¡°Brocus, can you tell the others what they should be searching for?¡±


    Brocus nodded. His green tunic catching the light, he lifted a small satchel from his side with gloveless hands, unfurling a leather strap from his shoulder. He set the satchel on the table, then removed a small piece of rolled parchment. He stood from his chair and laid the parchment out flat on the table, revealing a few select symbols. Then he cleared his throat and began to speak.


    ¡°The ancient Pylantheans more often spoke with symbols than words on their palace walls. But there is one ancient letter cluster to be on the lookout for: Sphhrrhhvx. Notice how the ¡®u¡¯ here is more akin to a ¡®v¡¯ in our modern Kivvenean dialect. This is how the ancients wrote these words. Also note the relative lack of vowels. Such sounds were more implied by adjacent letters in ancient times, and not as pronounced. This word ¨C Sphhrrhhvx ¨C is the name of the Sword in ancient tongue: Pronounced ¡®Sfar-hox¡¯. The double letters signify its distinguished, sacred nature. Should we find any texts to peruse, on the walls or elsewhere, this word should be easily identifiable if it¡¯s present. And associated texts may help pinpoint the Sword¡¯s location, or signal its presence at the temple.¡±


    Now Brocus brought his finger to the parchment.. Under the golden keatuu rune lights, Brocus traced his finger down to another cluster of symbols. One vaguely resembled a sword, but seemed to bend slightly at the end, as if a claw. Another one, Heror recognized from Ardys: The flowering Sun, the symbol of the divines.


    ¡°These are the other symbols I¡¯ve found to be most associated with the Sword in ancient texts. Obviously, the flowering Sun is first. The second one may be the Sword itself, or it may be a religious recollection. In stories of Sphhrrhhvx passed down, it¡¯s taken on another colloquialized name ¨C ¡®Wingtooth¡¯ ¨C which may derive from this. But this is the symbol I¡¯ve most often seen paired with the Sword itself ¨C Sphhrrhhvx ¨C in texts. The last four symbols also adjoin the Sword at times, and they appear to be rough visual representations of animals and nature. The first appears to be a wolf. The second, a bear. The third could be either an eagle or a phoenix. If an eagle, it could be a reference to the God of the Elements ¨C Shenithide ¨C or it could be a reference to the legend of Hiirvanos, where the warrior who last used the Sword is at times labeled himself as an eagle. The final symbol is one that appears in both ancient Pylanthean and Ghiovani culture: The Kinat Kyryt ¨C the Spring Tree.¡±


    ¡°What is the significance of the symbols in relation to the Sword?¡± one of the Midan djauuls asked, voice heavy with an accent.


    ¡°The texts don¡¯t say it overtly,¡± Brocus admitted. ¡°But we know nature and spirituality were two central parts of ancient Pylanthean culture, seeing that they came from Cyngoth and lived off the harsh lands. The bear could be a representation of strength ¨C a quality the Pylantheans valued intrinsically. The Spring Tree is a reference to the Springs of Bor, but I don¡¯t see the connection to the Sword in that case, nor do I imagine it will be of use in the desert. The wolf has definite relevance, however. That is the animal totem of Sparhh, the Courage God, in Pylanthean lore, so it stands to reason that there could be a connection to Sphhrrhhvx.¡±


    Heror stifled a breath. He had been gazing at the wolf on his Pylanthean kinship cloth ever since he was a boy. And only now did he know its meaning.


    ¡°Those are my most important findings,¡± Brocus concluded. ¡°If anything else comes to light as potentially relevant, we can communicate on location.¡±


    Brocus started to roll up the parchment again, and once rolled, he slid it inside his satchel and sat back down. Now Raldu looked to Adjaash, who sat to Heror¡¯s right.


    ¡°So we know what we¡¯re looking for,¡± Raldu reaffirmed. ¡°Adjaash, are all of the packs well stocked?¡±


    ¡°All six packs are fully stocked,¡± Adjaash confirmed. ¡°Each person has four full canteens of water, two jars of dried meats, and a jar each of berries, corn, and chopped carrots and apples for the horses. Heror also helped me gather silk, which we can use for any injuries, either to us or the horses. We also have linen rolls for the horses to rest on, and to sleep on overnight, and I¡¯ve given Nariyu the task of carrying supplies for making torches. For food and water, I¡¯d say we have enough for three days worth ¨C at least a full day more than the time we¡¯ll be away.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Raldu said with a nod. ¡°Always advisable to be over-prepared.¡±


    The tent went silent. Raldu¡¯s eyes carried to each side of the room. There was a sense of contentment from the group, and so Raldu last came to Heror, meeting the young man¡¯s glance.


    ¡°The others here have braved the desert before, so I don¡¯t need to tell them. But Heror¡­ you must be careful out there. The heat is pummeling in the daylight, and the winds are cold at night. Adapt when the situation demands it. Keep yourself fed and hydrated. Ease up on the reins when you can; the sinking sand can be taxing for horses. And above all¡­¡±


    Now Raldu looked about the length of the table again. His sharp eyes went both ways ¨C piercing through the shadow like daggers ¨C so that all could see his darkened expression.


    ¡°¡­ Keep your eyes on the horizon, and your ears to the ground.¡±


    He paused. A small gust of wind gently rocked the tent walls.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ve addressed everything,¡± Raldu continued. ¡°Are there any questions?¡±


    Another wave of silence. Raldu nodded.


    ¡°Take tonight and tomorrow to rest,¡± he told the group. ¡°The day after tomorrow, you¡¯ll set off.¡±


    Night came and went, and morning came again. The next day was clear and windful, with a rich blue sky dotted by roaming cumulus tufts. Heror went to the mess hall and ate breakfast. While he sat, he saw two riders he didn¡¯t recognize make their way through camp, from the direction of the river. He assumed they¡¯d come from the south. They leashed their horses on posts, then walked in the direction of the tall tent and disappeared. Heror looked on until they did.


    He finished breakfast and made his way back to the river. Along the way, he saw one of the riders in the search party inside his tent ¨C flap open ¨C as he sat with his legs crossed and his head bowed, praying quietly on an ornate rug. Heror gave him only a silent glance before carrying on.


    When he reached the riverbank, he started south and ventured into the woods. He pressed on until he reached the rightward bend in the river, and then he slowed up. Carefully, he leaned out from behind the trees and peered across the stream ¨C but he did not see Adjaash.


    Heror glanced to his left, then lifted his narrowed eyes and listened. He heard only the hum of the trees in the rising wind, and the calls of birds above. But as he started to sidestep past the tree, he heard a thump in the dirt behind him. As he turned, he saw that Adjaash had dropped down from a tree, and she lunged, flaring out her elbow. She pushed him up against the trunk and let out a short, triumphant laugh.


    ¡°Got you,¡± she muttered. ¡°Again.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that get old?¡± Heror sighed.


    ¡°No,¡± Adjaash chimed with a shrug. ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡±


    They traversed the woods, trudging through leaves and twigs and loose soil, and soon, they came back to the open fields and steppes at the forest¡¯s western edge. There they remained, as the sun climbed from the east to its peak in the sky, and prepared for its later descent.


    By the fields of the steppe, Heror always felt a sense of ease and pure calm ¨C something that was almost completely unfamiliar to him. If he couldn¡¯t see the sun rise and set, he could almost imagine time being still here. The tall, loose grasses swelled and swayed in the constant breeze. In the open flats and hills beyond, wild horses and gazelle and buffalo roamed in herds and packs, as they did the day before, and as they had done for perhaps thousands of years. Above, the clouds drifted eastward in a thoughtless, eternal flow, riding the currents above with bliss and without care. Every now and then, they¡¯d pass in front of the sun in the high western sky, but the warmth and light always came back ¨C the forest edge awash.


    Through it all, the sun¡¯s warmth and light swathed over his face, as if the last of a beach-bound wave ¨C and the winds tickled his ears and fiddled with his hair. And as he sat forward, with his arms around his knees on the western bank of the forest, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The feeling was unfamiliar ¨C and so he cherished it that much more.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful out here,¡± he noted at one point, in the late afternoon.


    From his left ¨C resting against a tree ¨C Adjaash eyed him for a moment before nodding. For a moment more, they sat in quiet contentment, listening to the breeze and the birds ¨C until Adjaash suddenly seemed to have a recollection. She jumped to her feet and started to turn away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± she said quickly. ¡°You¡¯ll like this.¡±


    Heror watched after her as she disappeared in the forest. She was gone for a time ¨C perhaps almost ten minutes ¨C but soon, she came back with a narrow, pale golden-brown reed in her hand, around four feet long.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s called ko-gash ¨C sawgrass,¡± Adjaash replied, sitting back down by her tree. ¡°It grows closer to the river.¡±


    She crossed her legs and leaned back against the trunk, then set the branch of sawgrass down in her lap. It was a stiff, hardened material, and it appeared as though the stalk of sawgrass had been dead for some time. After setting it down, Adjaash pulled a dark metal dagger from her belt, then propped up the stalk and cut it at the midpoint. Then she cut it at the midpoint again. With a crisp lopping sound, the top halves of the stalks fell to the ground, and now Adjaash was left with a stalk nearly a foot long. Now that it was cut, Heror could see that the dead sawgrass was hollow; a thick husk wall protected an open interior.


    Now Adjaash took the shortened stalk of dead sawgrass and shaved off isolated spines with her knife ¨C meeting each spine and ridge at its base with keen focus and precision. She did this for several minutes ¨C rotating the shortened stalk in her hand ¨C until it was smooth and rounded, both on the outside and on the inside rim.


    Next, Adjaash turned the sawgrass stalk width-wise in her lap, and with her dagger, she carefully carved out five small holes on the top, intricately spaced out across it. Three holes were clustered together closer to the far end, and after a small gap in the middle, two more holes sat side-by-side the opposite way. This too took several minutes, but Adjaash went along at a steady pace. Heror watched silently, patiently.


    Once the holes were carved and cleaned out, Adjaash turned the far end of the stalk toward her and scraped around the circular opening one last time. Then she flipped the stalk around again, set her dagger down, and carefully compressed the near end with her two thumbs, until this opening was flat and level ¨C like the reed of a flute. She flipped to each end one more time, brushing off flakes of dead plant matter into the grass ¨C and then she flipped the makeshift reed back toward her mouth, positioned her fingers over the five carved holes, and brought her lips to the near end. Then she blew air ¨C and a sound came from it.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    It was a soft flute sound ¨C rough, deep, and oaken, but also rich and full ¨C that intertwined with the swelling breeze. As the first note drew on, it wavered in the wind, until it faded. Adjaash paused and looked at Heror, and she could see he was now captivated by the sound. She dropped her eyes, brought the flute to her lips again, and took a deep breath.


    In solfege, she played:


    La-ti-dohh-rehh-tihh-lahh-sohh-mihh-lahh-tihh-sohh-lahh


    La-ti-dohh-rehh-mihh-lahh-mihh-dohh-rehh-mihh-sohhhh-mihhhh


    Mi-so-lahh-sohh-lahh-mihh


    Re-mi-sohh-fihh-rehh-mihh


    La-ti-dohh-re-mihh-rehh-tihh-sohh-lahhhh


    And the sound faded again, giving way to the whisper of the world.


    She lowered the flute now, and as she looked at Heror, she saw that he was frozen at her in awe. She dropped her eyes ¨C suddenly a bit embarrassed ¨C and she shrugged to herself with a small smile, brushing aside a strand of hair.


    ¡°It¡¯s an old song I used to play more when I was younger,¡± she said casually. ¡°It would sound better if the instrument was more polished.¡±


    ¡°It sounded incredible.¡±


    Adjaash couldn¡¯t help but blush ever so slightly, and she turned away, dropping her eyes again so Heror wouldn¡¯t see. But after a moment, she raised her eyes again, resting her head against the tree. She took a deep breath, as the wind from the fields washed over them. It was quiet for a time.


    ¡°Where did you learn all this?¡± Heror eventually asked.


    Adjaash glanced at him. Her smile faded just a bit.


    ¡°When you live off the land, you learn as you go,¡± she provided.


    ¡°True,¡± Heror conceded. ¡°But you had to have known plenty when you first got here. Otherwise¡­ would you have gotten this far?¡±


    Adjaash looked at him a bit longer this time. She blinked, and her eyes started to drift. She glanced up at the sky, where a cluster of cumulus clouds drifted over the sun¡¯s outer rim.


    ¡°My mothers taught me many things,¡± she finally answered. ¡°Back in Torwa.¡±


    ¡°Mothers?¡±


    ¡°In Torwa, my village was a community in which many mothers oversaw the younger ones. They each bore children and then together, they led and taught the young. They would see where each child excelled early on, and they would give them paths to pursue. I was trained as a forager ¨C a hunter and gatherer. As foragers, we were taught that the land and the water had everything we needed, and to respect the spirits of life.¡±


    ¡°More than one mother?¡± Heror questioned again, still in shock.


    Adjaash nodded: ¡°Over a dozen.¡±


    Heror eyed her, then let out a sigh and looked out into the fields again.


    ¡°That sounds nice,¡± he pondered, his voice lower.


    ¡°Hm,¡± Adjaash managed, pausing for a second. ¡°Some were better than others.¡±


    She paused again, thoughts rising and receding as if the tide. Then she too let out a sigh, and glanced at Heror with a sad, quiet, understanding smile.


    ¡°I guess neither of us were able to be children for very long,¡± she observed.


    Now she looked away and peered out into the steppes. Heror thought about her words.


    The sun sank and started to set in the west.


    ¡°Do you want to go back?¡± Heror asked. ¡°Is that why you need money?¡±


    Adjaash gave a one-shouldered shrug.


    ¡°Here in Kivveneth, I¡¯ve realized that you always need money,¡± she reasoned, her voice a bit lighter. ¡°If I wanted to go anywhere, I would need money.¡±


    She stopped for a moment, then dropped her eyes and looked at the makeshift sawgrass stalk flute. She rolled it gently in her lap, left to right. By impulse, her hand rose and wrapped around her shark tooth necklace. She fiddled with it.


    ¡°But I¡¯d be lying if I said it wasn¡¯t on my mind.¡±


    The wild horses were roaming and grazing in the distance again, under the orange light of the sunset. Both Adjaash and Heror watched them now.


    ¡°Until the time comes to leave,¡± Adjaash said, ¡°I like the freedom I have here.¡±


    ¡°Me, too.¡±


    More silence. Then Heror looked at Adjaash.


    ¡°If we find this Sword,¡± Heror started to ask, ¡°what does that mean for you?¡±


    Adjaash shrugged again, then shot him a smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ll still have things to do. I¡¯m not going anywhere yet.¡±


    She paused, and then she eyed him.


    ¡°What about you?¡±


    Heror smiled, and then he nodded.


    ¡°I think I¡¯ll stay here a bit.¡±


    They smiled at each other, as if comforted by the answers they¡¯d heard.


    The sun fell below the fields. The sky darkened, and the two ventured back through the forest and returned to camp. When they arrived, the camp was mostly quiet in the low evening light ¨C save for a half-dozen Midan djauuls sitting on tree stumps around a metal fire pit. The pit was alive with a smokeless keatuu flame that had been stoked hours ago, and the djauuls reveled around it.


    As Heror and Adjaash approached, Heror recognized the djauuls Nubu and Omru ¨C younger and older ¨C whom he¡¯d sparred with so many times before over the past ten days. They were leaning in, talking and laughing with the others. A lone djauul sat on the far side, performing a craft of some kind with a brush in his hand. Next to him, an elinji played an instrument freely, without method or meter ¨C a large bowed sound box with a long wooden neck and a horsehair string. It let out a fluttering baritone sound ¨C one Heror might¡¯ve confused as a singing voice, had he not seen differently.


    In Ardys, Heror had always heard of the djauuls and the elinji as mere creatures and monsters ¨C descendents of the invaders, creations of the infernal Midan swamp. Pale skeleton men and walking beasts. In the stories he¡¯d been told, they were always the enemies. They were the ones in legion with the dark Gods. His introduction to them in battle had not quelled these conceptions. But spending more time with them by the steppes, he started to see their joys. He started to see their habits and proclivities. He started to see them as they were: As people. And he began to see where he had been misled.


    A djauul with his back turned heard the footsteps, and when he glanced around, Heror saw the old Midan Nariyu looking toward them, his thin black hair and beard catching dull pockets of flamelight. Nariyu nodded to Heror, then to Adjaash. With a grunt, he stood from his stump and turned to face the girl.


    ¡°You may take my spot,¡± Nariyu offered Adjaash. ¡°Rest is calling me.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, but I won¡¯t be staying up, either,¡± Adjaash replied.


    Nariyu nodded again, then turned and ventured into camp. Now Adjaash turned to Heror. There was a firm note in her words.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to stay up a bit longer, but I wouldn¡¯t go too late. We¡¯ve got an early day tomorrow.¡±


    With that, Adjaash too retired into camp, leaving Heror by the fire pit with the other Midans. For a moment, he didn¡¯t know what to do ¨C but a friendly greeting from Nubu and Omru convinced him to sit and join them. Nubu jabbed Heror playfully with a wooden sparring sword as he sat, and Heror smiled. He leaned in toward the keatuu hearth and warmed his hands. The fire¡¯s dance urged on his contemplation. The desert wind was colder in the dark.


    ¡°You are Heror?¡±


    The voice startled Heror, but it didn¡¯t take long for him to find the source. Across the circle, Heror¡¯s eyes came to a younger djauul ¨C perhaps less than a decade older than Heror ¨C with a long, thin black beard, and a loose bun of hair on the back of his head. It was the djauul with the brush in his hand. In his other hand, he held a thick wooden tablet of some kind. On the ground by his feet were small wells of colored liquid.


    Meeting the djauul¡¯s eyes with his own, Heror nodded. The djauul returned the gesture and spoke in surprisingly smooth Kivvenean.


    ¡°I am Paru,¡± the djauul introduced himself. ¡°A great gift it is to meet you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you know of me.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t often that an Ardysan comes from the south to join our ranks.¡±


    At the respect in the djauul¡¯s voice, Heror winced. He had only been wandering north. At first, he¡¯d never intended to stop. He was comfortable by the steppes. But still, he didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d earned his place here.


    ¡°May I ask you something?¡± Paru said before Heror¡¯s thoughts escaped him.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Does this appear as you remember it?¡±


    Paru now set his brush down on the stump and held the wooden tablet in both hands. The djauul flipped it around, and in the gold luminance, Heror saw a magnificent woodblock painting, with clashing colors just as rich and vibrant as the fire itself. Emerald hills flowed and fumed from the tablet¡¯s knotted depths, blossoming in tufts of radiant green and jade, stretching into a southward sky of gilded scarlet. In the foreground, red plum blossoms and yellow pepon trees peeked into the frame, and a lone sunflower stood small to match the parent star, as it too gazed at the sight.


    For a moment, Heror sat silently in awe ¨C shocked that such an image could come of only wood and colored oils. And then he remembered the djauul¡¯s question. He knew what Paru meant, and he knew what the answer would be ¨C and still, he was compelled to ask.


    ¡°Is it supposed to be Ardys?¡± Heror asked from across the circle, past the fire.


    Paru nodded. Heror blinked, then offered as much of a smile as he could through complicated emotions. The landscape beyond the courtyard of Alaris Khi Thung came back to him.


    ¡°Yes¡­ it appears as I remember it.¡±


    ¡°Sa lantu.¡±


    ¡°How do you know what it looks like? You¡¯ve been past the border wall?¡±


    Paru shook his head.


    ¡°It is the image as my ancestors passed down to me, and as I pass down to my child,¡± Paru explained. ¡°Memories of when my people lived far from the infertile Mire Lands and the harsh steppes. In the Emerald Forests of the Far East, they said there was endless abundance. They said things always grew. They never starved. They never had to move with the seasons.¡±


    Heror nodded. He remembered the fruits of that abundance well, at the very least. It was something that had never been shared with him.


    His thoughts were interrupted when the aimless elinji fiddle player suddenly played a low note with authority, setting the root for a tune. He went up a whole step, then to the fifth note of the scale ¨C heavy, hairy fingers pressing the bowstring ¨C and then he opened his mouth. From a low hum, the elinji began to sing.


    ¡°Saaa¡­ naaa sarma ton¡­¡±


    ¡°Tu ig taehah samaruuu¡­¡±


    And then the other Midans ¨C Nubu and Omru and Paru and the rest ¨C began to join in. They harmonized and droned on in majestic thirds and dissonant swells, as the fiddle warbled and waned in rich rushes of vibration. It was a peaceful song ¨C one with more colors and measures than words themselves ¨C and soon, the singing faded to a hum again, as the fiddle unleashed one last poetic trill. Heror watched them as they journeyed through the music. His idle lips parted an awestruck sliver.


    And then the Midans still hummed. Some of them closed their eyes. Across the fire pit, Paru opened his and glanced at Heror, noticing the young man¡¯s wondering expression. The Midan rider then smiled lightly and bowed his head, as the others continued to chirr.


    ¡°This is how we renew our spirits,¡± Paru said. ¡°So we do not lose ourselves.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes traveled from end to end. He saw the peace on each Midan¡¯s face. The fire felt warmer now. He felt his muscles slowly relax, as he gave in to the peace that had always evaded him. He let his feet slide forward in the dirt. His eyes welcomed the amber hue, as the low voices filled his ears.


    ¡°Say something, Heror.¡±


    Heror was jolted out of his trance, and he blinked at Paru. The others still hummed.


    ¡°Say something?¡± Heror repeated, all of a sudden anxious.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ should I say?¡±


    ¡°Say what you¡¯re feeling.¡±


    Heror cleared his throat, and then his eyes traced the fire circle. The idea that some of them wouldn¡¯t be able to understand his words calmed him some small bit. His eyes lowered into the dark, and then he spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I belong here. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ve earned my place.¡±


    ¡°Have you felt what we feel?¡± Paru asked. ¡°What it¡¯s like to be starved? What it¡¯s like to be lost? What it¡¯s like to be forgotten?¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t need to think. He nodded once more. And so too did Paru.


    ¡°Then you have earned your place, saerjin.¡±


    The hums began to fade, ever gradually. Heror looked up and shared a smile with the rider.


    Heror dwelled at the fire pit for a time longer, eventually bidding the Midans goodbye. Before he turned in for the night, he looked out at the desert one last time ¨C his eyes surfing the endless waves of sand. He felt a cool rush of dry air meet his face, and for perhaps the first time, he let it soothe him. And then he retreated inside his tent and went to sleep.


    A new day was waiting.

 19. Secrets of the Sand (Part One)

    In the dim light of dawn, they made final preparations.


    Heror and Adjaash ate breakfast at the pavilion, and then they went to their horses. Following Adjaash¡¯s lead, Heror made sure all of Shaadur¡¯s straps and riding implements were secure. Then he ensured that the supply packs were securely fastened behind the saddle. As they worked, the sun started to rise in the east behind them. A clear blue sky, threatening unrelenting heat, was illuminated by the sun¡¯s rays. The desert to the north was cast in a brazen golden light.


    When he was finished going through his checks, Heror patted Shaadur on his side and gave the horse food to eat. It was then that he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He turned to his left to see Adjaash, who held out a rolled tan cowl for him to take.


    ¡°Put this on and tuck it over your neck,¡± she advised. ¡°It¡¯ll protect your face from the wind and sun if you need it.¡±


    Heror nodded and took the cowl. He slipped it on over his hair and his face, then rolled it down around his tunic collar, as if a scarf. He fixed his hair, matting out new frizzes in the curls. Then he glanced at Adjaash ¨C whose focus now turned to her horse Ashanji.


    The day of the search had come, and Heror noticed that an air of seriousness had taken over Adjaash. She was not joking or jeering today. Her eyes carried a steady, almost grave focus, and as he watched her go through her own equipment checks, he saw the meticulous precision in her hands, and the stubborn thoroughness ¨C sometimes checking straps two or three times before proceeding.


    ¡°Adjaash,¡± he started.


    Adjaash looked at him, eyes and expression low.


    ¡°When Raldu was talking about the desert,¡± Heror went on. ¡°¡®Keep your eyes on the horizon, and your ears to the ground¡­¡¯¡±


    Adjaash eyed him.


    ¡°What did he mean by that?¡± Heror asked. ¡°What was he warning us about?¡±


    ¡°Zhai Ghi.¡±


    It was not Adjaash who answered, but the old Midan Nariyu. Heror turned to the right and saw the djauul tending to his horse Kauta. He stared at Heror with intense eyes, fear deep underneath.


    ¡°Demons,¡± Nariyu went on, a light quiver in his voice. ¡°Eaters.¡±


    Now Heror turned back to Adjaash, as if seeking clarification. Adjaash looked past Heror and gave Nariyu a stern look, then glanced back at Heror.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen them once,¡± Adjaash reassured Heror. ¡°From a distance. They¡¯re just animals. As long as we stay alert and keep our strength in numbers, we¡¯ll be fine. Focus on keeping yourself and your horse fueled and hydrated. Just as much danger lies there.¡±


    Heror nodded, his brow creased.


    ¡°Once we enter the desert¡­¡± Adjaash went on, tightening one final strap on her horse. ¡°¡­ we¡¯ll pick up our speed. We¡¯ll rest only when we need to. We should be able to reach the temple before sundown.¡±


    Now Adjaash glanced past Heror and Nariyu to the far end of the row, where the other three party members were readying their horses.


    ¡°Brocus,¡± she called, voice firm. ¡°Are your straps tightened?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, they¡¯re tightened,¡± Brocus mumbled dismissively.


    Adjaash wasn¡¯t convinced, but she paid no more mind to the scholar. She looked past him, to the other two Midan soldiers, who were fitted in light desert garbs.


    ¡°Yuryu! Khaliu!¡± she called again, raising her voice a bit more. ¡°All of your equipment is secure? Straps are tight?¡±


    The two Midans gave Adjaash statements of affirmation, and Adjaash nodded. She looked past all of them, to the eastern sun that had now risen above the trees. She cast her eyes north to the desert one last time, then took a stifled breath.


    ¡°Let¡¯s mount then,¡± she exclaimed, pulling up her cowl. ¡°And let¡¯s be off.¡±


    And so they untied their horses from their posts, mounted, and set off. Adjaash led the party to the western edge of the camp, where the path down the red rock flat wasn¡¯t quite as steep. They ventured down the path ¨C lined by shrubs, thin grasses, and cacti ¨C and soon, the rocks rose around them. The path sank, and they found themselves in a small, narrow canyon.


    In the canyon, the wind that had remained constant for days on end inside the camp was gone. The air was still, and the horses¡¯ hooves ¨C quickened to a canter ¨C echoed in the silence of the corridor. But within minutes of travel inside the canyon, Heror ¨C second in line behind Adjaash ¨C heard the howl of the wind once again. And almost as soon as they descended within it, the canyon itself descended below the desert. The red rocks sank and disappeared, and from the northern mouth of the canyon crevice, they spilled out onto the sands.


    From the red rock perched above, the desert had appeared endless to Heror. At ground level, it felt no smaller. Above, it was as if he had been gazing across an ocean from a cliff. Below, it was as if he was drowning in the waves.


    Everywhere, there was sand. It blanketed the ground and the hill crests and troughs, and it floated in the air ¨C kicked up like golden mist with each arid gust. It even dulled the sun ¨C far from enough to give the riders shade, but enough to filter the blue sky with a thin haze.


    In the desert, Adjaash quickened her horse¡¯s pace to a gallop, and the others followed suit. Heror held the reins steady and hugged Shaadur¡¯s sides with his shins, feet fastened inside the stirrups. With each trough, his sight was dominated by gold and brown dunes. And with each crest, the horizons upon horizons of the eternal desert ahead revealed themselves to him again. At one point, he glanced back over his right shoulder, and past the search party, he could see nothing but dunes. Back over his left, he could just barely make out the great orange plateau that had guided him in the steppes. When he turned his head a second time ten minutes later, it was gone.


    They rode north for around an hour longer ¨C until the sun was almost at their backs ¨C and then they found a flat area in the sand to stop and rest. By now, even with the wind, the heat of the unobstructed sun had begun to billow and pool. It emanated off the glowing sands and lingered in the air, and as Heror lowered his cowl and took in a breath, he felt the husk of heavy heat fill his throat, and erupted into a short coughing fit. Shaadur whinnied lightly, shaking his ears, and Heror brought his hand to the horse¡¯s mane, catching his breath.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he said softly. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Shaadur. It¡¯s alright.¡±


    Ahead, Adjaash dismounted from her horse, and so Heror and the others did the same. Heror slid his right foot back over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He heard Brocus groan farther back, and as he looked, he saw the scholar glowering.


    ¡°How do I have sand in my boots already?¡± Brocus scoffed.


    ¡°Stop whining, boloh,¡± Adjaash crooned, holding a canteen of water to her horse¡¯s snout.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Brocus scowled.


    ¡°It means ¡®distinguished guest,¡¯¡± Adjaash replied, stowing the canteen away.


    Brocus glared ¨C knowing full well that Torwan was a language he had no grasp on ¨C and then he turned away. Adjaash now walked past Heror.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what it means,¡± she whispered to Heror with a smirk, adjusting her bow over her shoulder.


    Heror let out a small laugh. Adjaash turned her focus to the rest of the group.


    ¡°Five minutes!¡± she called out. ¡°Eat, drink, tend to your horses. Whatever you need to do.¡±


    She started to turn back the other way when she heard two of the Midan soldiers arguing at the edge of the dune. She passed Brocus and Nariyu to find Yuryu and Khaliu talking at each other in sharp voices. Yuryu ¨C the younger one ¨C met Khaliu with a quick shove, and then Adjaash pushed them apart before they continued.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she probed.


    ¡°This idiot was about to take a piss,¡± Yuryu admonished.


    Adjaash shrugged, not seeing the issue: ¡°Does he have to go?¡±


    Now the Midans interjected over each other ¨C ¡°Yes, I have to go¡±, ¡°He should¡¯ve gone when we were at camp¡± ¨C until the younger one said: ¡°The Zhai Ghi will follow the scent!¡±


    ¡°If they want to follow that kind of scent, the horses will leave plenty behind for them anyway,¡± Adjaash reminded him.


    Now Yuryu went silent. Adjaash gave him one last look before turning to Khaliu.


    ¡°Go take your piss,¡± she muttered with disinterest. ¡°Kick some sand over it when you¡¯re done.¡±


    They took their five-minute rest and then ¨C with thirsts quenched and bodies replenished ¨C they set off to the north again at a gallop¡¯s pace, with Adjaash at the lead. They carried on through the desert as the sun reached its apex and prepared its descent, until they came across a large, discarded stone structure half-buried in the sand. Perhaps it had once been a watchtower, but it had long since toppled over, leaving its height and grandeur behind. On one side, a worn pillar stood around fifteen feet tall, and from behind it, a wind-smoothened slab stretched out, covered in grains of dust and rock.


    In front of the stone structure, the six party members slowed to a stop on their horses. Adjaash peered out into the desert waves beyond. Then she pulled a map from her pack and unrolled it, as her horse idled.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°This landmark is roughly due north of camp. From here, we make a turn to the northwest. Around twenty more miles.¡±


    In the mid-afternoon, the sun was at its hottest; there were no clouds in sight. Heror¡¯s light-colored clothes helped, and the cowl protected his face. But the barrage of dry heat was starting to overwhelm. Heror¡¯s skin felt pasty and sticky ¨C as if he was sweating, but the sweat evaporated before it had a chance to cool him. His head was light and heavy all at once. He could feel himself starting to sway.


    Under the sweltering heat, even the horses were starting to slow their pace. Up ahead, Heror watched Adjaash pour cool water on Ashanji¡¯s coat as they went, and so he did the same for Shaadur. He grabbed one of his canteens from a bag pouch behind him, then let the water flow over his horse¡¯s mane. Shaadur let out a quick neigh of appreciation. Heror smiled, and ¨C now curious ¨C he poured water on his own face. A cool, refreshing rush overcame him, and his focus returned, as droplets ran off his chin and fell to the sand below.


    Some time passed, until ¨C at the peak of another dune crest ¨C Adjaash stopped and waited for the others to join her. Heror rode up alongside Adjaash, and he saw what she saw: A temple in the far distance.


    From what Heror could see, it was exactly as Raldu had described it. It was around five miles away still, but even from where they stood, he could see a great marble dome peering above the low-sloping dunes, underlaid by marble pillars. It was an off-white kissed by sand-colored brown after thousands of years of wind exposure. It almost blended into the desert itself, but under the sun, the peak of the dome radiated with light in one last gasp of brilliance, announcing itself to the travelers.


    ¡°There¡¯s the temple,¡± Adjaash declared, as a gust of wind rolled by. ¡°We¡¯ll take a quick rest here. And then we¡¯ll close in.¡±


    They stopped. They ate and drank and fed their horses. And then they started off again ¨C the Midans shooting a quick glance behind them before departing.


    On the way to the temple, the waves of sand rose and fell. And with each downswell, more eroded shrines, structures, and fortifications could be seen dotting the desert. On either side of the search party, worn columns and toppled marble walls sat sporadically, half-buried in the sand. Whatever things of substance they once contained were long gone; these were the barren bones of a civilization, and nothing more.


    As they neared the temple, Brocus ¨C perhaps unconsciously ¨C quickened his pace and rode close behind Heror and Adjaash, while the three Midans made up the rear. The scholar¡¯s eyes drifted from left to right, over the decayed stone remnants that lay scattered all around them. Next to one stone structure, a long-dead tree stood ¨C nothing more than a warped, twisted strand of charcoal, blackened by the eternal sun. The horses slowed to a trot. The wind whistled and howled across a dead landscape.


    ¡°The legends say there was a time when the ground was fertile in the middle of the desert,¡± Brocus marveled. ¡°In a grand oasis, with springs beneath, a great city stretched for miles on end, with legendary Caitans to rule it, and massive armies to guard it. It was the height of ancient civilization ¨C a stronghold few dared to test. And when they did, they always failed.¡±


    To the right, a run-down wooden chariot sat atop a mound of stone and dusted rubble. In the sunlight, a dented sword blinked with brightness.


    ¡°But time is a thing no man can best,¡± Brocus decried. ¡°It is the enemy that always goes unseen¡­ until it strikes.¡±


    As they rode closer, Heror¡¯s hand suddenly went to his shirt pocket, to make sure his kinship cloth was still there. His mind worked as he looked upon the scattered ruins. This was Pylantheum ¨C the place from which he¡¯d supposedly hailed. He knew there were cities that still existed beyond the desert. But if all of this greatness was gone and buried, he wondered how much could truly be left.


    In minutes, they came upon one final dune, and as they crested it, the sands flattened in front of the temple bounds. Up ahead, the temple dome and pillars sat atop a short, wide marble staircase, which itself was half-buried by the desert. In front of the temple sat a dilapidated courtyard of sand and stone. Statues that might¡¯ve once commemorated great warriors and philosophers now sat as distorted husks of browned, cracked, and patinated marble, their once-intricate details long erased by the unyielding wind.


    On one statue, Heror could make out a faded flowering Sun symbol, on the hilt of a cracked and worn sword. The face of the statue¡¯s warrior ¨C once stoic ¨C was now constricted and pained by erosion. As Heror observed the statue, Brocus walked up beside him on his horse, eyes thinning in the light.


    ¡°They began as God-worshippers,¡± Brocus observed. ¡°Then they worshiped themselves. And then they were forgotten.¡±


    Heror glanced at Brocus, who had already begun to wander ahead. The young man wondered if this journey was proof otherwise of Brocus¡¯ claim. They, at least, had remembered ancient Pylantheum. But they were not here to honor. Only to scavenge.


    Heror blinked and squinted beneath the bright afternoon sun, and then he too started forward, giving Shaadur a whisper and a light nudge of his heel.


    The six slithered on horseback through the deserted courtyard, trailing through narrow pathways of stone ruin and sand mounds, until they all met again at the base of the wide marble staircase. At the foot of the temple, the wind rushed through and rose in tenor. Cloaks swayed in the breeze.


    ¡°Let¡¯s dismount!¡± Adjaash shouted over the wind. ¡°Secure your horses¡¯ reins and we¡¯ll lead them to shelter!¡±


    Now the party members dismounted their horses. Once he landed and found his footing on the sand-blasted stone, Heror grabbed Shaadur¡¯s reins. And then ¨C following Adjaash¡¯s lead ¨C he led his horse up the low-sloping marble steps, along with the rest of the party. The upwelling wind seemed to spook the Midans; their wide eyes jumped at each gust. But as Heror peered back at the desert, he saw nothing but empty waves of sand gleaming in daylight, and the brown haze that floated above.


    It wasn¡¯t long before they reached the top of the staircase and slipped through the fluted stone columns, and the shade of the rotunda washed over them. It was lost on Heror how hot the outside had been until he made his way into the shade. Within seconds, he felt a chill run down his spine. But when the shock of the temperature change subsided, he felt relief, and he pulled down his cowl.


    They made their way into the dome interior, and all at once, Heror was met with an awesome sight. Inside the domed temple rotunda, the marble walls were much better preserved. Up above, scaling the ceiling, he saw rows and rows of ornate murals ¨C etched in deep, rich shades of orange and green and blue and red ¨C a painted constellation of legends and tales. He saw mountains and waves and monsters and swords, and Pylanthean heroes made distinct by their brilliant forms. The waves, with their sprawling whitecaps and swirled currents, matched the ones on his kinship cloth.


    Brocus, too, was transfixed by the sight above. The else craned his head and gaped, his eyes leaping from row to row, until they landed at the very top of the dome ¨C perhaps thirty feet up ¨C where a circular array of color sat: A perfect radius of shimmering purple and green and blue, brightened by a thick glass skylight above it.


    ¡°Look there,¡± Brocus said with astonishment, pointing up at the dome¡¯s peak. ¡°Those are the lights of the Painted Sea ¨C where Nehlox meditated and communed with the Gods, and saw the vision for else-kind on the land of Kivveneth. That is where the history of the Pylanthean people on Kivveneth begins.¡±


    His wide, focused eyes flowed outward from the dome¡¯s center, and as he gazed up at the murals, more historic events revealed themselves to him.


    ¡°Nehlox¡¯s dealings with the Ice God Knepfr,¡± the scholar reflected aloud. ¡°The Cyngoth Civil War begins at Aunusal. The three-days duel ¨C the haakhruun of Nehlox and Rund¡­ Nehlox declaring Kivveneth the haven of men. The expeditions and exploits of the great wanderer Kuorn ¨C¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll have plenty of time to drool over these drawings, Brocus. Pace yourself,¡± Adjaash teased, cowl drawn around her neck. ¡°First, let¡¯s get set up.¡±


    Brocus lowered his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, then grumbled to himself as he led his horse aside.


    The group¡¯s members lined up their horses ¨C all of which were ready to rest after the long journey north ¨C along the southern wall. Adjaash gathered a linen blanket from her pack, which she then unrolled and spread out on the stone floor. Ashanji stepped onto the blanket, and Adjaash patted her horse and whispered to her before giving food and water.


    The others followed suit. Heror unrolled his blanket, and Shaadur ¨C not used to traveling on sand ¨C quickly sat down to rest. Heror knelt down to grab food and water from his pack. Shaadur whinnied lightly and nestled Heror¡¯s face. Heror smiled and let out a small, breathful laugh.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind the shade, either.¡±


    Heror wiped a thin layer of dust off his forehead, then reached into his pack and took out a canteen of water and a jar of apples. As he tipped the canteen for Shaadur to drink, his eyes drifted to the wall. He saw dull, carved markings running across the length of the room, in rows that stacked from floor to ceiling. Some markings appeared to be vaguely linked to Kivvenean language, but at first glance, Heror could not decipher it.


    Heror was entranced by the markings for a moment ¨C before the sound of water slopping against the stone floor broke his focus. Shaadur had finished drinking, and Heror had unwittingly poured out some of his drinking water. He uttered a small curse to himself, then pulled the canteen up and started to close the lid ¨C when he heard Brocus¡¯ voice to his right.


    ¡°Bvleievm.¡±


    Heror turned and saw that Brocus too was now entranced by the markings on the wall. The scholar leaned in close to the marble, his hands and eyes tracing one of the lower rows. Brocus glanced to the left and saw that he had Heror¡¯s attention, and he turned his gaze back to the etchings.


    ¡°It seems as though these markings near the entryway detail the exploits of the Caitans ¨C the Pylanthean word for ¡®Kings¡¯ ¨C as the Kingdom came to be,¡± Brocus explained. ¡°This one here talks about Bvleievm ¨C modernized in Kivvenean as Beuleium.¡±


    ¡°Beuleium?¡± Heror echoed.


    ¡°The Battle of Beuleium,¡± Brocus said with a nod, eyes running along the wall. ¡°Nehlox was the Caitan who began the royal line in Pylantheum. Much like Ardys and most other Kingdoms ¨C where the Kcirun is deemed the vessel of the divine blood ¨C so too were direct descendants of Nehlox, Sparhh-Kin. Nehlox was a great King, and so the many generations that succeeded him were named after him. But none of his descendents could match this greatness, and Nehlox IX was driven mad by the expectations brought upon him by his ancestor. Nehlox IX was the eldest heir of his father, but he soon wrought chaos and terror upon the Kingdom with his paranoia and ruthless ruling fist. He had eight brothers. Some aligned themselves with Nehlox IX, while others remained neutral, but one ¨C the youngest, humble and soft-spoken Dain ¨C saw what was happening, and summoned the courage to challenge his brother. And so the loyalists and the rebels met in the dry plains outside the city of Beuleium, and fought for the crown.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± Heror prodded, invested in the story.


    ¡°The battle was ferocious, and lasted for weeks,¡± Brocus went on. ¡°Some brothers later shifted allegiances and joined Dain. Others were cut down. But in the end, Dain dueled Nehlox IX and won. Nehlox¡¯s divine descendancy continued, but no Caitan was ever named after the first King again, from that point onward.¡±


    Brocus¡¯ hand drifted, until he came to what appeared to be a small break in the glyphs and texts.


    ¡°The ancient Pylantheans were incredible storytellers. And Beuleium was a story with several other stories within. They were not immune to sensationalizing things. They understood that part of what keeps a story alive is how it¡¯s told. But most of their stories were indeed rooted in truth, and they provided valuable lessons for the Kingdom¡¯s families to pass down.¡±


    Heror pondered aloud: ¡°What was the lesson here?¡±


    ¡°There are several, to my eye,¡± Brocus replied. ¡°Some are more easily discernible. The shadow of past glory can be overwhelming. Things like loyalty and honor must be earned by Caitans, regardless of their bloodright. They can be earned with humility, independence and thoughtfulness, and taking action for what is right, for the common good of all. And perhaps there is another. Family has always been one of the central values of Pylanthean culture. Family is sacred to them; Pylantheans will wear their family name proudly, and celebrate their heirs. But as sacred as family is, not even it stands above morality, if family and morality are put at odds.¡±


    Brocus looked at the glyphs for a moment longer, then let out a short, gruff chuckle that startled Heror.


    ¡°There are more than a few instances across Pylanthean history where they could have used their own advice,¡± he remarked, with his own air of pride. ¡°But there was some wisdom here.¡±


    Brocus paused. Outside, a gust of wind blew by the dome¡¯s entrance. Then he spoke again.


    ¡°So wise and grandiose was this Kingdom of men¡­ and yet here we stand, among the bones.¡±


    Now Brocus turned away, but Heror remained, standing beside his horse. Deep in thought, he snuck the kinship cloth from his shirt pocket. He unrolled it and started to read the name ¡®Heran¡¯ off the stitchings, as he¡¯d done so many times before ¨C when his thoughts were disrupted by a voice behind him.


    ¡°All of you, to the center of the room!¡± Adjaash called, her voice echoing across the dome walls. ¡°It¡¯s time to go over the plan.¡±

 19. Secrets of the Sand (Part Two)

    Heror tucked away the kinship cloth.


    He gave Shaadur a quick pat before joining the rest of the search party at the center of the dome, underneath the skylight¡¯s rays. As the group came together, Adjaash spoke again.


    ¡°The temple continues that way,¡± she said, pointing behind her. ¡°Brocus, Heror, and myself will go farther in and see what there is to see. Nariyu, you come with us, and bring the torch supplies with you. Khaliu, Yuryu ¨C you two stay by the entrance and keep an eye on the horses while they rest. I can¡¯t say when we¡¯ll be back, but if it¡¯s dark, we¡¯ll wait until morning to set off.¡±


    The two Midans nodded ¨C a skittish look still in the younger one¡¯s eye. Now Adjaash glanced at Nariyu and motioned for him to grab the torch supplies. Nariyu went and picked up a leather pack from behind his horse¡¯s saddle, and slung its strap over his shoulder. And then the four ventured farther inside the walls, while the two Midans stayed behind.


    The four walked past the skylight¡¯s rays and into the shade again, boots clacking lightly against the marble stone floor as sand grains crunched underneath. In under a minute, they came to the far end of the domed rotunda. All of the walls and curved glyphs converged on a smaller stone hallway that stretched onward, shrouded in darkness. Adjaash placed a hand on the stone entryway, then turned to Nariyu.


    ¡°Let¡¯s light the torches,¡± she said.


    As Nariyu set down the leather pack and rummaged through its contents, Brocus glanced back and took in the domed structure one last time.


    ¡°It¡¯s incredible the engineering that would¡¯ve been needed to build this temple,¡± Brocus examined. ¡°The oldest dome in Ghiovan is in the city of Peranon ¨C almost 3,000 years old. This predates even that. It¡¯s amazing that it¡¯s lasted this long. The carving work is a bit rougher, but still¡­ very impressive. On the one hand, it makes sense ¨C the Pylanjuun Cyngoths are the precursors of all elsish life on Kivveneth. But on the other hand¡­¡±


    Brocus trailed off, lost in his thoughts again. As the scholar peered up at the ceiling, Nariyu lined up three small wooden staves on the floor, each with a bulged end on one side. The Midan wrapped each end in cloth, which he¡¯d first dipped in whale oil. Then, one by one, he handed each stave to Adjaash and struck a flint and steel to light the cloth ablaze. The first torch, Adjaash handed to Brocus. The second, to Heror. At the smell of the whale oil, Heror scrunched his nose. But as it burned, the odor faded.


    The torches were lit, and so they carried on through the small passageway, footsteps echoing louder in the condensed space. As they walked, the orange torchlight trembled along the ancient walls, expelling the dark ahead. But soon, they came to the top of another staircase within the claustrophobic corridor, over which the rough stone ceiling sloped downward, into a sea of blackness.


    Adjaash stopped at the top of the staircase and held her torch forward just a bit, testing how far the light could reach. Then she stepped down onto the first stair, when she heard a hushed voice behind her.


    ¡°Careful, Adjaash,¡± Nariyu warned, raspy voice echoing down the way. ¡°This is where the Par-va like to play tricks.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to keep their tricksters here,¡± Adjaash countered.


    She started down the stone staircase, descending into shadow. Nariyu hesitated, and so Heror filled in behind Adjaash, while Brocus trailed slowly, his eyes scanning the walls for markings. They went down the steps for some time, until finally, the floor flattened out again, and another narrow passage led to an open stone doorway ¨C silence and dark beyond.


    ¡°Look,¡± Brocus said as he peered over Heror¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The doorway is supported now. Load-bearing structure, and inlets on the walls. The dome must have been part of an acropvlis on risen ground in ancient times, and this passageway led underground. We are in the depths now.¡±


    Adjaash paused, and then she walked through the doorway. The others followed. As they did, the ceiling rose, the walls opened up again, and the amber torchlight swept the darkness away, revealing a new room.


    This room was smaller than the dome, but still large, with a twenty-foot ceiling supported by four pillars that bisected each side of the room. Set lengthwise in the middle of the room was a smooth marble table, with a long stone bench on either side of it. On each of the side walls, several torch sconces sat, their fires long gone. There were no bones, no weapons strewn about, no tools. If there was ever any treasure, the place had been stripped clean long ago. Only dust and stone remained.


    Heror looked up and ahead, however, and he saw what lay on the far wall. He couldn¡¯t see the details from where he stood, at the opposite end of the room. But he could see that the far wall was, in and of itself, a giant map that splayed from end to end. It was not a drawn map. Rather, it was hewn into the stone itself ¨C a massive display of carved cities, fortifications, and roads, with Pylanthean words and names etched underneath each landmark with precise stonework and craftsmanship.


    Adjaash glanced over the adjacent walls, searching for relevant symbols, while Brocus observed the room¡¯s structure in awe. Nariyu shook his head, seeing little of relevance.


    ¡°This is it?¡± the Midan questioned. ¡°The Sword can¡¯t be here.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± Brocus said with a grin, his wide eyes climbing the walls. ¡°But here, we may be able to learn where it is.¡±


    Now Brocus came to the marble table at the room¡¯s center. He ran his hands along the smooth stone and leaned forward. After taking a deep breath, he smiled wider.


    ¡°This temple must have been a crucial strategic and spiritual center for the Pylanthean leaders in ancient times,¡± he theorized. ¡°In the dome itself ¨C under the stained glass skylight that mimics the light of the Painted Sea ¨C and in the courtyard outside ¨C before it fell into ruin ¨C they would have been able to pray and meditate. And in times where counsel and consultation was needed, they would come down here, to this council hall.¡±


    At last, Brocus¡¯ eyes came to the map on the far wall. His smile bore teeth.


    ¡°This is promising,¡± he said with a nod.


    Brocus walked around the marble table and reached the far wall. The others joined him there.


    ¡°There has to be something here,¡± Brocus told them. ¡°Keep an eye out for the details we discussed.¡±


    They each took separate sections of the map, while Heror lingered at the center. He stepped forward until he was just inches away from the carvings, and a wave of awe washed over him again. Up close, the intricacy of the carvings was even more incredible. Each city and fortress was unique and stylized as it had been in real life. Some were scaled up, while others were smaller, and all of them were connected by a network of roads and smaller villages, each with a corresponding label.


    As Heror¡¯s eyes scaled the marvel, something caught his attention. Near the bottom of the map, at the center of the room, Heror could see a large flat circle, with what appeared to be text inside, and a symbol he recognized. It was the clawed blade symbol that Brocus had highlighted from the texts ¨C the one that corresponded with the Sword.


    ¡°Here!¡± Heror yelled. ¡°I think I found something.¡±


    The others rushed to the center of the map, and Brocus slid in front of Heror, holding his torch toward the wall. Quickly, his eyes fell on the Sword symbol. He smiled.


    ¡°That¡¯s the Sword symbol from the readings,¡± he confirmed.


    ¡°What¡¯s that underneath it?¡± Adjaash noticed.


    Now all of their eyes snaked downward, to a small section of text that sat below the symbol. It was in ancient Pylanthean ¨C structured as if a riddle to the unknowing eye. It read:


    Nnevtanae gvards Et.


    En eplaec wenec Cvraeg covms.


    Heror and Adjaash glanced at one another, sharing confused looks. And then they looked at Brocus, who was piecing the words together in his head.


    ¡°Neutanae guards It,¡± Brocus read. ¡°In the place whence Courage comes.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Adjaash let out a stifled laugh, before muttering: ¡°They were only a little full of themselves.¡±


    ¡°Courage,¡± Brocus thought aloud. ¡°Sparhh¡¯s manifestation. We already knew Sparhh was involved. But now¡­¡±


    He pondered a moment longer.


    ¡°¡­ place¡­¡±


    And then his eyes went back to the map on the wall.


    ¡°¡­ we look at the map?¡±


    ¡°Are we sure it¡¯s still there, wherever it is?¡± Heror asked. ¡°During the meeting two nights ago, you mentioned Hiirvanos last used the Sword. He would have used it after this temple was built, correct?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Hiirvanos ¨C almost 2,500 years ago. That¡¯s good,¡± Brocus confirmed, smiling lightly at Heror¡¯s recall. ¡°According to the legends, Hiirvanos used the Sword to defeat the mortal constructs of Muscvall and Mulent ¨C the Parvan Gods of Beasts and Destruction ¨C thus ending the Great Scourge and restoring the Kingdoms at the end of the second Eoh. But those same legends state that Hiirvanos did not take the Sword directly. It was summoned to him as the last of the Boons of the Divine Consortium. When the Scourge was over, the Sword dematerialized and left Hiirvanos¡¯ possession. It left him, and was lost to the ages, but it is never gone. The Boons are tied to the mortal world of Aelyum by their very essence. So we can only assume it was rematerialized, and returned to its resting place¡­ here¡­¡±


    Brocus paused, and then his eyes went back to the word ¡®Cvraeg¡¯.


    ¡°¡­ in Sparhh¡¯s Kingdom.¡±


    ¡°But we were able to just walk in here,¡± Heror debated. ¡°Is it possible it could¡¯ve been stolen by now?¡±


    Brocus shook his head.


    ¡°In the ancient Pylantheans¡¯ time, this temple ¨C at the top of the acropolis ¨C would have been guarded, and reserved for only the ruling family and their various advisors and servants. This information would have been privileged, and the location itself will no doubt be more shuttered than this.¡±


    ¡°¡®Neutanae guards It,¡¯¡± Adjaash echoed. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°That, I am unsure,¡± Brocus admitted. ¡°The ¡®ae¡¯ suffix implies divinity in Pylanthean tongue, but the Pylantheans were not fond of magic or traps to guard their spoils and sacred items. For Bor¡¯s sake, look at their map! This empire of theirs was a labyrinth in the desert. If they wanted to guard their Sword, all they would have to do is hide it, and hide it well. Time and sand might¡¯ve done the rest.¡±


    ¡°So what happens if it¡¯s buried?¡± Heror wondered.


    ¡°If the time comes where we must cross that bridge, we will,¡± Brocus assured him. ¡°We¡¯ve only explored the southern edge of the Pylanthean ruins in the desert. Odds are, there are more ruins accessible to us beyond, if that is where we must go. I don¡¯t know for certain. But for now¡­ we can find the location.¡±


    Heror glanced across the bottom edge of the map, from left to right.


    ¡°You mentioned we¡¯re on the southern edge of where the ruins lie,¡± Heror started.


    Brocus nodded.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any other circles or dome structures at the bottom of the map, aside from the one that holds the text,¡± Heror went on. ¡°Could this circle be where we are now, beneath the dome? And then from there, we could trace the path to whichever location we find.¡±


    ¡°My stars, I think you¡¯re right!¡± Brocus exclaimed. ¡°Good, very good¡­¡±


    Brocus set his finger on the circle with the text inside. Then he traced upward.


    ¡°Everyone,¡± he began, speaking with haste. ¡°Look for a symbol that may be an identifier of an affiliation with the Courage God, Sparhh. You may have to look close.¡±


    They spread out, and their eyes snaked across the map again. In silence, with a new frantic energy, they scavenged the carved map¡¯s buildings and streets and symbols for any sign of Sparhh. Inches from the stone, with painstaking focus, Heror climbed up and down the central section with his gaze, blue eyes catching the torchlight.


    Minutes passed. More minutes, and still nothing. And the group¡¯s energy began to fade. Most of the buildings were mere stone models, without any symbolism or art attached. Nariyu was the first to stop and rest his back, sitting at the table. Adjaash began pressing the wall for buttons or hidden switches, to no avail. And soon, even Heror stepped back and sat on the ground, resting his prodding eyes.


    It had to be almost evening. Only Brocus was still at the wall, growing frustrated by now as he examined every inch of the wall¡¯s left section. Heror glanced back up at the wall from where he sat, around ten feet away ¨C and then he saw it.


    It was easier to see from where he sat ¨C an ever-so-slight indent that tracked around the expanse of several buildings above the dome. When he was closer to the wall, the torchlight and shadows played tricks and hid the indent, but in this specific spot ¨C on the room¡¯s center line ¨C he could make it out. It was a shape he recognized immediately ¨C burned into his memory by the Pylanthean kinship cloth. It was the shape of a wolf¡¯s head, craning upward.


    Almost too fast, Heror jumped to his feet ¨C startling Adjaash, who¡¯d been leaning on the adjacent wall. In a rush, Adjaash hurried to Heror¡¯s side, as Heror called to Brocus: ¡°Brocus! Over here!¡±


    Suddenly reinvigorated, Brocus turned away from the wall and hurried to join Heror and Adjaash. Heror pointed toward the hidden wolf head indent, and soon, Brocus saw it, too ¨C outlining a cluster of temples to the northeast of the dome.


    ¡°The wolf,¡± Brocus said to himself in a low voice. ¡°The totem of Sparhh.¡±


    The scholar paused, and then nodded: ¡°This has to be it.¡±


    Now Brocus turned to Adjaash, only for a brief moment.


    ¡°Hold my torch. Both of you, stay where you are. Don¡¯t disturb the light.¡±


    Adjaash took Brocus¡¯ torch without a word and stood next to Heror, while Brocus slowly approached the wall. The scholar crouched so his shadow would not block it. He trained his eyes on the point where the wolf¡¯s head craned up and its snout peaked, as if howling at the moon. As he got closer, the optical indent faded ¨C but by now, his eyes were fixed on the point where the wolf¡¯s head would meet the sky. He refused to break focus, and as he met the wall in a crouch, he reached up and pressed his finger on the location.


    ¡°Heror, Adjaash,¡± he beckoned, his head bowed. ¡°You can still see the indent. Is my finger in the right spot?¡±


    Both of them nodded, and Heror said: ¡°Yes.¡±


    Now Brocus brought his eyes up, and he carefully stood. He pulled back his finger and fixed his attention on the structure beneath it: A small temple with a smaller cylindrical shrine outside of it. Just below the temple¡¯s southern wall, a carved text label ¨C barely distinguishable ¨C read:


    Dyvgan


    ¡°Dyugan,¡± Brocus read in a whisper. ¡°The resting place of the Divinium Diaphanae. The Sword of Sparhh.¡±


    A triumphant smile found its way onto Brocus¡¯ face. But just as soon as he began to laugh, his smile faded. He quickly brought his finger back to the location on the map and wrenched his head around.


    ¡°Adjaash!¡± he shouted. ¡°Do you see a scale on the wall?¡±


    Adjaash was startled for a moment, but she soon understood his request. Her eyes traveled the length of the wall.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any scale,¡± Adjaash replied. ¡°But¡­¡±


    Her eyes now went to the very southern edge of the map. After a moment, she turned to Heror.


    ¡°Hold my torches,¡± she blurted.


    ¡°Wha¨C I can¡¯t carry three torches!¡±


    But before Heror could protest further, Adjaash shoved her two torches into his hands and went to the wall. She crouched to Brocus¡¯ left and brought a knee to the floor, and as she searched the very southern edge of the map, her eyes fell on a small watchtower, spiking up just above the floor.


    ¡°This is the watchtower we passed by on the way to the temple today,¡± she observed. ¡°It¡¯s around thirty miles southeast of this temple. We can use that distance as a scale to estimate the Sword¡¯s location¡­¡±


    Now she stood and stepped away from the wall again, and with her eyes, she measured the distance from the dome to the point where Brocus held his finger.


    ¡°I¡¯d estimate¡­¡± she concluded, ¡°¡­ that the Sword¡¯s location is around 65 miles to the east-northeast of where we stand right now. North-northeast of camp.¡±


    ¡°Mark it on your map,¡± Brocus told her. ¡°Quickly.¡±


    Adjaash took out her own map, unrolled it, and marked the location. Once it was marked, Brocus finally lifted his finger off the wall and dropped his arms. He turned to the group and beamed, and his triumphant energy returned.


    ¡°We¡¯ve found it.¡±


    Brocus laughed haughtily. Adjaash turned and grinned at Heror, while Brocus continued, bellowing from his chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ve found¨C¡±


    And then there was a sound. The walls shook, and as quickly as they started, they went idle again. The group froze, collectively questioning whether or not they had imagined it.


    Then the sound came again. A low boom, muffled through the stone and sands beyond ¨C as if something large had submerged into the desert. A short tremor ran along the walls. Dust fell from the ceiling.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Brocus asked.


    ¡°Eaters,¡± Nariyu hissed.


    Without another word, the Midan grabbed a torch from Heror¡¯s hand. He turned and rushed back to the corridor, and up the steps. After a short moment, Adjaash, Heror, and Brocus followed.

 20. The Demons of Sparhha

    When they reached the top of the staircase, they heard shouting.


    Adjaash led Heror and Brocus back to the dome, and when they emerged from the corridor, they saw Yuryu and Khaliu arguing near the center of the room. The horses were stirred and on-edge.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Adjaash shouted. ¡°Stop it!¡±


    The Midans didn¡¯t hear her, and so they kept fighting. Adjaash shouted again, and when this command failed, she stormed up and shoved them apart. One of the horses let out a nervous, agitated neigh.


    ¡°When I say stop it, you stop,¡± Adjaash growled. ¡°Now tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± Yuryu said, his teeth chattering, bones shaking. ¡°They¡¯re here¡­ they¡¯re here, they¡¯re here, they¡¯re here¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s here?¡± Adjaash demanded.


    ¡°¡­ and they¡¯re here all because this idiot couldn¡¯t hold it in!¡± Yuryu rambled, pointing at Khaliu.


    Khaliu started to retort, and Yuryu went to fight him again, but Adjaash blocked him off.


    ¡°You need to calm down,¡± Adjaash ordered, nose curled in anger. ¡°Both of you.¡±


    It was then that Adjaash looked toward the dome¡¯s pillared entrance. She saw Nariyu with the torch supplies still over his shoulder, silently and solemnly looking out into the desert. She went to join him, and Heror followed, throwing his torches aside.


    They reached the dome¡¯s edge and looked out over the sands. It was evening, and from the hidden western horizon, a wave of red and orange gushed out over the deep blue sky above. At first glance, nothing appeared different about the courtyard ¨C but as Heror looked up, he saw that the sand had been stirred. Where the air had once been clear, thin clouds of dust rushed along in the desert gusts.


    Heror turned to Adjaash, and was about to say something when the ground shook again. Like an earthquake, the tremor rose and fell, and as Heror looked out into the sands, not far past the ruined courtyard, he saw a swell in the dunes appear and then disappear. Along the edge of the moving swell, a worn marble pillar teetered and fell over, as the low rumble faded and gave way to warning wails of wind.


    Her mouth agape, Adjaash turned to a grim, stoic Nariyu, who only met her glance briefly before arming his bow and arrow. Adjaash snapped back into focus after a moment of shock, and turned to give an order when she saw a hysterical Yuryu mounting his horse, muttering in Midan: ¡°We¡¯re surrounded, we¡¯re surrounded, we¡¯re surrounded¡­¡±


    ¡°Yuryu, no!¡± Adjaash lashed, starting toward him. ¡°Do not go anywhere!¡±


    But Yuryu did not listen. In a rush, he snapped the reins, and his horse cried out and surged ahead. Adjaash only had a second to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled, and when she looked back, Yuryu¡¯s horse was bounding down the marble steps, hooves clopping on stone.


    ¡°Yuryu!¡± Adjaash yelled. ¡°We have to stay together!¡±


    Adjaash rose to her feet and sprinted after Yuryu, while Heror followed. On horseback, Yuryu reached the bottom of the staircase and kept riding. Heror and Adjaash descended the steps, in pursuit on foot. But as soon as they reached the courtyard grounds, they saw that Yuryu¡¯s horse had suddenly halted, no more than twenty feet out.


    All at once, the wind seemed to slow, and a deathly silence fell on the courtyard. Under the shadow of the temple, in the light of sunset, Yuryu kicked and cursed loudly at his horse to start moving, yanking and jerking the reins in a panic. But the horse would not move. It stomped and grunted and bowed its head, sensing danger. Yuryu kept cursing and kicking until one kick was too fierce, and the horse reared up on its hind legs. Yuryu lurched and dangled with one foot inside the stirrup, then fell hard to the sand and stone below. The horse screeched and bucked backward, then turned and dashed away to the south, disappearing in the dust with echoing cries.


    Yuryu winced and propped himself up off the ground, and Adjaash started to run out to grab him ¨C when an oscillating tremor flared up, and the desert exploded to the north. All their eyes whipped to the sound.


    The ground rumbled. A rush of wind sped past. Stones cracked and fell, and a cloud of sand crowned outward. And northward, above the dust and the shadow, shining brilliantly in the amber light of the setting sun¡­ something floated in the air.


    It might have been an angel of death. To Heror¡¯s eye, it looked almost like a manta ray ¨C an animal he¡¯d seen before off the coast of Ardys. But this was different. It was a golden-brown color, with darker brown streaks running across its shoulders and fins. It was graceful ¨C almost ethereal ¨C with a broad head and magnificent wings that stretched thirty feet wide, which it used to gently coast and sway in the sky, in a mesmerizing stasis.


    As Yuryu saw the ghostly creature, he began to shake uncontrollably, and he collapsed onto the ground again, curling into a ball. Her eyes panicked, Adjaash looked at Yuryu, then again at the creature in the sky. In a silent, frozen, eerily peaceful moment, the floating creature tilted its wings back ever so slightly. Adjaash started to run out again, to try and bring Yuryu back ¨C when, from its benevolent perch in the air, the creature suddenly snapped its wings forward in an instant violent motion.


    Heror saw the danger. He grabbed Adjaash and pulled her back just as a supersonic shockwave came from the north and overran the courtyard. From the snap of the ray¡¯s wings, wind and air flooded into the temple grounds at impossible speeds ¨C so fast that a deafening sonic boom came a millisecond later. All at once, a tsunami of sand engulfed the grounds. All the statues and pillars and marble slabs crumbled and disintegrated and were washed away, and Yuryu disappeared in an avalanche of dust and shattered stone.


    For a fleeting moment, Heror went deaf from the noise, and a sharp, painful ringing filled his ears. The shockwave had knocked him off his feet, and he lay on his left side at the bottom of the marble steps, covered in dust and powdered rock. He lifted his forehead off the bottom stair, blood trickling from a fresh cut. In a daze, he looked back at the courtyard. It was gone ¨C lost in a billowing cloud of sand.


    Now he turned his eyes back ahead. On the bottom stairs beside him, he saw Adjaash ¨C also covered in dust ¨C pushing herself up to her feet with a muffled grunt. The ringing started to fade, and Heror¡¯s hearing came back. As it crescendoed, he heard Adjaash barking orders to the others at the temple entrance, hair strewn over her face.


    ¡°Whatever the fuck it is, shoot it!!¡± she shouted at the top of her lungs. ¡°Brocus, stay back with the horses!¡±


    Heror winced and tried to rise to his feet, feeling pain in his joints. Adjaash held out her hand, as the orange light of sunset peeked through the haze behind her.


    ¡°Come on, Heror,¡± she said hastily, new fear in her voice. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±


    Heror took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. Side by side, they dashed up the marble steps, back toward the temple entrance. Near the top of the stairs, Nariyu and Khaliu stood with bows at the ready, loosing arrows aimlessly into the sand clouds below. Heror and Adjaash only made it halfway when another thunderous boom came from the north, shaking the ground. There was a rush of air, and in a flash, the creature swooped in front of them, over the top of the staircase. It passed in front of Khaliu, and when it disappeared in the dust to the south, Khaliu was gone.


    At that moment, Adjaash glanced to her right and saw a second creature flying toward them at high speed, wings unfurled. In a heat, she yelled ¨C ¡°duck!!¡± ¨C and she dropped to her stomach on the low-sloping stairs, wrenching Heror down with her by his shoulder. As Heror dropped, he felt something spiny graze his back, and the creature vanished left.


    ¡°Go!¡± Adjaash hurried, as soon as the creature was gone.


    She planted and kept running up the steps, and Heror went to do the same ¨C when his back foot slipped off a dent in the marble. He lost his footing and fell back onto his stomach, and he started to roll down the stairs.


    ¡°No¨C Heror!!¡±


    Heror tumbled and tumbled, before landing hard on his side, back on the sand grounds below. Scraped and bruised, he winced and coiled at the pain ¨C but only for a moment before adrenaline forced him to his feet.


    In a rush, Heror unsheathed Kerit and readied his stance. His tunic, tucked pants, and boots were all tattered and torn and dirty, and dirt and blood caked his face and hair. As his eyes rose again, it was as if he was in a sandstorm. All around him, brown dust billowed like firesmoke; if there was clear sky above, he could not see it. The ground was loose and powdered, and a new silence set in ¨C until he heard the all-too-familiar tremor to his left.


    Heror whisked that way, and he saw a shadow streaking toward him in the sand cloud. He pulled his sword up in defense and lowered his stance, and the creature scraped by him. He felt something tug at his arm above the elbow as it passed, but he rolled his shoulder forcefully and its grip released.


    It was only a second or two later when he heard a creature approach again. He saw the shadow to his right this time, and as the creature whizzed just overhead, he raised his sword in an arm-bar form. A claw of some kind scraped off the metal, letting off a hollow ring.


    There was the low roll of something swimming through the sands beneath him, and Heror readied his sword once more, eyes intense. He tried to track the movement through the vibrations, but as soon as he heard and felt it, it disappeared, and he was left blind in the brown fog again.


    But then the ground started to shake, heavier than before ¨C and on either side of Heror, creatures emerged from the deep. By instinct, he dropped to the ground and rolled, barely evading the first attack. The second looped overhead, and as it rushed through the air, it blew back the sand cloud, letting in the blue sky and light again.


    Heror rose to his knee and loaded his sword, then whirled around and swung with ruthless force, and he met the second creature just before it reached him. He felt the tug of a successful slice and the spatter of hot liquid, and the creature passed narrowly overhead before crashing into the sand nearby, the wind following close behind.


    Now he heard a stomach-curdling noise ¨C a loud, sneering, bug-like whine from the creature as it writhed in pain, just fifteen feet from where he stood. Before he could approach it, the creature dragged itself into the haze again and disappeared, and as Heror looked down at his feet, he saw what he had cut off: Two brown, spiny, clawed walking legs that the creature had extended from its torso.


    Heror had only a second to regain his composure. In the thinning dust cloud, he saw an upswell of sand making its way toward him, as one of the creatures tunneled at high speed. He backtracked and tried to return to the marble steps, but as the sands rocked and swept, he lost his footing and fell onto his back.


    The quake intensified, and just as Heror sat up, he watched as one of the ray-like creatures emerged from the sand at his feet, digging itself out with its dorsal fins. As it surfaced, it rose and loomed over him, spreading its wings, and he saw its features in their full, awful glory. A membrane on its wide head and face peeled back to reveal sharp teeth, fangs, and clacking mandibles speckled with fresh blood, and as it ascended from the ground, six spiny clawed legs unfolded from pouches beneath the skin of its front torso, stamping violently in the dust.


    Heror grimaced at the sight of the monster, and in a panic, he tried to slide back from the beast. But as he went to move, one of the beast¡¯s claws stamped his pant leg ¨C just missing his calf ¨C and trapped him there. Heror grappled his sword and thrust it forward to defend himself. The creature leaned in and let out a low, rattling hiss, fangs bared. Heror felt the heat of the beast¡¯s breath on his face, and it started to lean closer, ever closer ¨C when a speeding arrow tore through its jaw.


    The creature cried out in pain and retracted its claw leg, and Heror rushed to his feet. He glanced back and saw Adjaash standing at the bottom of the marble staircase, another arrow already nocked.


    ¡°Nariyu, cover us!¡± she shouted, tilting her head as she aimed again.


    She let loose another arrow, but the creature leapt off the ground using its legs, and dodged just above the arrow¡¯s tip. And then, in a smooth motion, the creature tucked its legs back inside its torso flap and dove into the loose sands, disappearing beneath the surface.


    The dust clouds were starting to lift. The sky was red. Heror watched the ground with wide eyes, then whipped his head back around on a swivel. Chest heaving, his eyes met Adjaash¡¯s for a moment ¨C and then he saw the second creature emerging not far behind her, sand grains pouring off its wings. As it surfaced again, its legs unfurled, and it rose to a fast, towering crawl.


    Heror only had time to let out a quick warning shout before the beast itself hissed loudly, limping feverishly on four legs. Adjaash whirled around and let loose another arrow. In her haste, however, she missed her mark, and she could idle no longer. Just as the creature lunged onto the stairs, Adjaash dove off the bottom step, rolling in the sand and settling on one knee. Then she quickly slung her bow over her shoulders, ripped two twin daggers from underneath her poncho, and turned back toward the beast, holding the daggers at the ready as her nose twitched in a snarl.


    The creature climbed down from the stairs and widened its wings, standing tall on its hind legs. With its two front legs, it lashed out and stabbed at Adjaash with its claw tips. They matched back and forth, trading swings ¨C Adjaash ducking and sidestepping sharp, vicious jabs with unflinching focus.


    Heror kept his eyes on Adjaash, but he could still feel the second creature lurking. His eyes lashed back and forth, until he saw the beast rising from the sand, in an attempt to flank her. Now Heror sprinted ahead and cut the creature off. And just twenty feet behind Adjaash, he began his own duel.


    The second creature¡¯s jaw was wounded, but all of its limbs were intact. It stood on its hind legs as it stabbed and serrated with its four front claws. Heror adjusted his stance and defended with his blade. The metal whined and chirped as claws grazed it from different angles, but Heror kept his grip strong and his base stronger ¨C blocking vertical, lateral, and angular strikes. The creature tried to surprise him with simultaneous jabs high and low, but Heror stepped to the right and dragged his sword upward, brushing away the attacks. After this parry, he sent a powerful swing forward, and cut a deep gash in one of the creature¡¯s front legs.


    The creature recoiled and reared up ¨C unleashing a ribbed, guttural roar ¨C before widening and flapping its wings. With the flap of its wings, the creature leapt back and sent a wave of wind toward Heror. In the sudden gale, he slid backward and tumbled, but adrenaline brought him back up in a flash. He advanced on the creature again, but before he could reach it, the creature stood upright and flapped its wings straight down, launching into the air.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Heror craned his head and neck to follow the creature as it rocketed into the sky. And just as it climbed, it started to loop down again. In its ray form, it soared overtop the dome against the red canvas of the sky ¨C dodging Nariyu¡¯s arrows with subtle leans ¨C and then it curved back and screamed toward the Aelyum, where Heror stood exposed. At first, Heror thought to stand his ground, but the creature was coming in too fast for him to withstand the impact. Like a phantom, it swooped down over the sands and sped his way ¨C too high to jump over, too low to duck.


    He couldn¡¯t sidestep; his only thought was to turn and run. As he did, however, the creature slammed into his back and roped its legs under his arms, lifting him up off the ground. Then it curved with brutal quickness, dumping Heror into the sand with pummeling force. Heror rolled and rolled until he stopped on his stomach. He grunted and looked up, and saw his discarded sword on the ground not far ahead.


    The wind was rushing; he could hear the creature coming back already. Pulse racing, he dove forward and grabbed his weapon. And in the same motion, he whirled around just in time to block the creature from sinking its fangs into his neck. The creature¡¯s claw legs planted into the ground all around him, while its jaw clamped down on the width of his blade.


    With whitened knuckles, Heror kept hold of the sword, trapped with his back against the sand. As the creature pressed down more and more ¨C grunting and growling ¨C Heror was forced to bring his left hand under the blade. The sharp edges dug into his hand, and Heror watched as the creature¡¯s small, black, beady eyes went to the blood that was drawn. Its mandibles clacked. It hissed, spewing saliva.


    Heror¡¯s face twisted in disgust, and in a bout of anger, he sent a heavy kick into the creature¡¯s abdomen, near the base of its bottom legs. He did this again, and again ¨C until the third kick hit a nerve, and the creature howled and convulsed, loosening its grip on the sword. As it drifted back, Heror ripped a sideways backhand slash with a fierce yell, cutting off one of the creature¡¯s forelegs.


    There was another howl of pain. The creature extended its wings, drifting into the air on the backs of the breeze, until it dove and retreated into the sand again, twenty feet to Heror¡¯s right. Face plastered with blood and grime and sweat and spit, Heror rose to his feet, huffing and heaving. And then he saw Adjaash in a stalemate, back near the steps. He started to run to her.


    Adjaash was fast and nimble, but the creature¡¯s claw legs extended and retracted with brutal quickness and efficiency, and the range of its attacks made it difficult for her to get close. The girl kept her stance tight, tucking her elbows as she blocked each jab with the flats of her blades, but there was no time to go on the attack. When the creature tried to sweep her legs, she jumped and reset her feet. When it lashed out at her head, she ducked and dodged.


    The creature attempted to sweep her ankles, and Adjaash stomped down on its leg, pinning it in the dust. Then she stabbed at the leg in an attempt to sever it ¨C but before her dagger could reach its mark, one of the creature¡¯s other legs snapped out and struck her in the face. The blunt force sent her flying to the left, and she let out a cry as she tumbled to the ground.


    Eyes wide, Heror quickened his pace in a panic. But just as he did so, he saw a figure sprinting down the marble steps. It was the old Midan Nariyu. Once Nariyu reached the third step to the bottom, he leapt out with a battle cry ¨C a wide-billed machete in his grip. Just as the creature turned its head, Nariyu stabbed his machete into the beast¡¯s back. With one hand, he clung to the top of the monster¡¯s wing. With the other, he stabbed relentlessly ¨C over and over ¨C as the creature let out a terrible wail.


    The creature veered away now, trying to shake Nariyu off, and Adjaash rose to her knee with a wince. Heror reached her and helped her to her feet. He leaned over and met her eyes, silently asking if she was alright. Adjaash nodded, then stowed her daggers and equipped her bow. As she nocked an arrow, Heror searched for the second creature. When he did not see it, his gaze shifted, and he went after Nariyu.


    Nariyu¡¯s fingers on his left hand dug into the beast¡¯s skin. With the blade in his right, he unleashed a torrent of fearsome stabs, screaming. Dull golden ichor trickled out of a dozen open wounds on the creature¡¯s torso. All the while, its bug-like whine pierced the open air again, as it flapped violently, trying to free itself from the Midan¡¯s grasp.


    Under the hail of Nariyu¡¯s strikes, this creature was agitated. It tried to pry over its wide shoulders with its claws, but it could not reach Nariyu. In a last-ditch move, it jumped off the ground with its legs, rose almost twenty feet, then flipped upside down and flapped its wounded wings. The air blast was weaker now, but it was enough to throw Nariyu into the ground at high speed. Nariyu slammed into the sand on his back, a cloud of dust rising on impact.


    The wind rushed from Nariyu¡¯s lungs, but after a wheeze, he forced himself up. However, in the stirred sands, he could no longer see, and Heror could no longer see him. Nariyu rose to his feet and curled his nose, readying his machete again.


    ¡°Stop hiding!!¡± he bellowed. ¡°Ti-aytuk!!¡±


    At that moment, a blast of air cleared the clouds again, and the demon returned, stomping its legs into the sand as it loomed over Nariyu. It was about to attack when it saw Heror closing in, following Nariyu¡¯s voice. The creature unfurled its wings and flapped, all at once sending Heror off his feet and tossing him back into the sand.


    As Heror rolled in the dust, Adjaash sent a hail of arrows in the beast¡¯s direction ¨C but it swatted all of them as if they were twigs. Then it turned back to Nariyu. It lashed out with its front legs, and there was the scrape of metal against claw, as Nariyu rushed to block.


    Now they clashed with matching swings ¨C Nariyu shedding the strikes of the beast¡¯s tendrils and countering with lightning-quick slashes. But with its razor sharp claws, the beast absorbed each attack, and after a moment more of stalemate, the creature reared up onto one leg, freeing another gnashing claw to join the fight. Nariyu strengthened his stance and deflected two stabs from the front legs, but in a whirl, the creature lashed out and lodged a claw into Nariyu¡¯s ankle.


    Nariyu shouted in pain, and just as the creature made entry, it ripped backward and pulled Nariyu to the ground. Then it dragged Nariyu left to right, before whipping him around and swinging him into the air, back toward the temple grounds. As he flew, his bow and his bag fell off his shoulders, into the sands.


    Nariyu hit the ground hard and came to a stop in the dust. He tried to climb to his feet, but his shredded ankle collapsed beneath his weight. He rolled onto his back and his eyes darted about, in search of his weapon. To his right, he saw Heror running toward him, still far off. Behind him, he heard Adjaash shouting. But that was all he saw or heard before the creature suddenly appeared again. From the skies, it came down like a meteor, and it forcefully stabbed into each of Nariyu¡¯s shoulders with its front claws. Nariyu groaned and gritted his teeth, and then he glared up at the beast as it loomed over him, growling and chattering.


    ¡°Do it,¡± Nariyu hissed, clasping the claw legs that punctured his shoulders. ¡°Take me to my grave, Zhai Ghi. You¡¯ll join me soon enough.¡±


    The creature let out a strange, menacing sound that almost resembled a laugh, as ichor seeped from its wounds. And then it floated ever so slightly off the ground, before wrenching its claws from the Midan¡¯s skin. Nariyu grunted in pain and clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them, the creature was hovering above him, all four of its legs retracted. As quickly as it rose above the ground, it stomped all four of its legs into the sand at once ¨C with so much force that a shockwave spread from impact. The shockwave blocked another of Adjaash¡¯s arrows, and from the force, the ground liquified beneath Nariyu, becoming as quicksand. Nariyu started to sink ¨C bones shattered, limbs numb ¨C and the creature descended on him, bowing its wings and head and pulling him below the tide.


    ¡°No!!¡± Adjaash yelled ¨C but it was too late. Nariyu was gone.


    Adjaash looked on in helpless horror, and Heror stopped running. Defeated, he leaned over as he tried to catch his breath.


    The winds slowed again under the red sky ¨C but it wasn¡¯t over. The creatures were wounded, but Heror could still feel them moving deep under the sands. They were gaining back their strength. They would be back soon.


    After a moment of silence, another quick tremor swelled and faded, bringing Adjaash back to her senses. Her mind raced ¨C desperate for ideas ¨C and her gaze went back to the sands where Nariyu had been taken under. Her eyes fell on the pack Nariyu had dropped ¨C the pack that held the torch supplies, about fifty feet from where she stood.


    ¡°Heror!!¡± she shouted from across the sand flat.


    Heror looked at her, and then his eyes followed hers to the pack. And they had the same idea.


    Heror was closer, and so he sprinted across the sands until he came to the leather pack. There was another tremor, but he didn¡¯t let it faze him. He grabbed the pack¡¯s leather strap, and in the same motion, he planted his foot and turned toward Adjaash, dashing toward her. In seconds, he met her at the base of the marble steps, and he knelt down to the ground, opening the pack in haste.


    ¡°They¡¯re attracted to blood,¡± Heror told her quickly.


    Even in shock, Adjaash could not restrain her sarcasm: ¡°You think so?¡±


    Hands caked with scarlet sweat, Heror rummaged through the pack until he found what he was looking for: The flint and steel, and the clay jar of whale oil. He set the items down on the sand, and then he opened the clay jar. Adjaash knelt down beside him and pulled her quiver of arrows off her shoulder. She clustered the arrows together in her hand, then dipped the arrow blades into the whale oil. Once they were soaked, she pulled the arrows out and set them on the bottom marble step.


    ¡°Give me your dagger,¡± Heror said quickly.


    ¡°What, why?¡±


    ¡°Just do it.¡±


    Adjaash reached beneath her poncho and pulled out a dagger for Heror to take. Once Heror took it in his right hand, he held out his left hand and brought the blade¡¯s tip to the cut on his palm.


    ¡°Wh¨C what are you doing??¡± Adjaash exclaimed, eyes widening.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take the jar and draw them out,¡± Heror explained. ¡°Once they¡¯re close, I¡¯ll toss the jar into the air, and you¡¯ll shoot it.¡±


    ¡°What if they¨C¡±


    ¡°Adjaash, it¡¯s the only way. Someone has to be bait.¡±


    Adjaash wanted to protest, but she knew she couldn¡¯t. The ground shook again. Heror brought the dagger to his palm and started to tug, but he felt a sting and hesitated. He gritted his teeth and was about to try again, when Adjaash stopped him.


    ¡°Let me do it,¡± she rushed. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick.¡±


    With haste, Heror gave the dagger back to Adjaash and held his left hand out. He closed his eyes, and Adjaash grabbed his left wrist. Then, in a swift motion, she cut a deep gash across the length of Heror¡¯s palm.


    Heror felt a sharp, stinging pain. He winced. The ground shook again. When he opened his eyes, his hand was bleeding heavily. He took a second to compose himself, then nodded. Then he grabbed the jar of whale oil with his right hand and tucked it against his stomach. The ground shook again. He rose to his feet, turned back toward the open sands, and gave one last glance to Adjaash.


    ¡°Shoot straight,¡± he told her before running out into the desert, as the light of the sunset started to die in the west.


    Heror¡¯s feet trudged in the sand as he ran, and he rubbed the blood from his left hand on his arms and neck. As Adjaash watched him run off, she grabbed the flint and steel and stepped up onto the stairs to get more elevation.


    Heror¡¯s eyes darted back and forth, and when he reached about fifty feet out, he heard the tremors again. To his left, he saw an upswell in the sand. He started to run faster, tugging the jar along while blood dripped from his palm. The ground shook, and the sands churned, and twin tremors ¨C left and right ¨C gained in ferocity. Heror¡¯s head whisked around. Both creatures were closing in.


    On the stairs, Adjaash saw this, and her focus went to the arrows. She scraped the flint and steel together, and sparks flew ¨C but none of them caught. She scraped again, and again ¨C quicker, quicker ¨C until at last, sparks fell on the oiled arrow tips, and they caught ablaze. She let out a breathless ¡°yes¡±, then grabbed a flaming arrow and nocked it ¨C feeling the fletchings tickling between her fingers and the heat dancing against her skin. She set the arrow at the anchor point, then took a long, deep breath ¨C heart pounding.


    Heror sped up to a sprint, whale oil sloshing and splashing inside the jar. He left the shade of the temple, and the red glow of the sun peeked over the dunes in the distance. They were closer now ¨C nearly overtaking him ¨C and they started to re-emerge from the sands.


    To his left, the five-legged creature climbed out of the depths with monstrous quickness, hissing and snarling at its prey as it erased the gap between them with scampering legs. To his right, the four-legged creature ascended from the Aelyum with grace, flapping its wings as it hovered above the ground and extended its claws.


    ¡°Toss it,¡± Adjaash urged in a whisper, arrow loaded. ¡°Toss it.¡±


    They grew closer, closer ¨C twenty feet, fifteen feet, ten ¨C and then, just outside the reach of their thrashing pincers, Heror came to a sudden halt, skidding and kicking up dust. Adjaash inhaled, frozen in focus. Heror heaved the whale oil jar above, just as the creatures started to converge. Adjaash centered her aim in an instinctive jolt, and then she let the arrow fly.


    The glowing arrow ripped through the air with the speed of a falcon, its light casting over the ocean of dunes. Heror dove to the right and turned his back as the creatures crashed together ¨C whale oil spilling over them. And then Adjaash¡¯s flaming arrow struck the clay jar, perfectly in its center.


    The tip of the arrowhead knifed and cracked through the clay, and the flames met and ignited the oil inside ¨C and all at once, a massive fireball exploded over the desert landscape. Heror felt a barrage of blistering heat singe his back, and he rolled to the right, as the wind rushed once more.


    The explosion engulfed the creatures in a coffin of flame. Shards of hardened clay acted as shrapnel, and all at once, there was a chorus of sneering whines and screeches. The fiery inferno climbed the sky for a moment longer before it died out, and the creatures fell to the sand, tattered and charred. One of the creatures, still burning on its shoulder, tugged itself away with its one remaining leg and retreated back under the sand, while the other writhed in the dust with twisted limbs, mortally wounded.


    Heror still felt the heat of the fire on his back, and so he rolled in the sand until he was sure it was extinguished. Then he rose to his feet. When he turned, he saw the wounded creature in the sand, not far from where he stood.


    With a heavy breath, he stepped toward the sneering beast and unsheathed his sword. Once he stood over it, he stabbed down, then wrenched sideways and cut off the beast¡¯s head. Its movement slowed and then stopped. Ichor spilled onto the ground.


    At that moment, silence fell over the desert. Heror panted and heaved and slowed his breath ¨C covered in sand and blood ¨C and then he sheathed his sword and turned. From where he stood, he could see the red glint of the sun as it sunk below the horizon, between the dunes. Up above, the sky was darkening. The stars were out.


    As he limped back to the steps, the adrenaline wore off, and pain stretched all across Heror¡¯s body ¨C from his head to his back to his legs. The open wound on his hand pulsed with pain, his palm coated with blood.


    When Heror reached the stairs, Adjaash was making her way back down the steps, leather pack in hand. Heror collapsed at the bottom step and fell to his knees, and Adjaash rushed to meet him. A safe distance behind her, Brocus followed and observed the two.


    ¡°Just sit for a moment, just sit,¡± Adjaash told Heror. ¡°Here¡­¡±


    She set down her pack and knelt down beside Heror, then pulled out a blanket that had been rolled inside. She tore a strip from the blanket and wrapped the strip around the open wound on Heror¡¯s hand, tying a knot to tighten the bandage.


    ¡°What about your head?¡± Heror asked, looking at the bruise over Adjaash¡¯s right eye.


    ¡°You got it worse than I did,¡± she reasoned, trying to force a smile.


    After a moment, Adjaash smelled something burnt, and as she leaned over Heror, she saw his back.


    ¡°Oh no¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Heror questioned.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ fine,¡± Adjaash managed. ¡°We¡¯ll be able to treat it better at the camp.¡±


    ¡°One got away,¡± Heror mumbled.


    ¡°I know,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°But I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll mess with us for a while.¡±


    ¡°We should leave now,¡± Heror suggested. ¡°Just to be safe.¡±


    Adjaash looked at Heror, then nodded. She pulled out a case of silk from her pack, and wrapped a thin silk bandage around Heror¡¯s forehead, to cover a cut from the rocks. Brocus lingered in the silence, farther up the stairs.


    ¡°The others?¡± Brocus asked after a moment.


    The silence went on. Once Adjaash was finished, she closed her pack and helped Heror to his feet, and the three went up the steps and returned to the dome. They calmed their horses, ate food, drank water, and then they mounted and walked back down the steps. Adjaash held the reins of Khaliu¡¯s horse as they walked, while Heror held Kauta¡¯s.


    It was night when they journeyed back out into the sands. It was quiet. At the base of the steps, they paused for a moment. Adjaash¡¯s eyes traced upward in the sky, sifting through the stars.


    ¡°The Peak of the Obelisk is the north star¡­¡± she whispered to herself, turning. ¡°¡­ which means southeast is this way¡­¡±


    And so they started their trek back to camp in the cool night air. Not long after they left the steps, they came across the dead creature lying in the sand ¨C its flayed, headless remains strewn across the ground.


    ¡°Muscvall makes your acquaintance,¡± Brocus announced as they walked by the creature¡¯s corpse.


    Adjaash and Heror paid no mind to the scholar, their tired eyes in a daze as the group ventured back into the desert ¨C the light of the stars and the crescent moon shining against the waves beyond.

 21. Visions

    By the time they reached the canyons at the foot of the Midan camp, the sun was just starting its ascent in the east. They rode up through the canyon pass and came back onto the red rock flat, and entered the camp grounds.


    The last night of travel was all but a blur to Heror. By now, he felt a searing pain all across his back. His breathing had become heavy and labored, and he shivered ¨C his skin cold and clammy. He was dizzy, and he swayed as his horse walked. He¡¯d at first thought it was just the cold of night, but as the air warmed, he felt no relief.


    Adjaash led Heror and Brocus to the posts by the river, as the few Midan soldiers awake watched them in silence. She halted Ashanji at the first post, and then tiredly slid to the ground, wincing as her sore feet hit the hardened soil.


    Next to Adjaash, Heror filed in, and as his horse stopped, a new wave of exhaustion came over him. He slumped over, and Shaadur glanced back at him with a low whinny. Then he sat up again and went to dismount ¨C when he fell to the ground and landed on his side.


    Adjaash saw Heror fall, and her energy returned in the form of fear. She rushed over to him, and as she knelt down in the dim morning light, she saw that his back was covered with chars and burns from the explosion.


    ¡°He¡¯s going into shock¡­¡± she realized, before rising to her feet again and shouting: ¡°Help! Somebody!¡±


    A Midan came to help Adjaash hoist Heror up, and they took him to his tent at the northern side of camp. There, they laid him down and gave him a blanket. The sun rose, and the day lightened. Raldu soon arrived with another Midan, who wore a braided beard.


    Heror drifted in and out of consciousness. He could hear Adjaash trying to speak to him, but he couldn¡¯t make out the words. The bearded Midan fed him a watered powder of sorts. Then Heror sat up, vomited, and laid back down, and his pain and his mind left him for a time. His vision darkened. When it returned, he was not where he had once been.


    He was in a strange place ¨C a place where it was dark but light all at once. The sky was a deep dark indigo. A thin amber sunset lined the horizon, but at the sky¡¯s apex, a grand, unmoving solar eclipse loomed over the land, its coronal ring bathing the landscape in an ethereal glow.


    Hills and cliffs jutted out in the distance. On the cliffs, shadows of men walked against the red horizon, large and small ¨C too far away for Heror to see or hear, or to call to. And in the foreground, underneath a sprawling tree at the foot of a shimmering spring, a giant red fox stood, peering out at the men who walked. But when the fox turned and looked at Heror, it had eight spider eyes ¨C wide, unblinking eyes that bulged and stretched from the back of its snout to the top of its temple, seeming to see all.


    Heror felt a tinge of fear as the fox stared at him, but his attention was drawn away as he saw something in the sky. From the black horizon, past the fox and the shadow men, spiny legs towered up into the expanse, climbing and swirling as they reached toward the eclipse ¨C claws and tarsi stretching wide. Two legs grabbed the moon from either side, and all at once, the moon was pulled down from its throne. There was a blinding flash as the sun returned ¨C but then it extinguished, like a flame without oxygen ¨C and from the circular void, a dark shadow poured down the sky.


    The shadow loomed larger and larger, until it blotted out all of the light, and this vision dissipated. But soon after, another came. There was a spark, and then, from a prism of light and color came the burning imprint of a phoenix, spreading its wings and unleashing a spire of flames. And the phoenix flew over the lands, leaving a plasmic trail in its wake. Over desert sands and waves, over grand mountains and valleys and fjords. Over vast oceans and whirlpools, over jagged cliffs where thunderheads loomed and lightning struck.


    And then the phoenix flew over open fields with cobble roads, toward the Crystal Tower in the far distance. Under the Tower¡¯s shadow, crops burned and smoke billowed. And as it swooped down toward the ground, Heror heard voices calling for help among the fires ¨C pooling together in a chorus of cries. He heard Thaeolai and Ucankacei, as the fire grew hotter and the smoke grew thicker, darker, heavier. Adjaash called his name, as smoke turned to dust¡­


    And then he jolted awake.


    It was evening. He was lying in his tent with a blanket overtop him. His feet were elevated by a small linen roll. Through a thin gap in the tent flap, he saw a sliver of darkening blue sky to the east. A gust of wind rolled through, and the tent walls swayed ever so slightly. Not too far in the distance, he heard a bird¡¯s call. Crickets chanted.


    Delicately, Heror sat up in his bedroll. He slid the blanket off his chest, crumpling it in his lap. Then he folded it aside and took a deep breath, crossing his legs. The dirt and grime was gone from his eyes and face. As he looked down, he saw that his upper body was wrapped in bandages below the armpits. There was a new bandage over the cut on his palm, with a stain of red in the middle. He tried to close his hand, but he felt discomfort, and so he stopped.


    Now Heror slid his right hand back, and he carefully rose to his feet. There was a rickety pain in his back and abdomen, and he grimaced at the feeling. But once he gained his balance again, he started toward the tent flap. He brushed through it and stepped out into the open, and felt a shiver as the cool air of dusk came to greet him.


    His eyes went north. He saw the sands of the desert, catching the last orange rays of the day. Wispy, feather-like cirrus clouds wandered the skies like nomads far above, reflecting and refracting the evening blue and gold.


    Heror felt a shiver again, and he was about to go back inside ¨C when from the east, toward the river, he heard footsteps approaching. From around the tent, Raldu suddenly appeared.


    ¡°Heror!¡± he exclaimed, a bit surprised. ¡°I was just about to come check up on you. How are you feeling?¡±


    Heror winced at the pain in his midsection again. He wasn¡¯t sure how to answer honestly.


    ¡°Better, at least,¡± Heror managed before glancing away. ¡°Where¡¯s Adjaash?¡±


    ¡°Once she knew you were alright, she went to rest ¨C which, I¡¯m sure you understand,¡± Raldu informed him. ¡°She told me what happened. It was very brave, what you did.¡±


    Heror only half-acknowledged him, still tired and groggy and sore. For a moment, it was silent. Then Raldu spoke again, gesturing to the east, strands of loose silver and gold hair dancing in the breeze.


    ¡°I have a fire ready by the river. Come join me. You can warm yourself up.¡±


    Heror followed Raldu to the riverbank, stopping along the way to visit Shaadur. At the river, Raldu led Heror to a metal fire pit with several tree stumps circling it. Inside the pit, it was not a real fire, but instead flames of keatuu plasma that emanated warmth and golden-orange light without smoke. Raldu sat on a stump, his back to the stream. Heror sat across from him. Once Heror sat, Raldu reached into a satchel that hung at his side and pulled out a metal flask of water.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said, tossing the flask to Heror. ¡°You should drink.¡±


    Heror caught the flask and cupped it in his hands. At the thought of water, his throat went dry, and so he unscrewed the cork and took a swig. Then he set the flask on the ground and leaned forward, blue eyes catching the flamelight.


    ¡°Your back was covered in burns,¡± Raldu told Heror. ¡°We had to treat it with cold water and aloe vera cream. Our doctor administered peyotie to help with the pain. It¡¯s a cactus plant that grows in the canyons nearby. I would¡¯ve used keawal, but my healing skills are not as developed. I didn¡¯t want to do more damage.¡±


    Heror said nothing. His worn eyes were stuck to the flamelight. He thought about the dream.


    ¡°The Midans value peyotie¡¯s capability as a pain reliever,¡± Raldu went on. ¡°But it is also a powerful dream agent. A hallucinogen¡­¡±


    Raldu eyed Heror. The young man did not look up. Raldu could tell his mind was clouded.


    ¡°I do hope you saw nothing too troubling,¡± Raldu offered.


    From the tone of Raldu¡¯s voice, Heror sensed a willingness to talk and listen, and so he spoke.


    ¡°I saw a fox.¡±


    ¡°A fox?¡± Raldu echoed, his eyes intent.


    Heror nodded.


    ¡°Someone¡­ once told me that¡­ they guide souls to the afterlife,¡± Heror went on. ¡°But this fox was different. It was larger, and it had¡­ it had eight eyes. Like a spider. It stood at the bottom of a tree, next to a spring. There were silhouettes in the distance, and it was watching over them. There was an eclipse. And then¡­ there was a phoenix. There was fire¡­¡±


    Heror trailed off. Thaeolai¡¯s cry for help echoed in his head. Raldu watched the young man from where he sat.


    ¡°What else did you see?¡± Raldu asked.


    Heror¡¯s expression was one of pain.


    ¡°I heard my friend calling for help.¡±


    Raldu looked at him but said nothing. Heror thought for a moment, then sighed and shook his head.


    ¡°I said some hurtful things to her before I left,¡± Heror admitted. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m worried that¡­¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Heror went quiet for a moment longer, then tried to force a short laugh. It wasn¡¯t like him to dwell on dreams.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had dreams and nightmares before, when I was younger,¡± Heror rationalized. ¡°It doesn¡¯t mean anything¡­ does it? What could this even mean?¡±


    Now he looked at Raldu, seeking advice from the old man. Raldu eyed Heror with a stern, contemplating look. Then he let out a long breath.


    ¡°That¡¯s up to you,¡± Raldu replied. ¡°People have taken inspiration from dreams and nightmares since the dawn of the elesvium. Some worshippers of the Al-Ra believe them to be forewarnings of things to come, or signs of what may pass. Some accuse the Parvan Gods of Dreams and Nightmares ¨C the twins Tamayre and Raateym ¨C of toying with humans and haunting them with visions that might mislead, disillusion, or frighten them. Some think it to be Ikiaote¡¯s doing ¨C the God of the Mind ¨C to surreptitiously meddle in realms that aren¡¯t his, as the Par-va are said to delight in so well¡­¡±


    Raldu¡¯s voice faded, and he pursed his lips. Then he looked at Heror again.


    ¡°But then there are those who are not spiritual or superstitious,¡± Raldu continued. ¡°And there are those who see no significance, or decide for themselves what the significance is. Many random dreams have been had. Not everything in life has a distinct meaning on the surface. And some meanings themselves are misjudged. All this to say¡­¡±


    The old man paused again.


    ¡°It¡¯s up to you.¡±


    Heror looked at the ground, deep in thought. He leaned down, winced, and picked up a twig from the riverbank. He bent and spun it between his fingers, picking at the fibers.


    ¡°That thing¡­ in the desert,¡± Heror recollected. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a nightmare, but it was something out of one. If¡­¡±


    Heror stopped again. The flamelight crackled.


    ¡°You asked me what I believe in,¡± Heror remembered, looking ahead at Raldu. ¡°I¡¯ve never known. Maybe I¡¯ve never thought about it as much as I should. But if I don¡¯t believe in the Gods¡­ how can I explain what I saw? What I¡¯ve seen?¡±


    Raldu offered the boy an understanding smile.


    ¡°For many people, the purpose of the Gods is to reconcile things they can¡¯t explain.¡±


    ¡°But what does that say about the Gods?¡± Heror asked with agitation. ¡°Are they just ideas that we created to help us sleep at night? To help us feel better about the unknown, or how insignificant we truly are? Or is there something more to all of this? What is the answer?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re asking yourself questions I asked myself a long time ago, Heror.¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡± Heror scoffed with a shake of his head. ¡°And what did you decide?¡±


    Raldu was silent for a moment. He eyed the young man, smokeless firelight catching in his sharp eyes. Then a small, reserved, fragile smile appeared.


    ¡°I never told you how I ended up here, did I?¡± Raldu inquired. ¡°You must¡¯ve been curious¡­ given our similarities¡­¡±


    Heror answered only by giving Raldu his attention. The young man sat up and dropped the twig to the ground. Raldu nodded and started to speak again. His skin and hair shone gold in the luminance.


    ¡°Close to the border wall in Ardys, in the northeastern corner ¨C nestled between the wall and the ocean, there used to be small villages in the swamps,¡± Raldu began. ¡°There¡¯s actually a way past the border wall on the eastern shore ¨C an area where the wall does not stretch, and Ardys and Mide are connected. It¡¯s impossible to use for armies; the bog soil is too wet and soft for large armored groups to walk through. And even then, the Ardysan khilung is well aware of the passage. Cephris Khi Thung sits not far south of the gap ¨C one of the largest fortresses in the Kingdom. Anyway, I digress¡­¡±


    Raldu paused and recollected himself.


    ¡°This gap of swamps and bogs is forgotten in Ardys. And this is where I grew up. A long time ago, in a small village called Varesis. In this small village of stilted wooden houses and bridges and paddle boats ¨C perhaps of around 80 people ¨C Opelites and djauuls lived among one another. It was mostly djauuls from Mote, but my father was an Opelite who fell in love with a djauul. And I was the product of their union.


    ¡°When I grew older, I would help the men of the village travel west, to trade in a neighboring village maybe 15 miles down the way. This was a larger village, of only Opelites ¨C and they did not like us. But they wanted our fish, basiisk and gator meat, peat for farming, and medicine herbs, and we wanted their grain and livestock. And so we traded ¨C but things were always tense. Sometimes there were fights and brawls in the market. Sometimes we came back bruised and bloody, with threats that next time, it would be worse.


    ¡°I wed an Opelite woman from the neighboring village, and she came back to Varesis with me. And we had two children. But every time she went back down the way to her old village, to visit her family, she would hear threats and warnings from the village folk. Branding her a traitor, a disgrace, a jhuhk. That she would get what was coming to her for marrying someone who was beyond Opela¡¯s grace. For spurning her God and her people. My parents had taught me to pray to the Gods, and so I prayed ¨C that no harm would come to us. Every time she came back, and the others came back, the threats grew more and more real. And each time, I prayed. That we would be safe¡­¡±


    Now the old man trailed off. His breath wavered. He let out a surrendered sigh.


    ¡°¡­ but one day they came down the way and slaughtered everyone. I was fishing farther down the shore, and when I came back¡­ it was all gone. And the smoke¡­¡±


    He lost his words again.


    ¡°I barely had enough to bury.¡±


    Silence came again. The old man glanced up at Heror, then shook his head as his eyes fell back on the flamelight.


    ¡°I fled to Mide,¡± he finally carried on. ¡°I heard stories from the Midans not far apart from my own, passed down from generations. And I wondered why the Gods would allow these things to happen. And then I realized¡­ maybe it¡¯s because we leave it up to them. This is what I decided, Heror¡­¡±


    Raldu paused, then continued.


    ¡°Whatever Gods you do or do not believe in¡­ in this world ¨C the world that we can see and hear and touch ¨C we make our own fate. We are at the mercy of ourselves and the humans and creatures that live among us, and many are cruel. Maybe the Gods¡¯ will is giving us a life we can use to make a change. But they are not the ones who will make changes for us. It¡¯s up to us to conjure that power. It¡¯s only up to us.¡±


    Raldu¡¯s face was one of conviction, and his eyes went back to the solemn sparks. A feeling of sadness came over Heror, and he dipped his head in the shadow. Then he glanced up again, as the keatuu flames danced.


    ¡°So you want revenge,¡± Heror deduced.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want revenge,¡± Raldu shook his head. ¡°I want recompense.¡±


    Raldu could see that his answer to the grand question was not completely satisfactory to Heror. The young man leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His brow lowered in contemplation. His thoughts still ran.


    ¡°We can¡¯t explain everything that happens, or everything that is¡­ because this world is cursed by us that live,¡± Raldu conceded. ¡°All we can do¡­ is choose to act with what we are given. To grab hold of that power, and use it to make things better. To me, there is only one God I can see and feel and interact with¡­ and that God is power.¡±


    Now Raldu eyed Heror again. The young man was still not convinced ¨C half-listening as he stared into the heat with a pensive expression. Raldu sighed.


    ¡°Heror¡­ you¡¯re looking for me to give you an answer,¡± the old man went on, softening his tone. ¡°To impart decisive wisdom upon you. But I¡¯m not going to tell you how or what to think. What you believe about the world, and how you piece it together, is one of the central aspects that defines you as a person¡­ and it is something you have to find on your own. I won¡¯t deprive you of that. And it will take time. You¡¯re young. You¡¯re in no rush. At least here¡­ you finally have the freedom to wonder.¡±


    This answer, at last, comforted Heror some small bit. The young man offered a considering glance in Raldu¡¯s direction, then nodded, let out a long exhale, and dropped his eyes again.


    It was quiet for a time. Night fell. They listened to the crickets and the crackles of the rune flames. Raldu watched the young man¡¯s rumination with hawk-like eyes. And then after a while, Raldu let out a silent breath and let his eyes drift around. He looked past Heror, toward one of the nearby tents. Nestled between the tent poles, glinting in the flamelight, he saw a large spider web strung across with a small spider resting in the middle, as the webbing fluttered in the calm breeze.


    Raldu let out a small chuckle. Heror glanced up at him, then followed Raldu¡¯s eyes to the spider web behind him.


    ¡°It has all of these trees by the river,¡± Raldu noted, eyes casting up at the leaves that whispered. ¡°And yet it chooses to build its web here.¡±


    Heror thought for a moment, then blinked and turned back toward the fire.


    The young man observed: ¡°It sets its roots where the ground is stable.¡±


    Raldu looked at the spider, and then at Heror. And it was silent for a time longer. The night deepened. The flamelight rippled. The river waters hummed. Crickets.


    Eventually, Raldu asked Heror: ¡°How much time do you think you need before you¡¯re ready to return to the desert and help find the Sword?¡±


    Heror glanced at the old man, then rolled his shoulders to try and dull the pain. The image of the desert creature flashed in his mind.


    ¡°How much time do you think I should take?¡± Heror deflected.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Raldu thought. ¡°Does it hurt to walk?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s mainly soreness in my legs. I think that should fade within a day or two. My back feels the worst¡­ but it feels better now than it did.¡±


    ¡°Would four days be enough?¡±


    Heror thought for a moment, then eyed Raldu and nodded silently.


    ¡°Four days, then,¡± Raldu concluded. ¡°Do you want something to eat? I know it¡¯s late, but¡­¡±


    ¡°My stomach is still settling, I think.¡±


    The young man glanced back toward the camp, before turning to face Raldu one last time.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go try and get more sleep,¡± Heror said, gingerly rising to his feet as he took the water flask with him. ¡°Thank you for the fire.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Raldu said with a smile.


    And then Heror turned and walked back into camp, leaving Raldu alone by the blaze.


    As Heror left from view, Raldu¡¯s eyes dropped to the flames. His expression hardened. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned in toward the heat, clasping his hands together ¨C when suddenly, the flames crackled wide, and a plasmic spark snapped at his left wrist. Raldu winced in pain and recoiled back, and when he turned his forearm, there was a burn mark where the rogue keatuu magic had struck him.


    Raldu sighed and scrunched his nose, and then he lifted his right hand toward his left. He held out two fingers ¨C his index and middle ¨C and pressed them onto the small burn wound. From his fingers, the subtle sea green light of a vitality spell seeped out. In only a second, the burn wound was gone, and his wrist was clear.


    Now Raldu sat back and slid his feet forward. He frowned for a moment, and then his face leveled out. He stared into the darkness of the camp, sharp violet eyes unflinching against the warping flamelight ¨C to the sounds of the night.

 22. By the River

    Heror slept in the next morning. A new light blue tunic was waiting for him ¨C folded on the ground ¨C and so he slipped it on over his bandage. He went to the mess tent and ate a small breakfast, then went to the river. It was quiet. The sky was a silver and gray overcast. A calm wind blew. Every now and then, he felt a misting of light rain against his skin.


    On the way to the river, Heror stopped by the horses. Shaadur greeted him with a neigh of recognition; Heror smiled lightly and patted Shaadur on his side. As he glanced left, Heror noticed that Adjaash¡¯s horse Ashanji was gone. His small smile remained, and he leaned over and looped the rope off of Shaadur¡¯s collar. Then he took hold of Shaadur¡¯s reins and walked him the rest of the way to the riverbank.


    Heror walked slowly, still feeling soreness in his joints. When he arrived at the riverbank with Shaadur, Adjaash was waiting for him, sitting on a stump by the firepit. Not far from where she sat, Ashanji rested by the water, standing idle.


    Adjaash glanced over her shoulder and saw Heror approach. She smiled and jumped to her feet, poncho and hair rustling in a light breeze. As Heror reached her, she walked up alongside him and gave him a light nudge.


    ¡°That¡¯s two times now that you¡¯ve fallen off a horse, by the way,¡± she informed.


    ¡°What, you¡¯re counting?¡± Heror sighed.


    ¡°Well, I have to if you¡¯re going to keep doing it,¡± Adjaash quipped with a smirk.


    They turned to the south as they walked alongside the edge of the river. Adjaash let out a short whistle, and Ashanji eagerly rode up behind them. Together, they all carried on toward the forest.


    ¡°If you ever fall off your horse, I¡¯m going to make sure you never hear the end of it,¡± Heror told Adjaash.


    ¡°That¡¯s the difference between you and me. You won¡¯t catch me slipping.¡±


    They walked back down the river path, until they passed the westward bend. Then they carried on, into the emerald cover of the woods. They went until they reached a point in the river where the banks widened. Farther down the way, Heror could hear the light hum of rapids. But where they stopped, the water was slower, as it pooled in a rocky brook.


    Now Adjaash turned and walked across the river, carefully stepping across on smooth, water-polished stones, while Ashanji trotted alongside her at ankle depth. Heror followed, holding Shaadur¡¯s reins as they walked.


    ¡°Careful where you step,¡± Adjaash teased. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you to fall again.¡±


    ¡°Yes you would,¡± Heror grumbled. ¡°Don¡¯t lie.¡±


    They reached the other side of the river, and Adjaash let go of Ashanji¡¯s reins, letting her roam into the woods. Heror did the same for Shaadur, and he watched as the smoky black horse rode out into the greens, then slowed to a trot and started sniffing and exploring in the forest dirt.


    While the horses went off on their own, Adjaash walked a little ways down the eastern bank of the river, until the water deepened again. Then she approached a tree at the edge of the bank. At the base of the tree trunk, a wooden bucket sat where Adjaash had left it, as did two crude fishing rods made from hazel shoots. Each rod was fitted at the end with a knot and lure made of silk, with bone-carved hooks attached at each end, looped safely over a nob farther down the rod. Adjaash checked each lure, brushing plant litter and slimy algae off the silk strands with her fingers.


    ¡°This is the best time to fish,¡± Adjaash said, glancing up at the overcast sky as light drizzle fell. ¡°They like to feed before more rain comes in.¡±


    Once the lures were clean, Adjaash picked up one of the rods and held it out for Heror to take. Heror grabbed the rod, and then Adjaash went back to grab her own. Now she dropped her eyes and scavenged the bank. After a moment, she knelt down and pinched at something with her fingers, inbetween stones and pebbles. When she lifted her hand up, a fat worm was trapped between her fingertips.


    ¡°Yes, this is a good one,¡± she said with a little too much excitement.


    She pinched the worm a bit harder, and Heror grimaced as he heard a squelch. Adjaash saw his reaction and grinned.


    ¡°What?¡± she chimed. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me that Heror ¨C hardened Midan warrior of the steppes, slayer of sand demons ¨C doesn¡¯t like worms.¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s just¡­¡± Heror fumbled. ¡°The noise was¡­ disconcerting.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well,¡± Adjaash sighed. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just catch more fish than you.¡±


    She started to turn back toward the river when she saw Heror kneel down and search the bank. Seconds later, he stood back up with a worm in hand. He shot her a look of challenge, then bent the worm, pinched his lure against the pole, and fastened the bait on his hook.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m impressed,¡± Adjaash admitted. ¡°You didn¡¯t even flinch.¡±


    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t let your head get any bigger than it is.¡±


    They set up beside the river. Adjaash pulled up her fishing bucket and set it upside down, then sat on it. Next to her, Heror sat with his legs crossed on the ground, pole in his lap, and they began to fish. Their first few casts all came back empty. For a little while, it was quiet, as the river bubbled, and the wind and the light rain drifted overhead.


    ¡°Did you know any of them well?¡± Heror asked after a time. ¡°The Midans?¡±


    Adjaash glanced at Heror, then cast again ¨C pinching the line on her backswing, then releasing it in front.


    ¡°Nariyu, I knew,¡± she said, her voice lower now. ¡°He was one of the elders of the camp. The other two, not as much. They were newer. Brought onto the party for support, mostly. Raldu only spared the soldiers he could with the activity at the border.¡±


    She paused for a moment, then let out a quick sigh.


    ¡°He died the way he wanted to,¡± she said of Nariyu. ¡°He was a fighter. The djauuls of the steppes dream of honorable deaths in combat, of sacrifice to their people. He achieved that. And we wouldn¡¯t have made it without him, so¡­ it wasn¡¯t for nothing.¡±


    The girl pulled her lure back in from the river. Once she lifted it from the water, she checked her worm to see if it was still secure.


    ¡°He would¡¯ve been happy to know that we brought Kauta back,¡± Adjaash went on. ¡°He loved his horse.¡±


    Another silence fell in. The tree leaves whirred above. A gust of wind blew, and a light mist cooled Heror¡¯s face. He dropped his eyes and fiddled with the lure between his fingers.


    ¡°Where do you think he went?¡± Heror wondered.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    She glanced at Heror, and his pondering gaze told her all she needed to know.


    ¡°Oh, you mean after life,¡± she realized.


    She paused again, then pinched the line and cast it out into the river. The lure landed in the middle of the light rapids, and slowly drifted north along the current.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± was all she could muster at first.


    ¡°What do you believe?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°Well¡­ there¡¯s a difference between what I believe¡­ and what I¡¯m supposed to believe,¡± Adjaash replied. ¡°In Torwan culture, life and death is all very simple, and the physical and spiritual worlds are not all too far apart. They coexist in a balance. We were taught to respect land and life while we live, because the spirit Shenu lives in everything. And then, when we die, our bodies are buried and given back to the land. We become one with the land again ¨C giving back to the land that gave to us, to give new life from past life. If we live well, our soul can be at peace.¡±


    Heror sensed quiet apprehension in her voice ¨C as if distancing herself from the words she was saying.


    ¡°What do you believe now?¡± he questioned.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t believe in that,¡± Adjaash reasoned. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡±


    She stopped herself. She blinked through strands of hair. Her shark tooth necklace swayed ever so slightly around her neck.


    ¡°Nevermind,¡± she said abruptly.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nevermind, it¡¯s nothing.¡±


    It was silent for a moment.


    ¡°Adjaash, you know¡­ you can talk to me.¡±


    Adjaash swallowed a lump in her throat. She blinked again, and her eyes fluttered ¨C and then she turned toward Heror and offered him a small smile.


    ¡°I know I can. I just¡­ don¡¯t want to talk about it right now. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    Heror nodded, then let his eyes fall to the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for bringing it up.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything wrong,¡± Adjaash assured him, trying to lighten her tone.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    She took a deep breath. Heror sat up straight and stretched his legs. Up above, a kingfisher darted across the stream, letting out a loud call.


    ¡°I think Nariyu went to a good place,¡± Adjaash said finally, trying to comfort Heror. But Heror¡¯s mind went to the place of shadow he¡¯d seen in his vision. His mind went to Nihlukei.


    It was quiet for some time. The overcast above slowly started to fade, and the midday sun peeked through gaps in the cloud cover, casting a shine on the mist and the river ripples. Adjaash sent out her lure several more times, until at last, she got a bite.


    ¡°Ah! I got one!¡± she exclaimed, jumping to her feet in a rush.


    She tugged on the rod, then guided the string back with her free hand. Soon enough, a smallmouth bass was revealed at the end of her lure. She set it down, and it lay on its side on the riverbank, its mouth croning open and closed.


    ¡°I got the first one!¡± Adjaash announced, tugging the fish off the ground. ¡°As if there was ever any doubt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve casted two times,¡± Heror protested.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s your fault,¡± Adjaash said with a shrug, lifting the fish to free it.


    Heror sighed and smiled, then rose to his feet and took a step closer to the river¡¯s edge. While Adjaash unhooked her fish and tossed it back out into the water, Heror swung his rod behind him, then cast out the lure again, letting it plop gently in the middle of the stream. Another kingfisher flew past, and swerved just over the ripples made by the lure.


    ¡°I think the bird was trying to see if I had a fish,¡± Heror observed.


    ¡°It should know better than to think you¡¯d have a fish on your line,¡± Adjaash muttered slyly.


    Heror blinked, rolled his tongue, and shot her a glance. Then he smiled and brought his line in again. When there was nothing on the hook, he cast out again, letting the lure fly a bit farther this time.


    ¡°So you¡¯ve at least done this before,¡± Adjaash teased.


    ¡°A little bit,¡± Heror said with a nod. ¡°When I was younger.¡±


    Heror blinked, as his thoughts started to run again. He tried to force a laugh.


    ¡°I was never very good at it, though,¡± he remembered. ¡°I was never patient enough. I¡¯d cast the lure and let it sit for a couple seconds, and then I¡¯d pull it back. Never felt a tug or anything. Nothing to tell me I actually had something. But I just wanted to see it for myself.¡±


    The clouds above started to part, giving way to creases of blue sky. Heror thought back, and he smiled a bit wider.


    ¡°Ucankacei would always try to tell me the right way to do it, but I never listened. He kept telling me to keep it in the water a bit longer ¨C ¡®give the fish time to come¡¯, ¡®they always bite on the pauses¡¯ ¨C but I always got too impatient. Too excited. I¡¯d pull it back and cast it out again and again, until my arm was tired. He¡¯d say: ¡®Heror, you¡¯re making me look good at this.¡¯ He¡¯d say it just like that¡­¡±


    He trailed off.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Ucankacei?¡± Adjaash asked with a curious smile.


    Heror went silent for a moment. The overcast started to roll in again, and they fell under the shade of the cloud cover. Another gust blew, and with it came another light misting. Heror opened his mouth, conflicted over whether or not he should speak ¨C when he felt something tug the line.


    ¡°Oh¨C¡±


    With haste, Heror jerked the pole and tried to set the line, and he felt the tension and struggle of a hooked fish. Suddenly invigorated, he pinched the line against the pole ¨C bundle by bundle ¨C until another smallmouth bass appeared by the shore, flipping around in the muck.


    ¡°All tied up,¡± Heror said as he shot a smirk in Adjaash¡¯s direction.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t even paying attention,¡± Adjaash rolled her eyes. ¡°That shouldn¡¯t count.¡±


    Heror smiled and rested the pole against his ankle while he held the line taut between his hands. He brought the dangling fish to face level, then carefully unhooked it. Once it was free, Heror knelt down by the riverside and gently dropped the fish back into the stream, letting it pick up its place in the current once again.


    They kept casting. The clouds parted at last, as the overcast drifted to the east and gave way to a bright blue canvas. The midday sun loomed high in the sky, bathing the green trees and the sparkling waters in light and warmth.


    At long last, Heror felt what seemed to be another bite, just as Adjaash cast out herself. He let out a triumphant shout, then turned to Adjaash.


    ¡°Guess who¡¯s about to break the tie,¡± he bragged.


    But then Adjaash felt a tug on her line, too ¨C just as it entered the water. She jumped, then looked on, and saw that their two fishing lines were following the same path. This fish was heavy, and it wasn¡¯t jerking the line. It followed the current, and after a small spell of failed struggle, Heror turned to Adjaash again.


    ¡°Are we hooked on the same one?¡± he asked in disbelief.


    At that moment, they both came to the same realization, and they clamored down the riverbank, shouting ¨C ¡°it¡¯s mine!¡± ¨C as they jockeyed to get ahead of one another. They scrambled until they each felt the line tug, and as Heror looked on, he saw that the line was stuck in the stepping rocks that dotted the width of the river. Whatever was hooked, it was submerged under the light rapids.


    Now Heror darted onto the stepping stones. Adjaash gave the impression that she was following, but then hung back on the riverbank and stifled a laugh. Briskly, with light feet, Heror made his way to the center of the river, where his line was stuck. And as he tugged at the end of his line, he lifted a small log of driftwood from the water ¨C with both his and Adjaash¡¯s hooks embedded in it.


    As soon as he knelt down on the stones and lifted the driftwood, he heard Adjaash start dying of laughter back on the riverbank behind him, a light inflection in her voice.


    ¡°That¡¯s a¡­ a massive fish you have there, Heror!¡± she exclaimed inbetween laughs.


    Heror gaped at the driftwood hovering on his lure, while Adjaash tried to contain herself. Then Heror sighed and dropped the wood back into the water-polished rocks.


    ¡°You were so excited!¡± Adjaash cried, then mocked: ¡°¡®Guess who¡¯s about to break the tie.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Did you know it was a log the whole time??¡± Heror gasped.


    ¡°Yes, you can tell!¡± Adjaash said, starting to laugh again as she rested her pole at her side.


    She lost herself in laughter another time, and Heror smiled to himself before unhooking his lure and rising to his feet. He started to step back over the stones, when Adjaash spoke, still trying to compose herself.


    ¡°Wait¡­ wait¡­¡± she said, a coy grin still on her face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for laughing at you, but¡­ can you unhook mine, too?¡±


    ¡°Oh, so now you need my help,¡± Heror mused.


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ you¡¯re already out there,¡± Adjaash went on. ¡°Please? I¡¯ll accept the tie as our official result. You can have half of the bragging rights.¡±


    Heror eyed her with a smirk, then knelt down again. He set down his fishing rod, then brought his hands back to the driftwood, until his fingers traced to Adjaash¡¯s lure. He glanced over at Adjaash ¨C who, for the moment, was not paying attention. And then he slid both of his hands farther up the line and tugged it his way.


    The tug threw Adjaash off-balance, and she let go of the rod ¨C but by then, she had already stumbled forward into the shallows of the river, splashing water with her moccasins as she regained her balance. Now Heror let out an impulsive laugh through his nose, and Adjaash scoffed, shaking her head.


    ¡°You did not just do that¡­¡± she said with a mischevious smile.


    Adjaash grabbed her fishing rod, which floated in the shallow ripples, then stepped back out onto the riverbank and shook out water from her moccasins. While she did this, Heror unhooked her lure from the driftwood in the rocks, then rose to his feet. And for a moment, his eyes met Adjaash¡¯s. Adjaash stepped toward the stones, starting to block off Heror¡¯s path back onshore.


    ¡°Before you think of retaliating¡­ remember¡­¡± Heror reminded her with a smirk. ¡°¡­ I have your lure.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not thinking of retaliating,¡± Adjaash assured him, her lies not convincing.


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡­¡± Heror observed with a tilt of his head. ¡°You¡¯re looking a little menacing, standing by the edge of the rocks.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not thinking of retaliating,¡± Adjaash repeated, smiling a bit wider.


    ¡°Just¡­ if you ever want to see your lure again,¡± Heror decried, waving the hook in his hand, ¡°you¡¯ll allow me free passage.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you have free passage,¡± Adjaash confirmed, taking another surreptitious step toward the stones. ¡°You have my word.¡±


    ¡°I have your word?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Heror eyed Adjaash for a moment longer, then carefully took a step from stone to stone ¨C rod in one hand, and Adjaash¡¯s lure in the other. Then he took another step, and another, until he was close to the riverbank. He dropped Adjaash¡¯s lure in the water. The girl reeled it in with her fingers, but did not step back from the stones. Then Heror stepped onto the bank, right in front of her.


    For a moment, they stood looking at each other, just inches apart. And then Adjaash grinned.


    ¡°I lied.¡±


    She shoved Heror, and Heror stumbled backward. He dropped his rod and fell onto his back in the shallow river. Suddenly soaked, he rushed to his feet and splashed a wave at Adjaash, who also dropped her rod, and went into the river to join the fight. They circled each other ¨C splashing and kicking and laughing and stirring the waves ¨C squinting and turning their faces as pellets of water pelted them back and forth. They did this until Heror stopped to catch his breath ¨C clothes and hair heavy with water ¨C and Adjaash couldn¡¯t contain herself any longer, erupting in a fit of light belly laughter that echoed through the trees.


    In a futile gesture, Heror wiped water from an already-soaked face with an already-soaked tunic sleeve. And when he blinked and opened his eyes again, he saw Adjaash ¨C still spinning in her drenched poncho. She had kicked off her moccasins, to let her feet feel the silt. Her brown-silver hair, which had once been neatly organized in a braid, was now clumped and soaked, but still it gleamed iridescent in the bright golden sunlight, against the backdrop of rich green forest. She reached up to unbind what was left of her braid, and her loose hair flowed down over her shoulders and face ¨C a beautiful face, with a smile of joy.


    At the sight, Heror stopped and froze and stared for a moment, and his skin flushed. As she gathered her hair and pulled it up ¨C reaching over her head to wring out the water ¨C Adjaash looked at Heror and eyed him with a questioning smirk.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Heror broke out of his trance and dropped his eyes.


    ¡°U-um¡­ nothing¡­¡±


    Adjaash smiled and then dropped her eyes as well, as she spun her hair into a braid over her right shoulder.


    They went back onto the riverbank to dry off. The sun was out, and the fish wouldn¡¯t be biting anymore. Adjaash grabbed the two fishing poles and leaned them against the same tree where she¡¯d found them, along with the bucket.


    Once all of their supplies were secure, Adjaash let out a familiar short whistle. Just seconds later, they heard the sound of hoovesteps in the distance. Through the trees, the jet black horse Ashanji ran to meet up with Adjaash, and Shaadur followed a ways behind. Ashanji made it to the bank, greeting Adjaash with a nuzzle ¨C but Shaadur stopped around twenty feet inside the forest, his focus disrupted by something on the ground.


    ¡°Shaadur!¡± Heror called. ¡°Shaadur, we¡¯re heading in!¡±


    The smoky black horse¡¯s ears perked up, and for a moment, he glanced in Heror¡¯s direction ¨C but then his muzzle went back to the ground, where a snake or a toad or a salamander seemed to be scurrying.


    ¡°He has to know his name by now,¡± Adjaash commented.


    ¡°He does,¡± Heror sighed. ¡°He¡¯s just a free spirit.¡±


    After a few more minutes and a few more calls, Shaadur finally joined the group by the riverbank, and Heror took his reins. And together, the four ventured back to camp, under the warm light of day.

 23. On the Trail of The Sword (Part One)

    The air grew warmer. The winds grew stronger. And as early Kynvalen persisted, the haze overtop the desert waves thickened. At dawn and at sunset, the dust lingered on the horizons, intermingling with reds and blues and oranges, drowning out the light at the day¡¯s beginning and end.


    It was prominent enough that Heror could see it from the steppes ¨C past the red rocks to the north ¨C when he rode alongside Adjaash and Ashanji during the days. It was as if the desert had begun to rise up into the sky, and blend the land and air as one. Even at night, the stars were dulled. Heror could smell the husk of sand on the breeze.


    Three days came and went, and on the third night, Raldu brought the search party back to the tall tent for another briefing before the final expedition. Three more Midan soldiers from the fighting ranks ¨C Baalu, Ezunsa, and Eaehnu ¨C were added to the team for support by Raldu¡¯s orders, and Heror and Adjaash ensured they were equipped with food, water, and supplies for medical care, torches, and flaming arrows.


    They all knew the target: The temple at Dyugan, a little over 100 miles north-northeast of the camp. It was positioned squarely in the middle of the Great Desert Sparhha, and would take at least a full day¡¯s trip there and back. There, if their findings were correct, they would find the Sword of Sparhh ¨C the Divinium Diaphanae.


    The briefing was short and direct. They slept. And then the next morning, in the early hours before the sunrise, beneath a calm and clear navy blue sky dotted by stars, they readied for the journey.


    By now, Heror¡¯s pain was no more than a lingering echo, and his range of motion had returned. In the dark, he fastened the supply straps on Shaadur¡¯s back. As he did, Adjaash walked alongside him, and placed a soft hand on his arm.


    ¡°You ready?¡± she asked Heror, her voice quiet.


    Heror nodded with a small smile, and Adjaash smiled back. Then she turned her attention down the way, to the others in the party who also tended to their horses. Her smile faded. Her focus returned.


    ¡°Fasten your straps, and then we¡¯ll be off,¡± she told them, raising her voice again. ¡°The winds have been picking up lately, and the dust is heavier now. We may have to ride through rough conditions. Protect your face as best as you can.¡±


    Adjaash started to turn toward Ashanji, when she remembered one more thing. She turned back to the rest of the party.


    ¡°If we run into trouble and any of you run away from the group,¡± she warned, ¡°I will shoot you in the foot.¡±


    They untied and mounted their horses, and then they set off ¨C riding first to the western edge of the camp, and then through the narrow red rock canyon. In the silence of the dying night, six sets of hooves echoed against the sandstone walls, as they traversed the downward slope. And when they spilled out onto the desert sands again, the sun was a blotted, reddened orb to the east, barely peeking above the rolling dunes.


    Adjaash began the journey bearing north, and led the group while Heror rode beside her. The others rode roughly in single file behind them. As they rode, the parent star rose, and golden light flowed over the many crests. On the wind, streams of stirred sand washed silently over the dunes like water in a creek. Above, a translucent brown smog dampened the sky¡¯s blue hue, and weakened the glint of the sun.


    When they rode, they rode at a gallop¡¯s pace ¨C cowls covering their faces. Even through the dust cloud that hovered above the ground, the heat permeated through and pooled in the haze, suffocating the riders like plaster. Heror could tell that the horses were having more trouble. Every so often, Shaadur would stop and bow and shake his head, and Heror would have to gently kick to keep him pressing on.


    A couple hours passed. Eventually, they reached a higher crest, and the dust cloud broke for a moment. It was hot, but the clean air was refreshing, and Adjaash halted the group atop the swell.


    ¡°We¡¯ll stop here and rest,¡± she announced, lowering her cowl. ¡°Five minutes.¡±


    Heror pulled down his cowl and dismounted his horse ¨C sweat caked over his forehead ¨C and as soon as he hit the sand, Shaadur crumbled to the ground, tucking his legs beneath his torso with a tired, drooping neigh.


    ¡°Whoa, Shaadur¡­¡±


    Heror rushed behind Shaadur and knelt down, then searched through one of the packs for a water canteen. Once he found one, he rushed back to the front, where Shaadur was panting and sulking on the ground. Heror knelt down again, opened the canteen, and tipped it. Shaadur¡¯s head lifted at the sound of water sloshing inside. The horse drank from the nozzle, guzzling until it was dry.


    ¡°There you go,¡± Heror whispered as his horse drank. ¡°There you go¡­¡±


    Once Shaadur was finished, Heror closed the canteen and gave the horse a pat, and was met with a thankful grunt. Then he rose to his feet. Adjaash stood beside him.


    ¡°How far along are we?¡± Heror asked her as he squinted in the sunlight.


    ¡°About 40 miles, I¡¯d say,¡± Adjaash replied, glancing out over the dunes. ¡°Once we reach the watchtower, we¡¯ll be around halfway.¡±


    Heror took a strained breath. From the rear of the pack, Brocus approached, bootsteps heavy in the sand as he tugged at his desert scarf.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we travel during the night?¡± the scholar asked, annoyance in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s what we did on the way back last time, and it was cooler and calmer. I didn¡¯t have to inhale dust every second.¡±


    ¡°If direction was all that mattered, I¡¯d agree with you,¡± Adjaash answered. ¡°But we don¡¯t know how much of this temple is left above ground. We need to be able to see the landmarks as we approach. It¡¯s easy to miss something at night.¡±


    She glanced up at the sun. It was climbing to the apex now, as late morning came upon them.


    ¡°And if this dust sticks around during the night,¡± Adjaash went on grimly, ¡°we¡¯ll be blind without the stars.¡±


    Brocus eyed the girl, then let out a concedent sigh and turned back toward his horse. Heror stepped to the edge of the dune, peering out as far as he could see. An opaque cloak of dust capped his visibility only a couple miles out. Spores of sand wavered in the air.


    ¡°I¡¯m more worried about what¡¯s hiding in the dust,¡± Heror muttered to himself.


    Adjaash stepped up to join him. She slung a hand around the stem of her bow and glanced at Heror.


    ¡°We may as well have gotten both of them,¡± she reassured him. ¡°The last one was wounded. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll see it again.¡±


    ¡°Is that all there was?¡± Heror wondered.


    Adjaash paused for a moment, then let out a quick sigh and shook her head. Her eyes sank to the sand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    In the distance, a loose tuft of brown dust rose and mixed with a lone cumulus cloud above, marrying the ground and sky again.


    ¡°But if we see them again,¡± Adjaash went on, shooting a confident look at Heror, ¡°we¡¯ll be ready.¡±


    They donned their cowls again and picked up where they left off. Up crests and down troughs, for miles and miles more. Through narrow trenches in the sand, where dunes overlapped and flowed into one another ¨C and through it all, beneath a heavy brown haze that only seemed to grow thicker as the day went on. Every now and then, Adjaash would glance upward, over her shoulder ¨C to judge the position of the sun and ensure they still tracked northward. The parent star was there, but it was dim.


    The sun had just about reached its peak in the sky, when they came across the worn watchtower. Through patches of sunlight and dust, Heror could see it clearly, and it was just as he remembered it ¨C a wayward stone structure half-buried in the sand. At its edge, a worn pillar stood about fifteen feet tall. From behind it, a wind-smoothened slab stretched out. The slab was harder to make out this time. On the wind, sand had started to accumulate overtop it.


    The three Midans were chatting quietly at the back of the line, but the group went silent as they came across the watchtower. Adjaash slowed Ashanji to a trot and drifted behind the pillar ¨C to try and find shelter from the strengthening wind. While the others waited not far behind her, she rolled out her map and searched for the marking of Dyugan. Her eyes traced back to the scale on the bottom, with which she cross-referenced, as the sunlight faded in and out.


    ¡°Alright!¡± she shouted above the wind. ¡°Less than 50 miles out! Now we turn a bit to the east!¡±


    ¡°Sera Adjaash!¡± one of the Midans called in rough Kivvenean. ¡°Can we rest? The horses can¡¯t breathe.¡±


    Adjaash nodded, and the party members dismounted. They lined their horses up behind the pillar, where they at least had some respite from the wind and dust. Some horses were wheezing and straining their ribs as they inhaled, while others flared their nostrils and grunted in delirium. All but Ashanji ¨C who still stood resolute, her eyes and ears alert.


    Standing out in the wind, his cowl over his face, Heror glanced at Ashanji, and then looked at Adjaash.


    ¡°She seems to be doing fine,¡± he said to Adjaash with a small laugh.


    Adjaash now looked over at Ashanji, and then she nodded.


    ¡°She¡¯s strong.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Soon, the dust clouds broke again, and the wind slowed a bit. The heat from the sun began to sink in, but the air was clear, and the deep blue sky was unobstructed above. They took this opportunity to mount and set off again, capitalizing on the clean air. But when Adjaash and Heror ventured out and led the group past the watchtower, to another large crest, they were met with an ominous sight ¨C a sight Heror had never seen before.


    In the far, far distance ¨C past rolling dunes dotted by darkened rubble and marble ruins ¨C a dense brown cloud billowed, crawling across the west-northwest horizon, like a squall moving along the ground. It was not a haze, but a derecho of dust stirred by relentless winds, that appeared to line the western edge of the desert from end to end. And at the top of the dense cloud, monstrous clumps and streams of brown dust climbed into the atmosphere and blended into the blue, until all color was gone ¨C lost in a nebulous darkness.


    From where they stood, beneath the open sky and sun, the sand-squall looked as if it was hardly moving. But against the awesome scale of the desert, something told Heror that wasn¡¯t the case.


    As they observed the haboob far beyond, Brocus was the first to speak.


    ¡°Is that¡­¡±


    ¡°Sandstorm,¡± Adjaash confirmed with a solemn nod.


    Heror slowly rolled down his cowl; his mouth hung open in shock. The storm looked almost like the clouds of dust that the Zhai Ghi had kicked up when the group was attacked on the last trek. But this cloud was thicker, and it was constant ¨C as if the Aelyum itself had spawned it, to swallow invaders of the desert.


    ¡°We¡¯re higher up right now, so we can see farther,¡± Adjaash observed, strands of hair fluttering in the wind. ¡°I¡¯d say the storm is around twenty miles out. We¡¯ll be traveling north-northeast, so we won¡¯t be heading straight into it. We have to pick up our pace while the air is clear.¡±


    Adjaash glanced at Heror, then turned to the rest of the group ¨C voice firm.


    ¡°Keep your eyes out for any shelter as we get closer to the ruins. We shouldn¡¯t punch through the storm. We should hide and let it pass if we can. Let¡¯s get moving again ¨C quickly.¡±


    ¡°Could we just stay here?¡± a Midan asked with apprehension. ¡°Hang back?¡±


    Adjaash shook her head.


    ¡°We¡¯re already in its path. Finding shelter is our best chance.¡±


    Adjaash started down the dune to the north-northeast, and the others followed. At a gallop¡¯s pace ¨C quicker than before ¨C they rode back into the depths of the desert, snaking through troughs and scaling the sand-rises. In the clean air, the horses didn¡¯t strain as much, and so the six glided through the sands, keeping speed. They began passing isolated marble ruins. But each time Shaadur crested a dune, Heror saw the storm inching closer.


    There was tension on the wind as they rode. The storm was growing nearer, but for the moment, no sound came from it ¨C only the hollow howl of the frontwinds that came before it. As the horses clopped in the sand, the echoes of their hoovesteps died out quickly in the open air, as if muted by the sand and the disparity of the wind.


    They rode for fifteen minutes, and still, there was no shelter. Heror felt the wind pick up as it fled by his skin. With the sun at their backs, the storm was an eerie sight. All around Heror, the sand glowed golden underneath the light of the sun, and straight above, the sky was a rich cerulean. But all of the light seemed to die once it reached the storm¡¯s edge. The brown sand blotted out all brightness. It ate the land.


    Five more minutes. The storm was just miles away now, and Heror began to see the speed at which it was moving, and just how high it climbed into the sky. It towered into the heavens over a hundred feet high, like water falling into an abyss, and along the sands, the dust clouds billowed outward as if endless, barreling over the dunes.


    They reached another crest and Adjaash halted her horse ¨C wind grasping and tugging at her brown-silver hair. She steered the reins to the right and peered out over the desert. Still, she saw nothing.


    ¡°Anyone see shelter??¡± she called to the rest of the group, voice muffled behind her cowl.


    For a moment, it was silent save for the wind, as the others searched. And then, there was an answer.


    ¡°There!¡± Brocus shouted from the rear. ¡°Ruins!¡±


    The scholar pointed, and Adjaash followed his finger to a small group of ruins around a mile away, barely peeking above a low-sloping dune. It was to the northwest ¨C closer to the storm ¨C but they had no choice. Without another thought, Adjaash let out a brisk command under her breath, and Ashanji started onward, quickening to a gallop.


    Against the rush of the wind and the stirring sand, they rode across the dunes, keeping the ruins in their sight at each crest. The storm was coming. Its pace was noticeable now ¨C tufts of dense airborne sand exploding sideways, like the updraft of a thundercloud skewed across the ground.


    Another crest, and they came upon the ruins. It was a dilapidated courtyard of some sort ¨C a hundred feet wide at most, half-buried in the sand. On the western end, a shoddy stone wall sat, around ten feet high at its highest points. It was worn and cracked at the top, and it jutted in and out of the sand as it spanned the plot¡¯s length. It wasn¡¯t much ¨C but the storm was almost upon them now, not more than a minute away.


    A low rumble started to shake the ground. The wind strengthened, and the blue sky above began to blot. From the sunlight, the storm clouds cast great shadows on the sands, and midday became as sunset. Adjaash rode to the broken wall and whirled around, turning to the rest of the group.


    ¡°Dismount! Tuck your horses against the wall!¡±


    Now she rode quickly to the wall, and the others followed, filing in with their horses. With a pressing kick, Heror sped Shaadur to a sprint, and then halted him at the base of the wall next to Adjaash and Ashanji. Shaadur let out a complainant neigh, as Heror slid to the ground with haste.


    Heror glanced back at Adjaash. She had grabbed a blanket from her pack, which she now used to shield Ashanji as the black horse sat in the sand. The Midans followed suit. Heror wanted to do the same for Shaadur, but as he peered above the stone wall, he saw that the sand clouds were speeding toward them now ¨C a pyroclastic flow of particulates. It was too late. He snuck back against the wall, slid behind Shaadur, and wrapped his arms around his horse, helping him to the ground. And just as Shaadur sat behind the wall and tucked his legs, and Heror leaned over to protect him, the storm overcame them.


    In the last second, the storm seemed to accelerate, and it swept over the ruins at racing speeds, like a tsunami wave. A powerful pulse of wind shook the wall and kicked up sand all around the group, and the ground trembled. One second, the sun was there. The next, it was only a halo. And in just seconds more, it disappeared.


    Where the wind had once been a whisper, it now howled and screamed. Somewhere, a horse let out a cry, but the noise was lost against the sounds of the storm. Heror closed his eyes at first, hugging his horse tightly ¨C and when he glanced upward above the wall, all he saw was darkness. Encased in a thick cloud of brown smoke, through which almost no light could pierce.


    Now Heror heard Shaadur let out a small whimper, and he tightened his hold. Tucked in the small crevice between Shaadur and the wall, Heror could feel himself losing his breath. The wind was deafening. The quake of the sand shook his bones, and as the horse Shaadur leaned against the wall to stay behind shelter, Heror felt himself compress.


    Heror closed his eyes and strained to breathe. His pulse quickened. His heart drooped in his chest. He felt the sand pelting and stinging his skin. The wind grew louder, and louder. Howls turned to wails. Wails turned to cries. Sand turned to glass and metal, and spears grazed his skin. Blood flecked against his face. He opened his eyes again. Against the howl of the wind, he saw a row of spearmen charging toward him from the fog and the pines ¨C cries on either side of him, as metal met metal and body. A sense of doom overcame him. He tried to crumble away, but he couldn¡¯t. He tried to yell, but his voice had left him. He was cornered. Speartips flared. The howls rose, until they layered and overlapped and flowed through his ears and flooded his head, telling him of death and nothing else. He saw brown and red, saw it fade to black, saw it fade to red again. Piercing, piercing¡­ piercing red¡­ piercing¨C


    ¡°Heror!¡±


    Heror opened his eyes. The sandstorm was gone. The air was calm. The sky was blue.


    As Heror sat up slowly, he felt a weight lift off his side, and he turned to see Shaadur lifting his muzzle. The horse had been protecting Heror, after Heror had lost consciousness.


    Now Heror sat up with his back against the wall, and as his eyes went right, he saw Adjaash kneeling beside him, blocking the sunlight ¨C a look of frantic worry on her face, cowl tugged down around her neck. It was only now that Heror remembered to breathe, but when he tried to inhale, he lost control and started to hyperventilate. He wrenched down his cowl and tried to catch his breath with a gasp, but he couldn¡¯t. He shivered, and his eyes started to water, and his chest heaved and heaved, until Adjaash leaned in closer and placed her hands on his shoulders.


    ¡°Heror¡­ Heror, look at me¡­¡±


    Heror stopped and looked at her. His glistening blue eyes met hers.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she told him in a slow, soothing voice. ¡°You¡¯re alright¡­¡±


    Adjaash lifted a hand onto his cheek and left it there, and slowly, Heror started to catch his breath again. His pulse slowed. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth ¨C slowly, slowly ¨C until he began to calm down. He dropped his eyes for a moment, and then he met hers again. He suddenly felt at peace.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡± Brocus called from the left.


    They idled like this, eyes intertwined. And then Adjaash gently dropped her hand from Heror¡¯s cheek and tucked her arm under his armpit, helping him to his feet.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine,¡± she said, tilting her head in Brocus¡¯ direction.


    Now on his feet again, Heror gave Shaadur a light pat as the young horse walked in front of him. And then Heror glanced to his left. The others were stowing their blankets, emerging from the shelter of the wall. The horses rustled their hair and manes to shake off the dust ¨C but aside from that, they were unharmed. As Heror looked to his right, to the east, he saw a light brown haze on the horizon below the afternoon light, and nothing more. The storm was long gone. The winds were calm behind it.


    As Heror reached up to brush dust off of his own hair, Adjaash turned and went back to Ashanji. She quickly mounted her horse and fastened her grip on the reins, then peered above the dunes in the distance. From the top of her horse, she tried to get her bearings again.


    ¡°Sun is in the south-southwest¡­¡± Adjaash muttered to herself as she glanced over her shoulder, ¡°¡­ which means this¡­¡±


    Adjaash turned Ashanji slightly, then pointed.


    ¡°¡­ this is north-northeast¡­¡±


    The Midans mounted their horses again, and so too did Brocus, straining to get his foot into the stirrup. Heror took another deep breath, then turned back to Shaadur. He gripped the reins, placed a hand on his horse¡¯s side, and vaulted himself up onto the saddle. Once he was settled, Shaadur trotted lightly with his front hooves, letting out a small murmur.


    ¡°Thank you, Shaadur,¡± Heror said quietly.


    The riders reorganized, and Heror rode up alongside Adjaash. Adjaash glanced around the group, then turned back to the north-northeast and nodded to herself.


    ¡°The air is clear. Let¡¯s get moving.¡±

 23. On the Trail of The Sword (Part Two)

    Beneath the blue sky and the sinking afternoon sun, they went on their way, bearing north-northeast. In the clean air, the horses ran faster. And in an hour¡¯s time, more ruins revealed themselves to the group.


    They were traveling to the east of the dome now. None of the structures were as large as the dome had been, but they were more numerous farther north. Worn courtyards and empty gardens with sparse desert vegetation sat idle in the sands, and in the troughs, remnants of cratered cobble roads peeked out from beneath the dust. At one point, they passed a dried-up well. Later, they rode past a more intact watchtower. Adjaash dismounted and checked it for supplies. She found none, and they carried on.


    As they went, more temples began to appear, many of them half-buried and darkened by sun exposure ¨C with their fluted stone columns lining half-collapsed entrances. Strewn about in the sands were clumps and piles of cracked and dusted rubble. As they passed by one temple, Heror saw an armored bridle glinting in the sunlight, resting on the skull of a bare horse skeleton.


    They crested another high dune, and Adjaash stopped to survey the landscape. In the distance, in each and every direction, temples and stone remnants jutted out from the sands and overlapping dunes. Heror could see watchtowers and theatres and judicious shrines, but to the north-northeast, the density was greater. Atop the dunes in that direction, he could see rows of small, broken stone houses, with low rectangular cornices and triangular pediments roofing overtop. Had he not known any better, he would¡¯ve imagined it was a city. But it had no surviving walls from what he could see. A ghostly air of silence hovered above it.


    ¡°Dyugan is that way,¡± Adjaash said, as her eyes fell on the distant ghost town. ¡°We¡¯re getting closer. Around 20 miles out, I¡¯d say. We¡¯ll rest here for a few minutes, then make our final advance.¡±


    As the Midans dismounted in the sand, Brocus rode up alongside Adjaash and Heror. He too had his eyes fixated on the ghost town in the distance, and as he traced the horizon with his gaze, his brow began to crease.


    ¡°I recognize some of these structures,¡± the scholar said as he glanced to the west. ¡°From the map wall in the dome.¡±


    ¡°Can you see Dyugan?¡± Adjaash asked, peering through the light haze.


    ¡°Not from here,¡± Brocus replied, shaking his head. ¡°We¡¯re still too far away, I think. But we know what to look for. On the map wall, the temple at Dyugan was preceded by a cylindrical wayshrine of sorts. The fact that so many houses are visible is a positive sign. Leaves a greater chance that our target is above ground, and not buried in sand.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope,¡± Adjaash muttered.


    As they rested, Heror watched the sands, eyes searching for any kind of activity. He hadn¡¯t seen or felt a trace of the creatures yet, but he couldn¡¯t let his guard down. It had been just as quiet on their last trip into the desert.


    But for the moment, there was nothing but the wind and the sand. And after the group ate food, drank water, and tended to their horses, they started up again, riding toward the ghost village in the distance. Down this dune, up another, and down one more, until they descended into a dried riverbed, cracked with drought-stricken dirt and grainy sediment. They followed the sand-strewn riverbed until they came to the edge of the ghost town, around fifteen minutes later.


    It was only once they reached the ghost town that Heror saw how deserted it was. From a distance, the houses had appeared strong. But up close, it was a graveyard. Atop a long stone foundation and cobble path that itself rose and sank below drifts of sand, there stood rows and rows of half-buried lodging structures ¨C their pediment roofs cratered and collapsed, and their stone walls worn, wind-blown, and blotched. Every now and then, Heror would see a relic of past life discarded on the ground ¨C a hammer, a small clay cup, a stitched children¡¯s doll ¨C but the life that made it was long gone.


    The ground was level inside the dead village, and Adjaash slowed the group¡¯s pace, fading to a trot as they sauntered past the ruins, cutting through the dunes. One of the Midans in the back of the group peeled off ¨C perhaps to search for loot ¨C but Adjaash heard the chatter amongst the Midans, and she turned on her horse, shaking her head.


    ¡°There¡¯s no more worthwhile loot here. Stay on target. We need to reach Dyugan before nightfall.¡±


    Adjaash started to turn back ahead, tugging the reins left ¨C when she saw Brocus riding slowly toward one of the house¡¯s outer walls, eyes intent as he scanned the surface.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Adjaash asked.


    ¡°This stone¡­¡± Brocus observed, leaning in toward the wall from the top of his horse. ¡°It¡¯s not as worn or as dark as some of the stone walls we saw when we entered the village. Not nearly as much wind erosion.¡±


    Brocus lifted a hand from his reins and ran it across the wall. Then he glanced back at Adjaash.


    ¡°Some of this was unburied recently,¡± he explained. ¡°It might¡¯ve even been the sandstorm we saw earlier today.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean for Dyugan?¡± Heror wondered.


    Brocus frowned: ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    They carried on through the ghost town, and as soon as the houses had appeared, they started to sink back below the sands. And soon enough, the riders were surrounded by dunes once more. The sun was starting to fall to the west, and so they sped to a gallop again ¨C drifting in and out of slope-borne shadows, in a sea of gold.


    More minutes passed, and at first, there was nothing past the ghost village. But on one last crest, Adjaash and Heror saw ¨C not far in the distance ¨C in a flattened area of sand, a cylindrical wayshrine with light-colored fluted columns and a smooth slab ceiling, catching the fiery light of the sun. Just past the wayshrine, a larger temple sat with its foundational edges dredged out of the desert ¨C a rectangular structure again lined with magnificent pillars, shade pooling underneath it.


    Brocus rode up next to Adjaash and Heror shortly after they stopped at the peak of the dune. It didn¡¯t take long for his eyes to follow theirs to the temple ahead. Once they did, he let out a short, intentful breath and nodded to himself.


    ¡°There it is,¡± the scholar declared, voice thick with anticipation.


    Adjaash glanced at Heror, then turned her gaze ahead, her hair rustling in the breeze.


    ¡°Let¡¯s close in,¡± she said.


    They rode down the dune and into the flat where the temple lay. Where the last temple had furnished a great courtyard in front, this one was buried on all sides ¨C as if the desert had flooded the grounds and left only the tallest parts standing. As they walked by the cylindrical wayshrine, Heror saw that the interior beneath the roof was blanketed by sand. Whatever monument to the Gods that might have been there was now gone from sight.


    ¡°This stone is lighter, too¡­ and not worn much at all,¡± Brocus observed. ¡°You can still see some of the chisel marks from when these were first made. This must have also been uncovered very recently.¡±


    The six left the wayshrine behind and now approached the temple. It was smaller and less grandiose than the dome had been, with no staircase leading up to its halls. As they strode forward with their horses and fell under the shade of the roof, the horses¡¯ hooves still trudged in sand. They proceeded through the fluted columns, and at last came to a wide stone staircase just several steps high, which lifted them out of the sand and onto a wide, flat stone concourse. In the shelter of the temple, the heat dissipated. The breeze calmed. The riders stopped and looked around.


    From the left, golden-orange sunlight trickled inside through the columns, washing the marble floor in light. But the light faded as it cast from left to right on the stone floor, and the flat ceiling ¨C carved with crude and colorless reliefs of warriors and gods ¨C was bathed in shadow. Both side walls were open and lined by columns, but at the far end of the temple, the back wall was adorned in another massive and intricate carved relief, that stretched from side to side.


    ¡°Incredible¡­¡± Brocus managed, gazing up at the ceiling.


    ¡°You always say that,¡± Adjaash muttered with a roll of her eyes.


    ¡°Where is the Sword?¡± Heror asked.


    The others looked around again, and they realized that the entire temple was comprised of only one open-walled room. There was no Sword on the back wall, and there was no place for a Sword to be held or be hidden ¨C so it seemed.


    ¡°This is Dyugan. We¡¯re in the right place,¡± Brocus insisted. ¡°I remember the wayshrine on the map wall, and the rectangular temple behind it. This is where the hidden imprint led us.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Contemplating, Adjaash pursed her lips as she peered at the far wall. Then she turned to the rest of the group with a tug of her reins. Outside, the wind beckoned.


    ¡°Let¡¯s dismount,¡± she decided. ¡°Baalu, Ezunsa, Eaehnu ¨C you three stay back and keep an eye on the horses while they rest. Give them food and water. Brocus, Heror, and I will approach the wall and see what we can find.¡±


    And so they all dismounted. Heror, Brocus, and Adjaash led their horses to the southern end of the temple bounds, then laid down blankets for them to rest on. Once the horses were situated under the Midans¡¯ care, Adjaash and Heror started toward the back wall of the temple, with Brocus close behind them.


    As they approached the temple wall, a ray of orange sunlight cast across it, and the stone carving¡¯s details revealed themselves to Heror. They told a story from end to end ¨C images of God-like beings extracting essence and creating the first humans. Humans traveling by boat, from an island with a sprawling tree and spring to a mountainous land. Images of a warrior band scaling a cliffside, rolling over snowy plains. Images of a masked warlock commanding ice and fire within the palms of its hands. And at the center, a grand depiction of a hero in gilded armor, with the emblem of a roaring wolf sprawling off his back ¨C raising a sword high into the air, as the flaming wings of a phoenix spread from the dual edges of the blade.


    In beams of gold and amber sunset, the emblem of the wolf and the wings of the phoenix both caught the light, and the smooth, sharp carvings were set ablaze as if fire. And at the sight, Heror froze in awe.


    ¡°Now this¡­ this truly is incredible,¡± Brocus marveled, shooting an excited grin in Adjaash¡¯s direction.


    Brocus walked past Heror and made his way to the left end of the wall, and his eyes traced the images in the carvings, from left to right. As he analyzed the Pylanethean carvings, what had once been wonder in the scholar¡¯s eyes evolved into profound realization.


    ¡°It¡¯s the origin story,¡± Brocus said, almost in a gasp. ¡°This is the origin story of the Pylanjuun Cyngoths¡­¡±


    Dumbfounded, Brocus¡¯ eyes scattered from left to right, then back to left.


    ¡°There are readings on the Pylanjuun origin stories that I studied in Peranon, but many of the tomes are incomplete, or left up to interpretation. I¡¯ve never¡­ never seen a carving this thorough.¡±


    Brocus let out an impulsive, hearty laugh. With a wide smile, he turned to Heror.


    ¡°Heror! This is the story of your kind! Isn¡¯t this amazing?¡±


    Now Brocus turned back to the wall, while Heror looked on. Adjaash stepped forward and glanced at Heror, and she saw his conflicted, contemplating look return. This had been Heror¡¯s kind no more than the Opelites.


    While Heror and Adjaash stood in silence, Brocus carried on with his observations, starting again from the left.


    ¡°The creation of the elesvium,¡± Brocus narrated as he viewed the first carving. ¡°These are the early divines, arranged in a circle around their sacred creation ¨C each extracting part of their essence to create humankind. Bor ¨C instilling the elesvium with his wisdom and all-sight. Sim ¨C instilling the elesvium with power, will, and ambition. Rheb, the Architect ¨C forging the inner workings and mortal mechanics. Kyr, the Life Mother ¨C assimilating the elesvium into the natural world. Ynd ¨C establishing the pursuit of the noble purpose. Opela ¨C blessing the elesvium with beauty. And Lleg, the Soul Keeper ¨C binding the spirit of the elesvium to the realm of Aelyum.¡±


    Heror and Adjaash remained silent while Brocus moved on to the next carving.


    ¡°The second elsish peoples sailing from the sacred island of Ceordola,¡± the scholar observed. ¡°Finding salvation from the jealous Par-va in the cold tundra of Cyngoth. The Cyngoths roaming the wintry plains¡­¡±


    His hand traced farther right, until it fell on the mask of the warlock ¨C an ominous visor with a stern brow and an expressionless stare.


    ¡°This must be Laghix,¡± he said, his voice darker. ¡°The Tyrant Lord. A precursor to the Great Scourge of the second Eoh. He was a great whyzard who used the gift of keatuu to gain power and take control ¨C then conspired with the Par-va to hold dominion over the elesvium, and committed atrocities against those who opposed him. The first of the three known Shadow Sages throughout history¡­¡±


    And then Brocus¡¯ hand traced to the center of the carved relief, where the armored hero caught the light of the setting sun. He let his fingers graze over the armor ¨C fritted and frilled with intricate detail ¨C and then over the wings of the phoenix spreading off the Sword in fiery glory.


    For a moment, Brocus stood silent. Then he let out a breathless gasp.


    ¡°This is Him¡­¡± Brocus said simply.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Heror asked.


    Brocus glanced back at the young man, then turned back to the carving.


    ¡°This is Sparhh,¡± he answered, barely above a whisper. ¡°The First Warrior. One Who Ascended. The one who became divine¡­ in the primeval days of human history. Long before the Kingdoms. Long before the migration to Kivveneth.¡±


    Heror took a step forward, and a feeling of astonishment washed over him. Brocus nodded to himself.


    ¡°This is Sparhh, holding the Divinium Diaphanae,¡± the scholar confirmed. ¡°The wolf emblem flaring up behind Him ¨C His totem. And look at the Sword, unfurling the wings of the phoenix ¨C the totem of the God of Hope, Alundrial. It was with these divine implements that Sparhh was able to defeat Laghix the Tyrant¡¯s armies and machinations, save the human race from destruction, and lead them on the path forward. Sparhh would then ascend to divinity and join the Consortium, as the true manifestation of Courage.¡±


    It fell silent for a moment. Heror at first looked on in awe ¨C but then his awe turned to uncertainty. He remembered the phoenix in his vision, flying over plumes of fire and smoke. Brocus looked to the right, as his eyes fell on more carvings.


    ¡°What are these? I¡¯ve never seen this before¡­¡±


    ¡°This is utterly fascinating,¡± Adjaash interrupted, with the smallest hint of sarcasm. ¡°But we came here to find the Sword. What does any of this have to do with the Sword¡¯s location? Are there any hints that it might be here? Anything at all?¡±


    Brocus heard the reason in Adjaash¡¯s words, and he turned back to the wall with this question in mind. He glowered for a moment ¨C deep in thought ¨C and his eyes soon came back to the carving of Sparhh at the wall¡¯s center. He leaned in closer, carefully studying the details as he had the map inside the dome. And as he searched the carvings ¨C his nose just inches from the wall ¨C he found something.


    ¡°On the carving of the Sword¡­¡± he realized. ¡°Below the groove of the blade¡­ there¡¯s an inscription in ancient Pylanthean¡­¡±


    He read the inscription silently several times. Then the scholar read it aloud.


    ¡°¡®Continue¡­ if you are courageous. Courage appears when shadows mask Bor¡¯s light.¡¯¡±


    Then his eyes went from the blade to the hilt, and at the center of the Sword¡¯s hilt, he saw the ancient symbol commemorating the divines ¨C the flowering Sun of Bor. He pressed down on the circular symbol ever so slightly, and he felt it give a bit. Then he palmed the symbol and pressed it down fully, and the flowering Sun retracted into the wall.


    There was the sound of stone stirring at the press of the hidden button, and all at once, a section of the floor fell away right at Brocus¡¯ feet. Brocus quickly leapt away to avoid falling, and the three watched as blocks of stone descended. A staircase downward revealed itself, leading to a hidden passageway below the carved relief.


    ¡°I thought you said they weren¡¯t fond of traps and tricks to guard their sacred items,¡± Adjaash said to Brocus.


    ¡°They must have felt this was worth protecting,¡± Brocus replied with a grin.


    Now Heror stepped toward the passageway and observed it. It was a narrow stone corridor with wide, steep stairs, that descended into shadow and darkness at the foot of the wall. He could only see so far down it, before the blackness smothered everything in its touch.


    ¡°We¡¯ll need the torches for this one,¡± Heror muttered.


    Adjaash turned and shouted to the Midans at the other end of the temple.


    ¡°Eaehnu!¡± she yelled. ¡°Bring us the torch supplies!¡±


    In less than a minute, the Midan djauul arrived at the head of the passageway with a supply bag in hand. As soon as he set it down, Adjaash dug through it until she found three staves. She took out the staves, along with a jar of whale oil and cloth. Then she dipped the cloth in the oil, wrapped each stave end in cloth, and used a flint and steel to light the torches ablaze. She handed a torch to Brocus, and as soon as he took it, he was bounding down the steps, into the dark.


    Adjaash looked on for a moment as Brocus disappeared down the way, then held out a torch for Heror to take. Heror grabbed hold, and then Adjaash stood with the final torch in hand. She took a step toward the edge of the staircase, peering down into the shadows. And then she glanced at Heror, a glint in her eye.


    ¡°Feeling courageous?¡± she chimed with a smirk.


    With that, Adjaash started down the darkened staircase. After taking a breath, Heror followed.

 24. The Labyrinth (Part One)

    As Adjaash and Heror went down the steps, the walls changed from a smooth, regal marble to a rough, patchy sandstone, and the stairs below became chipped and worn. Orange torchlight cast across the browned walls. The echoes of their footsteps rang out in the chamber, as the ceiling sloped not far above.


    They descended for a time longer ¨C perhaps over fifty feet below the desert ¨C until they saw light again at the bottom of the passageway, and eventually they saw Brocus waiting for them. The tunnel air was chilled and tense. Inbetween steps, an ominous silence lingered.


    Adjaash reached Brocus first, and when Heror reached the bottom, he turned and looked back up the stairs. The torchlight only stretched so far, and he could no longer see the temple entrance. The light had been displaced by darkness ¨C darkness that seemed to seal off the way out and trap them in the depths.


    Now Heror turned back to the group, and the three stood for a moment ¨C light and heat from the torches intermingling in the small space. Brocus ran his hand along the left wall and grimaced.


    ¡°Rushed, mediocre stonework,¡± the scholar muttered with distaste. ¡°Even the tunnel at the dome was more refined than this.¡±


    Adjaash looked down the way. Up ahead, a narrow, low-ceiling sandstone passage continued into the underground, but the light was drowned out by darkness farther down. She sent a hesitant glance at Heror, but before they could say anything, Brocus¡¯ curiosity took him farther down the tunnel. They followed.


    They walked, brushing the darkness back with torchlight, as tendrils of shadow clawed at them across the walls. And eventually, after a couple minutes, they came to a small inlet in the tunnel. On either side of the tunnel, lining the walls, two clay bars stretched from floor to ceiling. Heror at first followed the torchlight to the ceiling, and as he traced the bars downward, he saw a chain looped around the bottom of the rightward bar. Inside the chain, he saw the bony hand of a skeleton.


    Now Heror stepped to the left to get a better angle, and he saw it just as Brocus and Adjaash did: A chained skeleton lying on its side in tattered cloth remnants, with its back against the sandstone wall ¨C jawbone open in an eternal gasp for air.


    Heror took a step back, startled by the sight, while Brocus¡¯ eyes snaked upward from the skeleton to the wall above it. On the wall, there was another ancient Pylanthean inscription. This one was larger, cruder ¨C written in a dried dark red ink of some kind.


    ¡°¡®If you have come to Dyugan, you see fit to challenge My Rule and My Divine Right,¡¯¡± Brocus read the inscription aloud. ¡°¡®I will show you how foolish you are ¨C Caitan Jurund IV, Descendent of Nehlox, Sparhh-Kin.¡¯¡±


    Brocus pondered for a moment, his brow creased, then let out a grunt of confusion. Heror and Adjaash eyed him.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Brocus began. ¡°There is a gap in ancient Pylanthean records. No one knows exactly how this great Kingdom fell from its former glory. It¡¯s as if that knowledge was expunged from history. But I recognize this name: Jurund IV. He is the last Caitan before the ancient records end and the gap begins, around 2,000 years ago. This message appears to be intended for his contemporaries.¡±


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± Adjaash asked. ¡°Is the Sword still here?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, it must be,¡± Brocus reaffirmed. ¡°When it rematerialized, it no doubt would have returned to Sparhh¡¯s Kingdom, into the protection of Neutanae. The map led us here. This is where it has to be. But¡­¡±


    ¡°But what?¡± Adjaash prodded.


    Brocus¡¯ eyes glanced over the red inscription one last time. He frowned.


    ¡°Nothing¡­¡± he murmured. ¡°Let¡¯s carry on.¡±


    And so they went on. The chamber narrowed a bit more, and in another minute of walking, they saw the torchlight reflecting down the tunnel. Before long, they reached what appeared to be a dead end. But there was an impression in the end wall, running along the height and length of the passage, as if a hidden door. To the right of the impression, a worn circular stone button sat, and next to it another inscription written in red. Brocus leaned in and read this one.


    ¡°¡®I am the Giver and Taker and Master of Life,¡¯¡± the scholar echoed. ¡°¡®Should you move forward, your Life will be your Pennance ¨C Jurund IV.¡¯¡±


    And then he gasped lowly, as his eyes sunk below the inscription. Adjaash and Heror both stepped forward, unnerved by this reaction.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Adjaash asked, voice firm.


    Brocus slowly pointed to a smeared red symbol below the inscription ¨C a bird with wide wings, a cloak and collar of feathers, and a hooked raptor beak.


    ¡°The vulture,¡± he whispered. ¡°The totem of Geliagg¡­¡±


    He paused, then continued, his voice grim.


    ¡°There are dark forces at work here¡­¡±


    ¡°What is this?¡±


    It was Heror who spoke now. While the others observed the inscription on the right wall, Heror observed the left wall, where another red symbol sat. It was a strange rectangular prism, with lines and pathways snaking past and around and inbetween one another within ¨C like a maze of some sort. At the bottom of the rectangle, there was an opening, and at the top, there was a pathway that led to a small circular room.


    ¡°It looks like a map,¡± Adjaash surmised, stepping toward the left wall.


    ¡°A labyrinth,¡± Brocus said with a nod. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s an exact map ¨C only a representation. A warning.¡±


    Heror glanced at Brocus.


    ¡°Brocus, do you know anything about this?¡±


    Brocus shook his head.


    ¡°There was nothing in the ancient tomes about this.¡±


    They stood in silence. And then by impulse, Brocus stepped toward the circular button and pressed it down with his free hand. Just as there had been with the staircase above, there was the sound of stirring stone. Dust fell from the ceiling as gears and cogs collided, and after a moment, a thick stone slab door sunk into the ground, revealing a hidden passageway behind the wall. And the three stood before the opening, staring into the shadow beyond.


    They stood in silence ¨C as if listening for activity in the newly-opened passageway. But sixty seconds passed, and there was no sound. No sound at all. Only the light rises and falls of their wary breathing, and the crackling of the torches.


    ¡°A mad King left us a final test,¡± Brocus theorized.


    Adjaash was the first to lean into the passageway. She lifted her torch forward ¨C to try and send the light farther down the corridor ¨C but the darkness swallowed it all. The light spread out and dissipated in the long corridor, as sprawling sandstone halls and passageways branched off into the black.


    ¡°Brocus,¡± Adjaash began. ¡°You stay back here.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Brocus protested with a scowl. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. Not when we¡¯re so close.¡±


    ¡°This passage is narrow, and we don¡¯t know what¡¯s in there,¡± Adjaash reasoned. ¡°If we run into something and have to escape, we don¡¯t want to be tripping over each other.¡±


    Adjaash glanced at Heror, then looked back at Brocus.


    ¡°Heror and I will scout ahead,¡± she decided. ¡°It¡¯ll be easier for two of us than it would be for three. If the way is clear, we¡¯ll come back for you.¡±


    ¡°But I want to¨C¡±


    ¡°Brocus,¡± Adjaash said firmly. ¡°You¡¯re not a fighter. Let us clear the way first.¡±


    Brocus glared at Adjaash, but his expression soon lightened, and with a sigh, he finally nodded. Adjaash returned the gesture, and she started to turn back toward the passageway when Brocus called her again.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    Adjaash turned around. Brocus reached into his green tunic and pulled out a small fabric roll. He handed it to Adjaash, and as she unrolled it, she saw a clump of fresh harvested silk from the camp.


    ¡°I was using it to treat my horse¡¯s ankle,¡± Brocus said. ¡°I kept it on me and brought it down here.¡±


    He paused, then gestured toward the darkened passage.


    ¡°Use the silk strands to mark your path so you know where you¡¯ve been,¡± Brocus told Adjaash. ¡°Easy to get lost in places like this.¡±


    Adjaash looked at the scholar, then offered him a small smile of gratitude and nodded once more. She set her torch on the ground by the open doorway, then slung her bow off her shoulder and glanced at Heror.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± she said to him.


    And at once, Heror and Adjaash stepped into the dark, following the light of Heror¡¯s torch.


    Their first step into the passage was slow. Still, Heror could see nothing past the fading torchlight. He and Adjaash shared a glance, and then Adjaash took another step. But as soon as she took this step, a wide, flat pressure plate disguised within the stone floor sank ever so slightly. She heard a click. She froze, eyes wide.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    Now Adjaash whirled around, and she saw the rock wall shooting up from its track in the floor, kicking up dust as the stone slid into place.


    ¡°No!!¡±


    Adjaash lunged back to the door, but by the time she reached it, the trap door had already latched into place with a low rumble, closing the gap between the tunnel and the staircase. Adjaash swung and slapped the door with her hands, but it wouldn¡¯t budge. She pressed against the stone, and after another failed effort, she let out a frustrated sigh.


    ¡°Brocus! Can you hear me?¡±


    Her voice echoed, and for a moment, there was no response. Then, after a few seconds, she heard Brocus¡¯ voice ¨C muffled behind the thick rock wall.


    ¡°I hear you,¡± she heard him say, faintly. ¡°The button is locked. It won¡¯t press down.¡±


    ¡°Shit,¡± Adjaash hissed to herself.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°There may be a pressure release on your side somewhere ¨C perhaps when you find the Sword. But I¡¯ve never seen this before¡­¡± Brocus said from beyond the wall. ¡°I¡¯ll stay here and keep trying. You two go on ahead ¨C and be careful¡­¡±


    Adjaash checked both sides of the rock wall and saw nothing. She cursed under her breath again, then turned to Heror.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Heror,¡± she said with another exhale.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I didn¡¯t see it, either.¡±


    Adjaash was about to speak again, when both of them heard something further down the passageway. It was distant ¨C almost too faint to hear or distinguish. And as soon as they heard it, it was gone. But to Heror¡¯s ear, it sounded like a scuff of a foot, echoing off the stone.


    Something was in the labyrinth with them.


    Adjaash took a deep breath, then turned back to Heror. In the firelight, their eyes met.


    ¡°Finding the Sword is our best chance,¡± she reasoned. ¡°You lead the way with the torch. I¡¯ll use the silk to mark our path. If we hit a dead end, we¡¯ll double back while I pick up the silk, and then we¡¯ll pick up where we left off. We keep going until we find it.¡±


    Heror nodded. Adjaash inhaled and exhaled again, and turned her eyes ahead.


    ¡°Stay close to me,¡± she told Heror.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me,¡± Heror told her.


    Adjaash smiled small, while Heror took his next step into the dark, holding his torch in front. Adjaash loomed behind him, readying the silk.


    They only walked fifteen feet before they came across another body. It was another skeleton, long dead ¨C adorned in a gilded light armor set and red cloak. Heror instantly recognized it as a siephall from Ardys. Its skull was cracked, its helmet hopelessly dented through, as it sat against the wall, legs sprawled out on the sandstone.


    Their footsteps echoed alone in the dark as Adjaash left silk behind them, and a few minutes later, they came to their first fork in the tunnel. It was a four-way intersection that branched off into three different paths from the entryway. Another skeleton sat upright against the center wall between the two rightmost paths ¨C this one wearing the dark, heavy armor set of an elite Cuyoch from Ghiovan.


    Heror took a deep breath, then glanced at Adjaash, who looked just as stumped as he was. To the light crackles of the torch, they surveyed the three paths forward. All three went dark not far past the entryways ¨C narrow walls and low ceilings giving a sense of suffocation.


    ¡°I¡¯d only be guessing if I chose one,¡± Heror admitted in a whisper.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Adjaash grumbled, forcing a quiet laugh to dispel her unease.


    Heror smiled only for a second. Then his expression leveled out again, and he studied the three entryways as best as he could. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head.


    ¡°Whatever we choose¡­ we can work our way back if it¡¯s wrong¡­¡±


    He took one more deep breath, then turned his gaze to the far right path, tilting the torchlight in that direction. Adjaash stood close behind him.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try this one first,¡± Heror said to himself.


    And then he started toward the rightmost path, fitting his free hand on his sword¡¯s hilt, leading with the torch. Behind him, Adjaash left strands of silk on the ground in steady increments, careful to ration as much as she could.


    The tunnel continued to narrow as they walked, until it was almost at shoulder width. To the right, there was another small corridor, but Heror saw the reflection of light marking a dead end. And so he carried on, until this tunnel branched off into two opposing paths ¨C both mired in darkness.


    They had already gone right, and so Heror went left this time. But he only took two steps before he heard another noise down the passage ¨C a bit closer this time. It resembled a low grunt, but echoed and disappeared as quickly as it came.


    Heror and Adjaash froze again. Heror glanced toward the adjacent path ¨C but in both directions, the orange torchlight died out after less than twenty feet. As much as Heror tried to pry through the dark with his eyes, he could see nothing.


    Slowly, Heror wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it. Adjaash let down one more strand of silk, and then pocketed the silk wrap and equipped her bow.


    In the cold tunnel, they inched forward again. As they did, the torchlight flowed precariously down the passage, like water in a weak stream. In the dark, another skeleton appeared leaning against the wall ¨C smeared and dried blood staining the stone behind it. Heror swallowed a lump in his throat and kept moving, eyes ahead.


    There was nothing still ¨C only the quiet, hollow echo of cautious footsteps against the rock. And then this passage narrowed and swerved sharply to the right. Heror paused for a moment, then glanced back at Adjaash before tilting his shoulders to fit through the gap.


    The claustrophobic corridor zig-zagged left and right, and the ceiling sank. Heror slowed to a shuffle, peeling carefully around each corner. His eyes led his feet. In his head, he could hear his heart pounding. And after each turn, the torchlight bathed the next wall. Nothing, nothing¡­ nothing¡­


    At last, the zig-zags ended, and Heror emerged into another long hallway that widened out again, light dissipating with the spread of the walls. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Adjaash was still behind him. As he did so, the girl stepped out and joined him.


    Now they stopped at the head of the tunnel, listening for more noises ¨C but there was nothing. The silence itself was unnerving, deafening. After a few seconds, Adjaash grabbed Heror¡¯s arm to try and comfort him. Heror offered her a glance, then started forward again.


    More steps. Empty air. Dark. Adjaash¡¯s eyes thinned and scanned. Heror suppressed an anxious feeling. Scratches and streaks of red tore upon the walls ¨C bones strewn about on the floor. They carried on for a time longer. And then suddenly, Heror froze.


    ¡°What?¡± Adjaash whispered. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°I think I saw something,¡± Heror whispered back.


    He stared ahead; he couldn¡¯t be sure if the darkness was playing tricks on his eyes, toying with the torchlight. He took another step forward. Nothing.


    ¡°What did you see?¡± Adjaash prodded.


    Heror paused and took another long, deep breath. He felt his knuckles tighten against his sword handle. He rotated, readying his stance. And then he took another step, letting the torchlight flow farther.


    Still nothing.


    Heror blinked. Another breath. Maybe he had imagined it. He took another step¡­


    And then they both saw it. For a split second, it flashed in the fireglow ¨C before fleeing into the dark without a sound. It had looked almost like a humanoid, but Heror couldn¡¯t be sure. He looked back at Adjaash, his voice low.


    ¡°Get your bow ready.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ready.¡±


    Heror nodded and breathed. And then, with sudden haste, he took a couple more steps, urging the torchlight forth. And their eyes fell on it again, standing in the center of the passageway not fifteen feet away.


    It was indeed a humanoid, but if it had ever been human, it was no longer. It was a wight ¨C tall and lanky, with pale white, wrinkly skin that was tight against the bone. It was dressed in tattered armor and robes long decayed beyond recognition. Its nails were long and dirty, as if claws. Its hair was scraggly and unkempt. And as Heror¡¯s eyes reached its face, he saw only a mess of rotten skin and black teeth, below black and beady eyes.


    Heror and Adjaash froze at the sight. And at first, the creature did not react to the light. But then, as it stood in place, it opened its teethy mouth and let out a low hum or murmur.


    ¡°¡­nnnnnnn¡­¡±


    Heror took a step toward the creature, starting to wind his sword. But as he did, the creature lurched back and entered a defensive stance. It planted its feet and arched its back, and then it widened its jaw. The murmur turned to a hissing, scratching cry.


    ¡°¡­ nnnnnnnnNNNAAAAUUUUUGHHHH¡­¡±


    And then it was a feverish bellow ¨C a stomach-wrenching, bone-chilling sound that reverberated off the walls and stopped Heror in his tracks. Adjaash stepped out and let loose an arrow which lodged in the creature¡¯s jaw. But the creature still wailed its deafening wail with the arrow piercing through its mouth ¨C as if sounding an alarm ¨C until Heror finally sent forth a fierce swing and lopped off its head, sending flakes of bone matter to the floor. There was a small puff of air, as if a soul had been freed.


    The creature collapsed and crumbled to the ground, but now Heror heard another menacing wail farther down the tunnel ¨C and another, even farther down. And another, back behind them, inside one of the smaller cavities ¨C until the entire passageway shook and vibrated, as dozens of demon calls came from the dark, overlapping and echoing and flooding the walls.


    ¡°Adjaash¡­¡± Heror drawled, glancing back.


    But Adjaash was in a laser focus. She nocked another arrow and turned her back to Heror, covering the tunnel entrance from which they came ¨C as the calls faded and gave way to the stampede of frantic, scratching footsteps..


    ¡°You cover that side, I¡¯ll cover you!¡± she shouted, staring into the dark.


    ¡°Adjaash, if we don¡¯t make it, there¡¯s something I need to¨C¡±


    ¡°Save it!¡± Adjaash hissed, hair lashing over her face. ¡°We¡¯re getting out of here. Hold your torch steady!¡±


    Heror turned and huffed, readying his sword again while the torch blazed. The footsteps were closer now ¨C growing louder and louder ¨C until all at once, two wights charged out from the darkness, sprinting toward Heror, arms and claws flailing.


    In a rush, Adjaash whirled around and fired an arrow, and the arrowtip lodged in the wight¡¯s head. The other swung its claws at Heror, but Heror ducked the slash to the right and stabbed his sword into the creature¡¯s chest. The creature gnashed at Heror¡¯s ear with its teeth as he wrenched it into the air ¨C torch fire burning its skin ¨C and then Heror threw it down with force, slicing its torso open from end to end.


    More were coming. Adjaash covered Heror, until she heard noises from the way they¡¯d entered. She turned around, and from the smaller zig-zagging tunnels, she saw a wight prying its way into the open space. It landed on all fours, and then it darted toward Adjaash, who sent an arrow through its skull just before it closed its advance.


    Behind this creature, two more came, and then two more ¨C piling on top of one another and fighting to enter the tunnel first. Adjaash shot one, but her second arrow just missed its mark, and two wights climbed over their fallen and rushed toward her. She started to nock another arrow, but the creatures were closing too quickly ¨C so instead, she swung out with her bow, knocking one wight off-balance. She slammed the other into the wall with a grunt, then stabbed the arrow into its temple herself.


    The first creature scrambled to its feet and lunged at Adjaash again, but Adjaash let loose a kick to its abdomen, then ¨C in a flash ¨C loaded another arrow and embedded it in the beast¡¯s skull, leaving the wight mounted into the wall by the arrow. Without delay, she loaded and turned again and arched another creature, sending it skidding along the ground ¨C and then she nocked and whirled around to aid Heror.


    From Adjaash¡¯s bow, an arrow rushed inches past Heror¡¯s cheek and struck down an approaching wight ¨C but two more came for him. With a relentless backhand swing, Heror sliced through one. The second hooked its claws underneath Heror¡¯s blade, then lashed at him with its other arm. Just barely, Heror ducked beneath the attack, and as the creature lunged again, Heror stabbed his sword upward, into the creature¡¯s chin and out through its cranium.


    Still, more were coming. As Heror reset his stance and pushed out a breath, another creature emerged from the shadows, maniacally crawling sideways along the wall with its claws. It hissed and snarled, then dove off the wall and sprawled out its arms, but before it could make contact, Heror let loose a mammoth backhand slice, severing its neck.


    In greater numbers, they charged from the wider passage. Heror blocked and slashed. Adjaash loomed behind him, sniping hordes of undead with deadly precision ¨C a second reaping. With Adjaash¡¯s support, Heror could hold them off ¨C but as Adjaash glanced over her shoulder, she saw a creature coming from the narrow entryway again.


    In a panic, Adjaash twisted around again, but it was too late for her to nock an arrow. She swung her bow to block the slash of claws. This time, her bow slipped from her grasp, and clattered on the sandstone floor, while Adjaash fell onto her side.


    Hastily, Adjaash sat up, and in the same motion, she rolled to the left to dodge another ferocious hail of claws. She hopped to her feet and ripped her twin daggers from beneath her poncho. And as the creature lunged again, she sliced her daggers outward from inside the beast¡¯s torso and cut off both its arms at the stems.


    While this creature writhed on the ground, two more came from the entryway. Now Adjaash went on the offensive. With a shout, she dashed forward and took the first one by surprise, piecing up its arms from its hands to its wrists to its elbows with lightning-quick slashes ¨C a tempest of swirling knives ¨C before finally wrenching up and stabbing both daggers into the base of its head. Then she tossed this wight aside, pulled back, and threw her right-handed dagger into the next wight¡¯s skull. Before this wight could fall, she tackled and shoved it into the narrow entryway, stacking it on top of another dead wight and almost fully blocking the path.


    While Adjaash guarded the rear, Heror could feel himself being overwhelmed. The creatures were dry and brittle, but they were relentless, and they seemed to multiply from the dark. No matter how many times he slashed and swung, more came, from all different angles. Heror cut down and cut across ¨C until there was a pile at his feet ¨C but at last, a creature scrambled from the right wall, crawling along the stones with frantic claws. It launched off the sandstone ¨C catching Heror off-guard ¨C and pinned him against the left wall of the passage.


    Grunting, Heror kept his sword at an armbar beneath the creature¡¯s wrists, barely blocking its claws from sinking into his skin. The creature drove and skidded its feet against the floor as it clacked its teeth and screeched, beady eyes glowing red in the light of the torch. Its claws came closer and closer¡­ until a throwing dagger embedded itself in the side of the wight¡¯s head.


    Heror turned to see Adjaash dashing toward him. The girl ripped the dagger out of the creature¡¯s head, then shoved it to the ground, freeing Heror from its grasp. She reset both daggers and re-entered her stance. Heror did the same with his sword, and as they turned ahead, they saw at least a half-dozen more creatures looming in the firelight, behind a mound of dead wights.


    At first, Heror expected them to advance. But these creatures hesitated, black eyes staring blankly ahead. And then, one of the wights in front took a step back, hunched its shoulders and craned its neck, and let out a smooth, hollow cry. As it did, Adjaash matched this cry with a ferocious yell of victory, and then all at once, the creatures retreated into the dark, leaving the two in silence.


    For a few seconds more, they stood on-edge, watching the dark boundary at the edge of the firelight. And then Adjaash took a deep breath. She stowed her daggers back beneath her poncho and went to pick up her bow, when she heard more creatures struggling past the narrow entryway. Heror heard it too, and their eyes met.


    ¡°Here,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°Help me block the path.¡±


    They carried a few more wight bodies to the entryway and stacked them ¨C Heror grimacing as they did so ¨C until the way was fully blocked. Then they turned back to the path ahead and carried on with caution, past littered and scattered wight remains. One wight still writhed on the ground, its arms severed; Heror finished it off.


    ¡°At least now we¡¯ll know where we¡¯ve been,¡± Adjaash muttered dryly, kicking a wight¡¯s severed head aside.

 24. The Labyrinth (Part Two)

    Farther into the labyrinth they went. As they walked inside their small pool of torchlight, the darkness receded and advanced in front and behind. They saw no more wights ¨C for the moment. They heard nothing but their own footsteps.


    Not far past where they had fought, the tunnels branched off again. Heror took the left tunnel first, and Adjaash shouldered her bow, distributing strands of silk. This tunnel snaked left and right sharply, until it came to yet another branch-off point. Heror took this one to the right, but quickly met a dead end. There was a small, low-ceiling room, with an armored skeleton sitting up against the wall ¨C streaks of maroon and claw marks in the stone.


    Heror and Adjaash turned around and kept walking ahead through the primary tunnel, but this tunnel eventually reached a dead end as well. And so they went all the way back ¨C Adjaash retrieving the silk as she did so ¨C until they came back to the remnants of the fight. Now Heror took the rightward path from this point, and they carried on.


    This tunnel curved to the left ¨C at first gradually, then more and more skewed ¨C until it suddenly diverted right at a near right-angle. The path narrowed at this junction. Heror slowed and let the light linger, while Adjaash let down another strand of silk, glancing over her shoulder.


    Turning sideways, Heror snuck through the wall crevice, leading with his torch while his sword readied in his other hand. And when he emerged on the other side, his heart sank.


    ¡°Oh no¡­¡±


    Adjaash made her way through the narrow turn behind Heror, and once she emerged into the torchlight, she saw what he saw.


    They were in a dark room. This room was wider, but on every adjacent sandstone wall, there were at least three new passageways snaking off from this nexus, all black as the orange glow failed to reach them.


    Heror stepped forward slowly, boots clacking on rough stones and pebbles and grains of dust, until he reached the center of the room. He glanced around, surveying the entrances.


    ¡°We must be in the center of the maze,¡± he theorized.


    ¡°So we chose right when we chose the first passage?¡± Adjaash assumed, stepping up beside him.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Heror wondered. ¡°But there could have also been more than one path to this point. It¡¯s a good sign that we made it here¡­ but I¡¯d bet there¡¯s only one right path forward.¡±


    He looked to the left, then to the right.


    ¡°And some of these might lead back¡­¡±


    Now he looked at Adjaash in the firelight.


    ¡°How much silk do you have left?¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡±


    Heror nodded.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he went on. ¡°We¡¯re going to try each passage. We¡¯ll do what we¡¯ve been doing. There¡¯s only so many paths to take. As long as we keep track, we¡¯ll find the right one.¡±


    And so they began their process of trial and error. They started through the left-most passage. Heror led the way with his torch, while Adjaash let down silk behind them. The passages were eerily quiet as they went. Heror strained his ears in the silence, listening for noise, but he heard no footsteps or sounds ¨C as if all the remaining wights in the labyrinth had vanished.


    The left-most passage led nowhere, and so they doubled back and picked up the silk again, before trying the next one. Slowly and carefully they went, through corridors and capillaries ¨C taking measures to ensure they never lost their way. And once each secondary path was explored, they went and retrieved the silk again, following it back to the central room.


    The third passage stretched longer. For minutes, Heror and Adjaash followed it straight away. As it went, it curved to the left, and the walls narrowed and narrowed ¨C until Heror had to squeeze through, holding the torch at shoulder height. He inhaled heavily, feeling claustrophobic, but pressed on ¨C and soon passed into another wide tunnel.


    For a moment, Heror¡¯s curiosity was piqued. But then he looked down at the ground and saw an old stream of silk, now covered lightly with dust. This was the tunnel Heror and Adjaash had taken from the hidden door to the very first intersection.


    ¡°We¡¯ve already been here,¡± Heror muttered to Adjaash, disappointed. ¡°Let¡¯s head back.¡±


    And so they slid back into the shrunken tunnel and followed the silk stream back to the central room again. In front of each passage they¡¯d explored, Adjaash left a small clump of silk to mark them.


    ¡°We can use this one as a shortcut back to the start when we find the Sword,¡± Adjaash noted as she placed a clump of silk ahead of the third passage.


    Once she was finished, Adjaash and Heror turned to the middle wall, across from the entryway. And then they picked up where they left off.


    By now, hours had passed ¨C and it felt as though it¡¯d been longer. The next tunnel branched off early, and the right path split off again, and they went on ¨C until they circled into one of their silk strands and realized this passageway was leading them astray. Then they doubled back and returned to the fork in the path, and carried on down the left tunnel. This tunnel snaked left and right, with several dead ends attached ¨C but it kept going ¨C and for the first time, Heror felt as if it was taking them somewhere.


    They went further. Adjaash palmed and placed down silk. In the flickering torchlight, more red inscriptions appeared on the wall. Heror and Adjaash stayed silent, listening intently for more enemies. Heror¡¯s sword was ready. Adjaash kept a dagger close. But still, there was nothing. No sound, no smell. Nothing.


    The passage swerved left and right, constricting and curving, until another path branched off ahead, while the main passage curved left. Heror took the main passage first ¨C choosing not to take the bait ¨C and it went for a ways before constricting again. The walls narrowed and the turns sharpened ¨C left, right, left, right ¨C until Heror froze, and Adjaash bumped into his back.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ow¡­¡± Adjaash muttered, before hissing quietly: ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look.¡±


    Now Adjaash looked over Heror¡¯s shoulder, and she saw it: A dim sapphire blue light reflecting off of the corner wall, from the left.


    In the low firelight, Adjaash¡¯s eyes focused; her mouth opened in a silent gasp. And then Heror went on. He peeled around the corner to the left ¨C torch in hand ¨C and when he and Adjaash emerged, they were at the foot of a long, straight passageway that led to a lit room at the end. From where they stood, the bright blue light blocked any view of the room itself. But the tunnel was empty. The path was clear.


    Heror glanced at Adjaash, then started ahead slowly, while Adjaash walked alongside him. As they walked, the stone floor smoothed out beneath their feet. Adjaash looked left to right, her eyes scanning the walls for any more entryways or secret corridors.


    ¡°Where did they go?¡± she asked Heror of the wights, voice low.


    Heror didn¡¯t have an answer.


    They approached the room at the end of the hall, steps slow and wary. The light grew brighter as they neared, and soon, both Heror and Adjaash had to lift their arms to shield their eyes. Had he not seen the sunset before delving into the tunnels, Heror would¡¯ve thought this to be daylight.


    At last, they reached the room. The walls widened. The ceiling rose, and as his eyes adjusted, a grand spectacle revealed itself to Heror.


    They stood in a circular room, with vaulted stone ceilings supported by fluted columns. Twin crystal chandeliers hung on either side of the room between the columns. Each carried a half-dozen flames of keatuu fire, which glowed a bright sapphire blue and emanated from ceiling to floor, casting clambering shadows along the walls. The flames chirped and crackled and echoed quietly, against the smooth stone above.


    In the center of the room ¨C between the columns, below the chandelier ¨C there was a massive mountain relief carved out of dark marble that blended out from the back wall, seeming to flow downward from the wall itself as if a frozen waterfall. And at the foot of the carved cliffs, the statue of a warrior stood resolute, towering almost ten feet tall.


    The warrior was carved out of dark green marble ¨C which glowed a subtle, ethereal blue-green in the keatuu light. It wore what Heror surmised to be ancient Pylanthean or Cyngoth armor from head to toe. Low-cut boots led to shinguards, and shinguards led to greaves, and greaves led to a brilliant stone cuirass with ribbed tassets over the thighs and great oval pauldrons over the shoulders ¨C each bearing the carved profile of a wolf in a stoic stare. The statue¡¯s face bore this same stoic expression beneath a helmet that shined metallic, with a central crest that ran from brow to back.


    ¡°This must be Neutanae,¡± Heror realized, his voice soft.


    ¡°Hello, Neutanae,¡± Adjaash chimed. ¡°Nice to meet you.¡±


    The statue did not move. Adjaash leaned in toward Heror.


    ¡°He¡¯s not much of a chatter,¡± she whispered.


    As Heror observed the statue and looked down, his eyes fell on the statue¡¯s hands. The statue¡¯s right hand held a carved sword around seven feet up. The blade was flat to the statue¡¯s face, and the statue held it upright. But in the statue¡¯s left hand, which was lower and farther out ¨C almost at Heror¡¯s eye level ¨C there was another sword, around the size of a regular longsword. This sword was also positioned with its blade flat to the statue, but it was propped inside the statue¡¯s left hand by its crossguard, facing downward.


    Heror quickly realized that this sword ¨C unlike the one above in the statue¡¯s right hand ¨C was real, and not carved. It had a small, flat pommel, and a grooved handle made of dark, glassy obsidian. Attached to the handle ¨C against the top of the statue¡¯s fist ¨C were the guards, that appeared as if the wings of a phoenix, with studs of amber inlaid within dark wave designs. Its blade was long, sharp, and symmetrical, and it was lighter ¨C radiating a magnificent silver-blue hue. On one side of the fuller line down the center of the blade, the silver metal was clear. On the other side, an intricate and textured wing design was forged within beads and strands of obsidian, in a stroke of master metallurgy.


    ¡°The Sword of Sparhh,¡± Heror breathed.


    Adjaash¡¯s eyes fell on it, too. And for a moment, they only stared, as the blue flamelight rippled along the walls and the stone and the Sword¡¯s metal faces.


    After a few seconds, Adjaash glanced over her shoulder one last time, and Heror did the same. Then Heror¡¯s eyes cast up at the face of the statue, which stared blankly ahead, its stoic expression unchanged.


    ¡°Think it could be a trap?¡± Adjaash asked Heror.


    Heror sent a glance of affirmation her way. She nodded, then took her bow off her shoulder.


    ¡°You take the Sword,¡± she told Heror. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye out.¡±


    Heror nodded. Adjaash turned toward the hallway and slid an arrow out of her quiver. She lined up the fletchings at the nocking point and set the arrow on the arrow rest. While Adjaash stood at the ready, Heror¡¯s eyes went back to the Sword.


    For a moment, in the quiet, he hesitated. And then he reached up slowly with his right hand. His fingers widened and unfurled, and he wrapped around the Sword¡¯s handle. Once his grip was tight, he unsheathed the Sword from its resting place within the statue¡¯s fist. As he lifted the Sword out, he heard a small click, and he froze. But seconds passed. A minute passed. And there was nothing. No movement from the statue. No movement down the hall.


    Now Heror lowered the Sword and turned. He set his torch gently on the ground, then held the Sword lengthwise in front of his face, cradling the flat of the blade with his free hand. He watched the blue light of the keatuu fire run across the metal as he tilted it back and forth. The blade was light and cold to the touch.


    Heror stared at the Sword for a time longer ¨C his brow lowered ¨C when Adjaash spoke.


    ¡°Heror,¡± she said. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±


    Heror looked up at her. Adjaash could tell something was wrong, but Heror only nodded and said nothing. Gently, she gestured toward the tunnel.


    ¡°We should head back then.¡±


    Heror slid the Sword underneath his belt loop, next to Kerit. And then, to the light of Heror¡¯s torch, they followed the silk strands back through the labyrinth, leaving Neutanae in silence. They went through the shortcut they¡¯d mapped out and returned to the hidden wall. The tunnels were empty. The wall was open now. Brocus waited for them there, and at the sight of the Sword in Heror¡¯s possession, he gaped in awe.


    ¡°You have it,¡± he said, astonished.


    Heror nodded, and still he said nothing. The scholar held out his hand.


    ¡°May I?¡±


    Heror unsheathed the Sword and held it out for Brocus to take. The scholar eagerly wrapped his hand around the handle and cradled the Sword in his grasp, running his hand across the blade.


    ¡°Bor¡¯s Light¡­ look at the craftsmanship,¡± Brocus reveled. ¡°The artistic skill that would have been needed to create this¡­ forged over 6,000 years ago at least. This is a wonder¡­ and we are the ones who found it.¡±


    Brocus let out a scoff of a laugh.


    ¡°My friends in Peranon will be very jealous to hear of this,¡± he mused.


    Brocus observed it for a moment longer. Then he grinned at Heror, and held the Sword to return it.


    ¡°You should be the one to carry it,¡± he told Heror, bestowing the honor. ¡°You found it. It¡¯s only right.¡±


    At first, Heror did not take it. But when Brocus insisted, Heror reluctantly accepted the blade. When they ascended back up the steps to the temple of Dyugan, it was dark. The Midan soldiers and the horses were resting. Adjaash stirred them. The group ate and drank. And in the calm, clear air of night, beneath a starry sky, they set off again, using the Peak of the Obelisk in the north to guide them back to camp.

 25. Actualization

    As they had before, they returned to camp at dawn again. It was quiet, but the few Midans who were awake turned their eyes when Brocus called out from the red flats. Atop his horse, he shouted triumphantly: ¡°We have it! We have the Sword of Sparhh!¡±


    The search party members moored their horses, and already, word had spread. Soldiers swarmed to the pavilion, where the search party lingered ¨C the Sword still in Heror¡¯s possession.


    The Midans stared in awe at the mystical weapon. And not long after the sun rose, the chattering crowds parted, and Raldu approached, with the djauul Shaail at his side. Raldu first acknowledged Adjaash, then Brocus, and then Heror. He glanced down at the Sword, then eyed Heror again, holding out his hand.


    Heror nodded and silently handed over the Sword. Raldu grabbed the handle and tilted the sword within his grasp, observing its intricate details. He watched the morning sunlight shine off the winged designs and the obsidian hilt and the cool silver blade ¨C and then he smiled warmly and looked at the search party again.


    ¡°Well done. All of you,¡± he said, his eyes jumping from member to member. ¡°I knew my trust in you was well placed.¡±


    Now Raldu turned and faced the crowds of Midan soldiers that clamored around the mess tent. He raised his voice.


    ¡°Everyone!¡± Raldu yelled, granting pauses so that Shaail could repeat his words in Midan. ¡°There has been a development that I would like to address, but I will not address it yet! Please ¨C go about your business and do your tasks today. And meet here at the camp¡¯s center at mid-afternoon! There, I will have words for you!¡±


    Now the chatter started to fade, and the crowds began to disperse. Raldu turned back to the search party. At the front of the group, Heror and Adjaash could no longer hide their exhaustion.


    ¡°Rest,¡± Raldu told them. ¡°And come back here at mid-afternoon. You all deserve to bask.¡±


    Heror returned to his tent, supply pack in hand. He ate from his rations and drank from his canteen. And then he fell asleep. It was a sound and timely sleep, with no nightmares or dreams. And soon enough, he awoke to light inside his tent. As he groggily sat up in his bedroll, Adjaash stepped into the entryway.


    ¡°I figured I¡¯d come get you,¡± she told him with a small smile. ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡±


    They returned to the pavilion at the camp center, and under the afternoon light, the crowd of soldiers had once again gathered. They left a path for Adjaash and Heror to make their way to the center of the pavilion. When the pair ventured under the shade, the rest of the search party was waiting for them, along with Raldu and Shaail. In his hand, Raldu still carried the Sword.


    ¡°Ah, good,¡± Raldu said as they approached, silver-gold hair rustling in the breeze. ¡°We can begin.¡±


    Raldu stepped up onto a table, and all at once, the chatter in the crowd ceased. Shaail loomed behind him, once again ready to translate his words. Raldu let his violet eyes span across the encampment from end to end, and after a moment of silence, he raised the Sword into the air.


    ¡°The search party has returned!¡± he announced. ¡°With the Sword of Sparhh!¡±


    The crowd needed no translation for this. All at once, the mass of Midans erupted, and cheers flooded the camp. Some looked on in shock, while others patted their chests and stamped their bows, sending rolling rumbles through the grounds.


    Raldu waited for the excitement to subside. And then he continued, leaving pauses for Shaail to translate.


    ¡°For thousands of years,¡± he began. ¡°The Kingdoms that oppressed us, enslaved us, raped us, murdered us¡­ used this as their symbol! This artifact, even when it was not in use, gave them power. And they presented it as an instrument of cleansing, under the guise of Godliness! But we know the truth. And the truth is this: The land ¨C the world ¨C will not be clean, until those who have wielded that power over us so ruthlessly¡­ will be stripped of it, just as they tried ¨C and failed ¨C to strip us of our dignity, and our resolve!¡±


    There was another eruption of cheers, and now Raldu shouted above the furor before it could even fade.


    ¡°How many of you had ancestors who were killed? Enslaved? Displaced? Robbed in daylight? How many of you were forced to live in squalor, away from the fertile land you claimed first, and called your own?¡±


    And now there were yells of confirmation and affirmation. Raldu continued.


    ¡°How many of you were once compelled to believe in a promise that was only meant to mislead you?? To steal your spirit¡­ from right under your nose??¡±


    More yells and shouts.


    ¡°The destruction of this Sword¡­¡± Raldu continued. ¡°¡­ will be the first step toward ensuring that those who do evil will no longer have the power to remain. And it will be the first step toward ensuring¡­ that we have the power to truly make a lasting change! For our loved ones and for others¡­ who have suffered and still suffer every day, because of the unworthy and what they do! When this Sword is gone, its absence will be a symbolic evolution ¨C a representation of our strength that so many underestimated. But its absence will just as much be a shift¡­ away from outdated, obsolete Gods, and to the people ¨C us ¨C who claim and grasp the power we have!!¡±


    More shouts. This time, Raldu waited for the air to calm, and quiet to return.


    ¡°We¡¯ve advanced farther and farther south past the border,¡± he continued. ¡°The line is moving every day. In a few days time, we will destroy this Sword. And then all of you will be sent south, to join the fight with your brothers at arms! I ask that you¡­¡±


    Raldu¡¯s speech continued, but Heror did not hear it. He was in a daze; on his thoughts, he drifted away. Raldu rallied the men, as he was so good at doing. It was loud. Louder, it grew. Elders prayed to their deities aloud, giving gratitude for favor. Young djauul archers promised swift retribution for their ancestors¡¯ fate. Riders thrust their bows into the dirt, marking this land as theirs again ¨C as Raldu¡¯s words carried on. And then the speech ended, and the men slowly dispersed.


    It was then that Heror went away on his own, down the riverbank to the south, in the light of the early sunset. He went until the noise of the camp was gone, and then he crossed the river. He sat, resting his back against a tree.


    Not long after Heror sat down, he heard footsteps trudging down the way. As he looked, he saw Adjaash stepping from the gravel to the stones. She crossed the river and approached, in the warm-lit evening shade of the trees. Their eyes met, and then Heror dropped his gaze back to the ripples of the river.


    ¡°You alright?¡± Adjaash asked softly, as she stood over Heror.


    Heror said nothing. He let the back of his head rest against the knots in the trunk behind him. Adjaash waited for a moment, then let out a sigh and sat beside him, crossing her legs.


    ¡°You¡¯ve barely said a word since we left the tunnels. What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    Now Heror took a deep breath and lifted his eyes. In the sky, feathered cirrus clouds caught and dispersed the evening sunlight in waves of amber, red, and icy blue.


    ¡°I thought when I touched the Sword, I would¡­ feel something. Anything¡­¡±


    Heror trailed off.


    ¡°But I didn¡¯t feel anything. It¡¯s just a sword.¡±


    Adjaash eyed him for a spell, then leaned over and picked a smooth pebble from the shore of the river. She twirled it between her fingers.


    ¡°Why is that such a bad thing?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Because it was supposed to be more than that,¡± Heror lamented. ¡°It was supposed to be¡­¡±


    He trailed off again.


    ¡°Supposed to be what?¡±


    Heror was silent. Adjaash thought to herself. A light breeze rustled her hair.


    ¡°Is this about¡­ what you were asking the other day, when we were fishing?¡± she recollected. ¡°About what I believe? About what we should believe?¡±


    It was quiet. A flicker pecked at a tree far above, then glided across the river, its high-pitched calls echoing in the air. Adjaash looked his way.


    ¡°Was this supposed to be some kind of answer for you?¡±


    Heror gave Adjaash a glance, then turned ahead again. There was the discontent of self-loathing in his face, as if he¡¯d been misled and then came to wisdom. Sobering, painful wisdom.


    Adjaash watched as Heror consternated in silence. Then she smiled lightly to herself and dropped her eyes. She felt the smooth ribbons of the stone beneath the pads of her fingers. A strand of brown-silver hair drooped over her face.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re trying to find meaning in the wrong things,¡± she told him.


    Heror let out a small huff of a laugh through his nose.


    ¡°You sound like Thaeolai.¡±


    ¡°Hm?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ nothing¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so focused on trying to find ¡®the answer,¡¯¡± Adjaash lamented, ¡°that you forget to find meaning in what¡¯s in front of you.¡±


    Adjaash paused. Heror could hear light exasperation in her voice. He glanced at her, and she met his glance.


    ¡°If you spend your whole life waiting for something¡­¡± she went on ¡°¡­ you forget to live¡­¡±


    Adjaash went quiet, and her eyes sank as soon as the words left her mouth ¨C as if she¡¯d reminded herself of something. But her words stayed with Heror, as he sat by the river with his back against the tree.


    For his entire life ¨C even over the past couple months since he¡¯d left Cephragon ¨C Heror had been waiting for things. Waiting for a chance to find his family. Waiting for a chance to fight for something meaningful. Waiting for a sign that all of these things ¨C any of these things ¨C truly mattered.


    And yet all this waiting left him as conflicted as he¡¯d been at the very start. He didn¡¯t feel better off because of it.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    After a minute of silence, Heror tilted his head in acknowledgement and let out a sigh. His right hand instinctively searched for a twig that he could fiddle with nervously. He found one by his boot, then grabbed it and started to scrunch it between his fingers.


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve never been very good at that. Just¡­ living¡­¡±


    Heror¡¯s voice brought Adjaash back to her senses. She gave him another look. Then she smiled, cleared her throat, and brushed a strand of hair out of her face.


    ¡°Me neither,¡± she said with a conceding grumble.


    Heror eyed her, raising a brow.


    ¡°But you¡¯re the one who gave the advice,¡± he pointed out with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯re saying you don¡¯t follow your own advice?¡±


    ¡°Just because I share wisdom doesn¡¯t mean I have to be wise,¡± Adjaash muttered with a shoulder shrug.


    ¡°Actually, I think that¡¯s exactly what it means,¡± Heror retorted with a laugh.


    ¡°Alright, well, once you stop falling off your horse, you can judge me on my wisdom.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see the connection there.¡±


    ¡°Sight is a gift reserved for the wise.¡±


    Heror again let out a small laugh, and Adjaash grinned. They looked at each other for a moment, then Adjaash dropped her eyes again, while Heror looked ahead. The sky was slowly growing darker, redder. The shade of the trees deepened. The crickets began to chirp.


    They took in the sounds for a few minutes. Then Adjaash spoke again.


    ¡°Do you remember a moment where you were just¡­ living? Back home? Just enjoying life?¡±


    Heror let out another small laugh ¨C this one sadder, somber.


    ¡°Those moments were always in short supply.¡±


    ¡°Just one,¡± Adjaash persisted. ¡°There has to be something.¡±


    Heror let out a rough sigh. And cautiously, his mind went back to Cephragon. There were moments ¨C little ones. On the docks at dawn with Thaeolai. Fishing and rowing and sparring with Ucankacei. Listening to Ucankacei¡¯s stories of the Kingdoms while the old man sat outside to meditate¡­


    ¡°When Ucankacei would tell me stories¡­¡± Heror decided to divulge.


    ¡°Who¡¯s Ucankacei?¡± Adjaash questioned.


    ¡°He took me in when I was young. We never had much, but¡­ it was a little easier after he took me in. He always prayed and meditated in the early mornings. He was always up late, up early. He never needed much sleep. Sometimes¡­ before I went to the docks¡­ I¡¯d join him out there, and he¡¯d tell me stories about the Kingdoms. Stories of brave warriors who came from nothing and went on to change the world. Warriors who traveled across mountains and deserts and ashlands and stormy plains, and fought trickster Gods and wicked men¡­¡±


    Heror¡¯s voice faded. He shook his head with another small laugh. He blinked, and then his tired eyes fell on the stream, as it reflected the scarlet skylight above.


    ¡°I was idealistic, maybe to a fault,¡± he recollected. ¡°But I enjoyed those stories when I was younger. I¡¯d close my eyes and get lost in the details. I¡¯d try to paint the pictures in my head. I grew up inside walls, so¡­ they always reminded me there was more outside.¡±


    ¡°You wanted to be one of those warriors?¡± Adjaash guessed with a teasing smirk.


    ¡°I suppose,¡± Heror offered with a chuckle, recognizing his young naivete. ¡°But what boy doesn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t even count,¡± Adjaash noted. ¡°Even there, you were dreaming about a life you wanted to have.¡±


    Heror acknowledged her with a sad smile and nodded.


    ¡°Sometimes¡­ that¡¯s all I could do.¡±


    He paused. His smile faded for a moment. But then it returned.


    ¡°When I was very young ¨C maybe eleven or twelve ¨C I¡¯d spar with other children from the mahallas, with crude wooden swords. Sometimes they were actually sticks. That was when Ucankacei started teaching me the basics, so I¡¯d win often. And when I won, I would raise my sword up high and make these declarations: ¡®I am Trichus, vanquisher of evil.¡¯ Something ridiculous like that. And I¡¯d live out those dreams in the little ways that I could. Sometimes we¡¯d make teams and play ¡®siephalls and pirates¡¯, and I always wanted to be the pirates. Ucankacei wouldn¡¯t have liked it if he¡¯d known, but¡­ It was my way of being the rebel¡­ the liberator, I guess¡­¡±


    He glanced at Adjaash, and the two smiled at each other for a short moment, before Heror turned away to the river. The twig in his hands was just about broken, so he twisted it into two and tossed it aside.


    ¡°Do you have a memory like that?¡± he asked Adjaash, gently.


    Adjaash blinked, and then her eyes went ahead as she thought. Her smile faded a bit. When it came back, it was weaker than before.


    ¡°Spending time with my sister Ashbashenu. By the river.¡±


    She winced ¨C as if she hadn¡¯t said that name in years. And then her chest lifted as she exhaled sharply. Her eyes fell. She spoke again. Each word felt strained.


    ¡°But that was¡­ a long time ago¡­¡±


    Heror watched her ¨C seeing her pained expression ¨C and he decided not to pry any more. But there was one question on his mind ¨C one he felt was permissible to ask.


    ¡°What was Torwa like?¡±


    Now Adjaash glanced at him. She offered him a small smile, as if thankful that he¡¯d given her a safe excuse to reminisce.


    ¡°Everything was more colorful.¡±


    They were silent for a time. It was getting dark. There was a red glow above the trees, and the last of the sun¡¯s light shined through the trunks. Up above, in the heavens, stars dominated the expanse. It was the night of a new moon.


    ¡°Thinking about it a little more¡­¡± Heror pondered. ¡°I think the most I¡¯ve lived¡­¡±


    He looked at Adjaash again. She looked back, amber eyes glowing ever so slightly in the dark.


    Heror continued: ¡°¡­ is out here.¡±


    Adjaash smiled a bit wider. And then they sat in the silence of the young night, to the sounds of the crickets. As they lingered, Heror could feel something pulling him. He felt Adjaash inching closer to his side. Eventually, she spoke again, her shoulder almost touching his.


    ¡°So¡­ I have a question.¡±


    Heror¡¯s breath jumped in the silence. He offered her a glance.


    ¡°When we were in the tunnels¡­¡± Adjaash went on ¡°¡­ before those things attacked us¡­ you mentioned you had something you wanted to say to me?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Heror said in a half-laugh, feeling his cheeks redden in the dark. ¡°I was hoping you forgot about that¡­¡±


    ¡°Nevermind then¡­¡±


    At first, he expected that to be the end of it ¨C but then he felt Adjaash¡¯s shoulder press against his. She turned and leaned over him from the side. Her intent amber eyes met his, and he found that he couldn¡¯t look away ¨C paralyzed by her gaze.


    She said, with confidence: ¡°I think I know.¡±


    And then she leaned in, closed her eyes, and they kissed. And after the first kiss, they both came back stronger. Heror closed his eyes and slowly slid his hand up to cradle her neck. Their lips parted and pressed, parted and pressed, parted and pressed ¨C in a timeless cycle. Mouths and tongues speaking only through touch.


    After a few minutes, she pulled away ever so slightly. They were laying together now ¨C Heror¡¯s back still against the trunk, his hand around her waist. Their eyes were locked between them, and after a moment, Heror opened his mouth, as if to speak ¨C but he could only let out a small laugh, as if the moment itself had been long overdue. Adjaash smiled back. She kissed him again, and then she rubbed her nose against his and smirked.


    ¡°You¡¯ve still got sand on your face,¡± Adjaash muttered.


    ¡°So do you¡­¡± Heror cooed, running a hand up her cheek.


    Adjaash smiled. They were idle for a moment longer. And then she gently pulled away and slowly rose to her feet. She started to kick off her moccasins.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to wash off in the river.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Heror fumbled, looking up at her. ¡°Alright¡­¡±


    Adjaash glanced back at him. She smirked and raised an eyebrow, amused that he hadn¡¯t gotten the hint.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to join me,¡± she said with a guiding, teasing voice.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Heror said quickly, and now he understood.


    Adjaash turned back toward the river. She slipped off her linen pants and pulled her poncho over her head, then dropped it to the side, leaving on only her necklace. The dim starlight shone off her bare soot-colored skin and slender body, and there was a quiet glint of iridescence in her loose, flowing hair. She paced into the waters, and at the sight, Heror too was drawn to the river.


    He stood and started to undress, when he felt the weight of his kinship cloth inside his shirt pouch. Carefully, he pulled the cloth out from beneath his tunic. He held it for a moment. Thoughts that had left him long ago now came back, and for a moment, he froze. And then ¨C without unrolling the cloth ¨C he set it down gently on the gravelly soil. He took off his shirt and placed it over the cloth, so the cloth wouldn¡¯t get lost. And then he slid off his boots and his trousers and stepped into the shallow waters, feeling the cool rush of the ripples.


    Adjaash submerged in the middle of the stream, and when she surfaced again, she brushed wet hair out of her face and rubbed her arms and shoulders, feeling a cool breeze. She turned and saw Heror resting against the riverbank, submerged below the waist, and she made her way back toward him.


    As Adjaash drifted back within reach, Heror brought a hand to her thigh. He slid his hand gently up to her lower back ¨C fingers tracing the curve of her spine ¨C and then he pressed his palm and pulled her to him. She wrapped her legs around him and settled. Her fingers snaked through the curls in his hair. He encased her in his arms, and they kissed again. Just as their lips moved, so did their hips. She closed her eyes and felt the waves. His mouth grazed her neck, and she craned her jaw upward ¨C soft moans and breaths mingling with the whisper of the water.


    When they were done, they laid together against the edge of the bank, listening to the song of the crickets ¨C legs interwoven as their feet rested in the silt below the shallow water, letting the light waves lop against them. Heror held Adjaash against his chest, feeling the crown of her head against his chin. He ran his hand up and down her smooth skin, from her back to her shoulder blades ¨C slowly, gently ¨C and he could feel her leaning into him as she started to drift, her eyes closed in a blissful slumber.


    He wouldn¡¯t have minded if this moment lasted forever. And for a time, it felt as though it did.


    What felt like hours passed, and eventually, in the deep of the clear and starry night, Adjaash opened her eyes again. Heror saw the light glow of her irises in the dark. She adjusted her neck and leaned into his shoulder, and for a moment, they glanced at each other, their eyes meeting.


    ¡°Should we go back?¡± Heror whispered.


    Adjaash thought for a moment, then smiled, closed her eyes again, and nestled her head against Heror¡¯s clavicle.


    ¡°I could stay here a little bit longer,¡± she replied.


    Heror smiled and closed his eyes, and he held her tighter. He only knew now how much he¡¯d wanted to feel her. With one hand, he held her to him. And with the other, he ran his flat palm across her body ¨C from her back to her shoulders and back down again, to her hip and her thigh. From her thigh, to her back again, and up to her shoulder, to her arm, down to her forearm and her wrist, to clasp her hand¡­


    But when his hand snaked down toward her right hand, he felt something. He ran his fingers over it again: A narrow indent rising and wrapping around Adjaash¡¯s wrist. Another pass overtop it, and he realized that it was not a bracelet. It was embedded into the skin; it felt almost like a brand. At some points along the brand, Heror could feel scars running across it. He had never noticed this before now.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Heror asked softly.


    Adjaash opened her eyes and blinked, and then Heror felt her tense up. He glanced down toward her face, and he saw sudden panic in her expression ¨C as if she had remembered something terrible. After a moment, she sat up in a rush and froze. Heror sat up and leaned against the bank with his arm, watching her with concern.


    ¡°Adjaash?¡±


    This time, Adjaash did not lift her eyes to meet his. She stared into nowhere, pupils darting left and right as thoughts clashed. Her chest started to heave. Her breath and pulse started to quicken. Her throat contracted as she swallowed a lump. And then, she closed her eyes, shook her head abruptly, and started to stand.


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± she stammered, a light tremble in her voice. ¡°I¡­¡±


    She paused, as if she didn¡¯t want to go. But then she rose to her feet.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± she said, voice fast and hushed.


    Then she ducked her head and hurried out of the river. She picked up her pants and moccasins and slipped her patterned poncho back on over her torso. And then she walked down the bank to the north with haste, leaving Heror alone by the water.

 26. Soul Burn (Part One)

    Heror didn¡¯t leave his tent the next day, lest he run into her.


    He had gathered his things and returned to camp after barely drying off, and then he lay on his bedroll, unable to sleep. He lay as the sun rose, as it lingered, and as it started to set again. Hours blended together. He tried to drift away.


    He almost succeeded in quieting his thoughts and fading off to sleep, when the flap opened in the evening hours, letting in the amber afterglow to mingle with the shadows. He jolted awake and sat up quickly, but his fear subsided when he saw Raldu ¨C not Adjaash ¨C entering the tent.


    The old man¡¯s silver-gold hair twitched lightly in the breeze as he shuffled inside, and his violet eyes radiated in the dark. Heror smelled the rich aroma of cooked food. Raldu carried two plates of supper.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see you out in camp today,¡± Raldu said. ¡°The horses were fed and given water. I figured I¡¯d come check on you. Thought you might be hungry.¡±


    Groggily, Heror sat up in his bedroll and crossed his legs, brown curls half-obstructing his eyes. Raldu sat down across from him and passed him a wooden fork and a plate, stocked with an assortment of rice, poultry, and vegetables. Heror took the fork and plate, and as if on command, his stomach howled. He picked up the fork and started to eat. Raldu eyed him as he did.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Heror took a deep breath. He nodded unconvincingly.


    ¡°Just catching up on sleep.¡±


    Raldu gave him a concerned, almost knowing look, then nodded to himself.


    ¡°Just as well. I know how long a week it¡¯s been for you.¡±


    Heror said nothing. He scooped a clump of rice with his fork and took a bite. It was warm and soft. He took another scoop, then glanced up at Raldu, who was starting to eat as well.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to eat with me,¡± Heror said lowly.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t have to,¡± Raldu offered with a smile. ¡°But I want to.¡±


    ¡°I should be so grateful,¡± Heror grumbled.


    Raldu let out a short, jovial laugh at the sarcastic comment ¨C a reaction that both confused and disarmed Heror somewhat. Heror eyed the man for a moment longer before returning to his meal. It was quiet ¨C save for the hollow clacks of their silverware ¨C and then Raldu spoke again.


    ¡°This dish always reminds me,¡± Raldu reminisced, ¡°of the time I helped bring chickens back from our neighbor village as a child. Well¡­ I don¡¯t know how much I helped at all. Really, I think it was the day I realized I would never be a farmer¡­¡±


    Heror acknowledged Raldu with a curious look ¨C eager for any kind of distraction. Raldu saw the interest. He continued, a smile already forming on his face.


    ¡°Yes, it was one of the tamer visits to the village,¡± Raldu went on ¨C his rich, excited voice filling the tent. ¡°I must¡¯ve been around fifteen years old. It was ages ago, but I¡¯ll always remember it. We were bringing peat and fish in exchange for livestock. And this was just after I¡¯d helped the townsmen finish building a new coop for the chicken. It was on a drier plot of land just outside the swamps, and it would give them enough to graze while they produced eggs.


    ¡°We were ready to take on some of the red junglefowl that our neighbor village had in stock, and one of the townsmen brought watermelon from the northern canyons ¨C not far from where we are right now ¨C as a treat, to help win the chickens¡¯ favor. You¡¯ve never had watermelon from the northern canyons?¡±


    Heror shook his head, taking another bite of the rice. Raldu¡¯s eyes widened in retrospective wonder, and he marveled.


    ¡°Oh, it might be the sweetest tasting thing that grows from the Aelyum. Ardysan pepons come close, but this canyon melon¡­ it¡¯s rich, succulent, a brilliant golden-yellow. In Ghiovan, Tephire, and Hithain ¨C where it¡¯s a rarer commodity ¨C the elsish folk sometimes call it ¡®godfruit¡¯, because it looks and tastes exactly like you¡¯d imagine solid ichor might. To paint the scene more simply for you¡­ it is delectable ¨C and I didn¡¯t really want to share it.¡±


    The pace of Raldu¡¯s voice quickened. Its tenor rose with excitement. He set his plate down, moving his hands as he talked. Heror smiled small as he listened.


    ¡°The townsman who brought it from the northern canyons cut and cubed the melon, and placed it in a sealed wooden box, with a spoon inside. I would try to sneak one or two cubes out for myself, but he would scold me. He said it was for the chickens first. If there were any left, I could have some. I wasn¡¯t very optimistic. They usually ate everything we gave them. But I acquiesced¡­ for now.


    ¡°We arrived at our neighbor village and went to the farms. And Heror, when I tell you they could smell it¡­ the moment I walked inside the coop carrying the closed box ¨C mind you ¨C I had at least two dozen chickens and hens and roosters swarming at my feet, clucking and cackling away, and pecking at each other for positioning¡­¡±


    Heror let out a snort of a laugh through bites.


    ¡°And of course the townsmen tell me to open the box and dish the melon to the livestock,¡± Raldu went on. ¡°So with the most solemn expression¡­ like I¡¯m giving away a piece of my own soul¡­ I open the box and toss the cubes with the spoon ¨C one by one ¨C into this sea of angry feathers. It¡¯s a painful experience, but it¡¯s over soon¡­ and so while the others are talking, I take the empty box behind the horse stables and sit on a small hay bale. All I have left is the smell. So I open the box, to catch one last waft of paradise¡­ but there is one more piece of melon that I hadn¡¯t seen.


    ¡°For a moment, I¡¯m stunned ¨C astounded. And then I pick up the golden melon piece with the care of a diamond. I¡¯m inspecting it, to make sure it¡¯s real, and not a figment of my yearning imagination ¨C when I hear this sound¡­ a kind of ¡®huff¡¯ in front of me. I look up, sitting on the hay bale in the corner of the fenced area, blocked in by the stables¡­ and I am surrounded by at least a half-dozen chickens, all of their beady eyes fixated on the little cube of melon in my hand.¡±


    Heror gasped and smirked. Raldu continued, his smile widening.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°It¡¯s a standoff. A shakedown!¡± Raldu exclaimed. ¡°And they may as well have been stealing gold from me, because I wasn¡¯t just about to give this away. I had originally wanted to take my time and savor it. But desperate measures were needed¡­ and so I popped the last melon cube in my mouth and ate it in one gulp. And at that moment¡­ the chickens pounced.¡±


    ¡°They attacked you?¡± Heror asked with a chuckle.


    ¡°Chased me right back out into the pen,¡± Raldu replied with a nod and a smirk. ¡°Broke a fence post trying to escape. We left that day with a few more peck marks than we expected¡­ and without the favor of the chickens. But I still won¡­ because I got what was mine.¡±


    Heror let out another chuckle, and for a moment, they shared a smile. But the mood lift was short-lived. It wasn¡¯t long before a solemn expression sunk back onto Heror¡¯s face. He picked at his chicken as it grew colder. His eyelids began to droop. Raldu let out a short sigh.


    ¡°Heror¡­ are you sure you¡¯re alright?¡±


    Heror ate a small strip of chicken. He picked at the food again, spreading a thin blanket of rice across his plate.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Heror said before a pause, then continued quietly: ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ not sure I belong here¡­¡±


    ¡°Why the sudden change of heart?¡± Raldu inquired.


    Heror said nothing.


    ¡°You want to try and find your family again?¡± Raldu assumed.


    Still, Heror said nothing, but he did not refute the claim. In truth, Heror wanted to stay. He knew why he was here. He wanted to fight against the oppression he¡¯d seen all too closely growing up. Thaeolai and Ucankacei were still in the back of his mind. But he didn¡¯t know where things stood with Adjaash. Without Adjaash, there was a cloud over all of it. And it was making him question everything.


    ¡°As I told you when we first met,¡± Raldu reminded him. ¡°I¡¯d be willing to help you make the trek across the desert, now that you¡¯ve helped me. You have a horse now. I could give you supplies. It¡¯d still be a dangerous journey, and one I¡¯d caution you from making alone. But I also know how capable you are.¡±


    Heror still said nothing. Raldu could tell his thoughts were running again.


    ¡°I know Adjaash would be sad to see you go,¡± the old man commented, testing the waters. ¡°She seems quite fond of you¡­¡±


    Heror winced at the name. Raldu observed the young man and changed course.


    ¡°But if you¡¯re worried about not belonging here, I can assure you that isn¡¯t the case,¡± Raldu told him. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because that¡¯s what you¡¯ve been led to believe your whole life. But here, we judge our own on the basis of merits, and nothing else. And you have earned your place. Not only that, but you understand what the Midans have gone through for generations. You lived it yourself. You understand their fight better than most. You understand that¨C¡±


    ¡°¡­ that you need revenge,¡± Heror interrupted. ¡°As much as I might understand what the Midans have gone through, I can never truly share that need for revenge. It¡¯s not what I left Ardys for. I left to find my family.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just about revenge, Heror,¡± Raldu corrected with a shake of his head. ¡°It¡¯s about making sure that this kind of injustice never happens again, to any people or any creed.¡±


    Raldu paused. Now his face lowered. Shade ran across his eyes.


    ¡°For some men¡­ blood is a debt to pay.¡±


    Heror was silent. Raldu lifted his eyes again and went on.


    ¡°Brocus told me about the labyrinth that preceded the Sword. He told me about the messages left by Caitan Jurund IV ahead of its entrance, and the sigils of necromancy. Brocus had no documents on such a structure. There were no ancient Pylanthean records on it. But would you like my interpretation on what happened there?¡±


    Heror said nothing, but met Raldu¡¯s gaze as a signal of acknowledgement.


    ¡°A King who was not worthy was given the crown by birthright,¡± Raldu surmised. ¡°And with an ego baked in royal blood, he deemed his will impregnable. He used the Sword of Sparhh as his symbol of divine providence. A Kingdom decayed under his unworthy rule, and he came to madness against the criticism. He drove the Kingdom into ruin. He killed countless kinsmen in civil wars. He let the oases dry up and the cities grow apart. He erased all traces of his tarnished legacy. And he trapped the souls of his most fervent dissenters in the coiled graveyard, at the foot of the monument to his divinity. This is how Kings doom their kind.¡±


    Raldu rose to a knee and leaned forward toward Heror.


    ¡°What about Kcirun Cirei, of Ardys?¡± the old man continued. ¡°He conscripts thousands of his slaves and laborers to war, while the nobles and high officials and pure-blooded aristocrats sit comfortably in their mansions, with their hearths and their silver dinner plates. Why do you think he¡¯s so comfortable losing his workers? Because he can get more. Because unbeknownst to his loyal subjects, who revel in his divine beauty gifted by Opela, he deals with Cuyasan pirates in the slave trade, like his father did before him ¨C all while fighting face-saving battles against them in the bay.¡±


    Heror blinked. His thoughts went back to Cephragon. On the docks. Workers being thrown into the waters.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see?¡± Raldu persisted. ¡°It¡¯s all rotten to the core. They¡¯re all hypocrites. And liars. And pillagers. And murderers. And their arrogance and prejudice permeates unto their people. The Kings have been this way for almost the entire 4,000-year history of the Kingdoms. Instruments of rot. All the way to the days before Hiirvanos, when the Kings wielded the Sword of Sparhh itself while culling the Midan ¡®heathens¡¯, who only sought a place to live.¡±


    Raldu paused.


    ¡°Enough blood has been shed at their hands,¡± he said of the Kings, ¡°that blood would be their debt to pay a thousand lives over.¡±


    He paused again. He had Heror¡¯s eye and ear.


    ¡°They all must fall,¡± Raldu decried. ¡°The Kings must fall. The divine order must be shifted. These things¡­ they must happen.¡±


    Heror pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, deep in thought. His eyes dropped only for a moment, before they rose to meet Raldu¡¯s again.


    ¡°Why do you care so much if I stay or not?¡± Heror asked. ¡°I¡¯m only one person.¡±


    ¡°What you hear is my passion for the change that must occur,¡± Raldu said. ¡°Whether you stay or go is still up to you, and I won¡¯t fault you if you choose to leave. But I think you stayed here for so long because you wanted to make a difference. You know more than most how severely such a change is needed. You would be one of my best soldiers. I could use you. And you could be a bridge in Ardys, convincing others to convert. Convincing others to join the cause and eliminate the rot from within.¡±


    Heror was steeped in thought again, and this, Raldu could recognize.


    ¡°You needn¡¯t make a decision now,¡± Raldu assured Heror. ¡°But I want you to have something¡­¡±


    Raldu stood, and Heror watched as he first removed several large coin purses from a fold in his garment, then set them down by Heror¡¯s bedroll. Each one hit the ground with a thud that surprised Heror. He¡¯d never seen this amount of money before.


    ¡°First, your payment for your work so far,¡± Raldu said. ¡°I think 3,000 Kivs will suffice?¡±


    Then Raldu brought his hands to his belt, and he unsheathed the Sword of Sparhh from his Midan leather sheath ¨C its silver metal and winged blade glinting humbly in the light. Again, Heror found himself transfixed by its design.


    ¡°There will be a ceremony tomorrow night,¡± Raldu told him. ¡°To destroy this Sword once and for all. Before you decide to stay or go¡­ I want you to be the one to present it and cast it into the flame. You were the one who found it. You were the one who brought it back.¡±


    Raldu set the Sword on the ground in front of Heror. Heror¡¯s eyes met his.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t feel anything, either,¡± Raldu muttered.


    Now Heror¡¯s eyes went to the Sword.


    ¡°Tomorrow at dusk, by the forge,¡± Raldu told the young man. ¡°Deliver us.¡±


    And then Raldu turned and left.

 26. Soul Burn (Part Two)

    Night came and went.


    In the early morning, Heror mustered enough bravery to leave his tent.


    He journeyed to the mess tent and did not see Adjaash. He ate a quick breakfast, then visited the horses. Ashanji was still moored at her post. Perhaps Adjaash was still asleep.


    The jet black horse recognized Heror, and so Heror gave her a light pat. Then he walked to his horse Shaadur. He lifted the rope and set it aside in the light grass, and then he mounted Shaadur and started toward the river. He followed the river until he was away from camp, then turned into the forest and made his way to the steppe.


    Under the rising sun, Heror rode through the plains. He rode south for miles, following the treeline. He and Shaadur raced the wild horses through the olive grass. A hawk soared above. He felt the wind and warmth against his face.


    Around midday, he and Shaadur stopped to rest. They took refuge from the sun in the shade of the forest¡¯s edge. Shaadur sat with his legs tucked. Heror gave him food and water. And then Heror sat down with his back against Shaadur, feeling the horse¡¯s steady breathing beneath him. He stretched his legs and rested his elbows on his knees, and then he reached inside his shirt pouch and retrieved the kinship cloth. As he¡¯d done so many times before, he unrolled it in front of his face and studied it in the shaded sunlight, as the breeze blew in from the plains.


    It was an intricately-woven cloth. Stitched along all four edges, as if lining a portrait, blue waves rolled. A jagged cliff lay to the left, with a lone wolf perched atop it. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched in dark gray¡­


    Heror let out a gruff, frustrated sigh and lowered the cloth into his lap. He rolled it up again and slid it back under his shirt. Then he tilted his head back and rested against his horse. Shaadur had since drifted asleep, but at the nudge of Heror¡¯s head, the horse¡¯s ears perked up and flapped in the wind.


    ¡°What should I do, Shaadur?¡± Heror asked softly, his eyes scaling the canopy.


    Heror went silent for a moment, listening to the hum of the leaves above.


    ¡°Should I try and talk to her?¡± he wondered; he wanted to see her again.


    Shaadur huffed through his nose and rustled his head. Heror glanced back.


    ¡°Bad idea, you think?¡±


    Behind him, Heror heard a short, energetic trill of a whinny. Heror sighed again and shook his head with a half-smile.


    ¡°Alright, well if you¡¯re so smart, tell me what you would do.¡±


    Heror¡¯s smile soon faded. He let out another heavy sigh and contemplated, when Shaadur tilted his head back and nuzzled Heror¡¯s ear through curls of brown hair. Heror smiled again and rubbed his horse¡¯s mane, then turned his gaze back to the fields ahead.


    Now he glanced down at his belt, where ¨C nestled next to his sword Kerit ¨C the Sword of Sparhh sat fixed beneath his belt loop. He slowly reached for the weapon¡¯s hilt and grabbed it, fingers wrapping around the dark obsidian handle. The pads of his fingers snaked through grooves in the metal. He clamped down. Again, he felt nothing.


    He let out another exhale and closed his eyes, feeling the wind.


    ¡°After the ceremony¡­ I¡¯ll try and talk to her,¡± he resolved.


    The leaves shone green. A clear and rich blue sky sat above, wisps of cirrus casting across it on the backs of the breeze. The long olive grass rolled and rippled and fluttered in the wind. Buffalo roamed to the south. The world hummed.


    Midday turned to afternoon. Afternoon turned to early evening. And then Heror mounted Shaadur again and made his way back to camp.


    He rode through the forest and back to the river, and when he emerged from the trees, he came across a convoy of Midan chariots and riders. They traveled from the south along the riverbank, toward the camp. By now, word had spread, and more Midans had come to witness the ceremony, djauul and elinji and others alike. There were soldiers and archers on horseback and armored chariots with bull-people, and there were also smaller chariots, filled with family members of soldiers ¨C wives and spouses and parents and children.


    Heror glanced south. The parade of Midans stretched onward for what seemed like miles, underneath the reddening sky. All across it, there was chatter and conversation and quiet laughter, echoing in the open forest air, as the heavy wooden chariot wheels turned and turned.


    Heror now turned left ¨C to the north ¨C and he rode off to camp with a hushed ¡°yagh¡±, tightening his grip on the reins again. He galloped alongside the convoy, catching a few suspicious glances as he passed.


    When Heror reached the camp, preparations were well underway. Lanterns with golden keatuu flame hung on tent poles. By the mess tent, soldiers and wives and family members stood in crowds, talking amongst themselves, while children ran around playing with keatuu sparklers. Closer to the forge, on the camp¡¯s south end, a number of robed figures stood, speaking in hushed tones. The blacksmith was using the bellows to heat the fire. It looked nearly ready.


    At a trot, Heror rode Shaadur to the post line, and then he dismounted. As he went to rope his horse again, he saw that Ashanji was still at her post, resting quietly ¨C which meant Adjaash was still in camp.


    A breath of nervousness left Heror, and then he brushed his thoughts aside and looped the rope over Shaadur¡¯s mane. He gave Shaadur one last pat, then went back to his tent. He idled there for a time. And then, when the sun¡¯s light faded, and he heard the hum of the crowds grow louder, he reluctantly returned to the air of dusk.


    When he made his way back toward the forge, the crowds had gathered, and conversation and laughter pooled in the early night air. Heror passed chatting children and wives, drunken soldiers, and stoic elinji who towered over all, until he came to the densest part of the crowd, outlining the forge area in a half-circle. Just as he arrived here, he saw someone parting the crowd. It was Raldu, his eyes darting and peering above the masses until he saw Heror. There was a smile of recognition.


    ¡°Ah, Heror!¡± he exclaimed as he approached. ¡°Good, I was looking for you. Here, come along to the front.¡±


    Raldu placed a hand on Heror¡¯s shoulder and guided him through the crowd, and within seconds, he was at the front of the mass. And as he emerged by the forge, a wave of heat swept across his face. The forge ¨C a protruded rock and stone crevice shaped like a beehive ¨C was unfathomably hot. There was a gap atop the crevice, where the Sword would be lowered. The blacksmith stood beside the bellows, his face and pale skin caked in sweat. Next to the forge ¨C far enough away to be safe from the heat ¨C a makeshift podium stood, made of wooden boards.


    Once he adjusted to the heat, Heror took in his surroundings. The fire and light of the forge cast the area in a scarlet hue. At the front of the crowd, Midan soldiers jostled and conversed. Across from him, he saw one soldier ¨C Baalu, the djauul who¡¯d joined their search party on the second expedition ¨C wearing nothing more than a ceremonial robe around his waist and red war paint on his face, chest, and arms. Heror¡¯s eyes traced the line farther down. He saw Shaail alongside Raldu. Next to them, Heror saw another familiar face, though it took him a moment to remember¡­


    It was the tall, robed djauul from Kraana¡¯s Pass, adorned in a gilded purple cloak, as the bright blue and orange of his eyes clashed against the reddened fire of the forge. He thanks you¡­ for your sacrifice¡­


    Heror¡¯s breath jumped again, and he traced the line a bit farther. He saw Brocus. There was a gap. And then¡­ on her own, at the edge of the crowd, Heror saw Adjaash in her patterned poncho, bow slung over her shoulder.


    Just as he looked at her, Adjaash glanced at him. Their eyes met, and then they both looked away in a rush. Heror buried his gaze in the ground, and then he started to look up toward her again¡­ when there was a call from the wooden podium ahead.


    Somewhere along the edges of the crowd, there were drums. And as Heror looked up, he saw Raldu on the wooden platform with Shaail at his side ¨C golden hair blurred orange in the light of the forge and the sinking sunset. At the drums¡¯ insistence, the crowd quieted and quieted, until it was silent. Raldu spoke, as they watched him with reverence. Shaail translated in Midan.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°I thank all of you ¨C friends, family, children ¨C for joining us before we make our next advance to the south,¡± Raldu began. ¡°We hold the line south of the Ardysan border, but the work has only just begun. We will reclaim our lands. We will gain recompense. And we will cleanse the land of the tyranny that has plagued it for so long, freeing others who have suffered as we have.¡±


    There was a roused eruption in the crowd. Midan soldiers belted cries of war.


    ¡°There are many victories to come, but our latest¡­¡± Raldu went on ¡°¡­ is a symbolic one. We have recovered the Sword of Sparhh ¨C the Divinium Diaphanae. An ancient instrument of our depletion and desecration. And tonight, we will cast it into the bloodforge and destroy it forever.¡±


    The crowd swelled again in a cheer. Heror felt the heat. Sweat rolled down his face. Raldu¡¯s eyes swam across the mass of people, and then he continued.


    ¡°Before we begin the ritual,¡± he said. ¡°Let us offer a prayer for those Gods who have not abandoned us. The Forgotten One, Parun. Who has offered us shelter since we first set foot on Kivveneth, and shelters us on The Island when we leave this place¡­¡±


    Now Raldu turned to Shaail. Shaail stepped forward on the wooden platform. There was a low and solemn drumbeat, that sounded out once and then stopped. The crowd went quiet, and many bowed their heads. Some held up keatuu torch-sticks that glowed red and blue and orange. Shaail whispered silently to himself, eyes closed and head bowed underneath his hood. And then he clasped his hands and spoke loudly, firmly ¨C in a tongue.


    ¡°Parun ach aalu¡­¡±


    And he said his prayer. The crowd made no noise as he spoke. And once he was finished, around a minute later, their heads rose. In respect, they remained silent. Then Raldu spoke again.


    ¡°And now a prayer for the primordial,¡± Raldu said. ¡°The one who gives us power.¡±


    The crowd remained silent. Shaail¡¯s head still bowed. There was a frozen moment, and then Shaail spoke once more in prayer.


    ¡°Sim ach aalu¡­¡±


    This prayer was longer. When it was over, heads bowed no more. And then the low sound of a drumbeat rang out again, shaking the ground. Slow. Steady.


    Shaail stepped down from the platform and picked up something from the ground. It was a strange, stout metal bucket ¨C adorned gold with painted blue and red designs across it. Raldu spoke from above.


    ¡°The forge is almost prepared,¡± Raldu announced. ¡°But only a flame of true devotion can melt God-forged steel. The liquid of life and soul is needed to attune it. The brave Baalu¡­ has offered his.¡±


    Now the Midan soldier Baalu stepped forward from the crowd, his black hair in a single braid. Red paint cast across his skin and face, and he turned and raised his fists into the air, his expression triumphant. The crowd, once silent, now cheered again. There were cries of admiration, and shouts of glory.


    ¡°You carry honor with you to The Island, Baalu!¡± Raldu affirmed above the furor. ¡°Parun waits to welcome you.¡±


    The crowd cheered for a moment longer. Heror¡¯s brow lowered. And now Baalu approached Shaail, while two Midan soldiers stepped out behind him.


    Baalu stopped in front of Shaail and stood up straight. One Midan grabbed Baalu¡¯s arms, as if to hold him steady. Shaail approached with the golden bucket, and as he did so, the second Midan pulled a ceremonial dagger from his belt, made of a similar jeweled golden metal.


    Heror¡¯s expression darkened as he realized what was about to happen. In the crowd, some of the soldiers¡¯ wives covered their childrens¡¯ eyes. And then, without a moment¡¯s hesitation, the second Midan soldier wrapped around and slit Baalu¡¯s throat.


    Even from the Midan crowd, there were a few gasps. Heror looked on in shock, and as he glanced at Adjaash from across the gap, she shared his expression. The first Midan held Baalu steady as blood poured from his neck, and Shaail held the bucket to collect. When it was nearly full, he pulled the bucket away, and the Midans laid Baalu onto the ground. As Shaail took the bucket, another Midan stepped forward with an ornate blanket, and spread it over Baalu¡¯s body.


    ¡°Another soul transmutes the fox-spider,¡± Shaail declared. ¡°And He grows ever closer.¡±


    And now he turned to the forge.


    With the bucket in hand, Shaail stepped toward the bellows. His gaunt face fell under the red light of the flames, shadows dancing around him. As he reached the forge ¨C heat spewing from its maw in pulsing waves ¨C he shouted an incantation in an unknown language, and then he thrust the blood into the fire. A pyre rose from the chasmous cauldron with a rumbling roar, and red became deeper red. Piercing red.


    Heror¡¯s pulse started to race.


    Now Shaail turned away from the fire and rose onto the platform.


    Heror heard his heartbeat inside his ears.


    Raldu took a step forward, to the edge of the podium.


    ¡°The forge is ready!!¡±


    The crowd rumbled. Heror¡¯s chest started to heave.


    He took a half-step back.


    ¡°Presenting the Sword¡­ is Heror Heran!¡±


    He stopped. Raldu¡¯s eyes were on him now.


    ¡°Heror defected from the land of the Kings, on his own volition,¡± Raldu told the crowd. ¡°He helped us find the Sword, and he brought it back to us. And now¡­ he will bring it to its end!¡±


    The crowd wailed again. Raldu¡¯s voice grew louder.


    ¡°Approach the forge, Heror!¡± he commanded. ¡°And cast this instrument of death and destruction into the flames!!¡±


    Heror swallowed. He let out a nervous breath. He glanced at Adjaash, who was trying to speak to him with her eyes. He looked away. His eyes sank. Then they lifted again. To the fires.


    He took a step forward, toward the bloodforge.


    The crowd cried and bellowed.


    He took another step.


    Howls flooded his head.


    Another step. He felt the fire¡¯s tendrils reaching toward him.


    His fingers flowed around the Sword¡¯s hilt. He tightened his grip. He unsheathed it¡­


    And then, halfway to the forge, he stopped. The deafening noise of the crowd faded in his ears, until it was muffled and gone, and he heard not a sound. His eyes lashed around, his surroundings mute. Suddenly, he felt dizzy. He glanced at Adjaash again, and then ¨C in a panic ¨C his eyes went forward. There was a hum inside his head. And then¡­


    He heard a voice, against the silence. As clear and as strong and as real as if he was standing next to him, speaking in his ear. As if they were standing at the edge of a camp, looking at the sunset. A voice he had not heard in a long time. A voice he had expected to never hear again.


    Nihlukei.


    ¡°¡­ Heror, stop!¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes widened. He whipped from left to right. Nihlukei was not there. Heror saw only the sprawling masses and the red light and the smoke. He looked at the body on the ground, beneath the blanket. He looked at the Sword. He heard the voice again. It echoed from nowhere.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    He stood, frozen in place.


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    And then in a wave, all the noise returned. The crowd shouted and jeered behind him, urging him to proceed. But soon, they all saw that Heror would not move, and their calls began to fade. The camp fell under an uneasy silence, as murmurs and whispers echoed.


    Heror glanced at Adjaash again, his eyes wide with fear. She saw this, and her jaw clenched. She started to step toward him, when Raldu and Shaail descended from the platform.


    Heror¡¯s eyes shot ahead. He watched them, staring him down. Raldu¡¯s eyes were wide, as a realization came to him. Shaail¡¯s shock turned to anger.


    ¡°I knew it¡­¡± Shaail hissed.


    Shaail took a step forward, reaching underneath his cloak. Raldu tried to stop him, but Shaail wrenched his hand away and ripped a shortsword from his sheath. He hurried toward Heror and wound his sword back, shards of flamelight shining off the metal. The volume of the crowd rose again, as shocked and startled and confused cries blended together. Above it all, Shaail shouted in fury:


    ¡°I knew it!!!¡±


    And as Shaail swung toward Heror, time began to slow. And the sound faded again. In a rush of instinct and an act of defense, Heror raised the Sword of Sparhh. And then he heard Nihlukei¡¯s voice again.


    ¡°Close your eyes¡­¡±


    Heror closed his eyes. He set his back foot. Time sped up again. And just as Shaail¡¯s sword hit the winged blade, there was a spark ¨C and then there was an explosion.


    Shaail was knocked back ¨C his sword splintering into fragments. From the impact of the two swords, a simmering pillar of amber and gold erupted and swirled and rose into the sky, climbing over the forge fires, cutting through the dark evening air. It crested and billowed ¨C upward and outward ¨C until it formed the emblem of a giant phoenix, towering over the land with a cindered crown and sprawling wings of flame.


    They all stared, paralyzed by fear and awe, their eyes craning upward. And as the phoenix hovered in the air ¨C plumes of red and orange and gold billowing and churning as if in a furnace ¨C the legendary bird flapped its mammoth wings. A wave of wind sped to the ground in a downburst and surged through the camp. The phoenix lifted its beak and let out a loud, resolute, trilling call that droned on and rattled the eardrums and echoed in the canyons and creeks beyond. And then it brightened¡­ brightened¡­ brightened¡­ as if the Sun itself hovering above the Aelyum¡­ until there was a violent, blinding flash, and it was gone. A thunderous boom shook the grounds.


    Now Heror opened his eyes. Chaos swept over the crowd. Soldiers fell over one another, covering their eyes with their hands, temporarily blinded. Children screamed and cried farther back, and parents shouted names. Wives and elders prayed fervently and hysterically to themselves. Shaail lay on the ground, wounded from the broken metal. Raldu had stumbled and dropped to one knee. He too had his face in his hands.


    Heror tried to look for Adjaash ¨C to call to her, to make sure she was alright ¨C but before he could, several sightless Midan soldiers clamored toward the forge, in a blind rush to seize him. He turned away from the forge and shoved past one, then pushed another to the ground. And as he went, the crowd engulfed him. He saw Nubu and Omru, as they charged past. He glanced back over his shoulder again, but Adjaash was lost in the commotion. He turned and kept moving, hugging the Sword close to his torso. He started to run.


    He dashed through the blind mob, and soon he came to the horses. In a frantic rush, he sheathed the Sword beneath his belt, then untied a spooked Shaadur and mounted, vaulting onto the saddle from the stirrup. He grabbed the reins with haste. Then he kicked his heels.


    ¡°C¡¯mon Shaadur,¡± he hurried. ¡°We need to go¡­¡±


    Shaadur let out a whinny and reared up, and then the horse came to the ground and started east. He quickened his pace to a gallop, and from a gallop to a sprint. As the chaos of the crowd and the glow of the redlight echoed, Heror reached the riverbank. He lurched the reins to the right and followed the stream. And then, when he rode down far enough, he swerved into the forest, through the trees and thickets, and out into the darkened steppes ¨C beneath the open night sky.


    He kept riding.

 27. Sunflower

    The young child stood on his toes, peeking outside through the wooden window as his long brown curls fluttered in the breeze. In the light of early dawn, underneath the fading stars, the old man was out there again.


    The old man sat cross-legged on the cobbles outside the shack, with his back straight up and his hands cupped in his lap, facing away. His wispy graying-blonde hair rustled as the wind brought the ocean air ashore. His head was bowed, and his eyes closed. He spoke under his breath.


    The boy made his way to the door, and then slowly stepped outside onto the cobbles. His bare feet stamped ever so slightly against the stones. The boy tried to quiet his steps, to stay undetected. But the old man heard him. The old man¡¯s sea green eyes parted open with a twinkle, and he smiled to himself.


    ¡°You have the subtlety of a large platypus, dear Heror,¡± he chimed.


    Young Heror jumped at the sound of the man¡¯s voice ¨C surprised that his cover had been blown so soon ¨C and now Ucankacei turned and observed him with a smile.


    The boy had added a bit more weight onto his bones since Ucankacei had picked him up off the docks. His skin was still dirty. His hair was still matted and unruly, and he was still shy and unsure at times. But there was a certain curiosity that Ucankacei noticed would not be quenched. A sense of wanderlust, adventure ¨C recklessness, impulsiveness, yes ¨C  but an indomitable spirit behind his fiery blue eyes, that Ucankacei had already come to admire.


    As their eyes met, Ucankacei nodded to the young boy.


    ¡°You may join me if you¡¯d like.¡±


    Heror clasped his right arm with a nervous hand, and then he slowly walked up beside Ucankacei. He sat down on the cobbles and crossed his legs just as the old man did, feeling the sea breeze on his skin.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Heror asked as he glanced at Ucankacei, his words stilted.


    ¡°I¡¯m praying.¡±


    ¡°To who?¡±


    ¡°The Gods. Today, it is Bor and Opela and Pyn.¡±


    ¡°For who?¡±


    ¡°The correct phrase is ¡®for whom,¡¯¡± Ucankacei noted with a guiding smile; Heror¡¯s Kivvenean was improving, but there was still work to do.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Heror muttered. ¡°For¡­ woom, then?¡±


    ¡°¡®Whom,¡¯¡± Ucankacei corrected.


    ¡°Woom.¡±


    ¡°¡®Whom,¡¯¡± Ucankacei said again. ¡°Exactly like the word ¡®who¡¯, but with an ¡®m¡¯ at the end. Use the ¡®h¡¯ as the guiding letter.¡±


    ¡°Whom,¡± Heror tried again, very cautiously.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°Very good!¡± Ucankacei exclaimed with a grin. ¡°¡®Whom.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Whom,¡± Heror repeated, still a bit unsure. ¡°For whom, then?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡±


    Ucankacei trailed off. Then he smiled again and looked at Heror.


    ¡°I¡¯m praying for you,¡± Ucankacei answered, with a certain sincerity in his tone. ¡°That you may finally find peace, and that you may finally find your place in the world. I¡¯m praying for myself¡­ that I might be able to teach you and help you grow. I¡¯m praying that my wilting bones can stay in one piece while I do it.¡±


    He paused to let out a short chuckle. Then he continued.


    ¡°I¡¯m praying that Pyn will give us good weather in Halvalen, so that we may be able to fish along the coast,¡± the old man went on. ¡°I pray that the hunts will be bountiful, and the wilds kind to us. I pray that we will find contentment in the little things. I pray that the Kingdom¡¯s beauty will remain¡­¡±


    Now Ucankacei trailed off again. He felt a gust of wind flow by. It was silent for a moment.


    ¡°Do you ever hear an answer?¡± Heror asked.


    Ucankacei glanced at Heror, and now he bowed his head. His brow furrowed, and he thought about his reply. After a short silence, he took a deep breath and lifted his head again. With tired eyes, he nodded once.


    ¡°I see them,¡± the old man said, with the smallest of smiles. ¡°But not always in ways you¡¯d expect.¡±


    ¡°Do you wonder if¡­¡±


    Ucankacei eyed the boy. The boy was trying to find the words.


    ¡°Do you wonder if¡­ it is only because you pray and seek out these answers¡­ that you see them?¡±


    Ucankacei was impressed at the boy¡¯s thoughtfulness. The old man pondered to himself. And then he glanced at young Heror again, with a quiet smirk.


    ¡°If that was the case¡­ would that really be such a bad thing?¡±


    Heror looked at the old man, and then he looked ahead. It went quiet again. While Ucankacei closed his eyes and went back to his prayer, Heror¡¯s youthful eyes drifted around. To the east, the sky was reddening. Workers were making their way to the docks across the cobbles.


    Soon, Heror¡¯s eyes fell on something, on the ground not far ahead. The cobble stones were largely uniform, but there was something growing in a patch of dirt between two stones, less than fifteen feet away. In this small crevice of dirt, there was a flower ¨C with a tall green stem and flowing ellipsis leaves, and brilliant golden petals that encircled a dark eye-like center. It swayed in the wind.


    ¡°Look,¡± Heror said impulsively, a breath of wonder in his voice.


    Ucankacei paused his prayer again and opened his eyes, and it wasn¡¯t long before he too noticed the flower. He smiled again.


    ¡°A sunflower,¡± Ucankacei noted.


    ¡°How does it grow here?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°A sunflower seed must have been carried along the wind ¨C blown in from the western meadowlands,¡± Ucankacei surmised, before laughing: ¡°And it found the one small dirt patch in the city to set its roots¡­¡±


    Young Heror looked at it with curiosity.


    ¡°Will it be able to grow us food?¡±


    Ucankacei eyed the child with a look of concern. The young boy still clutched his stomach.


    ¡°Not much,¡± Ucankacei said solemnly. ¡°Only the seeds on its back when it dies.¡±


    ¡°It will die?¡± Heror realized, sadness breaching his voice.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Ucankacei told him. ¡°When the winds cool in Wilvalen¡­ it will lose its bloom¡­¡±


    The old man glanced at the young boy, and he saw that this saddened the child even more. The old man smiled and looked on, as the light of the morning sun began to show in the east.


    ¡°But when it dies and loses its bloom,¡± the old man went on. ¡°You will be able to take seeds off of the flower head. And you can row north along the coast, until you find a patch of fertile soil. You can plant the seeds, and new flowers will grow. Stronger and brighter and more brilliant than before.¡±

 28. Storm (Part One)

    To a distant growl of thunder, in the dark of the night. Heror and Shaadur emerged from the forest edge.


    The border wall was in sight.


    The young man had rode from night to day, ¡®til day turned to night again. Through the steppes and the woodlands and the low foothills and swamps, past the great lake and the tendrils of the mountain moistlands. He¡¯d stopped only to tend to his horse with the supplies left over in his pack. And now he looked upon Ardys from the outside. He was tired. He was hungry and thirsty. His brown hair was matted and windswept.


    In the soft, strobing light of lightning from the southwest, the wall looked different now. It was dark and unkempt, with vines and mosses crawling up its base. There were no archers or torches overtop it ¨C at least not that he could see from where he stood.


    Heror had known that, if he¡¯d traveled south, he would reach the wall. But at first, he did not see the wall breach. It was only when he glanced to the left ¨C to the east ¨C that he saw torchlight in the distance, perhaps a mile or two away. Staying close to the cover of the trees, he whispered to Shaadur, then turned the reins and started toward it.


    In several minutes, he came to the edge of a small camp. It was a Midan camp, not an Ardysan one; Heror could tell by the light brown burlap canvas of the tents. When he reached the edge of the light, he rode back into the shadow of the forest and circled the encampment.


    As he crept toward the other side through the trees, another torchlit camp appeared in the distance. And as Heror guided his eyes back to the wall, he realized that these two camps outlined the path to the breach. Two more small camps were positioned closer, on either side of the path. The breach was also lit, with an outfit of elinji guards standing before it. The rubble at its center had since been cleared.


    After a moment of thought, Heror took a breath and rode out from the forest cover again. At a calm gallop, he rode between the two camps and started toward the breach, less than a half-mile away.


    It was after about thirty seconds that the Midans noticed him. There was a call from the top of the wall by the breach, and steppe djauul archers emerged, arrows nocked. One of the elinji shouted at Heror with a call of warning. Heror saw them ready their weapons.


    ¡°Lao!¡± A bull-person yelled. ¡°Lao! Moasin ti-oh!¡±


    Now at the edge of the breach¡¯s firelight, Heror lightly tugged the reins and slowed to a trot. He turned Shaadur sideways and patted the leather pack behind his saddle, feigning the role of a courier.


    ¡°Aktaku!¡± Heror shouted back, remembering the title Raldu had told to him when he¡¯d arrived at the Midan camp. ¡°Aktaku!¡±


    This, it seemed, was enough. At the realization that Raldu had a message to deliver past the border, the elinji lowered their weapons, and the archers rested their bows. And they parted for Heror. The young man quickened his pace to a gallop again and sped past the wall.


    On either side of the dirt road, Midan camps dominated. There had to be thousands of Midan soldiers in Ardys now. To the east and to the west, brown burlap tents stretched as far as the eye could see in the dark. And on tall tent poles, thin red flags roped and danced in the turbulent wind.


    Farther down the road, Heror rode past a new fenced-in area. Tekhal horses grazed and glanced at Shaadur as he rode past. Elinji sentries patrolled the grounds, letting Heror pass. He carried on in the dark ¨C Shaadur¡¯s hoovesteps following a steady rhythm beneath him.


    As he continued south, the Midan camps lining the road grew smaller, and forest began to fill in. The storms loomed distant as he rode. The air was warm, humid, and heavy. Underneath rolls of thunder, crickets chirped. To the west, he saw flashes of lightning overtop the trees and through the trunks. Every now and then, a misting of rain cooled his face.


    In twenty minutes ¨C riding past adjacent camps and tents ¨C Heror came upon a torchlit barricade made of wooden logs, that blocked the road south. Around a dozen Midan archers stood at the barricade, eyes south. In the road past the barricade, just inside the torchlight, Heror could see bodies on the ground, wearing the armor of Ardysan siephalls.


    There was another rumble of thunder, and Heror turned his horse to the right. He made his way through a small Midan camp bordering the barricade. Then he passed the camp¡¯s edge and wandered into the forest. Once he was under the cover of the trees again, he turned south and made his way past the barricade ¨C into contested territory.


    He picked up his pace again, bringing Shaadur to a faster gallop. He streaked through the woods in the night. As he glanced at the road through the trees, he saw the remnants of battle strewn across the dirt flat ¨C siephalls, horses, discarded spears and swords, broken chariots, all beneath the wafted smell of rain, smoke, and blood. Shaadur saw the dead horses, too. Heror could feel his pace falter.


    Heror rode until he saw light through the darkness again. He paused, slowing to a stop behind a tree. He peered into the woods beyond, searching for Ardysan archers. When he saw none, he started up again, as another low boom echoed from the west.


    Another large camp soon appeared along the dirt road, situated in a clearing that was nestled inside the forest. Ahead of the camp was a smaller barricade made of crude wooden planks and cracked pieces of stone and rubble. Hiding in the dark past the barricade, Heror saw red tents and patrolmen carrying torches. In the far distance, he could just barely make out the seal of Ardys on one of the larger tents ¨C the stoic profile of a flawless Opelite face, with a crown of gilded water waves and feathers.


    This was the front of the Ardysan force.


    Now Heror tugged the reins lightly to the right, and he rode off into the forest. He went until the dim light of the camp was gone behind him ¨C until trees and thickets and brush surrounded them and the visibility was low ¨C and then he slowed to a stop. He let go of the reins and let his feet fall from the stirrups, and then he vaulted and slid to the ground.


    As Heror dismounted, Shaadur glanced back with a blink and let out a nervous neigh of questioning. There was another low rumble of thunder ¨C closer now ¨C as Heror placed a hand on his horse¡¯s mane.


    ¡°Shhh¡­¡± Heror cooed. ¡°Shhh, Shaadur¡­¡±


    Light flowed through the trees from another distant flash of lightning, and Shaadur was spooked again. The leaves above rustled and chattered in the swelling wind. The young horse started to stamp his feet, when Heror pressed his hand down and pet his side. The wind died down again. Slowly, Shaadur started to calm.


    ¡°Stay right here, Shaadur. I¡¯ll be back. I¡¯ll be back soon, Shaadur. Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Heror¡¯s hands drifted away from his horse, and he started to turn south toward the camp, but the horse tried to follow him. Heror turned again and held up a hand. Shaadur let out another quiet whine of a whinny.


    ¡°N-no, Shaadur,¡± Heror warned, voice breaking just a bit. ¡°You need to stay here. I will be back¡­ I promise.¡±


    Heror held up his hand for a moment longer, and then he took a step back. With reluctance and worry, the horse stayed put. And then Heror turned and ventured into the woods alone.


    In the dark, he turned south again, boots trudging through grass and underbrush, as his two swords lightly clacked against one another. The heavy air seemed to weigh him down as he walked. Stray branches and thorns scratched at his face and arms and legs as he pried through the overgrowth. There was another long rumble, closer now. The wind swelled again. Sprinkled droplets fell to the forest floor.


    Eventually, he came across the light of the Ardysan camp again. He snuck to the edge of the forest, staying low in the shadows. His eyes fell on the barricade again ¨C roughly fifty feet away now ¨C tracking across the main road. At the barricade, several siephalls stood at the watch, expressions tired and apathetic. Heror watched them from the shadows for only a moment, and then he turned west and started his trek along the perimeter of the camp.


    There were more patrolmen than what he¡¯d remembered, and so he moved slowly and carefully, using the bushes and trees and dark as cover. He made his way around rows and rows of red tents ¨C until he came toward the back corner, at the northwestern end. Here, there was another small barricade, with an Ardysan siephall who stood guard, torch in hand. Heror halted behind a bush just outside the guard¡¯s periphery, as low thunder spilled into the air.


    The guard had a black hooded raincloak on over his siephall armor, to prepare for the coming storm. Heror could use that cloak to move about the camp more freely. For a split second, Heror started to emerge from the bush, advancing on the guard ¨C when his eyes caught movement to the left. He sank back behind the bush and froze, but as he focused on the movement, he saw only clothes on a drying line, tied to a tree.


    The clothes danced and fluttered in the wind, and as Heror looked closer, he saw a similar black raincloak on the drying line. A new idea came to him, and he scavenged the ground by his feet until he found a large enough stick. Then he tossed the stick over his shoulder in the other direction.


    The stick hit a tree farther inside the forest with a smack, and the guard¡¯s eyes were drawn to the noise. Now Heror rushed into the camp, grabbed the raincloak off the line, and took cover behind a tent. He crouched, slipped on the cloak over his tunic, threw up the hood, then stood and stepped back out into the torchlight, eyes darting about as he entered the camp.


    It was quiet. Only the patrolmen stirred. There was another roll of thunder. A light rain began to fall. Heror walked from tent to tent, pulling the cloak close so his Midan tunic was hidden. At the first opportunity, he turned right and went farther inside the camp.


    As Heror turned the corner, another patrolman came into view with a torch in hand, walking toward him. At first, Heror¡¯s breath jumped, but he kept his composure and made no sudden moves. Dipping his head under his hood, he kept his pace. As the patrolman neared, torchlight cast onto the bottom of Heror¡¯s face and caught in his irises ¨C but the patrolman paid him no mind, eyes ahead in a daze. They walked past one another silently, and Heror carried on.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Now Heror scanned the camp for larger tents ¨C tents with the Ardysan seal on the side. A gust of wind rushed past him, kicking the tails of his cloak into the air. Soon, a longhouse came into view on the western side of the road, oriented north to south. In the distance, trees loomed over the camp. Lightning flashed behind them. Heror started for the longhouse. The cold chill of the rain met his face.


    He walked until he reached the north end of the longhouse. He saw torchlight inside through the tent flap. He peered inside. It was empty.


    Now Heror went around the longhouse and pressed on. There was a firm grumble of thunder. The hum of the tree leaves swelled in the wind, and sound flowed through the camp channels. The humid air cooled. The rain quickened.


    Heror walked to the southern end of the camp. His eyes peered above the tent poles and torches, and he saw no more large tents ¨C at least not on this side. In the wind, his eyes cast to the east, and he started toward the road. There was another flash of lightning and a delayed rap of thunder. He crossed the damp dirt road to the eastern side, wind-wrapped cloak around him. The rain began to skew.


    Heror¡¯s eyes darted from row to row. A shivering patrolman passed, hugging his cloak to his face. Heror stopped and looked left. He didn¡¯t see it. He turned his gaze to the right. Again, there was nothing. With a breath, he took a few more steps forward ¨C and then he saw it, peeking out from behind a red tent in the foreground: Another longhouse, with the seal of Ardys on the southern side.


    Heror hurried toward it. With hastened steps, he trudged through the dirt, rain soaking the back of his cloak. The ground and the forest trees flashed bright in the crackling light from above, then went dark. Heror passed another row of tents. The wind swirled and danced.


    As he grew closer, he saw torchlight inside this longhouse, too ¨C creeping through the flap and the tight stitchings of fabric. A feeling of apprehension pulsed through him and forced him to pause, but only for a second before he whisked it away and kept moving.


    He worked his way around the longhouse, to the western side. He walked until he was close to the tent wall. Then he circled around to the northern flap, as it drifted open in the breeze. He paused again, letting the wind and rain pelt him from the side. And then he leaned forward, and peered inside the tent.


    Looking toward the right side, the tent looked empty. There was torchlight emanating from a sconce on the central beam, but Heror saw no shadows. Then, however, his eyes crept left, and he saw something ¨C a wooden crutch resting against the edge of the central table.


    Heror¡¯s eyes carried farther, and he saw a man standing inside the tent. The man¡¯s back was to Heror, as he leaned forward with his hands on the edge of the table. Heror could not see the man¡¯s face ¨C but he saw the man¡¯s thinly built frame and his hunched-over back, and his smooth gray hair and his greencloak armor. There was a bandage wrapped around the man¡¯s left ankle and calf. And he stood with a posture that Heror would recognize anywhere.


    Silently, Heror entered the tent. He stepped inside, and all at once, he felt shelter from the rains and the winds. For a moment, he only stared, suddenly frozen. The man still did not notice he was there. Heror slowly reached up and dropped his hood, freeing his hair. He blinked and breathed, but felt breathless. He opened his mouth as if to speak ¨C but he could find no words.


    And then there was a loud crack of thunder, and a violent flash of light from outside the tent. As the noise shook the tent poles and the wind rustled the walls, the old man glanced back toward the flap ¨C and then he saw Heror.


    It took a moment for Ucankacei to realize it was truly Heror standing there before him, and then his sea green eyes widened. He turned away from the table, limping on his wrapped ankle, and faced Heror from where he stood. Heror could see the old man¡¯s breath deepen. At the sight of the old man¡¯s face, Heror could already feel himself starting to crumble.


    For a time, they both stood and stared in silence. Beneath his surprised eyes, the old man¡¯s face was tired and worn. The rains and winds swelled and then receded outside the tent. Then, Ucankacei spoke.


    ¡°Heror,¡± he said, with a strange, uncomfortable tone ¨C a tone that might¡¯ve been jovial, if not for some other terrible emotion clouding over.


    Heror opened his mouth and tried to speak, but again, no words came out. His chest started to heave. His breath began to waver.


    Ucankacei eyed the young man for a moment, and slowly, his surprise faded. He dipped his head in thought, but never took his eyes away.


    ¡°You¡¯ve gotten better at sneaking,¡± Ucankacei offered, his voice guarded. ¡°What are you doing back here?¡±


    Heror closed his mouth and opened it again. And again, he could not speak. But Ucankacei was waiting for an answer. Heror started to tremble. His eyes began to glisten. He bowed his head and tried to keep his hands from shaking. He opened his mouth again¡­


    ¡°¡­ I-I¡­¡±


    He clenched his eyes shut, squeezing out a tear. Ucankacei¡¯s expression turned from reservation to worry. His brow lightened, and he took a step toward the boy.


    ¡°I-I¡­¡±


    Heror stammered. His eyes watered and his nose ran. He couldn¡¯t put together the words. He fell to his knees. Everything was shivering. He tried to compose himself. There was another roll of thunder. Another rush of the winds.


    ¡°I-I n-nee¡­¡±


    Ucankacei was listening.


    ¡°I needed to see you,¡± Heror coughed out.


    He had gotten the first words out, and now they started to flow. He shook his head as cries caught in his throat, and tears fell from his eyes to the floor, watering the soil. His hands fell to his knees. He forced another breath.


    ¡°I-I¡­ I¡¯ve gotten myself involved with something. Something I¡­ something I don¡¯t understand. And I don¡¯t know what to do, or where to go¡­ I don¡¯t know what the right choice is. I don¡¯t know if I can get out of it¡­ I don¡¯t know if I¡­ if I¡­ if I¡¯ll ever see¡­¡±


    And then he lost the words again. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out. He took another hollow breath and wheezed out a cry. He bowed his head and dug his fingers into the dirt.


    ¡°¡­ I think I loved her¡­¡± he managed. ¡°¡­ and I lost her¡­¡±


    And then he could hold it back no longer. He started to sob. He slid forward and leaned into the ground, holding his face in his hands. Ucankacei ran to the boy, limping on his wounded ankle, and then he knelt down and tugged the boy up into his arms, embracing Heror as the boy cried and wailed and shook. Heror¡¯s cries mixed with the rain and the wind.


    For a long time, Ucankacei held him, feeling the boy¡¯s back tremor and tense with each heave. Until cries gave way to breaths, and breaths gave way to gentle rises and falls. Until Heror had no more tears left to give. And then they knelt together, as the sounds of the storm carried on outside.


    The rain pattered against the canvas of the tent. The wind sang and whistled. Lights flashed against the red stitchings. The flames of the torch swayed.


    Eventually, Ucankacei pulled away, and so did Heror. Ucankacei left his hands on the boy¡¯s shoulders, and he looked at Heror¡¯s face with soft eyes.


    ¡°You look older,¡± Ucankacei offered quietly, with a sad smile.


    ¡°I feel older,¡± Heror admitted, letting out a small laugh. ¡°I have¡­ so many stories to tell you¡­ stories you wouldn¡¯t believe¡­¡±


    Ucankacei kept his sad smile. His mouth trembled ever so slightly before it stopped.


    ¡°Maybe some other time,¡± Ucankacei urged quietly.


    Heror gave Ucankacei a look of gratitude, eyes still glistening ¨C but the old man¡¯s smile faded, and conflict found its way onto his face. The old man gingerly stood and turned, limping back to the table. Then he grabbed the wooden crutch and grounded it for support, while Heror slowly rose to his feet, gathering his breath again.


    As Ucankacei turned toward Heror again, the old man¡¯s hand fell to an Ardysan helmet set on the table. He ran his palm across the crest of the gilded armet, and then he blinked and let out a hard sigh. There was another rumble of thunder.


    ¡°But now¡­¡± Ucankacei said, voice strained. ¡°I need you to be on your way.¡±


    Now Heror¡¯s peace faded, and fear found its way onto his face again.


    ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°I cannot harbor a criminal,¡± Ucankacei told him simply, looking down at his armor.


    At first, Heror was silent, his mouth agape. Another long, drawling roll of thunder shook the ground and rattled the tent walls. The young man tried to process the words, while Ucankacei stood at the table, green siekarum robes catching stray breezes from outside.


    ¡°Ucankacei¡­ I¡­¡± Heror started.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ucankacei glowered, turning away. ¡°I am bound by duty.¡±


    Heror took a step toward Ucankacei.


    ¡°But Ucankacei, please, I need your help. I don¡¯t know what to do¨C¡±


    ¡°Where would I even be able to keep you?¡± Ucankacei questioned as his voice rose, his eyes meeting Heror¡¯s again. ¡°Where would you hide? How could you possibly stay here? Heror, what made you think this would be a good idea?¡±


    ¡°But I have nowhere else to go¨C¡±


    ¡°You murdered an officer,¡± Ucankacei lashed, with a disgust in his voice that Heror had not heard before until now.


    Now they both went silent again. The wind rose and howled, and the rains pummeled above the tent. There was a flash of lightning and a crash, a growl, a quake. Ucankacei looked away, casting his eyes to the floor. Heror would not move. He couldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Ucankacei¡­¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Ucankacei scolded, a light shake in his voice.


    Heror took another step toward the old man.


    ¡°Ucankacei, please¡­ I¡¯m sorry I¨C¡±


    As Heror took this step, Ucankacei suddenly brandished his Ardysan longsword. The ring of the metal hissed against the sounds of the storm. Heror jolted back. His eyes went wide.


    ¡°I am bound¡­ by duty,¡± Ucankacei growled through gritted teeth. ¡°If you keep testing me, I will be forced to take action.¡±


    Heror was frozen. Ucankacei¡¯s face twitched with anger; a tear fell from his eye. The old man shook his head in a pained expression, then let out a slow breath, his sword ready.


    ¡°If you do not leave,¡± Ucankacei warned. ¡°I will be forced to engage.¡±


    ¡°I know I made mistakes, but I¨C¡±


    ¡°If you do not leave,¡± Ucankacei repeated. ¡°I will be forced¡­ to engage.¡±


    ¡°Ucankacei, you¡¯re not listening, I¨C¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think I¡¯ll do it, do you, boy?!¡± Ucankacei erupted, stepping forward and rearing his sword up.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Heror gasped, shaking his head.


    Heror took a small step back, and Ucankacei took another bounding step toward him. Heror lifted his left hand in defense; his right instinctively went to the hilt of his blade. Ucankacei closed the gap, sword still reared ¨C face twisted by warring emotions.


    ¡°I¡­ I uphold my duty to the Kingdom of Ardys¡­ as a siekarum of the khilung¡­¡± Ucankacei decried, taking another step.


    ¡°¡­ Ucankacei¡­¡±


    ¡°I gave you a chance to leave¡­¡±


    ¡°Ucankacei!!¡±


    And now Ucankacei swung his sword. It was the weak swing of an old man, one that Heror easily stepped back to avoid. But Heror¡¯s eyes nonetheless blinked in horror, as his petrified fingers hovered above his sword handle. His hands trembled.


    ¡°Ucankacei, please!!¡± Heror shouted, new tears forming in his eyes.


    ¡°I told you to leave!!¡± Ucankacei bellowed over thunder, eyes and cheeks wet.


    He swung again, faster this time. Heror took a frantic step back.


    ¡°U-Ucankacei!!¡±


    ¡°I told you to go away!!¡±


    Another swing. The blade whizzed just inches from Heror¡¯s face. Heror stumbled backward toward the flap, and Ucankacei lurched from the pain. Heror caught his balance, and he started to open his mouth again ¨C when, through the opposite flap, he saw a pair of Ardysan patrolmen enter the tent, investigating the noise. Their eyes fell on Heror.


    In a panic, Heror whirled around and ran back into the storm, leaving Ucankacei behind. As Ucankacei stood idle in a daze of sorrow, the siephalls sprinted and brushed past him...


    ... and gave chase.

 28. Storm (Part Two)

    There was a bright flash of lightning and a deafening roar as Heror emerged in the open. All at once, he was enveloped in a maelstrom of wind and rain, boots slopping in the dirt and mud as shouts rang out behind him. He started to turn left from the longhouse, back toward the road. But just as he turned, another patrolman stepped into the path not far down, blocking him off.


    Now Heror doubled back, kicking up rainwater. He stumbled and turned to the east, sprinting past the longhouse just as the two siephalls reached the exit. He sprinted down the path, dashing past red tents as lightning illuminated the grounds and the tempest raged. All the while, he heard more yells. He glanced back over his shoulder in a rush. There were five in pursuit now, rain-matted helmets and longswords blinking in the stormlight.


    Another growl from above. Heror sprinted until he reached the edge of the camp, then bounded into the forest. Down a hill, into the brush. Past trees and thickets. Through falling streams of rainwater. Lightning flashed. Anger poured from the sky.


    Their voices echoed behind him, and through the sounds of the storm, he heard their hurried footsteps on the leaves. He didn¡¯t dare look back. He kept running, trunks and branches whizzing by in the darkness. More shouts carried in the wind, but he did not hear them. His eyes fixed ahead. His legs moved without thought. When he stumbled in the mud, he clamored back to his feet and kept moving.


    He was deep in the forest now, and still, the wind and rain did not relent. He kept running through the woods, until ¨C to another flash of lightning ¨C he came to a small clearing, underlain by grass and lined by tall trees. A blazing white bolt cracked and scraped across the sky, and there was an enraged roar from the heavens. A powerful gust met his face and rustled his hair. He stopped and looked around, eyes frantic.


    After only a moment of thought, Heror¡¯s eyes fell on a narrow corridor of trees across the small forest clearing, and he started for it. But just as he made his first steps and sped to a run, another siephall emerged from the forest to the side, flanking and cutting him off. Now he swerved to the south, but another siephall blocked the way. Back around he turned, and he saw five more redcloaks walling off his escape, slowing their pace as they closed in.


    Heror¡¯s eyes cast from left to right, and he saw that he was surrounded. Seven siephalls, swords ready, stepped toward him slowly, encircling him within the clearing.


    ¡°You have committed high crimes against the Kingdom of Ardys!¡± one siephall shouted above the wind and thunder. ¡°You will pay with your life!!¡±


    At first, Heror had felt fear and turmoil. But now, as he looked left and right at his attackers, his nose curled and twitched, and his brow creased beneath soaked curls of hair. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw and heaved his chest¡­ and when he opened his eyes again, there was only rage.


    Heror unsheathed the Sword of Sparhh in his right hand, and in his left, he brandished Kerit. He planted his back foot and readied his stance with dual-wielded blades, as the siephalls crept closer. They were almost within reach now, and as another lightning bolt broke the sky, and another roar unfurled from above, and rain and wind swirled in the clearing, stirring his black cloak, Heror let out a blood-curdling scream.


    And then the soldiers attacked.


    The first two strikes came at him from opposite directions, and so Heror spun and swirled, unwinding his blades in a deadly vortex. The first slash cut a siephall¡¯s neck. The second blocked a coming swing. Heror shed and forced the sword away, then ducked to evade a high sideswipe from behind.


    Now Heror reset his stance. From his periphery, he saw the glint of bronze. He swiped this attack away with an upright block to the left, then twisted the siephall¡¯s sword down into the ground and stomped flat onto it. As the siephall¡¯s arm was dragged down with his weapon, Heror lunged forward and stabbed through with both swords, driving the soldier into the ground.


    As soon as he shoved the siephall into the ground, Heror now swung back violently with both swords. With monstrous parallel slashes ¨C twin torrents of sharpened metal ¨C he cut down two more siephalls simultaneously, sending their discarded bodies into the brush.


    Heror rose again and planted his back foot. Only three siephalls remained. Water streaked and dripped from his twin swords as he stepped toward them. The siephalls backed away from his advance, spread out in a half-circle around him. And then, after a short retreat, they all engaged at once.


    Sharp tendrils came at Heror from what seemed like all directions, but he blocked each one with ruthless efficiency and precision, rotating his swords in an effortless rhythm. Whines and shrieks of metal echoed in the clearing as thunder rolled above. Heror twisted his swords sideways to block stabs, upright to block slashes ¨C all in rapid succession, resetting his feet. Flow of water. Ferocity of fire.


    After a moment of defense, Heror went on the offensive. He parried a low slash from one siephall and swung back around with ruthless quickness, slicing open the soldier¡¯s stomach. Then he whirled around, low in his stance, and blocked a low sideswipe just as it reached for his spine. He reset his feet ¨C now in a swordlock ¨C then slid his swords toward the siephall, until each forte rested against the blade. And then he levied a violent double forte counter, throwing the siephall off-balance. Before the soldier could recover, Heror lunged toward him. With a ripping tear of a swing, this one too he cut down.


    Now Heror faced the final two. One siephall clutched a gaping wound on his stomach. As Heror approached, they both jolted back. The wounded siephall dropped his sword and turned to run, staggering as he held his midsection. But as he tried to flee, Heror took a bounding step toward him and sliced down his spine, sending him to the ground.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The last siephall too dropped his sword, and he diverted back toward the camp. He quickened his pace to a dash, but Heror followed, pulling back his swords. The soldier glanced over his shoulder and stumbled in the mud. He pressed his hand against the ground and kept running, eyes wide with fear as Heror pursued him, cloaked in darkness.


    ¡°No¡­ please¡­ please!!¡± the soldier cried as Heror closed in. ¡°Mercy!!¡±


    The soldier turned and ran again, and this time, he didn¡¯t look back. But before he could get away, Heror inverted his grip on the Sword of Sparhh in his right hand. And then he wound back and threw the Sword forward with ruthless force. As if a spear, the Sword streaked across the clearing and cut through the air, and then it lodged in the fleeing siephall¡¯s back, and he crumbled into the brush.


    And then below the wind and the rain and the thunder, there was silence.


    Nostrils flaring, Heror made his way to the final soldier, who still stirred weakly on the forest floor ¨C the Sword in his back. Heror approached and stood over him, then knelt down to retrieve the Sword. He was about to wrench the Sword free, when he saw the soldier¡¯s mouth moving, as if he was saying a word. Heror glared, and his nose twitched, and he leaned in close to hear this final insult.


    But the soldier did not see Heror. His eyes were not frightful or fierce. They were lost in a dying, ephemeral wonder. And as Heror leaned close to him, to listen¡­ he heard no insults. Only a name. A name he did not know.


    ¡°Aemlai¡­¡± the soldier whispered. ¡°¡­ Aemlai¡­¡±


    And then the soldier¡¯s breath slowed and stopped, and his eyes and mouth hung open in an eternal gasp.


    Heror stared for a moment. Then the rage and hate left his eyes. And he looked down in horror at what he had done. He looked back, at the bodies. His thoughts flamed, and his eyes began to water, and he began to cough up again. He removed the blood-dipped Sword from the soldier¡¯s back with care ¨C as if doing so would undo the damage ¨C and then he swayed and wobbled as he rose back to his feet.


    There was another flash of lightning, as rain fell over the forest. Heror¡¯s head grew heavy. His vision faded in and out. He wandered off, to nowhere.


    He lost track of time as he walked. He trudged and stumbled and broke his stride in the mud, dragging his two swords with limp arms, as the flicker of lightning peeked through the leaves above. As he walked, he cried. He reached another small clearing, and through a gap in the canopy, another thunderbolt cast across the night sky.


    Heror stumbled again. And again. And again. And soon, he fell to his knees in the steady rain. By now, standing water sloshed around his legs and feet, and he began to weep. He threw Kerit aside and brought the Sword of Sparhh to his neck. For a moment, he tried to will himself to slice across his own throat. He gritted his teeth and let out a strained shout, and then he wrenched the Sword away and let it fall in his lap.


    As he sat on his knees, tears mingled with the waters of the rain. Through stinging ducts and matted curls, he saw his reflection inside the winged design of the Sword, flashing in the stormlight. He looked up to the sky with pleading eyes. Another branch of lightning climbed down from the firmament. Thunder and electricity crackled across the skyscape. He breathed in, and then he unleashed.


    ¡°Where are you?!¡± he demanded, his eyes craning up.


    The wind blew through the canopy. A blinding bolt ripped the sky in two.


    ¡°Where are you?!¡± he cried again, his lips curling.


    Bushes and leaves rustled. Trees swayed. Thunder poured to the ground. He lifted up the Sword.


    ¡°Why won¡¯t you speak to me?!!¡±


    There was nothing. Heror loosened his grip and let the Sword fall into the grass and mud. He bowed his head and sobbed.


    The night went on. The rains began to lighten. The wind began to slow, and soon, the thunder was little more than an echo to the east.


    After some time, Heror heard the rustling of leaves in the near distance behind him. He opened his tired eyes and glanced over his shoulder, and he saw Shaadur galloping his way. The horse called to Heror with an anxious whinny, and Heror rose to his feet. He took a step back and held up his hand as the horse came to him, and as Shaadur nuzzled Heror, Heror shook his head, tears rolling down his cheek.


    ¡°No, Shaadur¡­¡± he said softly. ¡°¡­ get away from me¡­¡±


    But the horse pressed, and soon enough, Heror lost the energy to push him away. He embraced the horse and fell to his knees again, and the horse sat down next to him. They sat, until the rain became mist, and the wind became breeze again, and Heror drifted off.


    When he came back to consciousness, the night sky was clear, save for shadowy, starlit wisps of cirrus and cumulus. It was the dark of new morning. The wind was a whisper. There were crickets.


    As Heror sat up, he peered up at the sky, and his eyes traced the stars. For a moment, he lost himself in the sight. Then his eyes dropped again, and he sat, defeated. His skin tingled, and he could almost feel his muscles drooping and melting away, as if he was sinking into the land to die¡­


    ¡­ when a familiar thought came to him.


    He reached inside his damp tunic and searched for something. He felt around with his fingers until he found it, tucked in close to his belt. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it into the open. He unrolled and let his eyes fall upon it, in the dim starlight.


    It was an intricately-woven cloth, made of designs and weaving patterns from the Kingdom of Pylantheum. Stitched along the edges, blue waves rolled and rolled. On the left side, a jagged cliff lay. On that cliff, a lone wolf stood. Stray fletchings of cloth acted as fur, as the breeze rose and sank. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched. In dark gray thread.


    He read the name again, silently to himself.


    Heran.


    With broken eyes and breath, Heror looked up at the sky again, and he searched for the Peak of the Obelisk ¨C the north star. Once he found it, he slowly rose to his feet, and Shaadur rose with him. He rolled up the kinship cloth and stowed it away, and then he walked back to grab his sword Kerit off the ground.


    Once Heror found his sword, he slid it back beneath his belt. He walked back to his horse, and as he did, his eyes went to the Sword of Sparhh, as it lay in the forest soil by his feet ¨C silver blade and obsidian handle catching the light of the constellations above.


    He looked at it for a moment. And for a moment, he thought to leave it. But then, against his reluctance, he knelt down and picked it up. He held it in his grip, again trying to feel something. But there was nothing, except the cold tinge of metal.


    He sheathed this Sword too, and then he went back to his horse. He stepped up into the stirrup. Then he vaulted onto the saddle and settled. He grabbed the reins, and with a fragile whisper, he guided Shaadur to the right and started off through the quiet forest.


    His ears still listened, desperate for an answer.


    He rode north.

 29. Epilogue

    As she rode back into camp, Adjaash blinked.


    Her sight had almost completely returned, but there was still a shadowy imprint of light floating at the center of her vision ¨C shaped loosely like a bird with sprawling wings.


    Ashanji trotted alongside the river. Adjaash felt her steps. Behind them, a half-dozen Midan riders followed. It was still night, but as they ventured among the tents again, soldiers and spouses and children remained and stirred. The crowd had calmed, and their vision too had returned, but there was still an uneasy whir of whispers as Adjaash rode by with her search party.


    As she rode past the post line at the far end of camp, she glanced at the post that had once held Heror¡¯s horse, Shaadur, next to hers. The post was empty, and its rope cast aside on the ground. She let out a shallow breath, then turned her eyes ahead.


    Once the riders were far enough inside the camp, they made their way south, toward the tall tent.


    Inside the tent, Raldu lingered at the council table. At the center of the table, a keatuu candle sat inside a small glass cup. He stared at the keatuu flame with intense violet eyes, leaning forward in his chair. For a moment, he simply observed its dance. And then, he focused. He twitched his eyes to the left, and the candle flame went left. He twitched his eyes to the right, and the candle flame went right. He hardened his face, and the flame warped and scrunched until it imploded and was gone, leaving shadow in its wake.


    Raldu frowned ¨C unkempt strands of silver-gold hair hanging over his face ¨C but it wasn¡¯t long before he heard riders dismounting outside the tent. He placed three fingers on the extinguished candle wick, and when he pulled them back, a new keatuu flame was born, and golden light returned to the tent.


    The tent flap peeled back, and Shaail stepped into the room of canvas, a reddened bandage wrapped around shallow flesh wounds across his torso. As he held the flap, Adjaash entered the tent, along with another Midan rider, bows slung over their shoulders. They walked and then halted at the center of the tent, across the council table from Raldu. The old man rose to his feet, and then eyed each of them for a moment, his brow creased. Then he turned to Adjaash.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t find him?¡± he assumed.


    Adjaash shook her head.


    The answer did not surprise Raldu, and still, it frustrated him. He frowned, and his eyelids sank, and he paced to the west end of the table. As he walked, Shaail stepped forward from the tent flap.


    ¡°I told you this would happen,¡± the thin djauul lamented. ¡°I told you not to trust him. If you had only listened¨C¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± Raldu said firmly, raising a hand.


    Shaail stopped, and at Raldu¡¯s intense stare, he stepped back again. Raldu looked him down for a moment longer, and then he turned to the two riders. He glanced between Adjaash and the other.


    ¡°As long as the Sword exists, it remains a threat to our plans,¡± he began. ¡°But at least we know where it is. This does not change our plans on the war front. Tomorrow, we will send the full war party to the south. I will go with them. We should be able to reach the border in a few days¡¯ time. Paru.¡±


    Now the Midan rider named Paru stepped forward.


    ¡°Leave before the war party with the rest of the Tekhal riders,¡± Raldu told him. ¡°Along the way, gather the riders at Soorona and Xaktil. Once you reach the border, find Humsa. And then your Tekhal riders will be the ones to lead the next phase of our assault. Do not wait for our war party.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Pardon me, Raldu¡­¡± Shaail interjected. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t it be smarter for the Tekhal to wait for the rest of the war party, and attack with stronger numbers?¡±


    ¡°Our strength at the border is strength enough already,¡± Raldu countered. ¡°And we can always count on the incompetence of the Kcirun and his generals to make our odds safer. We knew this when they stormed the pass. Now that we control the breach, we control the situation. They won¡¯t be ready for the full strength of our riders. We¡¯ll get them off their feet and on the run, and then the full war party will sweep the line and push them south. Once the line is lost and morale shatters, we¡¯ll be able to take Cephragon, Ellindal, and the bay with little resistance, I imagine.¡±


    ¡°But surely, we¡¯ll come face to face with the rest of the Ardysan force,¡± Shaail reminded him. ¡°As unready for battle as Ardys as a whole may be in this Eoh, the Kci Talon is still a great threat.¡±


    ¡°By the time we see them, it will already be over,¡± Raldu theorized. ¡°We don¡¯t need to eradicate the Ardysan force. We only need to chip away at the Kingdom until the Kcirun sees more benefit from joining us. He is fickle, and we will be able to sway him toward the choice of self-preservation. And then he will surrender his armies, his navy, and his territory. And with the bay under our joint control, the Kingdoms of Charondor and Ghiovan will be vulnerable. This is the first step.¡±


    Raldu turned back to Paru.


    ¡°Leave at dawn,¡± he told him.


    ¡°Aktaku,¡± Paru said with a nod and a bow, before turning and leaving.


    Now only Adjaash remained, and Raldu turned to face her. She took a deep breath, feeling the stare of his sharp, unblinking eyes. For a moment, it was quiet, and Adjaash cleared her throat quietly.


    ¡°What would you like me to do?¡± she asked, breaking the silence.


    Raldu¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. He stood at the edge of the table, and then he paced back to the center and leaned forward, letting his hands rest on the wood, as the keatuu candle danced not far in front of him.


    ¡°If I send you to find Heror and the Sword¡­¡± Raldu said to Adjaash. ¡°¡­ can I trust you to do what is necessary?¡±


    Adjaash¡¯s mind went back to the steppe. The river. Riding with Heror in the olive grass. Laughing on the edge of the water. Feeling his kiss and his touch¡­


    But then she whisked these thoughts away and gave Raldu a shaky nod. Raldu nodded back, but she could tell from his expression that he wasn¡¯t convinced.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I can trust you,¡± Raldu said, his tone lowering. ¡°I¡¯d hate for you to fall short of your goal. Do you have enough yet?¡±


    Adjaash remained silent. Raldu stared her down.


    ¡°How much does a boat¡­ and a crew of sailors and sellswords¡­ and a month¡¯s worth of supplies cost, at least?¡± Raldu wondered. ¡°How long will you have to search to find them all? It will be an expensive venture, indeed.¡±


    Silently, Adjaash fumed. She rolled her wrist. Her brand burned again.


    ¡°How much more do you need?¡± Raldu inquired, feigning curiosity.


    Adjaash clenched her jaw and pursed her lips. She let out a smothered sigh, and then gave another nod ¨C this one stronger, more resolute.


    ¡°I will find him,¡± she replied. ¡°I will bring the Sword back.¡±


    Raldu eyed her again. And then he nodded.


    ¡°You find the Sword¡­¡± he told her. ¡°¡­ and I will cover whatever the cost is for you to return home. All of it.¡±


    Now Adjaash¡¯s fierce look faded, and her expression turned to surprise. And visions of windswept ocean waves and towering red arches and lush jungles and woodlands flashed in front of her. Raldu locked eyes with the girl for a moment longer, and then he gestured to the tent flap.


    ¡°Leave at dawn,¡± he ordered.


    Adjaash nodded, and it was only when she turned around that she let uncertainty creep onto her face. She left, leaving Shaail alone with Raldu once again. Raldu now glanced at the djauul, and Shaail stepped toward the council table.


    ¡°Do not forget,¡± Shaail warned, ¡°what Sim requires of us.¡±


    And now he too left, leaving Raldu alone in silence by the table. Raldu stood idle for a moment, and then he sat down. His eyes fell on the smokeless keatuu candle. He shaped and turned it with a stare.


    Left. Right.


    And then with a blink, he snuffed it out.


    End of Book One

 PREVIEW - Divinium, The Bargaining Gods (Book 2)

    D I V I N I V M


    There was the No-Thing, and then there was the Spark. And Things grew from the Fertile Blackness.


    Offspring of unfathomable energy, incubated in terrible light and heat, They began to multiply.


    Time stretched to great lengths, and the matrix of creation took on an energy of its own. Kyr created life.


    And They were drawn to it. And They were jealous.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Do you see them, Heror?¡±


    ¡°You see them. I know you do¡­¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°That boy needed your kindness,¡± Thaeolai told Ucankacei. ¡°And I think¡­ he needs it even more now.¡±


    ¡°Stop talking about him like he¡¯s still here..."


    ¡°That boy is gone.¡±


    ~:{~}:~Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    And then Adjaash opened her eyes. And all at once, the rush of the wind and the hum of the waves left her. Her mother was gone. Her sister was gone. The chill and silence of the cave settled in and pressed against her skin. The embers of the torch leered at her ¨C a mocking remnant of the warmth long passed.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Elesvii, elesvii¡­ so predictable. Like moths to a flame.¡±


    From white to green. From green to orange.


    ¡°Tell me¡­ why is it when you are afraid, you prefer the light to the dark?¡±


    From orange to brown.


    ¡°They mislead you all the same.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°The whelk¡­ is a predator. It secretes stomach acid onto the surface of a mollusk¡¯s shell. It bores a hole in the shell with its radula. Then it extends its proboscis and feasts on the flesh within. It consumes its prey until there is no more, and then ¨C like a parasite ¨C it invades and lives among the bones of its sin.¡±


    ¡°So perhaps it is not so dissimilar from you.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    And now they stood at opposite ends of a duel circle, as fires dotted the matted dirt and grass, and climbed the westward trees. The Ardysi whyzard sidestepped left. Scibu sidestepped right. The whyzard readied his stance and summoned a torch of fire in his palm. The Serpent raised his sword in challenge ¨C his downturned dragon visage leering at its prey, as the kea cord coiled around his medial blade.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Heror readied his wrists. His nose twitched.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    ¡°Heror¡­ do you pledge yourself to Knepfr?¡±


    Heror tore the ropes free and surged to his feet. His hands lashed for his twin swords, and he unfurled them both at once...


    ~:{~}:~


    BOOK TWO - COMING SOON

 START OF BOOK 2 - 1. Tracking

    From a thicket, a red fox emerged.


    It brushed through the emerald foliage beside a quiet stream, its eager nose sifting through soil colored of chestnut and cinnabar. Up above, a canopy of rich green shaded and cooled the humid forest grounds. Umber vines crawled up the rich mahogany trunks that dominated the woodlands. Birds with colored beaks called and flew about the heights.


    The fox inched toward the water, nostrils jumping at a new scent. It brought a black paw forward, sifting through loose dirt and weeds at the streamside ¨C and then it stopped. It stood up straight, and its ears rose. It stared. And then as soon as it started to move, an arrow pierced through its skull, and it dropped to the ground. An effective shot ¨C one that preserved the meat.


    Now Adjaash stood from the bushes on the other side of the stream, her patterned brown poncho hanging in the idle forest air. She stepped across and made her way to the game. Then she removed the arrow and bagged the fox. She¡¯d skin it, drain it, and brine the meat later, she decided. If she didn¡¯t brine it, it would be too rough.


    Her bag was almost full. As she slung it over her shoulder alongside her bow, she glanced up at the canopy through strands of brown-silver hair. Far above, the light peeking through the leaves skewed from blue to gold. From the west, amber light began to flow into the grove, mixing with the vibrant greens and reds and enriching the canvas.


    She ventured away from the stream, trudging through loose green forest grass and flowered bushes with blooms of lavender and sapphire. And soon, she found her way back to the main river.


    The waters hustled along, ripples chattering and bubbling, fueled by rapids farther up the way. Adjaash followed the bank to the northeast, moccasins pressing lightly in the red silt. Her alert amber eyes glanced about as she walked. Birds chirped and sang with high-pitched staccato. Frogs croaked. The crickets were out.


    The river widened as she went, and soon she found herself scaling a low but steady incline, as the rapids hummed to her right. Low waves of water traced over smoothened rocks and stones, and discarded lengths of driftwood migrated downstream.


    Soon, the ground leveled out again, and Adjaash reached a bend to the left. The river was wide and deep and clear at the top of the rapids, speckled by lily pads and pink lotus plants. The bank was now overlaid by sprawling vines from the thick redwood trees. And it was here that Adjaash stopped.


    She narrowed her eyes and scanned the riverbank path up ahead. Now she glanced at the ground. No footprints ¨C but something wasn¡¯t right. This part of the forest had gone silent.


    Adjaash thought for a moment. Her hand slowly snaked up to her bow¡­ but then it dropped. And then she smiled. She tilted her head up and opened her mouth, and she called a name.


    ¡°Aash-baaaaaa,¡± she cooed, her voice flowing through the trees.


    Just as Adjaash called, there was rustling in the trees above her. And a child called out, exasperated. In Torwan, the child spoke.


    ¡°What?? No!¡± Adjaash heard the child yell. ¡°There¡¯s no way you saw me!¡±


    Still smiling, Adjaash glanced up and to the left, and she saw a small girl climbing out from the cradle of a tree branch, brushing through soft green leaves. The girl leaned out and grappled the width of a redwood trunk with her arms ¨C stretching out as far as she could with her reach ¨C and then she slid down fifteen feet to the ground, her moccasins scuffing up red dirt as she landed.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Adjaash chuckled out of instinct.


    ¡°How did you see me??¡± the young girl demanded again, turning around.


    She was over half Adjaash¡¯s age now, and still only half her size. While Adjaash was seventeen years old, Ashbashenu had only just turned nine. She had the same soot-colored skin and rich amber eyes, but her hair was darker ¨C a brown so dirtied that it was almost black. While Adjaash liked to braid her hair, Ashbashenu liked to cut hers, just above shoulder length. She didn¡¯t want her hair to get in the way, she¡¯d once said to Adjaash. She had things to do. She was such a busy child ¨C unlike all the others. Adjaash tried to braid her hair once anyway; the mothers didn¡¯t like it cut. But Ashbashenu would only protest and thrash. She was rambunctious. Now, Adjaash let her be. It was endearing in a way.


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered,¡± Ashbashenu lamented to Adjaash. ¡°I brushed away my footprints and everything! There¡¯s no way you could have seen me!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not all about seeing when you¡¯re in the forest, Ashba,¡± Adjaash remarked with a smile.


    Adjaash started to walk down the riverbank, and Ashbashenu strolled alongside her. The crickets and frogs conversed again, as the water bubbled.


    ¡°Are you going to tell me your secret?¡± Ashbashenu pressed. ¡°Or are you just going to circle around it like you always do?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t always circle around it,¡± Adjaash laughed.


    ¡°Yes, you do!¡± Ashbashenu accused. ¡°When you know something, and someone else doesn¡¯t, you let them feel foolish for as long as you want.¡±


    ¡°Well, sometimes it¡¯s important that they feel foolish first,¡± Adjaash teased. ¡°It¡¯s part of the learning process.¡±


    ¡°Alright, I submit,¡± Ashbashenu rolled her eyes. ¡°I am a fool. I feel foolish. Just tell me.¡±


    Adjaash smirked at her sister, and then she stopped again. She let her feet sink in the loose crimson soil. She took Ashbashenu¡¯s hand, and then she cast her eyes across the river.


    ¡°Look,¡± Adjaash said simply. ¡°Listen.¡±


    Ashbashenu looked on. And the sights and sounds flowed into her eyes and ears.


    Golden light trickled through cracks in the canopy, blending with the emerald glow of the canvas above. Hardy redwoods and acajou trees stood in rows, in a peaceful takeover ¨C sprawling crowns and branches sending vines of russet and brambles of juniper down to the forest floor in braids of life. From this idling picture, a symphony of songs came to Ashbashenu ¨C the light turret of a ren guarding its nest. The throaty squawk of a toucan. The dulcet tune of a yellow songbird, high up in the leaves. The crickets and frogs down below, hiding under leaves of the water lilies, and in the shade of the eared colocasia plants ¨C their sounds and echoes molding into an eternal hum.


    For a moment, Ashbashenu stood in wonder. And then she turned and looked up at Adjaash, who smiled down at her.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t hear any of this when you were hiding,¡± Adjaash told the girl.


    They started to walk again, footsteps trudging along the edge of the river ripples. Far above, there was the energetic call of a flicker.


    ¡°Well¡­ why is that?¡± Ashbashenu asked. ¡°Why are they singing again?¡±


    ¡°For many animals, it¡¯s a protective instinct against predators,¡± Adjaash explained. ¡°They sing now because we are acting as humans do. We are walking, talking¡­ but when you hid and went silent, you acted like a predator. And so all the birds and the crickets and the frogs close to you¡­ they froze and went silent, too.¡±


    Ashbashenu¡¯s eyes danced from end to end now, as she took in the sights and colors around her. Adjaash glanced at her and smiled again.


    ¡°The forest lives and breathes,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°Just like you do. If you pay attention to it, it will tell you many things.¡±


    ¡°You see, this is why I want to be a forager,¡± Ashbashenu fantasized. ¡°I could learn so many things! I could explore and live off the land and go off on my own!¡±


    Adjaash smiled, but there was a quiet sadness behind it. Ashbashenu would have a say in her assignment, but it wouldn¡¯t be entirely up to her. Once she was ten years old, the mothers would assign her to a field, and have her train with the elders as she grew up. She could climb, and she could hide, and she could prepare game meat ¨C some of the essentials of foraging work ¨C but she was born with a deformity on her right hand. With fewer fingers, her nocking hand was weak against the pressure of a bowstring.


    Adjaash knew this might work against Ashbashenu when the time came. And so she tried to let her down softly, by swaying her to other options.


    ¡°Foraging isn¡¯t the only job in the village,¡± Adjaash reminded Ashbashenu as they walked. ¡°You could be a weaver, a tailor, a harvester, a cook. You could be a healer. Or you could help with the children.¡±


    ¡°But I want to be a forager,¡± Ashbashenu persisted, a stubborn grin on her face.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    ¡°What about gathering ingredients?¡± Adjaash went on. ¡°It¡¯s always important to have someone who can tell the edible berries from the poisonous ones. And you¡¯d still be able to get out of the village and roam around the forest.¡±


    ¡°But I want to be a forager,¡± Ashbashenu persisted again, putting a wondrous emphasis on the title as her eyes gleamed.


    Now it was Adjaash¡¯s turn to roll her eyes. She smiled small and let her braid flow over her shoulder as she glanced toward the ground. For now, she would concede. For now, she could let Ashbashenu wonder.


    ¡°Why do you want to be a forager so badly?¡± Adjaash found herself asking.


    Ashbashenu looked up at Adjaash and squeezed her older sister¡¯s hand with her own.


    ¡°Because I want to be strong like you.¡±


    Adjaash¡¯s breath hopped, and she stopped walking. She looked down at her sister with glistening eyes. Her lip quivered, and she started to open her mouth¡­ when her eyes rose. And far down the path, in the shade of the trees, she saw someone.


    It was a young man ¨C only a few years older than Adjaash ¨C with ashen gray skin and loose black hair that parted in the center, strands falling over his cheeks and ears. His oval-shaped face was etched in a frown, and a pronounced brow cast a shadow over his eyes. At his side, he carried a feathered spear with a sharpened tip.


    At the sight of the man, anger fumed in Adjaash¡¯s throat. She stepped forward and tried to tug Ashbashenu with her, but she felt the weight slip from her grasp. When she glanced to her right, Ashbashenu was gone. Darkness fell over the forest. The trees went quiet and still.


    Now Adjaash¡¯s eyes shot ahead again. The man was standing in shadow. She sprinted toward him.


    ¡°Where is she??¡± Adjaash hissed. ¡°Where did you take her?!¡±


    As she neared him, the young man stepped behind a redwood trunk and disappeared. A cool, dark light enveloped the woods. Adjaash ripped her bow off her shoulder and nocked an arrow, then slowed as she reached the tree. Creeping along the riverbank with her eye down the sight, she inched around the tree trunk, arrow twitching in her grasp. Cool puffs of air spread from her mouth. Frost climbed the plant stalks¡­


    And then a large, scaly hand clasped her wrist and pulled her in. And she woke.


    She sat up straight in a rush, hair strewn over her face. The air was chilled. There was the soft pitter-patter of rain runoff to her right. The dim light of early morning washed in through the cave entrance. To her left, her mare Ashanji was still asleep, legs tucked underneath her.


    It took a moment for Adjaash to collect herself. She leaned back against the smooth cave wall and took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes, and her pulse began to slow. Then she opened her eyes again. She glanced down and grabbed her wrist, feeling the brand just beneath her right hand. Her fingers snaked through the scars and indents that ran across it.


    Adjaash let out another sigh and counted the months in her head again. She couldn¡¯t believe it had been almost ten years. She¡¯d expected to be back by now.


    Long before now.


    Now she shook and bowed her head. Her fingers found their way back to her shark tooth necklace. She held it softly, and then she let it fall to her chest.


    ¡°I¡¯m not strong, Ashba,¡± she whispered with disgust.


    Now she grabbed her bow off the rock floor and rose to her feet. She walked quietly to the cave¡¯s entrance and peered outside.


    The storms that had forced her to take shelter the previous night were gone. In their place was a silver-blue overcast, that refracted and dulled the light of the early morning sun. The smell of wet brush and dew wafted in the low mountain pass. Smooth stones underlaid patches of moss and flattened grass.


    She was only a few miles away from the border wall, she surmised. That was where she¡¯d expected Heror to go. It was either to the border or north to Pylantheum ¨C but Adjaash doubted he¡¯d brave the desert alone. Not without having time to prepare first. She knew he respected the sands. And she knew he had people in Ardys.


    What would she do once she found him? The thought entered her mind again, pestering her. And again, she pushed it away.


    She¡¯d cross that bridge when she came to it.


    She turned and went to her horse. She knelt down and rested a hand on the horse¡¯s mane.


    ¡°Ashanji,¡± Adjaash whispered. ¡°It¡¯s time to go. While it¡¯s still early.¡±


    The horse blinked awake, and then she slowly stood. Adjaash gave her a pat, and then she glanced down at the horse¡¯s hooves. A mess of dirt and twigs peeked out from the flats of the horse¡¯s feet.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me they¡¯d gotten so dirty,¡± Adjaash commented, trying to force a smile. ¡°Wairan koro¡­¡±


    The girl removed a dagger from her poncho and held it in her right hand. She positioned herself next to her horse, and with her other hand, she grabbed the horse¡¯s fetlock, hoisting up the hoof. As Ashanji stood by patiently, Adjaash carefully carved out the muddy bedding and gravel from her horse¡¯s collateral grooves. There were other tools for this, but she¡¯d mastered her control with the blade over the years.


    Adjaash repeated the process for all four hooves, until all four were clean. She fed her horse, and ate and drank from her pack. And then she mounted her horse and rode out into dawn.


    It was quiet. Dim, icy light filtered through the trees to the east. There was a cool and steady wind, chasing the storms. As Adjaash rode, she saw rain runoff flowing down the slopes of the mountains in narrow streams. She hoped Heror hadn¡¯t doubled back. If there was floodwater, it would make things difficult.


    There was a slight downward incline as she rode, but soon, the ground leveled out again. And Adjaash found herself riding through a swampy woodland, with twisting and snarling roots. Past elder trunks and streams of moss and forgotten Ardysi helmets and swords she rode, until she came to a clearing. The wall breach was in sight.


    She stopped for a moment, and then she carried on with a subtle ¡®yagh¡¯. Ashanji sped to a trot again, and Adjaash rode across the clearing. Far in the distance, she could see two Midan camps lining the wall breach. At the breach itself, there were several elinji standing guard, facing both ways. Atop the wall, djauul archers stood at the ready.


    They hailed her when she grew near. She called out to them with the title ¡®aktaku¡¯. Then she asked if they¡¯d seen a man ¨C an elsish man on horseback, in a blue tunic. They said they had.


    How long ago? In the middle of the night.


    He passed the breach¡­ and then he came back and passed through again.


    Adjaash¡¯s suspicions were correct. Heror had gone to Ardys. But why did he turn back to the north? Why did he leave Ardys so soon after?


    At first, she thought to turn around and go north. The quickest way north was along the lake and the river basin, at the foot of the Mides. She didn¡¯t have much time if she wanted to beat the floodwaters. But where was he off to now? If she retraced his steps, perhaps she¡¯d have a better idea.


    Now she commanded that they let her pass, and they did. She sped to a gallop. She rode past Midan camps stretching south from the wall until she came to a barricade, blocking off a road with the remains of battle strewn across it.


    Adjaash halted for a moment, tracing the ground with her stare ¨C until she saw hoofprints in the mud, turning to the right. In the rain, the hoofprints had lost some of their depth and definition, but they were still visible to the trained eye.


    Now she followed the hoofprints. They carried on alongside the edge of the Midan camp, and then they turned south into the woods. In the low light, she followed them. Under the forest canopy, they were occluded by brush, but they were less impacted by the rain. She didn¡¯t lose the trail. She traced it until the Ardysi camp was visible through the trees, to the distance in the south. And here, the hoofprints changed course. They drifted off again.


    Adjaash tugged the reins right, and she followed the prints deeper into the woods. Eventually, she came to an area of low visibility, where alders and willows and thickets converged in the shade. Here, she found a new spoor ¨C that of a human.


    Bootprints diverted back toward the Ardysi camp ¨C bootprints she recognized to be Heror¡¯s. Meanwhile, the hoofprints lingered and then looped back to the east. Adjaash was puzzled, and for a moment, she tried to piece together what happened.


    Heror must have left Shaadur here. And then Shaadur wandered off to find him.


    The Midans at the breach told her Heror came back after passing through, so she knew he had found Shaadur again. But what happened in the time between?


    Now she followed the new path east. It intersected the old path, and she continued to trail it. Eventually, it brought her to the edge of the forest, and she stopped. Ahead, she saw the remnants of battle again ¨C dead siephalls and horses, discarded spears and swords, and the detritus of war, all beneath the wafted tang of lingering blood.


    At the sight, Ashanji let out a grunt and took a step back. Adjaash frowned and looked ahead. Through the field of battle, she saw Shaadur¡¯s fresh hoofsteps continue. Shaadur must have crossed the road to find Heror again.


    Adjaash needed to cross the road. But as she glanced to the right, she saw the enemy camp not far down the way. If she crossed here, the Ardysi sentries at the barricade might see her and alert the others. She didn¡¯t want to cause any commotion.


    Thinking fast, Adjaash turned to the north, and she rode all the way back to the Midan barricade. She crossed the road there, and then she turned south into the forest, on the eastern side of the road. She rode south and followed the hoofsteps¡­ and soon, the hoofsteps and footprints converged again.


    Here, the imprint in the mud was deeper ¨C as if Heror had dropped to his knees and sank into the dirt. Adjaash narrowed her eyes, and then she followed the footsteps farther to the south. Heror stumbled. He wandered and swayed, and swerved as he walked. She saw specks of soured burgundy on the ground, as if blood had dropped from a sword tip.


    And then she emerged into a small forest clearing, and she saw it. Beneath the silver-blue light of dawn, in the shade of the trees, seven siephalls lay on the ground ¨C still adorned in golden-bronze armor and red cloaks. Most appeared to be dead. She saw cuirasses torn open and limbs in disarray, as red smothered green on the forest ground. One siephall still moved. He was crawling toward the southern edge of the clearing, grunting as blood smeared on the grass. He did not notice her. Weakly, the siephall called for help, his voice carrying toward the camp.


    Adjaash¡¯s thoughts ran again. Heror had found no refuge here. Whatever he¡¯d returned to do, they chased him away. He fought, and then he ran. He was an enemy here now. He had to be. He¡¯d already run away once. Now more died at his hand.


    He had been forced back out of Ardys. And he could not go back to Mide. There were many places he could go still, across the Kingdoms. But there was only one place he would go.


    Her mind traveled back to the steppe. She saw him taking a cloth out of his pouch. She watched him unroll the cloth in front of his face. She saw him look down at it, longingly. The jagged cliffs and mountains. The rolling waves. The gray wolf, standing resolute on the rocks¡¯ edge. The name. Heran.


    Pylantheum.


    Adjaash cursed under her breath. She should¡¯ve known. She had known. But she wanted to be sure, and now she¡¯d lost precious time.


    With a nudge of her shins and a tug of the reins, she turned her horse to the north. Ashanji galloped through the woods, Adjaash¡¯s hair and poncho trailing in the wind. They rushed back to the border.


    She reached the wall breach, and the guards parted for her again. And then she hurried past. In the distance, above the trees, the mountains loomed.

 2. Thaeolai and Ucankacei

    Humans, Gods, and memories.


    Great enemies, all three can be.


    Thaeolai halted her ink quill. At first, she had planned for this to be the seed of a new piece. But as she looked over it, she decided this rhyme looked quite compelling on its own. And so she left it. She kept the parchment flat and did not fold it, as to let the ink dry. But so it would not be seen, she slid it under her straw pillow, careful not to smear.


    There was occasionally downtime at the camp. When there was, she tried to occupy herself with poetry. She didn¡¯t think herself very good, but when her thoughts ran, it helped to write them down. If the older healers saw, they wouldn¡¯t be happy. The ink and parchment was only supposed to be for recording injuries and deaths, as well as submitting requests for ingredients and supplies.


    But she¡¯d only taken just a touch. They wouldn¡¯t notice.


    At first, it had only been a week since Heror left, leaving the charred ruins of a tent and a dead siekangh ¨C killed by cuts before burns ¨C in his wake. Something terrible must have happened. That was the only explanation Thaeolai could muster. When Heror got upset, he could lose control at times. But he had said goodbye. He had left. She had expected him to slip quietly over the wall into the night, and that would be the end of it. Instead, he left a tower of flames.


    She wondered if she¡¯d made him angry. And if that had started it all. Why had he made his way back to the longhouse? Why had he gotten into this fight? She remembered the incident several nights before Heror¡¯s departure. When he¡¯d returned to the medical tent from a meeting, barely talking. When she asked what happened, he said only a few words.


    Nothing that hasn¡¯t happened before.


    When she asked Ucankacei, he too had said nothing ¨C though this was even more unlike him. And in the early morning several days later, the old man was one of the many onlookers ¨C his eyes fixed on a ruinous plot of soot and charcoal, filled with shock.


    Ucankacei didn¡¯t tell her after that, either. To her eye, it felt as though he wanted to forget about Heror. But it wasn¡¯t a natural thing for him. And Thaeolai knew it. It was no easier for her.


    But the days and weeks that followed would make it easy to forget ¨C as new horrors awaited them. The Midans pressed on after the massacre at Kraana¡¯s Pass. They stormed the gap again, with greater numbers and greater strength. They gained a foothold on the Ardysi side of the wall, and then they kept pressing. Each day, the line was pushed farther south. Each day, Thaeolai and the healers had to retreat again. And together with the soldiers, they¡¯d move their tents down the road.


    Thaeolai never saw the fighting, but she heard it, and she heard of it. The Midans did not adhere to the traditional honor code of battle, she had overheard one officer say to another. They attacked by surprise, at night and in foul conditions. Through that, they overwhelmed. And they seldom left survivors.


    She heard about monsters who stood over seven feet tall, with horns on their head and massive clubs of rock and stone. Thin, gangly fog demons who would swoop in after these monsters with razors and spears. Whenever she heard of them, her mind went to the demonstration by the Kci Talon in the mahallas, when they first informed the commoners of the war. Why weren¡¯t they on the front lines? It was far from an even fight without them.


    In the dark, she would hear shouts from the barricade at the far end of the encampment. Raps of metal and cracks of bone echoing in the air. It was never long before a siephall came running back to the longhouse, and gave word that the khilung needed to retreat.


    For the rest of Rimvalen, and into early Kynvalen, this cycle continued. The Midans¡¯ stronghold at the wall grew larger, and they used it to fuel recurring attacks farther inside the Kingdom. The Midans advanced, and the Ardysi army would retreat after an ill-fated resistance effort.


    Thaeolai was thankful, at least, that Ucankacei still was not battle ready. If they asked her, she¡¯d say he never would be again. But the Opelites had begun to value what little strategic insight he had in his old age. They would include him regularly in their briefings, and as the siekarums¡¯ numbers fell, Ucankacei¡¯s experience became more and more unique ¨C even if very little of it was in wartime. Soon, perhaps, they¡¯d exalt his name ¨C to Ucancei. As a show of class advancement and fulfilled duty to his Kingdom.


    This, of course, was only an observation Thaeolai made from the outside. Ucankacei didn¡¯t speak to her much anymore. She could see him putting up a shell after Heror left. Even when they had been in Cephragon, that shell had been there at times. But Heror was always better at breaking it down than she was ¨C whether he tried to or not. Maybe it was because he¡¯d met Ucankacei earlier. Maybe it was because he was a boy. Maybe it was because he didn¡¯t try, and she always tried too hard.


    Regardless, she could feel herself trying less now. Ucankacei was busy. And her duties kept her busy. She had made a friend among the healers ¨C Arnewuai ¨C but she was shot in the back by an arrow during one retreat.


    One thing that kept her going was the snowstone. Even though they¡¯d left the docks behind, and she knew not where Destus was, the sweet white pellets still found their way to the war camp, and they flowed through it. If you needed it, you could find it. And so Thaeolai found it. She left it beneath her pillow, opposite her poems.


    After each frantic battle, able-bodied soldiers brought back the wounded they could. Thaeolai was almost thankful they didn¡¯t bring back more.


    At first, their injuries horrified her. But as the weeks went on, she saw it all again and again. And she grew numb to it. Deep cuts and gashes. Limbs and tendons sheared and severed. Bones crushed and snapped and fragmented into shards, which might then poke through the skin in unnatural places. Some cried and wailed and whimpered in utter agony. Others were silent, eyes glazed over ¨C minds already crossing to other places.


    There were different keawal vitality spells for different types of injuries, but in the chaos, Thaeolai would get her wires crossed. A siephall lay on his back, choking on his own blood, and Thaeolai used a stability spell. A siephall¡¯s ankle hung limp from a direct hammer blow, and she used a stitch. Unalai slapped her. There was no time to be patient or to teach, or to learn or to cry.


    At the sound of a battle breaking, Thaeolai would use the snowstone through her nose. Then she¡¯d smile, and everything would be alright. A siephall came in screaming, an arrow lodged in his abdomen. She wrapped her hands around it and ripped it out, and she sliced open an intestine. She smiled. A siephall came in with heavy internal bleeding and was slipping quickly. She tried to pause the effect, but she could not. He died. She smiled. Another arrow punctured a siephall¡¯s femoral artery. When she tried to bind it, blood sprayed on her face and her hair. She smiled less.


    Those who survived would rest on open beds. Those who died would go to mass graves, and the next ones would come. And the sun rose and set, rose and set ¨C and the clouds billowed and climbed and fell and spread, and roamed across the sky.


    ~:{~}:~


    Thaeolai opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt dead inside. She didn¡¯t know what day it was now. It had stormed the night before. That much, she knew. She could still smell the rain on the grass from outside.


    With a low groan, she sat up from her bed, and her long blonde hair fell over her face. For a moment, she thought to leave it ¨C maybe she¡¯d forget where she was ¨C but she soon brushed it to the side with both hands, parting her hair down the middle. She grabbed a lock from behind her and started straightening it out with her hands, to level out the frizzes.


    It was quiet, at least for now. From outside, the low light of dawn crept through the red tent stitchings. Not far in the distance, from the camp¡¯s edge, Thaeolai could hear a soft chorus of birds chirping and singing from the high forest trees. There was already muffled chatter in the camp.


    As Thaeolai guided her hair, she heard footsteps. She glanced to her left and saw the old healer Unalai walking toward her. The old woman was a bit shorter than Thaeolai, and more widely built, with wispy gray hair, grungy healer robes, and a worn, wrinkled face. She was fragile, both in appearance and tone ¨C but the weeks on the front had worn her through, and left a bitterness on the surface. She offered Thaeolai not a glance as she went by with a hard and heavy expression, but spoke nonetheless.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been called to something,¡± Unalai grumbled to Thaeolai. ¡°Check on the brown one.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Unalai,¡± Thaeolai answered faintly.


    Yesterday¡¯s kick had faded. Thaeolai¡¯s eyes were tired. Her joints ached. Her head throbbed. As she dropped her hands from her hair, she glanced back at her pillow and thought about taking another. She decided to wait, and gingerly rose to her feet.


    The ¡®brown one¡¯ was a boy ¨C at the far end of the medical tent. He had been helped back from the last battle with a large shallow gash across his torso. He lay with his back turned. As she approached, Thaeolai couldn¡¯t be sure if he was still sleeping. But once he heard her footsteps, he jolted awake, and his eyes dashed toward her, and she stopped next to his bed.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. I¡¯m a healer.¡±


    The boy stared at her for a moment, brown eyes wide. But then he calmed, and he relaxed as much as he could with a long exhale, lying on his back again. He was a dark-skinned else with a small, lean frame. Thaeolai surmised he couldn¡¯t be older than fifteen years old. He had a thin face with wide brown eyes, and tight black curls atop his head.


    As she observed him, Thaeolai realized he looked familiar.


    ¡°Have I treated you before?¡± she asked. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Khoulane,¡± the boy muttered, with no energy in his voice.


    ¡°Your ribs¡­¡± she remembered; he¡¯d arrived a day after Heror did.


    The ribs, she¡¯d been able to heal. The collapsed lung, she¡¯d needed help. His injury reminded her of Heror¡¯s, but she didn¡¯t dare ask questions. She¡¯d seen the look in their eyes, when they were forced back to the battlefield.


    But now, his bare torso was bound again, by bandages splotched with red. Unalai had stitched his wound and applied a wrap to stabilize it. Two days had passed. Now Thaeolai was to see the progress.


    ¡°Can you sit up for me, Khoulane?¡±


    Silently, Khoulane sat up. Thaeolai gently sat down on the bed next to him, and she looked for the final crease in the bandages.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to remove this, alright?¡± Thaeolai told him. ¡°We need to see how the wounds have healed.¡±


    Khoulane nodded ¨C a faint gesture that was barely visible. Once Thaeolai found the edge of the wrapping, she slid her fingers underneath it, and then she unwrapped. The wrap went from Khoulane¡¯s armpits to his abdomen, and in a couple minutes, Thaeolai had undone it all. She tossed the crusted and reddened bandages aside.


    The cut went from the right side of his chest to the lower left side of his abdomen. It was as if a spear had caught and dragged across his body. It would be a scar even when it healed fully ¨C but from what Thaeolai could tell, the scabbing was stable. The body would do the rest on its own.


    ¡°Your armor should¡¯ve prevented this,¡± Thaeolai noted.


    ¡°No armor,¡± Khoulane mumbled.


    ¡°What?¡± Thaeolai questioned. ¡°No armor? You didn¡¯t get more after you lost your first?¡±


    She glanced at him now, but part of her wasn¡¯t surprised; supply was indeed running low.


    Khoulane looked down at his legs, which were still covered in the traditional Ardysi cuisses, greaves, and boots. He wiggled his feet.


    ¡°Got leg armor, at least,¡± the boy managed. ¡°Can¡¯t lose my calves.¡±


    Thaeolai let out a small laugh and smiled. Khoulane was confused for a short spell, and then he smiled, too ¨C dimples pinching on his cheeks. Thaeolai grabbed a roll of clean bandage wrap from the ground, and then she turned back to him.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to wrap you up again with a clean bandage,¡± she said. ¡°Can you lift your arms for me?¡±


    Khoulane lifted his arms, wincing lightly as he did so, and then Thaeolai wrapped his wound again. Once she was done, Thaeolai stood.


    ¡°You can walk about the camp today if you¡¯re feeling up to it, but take it slow,¡± she advised. ¡°And you should try and get a new cuirass. I know there isn¡¯t a lot to go around, but you should do everything you can to protect your wound if you go out again.¡±


    Khoulane looked at her, a bit confused again. Thaeolai thought for a moment, and then an idea came to her.


    ¡°Talk to siekarum Ucankacei if you want new armor,¡± she went on. ¡°Tell him that Thaeolai sent you, and he should be able to help you. He¡¯s an older man. He¡¯s usually in the longhouse on the east side of the road during the day.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Khoulane met her eyes, and then his gaze fluttered back to the ground. He stood slowly and nodded.


    ¡°Thank you, Thaeolai.¡±


    Now Khoulane turned and started for the tent flap. Thaeolai shot one more glance at him before he left, and then she turned and went to discard the dirtied bandages. She had just bent down to pick them up off the floor, when she heard a shout, muffled and distant through the tent walls. She paused for a moment, and soon, she heard it again. She ran to the other exit and went outside.


    In the morning, the misty sky was a silvery blue. It took Thaeolai only a second to realize there was no battle starting; there was no horn, and no siephalls were scrambling from their tents. But soon, she heard another distressed shout, coming from across the road. She turned and went that way.


    She crossed into the east side of camp, and made her way to the medical tents, south of the longhouse. As she walked, her crude hide shoes trudged in the dirt. She could hear low murmurs as she approached the tent. Before she entered through the flap, she saw blood on the ground.


    Now she slipped through, and as she came under the tent, she saw a small crowd of people huddled around a bed near the tent¡¯s center. Unalai was there, along with another healer Thaeolai recognized ¨C a bearded Pylanthean else named Isec ¨C and three Ardysi soldiers. Among them, Thaeolai saw Ucankacei. The old man only offered her a glance as she entered, before his eyes dropped again. Thaeolai started toward them, and soon, she came upon the bed and saw what they saw.


    A young siephall lay on his back, groaning in agony, his consciousness close to gone. A powerful sword strike had sliced through the top of his light armor cuirass, and left a deep cut from the right of his chest to his collarbone and the base of his neck. He was losing blood. He had already lost a great deal.


    As Thaeolai approached, Unalai glanced back at her. The old woman shook her head.


    ¡°We don¡¯t need any more help, Thaeolai,¡± she urged. ¡°Just stay back.¡±


    Isec carefully applied a liquid to the siephall¡¯s cut with a dropper. As each drop hit blood and exposed tissue, the siephall closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and let out a growl of pain. Now Isec set down the dropper, and he brought his right hand over the cut at the base of the siephall¡¯s neck, poking his fingers toward it. He whispered to himself. There was a faint sea green glow, and then there was a contained snap. From the siephall¡¯s neck, the bleeding slowed, and then it came to a stop.


    The siephall still writhed in pain, folding his arms in toward his chest, where blood still pooled ¨C but this, at least, seemed to calm him some small bit. Isec stood up straight again, then glanced between Unalai and Ucankacei.


    ¡°The medicine will at least help with any potential infections, but we¡¯ll need to monitor him,¡± Isec said. ¡°He was out there for a while in the mud. It¡¯s very likely he picked up something. Depending on what¡­ there may be very little we can do. For now, we can only wrap it and keep it clean. Luckily, his artery wasn¡¯t close to being severed. Judging by the power of the swing he took, that¡¯s a small miracle. But it was just a knick ¨C I stitched it up. And the strike to the chest, while deep, wasn¡¯t quite deep enough to impact any organs.¡±


    ¡°So he¡¯ll live?¡± one of the Ardysi soldiers asked.


    Isec gave him a look of conflict; his brow sank with the tone of his voice.


    ¡°He might.¡±


    At that moment, another siephall entered from the northern tent flap, breathing heavily. All eyes fell on him as he entered, and as he approached the group, he shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, maesal,¡± the siephall said. ¡°The other six¡­ they were all dead.¡±


    Thaeolai blinked, and her jaw drooped open. Six siephalls dead? But there had been no battle the night before.


    Now one of the other Ardysi soldiers ¨C a greencloak with short, cropped blonde hair and a shaved face  ¨C stepped out and nodded to the siephall.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the middle-aged siekarum told him. ¡°Return to your post.¡±


    The siephall left, and now the unnamed siekarum turned back to the wounded soldier.


    ¡°Siephall,¡± the siekarum said, his voice loud and clear. ¡°This is siekarum Shinuei. Can you hear me?¡±


    Through pained and strained breaths, the wounded siephall muttered: ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Who did this to you?¡± siekarum Shinuei asked. ¡°Who did this to you on our side of the line?¡±


    ¡°It was¡­ the traitor¡­ Heror Heran,¡± the wounded siephall replied.


    Now Thaeolai¡¯s eyes widened, and she took a step back. As she stood in shock, the siephall continued.


    ¡°We heard noises coming from the longhouse,¡± the siephall said weakly. ¡°When we investigated¡­ he was there. We recognized his description. Siekarum Ucankacei had him at swordpoint. Then he ran¡­ and we chased him¡­¡±


    The siephall paused to cough, and his voice started to break.


    ¡°He tore right through all of us¡­¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Shinuei offered. ¡°That¡¯s enough, siephall.¡±


    Now Thaeolai looked at Ucankacei, eyes wide. The old siekarum¡¯s eyes were fixed on the floor. He only looked up when he felt the stare of siekarum Shinuei. As Ucankacei¡¯s gaze met his compatriot¡¯s, Shinuei nodded.


    ¡°We should brief siekangh Jakthei,¡± Shinuei said simply.


    Now Shinuei and Ucankacei started past the bed ¨C Ucankacei limping along with his wooden crutch ¨C while Isec and Unalai stayed by the wounded siephall. Ucankacei seemed to follow with reluctance, but he paid Thaeolai no mind, either. It was only when Thaeolai whispered his name insistently and grabbed his shoulder that Ucankacei stopped and turned, giving her half a glance.


    ¡°Ucankacei¡­¡± Thaeolai breathed. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Ucankacei looked at her. The light in his sea green eyes was gone. And without a word, he turned and left, following siekarum Shinuei out the door. Thaeolai¡¯s thoughts raced.


    Heror was here? Heror did this?


    The healers needed no help at the moment, and so Thaeolai followed Ucankacei at a safe distance, until she watched him retreat inside the longhouse to the north. She crept up against the tent wall and tried to listen in. She heard three voices, but they were soft, muffled, and deliberately hushed.


    A few minutes passed, and then to the south, Thaeolai saw siekarum Shinuei exit. Now she heard the siekangh speaking to Ucankacei alone. A few more minutes passed, and then finally, she heard the northern tent flap fold outward again. She looked to the north and Ucankacei was there, his back hunched and frail as he limped ahead on his wooden crutch, emerald cloaks hanging off his shoulders.


    ¡°Ucankacei,¡± Thaeolai said firmly, out of impulse, as she rushed toward him.


    Ucankacei shot a half-hearted glance in Thaeolai¡¯s direction, and then he scowled and started walking again. But he only made it a few more feet before Thaeolai cut in front of him, blocking off his path. Thaeolai raised her arms for a moment, and then she relaxed. And for a few seconds, they stood in silence. Thaeolai stared at him. Ucankacei¡¯s eyes dropped to the ground.


    ¡°Ucankacei¡­¡± Thaeolai whispered. ¡°Tell me what happened.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to be listening in,¡± Ucankacei scolded under his breath. ¡°That was a privileged discussion.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what happened,¡± Thaeolai persisted, lowering her brow.


    Ucankacei¡¯s lips curled into a frown, as he stifled a groan inside his throat.


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to shut me out anymore,¡± Thaeolai growled. ¡°First, the meeting. And now this. You and Heror both did it. You can¡¯t keep doing this to me.¡±


    ¡°What is there to tell?¡± Ucankacei lashed, his eyes rising again. ¡°You saw what he did.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what happened!¡± Thaeolai urged ¨C in a voice that would¡¯ve been a shout, if not a whisper.


    ¡°He killed six, maybe seven,¡± Ucankacei replied, his tone dismissive. ¡°So now he¡¯s killed seven, maybe eight.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about killing like it¡¯s not all anyone does out here.¡±


    ¡°He killed our own.¡±


    ¡°He was brought to war. He didn¡¯t want to be here, if you remember. What would you expect? I¡¯ve seen terrible things in those tents. I¡¯m not going to judge Heror for what war did to him. What it¡¯s done to everyone¡­¡±


    Thaeolai trailed off for a moment. Ucankacei was quiet. He refused to look at her now.


    ¡°And besides¡­ you and I both know he wouldn¡¯t do something like this unless he was provoked,¡± Thaeolai reminded the old man. ¡°What was he even doing back here? Tell me what happened before¨C¡±


    ¡°What happened before doesn¡¯t matter, because this is what happened after,¡± Ucankacei interrupted, his eyes shooting back ahead. ¡°Maybe I was¡­ maybe we¡­ maybe we were wrong about him. Maybe this is just what he is.¡±


    Ucankacei¡¯s voice started to break, and his bottom lip started to quiver. He bowed his head again. Thaeolai could see his chest trembling. As Ucankacei composed himself, Thaeolai took a step toward him. Her expression lightened ¨C as much as it could ¨C and she too bowed her head, strands of blonde falling over her eyes and nose.


    ¡°Did he come back to see you?¡± Thaeolai asked softly.


    Ucankacei said nothing. Thaeolai blinked.


    ¡°That¡¯s the only reason I can think of,¡± Thaeolai pondered. ¡°Did you speak to him? What did you say?¡±


    Now Ucankacei¡¯s nose scrunched, and his chest heaved. Thaeolai could see his knuckles shaking around the rim of his crutch handle. He slumped down, his eyes clenched shut, and his lip curved again ¨C and then he stood straight up. He brushed the tears aside and opened his eyes again. Thaeolai saw anger.


    ¡°Put him in the past, Thaeolai,¡± Ucankacei ordered, a coldness in his voice.


    Now Ucankacei shoved past her, his steps faster and more sporadic. Thaeolai let out a frustrated sigh and hurried back in front of him.


    ¡°Ucankacei, you have to give me more than¨C¡±


    ¡°I said the only thing I could!¡± Ucankacei erupted at Thaeolai, his voice carrying in the morning air. ¡°I was bound by duty! If he didn¡¯t understand that, that¡¯s his fault! And if you¡¯re so concerned about him¡­¡±


    Thaeolai stared, her mouth agape.


    ¡°¡­ go join him, then,¡± Ucankacei hissed. ¡°Sympathize with a traitor. A murderer. They said he wasn¡¯t like us¡­ and I should¡¯ve listened.¡±


    ¡°Ucankacei, listen to yourself!¡± Thaeolai gasped.


    Ucankacei started to turn away, but Thaeolai grabbed his arm. Ucankacei jolted, and now his lip curled in anger. For the moment, however, he remained silent. He held it at bay.


    Thaeolai took a deep breath. She thought about her words.


    ¡°You remember¡­ the day before we left?¡± she said softly.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to hear one of your speeches,¡± Ucankacei protested.


    ¡°Maybe you do.¡±


    Ucankacei went silent again. He let out a strained sigh.


    ¡°You remember the day before we left for war?¡± Thaeolai went on. ¡°Heror came back from the wharf with a cut on his nose. He was protecting me. That was how he got it. You remember when we were both around eighteen years old? He might¡¯ve been nineteen, actually¡­ He came back with bruises all over his arms and legs. Remember how it took him weeks to heal? Purple and red all over? Sailors tried to mug us for the coin we made that day. He fought them off. And he made sure I didn¡¯t have a scratch on me¡­¡±


    Ucankacei was quiet. Thaeolai continued. A small laugh escaped her lips.


    ¡°As funny as it is¡­ what I remember the best¡­¡± Thaeolai reminisced. ¡°¡­ is when I first met you both, ten years ago. When I was fourteen, and you took me off the street. You let me take the extra room. You were always so kind¡­ and Heror¡­¡±


    Thaeolai paused for a moment. She could feel herself slipping a bit now.


    ¡°There was always this change¡­ when Heror left and when he came back. At the docks, he was always tense, always on-edge¡­ like he needed to be ready. To protect himself or me. But he was always so happy to come back and talk to you¡­ and hear your stories¡­ and cook with you, and spar with you¡­¡±


    She took another breath ¨C longer, fuller this time. The wind swelled ever so slightly.


    ¡°And I remember¡­ the light in your eyes whenever he came back home,¡± Thaeolai managed. ¡°It was like¡­ he was the son you¡¯d always wanted. The son you never had. That boy needed your kindness. Exactly your kindness, Ucankacei. Even when Heror was tired and sad and ready to give up¡­ simply having him there was enough for you. And even if it didn¡¯t seem like he was listening to your words of encouragement¡­ you helped him keep going. Even when he left, it wasn¡¯t because of you. It all just became too much for him.¡±


    Thaeolai swallowed a lump in her throat.


    ¡°There are times when I blame myself, too¡­ because I argued with him,¡± she admitted. ¡°He wanted to dream. I wanted to be practical. I think we were always going to knock heads because of that. And he was angry with me before he left. But I think Heror¡­ he gets upset¡­ he¡¯s impulsive, emotional¡­ but he always looked out for us first. He¡¯s always been a warm and gentle soul¡­ who¡¯s just been hurt so much.¡±


    Thaeolai paused again. Her grip on Ucankacei¡¯s arm loosened a bit. She couldn¡¯t tell if the old man was truly listening. But he did not move.


    ¡°That boy needed your kindness,¡± Thaeolai told Ucankacei. ¡°And I think¡­ he needs it even more now.¡±


    Thaeolai stopped now. She didn¡¯t know what else she could say. And so she turned toward Ucankacei and brought her arm around him. It was quiet for a time longer. And then Ucankacei brushed her hand away. He stepped forward. Her arm slipped off his shoulders. He didn¡¯t look at her.


    ¡°Stop talking about him like he¡¯s still here,¡± Ucankacei said, his voice wavering with the breeze.


    He took another step. Then he halted one last time. His breath quivered and fought against the words.


    ¡°That boy is gone.¡±


    And then he limped away, leaving Thaeolai.


    She stood for a time, in the dirt and the mud. Then, after a few minutes, she turned and headed west, beneath the cool overcast. She crossed the road, back to the western side of the camp. She went back to the western medical tent. Back to her bed.


    She sat down and cried.

 3. Do You See Them?

    ¡°Do you see them, Heror?¡±


    A woman. With curls of brown and blue eyes. She looked down at him.


    ¡°Do you see the mountains?¡±


    Gentle and hushed was her voice. She smiled a forlorn smile.


    ¡°Do you see the mountains? Do you see the waves? Do you see the wolf?¡±


    It faded.


    ¡°Do you see¡­¡±


    And then he was there again. Underneath the tree. Its roots sprawled out in a spidery web and spilled into the shimmering waters of the spring. The deep indigo glow of the sky reflected within the ripples. The eclipse loomed eternal.


    Heror glanced to his right. The eight-eyed fox was gone; he did not know where it went. And so he stepped into its place. He wandered past the spring waters, to the ledge. And then he peered out at the horizon of hills and cliffs jutting out in the distance. On the horizon, the silhouettes of men still walked.


    There were more of them now. Far more. Where they marched, Heror did not know. There was light on the horizon, but was there a source beyond? Or was this the end of the world? And they were doomed to circle it?


    His questions carried his vision forth, and his eyes cast down from the ledge, and across the blackened landscape. His sight sped forward, through shadow and stone, images blurring together. The woman¡¯s voice echoed in his head again, distorted.


    ¡°Do you see them¡­?¡±


    Faster, the visions spliced together. Merging and fissuring and merging again, in a cacophony of light and texture. And then suddenly, it stopped.


    He was on the ridge. The amber glow of the world¡¯s edge was closer now. Echoing quietly in the air, he heard the effervescent flapping of wings. He glanced left, and as he did, an atlas moth, adorned with black and white-ringed markings and long antennae, fluttered in front of his face. It twirled and danced in the air and hovered in his sight ¨C white and black wings catching the fires of the corona ¨C until it grew eager to climb, and it ascended away. He looked up. There were stars.


    Now he looked ahead again. The silhouettes stretched on for miles in front of him. He was behind the final marcher. And just as Heror arrived, they stopped in their tracks.


    The last one slowly turned, and when he did, Heror saw the face of the young siephall. The one Heror had killed, despite his pleas for mercy. As he peered past the siephall, he saw others. He saw a siekangh¡¯s blue cloak. He saw the horns of an elinji. The tattered robes of an emaciated djauul.


    A different voice now. Twisted and heavy. Gravelly and low.


    ¡°Do you see them¡­ Heror?¡±


    Heror took a step back.


    ¡°You see them,¡± the voice hissed and drawled. ¡°I know you do¡­¡±


    The siephall glared, eyes burning. Heror turned to run. His foot scraped against the rock, and he kicked up dust behind him. He scrambled down the ridge, but he only took three steps before the cliff crumbled beneath him. Rock turned to sand, and sand turned to dust, and dust turned to darkness. And as he fell, it swallowed him. He felt it engulf him. Walls of shadow closed in. Air rushed from his chest and lungs¡­


    And then his eyes parted open.


    He blinked. He let out a quiet, shaky sigh. And then he sat up.


    It was mid-morning. He had ridden past the Midan highlands. Past the flooding river basin and the great lake ¨C through ankle-deep waters ¨C to the northern woods. He had ridden until he came to a soft grove, and then he and Shaadur stopped to rest. They slept through dawn and daybreak, until the overcast began to fade. Through strands of silver, blue sky began to show. It was time to move again.


    As Heror sat up, his back ached from the flat grounds. He stretched and turned and gritted his teeth, and then he rose to a knee. The sibling swords clacked against his leg.


    He should have dropped and left it. He didn¡¯t know why he kept it. The Sword of Sparhh¡¯s winged design taunted him in the broken light beneath the trees. Shadows danced inside its flat pommel and grooved obsidian handle. Wings of flame, but no fire.


    His misgivings were lies. He knew full well why he kept it. He¡¯d heard stories before, of cursed rings and talismans that spoke to their wearers, and weapons that snared the souls of their bearers. That wasn¡¯t the case this time. He knew there was no deception here.


    The Sword was cold and lifeless to the touch. It did not speak to him. It gave off no energy, no pulsations through his skin. It was simple. From this thing that did not speak, Heror was still waiting for an answer.


    He hated that he was. It was pathetic.


    Heror glanced down at the Sword for only a moment before averting his eyes again. As he looked over his shoulder, he saw Shaadur lying on the ground in a deep slumber. He regretted that he would have to disturb his horse. But the quicker they rode through the steppes, the better.


    Heror stood and turned. He knelt down beside his horse and ran a hand along the horse¡¯s side.


    ¡°Shaadur,¡± Heror breathed. ¡°Shaadur¡­¡±


    After a few strong pats, Shaadur woke. Heror glanced down at the horse¡¯s ankles and hooves. The horse had taken the water riding in stride, but the undersides of his hooves were packed and caked with mud. Heror let out another gruff exhale.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Adjaash had shown him how to clean the hooves once ¨C before their first trip into the desert ¨C but they had never been this bad. And Heror didn¡¯t have the proper tools. He couldn¡¯t leave them like this, though.


    As Heror stood again, he beckoned his horse with a light tug.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Shaadur,¡± Heror said softly. ¡°Up.¡±


    With a small, tired whinny, Shaadur rose to his feet. Then Heror tried to clean the hooves as Adjaash had taught him. He pressed in close to Shaadur¡¯s side, then bent down and grabbed the fetlock on one of Shaadur¡¯s front legs, hoisting up the hoof.


    Grimacing, Heror dug into the matted dirt and mud with his free hand, pressing his fingers into the slop. Shaadur yawned, wobbled, and tried to lower his hoof to the ground. Heror tugged the hoof back up and frowned.


    ¡°Shaadur, be patient,¡± Heror grumbled.


    Heror lifted the hoof again. Shaadur lowered it again. Heror huffed and gave the horse a look of frustration.


    ¡°Shaadur.¡±


    Shaadur sang and ruffled his ears. Heror leaned forward so that the horse saw him. Shaadur glanced at Heror with a rigid, guilty look, then his eyes shot ahead in avoidance. Heror sighed heavily.


    ¡°You¡¯re difficult, you know that?¡±


    To Heror¡¯s relief, Shaadur complied thereon. Heror pried the dirt and mud out of each hoof with his fingers as best he could, and then he brushed away the loose grains and dust until the grooves were clear. When he was done, he brushed off his fingers on his shirt. Shaadur gave him a nuzzle as he did so. Heror let a small smile show.


    ¡°See, that feels better, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    Now Heror circled around his horse, to the packs strapped behind the saddle. He sifted through and took inventory for the supplies on-hand. His smile faded.


    He¡¯d left the Midan camp without having a chance to restock after the second desert expedition. Only one canteen of water was left full, and another was half-empty. There was one jar of dried meat left. For the horse, there were only berries. If they were to survive the journey north, he had to find more somehow.


    Now Heror went to the horse¡¯s side. He gripped the reins, lifted his foot into the stirrup, and vaulted onto the saddle. And then, with a squeeze of his heels, they started off again.


    They rode through a deciduous forest of sage green, where the ground was supple and flat. It was the same forest, Heror surmised, that he¡¯d ventured through before emerging onto the steppe. He rode at a trot ¨C not a gallop ¨C his eyes glancing back and forth for any sources of food. His stomach growled. He forgot the last time he¡¯d eaten, but he forced himself to abstain for now, while his supply was so low.


    It was a quiet morning. The winds on the trail of the storms had calmed, and there was little more than a light breeze, whispering through the leaves above. A deep blue sky appeared through cracks in the canopy, as the rose gold light of the sun crept up the cluttered horizon to the east. As the birds woke in their nests above, they sang ¨C their calls converging into a soft symphony that echoed in the heights.


    Traveling so often, for so long, Heror¡¯s eyes had begun to sharpen. Even when tired, he could make out shapes and forms through the trees. And as late morning approached, and the sun¡¯s light tilted through the cover of the weald, he could just make out the square outline of a cabin, not far in the distance.


    Heror gently tightened the reins, and Shaadur slowed to a stop. The horse glanced back at Heror and questioned his rider. And then, after a short pause, Heror started ahead again. He closed in on the cabin from the south, roaming close to the trees to stay hidden.


    Once he got close enough ¨C around fifty feet away ¨C Heror stopped again and observed, from the cover of the trees. It was a small, rustic cabin with a low-lying roof, made of thick logs. It was set in a small clearing, with massive elder trees rising all around it. From where Heror hid, he faced the front door, but on the east side of the house, he could see a small raised bed garden with various vegetables. An apple tree stood near it.


    It wasn¡¯t long before Heror noticed the djauul ¨C a man with long black hair and a beard. The man knelt down at the far end of the raised bed garden with a wicker basket, and was plucking tomatoes to harvest.


    Shaadur let out a low, impatient whir, and Heror shushed the horse under his breath. Heror watched as the man filled his basket. Once the basket was stocked with plump scarlet tomatoes, the man stood and turned. Then he disappeared around the north side of the cabin.


    Heror waited. The man did not return. Now Heror¡¯s eyes went to the garden.


    Quietly, he slid to the ground. He stepped forward and pressed a hand on Shaadur¡¯s mane.


    ¡°Stay, Shaadur. I¡¯ll be right back¡­¡±


    Now Heror started toward the cabin, staying behind the trees. He shifted from trunk to trunk, peering out to make sure the man hadn¡¯t come back. He reached the edge of the treeline and crouched, peeking over shrubs and brambles. Still, there was no one, but he wanted to be quick. He took a deep breath, readying himself¡­


    ¡­ and just before he started to emerge, he saw movement, and he hid again.


    Running out from behind the house was a small child ¨C a boy, perhaps only five or six. He scampered into the grass clearing beside the raised bed, and was soon followed by a woman ¨C a mother. The mother was holding something in her hands, her palms gently cupped together.


    Heror took a small step forward. Hidden in the brush, he trained his eyes.


    It was a bird. A yellow songbird. A juvenile. And as the woman folded back her fingers, Heror saw its wings flutter. Perhaps it had been wounded. Perhaps it had been nursed back to health.


    The woman parted her hands, and cautiously, the bird climbed up onto her wrist. The boy ¨C barely knee-high to his mother ¨C idled anxiously, craning his head to look at the bird. After a moment, the mother knelt down and held out her wrist toward the boy.


    Heror could see the mother smiling softly as she whispered something to the boy. The boy blinked, with an expression caught between awe and fear. And then slowly, he held out his hands next to his mother¡¯s. The bird tilted its head, and then it hopped from the mother to the son, wrapping its spiny toes around the boy¡¯s finger.


    Now the mother motioned for the boy to hold out his arms. The boy stretched out and held his hands high. And after a moment, the little bird took flight, letting out an energetic jabber as it returned to the forest heights.


    The young boy jumped up and down with glee. The mother knelt down and took the child in her arms. They embraced. Heror looked on.


    Do you see them?


    His eyes glistened.


    Then the mother stood again, and she took the boy¡¯s hand in her own. And they ventured back around the house. Soon they were gone.


    Heror looked on, brown curls flitting in the breeze.


    After a few minutes, he composed himself. He blinked, and he breathed, and then he rushed out into the clearing. He reached up and grabbed several apples from the tree. He swiped two hearts of lettuce from the garden. And then he turned around and rushed back behind the tree cover. He stowed the spoils and mounted his horse, and they were off again.

 4. The Highlands

    Adjaash cursed again.


    The way was flooded.


    She¡¯d ridden north for around twenty minutes once she passed the border wall. That was all it took for her and Ashanji to reach the river. And when they did, it was overflowing.


    Far past the now-submerged banks, the water was ankle-deep. Inside the river, the floodwaters raced down from the highlands ¨C rapids folding and unfurling down the way. The basin was not traversable in its current state. It would take at least several days for the water to flow out to the ocean. Heror must have made it through before the water overwhelmed.


    Adjaash halted Ashanji at the edge of the flow. While the horse lamented at new mud already smothering her hooves, Adjaash pondered her next course of action.


    The river would circle to the south and to the east ¨C to Mote ¨C before it turned back to the north again. The floodwaters would make such a journey treacherous. And either way, Mote was her last resort. As long as she could, she¡¯d avoid the Mire Lands in the far east.


    The other way was through the highlands, to the northwest. She could travel up the slopes, away from the floodwaters. And then she could continue to the ridge¡¯s edge, descend back into the woodlands, and pick up the trail by the lake farther north.


    It was a sensible route on a map. But maps didn¡¯t warn of the snarls of tree roots and snaking vines that suffocated the highland forests, or the fog that set in each morning and cloaked the land in an opaque haze, or the curtainous canopy that blocked out the light and shielded the creatures within.


    Adjaash, however, had very few options.


    After a moment of reluctance, Adjaash dragged the reins to the left and doubled back. She rode three-quarters of the way back to the border wall, and then she turned to the west. Soon after, she circled around and entered the forest at the foot of the mountains.


    Almost immediately upon entering the tree cover, a putrid smell she recognized all too well met her nostrils. And as her eyes scanned through the wide elder trunks, she saw dozens of bodies ¨C adorned in red cloaks and light gilded armor ¨C dotting the forest corridors.


    Adjaash grimaced, and Ashanji winced at the sights; Adjaash felt a slight hop in her horse¡¯s step. As they cantered through the lowland trees, the aggressive buzzing of black flies dug into her ears, and the raspy hiss of a grounded vulture drew out, as the black bird picked at flesh. She dared not look down at the remains. She was used to the sight and smell by now. But that made it no more pleasant to experience.


    They rode north, and the bodies began to thin. Eventually, the ground lifted into a small, steady incline. In the cool morning air, a dense fog crept down into the forest from the mountains. From the high branches of the elder trees, blue-green moss and vines wet with dew slithered down the bark. The moss pooled at the bases of the trees, where twisted networks of brown roots clasped and coiled as if tentacles, and then clustered outward, sprawling across the forest floor. Through a soft layer of organic detritus, the roots swam and sank and surfaced, like a sea monster stalking its prey.


    Adjaash knew there was a mountain pass farther up the way. She¡¯d use the open sky in the pass to re-orient herself, and then she¡¯d skew to the north-northeast through the woods. From there, she could cut through the highlands. It would take some time to reach the ridge. But once she reached it, she¡¯d be able to descend into the basin, with elevation on her side.


    It wasn¡¯t long before she came across more bodies, though these ones were different. She recognized them as swamp djauuls ¨C native to the Mire Lands. ¡®Pathetic¡¯ was the word she¡¯d heard more than once from the Tekhal riders. They were slimmer and weaker than steppe djauuls, with lighter armor ¨C if you could even call it that. But it appears as though they¡¯d done the job they were tasked with here. They slowed the opposing army down.


    For a moment, Adjaash felt sorrowful. She glanced down at them only for a second, and then her eyes went forward again. As she ventured up the incline, the air continued to cool ¨C but in the humidity, she perspired a cold sweat on her skin.


    Some time passed, and at last, there were no more bodies. A thin fog hovered in the air, flowing with a slow current. And in the distance, she could see a break in the trees, letting distorted daylight flow through the halls of pines and elders. She squeezed her shins to quicken her horse¡¯s pace, eager for a brief respite from the woods.


    In minutes, she reached the edge of the treeline. And it dawned on her what a short respite this would be.


    The mountain pass ¨C marked by steep rock faces, a wide clearing, and rows of pines standing alongside it ¨C was overrun with bodies. Thousands. Layers of armor and lifeless decay superimposed over dead, chalky soil and pale grasses. Here, there was more body than ground ¨C robes of red and green and white, armor pieces of bronze and gold all sheltering her from the grisliest of sights that hid beneath.


    But this litter could not protect from the smell. For almost sixty days ¨C a full two moons ¨C it had pooled and wafted, and now it hovered in the air like rippling heat. And as it hit Adjaash, she swooned and nearly fell off her horse.


    Adjaash gagged, and Ashanji let out a distressed neigh, stepping back toward the tree cover. Adjaash coughed to cast out the toxins, and then she masked her face with the inside of her elbow. The smell stung her eyes, inducing tears.


    ¡°Pai Shenu¡­¡± she whispered under her breath.


    It was no good lingering with ghosts. Shielding her face, Adjaash¡¯s eyes rushed to the sky. The sun was just now lifting above the tree cover in the east, still hidden behind a thin white overcast. She used this along with the pass¡¯ orientation to judge northeast. Then she started in that direction, hugging the treeline and keeping as wide a berth from the remains as possible as she went.


    Soon enough, they re-entered the forest, and the smell faded. Adjaash took a deep breath out of relief. The sight had shaken even her, but here, she started to recollect herself.


    To the northeast they went now. The forest, it seemed, had no end. Elder trunks and vines stretched for as far as the eye could see, and far above, roped and rugged branches scaled the canopy in low-sloping inverted arches ¨C tributaries of soft leaves sweeping from the stalks, in forked flows of dark blue and green and teal.


    Ashanji most often moved at a canter, but some parts of the forest were so thick and densely-packed with roots and vines, that she had to slow to a trot, and even a cautious walk. Through gaps in the elder trees, chilly blue light trickled down from the hidden sky, filtered through the boundless, unbreakable canopy.


    At some point, Adjaash halted her horse, and they stopped to rest in a small, shaded grove with a fallen tree. It might¡¯ve been late morning. It might¡¯ve been noon. It might¡¯ve been early afternoon. Adjaash had no way of knowing.


    Adjaash dismounted, moccasins crunching in the leaves as she landed. She ran her hand along her horse¡¯s mane and whispered to her. Then she glanced up, and her eyes went ahead.


    By now, Adjaash had mastered the art of moving straight. It was a simple skill, but it quickly became important in a setting like this. The canopy was too high up, too dense, and too vast to see the sun. None of the normal indicators were available. She couldn¡¯t be completely certain they were still moving northeast ¨C but she had to trust herself. That was all she could do.


    She went back to the supplies. She gave her horse food and water. And then she removed a jar of dried meat and a canteen for herself. While Ashanji stood idle, her soft tail whisking away bugs, Adjaash sat on the downed trunk, feeling the rough shingles of tree bark beneath her. She slid her feet forward in the brush.


    After eating and drinking, she set the jar and canteen on the log beside her, and then she took a deep breath and listened. The forest was quiet, but it was not silent. The soft songs of katydids, hiding in the roping roots, echoed in the air. On and off again, an unseen cicada drummed its tymbals, sounding off in a high-pitched buzz that strengthened and then receded. Strengthened and then receded again. Like the tide. Somewhere in the skyward branches, there was a crow.


    Adjaash took a deep breath. And in the quiet, the thought came back to her again. Like a mosquito, taunting her.


    What will you do when you find Heror?


    She took another deep breath ¨C longer this time.


    In a way, their personal goals weren¡¯t so different. He would empathize with her. She knew that. The only question was: Would he give up the Sword? He didn¡¯t seem too attached to it. From the very moment he¡¯d taken it from its perch in the labyrinth, Heror had been unsure. At first, he had heard nothing, and felt nothing. And then, during the ritual ¨C she remembered his face. The fear. She remembered how he¡¯d closed his eyes. She remembered the phoenix. And then, under the cover of blindness, he fled.


    But he could have dropped the Sword there. Instead, he left with it. Several times, he could¡¯ve left it behind and gone on his way. He could¡¯ve forgotten about it. He didn¡¯t. She wondered why he¡¯d kept it, if it was so troubling to him. If it had been the source of so much turmoil.


    And now another thought entered her mind, ever unwelcome.


    What if you decide you want to stay with him?


    No. That was not an option. She couldn¡¯t afford any more distractions.


    At last, Adjaash grew aware of this boundless string of thoughts, and she broke it with a blink. Her eyes shifted about as she came back to her senses. She let out a soft sigh, and then her eyes fell on her horse, who offered her a glance.


    Adjaash smiled small. She brushed a strand of silver-brown hair out of her face.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be in the forest for a while, Ashanji,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. This is the safest way with the floods.¡±


    She leaned back on the log, stretching her arms. Then she sat up straight again. With a moccasin toe, she brushed along the ground.


    ¡°We¡¯re heading to Pylantheum,¡± Adjaash went on, her voice soft.


    Ashanji¡¯s ears flopped and rose, and the jet black horse looked at Adjaash with eager eyes. Adjaash smirked and let out a small laugh.


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s been a long time since we¡¯ve been there. You¡¯ll be back home again.¡±


    Adjaash¡¯s smile soon faded, however. The word ¡®home¡¯ came out of her mouth unconsciously. And as it did, she winced. With biting amber eyes, she stared into the distance, lost in thought for a moment longer. And then she rose to her feet, with sudden urgency.


    ¡°It¡¯s time to go.¡±


    This was northeast, she thought. It had to be. They followed the straight path as best they could, riding past overlapping roots and bulging trees ¨C past lesions of moss and mushroom growths, and leafy plants that climbed and enveloped the lower trunks. As they went, the mindless call of the crickets and katydids hailed them ahead. Somewhere ¨C perhaps along the banks of a small pond ¨C frogs croaked.


    She had hoped that as they went, the paths would widen. But in fact, the opposite was occurring. The forest started to constrict around them as they rode ¨C vines and roots and streams of moss converging into a conglomerate of matter, as the dark deepened in the low-lying shade. Even the trunks of the ancient trees began to cluster, gaps narrowing to near shoulder-width. Ashanji slowed to a tired stroll, while Adjaash¡¯s hands sank around the reins.


    Time ticked onward. A blue glow reappeared in the distance, and it seemed as though the forest would soon be widening again. But up ahead, a dense snarl of vines and bushes splayed in front of the northeast path, blocking the way and letting only slivers of light through. Adjaash halted her horse here, and she glanced left to right.


    There was no clear path forward in either direction. The forest was extremely dense here. But the tangle of vines was not too thick. The light sneaking past it made this clear. If she used her daggers, she might be able to carve a path through the vines before long.


    ¡°Stay here, Ashanji,¡± Adjaash instructed as she dismounted, before grumbling to herself: ¡°Not like there¡¯s anywhere else to go in this fucking jungle¡­¡±


    Her moccasins hit the ground and she brushed her braid over her shoulder. She stepped toward the tangle and unsheathed one of her daggers. She grabbed one of the vines near the wide end of the stalk. She started to cut through it, when Ashanji let out a small whimper. Adjaash glanced back over her shoulder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Ashanji,¡± Adjaash reassured her horse. ¡°I¡¯ll be quick.¡±


    With a saw-like motion, she sliced through the first vine, and it fell to the ground, slumping in the dirt and leaves as fibers of damp twining hung from the cut. Now she cut another, and another ¨C until soon, she could feel the space opening up.


    While Ashanji stayed behind, Adjaash kept pressing forward. The tangle was perhaps twenty feet wide from end to end. She focused on the higher vines, and stepped over lower ones that snaked along the ground. As she sliced through the forest¡¯s tendrils, the shade started to give way to more cool blue light, and on the other side of the mass, she could see a wider path for them to pick up, lined by bushes and trees and rocks.


    She was almost halfway through now, and the sight of the clearing made her quicken her pace. As she chopped the vines one by one, they tumbled and fell, and now the light of midday poured through ¨C still dimmed and distorted, but brighter than it had been.


    After catching her breath for a moment, Adjaash sawed through the last high vine, and at last, the way was clear. She stepped into the clearing, and out of the thick tree cover, she felt a welcoming breeze. She looked up. The canopy was thinner here, and directly above, she could see streaks of stratus and stratocumulus clouds striping the sunlit sky.


    She relaxed ¨C until she heard something.


    Silence.


    Even in this open area, the way was lined by towering trees and shrubs and thickets. And yet, there was nothing. The crickets and katydids had gone quiet. The coughs of the frogs were gone. There were no calls and caws of birds above. Nothing. Even the wind, it seemed, had suddenly gone still.


    And in the silence, her heart spoke in a drumbeat.


    She took a sudden step back and widened her stance, and ripped the other dagger from beneath her poncho. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, scaling down to the bushes and thickets lining the grass ¨C until she saw them: A pair of yellow cougar eyes, staring out at her from the shadows.


    As soon as she saw it, the cougar stepped out of the bushes, brush crinkling beneath a heavy paw. It flared its fangs and snarled at her. The fear in Adjaash¡¯s mind told her to step back, but she brushed it away and stood her ground. She widened her arms and shouted: ¡°Heyyy!!¡±


    She shouted several times ¨C voice carrying through the trees ¨C and she tried to make herself larger, but the cougar did not flinch. It took another step and lowered, as if readying to pounce. A mindless, drawling growl escaped its jaw, along with a trail of foamy saliva. Now Adjaash pulled her daggers close and re-entered her stance.


    And then it lunged.


    Adjaash flared out her knives and was about to counter, when a rush of wind sped by on her right, and Ashanji charged past her. The black horse met the cougar¡¯s advance and barreled into the beast, ducking her head and throwing the mountain lion onto its back.


    ¡°Ashanji, no!¡± Adjaash shouted, her voice rising. ¡°Get back!!¡±


    The horse did not listen. She reared and kicked, screeching angrily, as the cougar climbed back to its feet. The cougar jolted to the right and snarled, then flashed a claw-tipped paw and swiped at the horse. Ashanji bucked and kicked, while the cougar circled her ¨C front claws lashing about in a frenzy. A forceful kick met the cougar¡¯s face. A claw slashed the horse¡¯s left haunch, and the horse shrunk against the trees, whining in pain.


    ¡°No!!¡±


    The cougar growled and was about to lunge toward Ashanji ¨C beady eyes trained on the horse¡¯s neck ¨C when Adjaash whipped a dagger with rapid speed. The dagger passed just in front of the cougar¡¯s head, and now the cougar fixed its attention on the girl.


    Enraged, the cougar bounded toward Adjaash, paws furiously scraping up dirt and grass as it ran. Just as she got her hands up, it lunged again. She blocked her face and neck with her arms and tried to stab at the beast¡¯s neck with her remaining dagger, but a claw sank into her left wrist, and she staggered.


    Now the cougar drove its hind legs and shoved Adjaash back, and she slid back into a tree. Blood seeped from the puncture in her wrist, and pain shot up her forearm, but still she clenched down on the cougar¡¯s coat ¨C her other arm locked in a struggle.


    With her left hand, she held its jaw away. And with her right, she tried to creep the dagger ever closer, shaking against the beast¡¯s strength. The cougar¡¯s razor teeth gnashed and reached for her face, as saliva frothed and dribbled down.


    For a moment, they were deadlocked. But Adjaash¡¯s strength began to win out. She pressed the dagger toward the cougar¡¯s neck ¨C closer, closer ¨C until the cougar lashed toward her right hand with a fearsome bite, trying to catch it from the side.


    Adjaash only had a split second to dodge the attack by sliding to the right, and as the cougar lurched away, its claw tore free from her left wrist. A cry of pain leaked from her mouth, but she didn¡¯t lose her composure. She circled the tree at the edge of the clearing now, as the cougar stalked her ¨C mirroring her movements.


    With a small break, Adjaash tried to catch her breath. But it wasn¡¯t long until the cougar started to close in. It was about to cut her off, when Ashanji came from the other end of the clearing. The horse rushed around the cougar, then flanked it from the left. Before the cougar could react, the horse ducked its head again and kicked out with its front legs, driving the animal into the ground.


    Adjaash took this as her opportunity. While the cougar was down, she sprinted back into the clearing and scrambled onto its back. And just before it was able to stand again, she looped her dagger beneath its neck and sliced across it, tearing its throat open.


    The cougar let out a frantic squeal, as blood poured onto the ground. And as Adjaash rolled off of its back into the grass, the cougar staggered ahead into the woods, leaving a trail of red as it went. It wasn¡¯t long before its voice died out.


    Adjaash¡¯s breath slowed, but her pulse still raced. She sat in the dirt for a spell, calming herself. As she did, Ashanji approached her. The horse paced beside the girl and murmured a greeting. Above the horse¡¯s back leg, Adjaash could see the cut the cougar left. It was bloody, but it was shallow.


    ¡°You stupid horse,¡± Adjaash scoffed in pain. ¡°You should¡¯ve let me handle that. I had it.¡±


    Adjaash glanced down at her left wrist. Blood was seeping out quicker than she preferred. She let out a strained sigh, and then she blinked, and her brow lightened. She glanced at her horse and offered a weak smile.


    ¡°¡­ but thank you.¡±


    Now Adjaash stood. She went to the other end of the clearing and picked up her other dagger. She had trouble closing her left hand, and so she picked it up with her right, sheathing both knives. Then she turned back toward her horse, jostling her wrist to try and shake away the throbbing pain.


    Adjaash first grabbed a canteen, and then she opened the medical pack and pulled out the silk. She used a bit of water to wash Ashanji¡¯s wound, and then she patched it with a band of silk, before wrapping around the top of the leg several times. As she did, blood dripped past her fingers, down into the brush. She took a deep breath, and wrapped her horse¡¯s wound one more time. Then she turned to her own.


    First, she washed her cut, just as she¡¯d done with Ashanji. As she poured water over her wrist, it mixed with the blood and flowed to the ground in streams of red. As soon as she stopped, she could see blood seeping out again.


    Silk alone wouldn¡¯t do it; she needed something tight to stop the bleeding. She dug into another pack now, until she pulled out a blanket. She¡¯d originally packed it for comfort, but there was already a tear from when she¡¯d made a makeshift bandage for Heror in the desert. She forced a feeble laugh as she unrolled it.


    ¡°Certainly won¡¯t be using this anymore¡­¡±


    She stepped on one end of the blanket to keep it taut, and then she tore another strip off it with her right hand. And then, she sat down and carefully looped the strip around her left wrist. Once she was around, she pinched the bottom of the strip against her leg, while with her right hand, she carefully coaxed it into a knot. It took a couple tries, but eventually, she was able to pull it through, and then she tightened it.


    As the knot tightened just below the cut, Adjaash gritted her teeth in pain. Her wrist tingled and prickled sharply now ¨C but as she looked down, she saw that the bleeding had begun to slow.


    At last, Adjaash closed her eyes, and her pulse seemed to calm. After a slow exhale, she opened her eyes and rose to her feet, and then she walked back to her horse. She stowed her supplies, and then she mounted again, grabbing both sides of the reins with her right hand, while her left hung at her side.


    It took her a moment to reorient herself again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the tangle, all of its crossing vines cut away. Up above, through thin sheets of white, the sun was near its peak. Ahead, the forest stretched ever onward. With her internal compass, she found what she hoped was northeast.


    ¡°Alright¡­¡±


    Adjaash took another deep breath.


    ¡°It¡¯ll get dark faster in the woods,¡± she thought to herself. ¡°We only have a few more hours¡­¡±


    Now she patted her horse¡¯s mane. And one last wave of resolute ferocity twitched across her face, before it disappeared.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, Ashanji.¡±

 5. The Front Line (Part One)

    The Parables say the unworthy are to be damned to hell when they die.


    I try and remember the moment I died.


    Because this must be hell.


    What is a life without hope, without love, without happiness, if not hell?


    Thaeolai halted her ink quill.


    Day had come and gone. It was evening now, and in the shade of the western tree cover, it might as well have been night. The orange torchlight inside the tent magnified and gleamed against the darkening crimson walls, taking on the sun¡¯s duty as the parent star sank below the woods. The weather was calm. The wind breathed.


    She took in the sounds only for a moment, and then she looked back down at her poem. A tress of blonde sank over her face. She sniffled. It was a cold, she told herself. She shivered in her light-colored healer robes. Her writing hand moved.


    I should¡¯ve gone with Heror. I could¡¯ve fixed things. I could¡¯ve prevented this.


    She paused again.


    He wouldn¡¯t have wanted me.


    Thaeolai felt her eyes welling, and she hastily slid the parchment and quill under her pillow. She might¡¯ve smeared the ink on the casing. It didn¡¯t matter.


    Now she sat to the side, letting her feet fall to the floor. Her hands dug into the bedding. She hung her head and let out a trembling breath, trying to calm herself. She slowly looked up.


    The medical tent was mostly empty. There were no more healers milling about ¨C at least not on this side of the road. Wounded siephalls dotted the beds from end to end. Some rested. Some occupied themselves with little crafts. Some cried.


    Tiredly, Thaeolai¡¯s eyes traced the enclosure. They went from the far tent flap, to the beds, to a wooden support beam not far away from her. There was a new piece of parchment nailed to the beam. Ink-blotted writing was scrawled across it:


    Heror ¡°The Grey Wolf¡± Heran: Traitor, War Criminal, Murderer, Mutt


    Reward for Information: 10,000 Kivs ¨C See Siekarum Daromei


    A harsh sigh left her mouth, and her eyes dropped to the floor again.


    The khilung was paranoid after Heror¡¯s reappearance ¨C that he was now a phantom in the woods, haunting them. But Thaeolai ¨C and perhaps Ucankacei, too ¨C knew what they didn¡¯t. He would never linger simply to terrorize them, as if a roving outlaw. As angry at the world as he¡¯d been, he understood how many siephalls shared in his suffering. And even then, he could barely stand to stay here in the first place.


    She guessed that, wherever he was, he was on his way to Pylantheum now. It was where he¡¯d wanted to go for so long. And now, she imagined, he had nowhere else to go.


    Another long sigh, this one an act of relinquish. She hoped that, wherever he was, he was well. She hoped he was safe.


    As soon as she felt grace, however, more thoughts came to combat it. Heror had never truly appreciated her. When she spoke caution to his plans of leaving, she was only ever looking out for him. She only ever wanted him to be safe. And yet, he never took her seriously. He never took her feelings into consideration. And she doubted he felt remorse for what he¡¯d said before he left. Antagonizing her. Blaming her for keeping him here. He felt no remorse ¨C because he said what he felt, and Heror was always so unapologetic.


    Why should she give him grace? What was the point?


    And now, amidst the conflict, anxiety washed over her. The things he¡¯d said echoed in her mind. Still, the piercing tone of his voice gnawed at her brain.


    How could you be so selfish?


    You can¡¯t will yourself to leave this hell, so you¡¯d rather I burn with you.


    Had she been selfish? She hadn¡¯t realized it. And if she had been selfish, and hadn¡¯t realized it¡­ what did that say about her?


    Maybe she deserved this.


    Her thoughts were interrupted when the northern tent flap opened, not far from her bed. She glanced in that direction, and as soon as she did, her head whisked away.


    It was a siephall named Quincilei ¨C for whom Thaeolai and Isec had treated a cut across his leg. He¡¯d given his name unprompted and unwelcome several times while Thaeolai tried to ignore him. Tall and slender, with cropped blonde hair and a thin, boastful smile. His first advances struck her as very smarmy. He¡¯d progressively become blunt and impatient. She hoped to turn him away quickly this time.


    ¡°Thaeolai, did you hear?¡± Quincilei called as he walked toward her.


    She pretended she didn¡¯t hear him.


    ¡°Thaeolai, did you hear?¡± he repeated, as he attempted to concoct charm with slower steps.


    Thaeolai¡¯s shoulders slumped. She let out a third sigh ¨C now one of transparent annoyance ¨C and she begrudgingly lifted her eyes as she sat.


    ¡°What, Quincilei?¡± she grumbled.


    Quincilei strode to the support beam. He leaned against it.. She watched as the parchment carrying Heror¡¯s name was crumpled by the siephall¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Word is the Midans are gearing up for another attack,¡± Quincilei told her with twisted excitement. ¡°Biggest one yet.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Thaeolai muttered, starting to stand. ¡°I was just leav¨C¡±


    ¡°They say at least a thousand more are coming down from the north,¡± Quincilei went on, stepping away from the beam.


    Thaeolai was about to rise to her feet when Quincilei took another bounding step toward her. She shrunk back down and slid closer to the tent wall.


    ¡°Seven-foot monsters with clubs and cudgels, and archers on horseback with deadly precision, and the traitor Heran is coming back to lead them,¡± Quincilei rushed. ¡°They say none of us are going to survive this one. They¡¯re saying this will be the end.¡±


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± Thaeolai pried, trying a different strategy ¨C as she tried to calm the rising tremors in her arms. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be getting ready then?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Quincilei said, with a sneering grin. ¡°I think, if we¡¯re all going to die¡­ we should make the most of the time we have left.¡±


    After another long step, Quincilei sat onto the edge of the bed. Thaeolai slid closer to the wall, crinkling her poems beneath her pillow. Quincilei closed the gap and tilted toward her.


    ¡°Get away from me,¡± Thaeolai growled, no longer hiding her emotions.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to have some fun while we still have time?¡±


    ¡°I said, get away.¡±


    ¡°A good girl like you deserves to be treated to some¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to ask again.¡±


    ¡°You like to make it a challenge, don¡¯t you¡­?¡±


    Now Quincilei leaned in, and his hand started to lift toward her leg, grazing it ¨C when Thaeolai grabbed his cloak with her left hand, and sent a throttling fist into his face with her right. The blow sent the siephall spiraling to the ground as he let out an exasperated yell, and when he lifted and turned back around, blood trickled from a cut on his lip. He pressed his fingers against it, and then he scowled at the girl.


    ¡°You bitch!¡± he hissed.


    In a rush of adrenaline, Thaeolai stood. The siephall took a step toward her again. His right hand crept down to his sword handle. He started to speak.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t¨C¡±


    ¡°Siephall!!¡±


    There was a powerful voice. The siephall Quincilei whirled around, and when he did, he saw the healer Isec standing by the northern tent flap. He was a man of medium height in his late forties, donning a dark robe and sash. His beard and eyebrows were thick and dark, and loose dark brown hair that had just begun to gray around the edges. The Pylanthean glared at the siephall with simmering brown eyes, and then he stepped into the tent.


    ¡°Quincilei, correct?¡± Isec recollected.


    ¡°Yes, maesas,¡± Quincilei said faintly, clamming up.


    ¡°I remember you. How is your leg?¡±


    ¡°Good, maesas.¡±


    Now Isec¡¯s glare darkened. He glanced at Thaeolai, and then back at Quincilei.


    ¡°Would you prefer we leave you bleeding next time?¡±


    ¡°N-no¡­ maesas¡­¡±


    Isec nodded, and then he tilted his head toward the exit.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°Get out then.¡±


    Quincilei buried his eyes in the dirt and left with haste. He snuck by Isec, rolling his shoulder away, and then he was gone. As he left, Thaeolai stood and watched. She tried to lessen the heaves in her chest. Her hands shook as she carefully sat back down on her bed.


    Isec looked toward her now, and she saw his glare fade into worry. He approached her bed, and then he sat slowly on the empty bed across from her.


    ¡°I was just about to make my final rounds and I heard the shouts,¡± Isec explained.


    The Pylanthean leaned forward and clasped his hands together, and then he eyed the girl.


    ¡°You alright?¡±


    Thaeolai let out a weak ¡®mhm¡¯ ¨C but her heart was still racing.


    Isec seemed to be aware she was lying. His brow barely lifted, and his forehead creased underneath loose brown tufts. They sat for a moment. They let the sound of the wind flow in again. And then Isec looked at her again. He offered her a soft, light smile.


    ¡°Can I teach you a spell?¡± he asked. ¡°A good punch works just as well, but¡­ this is if you want to keep your knuckles clean.¡±


    It took a moment for Thaeolai to realize what he was offering; she was still calming down. But as she calmed, she felt a smoldering discomfort across the back of her right hand. And so she nodded, giving Isec half a glance. The man kept his soft smile and cast his eyes down.


    ¡°Lean forward,¡± he said. ¡°Hold out your hand.¡±


    There was some reluctance from Thaeolai, but after a second, she held out her left hand, turning her wrist upside down. Gently, Isec reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Then, he whispered an incantation. All at once, there was a loud zap, and a light shock pulsed through Thaeolai¡¯s forearm.


    Thaeolai jumped. It was as if she¡¯d touched a charged piece of metal. Stray hairs stood up around her ears. The shock flushed some of the anxiousness out of her, and as she looked at Isec, she smiled in surprise and awe.


    ¡°You feel that?¡± Isec chuckled.


    Thaeolai nodded. Isec removed his hand.


    ¡°A-eiwal electri,¡± Isec chanted. ¡°That¡¯s the text for this spell. Simple.¡±


    Now Isec held out his hand as Thaeolai had. Thaeolai glanced down at the man¡¯s outstretched fingers, and then she raised an eyebrow. Isec nodded.


    ¡°Try it,¡± he encouraged.


    Thaeolai blinked.


    ¡°Are you¡­ are you sure?¡± she questioned shyly. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you if I do it wrong¡­¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t hurt me,¡± Isec reassured her, nonchalantly shaking his head. ¡°Here, try it.¡±


    Thaeolai did as he had now. She wrapped her fingers around the man¡¯s wrist, and then she uttered the text under her breath, visualizing the words in her head. As soon as she finished the phrase, she felt a sudden pulse of energy run from her palm. Isec jolted from the shock and drew his hand back, and then he smiled.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he said with a small laugh. ¡°You¡¯re a natural.¡±


    Thaeolai smiled faintly and dropped her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up again. Isec nodded to her.


    ¡°You do this whenever someone¡¯s giving you trouble,¡± Isec advised. ¡°Tell ¡®em there¡¯s more where that came from if they don¡¯t do what you say.¡±


    Thaeolai smiled a bit wider. There was a flash in her emerald eyes, and she reciprocated the nod. Isec glanced over his shoulder. It was evening, and through the tent flap, the sky was getting darker. He turned back to Thaeolai. She saw calmness and concern in his eyes.


    ¡°Are you alright now?¡±


    Thaeolai silently studied her pulse. It was slower now.


    ¡°Better,¡± she replied.


    But at the thought of being alone again, it jumped.


    ¡°But you can stay for a bit longer¡­ if you want¡­¡±


    Isec nodded with understanding, and he pursed his lips. It was quiet for a moment, as they sat with each other. Far past the walls of the tent, the chatter of soldiers rose again. A light breeze cast waves along the red canvas. Sparks and embers danced from the tops of the torches. After some time, Isec gestured to Thaeolai¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Did you take lessons?¡± he asked, his voice low.


    Thaeolai gave him a nod: ¡°When I was younger.¡±


    ¡°Why did you stop?¡±


    Thaeolai opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She still vividly remembered the day she¡¯d been cast out of her family¡¯s house. It was not a day she liked to revisit. Isec saw her discomfort, and he let out a short breath before changing the subject.


    ¡°Well, for not having taken lessons in a while, I¡¯d say your skill is still there,¡± he offered with a smirk. ¡°Did you study keatuu as well, or only keawal?¡±


    ¡°Only keawal,¡± Thaeolai replied, finding it difficult to hide her disappointment. ¡°We never made it to keatuu.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feel discouraged,¡± Isec comforted her. ¡°Keawal is far easier to grasp. Even the best practitioners need years to master keatuu. Do you know why keatuu is so difficult?¡±


    ¡°I know that¡­ keawal is change magic, and keatuu is creation magic,¡± Thaeolai pondered aloud. ¡°Keawal allows you to manipulate things already present. Keatuu forces you to create new energy from thin air.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a large part of it,¡± Isec said with a smile. ¡°But it¡¯s not that you¡¯re creating energy from thin air. When you use keatuu, you are siphoning that raw energy¡­ from a realm very far away. A realm almost untouchable to us.¡±


    ¡°What realm?¡± Thaeolai asked; she¡¯d never heard this before.


    Isec glanced back behind him again. Then he turned around to Thaeolai and smiled, nodding his head toward the tent flap.


    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± he said. ¡°It would be easier to show you.¡±


    Isec stood and walked to the exit, and Thaeolai followed. When they emerged from the tent, it was dark outside. Just over the forest¡¯s cluttered silhouette to the west, Thaeolai could see the red glow of the dying sun. Up above, the sky was clear, and the stars were out ¨C a clustered powder of light and plasma in a blackened matrix. For a fleeting second, Thaeolai thought she saw a meteor, streaking across the dark canvas in a blink of white. She smiled.


    ¡°There,¡± Isec said as they both looked up. ¡°That is where you draw your energy from when using keatuu. You might¡¯ve only ever known it as the night sky. But A-ei¡¯s tomes on keawalatuu call it the Xen ¨C unconstructed creation space. That is the realm where the Gods themselves were first born, and where they began construction of the Aelyum itself. Some believe that each of those little stars you see ¨C each of those tiny dots ¨C are in fact gigantic spheres of kea ¨C raw energy ¨C at a scale almost impossible to comprehend. Factories of fire where the Gods do their work, emanating light so powerful that it reaches us here, from millions of miles away.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where we draw our power from for keatuu?¡± Thaeolai asked in wonder.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Isec affirmed. ¡°And that¡¯s why keawal is so much easier. With keawal, you¡¯re using the energy and matter that the Gods have formed for us in this realm as source material. With keatuu texts, however, your mind is breaking the boundary between realms, and tapping into an endless, unfathomable space of creation, to draw back raw energy and bring it to this world.¡±


    ¡°All of a sudden, it sounds a lot more difficult,¡± Thaeolai said, forcing a weak laugh.


    ¡°It is difficult,¡± Isec conceded. ¡°Keawal and keatuu are both tied to the mind in intricate ways. It takes an incredible amount of mental control and discipline to first visualize the texts, and then manifest spells from those thoughts. With keatuu, you have to go a step further, and find your source material in the form of that energy.¡±


    ¡°The Gods don¡¯t mind us taking their energy?¡± Thaeolai questioned, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what they think about it,¡± Isec replied. ¡°But if they did mind¡­ they wouldn¡¯t have given us the gift.¡±


    Thaeolai¡¯s eyes drifted downward, and she thought for a moment. But soon, the stars drew her gaze again. And for a time longer, they marveled at the night sky. The breeze picked at loose strands of blonde hair, and tickled Thaeolai¡¯s ears. She glanced at Isec, who had folded his hands inside his robe.


    ¡°You had to have studied,¡± she observed. ¡°To know as much as you do.¡±


    ¡°I studied in Tephire for a few years when I was younger,¡± Isec answered with a nod.


    ¡°Tephire?¡± Thaeolai echoed, her eyes lighting up. ¡°Did you study in Marteliphi??¡±


    Isec smiled, recognizing her excitement.


    ¡°Yes, I did.¡±


    Thaeolai¡¯s awe was directed at him now, and she waited for him to continue. Isec kept his quaint smile and let out a long, deep breath.


    ¡°I was there for four years,¡± he went on. ¡°Met my wife there. And then we went back to my family in northern Pylantheum, in the mountains.¡±


    There was a sudden distance in Isec¡¯s voice now ¨C a distance that was somewhat familiar to Thaeolai. Whenever Heror didn¡¯t want to talk about something, he¡¯d talk with a similar tone. Thaeolai recognized this. She only glanced at the man.


    ¡°You don¡¯t¡­ you don¡¯t need to answer,¡± Thaeolai started. ¡°But if I may ask¡­ how did you end up here?¡±


    Isec met her glance, and she saw that his smile was gone. He gave her a look of conflict, and his thick brows shrunk against his eyes. And then he turned his gaze ahead, loose brown hair flitting in the wind. He started to open his mouth¡­


    ¡­ when a sound interrupted them.


    It came from the north. From the barricade on the road. At first, it was only a shout. And then there were more, that were soon all silenced. Isec narrowed his eyes, and he wandered past the medical tent, to the edge of the road not thirty feet away. Thaeolai followed, her eyes searching for the source of the noise.


    And then, farther down the dirt path to the north, in the amber light of the torches, Thaeolai saw a lone siephall sprinting toward the camp.


    The siephall ran until he was inside the bounds of the encampment, and then he pulled an ivory horn from his cloak. He brought the instrument to his mouth and let out a firm, hollow note in the night air ¨C a note that droned on and on, and climbed into the sky along the rising wind. All at once, more siephalls began to stir, and the soldier brought the horn down.


    ¡°The Midans!!¡± he bellowed in the middle of the road. ¡°The Midans are here!! The Mida¨C¡±


    And then several arrows lodged into the siephall¡¯s back. He let out a croak, and then he crumpled to his knees and fell onto his face. In the distance, along the edge of the torchlight ¨C through the gaps in the forest ¨C Thaeolai could make out the form of a horse and its rider, a bow set in the rider¡¯s arms. But this was the last thing she saw before the camp descended into chaos.


    Siekarums rushed from their tents and began barking orders. Siephalls ran left and right, weapons and aspidans in hand. Red cloaks flashed back and forth in the light of the fires. And the arrows continued to rain.


    Isec turned and grabbed Thaeolai¡¯s shoulders. He crouched down and pulled her down with him, as fletched blades flew overhead.


    ¡°Get back to the tent,¡± he rushed. ¡°Go. Now. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±


    Thaeolai turned and stumbled in the dirt. She got back on her feet and sped to a sprint, following the lead of her pounding heartbeat.

 5. The Front Line (Part Two)

    As redcloaks rushed past her in the opposite direction, Thaeolai sprinted through the dirt and mud to the medical tent. But just as she arrived, a flash of heat and light from the left caused her to flinch. Her eyes followed the flame. The tent to the north had caught ablaze, struck by flaming arrows. Her eyes went up. Sharp droplets of orange glowed and coasted in the air and arced in the sky. Then they came down.


    There was the flit of torn fabric. Arrows descended on the tents as if burning hailstones. All at once, the flames roared and spread, and they climbed down the ceiling, to the walls and to the floor. Thaeolai staggered away from the snarling heat, lifting a hand to shield her face. As Isec reached her, he turned and grabbed two siephalls within reach.


    ¡°Stop, stop!!¡± Isec shouted. ¡°Help us move the wounded!¡±


    One of the siephalls was suddenly struck by an arrow, and so another within earshot took his place, ducking his head. Isec rushed to the tent flap, just beyond the reach of the flames. He turned to Thaeolai.


    ¡°Go, go!!¡±


    Thaeolai entered the tent. Already, the flames had crept inside ¨C stripes of deadly fire tearing the walls. She rushed to her bed and pocketed her poems and snowstone. Then she dashed to the other end of the tent, where the wounded lay.


    Isec managed to grab two more siephalls, and he led them inside just before another flaming arrow struck the tent flap, cloaking the northern exit in blazing fire. Isec pushed them ahead.


    ¡°Each of you take as many as you can!¡± Isec yelled. ¡°To the carriages on the south road, go!!¡±


    One siephall lifted an unconscious soldier from a bed, while another limped alongside his shoulder. Another siephall rose from his bed and started screaming at the sight of the flames, while another tried to calm him. Thaeolai stirred as many as she could. When she came to the one called Khoulane, their eyes met, and he stood without help. Fear etched across his face, and nonetheless, he grabbed the sword that lay beside his bed.


    Enough of them could move on their own. One of the wounded stood from his bed, when an arrow tore through the tent wall and severed his spine, and he folded. As soon as they got the men up, Isec started shouting again, an injured siephall propped against his side.


    ¡°Go!! Through the south door!!¡±


    An unencumbered siephall led the way, sword at the ready, while Khoulane held the tent flap open. They filtered out one by one, heads bowing at the blades in the wind. One of the wounded stumbled. Thaeolai helped him back to his feet. Another hail of arrows cast over them, narrowly missing as the arrowtips dug into the dirt.


    They ran south. Thaeolai glanced across the road. The camp was awash in blinding flames and pyres of orange. The siephalls that had once been running toward the battle now ran away. Cut down by the dozen. Along the perimeter of the camp, she saw scores of horsemen rushing to cut the soldiers off. From the rear, more approached ¨C a stampede of hooves that shook the ground.


    Now she glanced left. More siephalls ran south, but many of them were cut down when another volley swept through. As they fell, Thaeolai saw a quartet of horsemen charging directly into the camp, nocking arrows as they rode.


    ¡°Duck!!¡± She yelled instinctively.


    The group fell to the ground in a synchronous swoon. Arrows speared through the air at lightning speed. Another one of the wounded was struck and let out a cry. The horsemen emerged in the firelight and gained pace. Thaeolai froze as they approached. They clustered together and charged toward the group, dark shadows against the flamelight, legs intent to trample. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten¡­


    The lead siephall stood and grabbed a burning support beam, and he threw it down with force. As sparks and embers flew, the beam crashed down and forced one of the horses off its feet. The horses crashed into one another, and several Midan riders fell to the ground. A lone rider circled around and disappeared farther up the road, while the three who fell rose up and unsheathed their blades. The siephall turned to Isec.


    ¡°Keep running! We¡¯ll cover you!!¡±


    The siephall stepped up to cover the rear flank, and Khoulane joined him, twirling his sword. There was the shriek and whine of metal against metal, and Thaeolai forced herself to turn away, as Isec led the wounded to the south. Another siephall joined him at the front, and they kept running ¨C past rows of ruined tents, through fields of fire and fallen. The night air glowed.


    Thaeolai¡¯s eyes darted back and forth as they ran, but soon, the carriages came into view. They were just to the south, aligned in a caravan that stretched farther down the road. Another makeshift wooden barricade had been formed behind the final carriage, lined by Ardysi archers. Fleeing siephalls ran up the way in droves, as siekarums shouted assignments haphazardly.


    Thaeolai started to look for Ucankacei ¨C but just as she trained her eyes, the others halted in their tracks. The fourth Midan rider cut in front of them from the flame-stricken road, an arrow already nocked. A silhouetted shadow against the fiery blaze, a dark bringer of death ¨C he let loose the fletched blade, and it embedded into the front siephall¡¯s shoulder. The siephall grunted, but he stayed on his feet. He wound back his sword and charged the horseman, stabbing into the rider¡¯s abdomen and sending him to the ground in a violent swerve. The horse bucked and fled. The siephall whirled around and shouted: ¡°Go!!¡±Stolen story; please report.


    And they ran again. The siephall stood once they were past, but as Thaeolai glanced over her shoulder, she saw him fall, an arrow in his back. There was no time to mourn. More riders were visible in the hellish flamefields beyond ¨C too many to count. Like shades and wyrms, they snaked through the firelined passages. She turned and ushered the wounded ahead. Sharp rain swirled sideways in ravenous sheets.


    They were almost the carriages now. The Ardysi archers returned fire, but they were steadily being cut down. Through the crowds of siephalls, a siekarum saw the wounded, and he gestured to them with a feverish arm.


    ¡°Into the back!!¡± the siekarum ordered. ¡°Quickly!!¡±


    Isec helped the siephall who carried two, and then he guided the wounded into the last armored carriage, one by one. On the other side, Thaeolai did the same. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another Ardysi archer fall to an unseen foe. She forced herself to keep her focus. She grabbed another siephall¡¯s arm and lifted him into the carriage. And another. And another.


    Soon, all of the wounded were inside, and before Thaeolai could say anything, Isec grabbed her arm and heaved her into the coach. As soon as she found her footing, she spun around and reached for Isec¡¯s hand. Her fingers fumbled for a moment, so she clamped down and dug into his palm, wrenching him into the coach with her. An arrow swatted against the carriage body as Isec sat beside her.


    Thaeolai peered past Isec, and she watched as one of the Ardysi archers lit the wooden barricade ablaze, blocking the road to the north. In the foreground, she saw the siekarum again. He faced south now, and he shouted down the road.


    ¡°That¡¯s all!!¡± he bellowed as loud as he could. ¡°Get ¡®em moving!!¡±


    Now the carriages jolted and began to move. The siekarum climbed onto the end of the carriage and grabbed the sheet metal door, and he started to pull it shut ¨C when he stopped, staggered, and stumbled to a knee, arrows climbing up his spine.


    As the carriage moved, the siekarum slid off the end and dragged his legs along the ground, while his hands grasped the metal casing. With wide and frightened eyes, the siekarum pleaded to Isec, and Isec reached for his hand ¨C before another arrow lodged in the siekarum¡¯s neck, and he let go of the carriage, rolling in the dirt behind them.


    Now the carriages started to pick up speed. The remaining Ardysi archers chased after them, shouting hopelessly, but they soon fell, too. Another siephall reached for the sheet metal door¡¯s handle. He started to pull it shut, when ¨C from the flames in the distance ¨C Thaeolai saw two more figures emerging.


    It was Khoulane, and the other siephall who¡¯d stayed back to guard their escape ¨C both of them covered in soot and blood.


    ¡°Wait!!¡± Thaeolai yelled, her head whirling around as blonde strands covered her face. ¡°Wait, we need to wait for them!!¡±


    The demand fell on deaf ears. The carriages did not slow down. And so Thaeolai¡¯s eyes whirled around again, and she watched in horror as the two siephalls sprinted after the carriages, on a long dirt road that only seemed to grow longer.


    Slowly, they closed the gap, and Thaeolai stood. She leaned toward the opening. The others huddled away, and Isec tried to hold Thaeolai back, but she didn¡¯t listen. She leaned forward past the cover of the carriage wall and cupped her hands around her mouth.


    ¡°Keep running!!¡± she pleaded as loud as her lungs allowed. ¡°You can make it!!¡±


    At the sound of her voice, they quickened their steps. Khoulane ducked an arrow and glanced behind him, eyes frantic. The other siephall swayed as he ran, trying to make his path unpredictable. It was only when they got close enough to the carriage that the siephall sped to a bolting pace, and made a direct lunge for the edge.


    ¡°You can make it!!¡± Thaeolai screamed, unconscious tears stinging her eyes.


    The siephall just missed the edge, and he stumbled ¨C but he quickly came to a sprint again and bounded toward the carriage. And with a prying hand, he managed to grab the metal wall. He planted a foot on the floor. Thaeolai held his arm. And as the siephall stabilized himself on the carriage¡¯s edge, he turned back and stretched out a hand for Khoulane.


    ¡°C¡¯mon!!¡± the siephall howled. ¡°C¡¯mon!!¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Khoulane!!¡± Thaeolai cried.


    Khoulane ducked another arrow and lost his footing for a moment. In the distance, the Midan riders were making their way past the lit barricade. Khoulane clutched at his wound and lifted his eyes, and he sped up again, tethered just a few feet behind the running carriage. The siephall nodded to him furiously, reaching out as far as he could.


    ¡°You have to jump for it, c¡¯mon!!¡±


    The carriage¡¯s speed climbed. Khoulane¡¯s legs scampered against the dirt. He breathed and whimpered, and with one last desperate heave, he brought his legs beneath him and surged into the air.


    The boy sprung and launched toward the carriage, and his hand clasped the siephall¡¯s. His foot slipped off the slick metal as he landed, but the siephall secured Khoulane¡¯s other arm and pulled him in, and they both fell to the floor.


    The moment Khoulane landed inside the carriage, Thaeolai grabbed hold of the sheet metal door and slid it all the way shut with a grunt ¨C just as another barrage of arrows scraped against it, hissing and sparking. And then she crumbled against the carriage wall ¨C chest and back heaving, blonde hair amess over her face.


    The horses sped to a gallop, and the armored carriages rode south. Thaeolai sat again, and as she did, she glanced at Khoulane and the other siephall. Still catching their breath, they each offered her a wordless nod. She nodded back.


    It was only when she sat in the silence that Thaeolai noticed the trembling in her hands. She clenched her fists to try and stop it. It would not stop. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her throat shivered as she inhaled.


    After a moment, her emerald eyes rose to the right. She peered through the small slats in the sheet metal. In the far distance, the riders had stopped ¨C ghostly shadows visible against the backdrop of the camp.


    The fires raged. The air was red.

 6. To Pylantheum (Part One)

    Scarlet sky. Olive grass.


    Heror loved the steppes. And so he stayed here a bit longer.


    He sat on a small knoll, beneath the cradle canopy of a savannah tree ¨C letting the soft, rippling blades tickle his ankles and knees. To the west, the sun was setting ¨C a circle of deep red light in a nest of pink and amber cirrus clouds. The wind was constant, as if it was the sun¡¯s last drawing breath, before it submerged and disappeared forever beneath the horizon.


    In the distance, Heror could see Shaadur racing the wild horses. Shaadur had only been gone for a short time, but already, he was the fastest among them. His long silver-gray forelock flapped and fluttered in the breeze, and he bucked his head with joy. Heror wondered if the horse saw any old friends.


    After some time, Heror glanced over his shoulder. Back behind him, to the east, he could see the brilliant orange plateau catching the glow of the parent star. After a full day of riding, he was almost to the desert. He¡¯d rode farther to the west, keeping a wide berth from the camp. He¡¯d kept on his black Ardysi raincloak, to prevent recognition. But even from far away, he hadn¡¯t seen any Midan riders. They must¡¯ve already gone south.


    At the thought, Heror¡¯s breath hopped, and he tried to put his mind on something else. He turned all the way around, shuffling his knees in the grass. And in the far distance, he could just make out the treeline of the forest. For a moment, he smiled.


    And then he remembered Adjaash. He remembered her laugh. And he bowed his head and turned back to the west.


    Shaadur looked happy. Heror wondered if he¡¯d run away. If he¡¯d turn to the west and disappear in the light of the sun, to be with his brothers and sisters again. He wouldn¡¯t have blamed Shaadur ¨C running away from Heror. Shaadur must¡¯ve known what Heror was. He had to know. The animals knew these things. He had every reason to leave him behind. And Heror had every reason to be abandoned.


    Before his thoughts ran too far away from him, Heror rose to his feet. It was getting darker. He cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed in. Then he called out.


    ¡°Shaadur!¡±


    In a few minutes, the horse came bounding back, and he gave Heror an excited greeting. Heror smiled and met the horse with a pat.


    ¡°Did you have fun?¡±


    Now Heror opened the pack behind Shaadur¡¯s saddle. He fed Shaadur an apple and gave him water. Then he fed himself. And then they were off again.


    He wanted to use the night to travel through the desert, as far as he could. The sky was clear, and he could follow the Peak of the Obelisk north. At night, the winds were calmer, and the air was cooler, and no dust stirred. The only threat would be what lay beneath.


    An hour passed as Heror and Shaadur rode, and soon, the tall olive grasses thinned and dissipated. In their place, red canyon rocks rose and fell from the flats, catching the dying light of the sunglow. Burnt sandstone arches and towers climbed from the red depths, casting endless shadows across the land as stars teemed above.


    A half-hour longer, and the sand flowed beneath them.


    Night fell. Constellations dominated the carapace. Clusters of yellow, blue, white, and red stretched across the darkened canvas, beneath the matrix of the galactic ring. The waxing crescent moon still caught the sun¡¯s light, and its glow reflected off the quartz grains below. The dunes rose and fell as if waves in an ocean, sparkling in the low light like water.


    As Shaadur ran at a gallop, Heror found himself glancing up. He¡¯d seen something in the night sky earlier, and now, he saw more of them: Falling stars racing past the idle asterisms. Thin white streaks, with the tails of comets, flashing and fading in flocks of fleeting brightness, by the dozen. He never saw the stars move like this. He wondered where they were going ¨C what was causing them to fall.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    They rode for hours more beneath the clear night sky. And eventually, at a crest, Heror tugged the reins and stopped to rest again. He dismounted his horse and looked out across the sands, clutching his arms at a cool gust of wind. From where he stood, they were in the middle of the desert. In every direction, dunes swelled and layered atop one another. He had no way of knowing how far along they were ¨C but he hoped they were closer.


    Heror opened his pack. He grabbed the nearly-full canteen of water and another apple. And then he took care of his horse again. When Shaadur was done drinking, Heror went to stow the canteen and grab his own. He rummaged through the pack, searching for the second canteen ¨C when all of a sudden, there was a noise.


    A roar of flame rumbled from the sky, and the Aelyum flashed with light. Heror¡¯s eyes lashed to the right, and in the distance, he saw a bright blue fireball climbing down from the heavens, illuminating the air and the dunes as if day. The sight drew a gasp of awe from Heror¡¯s lips. As soon as it flashed, however, the falling star burned up and was gone, and darkness flooded back. But the light and the noise was enough to spook Shaadur.


    The horse reared and whinnied, and Heror jolted back. The young man lifted his hands to try and calm the horse, but Shaadur was already turning away. With another rear and a clop of his hooves, Shaadur whirled around and sped off ¨C down the crest and up another.


    ¡°Shaadur!¡± Heror shouted. ¡°Shaadur!!¡±


    Shaadur disappeared. Heror cupped his hands around his mouth. He shouted louder, stifling a cough inside his dry throat.


    ¡°Shaadur!! Come back!!¡±


    The light winds hummed.


    ¡°Shaadur!!¡±


    There was nothing.


    Angrily, Heror turned away, and he faced the north again. He paced in the sand for a moment, his boots trudging in the soft pack. And then his right hand dropped down to the Sword of Sparhh ¨C its obsidian handle cold to the touch. He stopped. His breath quivered, and now his eyes rose. He saw only the stars.


    ¡°What are you trying to say to me??¡± he demanded.


    Still, there was nothing. The stars fell silently far above, in a shower of light. The moon slept. The fire was gone.


    Heror¡¯s nose curled. He went through the names of the Gods in his head. The names he remembered.


    ¡°Bor¡­ Opela¡­ Pyn¡­¡± Heror pleaded. ¡°What are you trying to say to me?!¡±


    Now his head lashed back around, and he searched for Shaadur across the sands. He could see nothing in the dark. His skin tingled. His hands started to shake. He turned around once more, and he fell to his knees.


    ¡°Speak to me!¡± he said strongly but weakly, his voice fading.


    He felt tears coming, and he shook his head, as if to turn them away. He hung his head for a moment, and then in the quiet, his eyes slowly lifted again. And they set on the desert.


    A wasteland. A sea ¨C an ocean of nothing. For as far as the eye could see, through realms and realms, nothing lived and nothing grew. The black sky swallowed the light, and the dunes echoed faintly ¨C grains made from fossilized remnants of lost hope. This was not death; not even that. Death, at least, was an end. A release. This was an impenetrable void. An icy prison.


    Heror¡¯s blue eyes whispered in the dark. The tears crept back. He did not stop them now.


    ¡°I see¡­¡±


    He gazed out at the dunes, as they caught the pooling light of the falling stars.


    ¡°I see what you¡¯re trying to tell me¡­¡± Heror said faintly.


    His eyes dropped again. His words died in the breeze.


    ¡°Being alone¡­ all alone¡­¡± he breathed. ¡°¡­ This is my sentence¡­¡±


    He closed his eyes. His arms went limp and numb at his sides. His knees dug into the dunecrest. He sat as if a corpse, stiff against the wind.


    Eventually, Heror heard hoofsteps. And Shaadur trotted up the slope again, letting out a neigh of relief at the sight of Heror ¨C as if Heror had been the one who ran away. The horse lowered his head and nuzzled Heror¡¯s face, and Heror slowly stood. He drank water from his half-empty canteen, and then he mounted. And they carried on.


    The cloth felt heavier in his pocket.

 6. To Pylantheum (Part Two)

    They kept riding. The sun rose. The winds picked up.


    Through horizons upon horizons, he went ¨C his raincloak tucked away in his pack, and his cowl drawn over his face. Up golden crests and shaded troughs, under the suffocating blue sky and its unforgiving sun. They rode. They stopped. They rode again. For hours and hours, as the sun climbed and then fell.


    The wind swam across the desert sand ¨C rippling the bluffs, kicking up dust and haze. The light and heat pooled along the desert floor, simmering in a woebegone mist. To the east, a sandstorm spun and sifted up, roaming as a traveler on the waves.


    At sunset, Heror drank his canteen dry ¨C and his throat still longed for respite. He found a small, shaded hollow protected from the gales, underneath the half-collapsed marble roof of a temple. He dismounted and led Shaadur inside. Then he tended to Shaadur, and they rested in the shadow. Heror slept on the sand.


    In the deep of night, Heror woke and stirred his horse. He found the north star just above the crescent moon, and they picked up where they left off. In the dark, it was cool and silent. The way forward was clear.


    Heror didn¡¯t stop again until dawn. The sun returned to greet him with a solemn amber glow. Stopping atop another dune, Heror dismounted Shaadur and landed hard in the sand, wincing at the aches in his joints.


    By now, the wind had chafed his face, and sand caked his brown curls of hair. He sat down to rest for a moment, crossing his legs, and he tried to assuage the dry skin with his fingers. As he ran his hand across his chin, he felt a thin beard hugging his jaw ¨C patchy at the cheeks. He sighed; it had never grown in this much before. The elves would¡¯ve cursed at the sight.


    Now Heror leaned back, letting his hands dig into the sand. And he cast his eyes out over the desert ahead of him.


    It was going to be another clear, sun-cooked day ¨C as if there was any other kind of day in this forsaken place. As the sun slowly rose from the east, the underlying layer of brown haze was visible to Heror again. The haze blocked his view perhaps ten miles out, and before it, there was nothing but sand.


    Heror frowned. By his estimate ¨C traveling in the desert for nearly 36 hours, with few stops inbetween, at the speed Shaadur was running ¨C they¡¯d covered over 200 miles. The ground was not level, which made it more difficult. But even after all this time, Heror couldn¡¯t be sure if he¡¯d moved at all. All this time, and the great desert Sparhha still had no end.


    His mind went back to his dwindling supplies, but only for a moment. There was no use worrying. The only option was to keep going. If he was ever going to punch through the desert and emerge on the other side, there was no time to feel uncertain.


    And so he mounted Shaadur and started once again to the north ¨C faster this time. Over the dunes, they pressed on ¨C past discarded stone slabs and temples and blackened wooden chariots half-buried in the sand. Past lonely wayshrines and windblown rubble. And then, as the sun reached its apex at midday, Heror saw it at last.


    He only caught a glimpse at first, as he crested and then descended a dune. And so he waited until he crested again to get a better look. And when he summited the next swell of sand, he indeed saw what he had hoped.


    The brown haze still refused to part ¨C but this sight was so brilliant it pierced through the dust. It stood far in the distance to the northwest: A massive, snow-capped mountain towering over the land, its icy peak shining brightly in the sunlight, as glaciers flowed down its creviced walls. In the foreground before the peak, rows of stony badlands and foothills lay marking the edge of the desert. At last, Heror could see the dunes¡¯ end. And the true Kingdom of Pylantheum waited beyond.


    Now Heror smiled. He gave Shaadur a firm and warm pat on the side, tousling the horse¡¯s hair.


    ¡°We made it, Shaadur,¡± Heror marveled. ¡°You did so well¡­¡±


    Shaadur sang lightly. Heror smiled for a moment longer, before focus returned. He took a deep breath, then tightened his grip on the reins again and ventured ahead.


    Soon, the soft plush of sand gave way to the crackling of brittle rock beneath Shaadur¡¯s feet. And as the sands receded, Heror entered the badlands. Dry and pale hills striped with reds and yellows rose and fell and stacked, all the way to the horizon¡¯s edge. Canyons and gullies outlined steep faces and flats, speckled with golden poppies and aloe vera leaves and sage plants and dry grasses. Alongside a stream at the bottom, a herd of mule deer grazed on the greens. Across the way, a horned goat climbed.


    Heror rode atop a ridge for around an hour, and as quickly as the badlands appeared, they too faded. And Heror and Shaadur wandered into a vast open plain with long golden grasses ¨C winds washing through the fields as thick, white tufts of cumulus drifted overhead. At the northern foot of the plains, Heror saw the mountains. The low-sloping highlands were densely packed with dark green forests ¨C an inexplicable gap in the rain shadow. And beyond, the snow-capped sierras stood, dominating the Aelyum ¨C a central peak towering above the rest.


    Heror still felt the dryness of the desert on his back, but the air was noticeably cooler and lighter in the northern plains. He looked to the west, and in the far distance, he saw more mountains appearing across the horizon, layering and layering until the eye could see no more. The cold air from the peaks drifted east and dulled the heat of the sun. He had never seen mountains so large, so white, so numerous, or so captivating as these. The Mides had paled in comparison.


    In the middle of the plains, deer and elk and buffalo populated the expanse by the hundreds. As Shaadur rode, he carved through the clans and crowds, galloping gallantly against the wind. Buffalo gave him acknowledging yet indifferent glances, and the deer lifted their ears with curiosity. Shaadur greeted them in passing, while Heror kept his eyes ahead.


    As they rode, the sun fell. Afternoon became evening, and evening warned of dusk. The red sun set in the west, in a golden skyflow, beneath an iridescent halo of saucer-shaped lenticulari hovering over the heights. And by lightfall, Heror and Shaadur finally reached the base of the highlands. It was here that Heror found a sign of civilization: A matted dirt road, circling the verdant edge of a crystal clear lake.


    The lake ¨C small and confined ¨C was backed by sloping rocks ¨C fed by a glacial melt system that trickled down the mountains, fueled by warmth of Kynvalen. And all along the edges, thick and dark pine trees stood in communion, their arms folded in stoic silence, and their needles intertwined.


    At the sight of clear water, Heror¡¯s parched and dry throat suddenly became drier, and he clamored off his horse. He ran to the water¡¯s edge and dropped to his knees, and then he cupped his hands and drank and drank, and washed his face until his lips were cold. For a moment, he sat back on his knees, closed his eyes, and breathed ¨C when he heard an impatient whinny from Shaadur behind him. Heror smiled small and let out a sigh.


    ¡°Hang on, hang on. I¡¯ll be right there.¡±


    Heror went and grabbed the horse¡¯s canteen, and he gave Shaadur water. Then he filled both of his canteens to the brim from the freshwater lake, and he stowed them away. He ate a bit of dried meat, and picked the strings from his teeth with his Midan toothpick. And then his eyes went back to the water, and an image reappeared in his mind.


    Seeing the water against the rocks, Heror instinctively pulled his kinship cloth from his pouch. He unrolled it and spread it out between his hands, and he studied it once more.


    It was an intricately-woven cloth, made of Pylanthean designs and weaving patterns. Stitched along the edges, blue waves rolled and rolled, and on the left side, a jagged cliff lay. On that cliff, a lone wolf stood, stray fletchings of cloth acting as fur, dangling in the calm air of dusk. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched in dark gray thread.


    Heran.


    Heror looked at the cloth, and then he looked up again. The rocks were smooth, not jagged. There were no waves in the lake. There was no wolf perched atop the stones. But he was getting closer. He could feel it on the air.


    He glanced to the east. Then he glanced to the west. Perhaps it was the color of the sunset playing tricks on his eyes, but the way looked greener to the west, and so he mounted Shaadur and started off in that direction, traveling along the dirt road.


    In his head, as Shaadur¡¯s hooves clopped beneath him, Heror thought over his options. Finding civilization was the first step toward accomplishing both of his current goals: To resupply, and to find information about his family. There was little he could do besides ask around ¨C and deep down, he still wondered if it was an entirely futile pursuit. But someone had to know of them. Someone had to.


    He pressed on to the west. To the north, the highlands climbed from the land and reached for the snow-capped crags. To the south, the plains rolled and rolled, all the way up to the southern horizon ¨C a vast and flat precursor for the brilliant rises northward.


    As Heror rode, the dirt path skewed farther into the plains, and the northern mountains receded just a bit, giving way to thick pine forests dotted with boulders. Ahead, the western peaks still towered over the Aelyum, and eventually, they blocked the light of the falling sun, leaving the land awash only in afterglow. The golden sky turned orange. Orange turned red. And red faded into blue and black. And still, Heror rode.


    The stars were out when Heror saw the first light in the distance. He had seen the glow and the dance of torchlight too many times to mistake it for anything else, and so he quickened his pace, urging Shaadur onward with a nudge of his shins.


    As he grew closer, the source of the light was revealed to him. At the base of an encroaching rock slope, with thick forest on either side, a small and peaceful village sat. Still far away, Heror estimated around three-dozen buildings ¨C crude, steep-roofed cottages made of wood, and lit in the front by torches. There was a housebarn on the eastern side of the village, lined with rows of winter wheat. And toward the center, a wooden tower house stood ¨C perhaps a watchtower, a lodging house, or a place of worship.


    Heror was roughly two hundred yards away now ¨C and it was here that he slowed down and ushered his horse to stop. Doubt crept into his mind. It was almost the dead of night now; would he be welcomed in to stay? Who would have the information he sought? Would they even help him? Or would they turn him away? Would they recognize he was half-elf? Of course they would¡­


    It was through this anxious thread of thoughts that Heror realized how new all of this was. He had never traveled on his own to an unknown village, in an unfamiliar place ¨C and even less sought out knowledge in these places. Where would he even seek out this knowledge? He remembered Ucankacei¡¯s stories of traveling in the west, and how he¡¯d asked for directions and general information at taverns and visitor houses called ¡®inns¡¯. Perhaps Heror could start there.


    Just as he began to brush away his concerns, however, another flared back to face Heror. He thought about Ardys, and how unwelcome he¡¯d been in the Jeweled City. Why would it be any different here?


    But then Heror took a deep, calming breath, and his eyes dropped down to the road beneath him. By now, they were dried and fossilized in the dirt ¨C but hidden in the hard-packed grains beneath him, in the dim light of the stars and crescent moon, he saw dozens of horse hooves and footsteps. These roads were well-traveled. One more traveler wouldn¡¯t make a difference.


    After another moment of thought, Heror dismounted. He went to his pack, opened it, and pulled out the rolled black raincloak. He¡¯d stowed it in the desert, but now he needed it again. The night air was cool, but he was not using it for warmth. He pulled the cloak past his head and shoulders, and then he drew up the hood, over curls of brown. The hood would cover his ears, at least. Maybe now he could pass for a pure-blooded Pylanthean. He hoped his bright eyes wouldn¡¯t betray him.


    Now Heror stepped up to the stirrup and mounted his horse again, and they trotted onward. As he neared the nightswept village, he ran through his plan. Again, again, and once more in his head. His eyes trained on the tower house tucked behind the cottages. His mind silently raced, as his thumbs pressed into the reins.


    Find the inn, ask about the Heran family. Find the inn, ask about the Heran family. Find the inn, ask about the¡­


    A flash of orange disrupted his mental ramblings. He halted in his tracks.


    He was about one hundred yards away now ¨C and one of the northern cottages caught fire. At first, he thought he was imagining it through exhaustion; perhaps it was just the torchlight pooling in his sight as he approached. But then another caught fire. And another. And another ¨C ravenous flames climbing the walls and lighting the hay insulation ablaze.


    And then came the screams. And the war cries.


    From a mountain pass hidden past the slopes, dozens of shadow warriors sprinted into the fire¡¯s glow, swords and axes flashing in the light. Women and children ran from the homes, and armed men came out to fight. A chorus of metal clashes crescendoed. Shaadur let out a low cry. Looking on with eyes of concern, Heror squeezed his shins and pulled the reins to the left. He thought it best to get off the road.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Heror steered into the forest lining the road, and he approached the village from the side. Keeping a wide berth, he watched as the fires overtook the houses one by one. Through the trees and the leaves, he could see warriors on horseback torching the houses, as more and more women and children were drawn into the open, screams echoing in the night. They were tied up and taken captive, while an unarmed elderly man was slain where he stood. Many of the men had already been cut down. Several laid down their weapons in surrender. As soon as the fighting began, it was over.


    Heror furrowed his brow, squinting in the low light. And just as he trained his eye on the fires, something else caught his eye. Out of a bush in the shadow, he saw a young woman emerge from hiding, and she started to run. She sprinted through a small clearing, toward the southern woods ¨C where Heror lingered. She only made it halfway, however, when her eyes rose and widened. And Heror realized that she saw him ¨C the blue glow of his eyes revealing his position in the dark.


    Now the woman froze, and Heror¡¯s heart jumped. She stared at him ¨C fear etched across her face. Heror started to shake his head ¨C to try and tell her he wasn¡¯t one of them ¨C but as soon as he did, he heard a shout to the left. One of the horsemen had doubled back, and galloped toward the woman. And before she could run, the horseman swiped her away, as she screamed and dragged her feet in the dirt.


    Heror¡¯s eyes bulged in horror, but it wasn¡¯t long before sudden movement from Shaadur brought him out of his daze. Shaadur shrieked and staggered and lurched to the right, and as Heror glanced left, he saw a second horseman streaking toward him. The horseman swung a chained double-club of sorts in his hands, and before Heror could react, the horseman lashed the club toward Heror.


    The blunt end of the nunchuck grazed Heror¡¯s forehead, and as Shaadur reared up, Heror fell to the ground and rolled. Shaadur kicked and ran, and just as Heror stood and reached for his swords, the horseman dashed around him and flared the chains again. Now they wrapped around Heror¡¯s neck and tightened. The club slapped the side of his head, and he was violently scraped to the ground. The chain tugged him only for a moment, but it was enough to cause Heror to gag, lose his breath, and coil in pain.


    Now the horseman stopped suddenly, and he dismounted in a rush. He ran to Heror and untangled the chains. Then he sat Heror up and pinned his arms behind him. Before Heror could catch his breath again, his hands were tied behind his back. The horseman looped his chain through the rope, and then he mounted and began to ride, and Heror was tugged backwards ¨C forced to follow toward the flames.


    As he was pulled away by his bound hands, Heror felt his pulse race. He could only see the orange light of the fires on the forest trees, but as they grew closer, he felt the heat on his back. Over his shoulder, he heard a low voice ring out in the night.


    ¡°Take the unfit to the camp for preparation! Gather the men in the town center¡­¡±


    Heror planted his foot and tried to break free. The horseman tugged the chains tighter, pulling Heror off-balance. He squirmed and grunted and stumbled, but it was no use. And soon, he saw fires on either side of him, as bloodied cobbles crunched beneath his feet.


    As the horseman led him into town, the first of his captors came into view. They were crudely armored raiders ¨C with only straps of leather and fur-covered sashes and pauldrons, and long braids of brown and blonde and black hair. Streaked across their faces and arms were designs of red war paint. And on their arms, some markings were joined by thorn-piercing tattoos. Blood dripped from their swords. Some eyed Heror, as his nose curled from beneath his hood.


    And then Heror was forced around by the chain. He stumbled, and when he regained his balance and looked up, he was at the foot of the tower house. It itself was untouched by the fires, but the orange glow surrounded them, as the village houses slowly fell to its rage. More slain defenders lay in the foreground, as raiders roamed and loomed above them, some of them carrying loot from the village center.


    Heror felt the chain release from his bonds again, and then he was forced to his knees. And as he glanced to his left, he saw a dozen other men bonded and forced down as he was. Some bowed their heads and trembled. Some were bruised and beaten and barely conscious. Some stared ahead, eyes empty.


    Now Heror cast his eyes forward, and as he did, he saw a taller man approaching, fur-lined boots trudging in the dirt. The man¡¯s footsteps were heavy, and his figure imposing. His head was shaved, and his brown beard long and thick ¨C save for a bald spot where a scar stretched across his left cheek. A stroke of red war paint dropped from his right eye as if a tear. Similar thorn-piercing tattoos snaked down his arms in scarred laurels. The only armor he wore ¨C aside for strips and garbs of fur ¨C was a dark metal chestplate that bore a strange white symbol, like a bulb and a claw of ice.


    As Heror observed the man, another captive at the far end of the row began to whimper and cry out.


    ¡°Please¡­ mighty Phrox¡­ please spare us¡­¡± the captive managed through gasps. ¡°Please find it in your heart to show us mercy¨C¡±


    The man called Phrox stepped toward the pleading captive, and without delay, he unsheathed a notched, red-tinted longsword with white markings, and let forth a monstrous swing, tearing the captive¡¯s neck at the base. The captive¡¯s discarded remains slumped in the dirt. Blood spilled. Now the man stepped away and turned to the rest of the row. He spoke, voice heavy with a direct, unflinching gravitas.


    ¡°Beg for mercy and you make my decision easy.¡±


    Now Heror saw his eyes in the frenzy of the fires ¨C dark, beady, and bloodshot. The man spoke again.


    ¡°You men have dishonored yourselves and shown weakness through surrender and capture,¡± Phrox continued. ¡°Now a Proving must commence.¡±


    Phrox paused to ensure their attention, and then he went on.


    ¡°The Gods are bargaining,¡± Phrox declared. ¡°This, the motion of fate. Eemoten fayeh skae. The Haakhraath ¨C the Great Upheaval, the End ¨C will soon be upon us. Knepfr promises haven to the strong. Those who survive the trials of the land and give him tribute. Pledge yourselves to Him, and you may purchase your honor back through servitude.¡±


    Phrox stepped to the end of the row again, as raiders stood encircling the captives. The leader knelt down in front of the next prisoner and planted his blade in the ground. Heror watched as Phrox stared into the man¡¯s eyes with his own, with a strange curiosity. His pupils went thin. His thick brows raised.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Phrox asked the captive.


    ¡°B-b¡­ Balor¡­¡± the captive stammered.


    ¡°Balor,¡± Phrox droned. ¡°Do you pledge yourself to Knepfr?¡±


    ¡°Y-yes¡­¡± Balor managed through shakes and trembles, his nose watering. ¡°I pledge m-myself¡­ to Knepfr¡­¡±


    Phrox stared at him ¨C studied him ¨C unblinking. A stinging, stabbing silence settled in between the fires. The black air hissed above. Shadows trembled across Phrox¡¯s face in the warping light. And then his lip curled downward.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡±


    In a mammoth motion, Phrox stood, raised his red sword, and stabbed down through the captive¡¯s head. He lodged his blade and then tore it free, and this captive too melted to the ground.


    Heror¡¯s breath retched, and now his mind raced. His wrists tugged at the rope, but it was tough. It only gave so much. He needed to weaken the threading somehow. His heart pounded, in his chest and his ears.


    Phrox knelt in front of the next captive, resting on his sword.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Elar¡­ mighty Phrox¡­¡±


    ¡°Do you pledge yourself to Knepfr?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ absolutely. I pledge myself to Knepfr.¡±


    ¡°Mm¡­ I am not convinced.¡±


    Again, Heror heard the rip of flesh against metal. He tugged his wrists harder, gritting his teeth.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Ikard, great Phrox.¡±


    ¡°Ikard, do you pledge yourself to Knepfr?¡±


    ¡°I hereby pledge myself to the God of the Proving Grounds, almighty Knepfr.¡±


    ¡°Your reverence is false.¡±


    Another slice of skin and tendons. Heror gave up on the rope. His thoughts hurried and overlapped and circled back¡­ and then he remembered the Midan toothpick. He¡¯d stowed it in his trouser pocket after picking his teeth clean. He could feel it poking against his thigh.


    The fifth captive stood and turned to run, but before he could escape, Phrox slashed, and red droplets flecked above. Heror leaned back on his knees and shook his pockets. The toothpick inched downward, toward the pocket¡¯s lip.


    ¡°You. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Bor sees your treacherous deeds, you heathen¨C¡±


    Another tear. Another croak. Heror jolted back again, careful not to draw their attention. The toothpick hung out of his pocket now ¨C its wide end snagged on the fabric. He wiggled his right hip back, and the toothpick clattered to the dirt, just below his bound hands. He strained his wrists and reached.


    Another inquiry from Phrox. This one went unanswered. There was another swing. The pungence of blood mingled with smoke-husk.


    Heror stretched his fingers. His wrists flexed the rope. He grazed the stone toothpick¡¯s edge.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Metal and flesh. Heror¡¯s fingers clasped the toothpick. He tried to twist his wrist. He lost his grip, and it fell again.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Metal and flesh. Heror cursed silently and reached again. He trained his fingers around the flat ends, and then he pressed down. His grip was stronger this time. Carefully, he twisted his wrist and brought the pick to the rope¡¯s edge.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Heror pressed the toothpick inside the rope, and then he chiseled outward, cutting at the threading with the sharp end. Slowly, in the dark, the threadings started to tear.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Behind his back, discreetly, Heror sawed with the sharp end. He made an inlet, and he dug into it. He could feel the rope¡¯s knot loosening. He carved into the stitches.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    That would have to do. Heror dropped the toothpick to the dirt again, and he pulled outward with his wrists. The ropes started to break.


    And now, as he looked down, he saw the boots of Phrox enter his sight. He glanced to the left and saw the bodies. His eyes dropped again, his face shrouded.


    Phrox planted his sword and knelt down in front of Heror. Heror could feel his bloodshot stare.


    ¡°Remove his hood,¡± Phrox said to a raider nearby. ¡°I will look upon this one¡¯s face.¡±


    A raider came from the right and removed Heror¡¯s hood, and all of his features were revealed to them ¨C his matted and curled brown hair, his dull skin, his angled ears, and his burning eyes of sapphire. Heror looked up with a glare. His eyes met Phrox¡¯s, as the flames raged.


    The raider apparently noticed Heror¡¯s elvish features quickly, for he took a sudden step back and let out a gasp of disgust. Heror heard more noises of discontent from the group beyond.


    ¡°It¡¯s one a¡¯them knife-eared toffs!¡± the raider hissed. ¡°Kill ¡®im!!¡±


    Several other raiders echoed the command ¨C but Phrox did not move. His eyes trained on Heror.


    ¡°The haven of Knepfr is attainable by all,¡± Phrox reminded his men. ¡°So long as they pledge themselves to Him¡­¡±


    The dead taunted Heror from his periphery. His eyes fell. He tested the ropes. They would sever with one more tug.


    ¡°What is your name?¡±


    Heror readied his wrists. His nose twitched.


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    Phrox¡¯s eyes did not move.


    ¡°Heror¡­¡±


    Heror¡¯s foot slid forward, just a bit.


    ¡°Do you pledge yourself to Knepfr?¡±


    Heror tore the ropes free and surged to his feet. His hands lashed for his twin swords, and he unfurled them both at once, just barely blocking a heavy slash from Phrox¡¯s blade. The force rippled through Heror¡¯s arms. Sparks flew and fluttered in the dirt. The raiders brandished their swords again. Heror stepped back and readied his stance, dual blades catching the orange glow.


    ¡°Dirty halfling!!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get what¡¯s coming to you¡­¡±


    The raiders started to advance, when Phrox raised a fist and stopped them. Now Heror¡¯s eyes fixed on the leader. Phrox took a step to the side, his face all too calm.


    ¡°I like this one,¡± Phrox commented. ¡°He is strong.¡±


    Heror took another step back. Phrox looked on, and then he nodded.


    ¡°You may go, Heror.¡±


    Heror¡¯s mouth opened in cautious surprise. There were murmurs among the other warriors. Phrox nodded again, and then he repeated the word ¨C as if releasing prey for the coming chase.


    ¡°Go,¡± Phrox implored. ¡°Join the hunt. We will see you again.¡±


    Before the man could change his mind, Heror whirled around and sprinted away, brushing by the raiders. He dashed through climbing chasms of wildfire ¨C past scorched piles of wood and rubble ¨C and then he emerged from light into dark.


    Now Heror sheathed his swords. With the heat at his back, his eyes scavenged the shadowy corridors of the forest. His breath started to shake. He cupped his mouth in his hands.


    ¡°Shaadur!!¡± he called desperately.


    His voice echoed in the night, and soon, he heard the rhythm of hooves. Shaadur rushed to Heror¡¯s side from beyond, whinnying with fright. Heror quickly mounted his horse and gripped the reins, and with a flick, he started off ¨C in no direction at all.


    Only away.

 7. Warmth Long Passed

    ¡°Flick¡­ flick¡­¡±


    Adjaash gently flicked Ashanji¡¯s ear. The horse had been sleeping, but now she softly blinked her eyes open and glanced at Adjaash. Adjaash giggled.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯m sorry¡­ I¡¯ll stop.¡±


    Ashanji closed her eyes again and let out a gruff breath. Adjaash lifted her head off her leather pack and groaned. Her smile faded. Her joints ached.


    The Midan highlands had no shortage of caves and rock inlets, hidden behind the vines. For this, Adjaash was thankful. She was even more thankful that it was summertime. The bears would use these dens to hibernate in Wilvalen and Marvalen. But in the warmer months, they often lingered farther down the slopes, in the thick green forests of the river basin, where the water and fish were more plentiful. She always checked and treaded lightly, of course ¨C but this den was empty.


    She¡¯d found the cave just before nightfall, on the day of their deadly encounter with the cougar. Then she¡¯d bandaged her cut. But when she awoke the next morning and removed the bandaging, the cut on her wrist was red, clouded, and swollen, and she shivered and coughed. It could¡¯ve been any number of diseases hidden in the wilds. It mattered little. Despite her precautions, she had fallen ill.


    Nevertheless, Adjaash prepared for this, just as she prepared for everything. Before leaving the Midan camp, she¡¯d stored medicines. A small flask of water, with the dissolved powder of the raama root inside, would help her body fight the infection. And with luck and rest, it would run its course. She hoped it was a tamer sickness. Some terrible afflictions, even she could not protect herself from.


    She decided she¡¯d reserve the day to rest. One day became two. Now it was late again. The crickets chanted in the dark beyond the walls. She promised herself she wouldn¡¯t make it three.


    Every now and then, she cursed to herself; she was losing valuable time. By now, the floodwaters might¡¯ve receded enough to traverse the river basin ¨C but she didn¡¯t know if she¡¯d be able to find her way back through the tangles without going off course. She lamented her own lack of patience. Perhaps it would¡¯ve been a better course of action to simply wait.


    But at least there was solace in this: She knew where Heror was going. He was going to Pylantheum. That was the only place he would go. She just hoped he wouldn¡¯t get himself killed along the way.


    Now she forced out a small laugh. For Heror, that was a lot to ask.


    A certain fondness faded back, and she brushed it away. She sat up and leaned against the cave wall, scraping her back against the rough striations in the rock. Her eyes went to the opposite corner, where a lit torch sat perched between several boulders. She¡¯d lit the torch so she could see in the dark and sort through her supplies. But now, as she began to drift off again, its light and its crackling gave off a peaceful ambience.


    Now her throat tickled, and she coughed again. Her breath grew lighter, and shivers ran up her spine, and she soon erupted into a coughing fit, hacking and sputtering in the hollow air of the den. Ashanji¡¯s eyes parted open once more, and the horse craned her muzzle forward, grazing Adjaash¡¯s shoulder. Adjaash let the last of her weak, raspy coughs escape. Then she caught her breath, as her hand pressed into her horse¡¯s mane.


    ¡°Shit,¡± she muttered to herself, through another strained exhale.


    To combat the tremors and chills, she found herself using her torn blanket ¨C to her surprise and sullen displeasure. Nevertheless, she did her best to make herself comfortable. The rock floor was rough, but the leather pack elevated her head as she laid down. She tucked her legs and let her hair fall over her eyes.


    ¡°Tomorrow, we¡¯ll get going again, Ashanji,¡± Adjaash whispered. ¡°I promise.¡±


    Ashanji bowed her head and closed her eyes again. Feeble breezes crept into the cave from the forest grounds. The chirp of the crickets, the ember-song of the torch ¨C these were the only other sounds.


    Adjaash sighed and readjusted her shoulder, and then she slumped onto her makeshift pack pillow. As she did, her shark tooth necklace escaped from her poncho and her blanket, and dropped over her chest.


    With tired eyes, she watched it dangle. And then she took the necklace in her hand. She ran the pads of her fingertips against the smooth and slaten backs of the teeth. She poked the sharp points of the denticles. Then she palmed the encased red-orange gemstone at the center ¨C the hearth.


    As she felt it, she heard the waves again ¨C an echo of a memory. She closed her eyes once more. And then she saw it.


    The waves and whitecaps washed against the sandy shore, on the backs of the boundless wind. Brilliant red arches and pillars towered farther down the beach, capped by deep green snares of vines and trees that seemed to spill over the rocky tops. The sky was a deep blue ¨C the deepest it ever was ¨C as if all of the world¡¯s beauty had pooled to this place.


    There was a confluence of color below the tides, as churning ocean blues tried and failed to hide sprawling reefs. Beneath a layer of dancing algaes giving off viridian and skobeloff and aquamarine, corals of pink and red and indigo and marigold linked and clustered, until they winged and climbed out across the shallow ocean floor ¨C teeming with movement and life.


    Adjaash felt the wind and the warmth. She opened her eyes and looked down.


    Bare soot-colored toes tucked in beneath loose sands. Loose grains kissed her arches and heels.


    She was young here. And Ashbashenu was even younger. Adjaash could see her sister hurrying along the shore in her cloth shawl and wrapped dress ¨C kneeling down at every little piece of ocean waste that might have been interesting. Ashbashenu couldn¡¯t have been more than six at this point.


    Ashbashenu was young enough that she hadn¡¯t cut her hair yet. Adjaash was old enough to know she had to protect her.


    ¡°Ashba!¡± Adjaash warned in Torwan above the breeze. ¡°Watch out for urchins!¡±


    Ashbashenu might¡¯ve heard her; Adjaash had no way of knowing. The young child crouched down on the soft and wave-sodden beach. Her eyes traced the silt and sand grains with wonder, until wonder became excited recognition. Her hands shot forward. She dug something out of the dust, and then she stood and scampered back toward Adjaash, locks of black hair whipping in front of her face. She held out a small black shark tooth, as bracelets clacked around her wrist.


    ¡°Adjaash, see? There¡¯s another!¡± Ashbashenu exclaimed. ¡°I¡¯m up to ten now!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s amazing, Ashba,¡± Adjaash yawned. ¡°You¡¯ve almost caught up to me.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have close to ten!¡± Ashbashenu scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re barely even looking!¡±


    ¡°Well, I have twelve in my secret stash, so¡­¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have a stash.¡±


    ¡°Yes I do.¡±


    ¡°No you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do.¡±


    But by now, Ashbashenu¡¯s attention had fluttered elsewhere ¨C as it did so often. Her eyes went to the ground again, and there was another ping of recognition as her shoulders tensed. She let out an unconscious ¡°oh¡± and knelt down, pinching yet another small shark tooth within her fingers. She launched to her feet, almost too fast.


    ¡°Eleven!!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± Adjaash shrugged. ¡°You almost have as much as me.¡±


    Ashbashenu let out a gruff sigh and swung her arms.


    ¡°You do not have a stash,¡± the younger sibling pressed.


    ¡°Yes I do,¡± Adjaash chimed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t have a stash, Adjaash,¡± Ashbashenu lamented, now addressing the possibility of foul play from her sister. ¡°It¡¯s not fair.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Adjaash shrugged again, matter-of-factly: ¡°¡­ I have a stash.¡±


    Ashbashenu¡¯s next sigh was more annoyed. She leaned to the side and peered past Adjaash.


    ¡°Whaea!!¡± Ashbashenu whined. ¡°Adjaash says she has a stash! Tell her that¡¯s against the rules!¡±


    ¡°Just ignore her, Ashbashenu¡­¡±


    Ashbashenu let out a final sigh ¨C one of unwilling surrender. And then she turned to Adjaash, closed her eyes, and turned her nose up in defiance.


    ¡°I¡¯m ignoring you, Adjaash,¡± Ashbashenu declared.


    And then she turned and joined the hunt again. Adjaash grinned mischievously and cupped her hands.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how that works, Ashba!¡±


    But Ashbashenu was gone ¨C back to her archaeological pursuits. Adjaash watched as the young child bounded down the seashore, stirring gulls and orange-billed plovers that fed in the sand.


    As the child went, Adjaash¡¯s eyes squinted. Ashbashenu was running fast, and careless. Adjaash stepped forward, and was about to call out again with another warning ¨C when she heard a calming voice behind her.


    ¡°Let her be, Adjaash,¡± the voice said. ¡°She¡¯ll be safe.¡±


    Now Adjaash turned. She had always been told she bore an uncanny resemblance to her birth mother, and in the bright light of day, she couldn¡¯t deny that she saw it, too. As her birth mother stood behind her, Adjaash watched her long brown-silver hair dance in the wind. She saw the bands of iridescence along the strands. She saw the same firm and quiet determination on her mother¡¯s heart-shaped face, that she strived to achieve herself.


    Adjaash had many mothers, but her birth mother was her favorite. Ashweban was a slightly taller woman, long and slender ¨C taller than Adjaash and all the other young ones. By now, Adjaash had grown already; she knew she¡¯d never reach her mother¡¯s height in stature. But her mother was a natural at all things. That, at least, Adjaash could hope to emulate.


    In the forest and in the villages, Ashweban wore long linens and loose garbs. But here on the beach, she didn¡¯t hesitate to indulge in her comfort. A two-piece linen suit and cloth was much more breathable, and so Adjaash followed her example. Simple comfort wasn¡¯t always smiled upon in the villages. But when she made time for her daughters, Ashweban always made sure to tell them they could be free ¨C even in the little ways.


    Adjaash enjoyed sharing this freedom with her mother, but she envied her mother¡¯s necklaces. The adults of the village all carried them with pride. And by now, Ashweban had accumulated at least a half-dozen strings and pendants around her neck. Loops of vibrant beads in intricate hot and cold-colored designs. Painted animal bones strung on thread, to commemorate the cycle of life the foragers respected so. But the most enthralling, in Adjaash¡¯s opinion, was the jeweled necklace that hung lower than the others.


    It was a simple thread necklace, with no adornments but a small red-orange gemstone sat locked in an intricate rose gold metal casing, shaped like a sphere of branches and leaves. Ashweban never told Adjaash how she¡¯d gotten it; Adjaash assumed it was from one of the village jewelers. But she wasn¡¯t sure even they could make something so perfect. So detailed, yet so lacking in waste.


    She envied it, of course ¨C but she did not want it. Adjaash would have to make her own necklaces. Their secrets of substance, she would have to find on her own. This honor-bound path, she too held dear.


    Adjaash sent one last look in her sister¡¯s direction. And then, at the behest of her mother, she forced herself to let her be, and she joined the search. The light was good beneath the early afternoon sun, and with her trained eyes, it didn¡¯t take long for Adjaash to catch up to her sister ¨C honorably this time.


    By now, the ancient tides had brought onto the shore a layer of remnants and relics from the ocean floor of the past. And some organisms still lived among them. In a bedding of soft, fine-grained sands, a conglomeration of rippled shells and slick-sided clams and banded tulip cocoons and worn fish bones lay undisturbed. As Adjaash¡¯s feet crunched in the stratus, a whelk extended its legs from a conch and scurried away. She smiled and knelt, picking up a half-inch shark tooth from the ground ¨C feeling its black, slated texture.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The sun drifted in the deep blue sky-flow. Adjaash traced the shoreline as the waves hummed to her right, eyes every-so-often glancing up to make sure Ashbashenu hadn¡¯t wandered out of sight. As her eyes drifted down again, she caught a glimpse of another sharktooth hiding in the gleaming detritus. It tried to evade her sight beneath two scallop shells, leaving only a sliver of dark for her to see. But it underestimated Adjaash¡¯s sharp eye.


    She stowed this one and let her hand fish around inside her pocket, fingers climbing from one tooth to the next as they clacked together. She was up to eleven now.


    Now she sensed that her eyes had left Ashbashenu for too long, and she looked up in a rush. But to her relief, Ashbashenu was running back toward her now ¨C a smile on her face.


    ¡°Adjaash! Adjaash!¡± Ashbashenu called, eager to reveal her spoils. ¡°How many do you have now?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-three,¡± Adjaash chimed; it was only a half-lie this time. ¡°Counting my stash.¡±


    Ashbashenu let out a frustrated groan, then eyed her sister with suspicion.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t believe you,¡± the young girl said with defiance.


    Adjaash smirked, as Ashbashenu now made her way past her sister, to her mother who lingered behind them. Eagerly, Ashbashenu gathered her plunder, and she cupped the cluster of dark shark teeth in her hands ¨C lifting them with such vigor that she almost dropped a couple.


    ¡°Whaea, look!!¡± Ashbashenu exclaimed. ¡°I got thirteen of them!¡±


    ¡°I see, Ashbashenu!¡± Ashweban cooed. ¡°That¡¯s wonderful.¡±


    ¡°I got more than Adjaash even!¡± Ashbashenu reveled.


    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t,¡± Adjaash teased.


    ¡°Yes, I did!¡±


    Ashweban let out a laugh ¨C a soft, heartful laugh that warmed Adjaash¡¯s skin when she heard it.


    ¡°You both get so competitive,¡± their mother mused. ¡°Now both of you, come here¡­¡±


    Ashbashenu skipped to her mother and stood up straight. Adjaash stepped toward her mother slowly, with curious eyes. Embraced by her closeness, they waited. And then Ashweban held out her cupped hands.


    ¡°Give me what you found.¡±


    Ashbashenu was hesitant at first, eyes narrowing in suspicion. But at the insistence of her mother¡¯s soft smile, she begrudgingly handed over her treasure. Adjaash did so without reservation. Ashweban took the shark teeth in her hands, and then she clasped her right hand over her left. And inside the closed cage of her palms, she shook and shuffled the teeth, so that they mixed together with crisp clacks and raps. Ashbashenu¡¯s eyes went wide, as she now realized she wouldn¡¯t be able to recognize her own.


    ¡°Wait, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Ashbashenu,¡± mother assured her.


    For a moment longer, Ashweban mixed the teeth together. And then she stopped. She opened her hands again, and held them out to her daughters.


    ¡°Each of you, take half.¡±


    Ashweban held her hands to Ashbashenu, and the young girl meticulously picked out twelve shark teeth, one by one ¨C trying to pick out the ones she¡¯d found. Once she was done, Ashweban turned to Adjaash. Mother¡¯s hands inched closer. Twelve shark teeth sat beneath her fingers. Adjaash took them all and palmed them herself.


    ¡°Now, each of these piles, both of you have made,¡± Ashweban said. ¡°When we get back to the village, carve holes in these teeth. Gather string, and wear these around your necks. And then you will always have each other, wherever you go.¡±


    Ashbashenu was perhaps too young to fully understand the meaning of this gesture;  her eyes calculated and consternated over the loss of her bounty. But Adjaash looked down at the mixed teeth with admiration and wonder. This would make her first necklace. And her duty as the elder ¨C the eldest ¨C would be sealed beyond the knot.


    Soon enough, Ashbashenu¡¯s focus drifted away once again. And in the late afternoon light, eager her eyes went to the ocean. She set down her shark teeth in a small pile on the sand. Then she brushed a loose, wind-blown lock of black hair from her face and turned back to her mother.


    ¡°Whaea, can I go swimming before we leave??¡± she pleaded.


    For the first time, Adjaash saw a blink of worry on her mother¡¯s face. But even when she felt these things, Ashweban was always good at hiding it. As soon as Adjaash saw it, it was gone. And Ashweban gave Ashbashenu a cautious smile.


    ¡°Yes, Ashbashenu,¡± she replied. ¡°Just stay close to the beach. Make sure your feet can touch the bottom.¡±


    ¡°Yes, whaea!¡± Ashbashenu blurted, already rushing toward the waves.


    Now Adjaash and Ashweban both watched her from the shore. Adjaash stepped closer to the shallow tides. The damp sand cooled her feet. Ashweban stepped up alongside her; Adjaash could feel the peace of her presence. Together, they watched Ashbashenu float in the low water, letting the gleamfish tickle her ankles.


    ¡°Sometimes I wish she had your focus,¡± Ashweban remarked, with a sly humorous tone she revealed every so often.


    Adjaash cracked a grin and glanced up at her mother. It was then that her mother¡¯s amber eyes scaled down to her own.


    ¡°And sometimes I wish you had her freedom of spirit.¡±


    Adjaash blinked, and her grin flattened. Ashweban gave her one last smile, and then her eyes rose again.


    From anyone else, Adjaash might¡¯ve considered this an insult. But her birth mother¡¯s guiding hand never left her words, and those words always came from a place of love and care. And so Adjaash stood silent in thought, as the winds and the waves aided her meditation.


    Late afternoon became evening. The sun sank just above the arches, and as the light stretched, an fiery glow encroached onto the land. Flames of the hearth emblazoned on the western horizon, rippling just as the waves did. And above, curtains and flows of overlapping cirrus clouds caught the sunlight in shines of pink and cerise and lavender. The wind, ever so slightly, was starting to cool.


    By now, Ashbashenu had inched a bit farther out. Adjaash noticed this. But her feet were still beneath her. And so Adjaash tried to relax, still ruminating on the words of her mother.


    She never grew wary of the colors of the Torwan shore, and so she let her eyes wander about. Just a touch was permissible, she decided. She loved how the light of the sunset peeked through the tangles of vines and greenery atop the arches. And she loved how the sun¡¯s flame itself seemed to embolden the reds and oranges of the rocks themselves.


    Adjaash glanced to the east now. She traced the shoreline, as the rocks fell and rose again and flanked the sands, catching the amber glow on their broad faces. She saw a taller whitecap rushing into shore farther down the way ¨C an unfurling blue, layering and crashing down on the low tides below it. As it so often did for her, wonder soon gave way to suspicion. And her eyes shot out to the sea, searching for what stirred the waters.


    And to her fright, her suspicion was not misplaced.


    It was just barely noticeable, but it could not escape Adjaash¡¯s eye. In the far distance, on the northeastern horizon of the sea, was a sail. It was a strange-looking sail ¨C not made of flax canvas or cloth ¨C but of what appeared to be flayed reptilian skin, glinting a shadowy, musty greenish hue as it hid from the sunlight. It had the shape of a dragon¡¯s scale or a shark¡¯s fin ¨C sharp on the top, angled and curved on the front. Below the sail, Adjaash could just make out the dark, thick, gnarled wood of a ship¡¯s hull.


    ¡°Whaea,¡± the quivering word left Adjaash¡¯s mouth before she could think, and she pointed.


    Ashweban glanced at Adjaash, and then her eyes followed her daughter¡¯s finger. She had to squint where Adjaash did not, but soon enough, she too saw what Adjaash warned of. Adjaash watched as Ashweban¡¯s throat contracted ¨C a sudden anxious inhale. Their eyes fixed on the far eastern horizon for a moment, but as soon as the sail appeared, it was gone ¨C obscured beyond the rising tide.


    Ashweban¡¯s concern seemed to fade as the ship did ¨C as if she was attempting to tell herself she was only seeing things. But Adjaash knew what she¡¯d seen. And her eyes were frozen on that darkening horizon ¨C until a cry came from the shore ahead of them. A cry for help.


    Adjaash¡¯s eyes lashed forward, and she saw Ashbashenu flailing her arms, screaming inbetween gurgles of water. She was starting to drift out. The ocean current had swept her feet from beneath her. She couldn¡¯t swim like the others could.


    Adjaash bounded into the water, splashing and stirring the waves as her legs plowed a path. Ashweban tried to grab Adjaash¡¯s arm, but Adjaash was too fast. She sprinted through the shallows and reached Ashbashenu just before the girl went under again, and she clasped one of her sister¡¯s swinging wrists. And then, Adjaash lodged her feet in the sand and held tight, as the current attempted to tug them both away.


    The ocean current was strong, and for a moment, Adjaash felt her feet start to lift. But before it could take them, another hand wrapped around Adjaash¡¯s arm, and as she glanced back, she saw her mother anchoring the two at the shore. The three waited for the current to calm, and then they all stepped out onto the shore again. Ashbashenu fell to her knees and started coughing. Adjaash let the shock and adrenaline subside, and then she fumed with anger ¨C more at herself than anyone else, for taking her eyes away.


    ¡°You have to be more careful, Ashba!¡± Adjaash scolded, emotions inflecting her voice. ¡°You know you can¡¯t go out too far! If you don¡¯t respect the water, it¡¯ll take you under! Don¡¯t be so stupid!¡±


    Eyes glistening, hands scraping in the sand, Ashbashenu nodded feebly. Adjaash let out a frustrated sigh. She opened her mouth, as if to say more ¨C but then she stopped herself and paced away. As she did, Ashweban stepped toward the young girl. The mother knelt down in the sand and placed her hands on Ashbashenu¡¯s shoulders.


    ¡°Are you alright, Ashba?¡± Ashweban whispered.


    Though her expression did not show this for certain, Ashbashenu nodded.


    ¡°Adjaash is right,¡± Ashweban went on. ¡°You do have to be careful. But you won¡¯t always be able to avoid the current forever. Do you want to see how I float?¡±


    At the hint of excitement in Ashweban¡¯s voice, Ashbashenu smiled again. And she nodded ¨C this nod of eager anticipation, and not of accommodation.


    Ashweban stood, and both Ashbashenu and Adjaash turned to watch her. In the evening light, she stepped into the shallows. Then she sprawled and spread out her long arms. And then suddenly ¨C dramatically ¨C she jumped backward and flopped into the water, sending up high splashes and waves and droplets. At the sight, Ashbashenu started to laugh, and when the water calmed, Ashweban floated on her back.


    ¡°You see, Ashba?¡± Ashweban called, leaning up so no water obstructed her words. ¡°In the shallows, you can float on your back, and you kick with your legs, so you don¡¯t need to rely on your arms.¡±


    Now Ashweban thrust her hands beneath her, and she stood in the dunes below the depths ¨C water at waist-height. She adjusted her soaked, shining hair to clear her face, and then she motioned for Ashbashenu to enter the water again.


    ¡°Come on,¡± Ashweban encouraged. ¡°You try it.¡±


    At the thought of entering the water again, a tinge of fear froze Ashbashenu again. But this fear melted when Ashweban motioned again.


    ¡°Come,¡± Ashweban insisted. ¡°I¡¯ll be with you.¡±


    With precarious care, Ashbashenu stepped into the shallow tides again. She felt the cool rush of the water, and she wandered in further ¨C until she was at Ashweban¡¯s side. She glanced at her mother, and then with a smirk, she jumped back as her mother had done ¨C perhaps a bit more dramatically ¨C and landed with a violent sploosh. When the surges sank, she was floating atop the waves.


    Ashweban held onto Ashbashenu¡¯s arm for support and walked alongside her. Ashbashenu kicked her feet. She smiled and laughed ¨C a light laugh that rose above the steady hum around them.


    The sun sank ever lower, but it was not yet gone when Ashbashenu and Ashweban left the water for the final time. Ashbashenu gathered her shark teeth ¨C at the insistence of her mother, as she was almost certain to forget. And then they began the journey eastward on the shore, back to the path inland.


    Ashbashenu led the way again, her energy seemingly without end. Adjaash lingered closer behind her. In the dying scarlet light of dusk, Adjaash¡¯s eyes scanned the ocean horizon to the far northeast. She looked for the sails. She knew she¡¯d seen them. Some eyes played tricks on their masters; hers did not.


    But then Adjaash felt the shark teeth chattering softly in her pocket. And her thought thread collapsed. She¡¯d been so focused on the sails, she¡¯d lost sight of her sister. And she could¡¯ve lost her.


    Discontent overcame her ¨C discontent with herself and her failings. Her brow fixed downward, and her eyes and chin fell. Her brown-silver hair drooped over her shadowy face. Her motions were stiff. Her steps were rickety. She sank in the sand with each advance. The wind chilled her bones¡­


    And then a hand ran around her shoulder. Adjaash stopped in her tracks. Her feet sank and dug in. And when she turned, she saw her mother looking down at her. The red glow of the sunlight lined her hair and her face. In the wind, iridescent strands danced across her cheeks. Adjaash felt the comfort of her eyes.


    ¡°You can protect her,¡± Ashweban said quietly. ¡°But you know she must find a way to swim and weather the current on her own. All of us must.¡±


    Adjaash glanced ahead again. Her sister knelt down in the sand ¨C curious fingers reaching for a shell or a whelk or a scampering salamander. Adjaash let out a shallow breath. Her eyes fell. But as her mother tightened her grip, Adjaash looked up at her again.


    ¡°You are strong, Adjaash¡­¡± Ashweban told her. ¡°¡­but do not let your strength always be so cold¡­¡±


    These words, Adjaash heard. Ashweban looked down at her for a moment. There was a sure and steady conviction in her mother¡¯s face.


    ¡°¡­ To others¡­ and to yourself.¡±


    And then Adjaash opened her eyes. And all at once, the rush of the wind and the hum of the waves left her. Her mother was gone. Her sister was gone. The chill and silence of the cave settled in and pressed against her skin. The embers of the torch leered at her ¨C a mocking remnant of the warmth long passed.


    She sat up, and only then did she feel the pain in her hand. She looked down, and saw that she¡¯d been squeezing tightly the shark tooth necklace ¨C so much that deep indents formed in her palm. She released the charm and let it fall to her chest. And then, in the quiet of the cave, panic breached her mind again.


    She heard the tick of the timeflow in her head, as deep as her own heartbeat.


    Time, she was losing.


    She quickly rose to her feet. Still, she felt the tickle and weight of sickness. Still, it was the dark of night. And still, she rolled her blanket and gathered her things. She slung her bow and her arrow quiver over her shoulders, and grabbed the torch from the corner of the cave. And then she made her way back across the rock to Ashanji. She stirred the horse and stifled a cough. The horse¡¯s head lifted. Its ears perked.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, Ashanji,¡± Adjaash urged, voice coarse. ¡°We¡¯ve rested enough.¡±


    And then she mounted and rode out into the tangle again.


    Somewhere, the red light of dawn was kept at bay.

 8. Deliberations of War

    ¡°Bor¡­ I ask you humbly for wisdom¡­ because I do not have it¡­¡±


    Ucankacei sat cross-legged on the limestone and terracotta bricks, as well as his aching bones allowed ¨C hands cupped weakly in his lap, as if discarded for their uselessness. His crutch lay on the ground beside him.


    He was alone in the training courtyard at Alaris Khi Thung. Dawn was near. Above, the stars multiplied and lingered in an endless plot of deep blue. Slowly from the east, red and orange light poured overhead.


    Often, he made a point to face the rising Sun. Today, he faced west.


    Often, the words flowed from his lips without strain. Today, he hesitated.


    ¡°You¡¯d think¡­¡± Ucankacei thought aloud, forcing a feeble chuckle. ¡°¡­ that being so old, I wouldn¡¯t have to ask this. But¡­ I am at a loss. This Kingdom¡­ the Kingdom founded on the beauty of your own¡­ is crumbling¡­ and with each passing day, it is dawning on me¡­ that no one is coming to save us.¡±


    Ucankacei lost his words again. A sparrow flew overhead. The old man¡¯s weary eyes clenched shut.


    ¡°So many dead,¡± he lamented. ¡°So many killed. So many more will come. I don¡¯t remember the faces or the names anymore. So many¡­ and I find myself wondering¡­ what is the point?¡±


    Ucankacei almost forced his mouth closed. The question was ignorant. It was absurd. It was selfish. It wasn¡¯t his place ¨C the elder ¨C to question these things. He was to give the young assurance and comfort ¨C a shelter in trying times. If he himself was in doubt¡­ How could he fulfill this duty?


    But with another scrunch of his eyes and a shake of his head, his mouth opened again. And in defiance, he continued.


    ¡°For all my life, I¡¯ve believed in your vision. The vision of the Gods,¡± Ucankacei rambled. ¡°I believed in reason for all things. I believed that all costs had their worth. I believed in light past the dark. I believed that you spoke through the world. But now the ugliness of war has been revealed to me. Ruthless, indiscriminate, and unforgiving. And I wonder¡­ this cost¡­ what could it possibly purchase, other than despair? There cannot be reason in this. No greater message of any meaning to impart. Please, Bor¡­ tell me, in your All-Sight¡­ In your boundless wisdom¡­ What do you see? Share your peace with me. Please¡­ I need your generosity. I need¡­¡±


    His voice shuddered and broke. His eyes fell again. And then he looked up at the sky. The light of the Sun was spreading. He didn¡¯t dare turn to the east.


    ¡°I need something¡­ to tell me these prayers are reaching you,¡± Ucankacei whispered. ¡°Something to tell me that you are truly watching over us. Something to tell me I am not simply speaking into a void¡­¡±


    A swell in the breeze ruffled the leaves above. Ucankacei felt the cool air against his face. Painful memories came to greet him.


    ¡°I prayed for Heror, so many times¡­¡± he wallowed. ¡°And it did not change his fate.¡±


    The recollection threatened tears. His throat shook. He held them back.


    ¡°I pray now for peace¡­ for understanding¡­¡± Ucankacei went on. ¡°¡­ and yet I know that I will not receive it.¡±


    These kinds of conclusions were not comfortable for Ucankacei ¨C ever the optimist ¨C to consider. He agonized in the silence of the young morning. He doubted his epiphanies. He doubted his long-standing spirituality. And at last, he came to a state of sullen indifference. His shoulders sank. A sigh of surrender escaped his mouth.


    ¡°But there is still a stubborn ¨C perhaps stupid ¨C part of me that wants to remain faithful¡­¡± he admitted. ¡°And so even if I won¡¯t find peace, I can still pray for others¡­¡±


    And so Ucankacei carried on with his prayer. He prayed for Thaeolai ¨C who, for all he knew, could be dead. He prayed for Heror ¨C again. He prayed for the lost souls. He prayed for the Kingdom that relied on his protection. And then he meditated ¨C until the light of the sun enveloped the cerulean sky above. Eventually, the heavy wooden doors to the training ground creaked open behind him.


    ¡°Siekarum Ucankacei¡­¡± he heard the tired voice of a siephall. ¡°It¡¯s time for the scheduled briefing in the dining area. The siekanghs asked me to fetch you.¡±


    Ucankacei let out a shallow breath. Wispy hairs danced in the breeze. He nodded.


    ¡°Tell them I¡¯ll be right there.¡±


    The siephall closed the door. Ucankacei indulged the newfound silence for as long as he could, and then he thought it best not to delay further. With some strain, he rose to his feet, and he stabilized on his wounded ankle. He¡¯d removed his boots to feel the cool smoothness of the stone, but now he went to fetch them again. Once he was ready, he ventured back inside. And with a few-minutes¡¯ walk, he made his way to the Khi Thung¡¯s assembly hall.


    The great hall was lined with wooden tables and chairs, and capped by a large angled ceiling. Torched pillars outlined the assembly area, and up above, railings lined the second floor as it encircled the great hall. From the scaffolding beneath the second floor, iron circlet chandeliers hung ¨C adorned with candles. As Ucankacei walked, his crutch clacked against the polished oaken floor.


    At the central table, the remaining Ardysi officials from the border camp lingered ¨C a number so few that it startled Ucankacei. There was the advisory siekangh Jakthei from Ellindal, and the siekangh in charge of the fortress, Sulemei. And Ucankacei was the fourth of only four siekarums left commanding their units. As he approached, he saw Shinuei at the table with Volocei and Daromei ¨C the youth of their blonde hair renouncing Ucankacei¡¯s fraying strands. The latter sneered at Ucankacei¡¯s lateness as he approached.


    At Ucankacei¡¯s approach, Jakthei ¨C a younger siekangh with hair more dirtied than blonde, and sun-darkened skin ¨C offered a single nod.


    ¡°Thank you for joining us, Ucankacei,¡± Jakthei said. ¡°Have a seat. Help yourself to a refreshment, or some kaffa to stay alert. We¡¯ll get started shortly.¡±


    Ucankacei¡¯s eyes went to the table. Splayed out in front of the officials, a vast map of Ardys lay flat on a cork board ¨C a Kingdom sea-wrapped on three sides, more wide than tall. Ornamented pins adorned with the seal of Ardys marked different strategic objectives. The Khi Thung sat roughly 35 miles south of the wall breach, with over a dozen other Khi Thungs spaced out along the border from end to end. A pin sat at each fortress, and small finger-sized clay chips were stacked behind each pin ¨C presumably a measure of khilung strength at each location. Alaris Khi Thung boasted the most presence, with three clay chips.


    There were only markers for Ardysi army outfits, Ucankacei noticed. No Midan markers. No remote understanding of the threat they faced. As if it were a ghost.


    Then Ucankacei¡¯s tedious eyes ran across the table, and he saw the refreshments ¨C rows of sweet-crusted tarts situated on plastered parchment, and assorted goblets of reinvigorating drink. The sight, however, did not reinvigorate him. He watched as the older siekangh Sulemei stood and grabbed a tart, crumbs dribbling down his chin as he chewed. Ucankacei sat and said nothing. He enjoyed no refreshment.


    After a moment longer, the rest of the officials sat and were situated. It was then that Jakthei stood. He took a deep breath.


    ¡°Thank you all for coming,¡± he offered, through lips that longed to be closed. ¡°And thank you all for providing your losses reports after our census. Those numbers have enabled us to assess our current strength.¡±


    Ucankacei watched as the siekangh gathered himself. The official was trying his best to be professional and composed. But this was a situation none of them were familiar with. Least of all Ucankacei. Silently, he glowered at his ignorance, but his focus returned when Jakthei leaned over the map.


    ¡°The attack two nights ago was costly,¡± Jakthei went on. ¡°It incurred another heavy loss on our forces, and it was not unique to our front. Other khilung outfits across the length of the border experienced similar ambushes from the Midan riders. It was a coordinated attack, and one that was effective. The entire line was pushed back to the Khi Thung boundary. Most of our forces have reconvened within the defense of these fortresses. But en route to Yescaris Khi Thung, siekangh Harumei¡¯s battalion was wiped out entirely. Scouts found no survivors.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s over a thousand men,¡± Sulemei gasped, lowering his half-eaten tart from his face.


    ¡°Their caravan was not as strong as ours,¡± Jakthei expanded, ¡°and the riders overtook and surrounded them. The elinji finished them off. Towns in the thirty-mile stretch close to the border ¨C Tularis, Iberis, Toehndal¡­ we can only assume they¡¯ll be overrun.¡±


    A mournful silence flooded the room. Ucankacei¡¯s eyes fell, until they rose at the sight of a small spider dangling down from the rafters. Jakthei cleared his throat.


    ¡°And worse, our scout intelligence tells us that the Midans have taken hold of Yescaris Khi Thung as a new staging ground in Ardys,¡± Jakthei revealed. ¡°This advance of theirs was a sweeping one. Our fortifications now work against us there, and we don¡¯t have the manpower to mount an attack and attempt to regain ground without exposing another path south.¡±


    Ucankacei glanced around the table for reactions. Sulemei¡¯s was one of shock. Shinuei bore no reaction, but it was stoic focus rather than indifference. From the other two, he sensed an apathy frighteningly similar to his own.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve all drawn the same conclusion,¡± Jakthei led on. ¡°Yescaris Khi Thung is the closest western Khi Thung to our location here. Here, we guard the main road, which offers the most direct, least obstructed route to the city of Cephragon. Our presence here is fortified, but there is concern from scouts and myself¡­ that the Midans will attempt to lay siege to this fortress, take control of it, and punch through to the Jeweled City itself. The Kcirun will relocate west if the city is jeopardized, but regardless, its loss would sever an important hold of the Kingdom, and cede it to Midan control. The towns and farmlands south of here depend on the Khi Thung line for defense.¡±


    ¡°What are our numbers now?¡± the siekarum called Volocei asked, almost in a scoff. ¡°Surely, we¡¯ll receive assistance from down the way?¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°We number around 3,000 after the latest attack,¡± Jakthei answered glumly. ¡°And the wounded make up a large portion of that. You¡¯ve all been given your re-assignments ¨C unhoused siephalls who will now fall under your care. But defending this place alone, should it likely become an objective of great focus, will be difficult. This brings me to a small bit of good news¡­¡±


    The siekangh took a quick breath. Then he continued.


    ¡°I sent a courier to Cephragon shortly after the battle, telling the Kcirun of our retreat and our need for reinforcements,¡± Jakthei informed. ¡°The courier returned yesterday, with word that the Kcirun will send two thousand siephalls north from Fyre to strengthen our rear guard and prevent the Midans from out-flanking. He¡¯ll also send a detachment of keatuuchan to aid in the defense of this strategic point, and he¡¯s gifted two of his trusted Kci Talon to oversee the operation.¡±


    At the mention of the Kci Talon, the room fell under an awed silence ¨C a silence so stark that even Jakthei had to pause.


    ¡°Munei and Gheilei will arrive two days from now, with the detachment of keatuuchan in tow,¡± Jakthei eventually continued. ¡°The Midan archers are elite, and their ground forces are strong. But they do not have the proficiency in keawalaatu that we have as a collective.¡±


    ¡°With this, perhaps we can fend them off here, and tip the balance back in our favor,¡± said siekarum Shinuei with steely determination.


    ¡°This is not an attack plan,¡± Jakthei corrected him sternly. ¡°This is our only choice. There are no other options.¡±


    Steadfast hope quickly gave way to uneasy quiet. And the reality of the situation sunk in on the soldiers. After a moment, Ucankacei spoke.


    ¡°Is there¡­ is there a plan to transport the wounded and the healers south¡­ to safety?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised this is the one who speaks out of turn,¡± Daromei hissed. ¡°The wounded do not take precedence over the intricacies of our action plan.¡±


    ¡°Siekarum Daromei, please¡­¡± Jakthei said, raising a hand. ¡°This is a complex situation. All and any questions are welcome.¡±


    Now Jakthei turned his gaze to Ucankacei and nodded.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already arranged for carriages to transport the more severe cases south. The healers here will have to stay, as I¡¯m sure you understand. We¡¯ll no doubt have an ongoing need for their services. If you¡¯re concerned about the wounded, do not worry. They¡¯ll have healers to attend to them in the city.¡±


    Ucankacei nodded back, though this did not settle his unease.


    ¡°Now¡­¡± Jakthei sighed, expelling his stress. ¡°What are the immediate steps we all need to take? Each of you, find your assigned barracks and get situated with your units. All of the siekarums here will be forced to take on a large number of new siephalls. Sulemei and I will each do our part to help manage these disproportionate allotments, but I have preoccupations that restrict my reach. I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is the nature of our situation. I place my trust in all of you to do your best.


    ¡°When the members of the Kci Talon arrive, we will do introductions. I will see to it that they will coexist with you, but I also can¡¯t deny the authority of the Kci Talon¡¯s position, as they are the Kcirun¡¯s men. When they arrive, the Kci Talon will be placed in charge of the fortress defense. While you all yet supervise your divisions, the Kci Talon will have the autonomy to enlist siephalls for help if help is required. I expect you all to cooperate with them, as every measure they take will be a measure toward protecting our Kingdom.¡±


    Jakthei looked about the table. Left and right, and left again.


    ¡°Are there any more questions?¡±


    There was naught but silence. Jakthei tucked his chin.


    ¡°Dismissed.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Aktaku.¡±


    Raldu rode through the broken gates ¨C the gates that broke for him. Deadened stones cracked below. The rotten must of smoke tickled his nose. He frowned.


    The elinji stood erect with reverence as he crossed the border gap, into the Kingdom of Ardys ¨C with Shaail and a host of Tekhal riders trailing behind him. Through the calm morning air, word quickly spread of the Aktaku¡¯s arrival, but Raldu¡¯s mind was elsewhere. His eyes climbed the carapace ¨C the dome of icy blue and fiery orange above, where the blackened sun slowly rose above the brilliant emerald treeline, through misted and melted strips of vapor.


    In the wind, his hair of silver and gold danced. His purple eyes loured. Shadow clung to his face. This was Ardys, the Land of Opela¡¯s Divine Beauty. But he saw no beauty here. He would never be fooled.


    From the lands, his eyes dropped and fell upon the camp. Rows of tents ¨C of light brown burlap jute and canvas ¨C swamped the border wall¡¯s southern side. Tall sawgrass totems stood bearing the Tekhal¡¯s traditional gold and black banner, with yellowed tassels on the ends. On the tent poles, thin red elinji flags ribboned and flew.


    A young Tekhal handler approached, heavy with the smell of torch smoke. Raldu hid his discontent. The handler bowed his head and clasped his hands, addressed the leader by his honorable title, then offered to take his horse. Raldu nodded consent, and he freed his feet from the stirrups.


    Raldu paused for a lone pulse before dismounting, but not due to lacking confidence. This was the first time he¡¯d set foot on Ardysi soil in a long, long time. He wanted to feel this.


    He slid off the side and dropped to the ground, burying grains of grit and gravel beneath his boots. The land swallowed the noise, muffling the impact. He twisted his boot in the dirt. A sudden sneer came and left, and then he forged a disarming smile for the handler.


    ¡°Sa lantu.¡±


    The handler took Raldu¡¯s horse by the reins and led it away, and now Raldu strode into camp, dark robes and scarf twitching in the breeze. It wasn¡¯t long before he saw his destination ¨C one of the larger burlap tents near the border wall. While most tents sat unattended, this one was guarded by two elinji, equipped with thin-tipped spears. They bowed as Raldu ventured near. Raldu reciprocated the gesture, and then he brushed through the flaps.


    Inside, it was dim. Raldu remedied this, releasing a golden keatuu candle from his fist. The orb of light floated to the ceiling, and as the light washed over the tent¡¯s interior, he saw the djauul rider Paru standing at a wooden table. Splayed across the table was an intricate Midan map of parchment, detailing the area beyond the border wall with precise markings and illustrations.


    At the arrival of the Aktaku, Paru looked up with sharp eyes of bronze, and he nodded to his leader. The young djauul¡¯s black beard and loose bun shined in the flameless light. He wore a bison wool doublet and linen trousers, and a magnificent recurve bow of wood and sinew adorned his shoulder, along with a quiver of arrows.


    No words of greeting or pleasantries were needed. Raldu began.


    ¡°Fill me in.¡±


    Paru¡¯s hand gestured to the map. Extending from the border, clustered crescent markings identified the Midan forces. Since the initial breach, they¡¯d flooded out into the Ardysi lands, and now they stretched almost all the way across the northern border. Their presence was strongest closer to the breach, however. South of the Midan forces, several large X¡¯s sat, spaced out in steady increments ¨C presumably areas of Ardysi fortification. The Khi Thungs. Raldu knew of them well. The last true line of defense against a Midan invasion. Losing that line could tip the war beyond recovery for Ardys.


    ¡°The attacks flushed the Ardysi line south almost universally,¡± Paru explained. ¡°We displaced them with little casualties to our own. Most of the Ardysi forces retreated to the fortress line, approximately 30 to 35 miles south of the border. The largest Ardysi camp is here¡­¡±


    Paru placed his finger on Alaris Khi Thung.


    ¡°¡­ but there are satellite camps running from west to east. Our estimates range from 500 to 2,500 enemy soldiers at each fortress, with close to 3,000 at the largest. The primary objective was forcing the enemy on their heels, but my clan was able to wipe out one camp entirely. We eliminated them on the road, and we traced their path south to a base¡­ here¡­¡±


    Now Paru stabbed his finger onto another fortress ¨C perhaps 25 miles to the west-northwest of Alaris Khi Thung. This fortress bore the Midans¡¯ crescent marker on the map. Paru looked up at Raldu, eyes weighted with resolve.


    ¡°We were able to take control of that fortress.¡±


    Raldu¡¯s eyes focused and flickered. He¡¯d counted on driving the Ardysi forces back. And he¡¯d planned on attacking the Khi Thung line; such an incursion was necessary. But this development gave the Midans more maneuverability. And it accelerated their timeline.


    ¡°Humsa¡¯s forces are in control of the fortress,¡± Paru continued. ¡°We¡¯ve gained ground across the Kingdom, and we have a favorable position adjacent to the Ardysi line. Suffice to say, our latest advance was very productive. Now we await your next orders.¡±


    Raldu pleated his lips, and his eyes fell to the map again. He followed the main road down from the wall. The Midans¡¯ illustrations stopped with their experience, and so the road halted at Alaris Khi Thung. But Raldu knew this Kingdom better than them. In his mind, he traced it southward ¨C bending through dense, verdant forests, and rolling plots of wheat and farmland. And then his eyes curved east, until they came to the location of the Jeweled City, on the coast of the Publaic.


    He traced the path once more, and then his eagle eyes returned to Alaris Khi Thung ¨C the fortress that guarded the way south. And the Midan forces that encroached from the west and north.


    The path forward was simple. The only remaining question was the approach.


    The Midans safely outnumbered the Ardysi forces at Alaris Khi Thung. Raldu knew this. But he also knew how fortified these strongholds were. Their outer grounds were gated and encircled by flat plots, dotted with stone ramparts and guard towers where archers and keatuuchan stood at the ready. Past a vast bulwark, a wide courtyard hugged the fortress more closely. There more guard towers stood, with more battle whyzards atop them.


    The Khi Thung ¨C Raldu begrudgingly admitted ¨C was one of Ardys¡¯ more formidable innovations. The best Opelites were traditionally potent in the ways of keawal and keatuu, and these structures magnified and targeted their abilities, while also providing ample defense. Behind those massive walls, a lone two Kci Talon could perhaps hold back an army.


    Raldu fluttered his fingers as he thought. Sparkelets of golden electricity danced from middle to index, and from middle to ring. His skin warmed. He smiled.


    If the Khi Thung was heavily defended, it mattered little. It only meant he¡¯d have to show his hand sooner than expected.


    Raldu¡¯s eyes rose. He looked at Paru.


    ¡°Focus on the gateway to the south: Alaris Khi Thung,¡± Raldu instructed, gesturing to the fortress on the map. ¡°These structures allow for quick refortification for retreating battalions, so there¡¯s no need to rush our next advance. We¡¯ll have the numbers advantage, regardless. Send a courier to Humsa. Tell him to stand by and stay ready. Send scouts south to the fortress on the main road. Have them report back on arrivals and departures over the coming days, and keep me apprised of these. Any decisions made by the Kcirun will be made in haste. Nevertheless, these fortresses are not to be approached without caution. We¡¯ll advance once we are able to quantify Ardys¡¯ strength in this new environment and reposition our forces accordingly. Dispense these directions at once.¡±


    ¡°Aktaku.¡±


    And then Paru walked past the table and left the tent, leaving Raldu alone and awash in golden light.


    Raldu glanced down at the ground. He scrunched his boot in the dirt again.


    Returning to Ardys awakened no feelings in him. This was only the motion of fate. The tides were turning. Uprooted were the fundaments. He would see to it.


    They would pay.

 9. The Search for Heran (Part One)

    When he dreamt, Heror saw the villager woman.


    Through the trees. In the bristling dark. With the fires of the raid glowing behind her. He studied the face.


    Black hair. Brown eyes. A downturned nose. Young ¨C not much older than him. A linen garb made of flax fibers, carefully crafted and sewn. A necklace with two gems ¨C one larger and one smaller, encased in brass¡­


    And then she was gone, her eyes flashing blue. The horseman swiped her away. She screamed and disappeared in a murk of atlas moths. Heror lurched ahead to follow her, when a chain wrapped around his neck. He was wrenched back. He fell. He woke.


    He no longer smelled the smoke, and he no longer heard the cries. But the night sky was no more forgiving where he lay. Here, the darkness only spoke of what lurked beneath.


    He did not know what terrible fate befell her. All he knew was: It was his fault. Had she not seen him, had she not been scared by him¡­ she wouldn¡¯t have stopped in her tracks. She might¡¯ve made it to the forest. She might¡¯ve been able to escape.


    Instead, she did not.


    And Heror saw one more silhouette, among those who walked.


    Quietly, Heror sat up, lifting his head off of his leather pack. He¡¯d found the main road again shortly after fleeing the village, and he¡¯d followed it for some time. How much time, he did not know; he¡¯d lost track. He rode until he couldn¡¯t, and then he veered off the road and found a small clearing and copse not far in the forest. There, he¡¯d rested. But it was time to move again.


    He was facing north. He glanced to the east. Through the trees, he could see a faint red-orange glow. Whether it was the fires of a village or the fires of the sun, he did not know for certain. He glanced up again. Through the canopy, he could see the sky brightening just a bit.


    Shaadur was close by, in a stand-sleep. Heror swayed to his feet, and then he approached the horse. With a quick couple pats, Shaadur blinked awake. Heror stowed the pack behind the saddle again, then mounted and grabbed hold of the reins. And then they made their way back to the main road, as dawn drew near.


    As Heror rode west, pine trees ¨C tall, narrow, and dark ¨C lined and constricted the road, thickly packed in the surrounding woods. And above the forest still, he saw the mountains looming. To the north, the great peak climbed the sky, capped by eternal glaciers. And to the west, dozens of jagged summits ¨C fingers of rock and flamed, frozen crags ¨C scaled the horizon, piercing the woodland flat.


    The road itself carried up a small-but-steady incline upward as Heror went. As he ventured forth, he could feel the air getting cooler and thinner. Even the clouds ¨C thin cirrus and cumulus ¨C seemed to slow in the icy, airy rivers above. And some time later, beneath a translucent silver-blue sky, Heror caught a glimpse of the next village.


    This settlement was larger than the last he¡¯d seen. The main road carried on through the town, but other smaller roads also branched out along perpendicular paths. The paths were lined by the same crude, wood-logged, steep-roofed cottages ¨C designed to slow the accumulation of snow overhead in Wilvalen. Around the outer edges of the village, a chest-high stone wall extended and ran all the way to the main road¡¯s edges.


    Near the village entrance, just behind the wall, Heror could see the glint of armor from where he stood. He slipped his hood over his ears and kept riding.


    As Heror approached, to the clop of hooves, he saw three guards at the entrance. They didn¡¯t have matching uniforms. Instead, they were dressed in common street garbs, dull linen shirts, and trousers. One ¨C an elder ¨C had a rough iron chestplate and a longsword sheathed in a more ornate scabbard ¨C perhaps a relic of past service. They more closely resembled volunteer militia than soldiers of a King.


    The elder guard stepped forward as Heror neared the open gate. Heror pulled lightly on the reins, and Shaadur slowed to a trot ¨C huffing from the steady incline. And then Shaadur came to a halt and kicked his back legs, as the elder guard stepped through the gate ¨C leather boots crackling the dirt and stones. Heror tugged his hood forward a touch more.


    ¡°Hold there,¡± the militia man said gruffly, through thin lips. ¡°Name¡¯nd reason f¡¯passing through.¡±


    ¡°Heror Heran. Traveling¡­ to see family.¡±


    Heror silently hoped the man would notice his surname and find it familiar, but the lack of any recognizing look snuffed that hope. Already, the guard was eyeing Heror¡¯s swords. Heror breathed out his quiet anxiety. Then the guard cleared his throat.


    ¡°Pull up y¡¯sleeves. One at a time.¡±


    Heror felt confusion at the request ¨C but at least on his arms, he had nothing to hide. He set down the reins and pulled his cloak sleeves up one by one. Seeing nothing but clear skin, the guard tucked his mouth and gave a nod of acceptance.


    ¡°Right then,¡± the guard blurted. ¡°Th¡¯usual toll for¡¯ye. Twenty Kivs.¡±


    Heror hesitated; his mind went back to the toll roads in Ardys. But looking at the militia man¡¯s drab clothing and shoddy armor, he was more apt to comply and stifle his stubbornness. He reached inside his cloak, sifting through one of his heavy coin purses, until he had ten golden coins stowed in his fist. He held out his hand and released his fingers, and the coins clacked between the guard¡¯s palms. He repeated the process with another ten. The guard nodded again, then turned to the others.


    ¡°Let¡¯m through!¡±


    The guards stepped aside, and Heror squeezed his shins, prompting Shaadur to start ahead. Not a second after he passed the stone walls, a young teenage boy with a drab, dirty tunic and a woolen hat scampered toward him with excited eyes.


    ¡°Mister!¡± the boy called, lisping through a lost tooth. ¡°Mister, how long you stayin¡¯ in Bern?¡±


    Heror fumbled his words; he hadn¡¯t given a thought to a schedule of any kind. And before he could form a sentence, the boy was speaking again.


    ¡°I can stable yer steed for ya, if ya like!¡± the boy offered energetically.


    ¡°Oh¡­ um¡­ thank you¡­¡± Heror debated between ¡®sir¡¯ and ¡®son¡¯ for titles; neither seemed appropriate.


    ¡°Th¡¯names Keth!¡± the boy chimed, seeing Heror¡¯s hesitance.


    ¡°Keth, thank you,¡± Heror said, granting a grateful smile. ¡°But I¡¯m only passing through¡­ I think¡­¡±


    The boy ruminated on Heror¡¯s aimlessness only for a second, and then he widened his smile and closed his eyes.


    ¡°Well, if ya decide to stay¡­ find me by the stables! I¡¯ll take care of yer friend here.¡±


    Keth held out a hand and pat Shaadur¡¯s mane. Shaadur gave a whinny of acceptance. Heror fastened his hands around the reins and gave the boy a more intentional, appreciative nod.


    ¡°Thank you, Keth. I¡¯ll come find you if I stick around.¡±


    With that, the boy scurried off again, and Heror rode into town at a trot. As Shaadur walked, hooves stepping heavily in the soil and stone, they made their way past wooden cottages on either side. Some had flat yards and fronts. Others had porches, balconies, and displays of wares, where townsfolk sat and stood and eyed Heror as he ventured ahead. He paid them little mind.


    Heror came to the first intersection in the road, and he stopped. More wooden cottages lined the street to the left and right, but ahead ¨C toward the town¡¯s center ¨C Heror could make out a few larger buildings. One appeared to be a chapel, or a schoolhouse. And the other, across the way, appeared to be a lodging house, with a host of market stalls preceding its entrance, housing visiting merchants.


    As Heror neared the town center, he felt the eyes of merchants jumping his way, and he slowed his horse to a stop. He dismounted and let his feet fall to the dirt. Then he took Shaadur¡¯s face in his hands and patted the steed¡¯s side.


    ¡°Stay here, Shaadur. I shouldn¡¯t be long.¡±


    He was about to turn and make his way to the lodging house down the road, when a loud chime echoed through the town. Heror¡¯s eyes turned west, toward the shaded panes of the schoolhouse. And as he did so, he saw the front door open, and a throng of young children emerged, as a woman held the door for them.


    Laughing and chattering in dull garments, they ran and spread across the road, carrying small booklets, bound with leather and fritted with parchment sheets Some scurried back to their cottage homes down the road ¨C to parents who waited for their return from morning worship ¨C while a few others saw Shaadur on the edge of the road and came to him, distracted. As Heror stood by Shaadur and secured the reins again, the children ran up and crowded in front of the horse. A small girl reached out, and Shaadur nestled her palms with his nose.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°He¡¯s so pretty!¡±


    Shaadur did what Heror assumed was the horse equivalent of blushing, and he then clopped his front hooves with glee. Heror grinned and rolled his eyes, and then he heard voices call out from back down the road, under the bright eastern sun.


    ¡°Vaelor, Ytid, Onid!¡± a parent called. ¡°Let the man make his way through!¡±


    The children reluctantly dispersed, some granting Shaadur parting smiles and waves before skipping and whisking away. With wondering eyes, Heror glanced over his shoulder one last time, and then he led Shaadur a bit farther down the road by the reins. He stopped just before the schoolhouse ¨C with the inn across the street ¨C and then he turned to Shaadur again.


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be long,¡± Heror repeated, softer this time.


    Now Heror made his way toward the inn. His eyes traced upward to the inn¡¯s sign ¨C a wooden plaque worn and scorched beyond recognition, leaving no name. As Heror walked across the road, the merchants lining the inn¡¯s front wall called out to him ¨C heaving promises of provisions, potions, and accessories. Heror acknowledged them as little as he could, sinking his shoulders as he pushed through the inn¡¯s wooden door. As soon as he entered, the merchants¡¯ calls faded and gave way to new noise.


    He heard ceramic clay plates and tankards clanking against polished wood. And as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he stood in the entryway of the inn and glanced around. On the western side of the building ¨C to the right ¨C a long wooden bar sat with stools lining its reach. There was an open area to the left, where a half-dozen circular tables clustered, encircled by chairs.


    Most of the noise, in fact, was being made only by one person ¨C a boy who ventured from table to table, stacking plates and mugs in a dish tub. Most of the dishes appeared to be from the previous night, and most of the tables were in fact empty. The only patrons sat at the bar: Four silent men spaced out from end to end ¨C drab, dirty, and disheveled, with drinks adorning their places. Behind the bar, another older man ¨C Heror assumed the owner ¨C stood absently in a hand-loomed cotton tunic, playing a game by his lonesome with thin, rectangular parchment cards.


    Heror took a few steps toward the bar. It wasn¡¯t until the young man came to a middle stool that the owner looked up from his game, with only a half-attentive gaze and tired eyes.


    ¡°Welc¡¯m, stranger,¡± the owner grumbled. ¡°What¡¯ya want?¡±


    Anxiety crept up Heror¡¯s throat again as he realized his unfamiliarity. His eyes whisked left, and he saw two patrons looking his way. He cleared his throat and tugged his hood forward a bit, then turned and faced the owner.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    His first instinct was to waste no time, but as he began to speak, his empty stomach howled. And impulsively, he diverted course.


    ¡°I need food for the road.¡±


    ¡°We got bread, cheese, trout, roast meats,¡± the owner said, scratching the white on his chin. ¡°Y¡¯got to be specific, lad.¡±


    ¡°How much bread and cheese?¡± Heror asked, wary of carrying open meat for animals to smell.


    ¡°What, y¡¯plan on buyin¡¯ me out?¡± the owner mumbled, already dissatisfied with the interaction.


    ¡°What? No¡­ I just¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯ya want, boy? Spit¡¯t out.¡±


    ¡°A loaf of bread and a couple wedges of cheese,¡± Heror blurted, forcing himself to speak clearly.


    ¡°That¡¯ll run y¡¯up thirty Kivs.¡±


    ¡°Of course¡­¡±


    Heror let out a sigh and settled on a stool. He drew out a heavy coin purse from his cloak and set it down on the bar ¨C perhaps a bit too loudly. Heror glanced to his left only for a second ¨C dodging the eyes of the patrons. Then he pulled the purse closer and carefully removed thirty Kivs, before sliding the coins across the wood. The owner collected them, with as much eagerness as he¡¯d shown yet. Then he passed over a sack of food. Heror took the food and stowed it beneath his cloak.


    ¡°If I could get something else from you¡­¡± Heror started.


    ¡°Mhm,¡± the owner muttered with disinterest, turning away with the coins.


    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m looking for¡­ someone,¡± Heror continued precariously. ¡°Someone with the surname ¡®Heran.¡¯ Do you know anyone with that surname?¡±


    ¡°Mm,¡± the owner groveled, placing the coins in a collection jar.


    ¡°¡­ is that a ¡®yes¡¯ or¡­¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I do,¡± the owner mumbled half-heartedly, taking an empty tankard to a wash basin.


    Now the owner turned away, and Heror let out another sigh, dropping his eyes. He started to bring his coin purse back under his cloak, when he heard a loud whistle from his left ¨C a sharp, shrill tone that cut through the quiet air of the inn. Heror followed the whistle to the far end of the bar, where an old, scraggly man sat, with wool mitts around a full mug.


    ¡°Boy, over here,¡± the patron ushered with a nod, his voice sneering and straight. ¡°I might got what you seek.¡±


    Heror eyed the old man suspiciously. But at the prospect of gaining the knowledge he sought, his feet dropped to the floor, and he stood from his stool. As he stood, another patron rose and shoved past him on the way to the exit. Heror glared, and then he carried on to the man. Swords clacking against his thigh, he sat down beside the man, resting his arm on the wooden counter.


    Up close, Heror assumed the man was a regular. His beard was one of spindly silver wires, and his eyebrows had similar whiskers on their ends. His hair was oily and ragged, and his face was powdered with dirt. A once-broken bone in his nose had become a bulge, and his gums grazed together as he spoke.


    ¡°You say you lookin¡¯ for someone,¡± the old man started. ¡°How much¡¯s¡¯it worth to you?¡±


    ¡°How much is it worth?¡± Heror questioned.


    ¡°Yes ¨C how much¡¯s¡¯it worth?¡± the old man persisted. ¡°Y¡¯see¡­ I don¡¯t offer my serv¡¯ces for free now¡­¡±


    ¡°Services?¡±


    ¡°Yes, y¡¯see¡­ ours here is a transaction, boy,¡± the old man went on. ¡°You are a traveler, seeking knowledge¡­ and I, the Oracle of Bern, might got that knowledge you seek.¡±


    Heror could smell the drink on his breath. It was the tamer of the two scents he detected. Grimacing, he leaned away.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look like an oracle,¡± Heror said as politely as he could.


    ¡°Now what would you know ¡®bout what an ¡®oracle¡¯ looks like?¡± the old man scoffed.


    Heror opened his mouth, but said nothing. Though the patron did not know Heror, he¡¯d made a valid and confident point. And now Heror started to wonder if the old man was legitimate. The old man saw Heror¡¯s hesitation, and he continued ¨C pointing a wool-covered finger toward the door.


    ¡°All them hagglers out there,¡± the old man said. ¡°They¡¯re beggin¡¯ for buyers on my doorstep, just so they can ¡®fford my serv¡¯ces. I know a great many things, and I offer insight for a price. But judgin¡¯ by that hefty purse you¡¯re carryin¡¯¡­ I¡¯d say yer all set. So I¡¯ll ask once more: How much¡¯s¡¯it worth to you?¡±


    Heror glanced across the bar, looking to investigate the old man¡¯s claims. But the owner was on the opposite end, face slumped in his palm. The other patrons were logged with alcohol, barely awake. Now the young man let out another weighty sigh and turned back to the oracle. He firmed his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m not giving you anything until I know you¡¯re honest,¡± Heror warned.


    ¡°Well, if you want to know that, then you got to give me more information!¡± the old man exclaimed. ¡°¡®Heran¡¯ is a clan name, y¡¯see. A family name. But there¡¯s more than one Heran clan that graces the Kingdom. Is yours the Heran of the jagged rocks, or the Heran of the Painted Sea, or the Heran of the wheatgrass plains?¡±


    Heror took a deep breath, and then ¨C against his reluctance ¨C he carefully reached inside his cloak and pulled out the kinship cloth. He checked to make sure the wooden counter was dry, and then he unrolled the cloth and let it lay flat on the bar. The old man studied it, as Heror spoke.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have much information. Only this,¡± Heror explained. ¡°I was left with this cloth at birth. It¡¯s the only thing I have to work from.¡±


    The old man brought his finger to his chin, and his snarling brows sank. And then, after a moment of deep thought, his brows rose, and his gray eyes brightened.


    ¡°My¡­ my lucky stars¡­¡± he declared. ¡°This is the seal of ol¡¯ Sabretooth Heran.¡±


    ¡°Sabretooth Heran?¡± Heror echoed, with equal apprehension and curiosity.


    ¡°Hold on now,¡± the old man interjected, with thirsty eyes. ¡°This is the part where you make with the coinage first, boy. I don¡¯t say nothin¡¯ else until I get my due. What¡¯s¡¯it worth to you?¡±


    Heror consternated. The answer was everything. This was all he had. Right now, he was only searching without direction. If this man was telling the truth¡­ he¡¯d have his destination.


    Heror¡¯s hand retreated inside his cloak, and his fingers wrapped around one of the coin purses Raldu had given him. For his work retrieving the Sword, Heror had earned four purses, totaling 3,000 Kivs. It was enough; it had to be.


    ¡°What¡¯s your rate?¡± Heror asked, not eager to start the negotiations.


    ¡°Whatever it¡¯s worth,¡± the oracle withheld. ¡°That¡¯s up t¡¯you. I¡¯ll decide whether it¡¯s enough. The ways I see it, I¡¯m savin¡¯ you from wandering hopelessly for weeks, in a foreign and hostile land. If you were to wander into those mountain roads, I shudder to think what¡¯d happen to ya. Yer welcome. But if yer still fixin¡¯ to be all suspicious, I have a proposition: A half-payment now, and a half-payment after you find Sabretooth Heran.¡±


    Heror bit the inside of his cheek, and then his eyes rose to meet the oracle¡¯s.


    ¡°750 Kivs,¡± Heror proposed. ¡°750 now. 750 later.¡±


    The oracle¡¯s smile widened. Heror saw the blot on his gums.


    ¡°That¡¯d suffice,¡± the old man affirmed.


    Heror took out a heavy coin purse and dropped it onto the bar. The old man swiped it, and then he wrenched his eyes up. His pupils pulsed with excitement, as a teethy grin etched across his face.


    ¡°Aye, boy. ¡®Sabretooth¡¯ Berun Heran,¡± the oracle revealed. ¡°He was one of the Caitan¡¯s men close to fifty years ago. Rumored to be a long-lost descendent of the great Nehlox ¡®mself ¨C why he chose the wolf as his symbol. Fought with a sword that had a sabretooth lodged inside its pommel. Fought in Jhor¡¯s rebellion, up in Marbal. Killed scores of those blasted Cyantils. And now he is an old man, watchin¡¯ over the kin of his clan. His sons, Berund and Amrund, and his beloved grandson Jonard. I¡¯d wager he¡¯d be thrilled to have another one a¡¯them come home.¡±


    The man spoke with a confidence and quickness that Heror could not assail, and now he began to feel excitement, too. But Heror shoved this excitement away for a moment longer, and steeled his face again, as he gathered the cloth and rolled it up.


    ¡°Where is he now?¡± Heror asked. ¡°And how do you know of him?¡±


    ¡°He passes through every so often,¡± the oracle answered. ¡°Ol¡¯ Botic over there knows him pers¡¯nally ¨C though I think he¡¯s a bit too far into his drink to tell y¡¯anything at th¡¯ moment.¡±


    The old man motioned to a patron across the bar, and as Heror looked, he heard the half-asleep patron mutter a quiet ¡®mhmm¡¯. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to put Heror somewhat at ease with the stories.


    ¡°Where is he now?¡± Heror repeated to the oracle, a bit lighter.


    ¡°He¡¯s out puttering ¡®round in Eonos, in a magnif¡¯cent estate at the top of the city¡¯s slope, bestowed t¡¯him by the Caitan Elor,¡± the oracle replied. ¡°If you¡¯ve never been out this way, Eonos is a city straight along the road to the west. A few days¡¯ ride on a carriage. Maybe only a day if it¡¯s jus¡¯ you and yer horse, and no heavy cargo. Into the base of the mountains, at the hook of the River Rheaum.¡±


    Heror nodded, and then he stood from the stool and prepared to leave. The old man grinned at him with a tilted head.


    ¡°I look forward t¡¯yer return.¡±


    Heror offered the old man only one more glance before he turned toward the door. As he went, the old man called after him again.


    ¡°Tell ol¡¯ Sabretooth I tell¡¯d him ¡®hello¡¯ when you see¡¯im!¡±

 9. The Search for Heran (Part Two)

    A quiet voice in Heror¡¯s head told him he¡¯d been played for a fool, but he pushed it away. His eagerness to find his family had taken over in that moment. It was a reckless decision; this he knew. But if it helped him find what he was looking for, any price was worth it.


    He left the village of Bern with lighter pockets and a heavier pack. After leaving the inn, he fetched Shaadur, and they carried on to the west, along the cobble road. As soon as they passed the village walls, the forest closed in again. Tall and thin conifer trees stood innumerable, crowding either side of the cobbles as the midday sun hovered in the cool cyan sea above.


    As Heror grew farther from the town, mosses and lichens crept over the stones on the road, and roots slithered from the trees, across the cracks. The slope lessened, but by now, the air was thin and light, and a frosted wind flowed through from the north and the west, clashing with the sun¡¯s direct heat.


    Heror rode. He rode until midday became afternoon, and afternoon poured into evening ¨C to the sounds of the breeze and the trot of hooves. And all the way, the road carried straight to the west, more or less. As he went, the sun overtook him. And soon, the blue sky skewed to rust, and the scarlet sun sank ¨C a luminous orb nestled within the peaks and the mountains that scaled the narrow horizon ¨C as if to halt Heror¡¯s advance.


    He kept riding. A lonesome western wanderer.


    It was at sunset that Heror decided to stop ¨C only for a moment. He took in the sounds of the wind rustling through the pine needles, and the cries of a hawk somewhere above the forest¡¯s reaches. He let the cold air wash over his skin. And then he tugged the reins and turned Shaadur around. Facing east, he saw an orange glow far in the distance, mirroring that of the one setting sun. In the direction of Bern.


    Heror¡¯s calm left him. For a moment, his muscles told him to snap the reins and bolt to the east.


    And then with an abrupt sigh, he shook his head and whisked the thoughts away. Perhaps this glow was only the torchlight. And even so, he didn¡¯t have time to investigate. He was here to find his family, and he finally had a lead. Now wasn¡¯t the time to stop. Now wasn¡¯t the time to put himself in danger.


    And so he tugged the reins again and turned back to the west, and he rode to catch the sun.


    Around dusk, Heror saw a sign for a roadside inn ten miles ahead. And it was at this point that exhaustion began to take hold, after countless nights of poor sleep. He¡¯d prioritized distance over all else, and now that priority was beginning to take its toll. Shaadur too slowed; the incline and the thin air had been no easier on him.


    True to its word, the inn stood miles down the road ¨C a torchlit two-story ranch with perhaps a dozen rooms in its western wing, and a small stable on the eastern side of the building.


    Heror forced himself to interact less at this stop. He gave Shaadur to the stable hand and paid the hand with a collection of coins, then retired inside and bought a room. This inn was louder and busier, but any potential solicitations, Heror shrugged off with a quick step and the aversion of eyes. He went upstairs, found his room, and slumped onto the bed. His eyes closed. And night became morning.


    At dawn, just before the sun¡¯s rise, Heror descended to a quiet foyer. He slinked silently past unconscious revelers and drunkards and creaked the door open, and snuck back out into the cold. He went to the stables and woke Shaadur. He fed his horse an apple and gave him water, then re-equipped the horse¡¯s hackamore and led him back onto the road.


    Situated in the center of the tree-lined street, Heror glanced east again. Below a starry sky, the amber glow still lingered on the Aelyum¡¯s edge. He knew not whether it was the fire of the sun, or the fire of man. He turned west before he could know for certain.


    Eventually, the sun did rise, casting long shadows of the horse and its rider. The blue sky reliably returned above ¨C icy wisps clouding its great expanse in streaks and ribbons. The road rose and sank with the roots of the rock orogeny. Periodically, Heror passed inns and shop clusters and small fishing villages huddled by glacial lakes. A tired trot grew to become a healthy gallop. Deer and elk watched him pass.


    In the late morning, Heror came to a Y-shaped fork in the road. The main path suddenly faded southwest, away from the mountains ¨C while another path went northwest and rose into the scalded, snowy heights. At this fork, there were two carved wooden signs shaped loosely like arrow points, with text chiseled into the wood. The text for the northward path was worn and almost illegible, but for the southward path, Heror could read clearly:


    Eonos ¨C 75 miles


    And with a bit more vigor, he fastened the reins and squeezed his shins, and Shaadur sped to the southwest.


    The southwest road descended back down the slopes, peeling away from the peaks. The narrow pines scattered, and jutting rocks outcropped along the road, blocking the view beyond. But soon, these rocks receded too, and Heror was met with an incredible sight.


    At the turning of a corner to the west-southwest, Heror exited a small pass and rode past a cluster of rich, sappy maple trees. And as he rode into the clear air, his eyes fell upon a brilliantly-colored river valley. Standing atop its ridge, he looked down and out beyond, at horizons upon horizons of lively greens and emeralds ¨C somehow brighter and more fantastic than the greens he remembered in Ardys.


    North of the valley, the great mountains of Pylantheum still loomed, their glacial caps catching the blinding light of the midday sun. But at the bottom of the rocky slopes and cascading waterfalls, trees and healthy grasses clumped and layered and dominated the landscape, beneath nomadic streams of mist and vapor.


    Heror rode down the ridge and descended into the valley, and the greens enveloped him. And yet the cobble road maintained its authority. Past the fork in the road, the stones were better kept. At the bottom of the valley, the road leveled out, and it nestled against the southern bank of a crystal clear glacial waterway. This river ¨C presumably the River Rheaum that the oracle had mentioned ¨C stretched almost a half-mile wide at this point.


    It wasn¡¯t long after reaching the bottom of the valley that Heror came across other travelers heading east. They numbered a half-dozen, all of them on horseback ¨C Pylanthean soldiers of a noble retinue, wearing steel plate armor that stretched from head to toe. Over their cuirasses, the Pylantheans wore long, light linen tabards of a dark blue, bearing what Heror assumed to be the Kingdom¡¯s seal ¨C a dark oaken canoe hull, centered with the stoic face profile of a wolf, and lined by golden embroidery.


    Where the Ardysi siephalls had worn gilded armets, the Pylanthean warriors capped their outfits with grated bascinets that obscured their faces. But the lead soldier had his helmet off and at his side, and he eyed Heror with a look of suspicion as they passed. Heror offered only a glance, tugging his hood forward just a bit. But despite his anxiety, they did not stop him. They passed ¨C swords and shields clacking with each step ¨C and Heror carried on.


    The valley road went on, following the bends of the mountain stream. The lush forests slowly faded and gave way to fertile farmland, chopped and tilled. Heror saw farmhouses and gated estates and small villages branching off as he went. He ventured past roaming merchants accompanied by hired swords and more soldiers on patrol. The road grew busier. And as sunset came again, the city of Eonos finally entered his sight.


    It sat at the very edge of the clear river, in the shadow of the northern mountains, bathing in the amber light that reflected off the ripples ¨C a magnificent walled city that stretched into the sky from a flat sward of green grassland, as if a mountain itself. Layers of stone boundaries, arched aqueducts, and man-made escarpments twisted and twirled up the city¡¯s inclines as if ridges, converging into a grand star-towered castle at the summit. At this hour, the city¡¯s peak tower caught and pierced the sun, rendering it a flaming crescent.


    Heror was still a ways away ¨C but above the low-sloping landscape of the valley, the city of Eonos demanded its presence be known. And as he ventured closer along the main road, it began to rise from the Aelyum ¨C towering over the many farmsteads and plantations, aglow with the red light of the day long passed.


    It was at least another hour before Heror reached the gates, and evening became night. By now, his backside ached and his shoulders slumped. Shaadur¡¯s canter had long lost its enthusiasm; Heror could tell the horse longed for rest just as he did. As he grew closer, he heard the faint, low drawl of a water wheel churning on the riverside ¨C wood creaking and groveling.


    Combined with the sound of the wheel, the sight of the city entrance ¨C a resolute pair of thick oaken doors nestled within a rise in the protective stone walls ¨C almost gave him respite ¨C until an armored guard standing by the gate stepped forward at Heror¡¯s approach.


    ¡°Halt!¡±


    Heror¡¯s hands tightened on the reins. Shaadur stopped and grumbled at the sudden move. Heror¡¯s paranoia urged him to be ready, but the guard drew no weapon. Instead, he pointed with a gloved finger back down the road.


    ¡°Horses inside the city are f¡¯moving cargo only. You¡¯ll ¡®ave to stable yours out¡¯ere.¡±


    Heror followed the guard¡¯s finger, and on the northern edge of the road, he saw a stable house ¨C its front entrance lit by twin torches ¨C with a fenced-in roaming and grazing area that bordered the river. A tired-eyed stable hand ¨C old and wiry ¨C sat by the entrance, resting his face in his palm as he fended off sleep, but he stood and straightened up as Heror rode near.


    With some reluctance, Heror slid down from Shaadur¡¯s saddle, his feet pinging with soreness as he hit the ground. With similar exhaustion, Shaadur blinked at Heror and fluttered his ears. Heror brought his hand onto the horse¡¯s mane.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back, Shaadur. I promise,¡± Heror said. ¡°You¡¯ll be taken care of here.¡±


    The horse whimpered. It took another anxious breath and a burst of willpower for Heror to let go of Shaadur¡¯s reins. He paid the stable hand the requested amount, and then the elderly hand led Shaadur inside to a stall. Heror watched until the horse was gone, and then he started for the city gate. The doors parted ever so slightly, and Heror ventured in.


    It was only when the doors closed behind Heror that he lifted his eyes. When he did, his gaze set upon the main square of Eonos ¨C a massive stone plot at least fifty yards wide in each direction. It extended as if a diamond from the main gate, lined on each side by closely-packed buildings and market stalls, and lit by street lamps ablaze with oil. Paths farther up the city slope extended from the square, while the aqueducts arched over the walkways and dove into the market, converging above a gleaming circular fountain made of marble at the square¡¯s very center.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Amazingly, only a trickle came from each aqueduct as the streams from above reached the fountain¡¯s confluence. And as it trickled down from the city heights, it met a gravity-fueled jet of water dancing upward from the fountain¡¯s median. In the warm amber firelight, the flares of water took on an angelic appearance ¨C and the soft bubbling was the only noise Heror heard, save for a few distant voices across the way.


    For a moment, Heror lost himself in awe, and he let the sound of the water calm him. But before long, his mind reminded him why he was here. He snapped out of his serenity and surveyed the area. At this hour, the square was almost empty, save for the Pylanthean soldiers who patrolled and guarded the market wares while the city slept.


    However, on the far side of the courtyard past the fountain, Heror saw several still-lit buildings. Whatever nightlife still remained was clustered there; inebriated men wandered and waved their arms. Echoing in the night, Heror heard a brazen laugh. His eyes fixed on one bustling building with a swinging wooden sign in front, below an awning. He started toward it.


    On approach, Heror felt the suspicious glances of sentinels and carousers, but he weathered them with intentful steps, boots clacking cleanly against the smooth stone. As he neared the building, the noise beckoned. Chatter and laughter filled his ears, and a thick orange glare forced him to squint in the low light. He brushed past one group and squeezed past another, and then with a shoulder leading, he entered through the tavern¡¯s swinging door.


    As soon as he stepped inside, his senses overloaded. Hemp smoke mottled the air, and the stench of strong alcohol stung his nostrils. Candled sconces and sprawling metal chandeliers set the room aglow in piercing light, and everywhere ¨C along the bar area to the left, across the rows of seating to the right, and standing in the space between ¨C there were people. Their voices were indistinguishable now ¨C a crowded frenzy of sound that deftly deafened and flushed Heror¡¯s thoughts away.


    Heror¡¯s anxiety told him to take a step back toward the entryway. But after a moment of careful breathing, he managed to keep his composure. He took a step forward. Catching a glimpse from a stranger seated nearby, he dropped his eyes under the cover of his hood. He took another step and lifted them again, and his focus went to the bar. At the foot of a vast array of wines and meads and ales, a man with graying-brown hair and an embroidered shirt and vest leaned against the counter, speaking with one of his patrons. Heror assumed him to be the owner.


    Navigating through the mob and the noise, Heror made his way to the bar, and unexpectedly, the owner noticed him. The owner gestured to the patron to wait a moment, and then just as Heror reached the counter, the man looked his way and gifted a wide smile.


    ¡°Welcome t¡¯the Leaping Liver!¡± the owner exclaimed, his voice carrying well. ¡°And welcome to Eonos. Assuming it¡¯s your first time, ¡®cause I¡¯ve never seen ya before. M¡¯name¡¯s Faenor. What can I get you?¡±


    ¡°A-actually¡­¡±


    A haggard patron shoved past Heror from the right, and Heror glanced nervously before eyeing the owner again.


    ¡°Actually¡­ I could use your help.¡±


    ¡°Of course! What do you need?¡±


    The owner¡¯s friendly nature put Heror just a bit at ease. He took a deep breath.


    ¡°I need your help finding someone.¡±


    ¡°If they¡¯re in Eonos, I know ¡®em!¡±


    ¡°Do you know where I can find Sabretooth Heran?¡±


    ¡°Sabretooth Heran¡­¡±


    The owner repeated the name. Then he brought a hand to his chin. Heror¡¯s ease suddenly left him.


    ¡°You might know him as Berun Heran?¡± Heror offered.


    The owner didn¡¯t answer right away. Heror¡¯s heart started to sink.


    ¡°Sorry, lad,¡± the owner conceded after a short spell. ¡°That¡¯s a name I do not know.¡±


    ¡°Sabretooth Berun Heran?¡± Heror tried again. ¡°He lives in an estate at the top of the city? He was one of the Caitan¡¯s men? M-maybe¡­¡±


    With fumbling fingers, Heror drew the kinship cloth from his cloak. He unrolled it and set it on the counter. The owner Faenor studied the cloth for a few seconds, and then he solemnly shook his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he repeated. ¡°I¡¯ve never¨C¡±


    ¡°He fought in Jhor¡¯s Rebellion,¡± Heror blurted, hoping this would spark a connection.


    ¡°If he fought in Jhor¡¯s Rebellion, I would¡¯ve known of¡¯m,¡± Faenor reasoned. ¡°I was there myself ¨C when I was around your age, in fact.¡±


    Now Heror lost his words. His mouth opened and closed. He stammered.


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°Lad,¡± the owner stopped him with a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯d love t¡¯help, but you¡¯re searching in the wrong place. Maybe your man¡¯s out there somewhere, but he i¡¯nt here.¡±


    Heror¡¯s jaw clenched shut. He forced out a huff. He could feel his face getting warmer.


    ¡°D¡¯you want anything while you¡¯re here?¡± Faenor asked.


    Heror cleared his throat. His eyes fluttered up and down. He shook his head. Feynor nodded, then peered past the young man.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ve got some more cust¡¯mers here,¡± Faenor said apologetically. ¡°If you¡¯re not getting anything, I gotta ask ya to clear the way. Best¡¯f luck, yeah?¡±


    Heror did as the man asked. He gathered his kinship cloth and stepped away, and the noise engulfed him again. But none of it ¨C the clanking of mugs and plates, the screeching of chair and table legs, or the guffaws of off-duty guardsmen ¨C could drown out the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.


    He stepped out into the open night air and went back toward the fountain, where the noise was softer. He took a moment to compose himself, and then he made away to another inn farther down the stone path. He asked the proprietor about Sabretooth Heran. The same conversation unfolded.


    He rushed back out and went to another tavern across the square. Again, he asked about Sabretooth Heran. And again, he was told the man did not exist.


    Soon enough, he found himself at the fountain again. He sat with his legs crossed, and his head bowed. The night was deeper. The air was quieter. But still, Heror could not calm himself ¨C and the burble of the water no longer helped. It only sped his thoughts.


    He had been tricked.


    It had been so obvious. And he¡¯d been tricked anyway.


    How could you be so naive?


    He¡¯d wandered this far for nothing. He wasn¡¯t any closer to finding his family.


    Heror, what made you think this would be a good idea?


    It was hopeless.


    You¡¯re hopeless.


    He was stranded. Alone.


    This is what you deserve.


    Limply, he stood. He turned and made his way back to the tavern.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Ha! This one¡¯s had too much.¡±


    Heror could still hear. That was disappointing.


    The young man scraped his face off of the wood and rolled back his shoulders. Then he dragged his fingers around the handle of his empty ceramic tankard and held it out to the owner.


    ¡°¡­ more¡­¡±


    The owner Faenor eyed Heror with a look of concern, but he chose not to defy the weight of the boy¡¯s coin purse. He took Heror¡¯s cup and filled it again. As soon as he set it back on the counter, Heror grabbed it and took a swig. The alcohol simmered in his throat. Maybe this would be the sip that dulled his senses.


    ¡°And what can I get you?¡± the owner asked someone else.


    Heror frowned. It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have what he¡¯s having. It seems to be doing the trick.¡±


    Heror clumsily glanced to his right. A bearded man with the appearance of a fighter ¨C perhaps a mercenary ¨C had sat down next to him. The man noticed Heror¡¯s look, and he smirked.


    ¡°You still in there, boy?¡± the man teased, poking his forehead.


    Heror didn¡¯t answer, and the man let out a sharp laugh above the chatter. The boy turned his gaze ahead again, and his eyes fell on the wood. He brushed a finger against a knot. He could still feel. Also disappointing.


    Now he dropped his right hand down below the counter, and he ran it across the flat of his blade. He brushed a fingertip against the Sword of Sparhh¡¯s handle. Still, he felt nothing but the cold of metal.


    Heror let out a huff of a chuckle and shook his head. A bitter smile appeared and then disappeared on his face. His eyes sank, then lifted and drifted. He observed a candled sconce behind the counter. A moth had found its way inside the tavern, and it danced above the feeble flame, beckoned by the light.


    ¡°Aye, that¡¯s a fine weapon you have,¡± Heror heard the mercenary say. ¡°Where¡¯d¡¯ya get it?¡±


    Now Heror leaned forward and tucked his face beneath his hood.


    ¡°Leave him be, Tuork,¡± Faenor advised, his brow creased. ¡°He¡¯s ¡®ad a rough go of it.¡±


    ¡°Well, then perhaps my honeyed words can cheer ¡®im up,¡± the mercenary named Tuork chimed.


    Heror caught a whiff of the mercenary¡¯s breath. He could still smell, too. This was especially disappointing.


    ¡°What¡¯s eatin¡¯ ya, boy? I¡¯m deathly curious.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes rose ever so slightly, resting on the moth that lingered on the far wall. He blinked and stared ahead.


    ¡°¡­ I am the monster they thought I was¡­¡± he mumbled beneath his breath.


    ¡°What? Speak up. I didn¡¯t hear none a¡¯that.¡±


    Heror closed his eyes and let out a long, concedent exhale. His muscles sank against the counter and the chair. With a weak hand, he grabbed his tankard and took another drink. Then he set it down and closed his eyes again. He thought. And then he began to count.


    ¡°One¡­ two¡­ three¡­ four¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®e doin¡¯ now?¡± the talkative mercenary said through a scoff.


    ¡°¡­ six¡­ seven¡­ eight¡­ nine¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯re ya doin¡¯, boy? You¡¯re scarin¡¯ me,¡± the mercenary joked.


    Heror lost his place and sighed angrily. He gave the hired sword another glance, this one more pointed.


    ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ trying to remember¡­¡± Heror slurred.


    ¡°Remember what?¡± the mercenary pried with an amused grin.


    Heror¡¯s head swerved forward again. He blinked slowly and curled his fingers.


    ¡°The ones I¡¯ve killed¡­¡±


    Faenor glanced at Heror before leaving to help another customer, while the mercenary unleashed another hearty guffaw.


    ¡°How precious!¡± the mercenary erupted. ¡°So many! The Caitaruu must shudder at your approach!¡±


    The mercenary bellowed another laugh. Heror heard the siephall¡¯s cries for mercy in his mind.


    ¡°Dozens have fallen to the edge of my blade,¡± the mercenary declared proudly. ¡°All across the Pylantheon, they fear my name. When the other haldluun hears my title among the attackers, they throw down their blades and surrender. When they make the fatal mistake of standin¡¯ strong and defendin¡¯ their escarpments, I teach them the err of their ways. When¡­¡±


    Heror downed his drink and buried his face in his arms. Eventually, the mercenary stopped his ramble and left. The patrons thinned and turned away for the night, and the noise faded and faded, until Heror was left alone at the bar, under the firelight upon which the moths descended.


    It was only when the owner Faenor told him the tavern was closing that Heror departed. He thanked the man quietly and wandered out into the empty square, swaying as he walked. He went back to the gate and pushed through the doors, and then he stumbled aimlessly out into the dark, away from the city¡¯s lanterns. His eyes traced the many stars, before they sank and threatened to close.


    ¡°This is what I deserve¡­¡± he whispered to no one.


    His feet trudged along the cobbles. The half-moon hovered above the quiet farmsteads.


    ¡°I am what they thought I was¡­¡±


    He shivered and hugged his arms beneath his cloak. His nose ran.


    The wind was cold.

 10. Vines

    Adjaash saw the sun at morning. It was the last time.


    She caught a glimpse of the parent star¡¯s amber glow in the east as she scaled a highland slope, and she used this information to reorient herself to the north. She kept the sun to her right until it disappeared behind the trees and creeping plants. She dared not stray from the path.


    Around late morning, she saw a light which led her to a small clearing. In that clearing, she came to a boulder half-buried in the ancient moss, standing beside a weeping cherry tree with cool white leaves, distinctive with its swirling roots. She dismounted Ashanji and climbed atop the rock, and she craned her head to search for the star again. But she could see nothing through the canopy ¨C only the icy glow that permeated into the depths. The light was playing tricks.


    She fixated on the art of moving straight. When Ashanji whined about being pricked by bushes, Adjaash pushed her to keep pressing with a guiding whisper. When snarling vines and bamboo roots encroached upon them, she brushed past, with as little lateral movement as she could manage. With one hand, she held the reins. With the other, she suppressed her coughs.


    She dared not stray from the path. Not here.


    Not an inch to the left. Not an inch to the right.


    Around midday ¨C she assumed ¨C she stopped to rest. She tended to Ashanji, then to herself. At the very least, she could take comfort in their healthy supply. She¡¯d throughly stocked Ashanji¡¯s leather packs with food and water before heading south. She couldn¡¯t be sure that the medicine was working, but she hadn¡¯t gotten worse.


    She forced herself not to stop for too long, and so their rest was a short one. At a careful trot, they wandered in the wilds. Roots and vines snaked onward in every direction, as far as the eye could see. Adjaash kept her eyes ahead. She dared not linger on the serpentine stalks and climbing roots ¨C the ancient forest¡¯s favorite adornment. If she looked for too long, she might¡¯ve thought them to be moving. Watching her.


    Around mid-afternoon ¨C she assumed ¨C it started to get darker. The sun no longer bore down on the tall trees from directly above, and so the forest¡¯s many spines swallowed its light. Its last remnants fluttered slowly to the cavernous low as a cool blue, its heat long stripped away. In the chilled abyss, Adjaash shivered and sweat. Her throat ached and tightened.


    By evening, the light was almost lost. Adjaash lit a torch. Crickets chirped and woodland creatures called out in the dark. In the smothered space, Ashanji began to grow restless. Her head whisked about, flinching at hanging branches and leaves, and she whimpered at the foreign sounds. Silently, Adjaash asked Shenu for respite.


    She almost thought the light to be gone, until a distant scarlet afterglow came into view, through the halls of trees. Gently, she brought Ashanji to a canter ¨C though at the thought of freedom, the horse was eager to follow the command.


    They rode through the forest brush, and slowly, the woods around them became awash in the low crimson light of the sunset almost past, flowing from the glade up ahead. When they emerged, Ashanji whinnied with excitement, kicking in the open air and freeing her legs. Adjaash, however, looked on in horror, at the same twisted weeping cherry tree she¡¯d seen earlier that day ¨C pale blossoms painted red by the bleeding cinder-glow.


    ¡°You have to be fucking kidding me¡­¡±


    Adjaash tugged at the reins and turned Ashanji to the left, then to the right. Her eyes lashed from one end of the clearing to the other, but it quickly became clear she had not misjudged where they were. The weeping cherry tree stood next to a speckled stone boulder, which fought off an invasion of blue-green moss from below.


    Furious thoughts flared and then faded. She had no time or energy to dwell on how they¡¯d ended up back here. They needed to rest.


    And so they retired against the broad side of the boulder, underneath the arched branches of the weeping cherry, in the soft moss and grass. Adjaash couldn¡¯t sleep.


    As soon as the morning¡¯s light crept back into the world, they set off again.


    To the best of her ability, Adjaash used the angle of the early sunlight to try and judge due north. With tired, bag-ridden eyes and raspy breath, she stared ahead as she rode, willing her horse to stay on course.


    The icy light pooled above once again. The woods filled with cold, humid air. Time passed. Up and down a ridge they went. And as the cool blue mist began to skew into gold and orange, they descended into the wetlands. Dirt and brush transitioned into muck and peat. The fog sank and thickened, and the remnants of the sun¡¯s gleam spread in the saturated air, painting across the verdant spires of emerald and aqua green.


    In her head, Adjaash envisioned a map of Mide. This development could be good or bad. The Mides spilled into wetlands on the northern and eastern sides, where the river basin lay. But there were also dozens of hidden marshlands within the range itself, preserved by concentric ridges and steady mountain rises. If she had truly found her way to the edge, the trees would soon spread and reveal the basin to her.


    But night began to fall, and the trees only rose in greater numbers. The wilds constricted upon them again, like a snake coiling and enveloping its feed. Where pine trees had once stood, bald willows and wide, rough-barked dracena trees. Flowering vines drooped down as if angel¡¯s hair, and spindly leaves clustered above, dotted with round orange fruits. The ground was moist and warned of standing water nearby. As the last light faded and died, the living labyrinth began to speak again; a chorus of unseen creatures echoed in the dark.


    Ashanji scuffed her hooves along in the dampness, huffing at the discomfort. A nearby mammal screeched from a branch above, and Ashanji snorted loudly, shutting it up. Weakly holding a torch, Adjaash fought to stay awake; she could feel her grip slipping on the rein. Her forehead burned, and her bones simmered with pain. Before she could notice, she started to sway, and Ashanji stopped, glancing back with a murmur. Adjaash straightened up and sighed.


    ¡°Sorry, Ashanji¡­¡± she grumbled. ¡°Looking for a place to stop¡­¡±


    It was then that a quiet flash caught Adjaash¡¯s attention, and her eyes focused out of instinct. She gazed ahead and waited, and after a few seconds, she saw it again: A pale yellow blink of light not far away, ephemeral in the suffocating dark. She waited for it once more to make sure her weary mind was not deceiving her.


    When she saw it again, she ushered Ashanji ahead. And in just a few paces, they came to the edge of a shallow pond. Here, the crickets and the frogs overpowered in song ¨C a gentle yet captivating tune, echoing beneath the confines of the canopy, past the cattails and vinestrands.


    Adjaash took in the scent of the water. She looked down at the duckweed and sedge, and the dimly-glowing foxfire fungi that climbed along the edge of discarded trunks and logs. And then as she looked up again, she saw the source of the light: A bellbug, with a bell-shaped bulb on its underbelly that emitted a bioluminescent light. Its yellow shine faded in and out, and then in and out again. Fast wings flitted softly.


    Over a dozen of them thronged above the pond, their glows reflecting against the calm ripples below. One drifted close to the cattails, and Ashanji leaned in to sniff at it. When it flashed, her ears perked up. Adjaash forced a weak smile, and then she brought the reins to the left.


    ¡°Maireh koro. We¡¯ve got to find a way around.¡±


    She started to turn when something caught her eye. It was there and then it was gone. But in the fleeting light of the bellbugs, against the canvas of night, she saw it: The shadow form of a humanoid, standing and spreading its arms over the waters not far in the distance. She froze. Her eyes bore right. But when the citrus glow faded in again, there was nothing. They floated like lanterns. The crickets¡¯ song went uninterrupted.


    Adjaash let out a short breath. It was just her eyes.


    Just her eyes.


    She squeezed her shins.


    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡±


    They trudged through the peat bog; Ashanji¡¯s hooves sank with each heavy step. Adjaash could tell the horse was growing agitated, but she didn¡¯t know what choice she had. She couldn¡¯t leave her horse behind. To turn back was to eliminate a day of progress. As long as they kept going, maybe they¡¯d eventually break through.


    They worked around the perimeter of the pond, and the soil hardened enough for Ashanji to quicken her pace a bit. They went left and turned right again. The pond stretched into a slow-moving stream and they rode alongside it. Lily pads grew from weeds beneath the surface, intermingling with the green water clovers. In her cocoon of torchlight, Adjaash kept glancing out over the marsh ¨C but the small fire could only pierce so far through the cloak of night.


    As they walked, the wetland¡¯s vines and tendrils entered and escaped the shell of flamelight below, at times giving off the impression that they too were moving ¨C slithering and scattering under the cover of shadow. Adjaash knew this was only an illusion. But her tired mind could tell the difference less and less.


    Perhaps only one thing gave her solace: She still heard the sounds of nature.


    There was a high-pitched rattle and a muskrat skittered across the soil, into the creek. Somewhere deep in the swamp, a bristleback hog grunted. The katydids chirred and the cicadas sneered. The air was heavy, both cold and warm.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Ashanji flinched and huffed as a large dragonfly whirred past. Adjaash patted her mane and whispered to her, as well as her scratchy voice could allow.


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t like these kinds of places. I need you to be strong, Ashanji. I promise, if we keep going, we¡¯ll make it through.¡±


    Adjaash pursed her lips.


    ¡°We have to.¡±


    As soon as she said this, Adjaash heard another noise far in the distance ¨C one that echoed and was lost before she could make sense of it. But it was a sound she knew: The laugh of a young girl. Ashbashenu.


    She would¡¯ve dismissed it as a trick of her slipping mind if Ashanji hadn¡¯t also halted in her tracks. The horse froze, and the hairs of her mane stood on end. Adjaash squinted and peered into the blackness. She saw nothing but the glow of the bellbugs and the fauna. She heard nothing but the nature she¡¯d heard before.


    She waited a bit longer this time, and then with a fragile sigh, she urged Ashanji to carry on again. They trotted through the heavy overgrowth and the swamp¡¯s humid tunnels, guided only by the beacon of fire, crackling quietly. Midnight grew near, and it was only then that Adjaash saw the next source of light. The yellow call of the bellbugs beckoned her forward through the brush, and when Adjaash and Ashanji emerged again, they came to a larger pond ¨C the night sky unobstructed above it.


    Finally out of the forest¡¯s cover ¨C even if only for a moment ¨C Adjaash took a long, relaxing breath. She looked up. The night sky was completely clear, alit in a deep navy blue by the many stars and the reflection of the half-moon. The stars twinkled and whispered in hues of silver, blue, yellow, and gold, and the galactic ring enveloped them ¨C dark nebulaic clouds untouched by the cornice of the realm.


    As Adjaash¡¯s eyes sank, she saw the mirror of the starscape painted across the pond, beneath a field of flashing bellbugs. As if a constellation themselves, they silently hovered above the lilies and the pink lotus plants, fluttering to the tune of the crickets as they interspersed with the night sky¡¯s shivering image.


    The sight was somewhat familiar, but Adjaash only let the wonder captivate her for a moment before she remembered her objective. Her eyes lifted again and traced the sky until she found the Peak of the Obelisk ¨C the north star. She made a mental note of it, and then she glanced left and right at her surroundings. The soil seemed stable enough on the bank of the lily pond. They could rest here and start again in the morning.


    Now Adjaash¡¯s eyes went to the ground, as she searched for a place to dismount. The soil was firm enough, but all across the shore, flowering vines with petals of white and red and indigo roped along from beneath the ripples, scaling the banks and overlapping one another. She ushered Ashanji over a cluster of serpentine limbs, then stopped. She looked out over the pond again.


    It was dark. The bellbugs were gone. Only the stars remained.


    Something felt wrong. Adjaash¡¯s brow lowered. She dropped the reins and let a hand flourish toward her bow. With the other hand, she held the torch as close as she could to the waters, begging the firelight to stretch farther. In the dark, she heard a fish jump and slosh quietly. Past the pond, a bristleback screeched. The crickets¡¯ call remained. All sounds of night.


    Maybe she was only being paranoid.


    A lone bellbug flashed closeby and Adjaash forced out a calm breath, still staring daggers. She grabbed hold of the reins again and inched ahead once more, when another sight in her periphery forced her eyes up once more.


    At the edge of the pond, from left to right, she saw a stream of bellbugs flashing in perfect sequence, like a ribbon of gilded light that illuminated in a flow. It might¡¯ve been mesmerizing, but Adjaash took no delight in the unnatural sight. She heard Ashanji¡¯s anxious grunts beneath her, and her eyes fixed on the lightflow. Just as she focused, there was more light from the right, and she glanced that way to see a symmetrical flow coming from the other edge of the pond.


    The blinking lights drifted over the pond and wavered within the ripples, and they each carried toward the center. And when they converged at the very center of the water, Adjaash saw their master in the confluent glow.


    It was a slender womanly form, limbs and torso made of snarling vines. She stood atop a trunk of roots, as tendrils slithered beneath her, crossing her right leg in front of her left. Her arms stretched across the pond from end to end ¨C bellbugs flocking to her branches like Aelyum-bound stars. Adjaash saw the thing¡¯s face ¨C a rough, oaken, featureless mannequin visage with two antlers formed from hardened stalks and sprawling branches. It had a nose, clear eyes, a mouth, and nothing else ¨C and as the light rained over it, Adjaash saw its devilish, downturned smile.


    Ashanji jolted back and whined. Adjaash tightened her grip on the reins. The horse backed into a bush and lurched forward again. Adjaash¡¯s heart pounded, and as she looked ahead, the being opened its mouth.


    ¡°Aaaaaaaaa¡­¡±


    Now Ashanji started to shriek, and Adjaash gritted her teeth. Her eyes began to water. The voice wasn¡¯t loud at first, but it nonetheless stung her ears. Her eardrums rang, her temples seared, and her head began to throb. She felt the trickle of blood from her nose. And as she fought to control her horse, the voice grew louder.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAA¡­¡±


    And now the servants of the forest joined in. The crickets¡¯ rhythmic chant became an imprisoned buzz. The cicadas, trapped in an endless shout. The fish jumped and gesticulated feverishly in the shallow waters, manifesting waves. Bristlebacks and muskrats and otters bellowed in an off-tune chorus, frantic and fierce. Foxes trilled. Coyotes screamed. The noise rose and rose into a deafening blur. The bellbugs brightened and brightened¡­ as the nymph droned on¡­


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMHH!¡±


    And then it stopped. The bellbugs blackened. The warnings of the woods halted in perfect harmony. Adjaash¡¯s torch blew out, leaving her and Ashanji in total darkness. The silence stung, louder than any noise.


    Ashanji snorted and grunted in a panic; Adjaash dropped her torch and extended a hand to try and calm her. But just as Adjaash¡¯s hand reached Ashanji¡¯s mane, there was a loud ¡°snap¡± and Ashanji screeched again, lurching to the right as she bucked back. Fearing that her horse might fall on her, Adjaash ripped her feet from the stirrups and escaped to the left, rolling in the dirt as Ashanji kicked and teetered back. When she landed and steadied on one knee, Ashanji was sprinting the other way.


    ¡°Ashanji!!¡±


    The horse dashed into the dark and was lost.


    Adjaash rushed after her, moccasins slopping through mud and swamp grass. Over her shoulder, she heard the sound of something speeding through the water. Before she could go any further, a snare of vines erupted from the pond, snarling and spiraling in front of her path. A limb of the forest snapped at her arm and wrapped around her wrist. She grimaced at the sudden pressure, then tore a dagger from beneath her poncho and cut the snare loose. She ran into the woods. She heard the laughter again.


    She brushed through the thick verdure and slammed her shoulder against a tree hidden in the shadows. She pressed ahead in pain, holding her side with one hand, while her dagger sat ready in the other. When she heard the vines slithering behind her, she quickened her pace. She saw one climbing a nearby tree as if a snake, and she swerved away, keeping her stride.


    ¡°Ashanji!¡±


    She dared not stop her feet. She leapt over a tangled root and ducked beneath a low branch. Her lungs begged for air, her throat burned, and hair matted her face. She heard a screech of some kind to the right, and she turned and sped that way, breathing rasped.


    ¡°Ashb¨C A-Ashanji!¡±


    She stepped to avoid another tree in the dark, and then she stopped. She had to catch her breath. Against the willow bark, she slid slowly to the ground, holding her hand close to her face as she suppressed a coughing fit. Then she brought the back of her hand to her face and wiped the red from under her nose. She scowled. Her breath could not be caught.


    ¡°Aaaaaa¡­¡±


    The nymph¡¯s seraphic note came again. Distant, but still close. Adjaash¡¯s eyes clenched shut and she shook her head, holding the dagger close to her chest.


    She dared not feel fear.


    As the note crescendoed and carried through the woods, the flora and fauna went aglow, and petals and growths erupted in a sea of color ¨C luminescent blues and purples and pinks and ambers exploding into sight, pulsing with each vibration. The glow illuminated Adjaash, and in the low light, she saw a serpentine vine creeping toward her. She flashed to her feet just as it snapped, narrowly avoiding its serrated thorns. And then she raced off once more.


    Tendrils flared. Tentacles of tree bark and twining stems flashed toward her. Only narrowly did she evade, bolting past ¨C speeding into the forest, though she saw no escape. She ran and ran until she saw another yellow light not far away between the trunks, and she started toward it. She only hoped Ashanji would follow it, too. She stopped herself from calling her horse¡¯s name again, in fear it would give her away.


    It was quiet now ¨C all too quiet, save for the sound of her frantic footsteps. Adjaash glanced back behind her. She saw nothing. Back ahead. She was getting closer. Back over her shoulder. Down to the ground. Back ahead again.


    She emerged into another small clearing, at the edge of the marsh. Standing in the brush, her eyes widened as, in the pooled yellow light of the bellbugs, she saw the same weeping cherry tree she¡¯d seen twice before ¨C its limbs hopelessly mangled and contorted beyond recovery. Its bloom spread in a twisted cloud. Its leaves started to change before her very eyes ¨C from deep red to pale pink, and from pale pink to white. She heard a voice hiss in the air, and inside her head. Mimicking Ashbashenu.


    Adjaash loathed this trickery.


    ¡°Elesvii, elesvii¡­ so predictable. Like moths to a flame.¡±


    From white to green. From green to orange.


    ¡°Tell me¡­ why is it when you are afraid, you prefer the light to the dark?¡±


    From orange to brown.


    ¡°They mislead you all the same.¡±


    And then the tree¡¯s leaves decayed and fell, leaving only a shriveled skeleton. And just as the leaves fell, the tree itself melted away, revealing a conglomeration of vines ¨C sinking and sprawling. Washing toward her. A stalking stampede.


    Adjaash¡¯s breath left her in a gasp, and in a rush, she went to run again. But just as she began to turn left, one of the reaching roots grappled her ankle and sent her tumbling to the ground. She grunted on impact, and she just as soon swung her dagger back to try and sever the snare. Another vine wrapped around her wrist at the top of her swing, however, and she felt the vines tug and stretch.


    Adjaash gritted her teeth and fought to break free, but she couldn¡¯t slow them now. The dagger fell from her grasp. Another vine wrapped around her midsection. Thorns and flower petals scraped against her. She opened her mouth to cry out, before the voice spoke again.


    ¡°Shhh¡­¡±


    Now Adjaash stopped. Her eyes darted around. Her chest heaved.


    ¡°Shhhhhh¡­¡±


    And then it was silent. The yellow glow of the bellbugs began to fade. Another vine snaked slowly across Adjaash¡¯s lap, and she watched as flowers sprouted from it in seconds. They shined fluorescent in the night ¨C beautiful blossoms of life and color ¨C and between them, a fruit grew off the stalk, weighing heavy over Adjaash¡¯s stomach. From a seed, to a stem, and then to a full harvest. A thick green skin, dripping with fresh dew.


    ¡°Eat,¡± the voice said.


    Adjaash tried to cry out again, and this time, a thornless vine wrapped around her jaw. Another snaked around her ears.


    ¡°Eat.¡±


    She couldn¡¯t fight anymore. She heard Ashbashenu¡¯s stolen tongue.


    ¡°We¡¯re still playing.¡±


    The vine slid down and tightened around her neck. She squirmed, and another wrapped around her free wrist, pulling her back. She felt her spine flatten against the ground. Her racing heartbeat drummed inside her ears. Her last free foot kicked and scraped against the ground, until it too was snared.


    The air was stuck outside her pleading mouth.


    Her eyes started to drift shut. Her muscles slacked.


    The light brightened and blurred and goldered. She saw Ashweban on the beach, hair dancing in the wind. Feet marking the soft sand, beneath the pure blue sky. She heard the waves. She smelled the sea foam.


    Adjaash tried to chase after her mother. One step at a time.


    She fixated on the art of moving straight. But she wavered.


    Her eyes closed.

 11. Scibu (Part One)

    It grows from a seed.


    Toward light, once seen.


    From stem, to filament, to petal.


    The root grows deep.


    The soil, it kneads.


    And at its peak, it blossoms.


    Spores of pollen it breathes.


    It sways in the breeze.


    But never does it falter.


    And when gone, it seems,


    It grows back from nowhere,


    In places not foreseen.


    Thaeolai titled this one ¡®Hope¡¯.


    She allowed herself the smallest smile. It was acceptable, she supposed.


    It was quiet in the barracks. The fragile light of dawn melted in through the lone circular window at the back wall¡¯s pinnacle ¨C cool blue and ginger dying quickly in the shadow. It was only by this fleeting light that Thaeolai saw her work. But as soon as she finished, she hid it away beneath her pillow, carefully flattening the parchment away from the fabric.


    Once she was done concealing her treachery, Thaeolai¡¯s emerald eyes cast across the room. All of the healers were still asleep. Shallow breaths and quiet snores mingled in an uninspiring chorus. Up on the wall, above the door, the timekeeping grid ticked. A carefully engineered rectangular array, it spanned six columns wide. The top notch measured the hours by two, while the bottom notch measured the minutes by ten. Thaeolai read six hours and twenty minutes.


    It was early; breakfast wouldn¡¯t be served until seven hours at the earliest. But she wouldn¡¯t be able to fall back asleep anyway. Her mind wouldn¡¯t let her.


    Silently, she slipped out from under her straw sheets and sat over the edge of the bed. She stretched her shoulders and arms and legs, but even after all this, she felt soreness as she stood. She felt the soft sting of her brain, as familiar anxieties came to greet her. In this life of running away, she wondered if there was ever truly any respite.


    Nevertheless, she fled out into the corridor, and the biting torchlight blighted her tired eyes. She scrunched and squinted and rubbed her sockets with her fists. As her eyes adjusted and her vision faded into focus, she saw pale limestone brick walls and polished wood trimming, running along a cold stone floor. The lonely crackles of the fire echoed. Had she not known better, she might¡¯ve thought this fortress an elaborate tomb.


    Suddenly aimless with her thoughts, she decided to head down the corridor and wait in the great hall ¨C when an old and weary voice behind her eroded her composure yet again.


    ¡°Thaeolai.¡±


    Thaeolai turned and saw Ucankacei, standing crooked against his wooden crutch. A thin, patchy coating of silver now hugged his bronzed face and protruding cheeks, and a cloud blotted his once-bright sea green eyes. But as he had so many times before for his young, he found a smile from somewhere deep within, and bore it to her.


    ¡°Ucankacei,¡± Thaeolai offered, her tone gentle but reserved.


    The old man opened his mouth, and she saw his lips stagger and waver as he searched for what to say. After a few seconds, he resolved with something small. Something less vulnerable.


    ¡°Glad to know you¡¯re alright.¡±


    ¡°Same to you.¡±


    Ucankacei nodded. And then he went past and down the hall, the wooden nub of his crutch clacking against the stone in a hollow rap. She didn¡¯t tell him it was a sound she¡¯d heard a dozen times already over the past two days, as he made his many rounds past the medical wing.


    She allowed herself another quiet smile.


    It was six hours and thirty minutes when she reached the great hall. Here, the stone floor gave way to oak, and walls gave way to a vast open space, enclosed by torched pillars, candle-crested chandeliers of iron, and a mountainous vaulted ceiling made of angled wooden planks, reinforced by rock.


    A couple dozen siephalls were already stirring, spaced out at wooden tables across the great hall, wearing light linens free of their armor¡¯s weight. Thaeolai¡¯s first instinct was to sit by herself ¨C she had no friends here to seek out ¨C and she identified a table separated well enough in the far corner. But just as she started for her destination, she saw two siephalls she recognized sitting alone closer to the room¡¯s center: Khoulane and the other who¡¯d secured their escape from the camp.


    At her mind¡¯s constant creep, her desire to not be alone proved victorious. Her feet carried her to their table, and she sat. The two siephalls were silent and visibly tired, but Khoulane offered her a glance of acknowledgement. She saw his eyes glint with recognition. They looked less empty since she last checked on him days ago.


    ¡°I wanted to thank you two,¡± Thaeolai said, ¡°for what you did. You saved a lot of lives at the camp.¡±


    Now the other young siephall offered Thaeolai a glance; his eyes had once been downcast, but now he looked up. His blue eyes reminded her of someone, but there was less fire in his iris¡¯ glow; she couldn¡¯t decide this good or bad. His hair was loose and blonde and parted to the side, and his skin a soft gold, like a model Opelite. Like she¡¯d once been. But something marred and darkened his expression. Like it did to all.


    ¡°It was nothing,¡± the siephall mumbled, as peacefully as he could.


    He fought the sounds of war inside his mind, she deduced. They all did. The chatter in the great hall was low. Voices were hushed and fragile. A corrupting miasma blighted the torch-blotted air.


    Thaeolai recited her poem in her mind. She parsed through memories that returned without her blessing. Sitting among a dozen siblings at a silent dinner table, adorned with pristine plates and silverware and gilded metal coverings. Quiet dread piercing the air as mother spied for any misstep, misleading gentility gracing her face. Fear and preservation blotting out hope and light.


    She had to fight it. Somehow. Before it only consumed.


    She embellished a warm smile as best she could and glanced between the two.


    ¡°Your name is Khoulane, I know that,¡± she recalled with a tone too light, before turning to the siephall: ¡°What about you?¡±


    The siephall looked up at her again ¨C reluctant, but coaxed by her soft, guiding eyes of emerald.


    ¡°Axyphylei,¡± the siephall replied. ¡°My friends call¡­ called¡­ me Ax.¡±


    ¡°Ax??¡± Khoulane blurted; he sat up straight and his eyes went wide.


    The siephall let out a heavy sigh.


    ¡°Khoulane, we¡¯ve been over this¡­¡±


    At their sudden bickering, Thaeolai couldn¡¯t hide her smirk.


    ¡°You two have been acquainted then?¡± she chimed.


    Axyphylei let out another short sigh and reflected her smirk ¨C just a little.


    ¡°Yes, we have.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to call you ¡®Ax,¡¯¡± Khoulane declared, resolute.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, you don¡¯t have to,¡± Axyphylei said with a light chuckle.


    ¡°What else would you call him?¡± Thaeolai wondered aloud.


    ¡°How about bullfrog?¡± Khoulane proposed. ¡°He sounds like a bullfrog when he snores.¡±


    Axyphylei let out a third sigh. Thaeolai grinned mischievously, glancing at the siephall as she egged Khoulane on.


    ¡°Is that so?¡± she mused.


    ¡°Yes, it is unfortunately very so!¡± Khoulane exclaimed, his lively voice filling the chamber. ¡°Exactly like those bullfrogs you hear in the swamps past the docks. Half the barracks can¡¯t sleep. His bed is right next to mine. I have to put my pillow over my head. Counting sheep doesn¡¯t work when you got this bullfrog blaring in your ears. Can never get past one. One¡­ one, two¡­ brrrrrrrrttttttt!!¡±


    A dozen eyes glanced toward their table at the sudden noise, but Thaeolai hardly noticed. She laughed and beamed, while Axyphylei tried to hide all association, shrinking between his shoulders.


    ¡°Bullfrog,¡± Thaeolai repeated through her coy smile. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s good. I like that.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± Axyphylei muttered.


    ¡°No, I think it¡¯s very fitting.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t encourage him.¡±


    ¡°You know it¡¯s true,¡± Khoulane doubled down.


    Axyphylei exhaled once more out of surrender. He glanced toward Khoulane, who eagerly awaited his last challenge, but he could only concede with a weak smile. It was quiet again for a moment, and then Axyphylei nodded to Thaeolai.


    ¡°What about you? What¡¯s your name?¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The girl answered him. And then Axyphylei turned to Khoulane.


    ¡°Alright, Khoulane. Now I need you to come up with a nickname for her.¡±


    Betrayed, Thaeolai gasped. Inside, she felt warm.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need a nickname! My name-name is perfectly fine.¡±


    ¡°Look at how much she liked mine,¡± Axyphylei persuaded. ¡°I think she wants one for herself.¡±


    ¡°I do not!¡±


    ¡°She does. Look at how she¡¯s smiling.¡±


    ¡°I do not!¡±


    ¡°Yes she does. Look how red her cheeks are. She wants in, she¡¯s just too embarrassed to admit it.¡±


    Khoulane¡¯s eager eyes whisked back and forth between them.


    Their smiles unearthed his own.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Scibu! It¡¯s time! The sun¡¯s first rise!¡±


    Scibu heard Paru¡¯s call. His first instinct was to ignore it. He wasn¡¯t done yet.


    He opened one eye and titled his mouth aside, breaking his meditation.


    ¡°Two more minutes!¡± Scibu called back.


    Muffled behind the tent¡¯s canvas, he thought he heard Paru curse at his time delay. It mattered little to him. This was more important.


    Sitting with his legs crossed on his prayer rug, Scibu flourished an ornate wooden spinner from his side. He oscillated the spinner with his wrist, and a nob inside began to turn, manifesting a calming hum. He closed his eyes again, beneath center-parted strands of blackened brown. In Midan, he proceeded.


    ¡°It¡¯s been over a week since I¡¯ve last seen you,¡± Scibu began. ¡°My beloved Oyuuna, and my strong, brave Scibii. I don¡¯t know how long it¡¯ll be before I see you again.¡±


    Scibu paused. The other Tekhal would frown upon him for praying this way. Prayer was meant to be between them and Parun alone. Anything else disrespected the station of a follower. Scibu thought differently. These words, he needed to say. If Parun was just ¨C Scibu thought ¨C He would listen with love. He¡¯d listened before.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re getting by,¡± Scibu continued. ¡°The kheziu saw to it that the village would be taken care of, but I can¡¯t help but wonder. With most of the hunters gone, will the land be kind to you? What if I¡¯m not back before the seasons change, and the leaves brown, and the winds cool? Where will you go? What if famine strikes again in the winter? What if the crops do not endure?¡±


    Scibu paused. Then he adopted a half-smirk, eyes still closed.


    ¡°Though I suppose it¡¯ll be a lot easier for you without my eating habits,¡± he chuckled. ¡°You used to tell me I ate enough for two whole families. I refuse to give you credit, Oyuuna. You made me self-conscious, but¡­ I can see now, living off camp food¡­ maybe I was in fact the problem. Me and my ¡®three stomachs.¡¯¡±


    Scibu snickered to himself.


    ¡°I can already tell Scibii takes after me there. I apologize in advance for leaving you alone with him. That little terror. Maybe while you¡¯re teaching him math, you can convince him that less is more. I don¡¯t know how you¡¯ll do it; you were always smarter than me. But I know you, of all people, would find a way. Secrets of genius, I suppose. I¡¯ll never¨C¡±


    ¡°Scibu!¡± Paru shouted from outside, less forgiving with his tone. ¡°It¡¯s time to go!¡±


    A heavy sigh escaped Scibu¡¯s lips.


    ¡°Ingrate,¡± he muttered under his breath, with a non-lethal dose of venom.


    He dropped the spinner in his lap. Its hum went silent. He heard only the wind in the trees. His russet eyes opened and fell on the floor, flickering with sadness.


    ¡°I miss you so much. I love you both so much. When¡­ when I come back, I will lead you away¡­ to a place where we can find peace.¡±


    He paused one last time.


    ¡°Watch over them, Parun. May the blessings of The Island be brought forth through your will, and through my hands. And may we find shelter in its ever-life.¡±


    Finally, he stood.


    He shook the prayer rug off so that no dust or dirt lingered on it, and then he rolled it and placed it in the corner. Then he readied himself. He outfitted in a bison wool doublet, slipping it over his light linens. He grabbed his bow and his arrow quiver, slinging both over his shoulders. Lastly, he took up his blade ¨C a long, thin, and notched katana made of the finest steel, with a relief of the sea dragon Iliaothe etched in gold along its flat edge. He sheathed this weapon in an equally grand scabbard, securing it along his belt. And at last, he ventured into dawn.


    ¡°I thought a Serpent of Soorona would be more punctual,¡± Paru jabbed, leg crossed on a nearby stump as he shaved his nails.


    ¡°Keep taking that tone, and you¡¯ll find my blade to be very timely.¡±


    Scibu stopped and smirked at Paru beneath his thin, dark beard. For a moment, Paru was blank-faced ¨C but then he smirked back. The two shared a quick laugh, and Paru got to his feet.


    They lingered in a Midan satellite camp at the edge of the forest. Paru mounted his horse, and Scibu mounted his: A strong, brown Tekhal mare named Yemeph. The dawn¡¯s light was fragile on this day; thick and feathery cloud-wisps trickled like rainwater through rivers of slated blue and simmering orange, as the sun fought to scale the trees in the east. Through this shade, they had the perfect cover, as they rode south toward Alaris Khi Thung.


    It would be a two-hour journey, at least. The sunlight brightened and skewed through the tall, narrow trunks as they went. Long shadows crawled along the ground. To pass the time, they spoke in hushed voices.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me it doesn¡¯t at least concern you,¡± Scibu said.


    ¡°¡®Concern,¡¯¡± Paru scoffed with a dismissive grin.


    ¡°Fine. Tell me it doesn¡¯t at least¡­ intrigue you.¡±


    Paru rolled his tongue against his gum. Scibu took this as consideration.


    ¡°You said the one called Heror lifted the Sword and when it was hit, a giant phoenix materialized and blinded everyone,¡± Scibu went on. ¡°And you don¡¯t think it¡¯s possible the Gods don¡¯t favor you?¡±


    ¡°We already knew certain Gods didn¡¯t favor us,¡± Paru clarified. ¡°They simply proved their power in turning Heror away. He had earned his place among us. The Aktaku championed his presence. And yet, he was coaxed away by Their pull. We knew Them to be capable of this.¡±


    ¡°Still, when have you heard of the Gods intervening in such a way?¡± Scibu argued. ¡°You¡¯re not at least curious about the encounter? You don¡¯t question it at all?¡±


    ¡°The Divine Artifacts have power,¡± Paru surmised with a shrug. ¡°Think about our history. Kcirun Tylei and Caitan Thynox narrowing our borders, by the will of the Divine Consortium. Think about the Kingdoms¡¯ history: Hiirvanos and the Scourge. There has always been power behind these instruments. To think the Gods would act drastically to save them is not so improbable to me.¡±


    ¡°The question remains, Paru: It doesn¡¯t concern you?¡±


    ¡°I believe in the will of our Gods. And I believe in the destiny of the Aktaku. He stood at The Lighthouse and returned with sight. He reunited our land. He made us strong. I think They feel threatened by him. This is why They acted.¡±


    ¡°He sounds to be a great man. But this ritual you speak of¡­ a sacrifice. A human sacrifice. A living soul itself. When has Parun ever asked for this?¡±


    ¡°It was the power of the Artifact that demanded such a cost. If only it hadn¡¯t been wasted.¡±


    For the first time, Scibu went silent. It occurred to him that this conversation was a circle. There was conviction in Paru¡¯s words ¨C a conviction that both impressed and disconcerted the Serpent. Almost as much, that conviction vexed him. How could anyone be so sure about the workings of the Divines? How could anyone truly know?


    In Scibu¡¯s experience, confidence never strayed far from ignorance and arrogance. And those faults ¨C all too often ¨C corrupted one¡¯s perception beyond repair. He avoided those illusions as best as he could. His father ¨C alongside Tenh-sho ¨C had taught him the Way of the Current, the Sooronayan ¨C that the responsibility of the medial blade demanded a clear mind, unsullied by the worst emotions and prejudices. He treasured those teachings. It was the last he had of him. It was his duty to keep those teachings alive.


    Scibu would¡¯ve never traded a day with his family, but a part of him wished he¡¯d been there ¨C to see the phoenix¡¯s flight and decide for himself.


    The farther they went from the road, the more the forest overwhelmed. The sun¡¯s beams broke and scattered before they reached the ground, lighting the emerald canopy ablaze and little else. The horses slowed to a trot ¨C as fast a trot as the riders could manage ¨C hooves sifting and churning through a bedding of pine litter and underbrush, passing over sprawling roots and beside rippling trunks.


    Paru knew the way better than he, and so when the Tekhal rider turned his bearing back to the southeast, Scibu followed suit. They¡¯d been riding for a bit more than an hour now. Surely, they¡¯d reach their destination soon.


    Scibu focused his eyes now, studying each gap in the trees with matching intensity. He knew how easy the woods could play tricks on the eyes; the clutter and crowd of the oaks and pines dulled the light and muddled his sight. But over his right shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a barren structure hidden among the vines and thickets, its form distorted. By instinct, he latched the reins.


    ¡°Paru, what¡¯s that?¡±


    The Tekhal leader followed Scibu¡¯s eyes, and it only took a half-second¡¯s examination for him to shake his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s not it.¡±


    ¡°But what is it?¡± Scibu asked. ¡°Could it be an outpost? A supply cache?¡±


    ¡°Scibu, that¡¯s not¨C¡±


    But before Paru could finish, Scibu started toward it. At a brisk and brief canter, he led Yemeph through the growth, and he just as soon emerged into a small grove, where the sun¡¯s morning light trickled in stronger. Within this unkempt grove sat a lonely hexagonal structure made of clay and stone.


    It was a sturdily-built hut, perhaps one-and-a-half stories high ¨C not dissimilar from the ones Scibu remembered back home. This one had long been lost to time; its carved, circular windows were draped by leafy snares and rogue branches, and its once-smooth walls now pocked and weathered. But seeing the familiar Midan architecture, Scibu¡¯s tepid, anxious curiosity took hold.


    The Serpent dismounted his horse and approached the structure. He wandered around to the other side, where a doorway sat eternally open as if a cave, sheathing darkness beyond it. Scibu slowed as he reached the doorway. His feet froze at the rush of a chill from inside. He took a deep breath, and then he entered.


    As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Scibu saw that all of the structure¡¯s furnishings were gone. And on the flattened clay floor, in place of a home, was a mass burial, spanning from wall to wall. A mound of bones, blighted and bared by millennia, stood almost ten feet high at its summit. He saw djauul and elinji and servesi skulls. Their silvered sheen haunted his pupils. The air was idle and unflinching and menacingly silent. The kea shrieked. All at once, he felt compelled to leave. Quickly.


    He gasped for clean air and inhaled only death. His throat tightened. He whirled around and veered toward the door ¨C but when he did, Paru blocked his escape from the hut. The Tekhal rider stood in the doorway, backlit by the envious, enveloping greens of the forest. As Scibu caught his breath, Paru stiffened his gaze.


    ¡°You ask whether or not the Gods favor us,¡± Paru said gravely. ¡°What kind of God would favor this?¡±


    It was only when Scibu acknowledged him that Paru stepped outside and allowed him to leave.


    Another half-hour of riding passed, and soon, they came across another Tekhal who¡¯d been sent ahead of them. His horse was tied to a rope, and perked its ears at the approach of two more ¨C but with a soft clicking sound, the Tekhal managed to calm his steed. Paru and Scibu offered a nod. Paru motioned ahead with a tilt of his chin.


    ¡°Anything yet?¡±


    The Tekhal shook his head, and they pressed on. Not sixty seconds later, Scibu saw their target through the trees: A massive, reinforced fortress standing atop a short, wide knoll ¨C its guard towers and peak rising high enough to inspect the low-lying clouds, as its inner and outer walls coalesced to form an impenetrable cocoon.


    They loomed near the fortress¡¯ western edge, far enough inside the woods to remain concealed. From where he stood, Scibu saw no activity in the clearing past the outer wall. But up above, among the towers and atop the fortified barriers, he could see the muted gold and bronze of the Ardysi soldiers, as they carried out their morning patrols.


    Paru didn¡¯t wait long before he started forward again, and Scibu followed. They traveled perhaps fifty yards, until the front entrance of the fortress was in view. Beyond the fortress¡¯ head, a vast and flat yard stood as a natural buffer, populated by over a dozen smaller guard towers. The towers preceded a vertical metal gate, but the southern end of the yard had also been strengthened by a makeshift wooden barricade. The barricade barred off a dirt path that curved from the main road. At that bastion, Scibu saw over a dozen guards already shuffling about.


    Ushering as light a nudge as he could with his ankles, Scibu let his horse drift forward ¨C when Paru raised a fist to stop him.


    ¡°Not any closer,¡± Paru advised. ¡°The trees give us cover here. We can see everything we need to. We¡¯ll tie up the horses and come back to watch.¡±


    And so Scibu followed his orders. They ventured back into the woods, only to tie their horses and walk back to the treeline. There, they watched and waited. They waited. And waited.


    The sun finally eclipsed the spires and let its amber glow flow upon the land. The windblown leaves prattled and chanted, as the breeze brought warmth in its wake.


    Another shipment of food and supplies came from the south. The guards waved it through.


    Orange became blue. Starling, cyan blue. The sun reached for greater heights.


    As he crouched, Scibu leaned in toward Paru. He spoke in a whisper.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t neglecting all that our people have endured,¡± Scibu clarified his earlier explorations. ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t want us to become what we¡¯ve grown to hate. If we presume the Gods¡¯ will¨C¡±


    ¡°Our war is justified, Scibu,¡± Paru interrupted, his voice firm. ¡°Their war was borne out of greed and hate. Ours is the justice that comes of their sins. The divine order must be shifted, if these sins are to no longer persist. The Aktaku will make it so.¡±


    Scibu did not voice his reservations again; he had no time to, regardless. As soon as Paru¡¯s last words escaped his mouth, an armored carriage came into view on the distant southern horizon. Then another. And another. Until a half-dozen metal cars ¨C bearing the seal of Ardys on their sides ¨C rolled toward the fortress barricade.


    There was a shout from the guards on the road, and that command was relayed to the gate. A few minutes later, an Ardysi official donning a blue cloak appeared in the yard. He strolled to the barricade with a detachment of soldiers, just as the carriages halted at the edge of the flats.


    The bluecloak walked around to the rear of the first carriage, and its doors opened. Out stepped a tall Opelite in black armored robes, sleeves and torso smothered with golden markings signifying Ardysi royalty. A pauldron of bone sat on his shoulder. His hood was down. His skin rivaled the brilliance of his marks.


    As the Opelite exchanged greetings with the official, Paru turned to Scibu.


    ¡°The Kci Talon is here,¡± the leader said, his voice rushed and his eyes wide. ¡°I¡¯ll bring word north. You stay.¡±


    And then Paru hurried into the woods, leaving Scibu alone at his post.


    Scibu watched. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

 11. Scibu (Part Two)

    The kitchen opened at seven hours, but even before, the tangy smell of salted meats, aged cheeses, and honey-glazed breads tantalized Thaeolai. The aroma only emboldened the rattling of her empty stomach, and as the kitchen slats opened at the far end of the great hall ¨C cooks ready to disperse the food ¨C Thaeolai¡¯s feet carried her without thought.


    As fast as she might¡¯ve been, however, Khoulane was faster. The small, skinny else darted to the front of the line and took the first plate, his eyes and mouth both watering at the prospect of a filling meal. Thaeolai considered the eye-watering a tad dramatic, but once her gaze fell on a full plate awaiting her, she understood.


    Thaeolai gladly accepted her meal and went to follow Khoulane back to their table. Before Khoulane could make it past the line, however, a golden-skinned siephall stepped out and swiped Khoulane¡¯s plate from the boy¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Thank you, serf,¡± the siephall sneered.


    A few others chuckled behind the soldier, and Khoulane backed away ¨C startled and confused. His eyes whisked around, and then he solemnly turned away and carried on toward the table, choosing against confrontation. Thaeolai followed, but her eyes centered on the siephall. Her blood boiled. In her head, she recited the spell Isec taught her.


    A-eiwal electri. A-eiwal electri¡­


    In the crowded line, under the cover of the chatter, she brushed closeby the siephall. Then, as she passed, she activated her medium. She opened her hand and hovered her fingers loosely above the siephall¡¯s wrist. A quick, silent utterance later, a triad of electrodes zapped at the siephall¡¯s wrist. He jumped and dropped the plate to the ground. The ceramic clattered and cracked apart against the floor. Soiled food spewed about. The chatter stopped.


    Before the siephall could investigate the strange event, Thaeolai was already past him, nearing the table. The cook heard the commotion and peered out at the mess, as the hungry, sheep-eyed crowd parted to implicate the offender.


    ¡°You there! You¡¯re wasting food??¡± the cook growled. ¡°Alright, then! Hope you enjoyed that plate! No seconds for you!¡±


    The siephall stammered and pleaded his defense. The cook was having none of it ¨C music to Thaeolai¡¯s ears. The girl smirked to herself as she sat down. She set her full plate on the table, then slid it across to Khoulane.


    ¡°You can have mine,¡± she insisted. ¡°I never eat much.¡±


    Khoulane eyed the plate, then Thaeolai ¨C as if studying her intent ¨C and then he offered another proposition: ¡°We¡¯ll share.¡±


    Thaeolai smiled softly and broke the bread in two just as Axyphylei sat down, bringing his own plate with him.


    ¡°That was a clever trick you pulled,¡± Axyphylei remarked to the girl. ¡°Being able to command kea like that so easily¡­ and so discreetly¡­ I can¡¯t lie, I¡¯m impressed.¡±


    For a moment, Thaeolai was silent ¨C surprised that Axyphylei had seen her cast the spell. Her smile cracked, and she blinked her surprise away.


    ¡°It was a text I just learned,¡± Thaeolai reasoned, dropping her eyes. ¡°A very simple one.¡±


    ¡°Still, when I was learning keawalaatu¡­ I would¡¯ve never been able to pull off something like that so smooth-like.¡±


    ¡°Did you take lessons?¡± Thaeolai asked, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.


    ¡°When I was a squip,¡± Axyphylei replied, lips tugging askew at bittersweet memories. ¡°But¡­ I was bad at it. It takes patience and mental control. I didn¡¯t have either in great enough quantities.¡±


    Thaeolai nodded in understanding. She remembered quite well the process of building that mental discipline. The lessons were harsh, and her teacher¡¯s words unforgiving. Discipline became a means of survival. Her mother had only accepted the best for her daughter after she¡¯d discovered her gift with controlling the kea currents. She remarked that Thaeolai would bring fame to the family as a royal court Kci Kyrat, bestowing everlasting vitality to the Kcirun and his scions.


    That dream ¨C her mother¡¯s dream for her ¨C died much earlier than expected. But not as early as other things.


    Her mother¡¯s condemning voice hissed in her ears. An echo ¨C the sharp sting of cobblestone ¨C flashed across her palms. She clenched her eyes, then cleared her throat and changed the subject, seeking Axyphylei for respite.


    ¡°What did you end up doing instead?¡± she inquired.


    ¡°I took up sailing and fishing with my father, in a coastal town called Tresis,¡± Axyphylei answered. ¡°¡®Bout halfway between Cephragon and Fyre. Learned how to navigate a different kind of current, I guess. I would¡¯ve maybe joined the khilii and stayed on the seas, climbed the ranks there, but¡­ my Kingdom needed me more here.¡±


    Thaeolai had heard something close to that final phrase before ¨C from Ucankacei. But a different emotion shrouded Axyphylei¡¯s words. Not pride or duty. Remorse, perhaps ¨C for a path now lost to events beyond his control. A path stolen.


    ¡°I do miss the water,¡± Axyphylei added absent-mindedly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve only been on a ship once,¡± Khoulane uttered, breaking the strained silence. ¡°Never again. Can¡¯t stand the rock of the water. Made me wanna wretch. Especially with how crowded it was. When I head back to Mathingar, I¡¯ll travel by land, vagabonds be damned. I like the feel of solid grounds beneath my feet. Grounds isn¡¯t meant to move.¡±


    Both Thaeolai and Axyphylei looked at Khoulane, then their eyes met ¨C expressions identical. Thaeolai swallowed a lump in her throat. Only once had she heard someone speak of leaving Ardys with so much certainty. That person had known how unlikely it was, and he succeeded only through persistence and rage. In her short time knowing Khoulane, she could never imagine the boy carrying an ounce of the latter.


    Her mind danced now, as she tried to piece together Khoulane¡¯s past from the scraps she had. He hailed from Mathingar, but how had he ended up in Ardys? How young had he been? Where was his family? Where had he been toiling until the khilung called him to war? Did he¡­ did he understand?


    Thaeolai breathed, begging caution with her words.


    ¡°Khoulane¨C¡±


    ¡°This is the best I¡¯ve eaten since leaving home! Here, Khoulane ¨C you¡¯ve got to try this piece of bread. It¡¯s got so much honey on it, I might die if I try to take on the sweetness by myself.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Axyphylei¡¯s half-baked, over-eager interruption startled Thaeolai. Even Khoulane was caught off-guard, and saw the distraction as deliberate. But after a short pause, Khoulane took Axyphylei¡¯s offering nonetheless. After a testing bite, he gobbled up the bread, remarking about the flavor in a sugar-induced rush. Thaeolai gave Axyphylei a quizzical look, but she was only met with a firm brow and warning eyes.


    Thaeolai bit her lip, as the others went back to their meals. Slowly, she opened her mouth to speak again ¨C her mind scavenging for other, safer topics ¨C when a noise at the far end of the great hall drew all their attention away.


    A voice sought the heed of the gathered khilung, and as the siephalls and healers flocked their eyes, they gazed upon a caravan of cloaked Opelites nearing the center of the hall ¨C led by the siekangh Sulemei. The siekangh halted the leaders not far from Thaeolai¡¯s table, and perhaps four-dozen robed arrivals clustered in behind them. Thaeolai recognized the armored robes of the front two figures: Kci Talon, bearing the same adornments she¡¯d seen in the courtyard in Cephragon on that fateful night.


    At the siekangh¡¯s command, no noise breached the great hall. Once certain he had the group¡¯s attention, he stepped aside, and the two eminent whyzards stepped up in his place. As they lowered their hoods, Thaeolai observed.


    The taller and older one had a long face affixed with chiseled lines that spoke of integrity. His flowing blonde hair was a shade whiter. His sharp green eyes matched her own, but his sly, attenuated smile communicated a different quality ¨C an ignorant but weaponized wisdom. On his shoulder, he wore a pauldron fashioned from a horned elinji skull. His most gripping detail, however, was his right hand. As Thaeolai¡¯s eyes fell upon it, he saw that it was metal, not skin or flesh ¨C and yet its many pieces seemed to pivot and pulse with his very breaths, as freely as if it were real.


    The second Kci Talon was more nondescript ¨C more befitting the noble image of a battle whyzard. His blonde hair was cropped. His face was rough and square, his nose strong and low-lying, and his expression stoic ¨C or perhaps blank. His hands folded behind his back in a traditional soldier¡¯s pose. A decorated scabbard secured at his hip hid a longsword; only its hilt teased its brilliance.


    ¡°Stand and bow, and welcome Munei and Gheilei ¨C esteemed Kci Talon, faithful emissaries of Kcirun Cirei, the 125th King of Ardys, chosen of Opela, vessel of the divine Blood ¨C to our grand fortress! As well as the keatuuchan under their care! May they guide the khilung to victory, and purge the darkness from Opela¡¯s blessed land!¡±


    There was a flurry of shuffling feet as the uncoordinated, untrained forces all stood at once, servants of the Kingdom bowing toward their superiors. Thaeolai glanced up as she bowed, and caught a glimpse of the older whyzard¡¯s frown. The clumsy, asynchronous honor did not please him.


    After the failed attempt at reverence, the soldiers and healers sat again, and the low mumblings of the morning meal continued. Axyphylei and Khoulane focused again on satiating their hunger, but Thaeolai followed the Kci Talon with her eyes ¨C from the center of the room to the mouth of the eastern hallway. She peered above the crowds and spotted Ucankacei waiting with the other officials.


    Before she could read his expression, the withering old man let the Kci Talon pass and trailed them down the corridor, disappearing behind the Khi Thung¡¯s many walls.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°I will entreat you all to this revelation: You are hereby relieved of your duties.¡±


    The introduction caught Ucankacei by surprise. As he glanced at the siekanghs Sulemei and Jakthei ¨C across the cluttered, musty office ¨C he saw bitter expectation on their faces. They had dealt with this level of hierarchy before. He had not.


    The one called Munei paced about the open sheep-wool carpet, judging each wooden surface and drawer handle and overly-detailed placard with the utmost scrutiny, while the elinji skull atop his shoulder leered at the incompetence before him. The whyzard let the silence fester an inappropriately long time after his first words ¨C letting the air saturate with despondency. Then he rolled his feet to a halt at the room¡¯s center, took in a breath, and smirked out his aloofness.


    ¡°Your duties will henceforth flow from my lips, and nowhere else,¡± Munei continued, in his expressive yet undeviating baritone voice. ¡°Any complaints you may have hold no purchase here, for in your foundering, you have forfeited higher station. If you seek reassignment, inform me now, so we can prosecute your inaptitude accordingly.¡±


    Those once in command, but no longer, remained silent. If there were reservations, Ucankacei did not hear them ¨C not even a preparatory inhale. He swiftly lost any courage to voice his own.


    At the stiffly obedient silence, the Kci Talon leader lessened his harsh expression just a touch. He crossed his metal hand over the other, standing proud. Then he began to pace again.


    ¡°Let us all remember as well¡­¡± he continued. ¡°¡­ that we all defend the Kingdom of Ardys ¨C the great cornucopia, the land of abundance, bestowed to us by the beauty and generosity of Opela ¨C as one. The absence of dissension conveys to me that I can place my trust in your fealty. My service ¨C the Kcirun¡¯s service, in truth ¨C will require attentiveness¡­ efficiency¡­ resolve¡­ alacrity¡­¡±


    He stopped in front of Ucankacei ¨C only for a moment, but enough to firmly judge his decrepitude with a wrinkle of his nose ¨C then carried on his commanding slow pace. Ucankacei¡¯s posture sank.


    ¡°I am sure you will be up to the task,¡± Munei affirmed. ¡°If you prove worthy of the responsibility I grant you, great bounties may come of this opportunity. If you prove false, no matter. We can remedy without delay.¡±


    Munei found his way to the center of the room again. His rough boots dug into the fleeced floor. And for perhaps the first time, his expression proved truly serious. He brought his right hand up and clenched a fist. Ucankacei watched the many metallic pieces as they swirled and swam around the five-fingered form.


    ¡°I will not err in the same manner as those who preceded my command,¡± Munei declared. ¡°We indeed face a grave threat. A powerful threat. A threat that has, for the first time in thousands of years, put our great Kingdom¡¯s very existence at risk. We have paid the price for withholding our respect out of hubris. Now¡­ we afford them the entirety of that respect. We unleash. And we send these dastardly cow-fuckers back to the desolate, dingy hole from whence they came.¡±


    Munei¡¯s face twitched with anger. His elinji skull pauldron stood idle as a premonition. Ucankacei prayed that the end of the war would be near. The hate that seethed before him sullied his fragile hope. The battles he¡¯d seen extinguished it altogether.


    ¡°Siekangh Jakthei informed me of your previous directives, reorganizing the remaining forces,¡± Munei concluded. ¡°Continue with this reorganization, siekarums. Tally your siephalls and keep them ready. I will fortify the Khi Thung¡¯s defense networks with the newly-arrived keatuuchan. And then¡­ we will devise a plan to ward off the impending siege and drive the enemy back.¡±


    Now it seemed that Munei finally waited for a response. But the officials had long been spooked away from speaking. Munei frowned again. His lips opened in a sneer.


    ¡°What do you say?¡±


    ¡°Yes, maesas,¡± the siekanghs and siekarums croaked; Ucankacei mouthed a silent reply.


    Wholly unsatisfied, Munei turned to depart. The silent Gheilei joined him.


    ¡°Malvae, you imbeciles,¡± the elder grumbled with disgust. ¡°Do not linger. We¡¯ve work to do.¡±

 12. The Farm

    A strangely familiar noise jolted Heror awake: The angry groan of a cow.


    By reflex, he kicked out his legs and bashed his ankle against a wooden crate. Stinging soreness shot up his leg and he gritted his teeth. A louder groan from the cow stopped him from yelping in pain.


    Now he squinted and blinked from beneath curls of brown, and he took in his surroundings. He didn¡¯t know where he was, and regret from the previous night¡¯s imbibes seeped in quickly. Leaning against a wood slat barrier, he sat on a thin bedding of dried, golden grass. A barn wall was set across from him. A worn wooden door stood ajar, letting morning sunlight in through a small crack. He smelled the musty odor of livestock.


    Heror lowered his hood and glanced up at the angled ceiling. More mellow light permeated through gaps in the boarding above. Up in the rafters, stacks and bales of hay were stored. Outside, he could hear the calm morning songs of the birds. A rooster released its cockerel cry.


    Confused, Heror wracked his mind to try and remember how he¡¯d gotten here. He tried to retrace his steps. But a pounding headache blocked his progress. He pressed two fingers against his temple and winced. Ucankacei had always warned him about hangovers. Heror hadn¡¯t heeded.


    The cow berated him again. Heror slid around in the hay, and through the slats, he saw a speckled bull staring at him from inside its stall, poking its snout against the planks with hostile intent.


    Slowly, Heror leaned away, and he was just about to stand ¨C when he heard the door to the barn creak open behind him. He turned again, and as he did, he saw a young girl poking her head inside.


    She was a teenager with long light brown hair, wearing a wool cloak to combat the cool air of dawn. With her suspicious hazel eyes, she first surveyed the opposite side of the barn. When she noticed nothing, she stepped inside, holding a wooden bucket. But as she entered, she saw Heror. They locked eyes.


    Startled, the girl screamed and dropped the bucket, spilling water on the ground. Like a caught raccoon, Heror flinched and skittered into the corner, as the cow chastised his actions. He expected the girl to call for the guards, but instead, she took a frustrated breath ¨C her shoulders heaving and falling dramatically. She sighed out her exhale and rolled her eyes, then turned and started to leave.


    ¡°Daa!¡± she yelled as she walked away. ¡°There¡¯s another drunkard in the barn!¡±


    Heror heard a muffled response. The girl kept shouting, her voice fainter, but her annoyance still clear.


    ¡°Yes, another one! He broke the latch! And he trampled the scallions!¡±


    Now it was Heror¡¯s turn to sigh and shake his head. If he¡¯d ever been more embarrassed, he couldn¡¯t recall it.


    The cow somehow wasn¡¯t done speaking on the issue; he gave Heror another very pointed moo. Heror shot the cow a look.


    ¡°I know, I know¡­¡± Heror grumbled, voice groggy. ¡°Stop lecturing me.¡±


    The cow huffed. Heror glowered and peeked at the cow through the slats.


    ¡°You have something else to say? Say it. Go on.¡±


    All he got was a tail flick and a head shake. Heror scoffed and looked away.


    ¡°I hope they eat you.¡±


    The cow protested loudly.


    Soon, Heror heard footsteps from outside, and he shuffled to his feet, boots scrunching the matted hay. The door creaked open again, and in walked a middle-aged man in a loose tan tunic. He had a fuzzed, oblong face, and the same sharp jawline as the girl who lingered behind him. His hair was a thinning light brown, and on his belt, he nestled a sword beneath his hand, stored in a scabbard which bore Pylantheum¡¯s wolf insignia.


    ¡°Hello, stranger,¡± the man said, his voice almost timid. ¡°You lost?¡±


    Heror had expected more anger from the man ¨C but his severe embarrassment nonetheless remained. He took a shaky step forward, nearly tripping over a stack of wooden boards, then held out his hands.


    ¡°I¡¯m incredibly sorry for the trouble I¡¯ve caused you,¡± Heror lamented. ¡°I¡¯ll just leave.¡±


    Heror stopped when he saw their eyes observing him up and down. The man studied Heror¡¯s swords. The girl seemed perplexed by something nearer to his face ¨C and then Heror realized his hood was down. He tugged the hood up to cover his ears.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just leave.¡±


    ¡°You sure you¡¯re alright to travel?¡± the man asked, more concerned than anything.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m fine,¡± Heror replied, eager to move on. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, again.¡±


    Heror started for the exit, and the man almost stepped aside to let him pass. But before he could, the girl tapped his shoulder furiously.


    ¡°Da, the door,¡± the girl reminded him.


    ¡°Oh, right,¡± the man remembered. ¡°The door. It was damaged when you came in. Could you¨C¡±


    ¡°And the scallions,¡± the girl went on, glaring at Heror.


    ¡°And the scallions,¡± the man repeated. ¡°My daughter was exaggerating a bit. They weren¡¯t completely trampled¡­ but if you can spare some Kivs to make up for the damages, I would be grateful.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Heror agreed; it was only reasonable. He could leave them more than enough.


    The young man reached inside his cloak and searched for his coin purses. After a few seconds of rummaging, it became clear they weren¡¯t where he left them. A few more seconds confirmed what he feared: They weren¡¯t there at all.


    Somewhere along the way, he¡¯d lost all of his coins. Everything he¡¯d earned. Maybe he left them at the tavern, or dropped them on the road. Either way, they were gone. Over 2,000 Kivs.


    The man and the girl stared at Heror as he fumbled around. After a moment, Heror let out a weak, nervous laugh and dropped his hand.


    ¡°I¡­ had money, but¡­¡± he stammered as he checked once more. ¡°I must¡¯ve lost it¡­¡±


    Heror kept searching, his hands growing more and more frantic. The girl watched him, mouth agape, while the man started to speak again, grimacing at Heror¡¯s burgeoning anxiety.


    ¡°Young lad, you don¡¯t have to¡­¡±


    ¡°I know it¡¯s here somewhere,¡± Heror persisted in denial.


    But the money wouldn¡¯t turn up no matter how hard Heror looked, and soon, his hands dropped to his sides in defeat, his cheeks burning. He fought the urge to collapse again.


    Seeing Heror¡¯s earnest contrition, the man tried to give him a comforting smile.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be your money,¡± the man offered. ¡°Do you have¡­ parents you can go to for the Kivs?¡±


    Heror said nothing. An awkward silence set in. The man cleared his throat.


    ¡°What about relatives? Have any relatives nearby?¡±


    Still, Heror said nothing. The girl and the man exchanged a glance.


    ¡°No parents or relatives?¡± the man sought to confirm.


    Heror took a deep breath, then shook his head.


    The man let out a rough sigh: ¡°Truly, it¡¯s not necess¨C¡±


    ¡°Da,¡± the girl scolded.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to pay you back any way I can,¡± Heror resolved with a nod, trying to shed his shame.


    The man furrowed his brow and began to think. As he did, Heror saw a small boy with loose, sandy hair peek into the barn from behind the wall, eyeing Heror with curiosity. The girl whispered angrily to the boy and he left as quickly as he came. After a moment, the man seemed to find an idea.


    ¡°Do you have anywhere you need to be?¡± the man asked with apprehension.


    Heror thought about his failed search. He shook his head solemnly. A look of uncertainty flashed across the man¡¯s face, but his expression quickly lightened.


    ¡°I suppose¡­ you could pay me back with some work on the farm,¡± the man proposed. ¡°There are always things to do this time of year, and I could use the extra hands. There¡¯s supper in it for you.¡±


    ¡°Da!¡± the girl objected in exasperation.


    Heror nodded dutifully: ¡°I accept.¡±


    He took another step forward and shook the man¡¯s hand. The girl scowled and left, while the man remained.


    ¡°My name is Ylar,¡± the man said. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ve already met my daughter, Xirre. The boy you saw is my eldest son, Cedor. Ten years old this past Rimvalen. He likes to wander around. I¡¯ll do my best to keep him from disturbing your work.¡±


    The man¡¯s docile demeanor shocked Heror; he didn¡¯t dare test it. After a short pause, he recollected his thoughts. His lips softly lifted.


    ¡°I¡¯m Heror.¡±


    ¡°Heror,¡± Ylar repeated. ¡°Fine name for a fine young buck. Don¡¯t dig yourself a grave for what you did. People fall on hard times. Punish themselves with drink. Isn¡¯t for me to judge. I¡¯ve always found compassion to be a capable remedy.¡±


    Heror¡¯s smile lasted only so long before a darker emotion leveled his gaze.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Heror managed weakly as he followed Ylar through the doorway.


    ¡°But I¡¯ll impress upon you a Kiv¡¯s worth of advice: Don¡¯t make a habit of these inebriated escapades,¡± Ylar advised with a glance and a grin. ¡°You¡¯ll just as soon get cursed at and chased into the Rheaum. Take it from a retired river runner.¡±


    Heror couldn¡¯t repress a sheepish smirk: ¡°I¡¯ll try not to.¡±


    They emerged into the open air, and all at once, Heror was bombarded with the colors of morning in the valley. The last remnants of red on the ragged horizon dripped beneath the sun, as it climbed the clear sky in a rise of blue and golder. The snow-capped mountains to the east and the north collected and cast down the light on the fertile emerald lands. Heror saw acres of fields and meadows of overlapping green and flaxen yellow. Butterflies and bumblebees fluttered and floated through the long grasses lining the path. There was a warm whisper on the cool wind.


    Far to the south, the plot was bordered by thick woodlands. As they ventured away from the barn, Heror glanced back and saw a homestead, accompanied by a few more small buildings. Not far beyond that, he saw the main road, and the city of Eonos as a backdrop to the west. He hadn¡¯t traveled far down the road after leaving the city. He remembered the cold and little more; perhaps he¡¯d sought shelter in his drunken, dissociated state. He silently cursed his recklessness and naivety.


    His third internal curse was interrupted by Ylar: ¡°So where are you from then, if not around here?¡±


    Heror wondered if Ylar had noticed his elvish features; he deemed it likely. He fumbled for an answer, unsure how to lie while maintaining his integrity. Anything too close to the truth would only bring more questions. Anything too abstract carried the same risk.


    ¡°I¡¯m from Pylantheus,¡± Heror decided, recalling Raldu¡¯s description of the eastern port city. ¡°But I had been based out of Bern for a bit. Down the road to the east.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I know Bern well,¡± Ylar said, voice bright with recognition. ¡°I trade over there from time to time. The week-long round trip with wares allows only for sparing visits, unfortunately. In Bern on business?¡±


    The assumption startled Heror and prompted him to repeat: ¡°Business?¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, pardon my curiosity,¡± Ylar went on. ¡°But between that fancy blade and your embroidered cloak and your¡­ um¡­ affiliation¡­ I thought there¡¯d be a monetary motivation for your presence here.¡±


    ¡°Affiliation?¡±


    Ylar let out a faint, furtive laugh and dropped his eyes as he walked, suddenly taking care where he stepped.


    ¡°My apologies, I¡¯m not articulating well this morn,¡± he joked. ¡°Frankly, we don¡¯t see too many elvish folks this way. Makes sense you¡¯re from Pylantheus. There¡¯s more of them over there. By ¡®them¡¯, I mean¡­ um¡­¡±


    The man tripped on his words again, but Heror sensed no malicious intent. He dropped his hood, and hoped to spare the man any further discomfort by interjecting.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Heror said. ¡°I know what you¡¯re trying to say.¡±


    ¡°I have no ill will toward your kind, of course!¡± Ylar exclaimed. ¡°But not all this far west share that peace of mind. Lotta folks see elves as carousing types, trying to capitalize on opportunity. ¡®Skulking in the shadows¡¯ types, with their tricks and their magic and their superiority complex. Other people, mind you¡­ n-not¡­ not me¡­¡±


    Heror curled his lips and sighed. Harmless, but a bit irritating.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Ylar mustered after a moment. ¡°Business?¡±


    ¡°Yes, business. But¡­ there was a break¡­ in the business.¡±


    ¡°You a mercenary?¡±


    ¡°For merchants. On the road.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see.¡±


    Heror put the dying conversation out of its misery with an intentional pause.


    Ylar started anew: ¡°I¡¯m sorry you lost all your coin. But that kind of work is always in demand. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find your stride again.¡±


    Heror wasn¡¯t so sure. As they walked, his mind wandered elsewhere ¨C to his next steps. He had no money. He had no leads on the whereabouts, let alone the existence, of his family. While his despair had receded only slightly since the previous night, he was still left without options. He had nowhere to go. He had nowhere to stay. He had no means to stay or go anywhere. He had¡­


    Heror halted his thoughts before they slid into that abyss once more. At the very least, he knew his immediate path forward. He would pay off his modest debt to Ylar ¨C for the barn door and the trampled crops ¨C through hard work. Then he would fetch Shaadur, who was no doubt being well-tended at the stables down the road. He would take inventory of his remaining supplies, and then¡­


    And then¡­


    Then what?


    Despair threatened to take hold again.


    The clear sky and the bright golds of the fields teased him and his hopelessly clouded thoughts. Along a path of dried dirt and discarded hay, they sauntered past crowds of unripe corn, accompanied by snares of beans that climbed up the stalks. At the edge of each growing plot, irrigation channels stretched across the perimeter, sourced from the city¡¯s aqueducts that unfurled into the near plains, feeding the farms of the hold¡¯s loyal subjects. Heror hadn¡¯t realized how far the arches stretched until he saw for himself in the morning light. Had he not been lost in his own thoughts, he might¡¯ve been impressed.


    He lost track of time as they went on. The wind sang and whistled quietly. The many growths quivered and danced at its constant touch. The sun warmed the air.


    Eventually, Ylar stopped, breaking Heror¡¯s hypnotic trance. They were near the southern edge of the plot now, close to the thick woodlands that bordered the acreage. Glancing over his shoulder, Heror saw the homestead, the arches, the city, and the mountains beyond the lake, all stacking far in the distance ¨C beyond a rolling, roping trail of shining fields. As he then looked to his right, at their destination, another vast flat of crops came into view ¨C a clustered, dull citrine plant with gnarled stems, but feathery tips.


    ¡°You came too early for most of the harvesting,¡± Ylar noted. ¡°But the barley here is ready. We got a good rain a few days ago, so you¡¯ll need to scythe, stake, and dry them. A right bit tedious, no doubt ¨C but all the tools you need are here. I¡¯ll leave you to it then¨C¡±


    ¡°Stake¡­ and dry?¡± Heror stuttered.


    It took a moment for Ylar to process Heror¡¯s words. Then he blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Have you¡­ have you never worked a farm before?¡±


    Heror¡¯s hapless silence revealed the answer. He saw Ylar¡¯s brow lower in sudden contemplation, but it wasn¡¯t a second later that the man forced a lighter face.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s alright. I¡¯ll show you. I know you got the fortitude for it.¡±


    The man stepped into the fold, grasses crunching beneath his boots. He bent down and hoisted up a tall wooden stake ¨C shaved and sharpened on both ends, and fitted with a stopper near the midsection. Then he paced through the shallow rows and plunged the stake into the soil, driving it down until the stopper rested around knee-high.


    ¡°There are a few more stakes lying around here,¡± Ylar explained. ¡°You¡¯ll use these to collect the barley you cut. Once they¡¯re set¡­¡±


    Now he went to the edge of the barley field again, and picked up two large tools from the dirt: A scythe and a pitchfork. He dropped the pitchfork ¨C letting it clang at Heror¡¯s feet ¨C and then he started cutting the barley at the edge of the flat with the scythe.


    ¡°You just swing¡­ like this¡­¡±


    Once enough barley lay strewn about, Ylar dropped the scythe and returned to grab the pitchfork.


    ¡°When you have enough to collect, you take the barley¡­ and¡­¡±


    He forked a clump of loose, feathered strands and nestled the harvested barley atop the stake. The plants slid down the shaft, until they rested atop the wooden stopper. Now Ylar turned to Heror ¨C already breathing heavily ¨C and nodded to the young man.


    ¡°Whatcha think? Think you can do it?¡±


    Heror took a breath: ¡°I¡­ I think so.¡±


    Ylar tucked his top lip and nodded again. He placed the pitchfork at Heror¡¯s feet, then started to walk back down the path, toward the farmstead. Before he left, however, he turned once more, drawing the eye of Heror.


    ¡°I know there¡¯s other kinds of impairments, aside from the drunken kind,¡± Ylar offered with a weak smile. ¡°Being out here¡­ it can be very sobering in its own way. Whatever hardships befell you¡­ I hope you can find some distance from it.¡±


    Heror still did not answer ¨C but a flicker of gratitude assured the man the words had been heard. Now Ylar finally turned and began the trek back across the plot.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back a little past midday with food and water!¡± Ylar called as he left. ¡°I¡¯ll check your progress and fetch you at sunset, and then you can join us for supper.¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes fell back on the barley field. As Ylar¡¯s steps faded, the sounds of nature settled in. He heard the rich, full hum of the grasses and stalks as a westerly wind swelled and slowly receded. In the meadows and trees closeby to the south, the birds spoke gleefully ¨C chirping and chattering so much, despite having no worries or anxieties or heavy thoughts. Feeling no crippling sadness or burdening guilt¡­Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    A long sigh followed an equally lengthy exhale, and then Heror went to work. Already feeling the heat of the sun, he took off his cloak and let his blue tunic loose and flutter. Feeling the weight of his swords on his belt, he set these down as well. He rested Kerit softly on his cloak, and then he grasped the Sword of Sparhh¡¯s handle and released it from beneath his belt. He held this one for a moment longer.


    Still, he felt nothing.


    With a scornful scowl, he set this one down, too.


    Now he ventured into the golden brush and picked up the scythe. He studied its features; he¡¯d never held one before. The long shaft, he assumed, was for power. The nub near the shaft¡¯s center, he assumed, was for control. Carefully, he gripped the instrument just as he¡¯d watched Ylar. Then, after a quick huff, he swung the scythe low to the ground, brushing the sharp end through the many stems.


    At first, he saw no difference in the grains, and so he swung again, drawing the blade even lower. He widened his backswing and pressed through ¨C and to his quiet delight, a swath of cut barley now appeared, resting softly atop the snarls of grass and root.


    The tug of the severed barley stems soon became familiar to him. All too familiar.


    He swung back. He swung forward. Back and forward again, in a mindless rhythm.


    The barley stacked and pillowed.


    He swung back. He swung forward. The sun loomed.


    The limbs strewed. The blood spread.


    Heror dropped the scythe and pressed a fist against his burning forehead. His frantic heart battered at his ears, begging for escape. He gritted his teeth and waited for the feeling to fade. With his forearm, he wiped a bead of sweat from his temple.


    He brought the scythe out into the path and grabbed the pitchfork. He stepped into the soft grass and stabbed at the patches of loosened barley. Then he set them over the stakes, so the barley could accumulate.


    Heror stabbed. Then he lifted and pulled away. He stabbed. He lifted. He pulled away.


    He stabbed.


    Wind blew.


    He stabbed.


    An elinji soldier fell.


    He stabbed.


    Oranthei gurgled and choked.


    He stabbed.


    The young siephall shivered and cried¡­


    ¡°Aa-aaghh!¡±


    Heror stumbled to his knees and let the pitchfork clatter, as his distressed shout caught in the wind. He dug his fingers into his trousers and tried to calm himself. His breath was hollow, and his pulse raced. He glanced in the direction of the farmhouse, to make sure no one heard his outburst. Then his tormented eyes sank again. He tried to breathe. He tried to calm. The piercing pain echoed above his brow.


    Breathe.


    Breathe.


    Slowly, cautiously, he carried on with his work. When one stake was filled to the top, he set another and started anew. He swung. He stabbed. The spires of barley climbed almost ten feet high, catching the arcs of the breeze.


    Ylar first returned later than expected, with a stale portion of bread and a waterskin. Heror put on a face for the man. He ate and drank and smiled and made small talk as best he could. Then Ylar left, and Heror carried on without his mask.


    The sun passed its apex. He started his third stake.


    As it began to fall, he started his fourth ¨C his mind a husk, a corpse.


    By sunset, he¡¯d completed eight full stakes, and the field of barley looked noticeably thinner. The stakes stood sporadically across the grassy flat, all of them topped by long, wide plumes of compacted barley frills.


    Westward, the sun neared its rest and ploughed the lands with amber tides. From his spot alongside the barley rows, Heror could see for miles. The rolling emerald waves and flowered meadows stretched far past the farmsteads ¨C far past the city of Eonos, far past the bend in the great river, and far past the roads and villages that adjoined it. In the evening luminance, vibrant greens skewed into a divine gradient of gold and red ¨C a painting of pigments blended into a beauty only an unknown God could birth.


    Maybe once, Heror would¡¯ve found peace in the sight.


    It was around this time that Ylar returned once more. His eyes gleamed, and a smile stretched across his face as he saw Heror¡¯s progress.


    ¡°Well done, Heror!¡± the man exclaimed as he approached. ¡°This would¡¯ve taken me a couple days at least! You covered a whole quarter!¡±


    Heror shed a fake smile.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you grab your things and help me take the tools back to the shed?¡± Ylar proposed. ¡°I was a fool and left them out last night. By the time we get back, supper should be almost ready.¡±


    Heror did as Ylar asked. He gathered his swords and his cloak, and then the pair left the barley field, starting the long walk back to the farmhouse.


    Heror must¡¯ve failed at hiding his entranced emotions; Ylar spoke after a few minutes of silence.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to set the terms of our agreement?¡±


    Heror broke out of his daze and cleared his throat.


    ¡°Yes, that¡­ that sounds good.¡±


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned, you can work as long as you feel you want to,¡± Ylar went on. ¡°I figure the door and the latch would cost a little less than 100 Kivs. The scallions¡­ it¡¯s not so much about the cost of the materials, but the lost time. I¡¯m not the kind to keep you here against your will¡­ but if you¡¯re intent on seeing the debt through, I imagine a week¡¯s worth of work would suffice. If you harvest the rest of the barley, that¡¯s a lot of time and effort I can spend on other things. More I can sell, too.¡±


    Absently, Heror nodded. Ylar eyed him and nodded back.


    ¡°I¡¯ll set up a spot for you in the loft, in the barn,¡± Ylar decided, before sending over a smirk. ¡°It¡¯s even better sober¡­ i-if you can get past the smell.¡±


    Heror managed a miniscule smile, though it soon devolved into a grimace.


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡±


    Soon enough, they arrived at the farmstead. They stored the tools in the shed. Then Ylar led Heror back to the barn.


    ¡°Before I let you in the house, gotta ask you to leave your weaponry here,¡± Ylar told him. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you understand. Hide ¡®em where you want, but even without the latch, I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be much at risk here. Latch is more for keeping the cows and goats from getting loose.¡±


    Heror climbed the loft and stowed his swords, covering them up with his cloak. Then they left the barn and went on their way to the house, just a few dozen paces northeast. In the yard, two boys ¨C identical with auburn hair and freckles ¨C tossed a pigskin ball back and forth while the younger, smaller Cedor attempted to intercept. Cedor lunged and lurched, while the others laughed.


    ¡°Nispur! Nenor! Play nice!¡± Ylar shouted as he and Heror crossed through.


    The twin boys didn¡¯t hear him ¨C or perhaps they simply chose not to. Ylar cut through the yard¡¯s green grass, to the house. It was a one-story structure of wood and straw that sat upon a stone foundation, with a roofed porch in front. It was wide, with windows and presumably rooms aplenty ¨C but Heror still questioned how many it could hold.


    Ylar took one step up to the porch, and before he reached the top, the front door burst open with another teenage girl ¨C this one sharing the auburn hair of the twins ¨C hoisting a toddler off the ground by his armpits.


    ¡°Apologies, uncle,¡± the girl grumbled. ¡°Suorn¡­ soiled himself again.¡±


    ¡°No apology necessary, Aspra.¡±


    The girl rushed past them and dragged the toddler ¨C who seemed giddily unaware of his situation ¨C down the steps and away to the outhouse, and the door swung shut again. Now Ylar reached the top uninterrupted, and he ushered Heror to his side. Before he stepped toward the door, however, his eyes begged for the young man¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Before we go in, I¡¯ll just ask you to¡­ well, don¡¯t bring up the circumstances of your arrival,¡± Ylar advised. ¡°We¡¯ll just say you were¡­ well, we¡¯ll be intentionally vague, how about that? We will subvert the expectation of a backstory, so as not to arouse suspicion. Yes! They¡¯ll never see it coming. Most here aren¡¯t the prodding types, but¡­ not all of them would take kindly to me feeding a drunkard who wandered in off the street like a stray. N-not saying you¡¯re a drunkard or a stray, of course. Obviously, a drunken mishap led you here, but you¡¯re not drunk all the time! Ahah¡­ just saying¡­ that¡­ u-um¡­ oh, nevermind¡­¡±


    The plan seemed rather unintelligible to Heror, but he didn¡¯t have enough energy to raise concerns. Ylar let out a preparatory sigh and pulled open the front door. He ventured inside first, then held the door open for Heror. The young man entered the house and emerged into a vast foyer area with a joined kitchen, dining area, and living room. Immediately, the sharp smell of garlic-cooked vegetables met Heror¡¯s nose. An array of windows east, south, and west mixed streams of shining natural light over the flickering fireglow of an active cooking pot.


    At the cooking pot, above the contained crackling of the logs below, a middle-aged woman with burnt red-orange hair stood and stirred with a cured wooden spoon, while a young girl ¨C perhaps five or six ¨C stood at her hip and watched, gripping the woman¡¯s gown. As Heror¡¯s eyes traveled right, he saw a thin old woman in the living room, sitting on a padded wooden bench as she read a book to a boy not older than five. The old woman glanced his way as he and Ylar entered. Her eyes lingered on him, and her brow tightened. Heror looked away and followed Ylar to the kitchen.


    ¡°Almost ready, Ebica?¡± Ylar asked the woman at the cooking pot. ¡°We¡¯ve got one more tonight. Heror here agreed to help with the farming. Damn near harvested the entire barley field today.¡±


    ¡°Heror it is then? Sparhh¡¯s blessing to ya for offerin¡¯ your help so selflessly,¡± Ebica exclaimed, before adding with a wink: ¡°And such a shapely young fellow at that!¡±


    Heror coughed and cleared his throat. Ebica glared at Ylar, expression shifting.


    ¡°Ya didn¡¯t tell me we¡¯d be having yet another mouth to feed, Ylar,¡± she scolded.


    ¡°¡®Twas a last-minute addition, sister.¡±


    ¡°Ya got that right,¡± Ebica scoffed, before turning again to Heror: ¡°Please don¡¯t take my tone as displeasure, Heror. Simply regardin¡¯ Ylar¡¯s communication skills with the proper ire.¡±


    Heror smirked knowingly and glanced at Ylar, who wore an embarrassed half-grin.


    ¡°You¡¯ve likely already noticed, we have quite a lot of baby birds to satiate here,¡± Ebica continued. ¡°Just as hungry, just as aggravatin¡¯. But one more adult in the room is no trouble, truly. We¡¯re happy to have ya!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak for everyone,¡± the old woman called from the living room, behind frizzled wisps of white and gray, with a tone that obstructed her true intent.


    Both Ylar and Ebica went silent, and the house grew unnaturally quiet for a short spell. Then Ylar gathered himself and brought a hand to Heror¡¯s shoulder. With his other hand, he gestured to each inhabitant.


    ¡°That¡¯s amma Yxia in the living room, reading to my youngest, Tebor,¡± Ylar said, before flourishing his arm to the pair in the kitchen. ¡°Ebica is my sister-by-marriage. And this little sweetheart is Ebica¡¯s youngest daughter, Runde.¡±


    The young child at the cooking pot peered up shyly at Heror, still clutching her mother¡¯s garb. Heror gave her a light smile, before his eyes dropped away.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Aspur?¡± Ylar asked Ebica.


    ¡°He was off to check the corn for those nasty stalk borers,¡± Ebica answered. ¡°He said his knees were actin¡¯ up today. I¡¯d wager he¡¯ll be back soon, nonetheless. What of Xirre?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s getting the cows and goats back into the barn.¡±


    ¡°Then we should have almost a full table!¡± Ebica declared. ¡°I¡¯ll get an extra chair for Heror. Make yourself at home, darling! If ya¡¯d like, ya can help me set the table. Just wash your hands in the basin first.¡±


    Heror gladly accepted Ebica¡¯s request. He washed his hands of grime and dried sweat in the basin, then grabbed a stack of porcelain bowls from the wooden counter. He went to the dining area at the western wall and began placing a bowl at each seat, in the warmth of the setting sun. He only set two before he felt someone at his side. Glancing down to his right, he saw that little Runde had joined him soundlessly. Standing only waist-high, close to his hip, she strained to reach above the edge as she nestled wooden spoons beside the bowls.


    ¡°¡­ hello¡­¡± Heror said gently after debating whether or not to speak. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m Heror.¡±


    Little Runde glanced up at him from beneath chestnut curls. Again without saying a word, she pointed a tiny finger toward the next seats. Heror smiled and nodded.


    ¡°Yes¡­ let¡¯s keep going.¡±


    Together, they set the table.


    In minutes, the table was ready, and so was the stew. Ebica extinguished the cooking fire, then stomped to the front door, already preparing her lungs for the coming shout.


    ¡°Adan house!!¡± she bellowed as soon as she creaked it open. ¡°Supper! If ya don¡¯t come in five minutes, I¡¯m pouring it down the well!!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where it belongs!¡± one of the twins quipped from the yard, prompting Ebica to wrench the door all the way open.


    ¡°Which one of ya said that??¡±


    After a stern talking-to, the twins came first ¨C sulking their shoulders. The young boy Cedor followed them. Heror felt the wandering stares of all who entered, but Cedor made no attempt to hide his fascination of the new arrival. Just as he had that morning, he peeked at Heror from behind doorframes and towering adults. Even as Heror sat down at the table, he couldn¡¯t escape the boy¡¯s curious gaze.


    Minutes later ¨C after the girl Aspra returned with a crying toddler in tow ¨C a new face came into the foyer. In his facial structure, medium height, and light brown hair, he shared obvious resemblance to Ylar. But his hair was longer ¨C both on his head and his cheeks ¨C and he carried more weight on his bones, with a plump belly resting above his belt. Beneath his bushy beard, he bore a jovial smile for the congregation, and his hearty voice bellowed through the hall.


    ¡°Good evenin¡¯, family!¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes went toward Ebica: ¡°You look absolutely ravishing tonight.¡±


    ¡°Why thank you, Aspur,¡± Ebica cooed, blushing.


    ¡°Oh, apologies,¡± the man named Aspur joked. ¡°I was talkin¡¯ to the stew.¡±


    Ebica rolled her eyes and clasped Aspur¡¯s arm as he brushed past.


    ¡°You dim-witted dunderhead¡­¡±


    Aspur gave Ebica a kiss on the cheek, as Ylar sat down next to Heror. The children began taking their places across from the elders. It wasn¡¯t long before Aspur¡¯s eyes fell on Heror. His brow furrowed, and he took a step toward the table.


    ¡°Young lad, you¡¯re in my spot, you are,¡± Aspur scolded.


    Heror quickly started to stand, fumbling over his words: ¡°O-oh, I¡¯m¨C¡±


    ¡°Nah, I¡¯m just messin¡¯ with you,¡± Aspur chuckled, before leaning and reaching across the table with a thick, hairy hand. ¡°To whom do I owe the pleasure?¡±


    ¡°Heror,¡± the young man answered with a handshake.


    ¡°Heror¡¯s going to be helping us on the farm for a little bit,¡± Ylar explained, before rushing into a lie: ¡°Thrice-removed second nephew of an old friend of mine. Off work for the time being.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well¡­ lucky for us!¡± Aspur boomed, bypassing his confusion at Ylar¡¯s words. ¡°What line of work would that be?¡±


    ¡°Mercenary,¡± Heror gave his rehearsed answer. ¡°Merchant protection.¡±


    ¡°A noble pursuit, ¡®specially in these trying times,¡± Aspur remarked. ¡°I¡¯d love to inquire more of ya, but food¡¯s a¡¯waiting!¡±


    ¡°Where in the world is Xirre?¡± Ebica murmured, as Aspur clambered around the table and took his place next to Heror.


    As if on cue, Xirre ¨C the last one to enter ¨C came in through the front door, grunting as she shut out an aggressive gust of wind. Free of the wool cloak she¡¯d worn earlier, she dropped a hooded shawl over her shoulders and shook out her hair.


    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late. Nemoor was being¨C¡±


    She stopped and glared when she saw Heror.


    ¡°You¡¯re alright, dear!¡± Ebica told her. ¡°The stew¡¯s still warm. Take your seat at the table and we¡¯ll do devotion.¡±


    Though it took her a moment to decide, Xirre chose against confrontation. She took her seat on the eastern side of the table with the children, just as Yxia led Tebor to his chair. In moments, the whole family was situated. The children chattered and whispered, some stealing glances in Heror¡¯s direction. At a firm hush from Ebica¡¯s lips, however, they quickly quieted ¨C and all eyes now went to Yxia, at the table¡¯s northern edge. The old woman bowed her head and clasped her fingers. The others followed suit.


    ¡°Sacred Sparhh, we thank you for these blessed gifts,¡± old lady Yxia began, her voice sharp yet fragile. ¡°The gifts of the Divines that you have bestowed upon us, by sacrificing yourself and earning court among them. We are thankful that the warmth and All-Sight of Bor proves eternal in our realm of Aelyum. We are thankful that Kyr makes the plant roots strong, and the hunts bountiful. We are thankful that Shen gives us rain to raise our crops, and clear skies to let them keep rising. We are thankful that Opela has let this beautiful family blossom, and that our Aldur is protected in battle¡­ and we are thankful that Ynd forgives, protects us from evil, and makes us whole through the Consortium¡¯s blessing. These gifts, we hold ever dear.¡±


    ¡°¡®These gifts, we hold ever dear.¡¯¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t say it.¡±


    Not a second after the final words of the prayer, Yxia directed the pointed criticism at Heror, and all eyes flocked to him again. Before Heror could muddle through a response, Ylar spoke up in his defense.


    ¡°It¡¯s his first time, amma,¡± Ylar admonished. ¡°Don¡¯t be so harsh.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡± one of the twins asked.


    ¡°Everyone, this is Heror,¡± Ylar announced. ¡°He¡¯s a friend. He¡¯ll be helping us on the farm for a little while.¡±


    ¡°Why are his eyes so bright?¡± the other twin questioned.


    ¡°Why are his ears pointy?¡± Tebor noted, lisping through a loose baby tooth.


    ¡°Is he an elf?¡± Aspra realized.


    ¡°I heard elves made deals with demons¨C¡±


    ¡°Is that why he didn¡¯t say the prayer?¡±


    ¡°I heard they can turn your insides out with a single sp¨C¡±


    ¡°Boys, girls, quiet!¡± Ebica lamented, raising her voice. ¡°That¡¯s not the way to treat a guest who¡¯s offered his hands on the farm. Now, let¡¯s dish up.¡±


    And now the family members all stood and picked up their bowls, and one by one, they joined a line led by Yxia at the cooking pot. Heror started to stand, when he was stopped by Ylar.


    ¡°It¡¯s Pylanthean tradition that the guest goes last out of respect for the family,¡± Ylar informed quietly, regret in his voice. ¡°I just wouldn¡¯t want you to get in trouble.¡±


    And so Heror waited. He waited until Yxia and Ebica and Aspur, Ylar and Xirre and Cedor, Nispur and Nenor and Aspra, Tebor and Runde and Suorn all received their helpings ¨C Suorn with the help of his father. And then Heror took his turn at the cooking pot, scrounging up what was left of the cooling broth, stewed vegetables, and sparse shrivels of rabbit meat.


    The remnants of the stew did little to fend off Heror¡¯s hunger. For a time, they ate mostly in silence ¨C until Xirre spoke.


    ¡°So da,¡± Xirre asked, raising an eyebrow at Ylar. ¡°How did you and Heror meet?¡±


    ¡°How did we meet?¡± Ylar echoed, sputtering. ¡°W-well, um¡­ like I said, he¡¯s¨C¡±


    ¡°Would it have something to do with the barn door?¡± Xirre pressed her father.


    ¡°What happened to the barn door?¡± Aspur questioned.


    ¡°Heror broke it,¡± Xirre revealed, seeking justice. ¡°When he was¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a funny story, actually,¡± Ylar interrupted, his mind racing to find a cover story. ¡°His¡­ horse was loose.¡±


    ¡°His horse was loose,¡± Xirre repeated, with a deadpan expression.


    ¡°Yes, his¡­ his horse was loose and bucking like wild, he said,¡± Ylar explained, glancing anxiously at Heror. ¡°Said the wild thing kicked in the barn door, bucked him off, and took flight down the road! By working on the farm, he can also help us work off the cost.¡±


    ¡°My, that sounds like such a fright!¡± Xirre exclaimed with a fake gasp, before turning to Heror. ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t get any boozes ¨C I mean ¡®bruises.¡¯¡±


    Heror rolled his tongue and blinked assertively in Xirre¡¯s direction. Now Xirre smirked.


    ¡°Whatever the cause, he¡¯s going to be here for the foreseeable future,¡± Ylar concluded, targeting Xirre with a knowing glare. ¡°So you¡¯d best welcome him with open arms.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Xirre replied, turning toward Heror again. ¡°Anything you mead ¨C oh, silly me! I meant ¡®need.¡¯¡±


    Heror sighed and picked at his broth ¨C but he couldn¡¯t help but smile. Xirre shared the grin; she didn¡¯t press any more after that.


    After supper, Heror retired to the barn. The sun neared its slumber, leaving little more than a red glow in the west, beneath the starry sky.


    Heror climbed up to the loft, where Ylar had left a makeshift straw bed for him, with a plush feather-stuffed pillow and a knit blanket ¨C positioned behind a stack of hay bales for protection from any creeping drafts of wind. Heror lay on the rough wooden floorboards. It wasn¡¯t the most comfortable, but it was comfortable enough. Normally, the warmth of the blanket and the ease of the pillow would¡¯ve been enough to usher Heror asleep in the torchless shadow. But tonight, his thoughts still ran.


    For a brief moment ¨C setting the dinner table with Runde ¨C he¡¯d had peace from them. He¡¯d forgotten what it was like to be free of them. But now, alone in the loft, they began to come back.


    In his mind¡¯s furor ¨C urged onward by the chant of the crickets outside ¨C one thought pestered him: Why had he lied to Ylar?


    He could¡¯ve told Ylar the truth. That he was searching for his family. That he¡¯d traveled from the Kingdom of Ardys. Perhaps it would¡¯ve forced him to answer more questions ¨C but he could have told the truth. Knowing Ylar as he did now, Heror would have been given grace, regardless. So why did he lie?


    His thoughts crumbled when he heard the barn door creak open. Swiftly, Heror jumped to a crouch, and he instinctively reached for his sword not far away¡­ when he heard a child¡¯s voice call up to the loft, speaking softly as if to avoid detection.


    ¡°Heror? Mister Heror? Are you there?¡±


    Heror¡¯s tension washed away. Gingerly, the young man rose to his feet and leaned over the loft¡¯s railing. Below, in the dancing orange light of a lantern, he saw the young boy Cedor standing by the entrance.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Heror replied, confused. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    Cedor suddenly smiled wide. He set down his lantern on a wooden crate, then shut the entrance.


    ¡°M¡¯name¡¯s Cedor, in case you didn¡¯t know. I¡¯m sorry for keepin¡¯ you up,¡± Cedor started. ¡°I was lookin¡¯ at the stars and d¡¯cided to pop in. It¡¯s just¡­ you¡¯re a mercenary! You¡¯re a warrior! You must have so many stories!¡±


    Heror¡¯s heart sank in his chest: ¡°Yes¡­ I do¡­¡±


    ¡°Were you a soldier once? I saw your fancy swords earlier. You must¡¯ve been a soldier before you became a mercenary! Were you a soldier??¡±


    Heror didn¡¯t have to lie this time: ¡°Yes¡­ I was¡­¡±


    Cedor found a stick in the matted hay and picked it up. He swung and stabbed against the slats of the wooden stall, drawing the angst of a nearby cow. He mimicked the grunts of battle, jumping onto a hay bale as he feigned a riposte.


    ¡°I wish I could be a soldier!¡± he mused. ¡°Fighting evil for the good of the Kingdom! Stifling the darkness wherever it aims to do harm! Being strong! Hi-yaah!¡±


    He spun and stumbled, letting out a clumsy ¡°woah!¡± as his feet shuffled through the straw. Heror peered downward at the small boy, eyes weary.


    ¡°So did you win battles?¡± Cedor prodded, his voice still steeped in awe. ¡°Did you kill enemies?¡±


    Heror¡¯s throat clenched. His breath quivered. He faded from the bars.


    ¡°C-Cedor, I¡¯m sorry, but I need to go to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, right, right¡­¡± Cedor remembered. ¡°Sorry, Mister Heror. I¡¯ll let you sleep.¡±


    As Cedor turned and grabbed his lantern, he said: ¡°You remind me of my brother.¡±


    Heror stopped. He tilted back toward the railing.


    ¡°Your brother?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, my brother Yselar!¡± Cedor recollected. ¡°You¡¯re around his age, too! He fought for the Pylanthean army, but he never wanted to talk about it when I asked him to tell me stories.¡±


    ¡°Ylar said you were his oldest.¡±


    Now Cedor went silent. The boy¡¯s mouth opened and closed.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ well¡­¡±


    He went silent again. Sadness overtook his gaze. And then he jolted upright and started for the door.


    ¡°I¡¯d best be goin,¡¯¡± he said suddenly. ¡°Goodnight¡­ Mister Heror.¡±


    The boy heaved and pushed the barn door open, then closed it behind him. The iron hinges screeched, and the broken latch clacked and clattered in the wind. The lantern light dissipated. Darkness flooded in its place.


    And Heror was left alone ¨C awake ¨C with the shadows of death and life.

 13. Dreamsleep

    ¡°¡­ fifty-six¡­ fifty-seven¡­ fifty-eight¡­ fifty-nine¡­ sixty!¡±


    Adjaash uncovered her eyes and turned away from the folds of the warped mahogany trunk. She let out an amused sigh and took a deep, preparatory breath. Then she cupped her hands.


    ¡°Alright, Ashba! I counted to sixty, not thirty this time ¨C as you requested!¡±


    Still wearing her coy smirk, she stepped off of the knotted root and ventured farther into the woods, as the rich umber vines and the emerald canopy ¨C toplit by the midday sun ¨C embraced her advance.


    Almost immediately, her eyes caught the tracks. Little nine-year-old feet scampered from the elder tree, and led their eager if ill-prepared master into the verdure. Adjaash smiled and followed the trail.


    The footprints carried on through the red dirt and cinnamon soil ¨C brushing through pockets of leafy grass and flowered thorn bushes. The steps were light and hasty; Adjaash was always impressed by her sister¡¯s pace.


    This time, however, Ashbashenu did not only rely on distance. As Adjaash reached a small clearing, she saw that deception was not beyond her sister.


    Here ¨C in a dirt clearing of burnt brown and crimson, lined by redwoods and ferns and eared colocasia ¨C Ashbashenu had utilized her extra time to her advantage. In the clearing, she had run back and forth ¨C left and right, over and over ¨C stirring up a frenzy of overlapping trails in the freshly sifted softpack. She had intentionally run close to the edge of the clearing, to occlude exit patterns ¨C but Adjaash gladly welcomed the challenge.


    Slowly, carefully, she knelt down and began to study the overlapping trails. Her eyes could see which layers were newer. The first footprints had been matted down by their successors, and while the cross-cuts occluded the prints¡¯ form, Adjaash could distinguish the later impressions. It was a noble effort, but Ashbashenu should¡¯ve known Adjaash had this skill. Adjaash tracked deer and jackrabbits and hogs and foxes in the busy forest. A human was crafty, but it couldn¡¯t blend like they could.


    Adjaash found the freshest set of prints and followed it to the clearing¡¯s edge. She used her hands to part the plants, and there in the soil, she saw the prints carry onward. She bounded ahead.


    Ashbashenu had to have tired out at this point, Adjaash assumed. She¡¯d run back and forth so much in the clearing, she wouldn¡¯t have gone too far after.


    Adjaash¡¯s suspicions were confirmed when she saw the trail end abruptly at the base of a gnarl-rooted sentinel tree. The prints skewed toward the root and disappeared at the monolith¡¯s foot. The trunk¡¯s boiled, rugged texture allowed for easy climbing; Adjaash was almost certain her sister had taken this path.


    She stepped onto the root, and she started to feel for handholds ¨C when her ever-thorough eyes turned back to the forest ground for one last check. And there, not ten feet away, half-hidden in the dirt and greenery, she saw a two-foot imprint where Ashbashenu had landed, after climbing onto the root and jumping away to mislead.


    Adjaash smiled. Her sister was learning.


    Adjaash leapt off the root and followed the trail where it picked up again. It snaked back and forth through the trees until a small opening lingered up ahead. Here, Adjaash stopped again. A plant nestled in between a coil of roots caught her attention.


    It was the tipu whakama ¨C the shy plant. When a person brushed against it, it would fold up its narrow, elliptical leaves close to the stem. Across the path, Adjaash saw another with its crown still proudly unfurled. But here, by the root, it hid its prize against the stalk.


    Ashbashenu¡¯s footprints stopped here. She¡¯d brushed up against the shy plant. And then she¡¯d climbed.


    Smiling wider ¨C smelling the scent of victory ¨C Adjaash grabbed hold of the trunk and began to climb. She lifted toward a low branch and kept ascending ¨C until she was above the first layer of the low canopy. And there, in the glow of the emerald shell, she saw Ashbashenu just ten feet higher ¨C reaching toward a nearby branch from an adjacent tree.


    ¡°Ah-ha!¡± Adjaash blurted.


    Ashbashenu¡¯s eyes shot downward in shock.


    ¡°No! There¡¯s no way! There¡¯s no way!¡±


    ¡°You were clever this time, I must admit,¡± Adjaash offered.


    ¡°You must¡¯ve cheated,¡± Ashbashenu grumbled, before slyly adding with an eye roll: ¡°It¡¯s in your nature.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m simply resourceful,¡± Adjaash chimed. ¡°You give me too much to work with every time.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say, cheater,¡± Ashbashenu retorted, turning up her nose.


    ¡°But what are you doing?¡± Adjaash prodded with a grin, nodding to Ashbashenu¡¯s extended hand. ¡°You can¡¯t move once the countdown is up. You have to stay in one place!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m not moving¡­¡± Ashbashenu tried and failed to lie.


    The branch she loosely grabbed for now snapped, exposing her dishonesty. She wobbled and swung back to the trunk of the redwood tree, clasping her hands against the swollen bark. Adjaash coughed out a chatter of laughter. A tinge of fear flashed across her face, however, as she saw Ashbashenu¡¯s weak hand slip just a bit.


    Adjaash opened her arm  ¨C to catch Ashbashenu if she fell.


    ¡°Come down before you hurt yourself,¡± the elder sister advised with a chuckle, disguising her concern.


    They descended back to the forest floor, convening upon the crimson dirt. Adjaash helped Ashbashenu to the ground, then gestured across the way.


    ¡°Come here,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°I¡¯ve got something to show you.¡±


    Adjaash led Ashbashenu to the shy plant that still stood untouched. She knelt down close to it, and Ashbashenu followed her example. Adjaash held out a finger toward the plant, then glanced to make sure her sister was watching.


    ¡°It¡¯s called the tipu whakama,¡± Adjaash said. ¡°You can recognize it by the little streaks spreading onto the leaf from the stem. It looks like a normal plant, but¡­ watch this.¡±


    Adjaash poked the plant¡¯s leaves with her finger. The stem bounced and swayed, and then the plant quickly folded its leaves inward ¨C as if fleeing from the contact. Ashbashenu¡¯s eyes lit up; she gasped in awe.


    ¡°That¡¯s how I found you,¡± Adjaash informed with a smirk. ¡°The forest gave away your presence.¡±


    Ashbashenu glared at the shy plant, freely expressing her anger at nature¡¯s betrayal. Adjaash laughed lightly and rose to her feet.


    ¡°But you were also clumsy,¡± Adjaash added with a shoulder shrug.


    With a heavy sigh, Ashbashenu too stood. They started to walk away.


    ¡°But you¡¯ve got to admit, I¡¯m getting better. Right? I am getting better.¡±


    Adjaash laughed again, before finally conceding.


    ¡°Yes¡­ yes, you are.¡±


    The walk back to the village was not necessarily a long one ¨C but Adjaash walked as slow as she could. These were the moments she felt most at peace. Under the sharded light of the sun, adrift in the colors of the wood, listening to the many sounds ¨C with Ashbashenu at her side. But today, at the conclusion of their game, Ashbashenu was silent and tense. Adjaash knew what was on her mind.


    ¡°When you train as a gatherer, that knowledge will be important,¡± Adjaash told her. ¡°The elders like to see children who take their own initiative. Wemeshin will be impressed with how much you already know.¡±


    Adjaash tried to give her sister a soft smile, and Ashbashenu tried to share it ¨C but Adjaash could see the reserved sadness behind her amber eyes. Little Ashba¡¯s jovial light was not gone ¨C but a shadow cast upon it.


    The decision had come from the elders and the mothers not long ago. She would not be a forager.


    Still, Ashbashenu was silent. She tucked her hands at her sides, stepping lightly and carefully over roots and shrubs. Her sullen eyes softly traced the ground ¨C as if searching for something to become lost in. Adjaash never wanted to see her sister like this. She scarcely had before.


    ¡°And you know¡­ when you know the ingredients¡­¡± Adjaash proposed. ¡°¡­ you can put burping berries in Bagashri¡¯s drinks.¡±


    This, at least, drew a small, mischievious smile from Ashbashenu. Neither of them liked the mother Bagashri.


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t like the decision,¡± Adjaash conceded. ¡°But remember what whaea always says.¡±


    Ashbashenu managed a solemn nod: ¡°From all seeds, a flower can bloom.¡±


    Adjaash nodded, swallowing her unease. A part of her did not believe her birth mother¡¯s words. Not anymore. But today, for her sister, she had to.


    ¡°From all seeds, a flower can bloom,¡± Adjaash echoed.


    They returned to the main path, and they were almost back to the village of Shenupuk when Adjaash heard footsteps up ahead. Through the low-lying branches and emerald leaves, a contingent of foragers approached ¨C wearing linen shirts, high-cut breechcloths, and loose linen pants. Tall and resolute Gendehar led the way, bearing a red-and-orange painted sash ¨C bow and arrow equipped over his shoulder alongside his braid. The war chief Darshin traveled alongside him, while a few of the younger foragers followed. At their haste, Adjaash¡¯s brow lowered. Her voice firmed.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Adjaash demanded.


    ¡°Adjaash, come with us,¡± the leader Gendehar beckoned, sweat shining off his charcoal skin. ¡°To the overlook. The more trained eyes, the better.¡±


    Adjaash nodded, unnerved by the pace of his voice. As the foragers passed and carried on down the path, Adjaash took Ashbashenu¡¯s shoulders in her hands and knelt down to face her.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to go, Ashba,¡± she said. ¡°Go take care of whaea. I¡¯ll see you later.¡±


    Ashbashenu¡¯s expression melted through a number of understandable emotions ¨C worry, jealousy, frustration ¨C but ultimately settled on love. She hugged her sister tight, and Adjaash shared the embrace. Then Ashbashenu let her go and rushed toward the village. Adjaash watched after her for as long as she could. Then she whisked around and hurried after the others, patterned poncho flowing behind her.


    It wasn¡¯t long before she caught up with them. They cut through the mahogany forest, until the trees thinned and the burgundy soil firmed up, giving way to red rocks. They lashed through the jungle-speckled spires, scaling the rises and falls and root-raggled cliffs as the steady hum of the waves came into earshot.


    As they reached the overlook atop the red ridges on the northern Torwan shore ¨C marked by a stone pyre left by foragers long before them, and shaded by tropical trees ¨C the ocean came into view past the windblown arches¡¯ tops. The azure expanse ¨C the Nebesaea ¨C stretched all the way to the edge of the world, cradling the sky which it mimicked. But on the horizon, an ominous reminder of the world beyond sat atop the churning waves, breaking the embrace of the realm¡¯s two halves.


    ¡°There it is,¡± Gendehar announced gravely. ¡°It¡¯s still there.¡±


    Adjaash crested the overlook and stood atop the rusted peak, as the loamy wind licked her face. Following the gaze of Gendehar and the other foragers, her eyes focused on the source of the fear: A large ship ¨C with a hull of dark, gnarled wood, and a shadowy greenish sail made of what appeared to be flayed reptilian skin ¨C shaped as a shark¡¯s fin ¨C that distorted the light of the sun.


    ¡°We first saw it a few hours ago,¡± the war chief Darshin informed. ¡°It¡¯s gotten closer.¡±


    Darshin ran a hand over his bald head, and pressed against his heavy, aged brow. Gendehar frowned as he thought ¨C black hair finicking frenetically in the breeze. He pursed his lips ¨C his stoic, rough-lined face not at all hiding his consternation.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t come into shore and anchored yet,¡± Gendehar thought aloud. ¡°They¡¯re surveying the coast.¡±


    ¡°This is the closest we¡¯ve seen them come in decades,¡± Darshin growled. ¡°An invasion must be imminent.¡±


    ¡°They know they¡¯ll need to be smarter this time,¡± Gendehar noted, recalling a faint memory.


    After a quick moment of thought, Gendehar turned to face Darshin directly.


    ¡°I need the warriors ready to make rubber tree traps,¡± Gendehar ordered. ¡°Have them gather the lava rocks and camp near the ridge the next few nights.¡±


    Now Gendehar turned to Adjaash.


    ¡°Adjaash.¡±


    The girl nodded.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°Go and check the log shots,¡± Gendehar told her. ¡°Make sure the rubber snares are tight. Make sure the launch paths are clear. Eashav, you go with her.¡±


    Adjaash glanced at her fellow forager ¨C a young man only a few years older than her, with ashen gray skin, an oval-shaped face with a pronounced brow, and loose black hair that parted in the center.


    He was the one she didn¡¯t mind going with.


    ¡°The rest of you,¡± Gendehar went on. ¡°Check the archer bluffs. We need clear aim when they come close. Go, quickly now¡­¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    The vision rippled away; Adjaash sputtered and coughed awake.


    The snares tugged tight at her wrists and ankles. The bog¡¯s wet embrace weighed her down. Water and shadow lapped at her ears. She heaved her chest. Her frantic eyes scattered left and right, before a slimy vine slithered over her neck. The night sky watched over her peacefully.


    ¡°P-please¡­ don¡¯t¡­¡± she croaked.


    The stars taunted her with complicit silence.


    The nymph sang its lonesome, stinging note again, from somewhere unseen.


    Blood oozed from Adjaash¡¯s nose. Lullaby brought her back to sleep.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°My father told me stories of when they last came.¡±


    Eashav dug at the buildup of dirt and soil in front of the log¡¯s head, clearing it with a stone trowel. A four-jeweled pendant dangled from his neck.


    ¡°He said they looked as if demons,¡± Eashav went on. ¡°With beady dark eyes and the skin of snakes, and they shrieked and shouted in infernal tongues.¡±


    Adjaash glanced at him as she peeled back the rubber snare, which had since become waterlogged and worn.


    ¡°I finally see where your dramatic flair comes from,¡± she joked with a shrug.


    ¡°You¡¯re not scared?¡± Eashav quipped with a smirk. ¡°Your whaea didn¡¯t tell you about it?¡±


    ¡°I suppose she didn¡¯t feel the need to,¡± Adjaash replied, peeling fresh rubber from a closeby tree with a knife.


    ¡°I finally see where your dull indifference comes from,¡± Eashav gibed.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Adjaash snapped, rolling her tongue as she halted her blade. ¡°I am not dull.¡±


    Eashav gave her the charming, testing smile that always goaded her on. She dropped her knife to her side and stepped toward the log.


    ¡°I am not dull,¡± Adjaash countered again.


    Eashav dropped the trowel in the dirt and sat down on the log, as the wind carried over the cliffs. He glanced at Adjaash and mocked her shoulder shrug.


    ¡°Prove it then.¡±


    The knife suddenly embedded into the log bark, just beyond where Eashav sat. Eashav jumped ¨C just barely ¨C then scoffed out a laugh and grinned again. Adjaash reached the log and sat close to him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not dull.¡±


    They leaned in closer.


    ¡°No,¡± Eashav finally agreed, with his ever-so-small smile. ¡°You¡¯re not.¡±


    They kissed. She felt his arms envelop her. She pulled away just a bit. She ran a hand up his cheek.


    ¡°Since you know so much, why don¡¯t you tell me more¡­¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    She saw the mother Bagashri enter whaea¡¯s hut at night.


    A smoke plume lifted from the conal hut¡¯s peak. Firelight shined through the windows. Whaea was still up. Adjaash heard them talking quietly.


    She snuck up to the layered bark wall, just beneath the sloped gold-grass roof. She peeked in through a tiny pinprick in the wood. Sitting in a twined chair, in front of a controlled burn, she saw whaea.


    Her whaea was getting weaker. They didn¡¯t know why. Not even the medicine women nor the kaihori knew for certain. For the past two years, she had declined. She had always been thin, but now, the unforgiving shadows of the flame exposed her shriveled limbs, her ageless wrinkles of wear, her jaundiced color, and her heavy, rickety breaths. The kaihori assumed it was the work of the invasive evil spirit pirinaea ¨C the lump that had long ago formed just below her clavicle, and had since grown.


    Bagashri sat across from whaea, on the other side of the fire. Still, she spoke, her gestures animated. Whaea listened, her emotions uncertain. Adjaash leaned her ear against the wall to hear more clearly, instinctively clutching her shark tooth necklace.


    ¡°¡­ she only talks back to me when I try to speak to her,¡± Adjaash heard Bagashri say. ¡°The brat has no regard for our sacred customs. She goes off on her own. She hides in the forest. We would approach her to arrange a proposal, but she does not make herself available. You must admit, Ashweban, that she needs correction¡­ before your Ashbashenu too is misled¡­¡±


    Adjaash snarled silently. She hated Bagashri.


    ¡°No,¡± Adjaash heard whaea reply. ¡°I don¡¯t think I must admit that.¡±


    ¡°This is what we warned of when you spent too much time with your own,¡± Bagashri scolded. ¡°They become less receptive to the rest of the mothers, whose emotions are not clouded by¨C¡±


    ¡°Clouded by what, Bagashri?¡± Ashweban interjected, a hint of anger in her voice.


    There was a long, thoughtful, and poignant pause.


    ¡°I¡­ I did not intend to turn the blame onto you,¡± Bagashri clarified. ¡°I simply have¡­ concerns.¡±


    ¡°So do I,¡± Ashweban mocked, drawing a more aggressive response from Bagashri.


    ¡°She is almost of age, and bearing a child is the first and foremost duty given to her ¨C given to all of us ¨C by Shenu. Without the fulfillment of this duty, our tribe would not survive. You have the power to convince her. You can convince her to accept an arrangement. And if¡­ if your time is running out, Ashweban¡­ you would have her betray this duty??¡±


    ¡°I would have her live her life!¡±


    Now Ashweban hissed, with a venom Adjaash had never heard from her.


    There was another pause ¨C a longer, heavier pause.


    Then Bagashri spoke once more.


    ¡°With respect¡­ Ashweban¡­ it is not your decision alone. Or hers.¡±


    Adjaash ran to the woods to free her tears.


    ~:{~}:~


    She centered her aim on a black deer ¨C horns sprouting like phoenix wings.


    It was then that she heard Bagashri¡¯s call.


    She ignored it, but the deer disappeared.


    She cursed under her breath. She heard the call again.


    ¡°Adjaash!¡±


    She lifted her arrow from the bowstring and slid it back into her quiver. She debated wandering in further and waiting until Bagashri gave up.


    ¡°Adjaash!¡±


    She took a step forward, making her way toward the thick of the weald.


    ¡°Adjaash!!¡±


    She stopped. Something was different about the call today.


    Something was wrong.


    She turned back toward the village.


    ¡°Adjaash!!¡±


    When she came to Bagashri, the woman¡¯s eyes weren¡¯t filled with the scorn she¡¯d come to expect. They were frightened. Broken.


    They returned to the village with haste. The kaihori were already at her mother¡¯s hut, uttering their prayers to the sky above in their beaded robes and feathered veils ¨C faces painted with streaks of green. A few other villagers had also gathered; the news traveled quickly. Ashbashenu waited outside for Adjaash, face smothered with snot and wetness. Adjaash dashed to her and hugged her tight. Then they entered.


    Ashweban was supine, lying with her face up and her eyes closed ¨C her neck free from the weight of her pendants, which rested on the ground by her head. A knitted blanket kept her warm, and still she shivered ¨C skin pale and caked in sweat. Two kaihori sat beside her, legs crossed. Incense candles burned in their laps.


    Ashbashenu broke down again the moment she entered, and Adjaash wrapped her arms around her. She tried to steady her as best she could. Ashbashenu succumbed to the wails and trembles. Adjaash fought off her own.


    Ashweban heard the cries of her daughter. Her eyes opened weakly.


    ¡°Adjaash¡­ Ashbashenu¡­¡±


    Ashbashenu gasped and scrambled forward at the sound of whaea¡¯s voice. Adjaash followed limply, in a trance. Ashbashenu collapsed by Ashweban and held her whaea¡¯s hair in her hands, sobbing. Adjaash was pulled to their side. She stayed standing.


    She had to stay strong.


    ¡°Adjaash¡­¡± Ashweban whispered, her voice so weak. ¡°Come down¡­ it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s alright¡­¡±


    Slowly, Adjaash knelt.


    A frail hand lifted and fell on Ashbashenu¡¯s shoulder. Another drifted to the many pendants that lay on the floor.


    ¡°A¡­ Ashbashenu¡­¡±


    Ashbashenu¡¯s sobs faded into shallow breaths. Her black hair shrouded her face. Ashweban wrapped her fingers gently around a beaded necklace with repeating patterns of red, orange, blue, and purple. She brought the necklace up with a shaking grasp and held it to her youngest.


    ¡°Your spirit is strong and free. Fly¡­ always¡­¡±


    Ashbashenu took the beads. Her lip quivered. Ashweban turned her head.


    ¡°Ad¡­¡±


    She stopped. She heaved a painful breath. The air clattered from her lungs.


    ¡°Adjaash¡­¡±


    Adjaash reached and clasped her mother¡¯s hand, then she let it go. Whaea brought her fingers around another necklace ¨C a simple thread necklace, with no adornments but a small red-orange gemstone locked in an intricate rose gold metal casing, shaped like a sphere of branches and leaves.


    ¡°Remember your warmth. It is¡­ even greater than your strength¡­¡±


    Adjaash took the necklace and clasped it between her palms.


    ¡°Both of you¡­¡± Ashweban pleaded, with urgency; it was almost time.


    The sisters leaned in closer. Ashweban gave a hand to each of them.


    ¡°The love you have¡­ for each other¡­ is special. They will¡­ try to tell you what matters, but¡­ nothing else matters¡­ but love¡­¡±


    She said what she¡¯d needed to say. Her duty was done. And at the final word, her eyes drifted closed again. Her breathing started to fade, and the tremors with it.


    ¡°N-no¡­¡± Ashbashenu whimpered; Adjaash held her.


    Soon, whaea was gone.


    The kaihori drew streaks of green over her eyes. Then they folded their arms atop one another, signifying the cycle of life. One of them prayed.


    ¡°I roto i te ora, i hoatu e koe. I te mate, ka hoatu e koe. Moe mai e Shenu. I to muri mai, ka ata noho koe.¡±


    At dusk, they brought her back to the world. A fox observed.


    ~:{~}:~


    When Ashbashenu ran out of tears and slept, Adjaash went to the river.


    She listened to the current and the burbles. Constant, unwavering. Anger fumed inside of her. How could the stream have tears but no grief? How could the stream carry on as if nothing had happened?


    She sniffled and wiped her eyes.


    Eashav found her there.


    In the dark of the night, they sat together.


    She accepted his embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder.


    He went to kiss her. She accepted one.


    He slid his hand down to her waist. She shook her head.


    ¡°No¡­ not now¡­¡±


    Still, Eashav pulled. She turned her head away.


    ¡°Not now, Eashav¡­¡±


    He pressed. She shoved him away and erupted to her feet.


    ¡°Not now!!¡± She screamed, fists clenched, eyes flaring.


    Eashav gaped at her. He stood and fled.


    Leaving the ignorant river as her only company.


    She sat again. Now she finally felt the love that was lost.


    Now it was her turn to cry.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°She looks happy.¡±


    Ashbashenu spoke as if she was still there before them. A part of Adjaash wanted to tell Ashbashenu not to speak that way. But as they sat at their whaea¡¯s grave, Adjaash couldn¡¯t deny her sister¡¯s words. The greens looked richer than they had two weeks before. The wind wafted sweet scents. Flowers bloomed.


    Ashbashenu smiled warmly at the sight ¨C an ephemeral smile.


    ¡°Before she got sick¡­¡± Ashbashenu started. ¡°I always thought she¡¯d only die when Shenu called her, and told her it was time.¡±


    ¡°Shenu did,¡± Adjaash noted quietly.


    ¡°Yes, I suppose¡­¡± Ashbashenu whispered. ¡°But I always thought¡­ that she¡¯d live as long as Shenu longed for her to. Because she was always so full of life. Why should anyone like that pass so soon? If Shenu brought the world into being, how would it be better off without her?¡±


    Adjaash had no answer. She sighed and dropped her eyes.


    ¡°Maybe Shenu wanted to take her back,¡± Ashbashenu wondered with a curious gaze. ¡°Maybe she belonged with the spirits all along. She never mentioned father. Maybe she was just an angel.¡±


    Still, Adjaash said nothing.


    ¡°Sometimes I thought she¡¯d live forever,¡± Ashbashenu admitted with a small laugh. ¡°I thought she¡¯d grow old with us. I thought we¡¯d go down to the ocean shore every other day. We¡¯d swim and laugh and jump off the dunes and roll in the sand. We¡¯d play in the forest and listen to her songs. Her voice was always so calm. So sure. Even when¡­ when she left¡­ that never changed. I remember when she sang, when I was little, I could feel myself lifting off the ground sometimes. I could feel my thoughts just¡­ fluttering away. The world felt so simple in those moments. Maybe she¡¯s right. Maybe¡­ love is all that matters.¡±


    Ashbashenu blinked. Her lips quivered again. She took a deep, shaky breath.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t last forever,¡± she lamented, voice wavering.


    Her eyes glistened. She started to lose herself in the flowers.


    Then, inexplicably, she smiled. A sad, but sure smile.


    ¡°Love lasts, at least,¡± she added faintly.


    Adjaash¡¯s amber eyes fell on her sister. Then they went ahead, to the fieldstone in the shaded flower meadow, carved with their whaea¡¯s name: Ashweban.


    They sat, as the wind whispered.


    As the sun¡¯s light fractured and faded beneath the canopy.


    As the slithering vines crept up the redwood trunks.

 14. Whelk

    ¡°Do it again!¡±


    ¡°Heror, that¡¯s the fourth time you¡¯ve asked me. Did your scatterbrain forget already?¡±


    ¡°Just¡­ do it! I¡¯m watching for something.¡±


    Young Thaeolai sighed. She knelt down in the soft sand and rolled her wrists again. Just beyond the shoal¡¯s edge, in the shallow water, a gentle whirlpool materialized and took over the tides, sending the gleamfish adrift in a sudden concentric dance. As soon as her wrists idled again, the vortex dissipated ¨C and the tides retained their timeless rhythm.


    Heror¡¯s wonderstruck eyes jumped from the water to Thaeolai¡¯s hands, and then to the water again. He tilted his head beneath curls of brown, his observations ongoing.


    ¡°So¡­ how again can you connect to the water?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just the water; it¡¯s the kea, the energy,¡± Thaeolai explained. ¡°You can tap into the Aelyum¡¯s kea with your mind and interact with it. That¡¯s what keawal is.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see any kea,¡± the young Heror countered.


    ¡°You don¡¯t see the kea,¡± Thaeolai said through a heavy, somewhat pretentious sigh. ¡°You feel it. Maybe the best whyzards can see it because they feel it well enough, but¡­ it all happens at a plane invisible to the ordinary eye.¡±


    ¡°¡®Ordinary¡¯ eye?¡± Heror scoffed. ¡°What are you saying?¡±


    ¡°Since you¡¯re so bad at picking up subtext, I¡¯ll spare you the effort,¡± Thaeolai chirped. ¡°Your eyes are ordinary.¡±


    Young Heror smirked at Thaeolai, and now his ordinary eyes went back to the water. And wonder soon gave way to wonderment. Where was this kea then? How did it flow where water and air and life also flowed? Was it encased within? Or was it a part of it all?


    His stream of thoughts broke when Ucankacei called out from down the way.


    ¡°Heror! Thaeolai! The canoe is ready! Let¡¯s not waste a perfect morning!¡±


    And so he left his wonders to the waves ¨C where they endlessly churned, unanswered.


    It was dawn on the eastern coast. The light was still low, but the Sun was rising ¨C an amber beacon beneath the clear sky, nestled on the horizon like an egg in a nest. Droplets of fire pooled at its base, melding into the ocean-scape, as its burgeoning heat ushered the sea breeze ashore. The winds tuned. The plovers cheeped.


    ¡°Heror, caref¨C careful, there¡¯s driftwood!¡±


    Heror¡¯s eyes had been fixed on the Sun as he aimlessly moseyed ahead, but now they shot forward. He jumped to narrowly avoid tripping over a protruding branch half-buried in the sand. Then he sent an embarrassed glance at Thaeolai, who clicked her tongue as a mother might.


    ¡°Do you always rush ahead without watching where you¡¯re going?¡± Thaeolai lamented.


    ¡°Heror, Thaeolai! Up here! I have something to show you.¡±


    At Ucankacei¡¯s beckon, the teenagers quickened their pace. The old man was up ahead, close to the tides ¨C  crouching in the dampened sand as his graying blonde hair twitched with each gust. In his hand, he carried a small conch shell with roped red streaks and exquisite lantern-like frills.


    As the old man saw them approach, a youthful glint shined in his eye, and he brought the shell back down to the sand, pressing the opening against the grains. Then he removed his hand and stood, stretching his warped limbs and cracking his back.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Heror asked as the two neared.


    ¡°See this shell?¡± Ucankacei gestured to the conch at his feet. ¡°You might think most of these are empty. But watch¡­¡±


    Ucankacei knelt down again. He motioned for the young ones to come closer.


    ¡°If you¡¯re not ready, you might miss it. C¡¯mon, come in, come in¡­¡±


    Heror and Thaeolai huddled close, and Ucankacei brought his hand down toward the shell. His fingers hovered above the shell¡¯s surface and wiggled ¨C as if he was preparing himself. And then, he snatched the shell and turned it upright, so the children could see the opening. Heror wasn¡¯t ready, and so by the time he focused, there was nothing. But Thaeolai saw it; her eyes lit up.


    ¡°I saw something move!¡± she exclaimed. ¡°I saw it!¡±


    ¡°Did you see it, my boy?¡± Ucankacei asked Heror.


    ¡°No,¡± Heror admitted, disappointed.


    ¡°Here. I¡¯ll do it again for you.¡±


    Ucankacei gently turned over the shell and placed it in the sand again. He lifted his hand away and waited a few seconds. Heror focused his eyes early. And then, in a flash, Ucankacei snatched and overturned the conch. Heror saw it this time: A small, slimy brown organism fleeing into the shell¡¯s darkest recesses.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Heror erupted out of instinct. ¡°What¡­ what was that?¡±


    ¡°That¡­ was a whelk,¡± Ucankacei proudly informed, shifting his eyes between Heror and Thaeolai. ¡°A shoehorn whelk, to be exact. You¡¯ll find them all over the place on these shoals. But they¡¯re shy, so you have to know where to look! They love to hide in shells just like these. The fascinating thing about whelks is¡­ most of these shells are not their original homes. Once, they were lost out there, prattling around in the waves ¨C no armor to resist the barrage of the elements. Just fighting to survive. But eventually¡­ they all manage to find new homes. Against all odds, they find a place to make their own.¡±


    Heror beamed at the words. Ucankacei set down the whelk once more, and then they carried on to the canoe, at the far end of the sandbar. They all boarded the wooden vessel ¨C Ucankacei and Heror manning the oars at the front and the back, while Thaeolai sat in the middle. Then, with a push of the oars, they began the journey inland, following one of the saltwater inlets into the humid marshes.


    The shadows of the swamp smothered the fledgeling light of the Sun; all of a sudden, its glint was lost, and the memory¡¯s colors muted. The soothing song of the waves grew faint, until there was no sound but the muddling pull of the oars through the soupy water. There were no bugs or crickets or cormorants. There was no wind. It was quiet. Only the oars spoke ¨C condemned to their eternal struggle.


    Heror squinted as his eyes adjusted to the shadow. He stopped to wipe sweat off his brow, as the humid air purged his pores. He peered into the jungle, his eyes scraping through layers of darkened eucalyptus and ancient, sentried trunks. There was no sign of life ¨C save for the ghoulish trees and drooping leaves chained to the blackened Aelyum by their many roots.


    Heror¡¯s eyes drifted ahead, and he intended to ask where they were going ¨C but when his gaze shifted, he saw that Thaeolai was no longer on the boat with them. Ucankacei sat at the head of the canoe, strangely idle, barely visible in the shaded mire. Only Heror paddled now; he felt the heavy tug of the slog. The silence picked at his ears. He smelled musk.


    ¡°Ucankacei?¡± Heror asked with unease. ¡°Where¡¯s Thaeolai? Where did she go?¡±


    When Ucankacei answered, his voice was suddenly cold.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone.¡±


    The old man didn¡¯t turn his head. He sat as if a statue. Young Heror tucked away the pounding of his heart and paddled farther into the silent dark.


    When Ucankacei spoke again, his voice was not his own.


    ¡°The whelk¡­ is a predator. It secretes stomach acid onto the surface of a mollusk¡¯s shell. It bores a hole in the shell with its radula. Then it extends its proboscis and feasts on the flesh within. It consumes its prey until there is no more, and then ¨C like a parasite ¨C it invades and lives among the bones of its sin.¡±


    A white-ringed atlas moth fluttered across the bogged creek, glowing in the deep-shade. Heror paddled slower now. The water thickened. He leaned forward. He leaned right. He tried to see Ucankacei¡¯s face. He could not.


    ¡°Ucankace¨C¡±


    ¡°So perhaps it is not so dissimilar from you.¡±


    A different voice. Twisted and heavy. Gravelly and low.


    Fear crept up Heror¡¯s spine. His breath sought to flee.


    ¡°What do you¨C¡±


    ¡°You have imposed upon a family,¡± the once-Ucankacei went on fervently, still facing away. ¡°A family cursed by untimely death. A curse you afflicted upon so many others. Would you be yet coddled by ignorance, or would you face the truth?¡±


    Heror lifted the oar again. Blood dripped from the edge.


    ¡°You are a curse, Heror Heran. A harbinger of death.¡±


    The boy¡¯s knuckles whitened as he tried to pull free. He couldn¡¯t. He started to squirm.


    ¡°A black omen.¡±


    ¡°Please stop¡­¡± Young Heror whimpered.


    ¡°A malediction¨C¡±


    ¡°Ucankacei, please¨C¡±


    ¡°Murderer.¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    ¡°You are damned, and you condemn¨C¡±


    ¡°P-please!¡±


    Tears streamed from Heror¡¯s eyes, and he shrunk into the corner of the boat, dropping the oars at his sides. He hugged his arms close to his face and trembled.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡± Heror cried softly. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°Heror.¡±


    Heror gasped. It was Ucankacei¡¯s voice again.


    The boy sat up quickly and straightened his back. His hair stood on-end. He leaned forward again.


    ¡°Y-yes? Ucankacei?¡±


    ¡°Promise me this, Heror.¡±


    ¡°Anything¡­¡± Heror pleaded.


    There was a pause. Ucankacei still did not face him. He sat as still as stone, at the front of the boat. And then, he turned his face just enough. So that Heror could see his shriveled skin, aged almost beyond recognition. So that Heror could see his black eyes and his vicious sneer.


    ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t forget,¡± the voice hissed.


    Heror crumbled against the stern: ¡°W-what?¡±


    Ucankacei stomped to his feet and turned to face him, enraged.


    ¡°You can¡¯t forget!!¡±


    Now Ucankacei charged toward him with unnatural zeal and ferocity ¨C thunderous steps rocking the canoe left and right as blood splashed and flecked and painted the swamp red. He brandished an Ardysi longsword. His black eyes screamed.


    ¡°You can¡¯t forget!!¡± the once-Ucankacei bellowed. ¡°You can¡¯t forget what you¡¯ve done!! What you are!!¡±


    Heror scrambled to the boat¡¯s edge, fingernails clawing at the wood.


    ¡°That¡¯s right!! Run!! Run like the coward you are!!¡±


    The rabid justiciar closed in, winding back its blade.


    ¡°No matter how far you run¡­ you can¡¯t escape your judgment!!¡±


    Heror vaulted over the gunwale ¨C just evading the saber¡¯s searing tip ¨C and fell into the river of blood.

 15. Awake

    Adjaash gasped to her senses.


    She first felt her hair and her clothes clinging to her in a tight and damp embrace, and panic took hold. She kicked her legs and lashed out in a fury ¨C grunting and yelling ¨C when she realized that no vines yet entangled her.


    She was free.


    She was free?


    Eyes snapping left and right, she sat up, dragging her knees close to her chest. She started to catch her breath ¨C but unwelcome unease tickled her throat. The last remnants of her visions ¨C memories she¡¯d intended to leave behind ¨C lingered inside her head, before she whipped them away and forced herself into the present. One name, however, still remained ¨C scratching at her skull. She could not banish it.


    Ashba¡­ Ashba¡­


    She brushed spidery weaves of wet hair out of her face. She blinked and beckoned the return of her sight, and the light of the sun revealed itself ¨C a bright, piercing light she hadn¡¯t seen in days. Gingerly, she rose ¨C first to one knee, and then to her feet. She felt the sun¡¯s warmth envelop her. Confused, she fully opened her eyes.


    And confusion turned to frozen horror.


    She stood atop a knoll, beside a weeping cherry tree with healthy green leaves. Here, the blotless blue-green sky greeted her with taunting serenity, and so too did the spectacle beyond: An endless swath of marsh and cool jungle, stretching all the way to the northern horizon, where a massive, primeval willow tree towered above the canopy ¨C its gnarled bark and many arms sprawling into an ageless, golden angel strand, which then poured into the shadowy mires below.


    Something was different about this place. The air was still, and yet it tingled with a subtle energy ¨C like soft, barely noticeable prickles on the surface of Adjaash¡¯s skin. It was something she¡¯d never felt before ¨C not even in Torwa.


    A terrorizing, unfathomable thought took over Adjaash¡¯s mind: Was she dead?


    Her vision flashed down to her torso. Everything was the same. Her patterned poncho was damp and covered in muck, but it sat atop a very-alive mortal body. She stared at her hands for any sign of transition or translucence. She saw none. She pressed two fingers against the vein on her left wrist. Her heart was perhaps overworked by stress, but the heartbeat was steady.


    She wasn¡¯t dead. Of that, she was fairly certain.


    But she wasn¡¯t where she¡¯d once been.


    Now Adjaash¡¯s calculating eyes fell to the ground. Behind her, she saw a cluster of serpentine trails dug into the dirt and the sickly rivulet grass, from the vines that had carried her here. In front of her, she saw something just as disconcerting: An entire half-circle of vined fruits and vegetables prepared for her consumption ¨C rich, ripe watermelons, kiwis, pepons, pitayas, and other brighter fruits she did not recognize. A funerary feast.


    The voice echoed in her head again.


    Eat. We¡¯re still playing.


    In her defiance, Adjaash first thought to refuse the old command. A hollow, constricting growl in her stomach swiftly convinced her otherwise.


    She set down her bow and quiver, then hung her damp poncho on a branch of the weeping cherry tree so it could dry. From the twin leather baldrics that wrapped over her shoulders and grimy linen undershirt, she ripped out her last remaining dagger. For a solemn second, she glowered and mourned the loss of her matching blade. Then she knelt, bitterly stabbed into the watermelon, and sliced it open down the middle.


    She sniffed the watermelon before she ate. The juices inside were sweet and red, and smelled as she expected ¨C if not better ¨C but she was slow to trust it. Her mind raced through the natural poisons and hallucinogens that might lurk within. A single jatropha seed would do the job. The neurotoxin of the huakoi would do it slowly, painfully. As she thought, however, a certain truth became clear to her.


    If the nymph wanted to kill or even impair her, it would¡¯ve done so already.


    It didn¡¯t want to kill her ¨C at least not yet.


    Perhaps it had worse things in mind.


    Just as bitterly as she¡¯d stabbed, she bit and chewed.


    She ate until her stomach no longer begged, and until her sore throat could take no more. She coughed and stood, casting a reluctant glance down at her wrist. Still, the wound from the cougar scratch was discolored. Still, she felt the rickety pain and unsteadiness of infection.


    It was just as she stood that she heard the cry of a bird ¨C a resolute, trilling call. Her eyes climbed, and ¨C against the brightness of the cyan sky ¨C she saw a brilliant flare of orange fire soaring down. As it neared, the form of a crowned phoenix took shape ¨C much smaller than the emblem she¡¯d seen over the Midan camp ¨C and it dove toward the knoll, unleashing yet another trill as Adjaash watched ¨C torn between awe and alarm.


    The firebird landed on the weeping cherry tree ¨C digging its talons into the bark, waggling its scarlet-feathered wings to steady itself. Then it forcefully pecked its beak into the bark, freeing a stream of viscous, cream-colored, ambrosia-like sap. Its pearled eyes locked with Adjaash¡¯s amber irises; its gaze unexpectedly calmed her.


    And then suddenly, a foreign, voiceless thought filled Adjaash¡¯s head ¨C gentle but urgent. Ever urgent.


    Drink. Then follow the string. Follow the string. Follow the string¡­


    And then the phoenix left the tree and flapped away in a burst of air, rising and soaring until the cyan canvas swallowed it again.


    Adjaash fought the urge to curse. She wasn¡¯t about to blindly accept the spirits¡¯ help now ¨C not when they¡¯d been absent for so long ¨C but she quickly realized time was short. The light began to change. As the sky called her attention again, she saw a sliver of moon in front of the sun. The expanse¡¯s cyan began to skew into an ominous viridian. Faint constellations and nebulae began to show through the light-dark. She did not recognize the stars she saw.


    She recognized none of it.


    She didn¡¯t know where she was.


    And she didn¡¯t know what would happen when night fell.


    Accepting the bird¡¯s guidance out of necessity, she ran to the weeping cherry tree and brought her lips close to the bark. She let the seeping sap touch her tongue, and only accepted a trickle before she gagged and crumbled to the roots. The overwhelming saccharine taste stung her tongue, and as she gulped it down, acidic froth nearly induced vomit.


    But after she took a moment to compose herself, she felt the soreness of her muscles and the aches of her joints fading. Her throat opened, and her breaths grew less labored. She brought her eyes to the wound on her wrist. The scarring remained, but the coloration was healthy.


    Adjaash blinked rapidly ¨C pleasantly surprised and deeply unsettled.


    She stared at the unnatural progression of her wound for a moment longer, before her strict conscience brought her back to focus. She¡¯d ruminate on the bird¡¯s charity another time, she decided.


    The moon was moving. Her objective hadn¡¯t changed.


    She slipped her poncho back over her undershirt and baldrics. She grabbed her bow and arrows, and started down the slope forward with heavy steps. And then she proceeded into the wilds of oblivion.


    A tangle of brambles and forked leafy branches stood at the bottom of the hill. In the shade, Adjaash again unsheathed her dagger and began hacking away at the obstructions. As she did, she let out a frustrated sigh.


    ¡°This is all Heror¡¯s fault,¡± Adjaash grumbled to herself, half-sarcastically. ¡°None of this happened before he came along. Heror comes along¡­ and I get attacked by carnivorous sand carpets¡­¡±


    She hacked and heaved, grunting in between slices.


    ¡°¡­ get stuck in a fucking labyrinth with an undead army¡­¡±


    She hacked again, vindictively.


    ¡°¡­ get blinded by a giant legendary bird¡­ which then proceeds to invade my mind and feed me special sap in some godforsaken place between Aelya and Shenua¡­¡±


    She stopped and let out a chuckle at the absurdity of her situation.


    ¡°When I see him again,¡± she said, smiling, ¡°I¡¯ll smack him.¡±


    A tinge of excitement ¨C less at the thought of inflicting pain and more at the thought of seeing Heror again ¨C leveled her smile out of guilt. Another sequential thought yielded a frown.


    It was her fault that she was here. It was only her fault.


    If she had waited until it was safe to travel up the river basin, she wouldn¡¯t have wandered into the nymph¡¯s domain.


    If she hadn¡¯t been reckless, she would¡¯ve reached Pylantheum by now.


    Ashba had already waited this long. Because of Adjaash, she¡¯d have to wait longer.


    If she was even still¡­


    Adjaash sank her head and shook, brown-silver hair darkening her view. She felt the weight of her shark tooth necklace, heavier than before. Silently, she banished the glisten at the bottom of her eyes. Her nose twitched. She forced an angry breath, and when she looked up again, a fiery glare steered her ahead. She cut the last reaching snare, and the rest of the tangle fell. And then she entered the wilds.


    She stepped into the shadow of the trees, and all at once, she was surrounded by clustered fronds of teal, blue, green, and indigo. Lowering her brow in confusion, she squirmed and slid past the sprawling ferns and low-lying palms, eyes jumping left and right in search of vines or thorns. Her feet dutifully pressed ahead, and soon, she emerged from the thicket.


    When she did, she finally allowed herself a second of awe.


    Already, it had been clear to her that she was no longer on the plane of Aelya. Descending into the wilds only confirmed this.


    She stood at the head of an enchanted idyll wood ¨C a multicolored expanse of forest shimmering with bioluminescence. The trunks of the trees were thick and knotted and a muted, burnt umber ¨C like the ones she remembered from Torwa ¨C but their leaves were like nothing she¡¯d seen before. Each tree, among the hundreds of thousands of trees that lay beyond, painted a spectral beauty. Rich and cool hues swirled and clashed with bright and fiery intrusions, and notched, slanted markings on the leaves emitted light ¨C a symphony of color and ever-glow.


    It was only when Adjaash¡¯s shock at the fauna subsided that she saw the life itself. Up above, in the patched canopy, strange flying creatures roped in and out of the woods ¨C resembling winged snakes more than anything else. Brightly-colored birds darted back and forth in the heights ¨C their dotted wings almost glowing in the shade ¨C with calls more melodic and sophisticated than Adjaash had ever documented.


    Closer to the forest floor, strange jellyfish-like organisms floated along the air currents, glowing in pale pigments of pink and blue and green, as electric keatuu energy coiled at their centers. And on the ground itself, Adjaash could see the skitter of small creatures ¨C white-tailed wild dogs and strange six-legged spider-foxen and golden leopard-spotted deer ¨C all of them casting their frightful, curious eyes at the visitor.


    Adjaash lost track of how long her jaw had idled, agape in awestruck wonder. She brought herself back to her senses and stepped under the phosphorescent light, leaving the tangled entrance behind. Through the gaps in the canopy, she could just make out the sun in the hazy, starry viridian sky. The blackened moon was encroaching over its border.


    It was then that she remembered the phoenix¡¯s instruction.


    Follow the string, follow the string, follow the string¡­


    Her amber eyes scoured the ground for any trace of the string she sought. In the mottled peat and soil, she saw only forked aqua grasses and dangling antenna plants suspending bulbs of light. She hurried ahead, brushing past bark and bush ¨C when a sudden sound closeby to her right gained her full attention.


    It was a fast, light plucking sound of sorts ¨C a plik-plik-plik that mingled with the rustling of plants and branches. Adjaash¡¯s hand flashed to her bow, and she scanned the painted shade. Her tension quickly dissipated, however, when she saw a tiny rodent on a low branch close to her ¨C a bipedal mouse with soft fur, large circular ears, and strange pulsing gills tucked behind its mouth, beneath its whiskers.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Adjaash said softly, forcing an equally tiny smile. ¡°Hello¡­¡±


    The otherworldly mouse plikked back to the trunk of the tree, latching into the bark with its large clawed feet. It let out a squeak, staring at Adjaash with wide and dark eyes. And then it turned away and fixed its gaze ahead, nodding its nose to an unseen point in the distance.


    Adjaash¡¯s face scrunched with uncertainty. Her eyes followed the plik-plik¡¯s nod into the glowing weald. At first, she saw nothing ¨C the clashing lights playing tricks on her eyes ¨C but as she looked deeper and focused harder, she could just barely distinguish a faint golden string, lying over a bulging tree root around fifty feet out.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Adjaash¡¯s eyes lit up. She looked at the plik-plik and lifted a cautious finger toward it. When the plik-plik didn¡¯t run, she patted it gently on the head with her index.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she whispered with fondness.


    She rushed away, as the plik-plik gave her a purring squeak of good luck, oscillating its gills.


    Her moccasins trudged in the foreign dirt. Her loose braid wavered over her shoulder, as tresses fought to come loose. And in moments, she reached the root where the string resided. She rested a hand on the bark and knelt down, and sure enough, a weakly glowing golden string snaked over the tree¡¯s sprawling foundation. As Adjaash¡¯s eyes followed it onward, she saw that it stretched further into the grove.


    Tracking its feeble glow under the melding colors of the shadow-light demanded her unflinching focus. She took a breath to ready herself, then ushered her feet forward once again, in an expeditious rhythm.


    The golden string carved through shallow forked grasses ¨C over swelled ground hollows and under arched rootlets. It hid in clusters of feathered, beaded blades, and re-emerged atop flowering petals that barely flinched at its meager weight. It carried on with a resolution unbefitting its size and delicate thread. Adjaash traced it with eyes and legs just as resolute. The name echoing inside her head kept her going. The floating nettlewisps parted for her.


    For minutes, she followed the string through the luminescent copse ¨C only occasionally glancing up. It was difficult to gauge progress in this place, but by Adjaash¡¯s estimation, any movement was good. She eagerly trailed the string, farther and farther into the wood ¨C until a well-timed glance upward stopped her from careening into a pond.


    She gasped silently and halted to a stop, moccasins sinking ever so lightly in the moist soil. She steadied herself, absorbing her forward momentum with a stalwart stance. Then her eyes lifted, and another sight demanded her reverence.


    The pond sat at the edge of a large glade, awash in the light of its own and the light of the half-eclipse above. At the center of the pond, powder blue lily plants convened in the shimmering waters beneath the sage green sky, carrying their own bulbs of brightness. Far leftward, a small waterfall from a smooth cropping of rocks fed the reservoir. A vibrant meadow of fluorescent flora and fauna stretched from its shores.


    Across from Adjaash, on the lily pond¡¯s opposite edge, a small herd of strange, cervine creatures lingered ¨C their eyes lifting from the drink to observe her. Though they had the lean forms, the faces, and the docile gazes of deer, their ears were tall and straight like those of the jackal, and their strong fetlocks like those of the horse. The males had curved, obsidian-glossed horns, and all of them carried narrow, folded wings along their blackened sides.


    At her approach, one of the horned creatures emitted a whooping cry, and the winged deer scattered with quiet gallops. Adjaash watched them until they disappeared behind a cloak of trees, and then she searched again for the golden string. Looking ahead, she saw that it stretched across the pond ¨C floating solemnly in the clear, muted waters ¨C and then it emerged on the other side, piercing through the glade.


    Now her eyes went back to the sky. The stars were out ¨C pocks of red and yellow and nebulaic blue smattered upon an ethereal green canvas. The sun was a blazing crescent. A tidal wave of shadow sought to extinguish its flame.


    She started to move again.


    She journeyed around the pond and picked up the trail on the other side. She crouched and kept focus on the string through the fluorescent meadow. Soon, she entered the shade of the painted trees once more, and the string¡¯s humble glow stung her eyes in the mellow dark. She followed it. Onward and onward.


    Soon, she had to stop again ¨C simply to catch her breath. This struck her as odd. She¡¯d lost track of the time she¡¯d spent in the forest; it couldn¡¯t have been more than an hour. But already, she felt the toll of her trek. Her lungs simmered, her chest heaved, and her skin was waxy with dried sweat. It felt as though she¡¯d been hiking high in the mountains ¨C as if the air¡¯s very oxygen was siphoned away with each respiration.


    A perturbed glance at the sky coaxed Adjaash to keep going in spite of her exhaustion: The moon was three-quarters full. The sun was but a sliver behind it.


    The farther she went, the brighter the string became. At first, it was a barely noticeable transition ¨C but it soon became clear to Adjaash that its glow was stronger. And as she delved deeper into the grove, she began to see more of them. Left and right, far and near, she saw more angel hair strings of the same gleaming golder, resting lightly on the forest floor, ushering the lone traveler to some unseen source.


    Adjaash remembered the mammoth willow tree she¡¯d seen on the horizon earlier. She remembered its angelic strands of hanging moss. Was this her destination? What would she find when she made it there? Would the phoenix mislead her? She knew not the nature of these Gods. She¡¯d long ago accepted that she¡¯d never know.


    As the golden strings multiplied, they began to cluster and clump and ribbon. And as she went, Adjaash noticed that the life of the forest began to fade. The skittering creatures numbered fewer, and the glowing nettlewisps no longer loomed on the current. The ribboning gold roped around tree trunks and laced between branches, and the trees that it claimed became as husks, and nothing more. Their growth was gaunt and shriveled, their leaves dead and gone ¨C replaced by the stream of glowing, feeding gold.


    It soon became so that there was no question as to the path ahead ¨C but the pooled golden glow forced Adjaash to squint and slow her advance. There was just as much strand as clear ground now, and Adjaash could feel her pulse thrumming in her chest and her head. She stopped to compose herself again, resting her hands on her knees.


    As she caught her breath, a lock of gleaming, lustrous gold called to her, just beside her feet. She knelt down slowly and extended a finger. Rationality and clarity ushered in caution ¨C reluctance ¨C for a short moment, but after a pause, the ribbon¡¯s magnificent shine and delicate, innocent texture became too tantalizing.


    Adjaash pressed her finger against the thread.


    A flash of black commandeered her mind, and she felt the boiling pain of all her memories. All of her muscles spasmed at once ¨C a violent, synchronous constriction that forced out an agonized cry. She retracted her finger in a panic and collapsed to her side, convulsing and gulping in air. She trembled and chattered her teeth as she propped herself up against the dirt, sliding away from the fiendish filament. She desperately sought respite that she knew wouldn¡¯t come.


    And her wide eyes grew no calmer when a new dark set in.


    Her gaze shot up to the sky ¨C through the skeleton limbs of the fossil trees, past the golden glow of consumption. The once-viridian expanse was now an ocean of shadow-sunken jade, dominated by stars and cosmic constructs. The moon was a black circle. The sun¡¯s coronal ring was the only proof of its struggle ¨C a fiery forebear of doom.


    The eclipse. The night. It was here.


    Then Adjaash heard it. In the still air, it carried from somewhere distant. Not distant enough.


    ¡°¡­ aaaaaa¡­¡±


    Adjaash scrambled to her feet and sprinted ahead. She rushed past ribbons of gold, past the husken trees, past the shadows of life and death. Her frantic eyes serrated through the sights ahead, for any sign of sanctuary. She saw only dead, black columns of charcoal trees, smothered by the solar strands.


    ¡°¡­ Aaaaaaa¡­¡±


    A dagger pain stabbed above her brow. Her ears rang. She kept running. The golden ribbons filled her vision and enclosed her path. Haste and caution clashed in her mind. She couldn¡¯t keep her pace without risking contact.


    ¡°¡­ Aaaaaaaaaa¡­¡±


    Her vision blurred. She stumbled to her knees. In her head, she heard an echo of a child¡¯s laugh. Ashba.


    Ashba¡­


    ¡°Nothing else matters¡­ but love.¡±


    It was Ashweban¡¯s voice. But it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Nothing else matters¡­ but love!¡±


    Adjaash tried to get back on her feet. She took a few steps and stumbled again.


    ¡°Nothing else matters¡­ but¡­ hehe¡­ hahaha!!¡±


    Now it was a mocking, maniacal laugh, that inflected up and down, and echoed in the trees and sunk into the ground. Terror hoisted Adjaash to her feet again, and she made one last mad dash for an escape unseen. But then the note came back ¨C closer and stronger ¨C and it took over her body.


    ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA¡­¡±


    She slumped to her knees and fell onto her stomach ¨C blood and drool trickling in matching streams. Her muscles went numb and limp at the stabbing sound. She tried to claw forward with a shuddering hand, with the last of her feeling, but a black and gnarled vine emerged from the dirt and clasped around her wrist, encasing her brand. The golden glow leered within her periphery ¨C a false promise of haven.


    ¡°Tell me of this ¡®love,¡¯ elesvii,¡± she heard the nymph say. ¡°I do not know it.¡±


    Adjaash tried to move. She was paralyzed.


    ¡°I was in love once,¡± the nymph went on, with Ashweban¡¯s stolen voice; manic anguish took the place of benevolence.


    Adjaash¡¯s heart raced. Nothing else could.


    She heard the slithering of vines and the unearthing of roots around her. The snare on her wrist suddenly began to lift. It pried her prostrate form off the ground, until she was caught, suspended by the base of her hand. And as she hung there from the dead tree¡¯s snarl, the nymph entered her view.


    It leaned it toward her, craning its neck and tilting its head back and forth as a predator might. Adjaash closed her eyes, but the nymph extended a slender, spindly, flowered hand and brushed against her cheek, coaxing her attention back to it. Here, beneath its sprouting antlers, its clear eyes glowed with bristling emotion, and its oaken, mannequin visage dripped with a mixture of despair and hate.


    ¡°I was in love,¡± the nymph recalled. ¡°He was the first one to enter my grove. The very first. When I saw him¡­ I was taken¡­¡±


    The nymph took its spidery fingers off Adjaash¡¯s cheek and overturned its hand. In the base of its crinkled palm, a bloom of beautiful pedals grew ¨C a delicate rose with frills of red and violet.


    ¡°I made a flower,¡± the nymph reminisced. ¡°I presented it to him¡­¡±


    The nymph sneered beneath its featureless face.


    ¡°Do you want to know what he did?¡±


    The nymph leaned in closer¡­ closer¡­ until Adjaash could feel the energy of its breath¡­ and then its eyes lit up white, as melancholia captured its voice. The flower tore itself to shreds and fluttered down to the God¡¯s demesne.


    ¡°He cried for help!¡± the nymph lamented loudly. ¡°He tried to run!!¡±


    It let out a sharp, cynical guffaw ¨C which soon devolved into a chorus of piercing, nightmarish wails. Virulent light poured from its mouth and its eyes as it veered away, circling Adjaash in its outburst, howling and moaning at the stars. When its cries faded, and when it came back into Adjaash¡¯s vision, its expression was a void.


    ¡°But I still loved him,¡± the nymph said. ¡°And so I kept him¡­ so I could love him forever.¡±


    The nymph swam around Adjaash again, atop a living tangle of charred roots. It continued. The hatred that Adjaash saw before now seeped into its voice. A song became a hiss.


    ¡°Elesvii, elesvii¡­ you wallow at your hardships. You grieve even the most miniscule misfortune, and you bathe in self-pity. But you¡­ yoouuu¡­ you can experience love and I cannot¡­ and you dare contend that you¡­ deserve¡­ pity!¡±


    The golden ribbons around her pulsed at the nymph¡¯s sudden anger. And then they dulled. The nymph leaned in close once more. Its eyes were suddenly all too calm. All too tranquil.


    ¡°Fear not, elesvii,¡± Ashweban¡¯s stolen voice said. ¡°Your struggles are no more. I am here. I am here to listen. I am here to love you as you wish. We can play forever. Please¡­ tell me more of what troubles you¡­ tell me what vines snare your mind¡­¡±


    The nymph lifted its hand again. The flower had returned ¨C as bright and as colorful as it had been when it first grew.


    ¡°From all seeds,¡± the nymph mocked, ¡°a flower can bloom.¡±


    Its index finger elongated and extended from the blackened matrix of charcoal and haunted alder ¨C like a rogue rhizome seeking sustenance ¨C and it neared Adjaash¡¯s forehead. As the nymph poked at Adjaash¡¯s skin, it sang its note a final time.


    And Adjaash was stolen to sleep.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Adjaash, please help me. I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want from me.¡±


    ¡°I just want¨C¡±


    ¡°You want me to be whaea! But I¡¯m not whaea! I can¡¯t be! Why can¡¯t you figure this out on your own like I did?¡±


    ¡°Adjaash, I¨C¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t expect other people to do everything for you, Ashba!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not, I just need¨C¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the only one who lost her!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never said I was!¡±


    ¡°One of us walks on her tip-toes, scared of making a single mistake, always unsure, always feeling sorry for herself. The other decided to accept that she was on her own and moved on.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not on your own¡­ you have me¡­¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m stuck with you.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°Get away from her!!¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    Thunder roared. Wind and waves raged. Lightning crackled, revealing the guts of the maelstrom.


    She shivered and clung to the raft¡¯s edge with all her strength, as the sideways rain stung her wrists.


    For the first time, she prayed.


    ~:{~}:~


    Blood dripped from the knife. More blood than she¡¯d hoped to ever see again.


    The nobleman was slipping quickly. His eyes were distant. He¡¯d be gone soon.


    And now it was done: She had sold her soul.


    She would return. At any cost.


    Shrouded by hood and cowl, she vanished.


    ~:{~}:~


    He tumbled down the stairs and disappeared in the cloud of dust, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt fear fume in her chest.


    It was because she needed his help. It was only that. Only that¡­


    She froze halfway to the dome entrance, preparing to charge back down.


    She couldn¡¯t leave him behind. But rushing in blind was a death sentence.


    She had to be smart¡­ and hope he¡¯d survive long enough.


    Beneath the pounding of her pulse, she heard the wind curve as the eaters changed course, both of them fixed on their exposed prey. She heard the scrape of a sword. Twin explosions of sand. A creature rose and then tucked its wings and dove into the dust. The desert cloud began to lift.


    Now was her chance. There was no more time to wait.


    She nocked an arrow and hurried back down the marble steps.


    ~:{~}:~


    She walked alongside the quiet river with bare feet, under the clear night sky. She cried where no one could see. She dared not look back.


    She couldn¡¯t forget. She couldn¡¯t forget why she was here.


    She couldn¡¯t forget.


    ~:{~}:~


    Adjaash gasped to her senses.


    She swung her wrist ¨C grunting and yelling ¨C fighting to break away from the dreadful knot. She kicked and jolted and scrambled to her feet ¨C and it was then that she realized¡­ that no vines yet entangled her.


    She was free.


    Her eyes went wide and snapped ahead. Sitting in front of her ¨C at the top of the path down to the enchanted grove, in the shadow of the golden willow tree far beyond, beneath the renewed sunlight¡­ was a half-circle of vined fruits and vegetables prepared for her consumption ¨C rich, ripe watermelons, kiwis, pepons, and pitayas. A funerary feast.


    Now she felt fear.

 16. Larva

    ¡°Promise me this¡­ Heror.¡±


    Heror lifted his tear-blotted eyes and stared at the statuesque figure ahead. When Ucankacei turned, it was not his face. It was the face of Oranthei, warped with hate.


    ¡°Promise me you won¡¯t forget,¡± the siekangh hissed.


    With a menacing stomp, Oranthei surged to his feet, his tattered blue cloak flourishing and flowing behind him. He turned and ripped his longsword from his sheath. Heror cowered in the corner of the boat. The waters glowed red.


    With each heavy step, the boat rocked. Oranthei sneered a sinister smile.


    ¡°Look at you.¡±


    His gilded boots rattled against the wood.


    ¡°Rabid dog.¡±


    His strides grew longer. He came ever closer; he was almost at arm¡¯s reach now. He pulled back his sword.


    ¡°Even Nihlukei wouldn¡¯t stand the sight of y¨C¡±


    And then he stopped. Heror froze, and then he realized that a sword now filled his hand. His arm was fully extended. He¡¯d stabbed the sword through Oranthei¡¯s neck. The siekangh gaped and coughed and gurgled, but his sinister smile soon returned.


    ¡°Good,¡± he rasped, blood melting from his mouth. ¡°Very gooooood¡­¡±


    Heror retracted his sword in shock and horror, and the siekangh¡¯s body fell at Heror¡¯s feet. Just as the siekangh slumped, blood began to pour into the hull. Heror scraped and skittered his feet against the planks, knuckles gnawing at the railing, but the blood did not slow. It pooled and pooled and filled above his legs, and then his stomach, and then his chest, and then close to his chin ¨C threatening to drown him ¨C until he lurched and tipped over the canoe in a desperate escape.


    With the blood, Heror spilled into the river, and he submerged below the crimson tides. As if weighted by his ankles, he sank. He thrashed and kicked. His throat palpitated. His lungs burned. He twisted and swirled, as the current pulled him deeper. And then he landed forcefully, and his chest compressed again.


    The blood flushed away and the shores dried up. Heror coughed and took in gasps of air, hair dripping cerise. He dug his knees and fingers into the sand.


    Sand¡­


    He strained to his feet, and beheld the endless slopes of Sparhha, as the fearful winds fled past him. The shadowy sky churned with reddened smoke. In the distance, a storm brewed. Lightning growled and branched above it and stewed at its roots, in crackling, wrathful ellipses. It hurried across the scape. It grew near.


    He went to flee with the wind but stumbled. The dunes collapsed under his weight, undermining his escape. He sank to his ankles and then to his knees, until he could do nothing but wait and crane his head in terror, at the bane of his absolution.


    Herded along in the clouds of the storm ¨C forming the black walls of the storm itself ¨C he saw them, millions and millions of them, flocking like locusts. Moths. Moths, feverishly threshing and culling peace ¨C their manic, misaligning cries a premonition of the judgment to come.


    Heror tried to trudge in the sand, but the ground had hardened. He tried to tear his eyes away, but he could not. As the moths shepherded along the apocalyptic tempest, the undaunted hum grew into a furor, and from a furor to a roar, and the storm neared and neared until the wind swept all the air beyond him, and all the sight he had was filled to the very edges with piercing red and smoldering black. He turned his head and closed his eyes ¨C in one last futile attempt to hide ¨C and the vengeful gales overtook him.


    He felt the vortex drive him deeper into the sand, and his breath left him. He lifted his neck and gasped, but the suffocation steeled. There was no oxygen to breathe, let alone beg for answers. His ears stung at the deafening sound. His skin scalded and flayed at the hot rush. The force drew his arms back behind him, carving and scraping his wrists through the clayed matrix. He let out a silent wail¡­


    And then it was silent, save for the menaced, hypnotized drumbeat of his heart ¨C the underworld¡¯s metronome. He was on his knees. He bowed his head, brown curls hanging limp. His hands were bound. He heaved his chest and wheezed and tried to calm. His heart chanted still.


    A hushed hiss of a breath raked against his ears. His eyes lifted. Seven siephalls stood before him ¨C emotionless faces darkened by the enraptured shadows of the torchlight, red cloaks whispering in the breeze of the night. They stepped to the side and parted, and a siekarum approached in the path between, pulling a cape of faded green: Nihlukei.


    Heror¡¯s eyes screamed. He hopelessly tugged at his wrists and leaned forward. His knees struggled weakly in the dirt.


    ¡°Nihlukei!¡± Heror cried; it had been so long.


    The siekarum approached with mournful footsteps, the buckles of his boots ushering a cold, unforgiving echo. His face was blank, save for the slight downward turn of his lips. Heror tried to read his eyes ¨C to see what the siekarum felt ¨C but the shadows betrayed him.


    Nihlukei passed the siephalls. His steps slowed.


    ¡°Nihlukei!¡± Heror pleaded through trembles. ¡°I heard you! I heard your voice! What did it mean? Tell me, please! What did it mean??¡±


    Nihlukei circled him. Heror bowed his head again, tears biting at his cheeks. He began to lose his words.


    ¡°I¡¯m s-so lost, Nihlukei¡­¡± he shivered. ¡°Please¡­ I need¡­ I n-need¡­¡±


    He began to sob, quietly.


    For a moment, it felt as if he was all alone.


    Then he sensed Nihlukei to his left. He heard the metal pull of a longsword. Horror captured Heror¡¯s face. His eyes swerved to Nihlukei, who held his blade over Heror¡¯s neck, nose curled. The siekarum made a declaration ¨C voice devoid of color.


    ¡°You have committed high crimes against the Kingdom of Ardys.¡±


    ¡°No!! Nihlukei!!¡±


    ¡°You will pay with your life.¡±


    ¡°Nihlukei!!¡±


    The siekarum raised his blade. The siephalls stood witness.


    Heror¡¯s shrills went unanswered.


    The blade came down.


    And Heror tore away from his slumber.


    He sat up in the straw bed and tried to catch his breath. His heart frenzied. His head throbbed. His skin was drenched with sweat. He forced himself to inhale and exhale ¨C slower and slower ¨C when he heard a girl¡¯s dry voice below, echoing at the loft¡¯s ceiling.


    ¡°Wow. I can see why the cows don¡¯t like you.¡±


    Heror winced and got to his feet. As he went to the railing and looked down, he saw Xirre standing by the stalls, peering up at him. Behind her, the light of morning flowed through the open doorway.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Heror grumbled. ¡°How loud was I?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say for certain, I just got here,¡± Xirre replied. ¡°Loud enough for me to notice when I walked in.¡±


    Heror glowered and expunged a heavy sigh. He turned away from the railing and went to grab his boots. He tried to banish his headache with a press of his hand. Then he climbed down the ladder to the ground floor. When he reached the bottom, Xirre was tending to the cattle, giving them water. She sent him a suspicious look as he passed.


    ¡°What were you dreaming about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Heror said dismissively.


    He started for the door, intent on heading straight to the shed ¨C when Xirre¡¯s voice stopped him again.


    ¡°Can I ask you something?¡±


    Heror offered her half a glance as proof of his attention. The girl stood up straight, bucket still in hand.


    ¡°What happened to your parents?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°When you first arrived, my father was asking about your parents, and you didn¡¯t answer¡­ what happened to them?¡±


    ¡°I never met them.¡±


    ¡°You were an orphan?¡±


    Heror nodded.


    The girl eyed him with an uncertain emotion. Heror started back toward the door, when the girl spoke once more.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky.¡±


    Heror almost scoffed. He turned to face her: ¡°Lucky?¡±


    Xirre frowned: ¡°You never got tricked into thinking they¡¯d always be there.¡±


    Heror¡¯s harsh expression faded. Xirre returned to her duties. He gave her one last sad glance, before leaving the barn and meeting the morning air.


    It was another clear morning at the farm; the bombardment of color was less welcome on this day. Heror walked to the shed and retrieved the scythe and the pitchfork. Then he started the trek to the barley field at the edge of the plot.


    On the way, he came across Ylar at the edge of the path, facing east toward the painted sunrise. He stood idle, silent ¨C his worn hands limp at his sides. He didn¡¯t hear Heror approach; perhaps the wind muffled Heror¡¯s steps.


    ¡°Morning, Ylar.¡±


    Still, the man did not hear him. He stared ahead in a daze.


    ¡°Ylar,¡± Heror repeated, more firmly.


    Startled, Ylar turned and saw Heror. He cleared his throat and dropped his eyes. Weakly, he glanced up again, trying his best to muster a smile.


    ¡°Heror¡­ good morning. How are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Heror trailed off. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± Ylar replied with a casual wave. ¡°Never better. Just¡­ taking in the crisp air. Always freshens the mind.¡±


    Heror knew all too well the voice of a man hiding his emotions. He decided not to pry.


    ¡°I¡¯m off to the barley field,¡± Heror said, as softly as he could.


    ¡°Yes! Good!¡± Ylar exclaimed, snapping himself out of his state. ¡°I¡¯ve got things to attend to today, so I¡¯ll have Cedor bring you food and water.¡±


    Heror silently stewed. He left Ylar and walked to the barley field. There, he carried on his work from the previous three days.


    He cut. He stabbed. He stacked.


    He cut. He stabbed. He stacked.


    To his mind¡¯s bracing silence.


    He cut. He stabbed. The sun lifted as it always did. He stacked.


    By midday, the barley field was halfway harvested. Heror placed one more clump of barley atop a stake, and then he retreated to the path to survey his progress. One side of the field was still flush with its tall, golden frills. The other was chopped and matted and dull ¨C the absence of grain a sign of a duty fulfilled.


    Heror set the pitchfork into the ground by its prongs and leaned against it ¨C finally catching his breath, letting his sweat roll.


    He listened to the wind. The birds. The murmur of the trees and the long grasses.


    He heard the storm. He clenched his eyes. His heart squirmed.


    He was almost thankful when the sound of a child¡¯s hastened footsteps interrupted the haunting ambience. As Heror glanced down the path, he saw the young boy Cedor approaching with a sack of food and a waterskin.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Mister Heror!¡± Cedor called over the breeze as he grew close.


    Heror fashioned a forced smile at the sound. The boy waved the hand which clasped around the waterskin, spilling water on the ground. Heror¡¯s forced smile flattened. The boy looked clumsily at his mess.


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Cedor fumbled. ¡°I¡­ I can go get more!¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine,¡± Heror muttered, turning away.


    ¡°Y¡¯sure? Hot day today!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Cedor.¡±


    The harsh tone of Heror¡¯s words caused Cedor to pause. He weighed the waterskin in his hand; a small amount of water still sloshed at the bottom.


    ¡°Least I didn¡¯t lose all of it!¡± Cedor chimed, his tenor returning.


    ¡°That¡¯s great. Now bring it here before you spill the rest.¡±


    Cedor did as Heror asked, quickening his steps to close the gap between them. He presented the quarter-full waterskin with yet-unshaken pride, and Heror accepted it, quickly taking a swig. He emptied the skin soon after receiving it, then eyed Cedor as the boy still held the food bag.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t drop any food on the way here, did you?¡±


    ¡°Nope!¡± Cedor said cheerfully.


    The boy¡¯s unflappable positivity somewhat annoyed Heror. It also wasn¡¯t entirely unwelcome.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t eat some of it?¡± Heror pried, allowing a small smirk.


    ¡°N¡­¡±


    The boy started to answer, then decided against lying, glancing at the ground.


    ¡°Well¡­ I did¡­ help myself to¡­ one piece of bread¡­¡±


    Heror grinned: ¡°A-ha.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long walk, and it¡¯s lunchtime!¡± Cedor rationalized.


    Heror grinned wider: ¡°Keep making excuses.¡±


    ¡°Th¡¯way I see it, it¡¯s payment for my serv¡¯ce here.¡±


    Heror sighed: ¡°Yes, the injustice of a twenty-minute walk.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not countin¡¯ the trip back!¡±


    ¡°Alright, here¡­¡±


    Heror took the bag and took out the last two portions of stale bread. He gave one to Cedor.


    ¡°¡­ you take half.¡±


    Cedor blinked, surprised at the generosity.


    ¡°Y¡¯sure?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure. I¡¯m not very hungry.¡±


    They sat beside one another in the browned, down-trodden grass and dirt. Heror chewed slowly, while Cedor scarfed down his meal and let his eyes drift afterward. The day was still clear. Only cumulus tufts roamed in from the west, and nothing more ¨C migrating along the currents of the wind.


    Heror didn¡¯t mind the company; it was closer to a distraction than being alone. But it wasn¡¯t long before Cedor asked what Heror feared he would.


    ¡°What was it like in the army? Were you part of the Caitaruu?¡±


    Heror let out a silent breath. He gave Cedor only half a glance.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make a deal with you. We can talk¡­ but we can¡¯t talk about that.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Heror sighed again, more heavily this time. With but a string, he kept the thoughts at bay.


    ¡°Trust the one who¡¯s been there.¡±


    ¡°Why, though?¡±


    Appealing to reason wasn¡¯t enough for the curious boy who always sought more.


    ¡°Cedor¡­ I shared my food with you. Can you do me this favor?¡±


    Cedor pondered a moment, then seemed to reluctantly acquiesce. He dropped the subject; appealing to fairness did the trick.


    But then it was silent. And Heror¡¯s buried thoughts threatened to creep.


    ¡°I suppose¡­¡± Heror compromised with a weary voice. ¡°¡­ I could tell you one¨C¡±


    Cedor¡¯s eyes lit up. The boy drew an overly-excited breath. Heror held out a finger.


    ¡°One story¡­ from when I was a mercenary¡­¡±


    Little Cedor repositioned himself and shuffled closer, leaning forward in anticipation. Heror couldn¡¯t help but be amused by the excitement in the boy¡¯s eyes. He fixed his focus on a fairly recent memory ¨C a memory that was, at least, tamer than the others.


    ¡°I was hired to help retrieve a¡­ an artifact from the desert,¡± Heror began, taking care with the details. ¡°Myself¡­ an¡­ an archer¡­ and a scholar.¡±


    ¡°You went to Sparhha??¡± Cedor gasped. ¡°The Forbidden Reach?? But¡­ no one escapes the sands! That¡¯s what I¡¯ve always been told!¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Heror offered the boy a miniscule smile. ¡°¡­ we did.¡±


    And Heror told Cedor the story of the Zhai Ghi ¨C with a few important modifications. There would be no death, no blood, no teeth or gnashing pinchers, and no names. Cedor had never heard of a manta ray before, so Heror had to improvise with his descriptive analogies. He settled on a flying carpet; that seemed to paint the proper image, even if it was a bit too docile. Nevertheless, the extraordinary scenes of evasion and triumph were enough to capture Cedor¡¯s awe.


    ¡°So you ran out on your own and baited them with the oil jar??¡±


    ¡°It was the only option we had. But if the archer hadn¡¯t hit her mark¡­ I wouldn¡¯t be here to tell the tale.¡±


    ¡°It must¡¯ve been a perfect shot!¡±


    ¡°It was. The best shot I¡¯ll ever see.¡±


    The day was a bit easier after that. At sunset, Ylar came to greet Heror, and the two returned to the homestead.


    ¡°If ¨C Shenithide willing ¨C it stays dry,¡± Ylar told him on the way, ¡°we¡¯ll be able to bag the barley you¡¯ve harvested soon, and we can prepare it for the market.¡±


    Supper featured the same stew ¨C the same chattering and joking and bickering, and the same reddened scolding from Ebica when the twins shirked compliance ¨C but by his fourth day, the noises had already become welcome to Heror. He would return after his work in the field to help little Runde set the table, and then all of Adan House joined for the prayer.


    ¡°¡®These gifts, we hold ever dear.¡¯¡±


    He learned to say it after the first night. But his eyes never missed the old woman Yxia¡¯s cold stares as he did ¨C as if she assumed his words lacked the conviction and belief behind them. He couldn¡¯t refute her unspoken assumptions.


    These gifts yet eluded him.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°You tell stories and masquerade as a hero to a child ¨C a child who knows no better. A child who knows not the wrath you wrought.¡±


    ¡°You distance yourself from your deeds. Your nature.¡±


    ¡°But no matter how far you run, Heror Heran¡­¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t forget.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t forget.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    Three days later, Heror completed his harvest.


    Clouds roamed from the west, and so Heror and Ylar rushed out to collect the barley in fear of rain. Cedor joined them.


    Heror lugged out a wheeled cart, stacked with woven burlap bags. Together, he and Ylar pried the harvested barley off of the stakes with pitchforks, and filled the bags held open by Cedor. When Ylar¡¯s pitchfork broke, the farmer returned to the homestead to try and fix it, and Heror carried on with his collection alone. Cedor held the bags open as wide as his little arms allowed.


    ¡°A little wider, Cedor.¡±


    Cedor stretched his arms and grunted, shaking as he held the form. Heror tilted the pitchfork and let the many plumes of barley flutter into the gap. Cedor swerved at the weight; this bag was almost full.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start a new one,¡± Heror said gruffly, motioning to the cart.


    Cedor struggled his way to the cart and set the near-full barley bag down, substituting it for an empty one. Heror shook his head as Cedor made his way back.


    ¡°Tie it shut, Cedor.¡±


    Cedor let out an unconscious ¡°oh¡± and returned to tie the bag by its string. Then he scampered back and stood at Heror¡¯s side, eager to help more.


    Heror jostled another clump of barley free from the stake¡¯s shaft.


    ¡°Wonder what made Shenithide start stewin¡¯,¡± Cedor observed the clouds. ¡°He¡¯s been chipper the last few days.¡±


    Heror dropped the barley into the bag and started anew. A gust blew by.


    ¡°It¡¯s always fun watchin¡¯ pa¡¯s reactions when the clouds come,¡± Cedor went on. ¡°Sometimes, when he needs the harvest to dry, he¡¯ll be cursing at Shen to hold off. Other times, he¡¯ll be beggin¡¯ away for rain to pour, waving his arms and prayin¡¯. I just like how the clouds look, myself. They always know where they¡¯re going. But when it rains¡­ they¡¯re faster. More rushed. Like they know somethin¡¯ we don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Cedor,¡± Heror grumbled, tapping the bag with the fork handle.


    ¡°Oh¨C sorry,¡± Cedor said, widening the lid.


    Heror made another deposit. Cedor watched him.


    ¡°Y¡¯alright?¡±


    Heror glanced at the boy, bags under his eyes. As soon as his gaze met the boy¡¯s, he cast it to the ground.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Heror mumbled.


    ¡°You alright?¡± Cedor repeated. ¡°Y¡¯look¡­ worn.¡±


    Heror stabbed at a clump of barley with more force. He tried to train it up the stake. He heard Cedor¡¯s voice again.


    ¡°Why do you always look away?¡±


    Heror paused. He rolled his tongue and glanced again at the boy.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You never look people in th¡¯eyes,¡± Cedor noted. ¡°At least¡­ not for long.¡±


    Heror curbed his anger with another stab of the pitchfork. He couldn¡¯t look anyone in the eye for too long, and risk them seeing what he saw. What everyone else had seen.


    What, perhaps, Adjaash had seen.


    What, perhaps, his mother and father had seen before they left him.


    But this aversion was sloppy, and the curious boy had noticed.


    Heror let out a frustrated, smothered sigh.


    ¡°Just tired.¡±


    Cedor eyed him in thought.


    A gentle roll of thunder drummed far in the distance.


    While Heror pressed on with his task, Cedor¡¯s focus eventually drifted about. Heror gave him little attention, until the boy suddenly dropped the current bag and crouched in the grass, drawing his hand to the soil. Heror glanced over his shoulder and paused his rhythm. He didn¡¯t hide his budding aggravation.


    ¡°Cedor, what are you doing?¡±


    This time, the talkative Cedor didn¡¯t answer. After a moment, Heror sighed and set the pitchfork in the soil. Then he stepped over to the boy. The child didn¡¯t feel Heror¡¯s tense, prying stare, nor did he stand up. Instead, he offered the young man a fleeting, wondering smile, his light brown hair twitching in the breeze.


    ¡°Look.¡±


    Heror begrudgingly humored the boy and crouched down with him. He followed the boy¡¯s finger to the silty brown beneath the matted grass. There, scaling the base of a leaf stalk, was a small, fuzzed caterpillar of a glossy black obsidian.


    Watching the caterpillar ¨C as it wriggled its many legs and craned its head up to the green leaf¡¯s stem, silently seeking its luscious venules ¨C Heror¡¯s mind emptied a bit. Now he finally let the hum of the wind enter his ears. He watched the caterpillar¡¯s struggle, though the caterpillar itself did not seem aggrieved, or anxious, or afeared. It existed as it was.


    As Heror looked longer, however, he began to see things all too familiar in the larval lifeform. It was black and corrupted. Stunted. It nibbled with its palpy mandibles, but it failed to grapple its food. Grasping for something it could not reach. Sustenance. Salvation.


    Cedor glanced at Heror and saw the conflict on his face. The young boy leaned in closer to the bug ¨C his soft, powder blue eyes encouraging the insect along.


    The caterpillar gently latched the bottom of the leaf¡¯s petiole with its thoracic legs. Its spiracles slinked forward and upward.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen them change before,¡± Cedor said as the caterpillar yet climbed. ¡°He doesn¡¯t look so special now, but¡­ when he¡¯s ready, he¡¯ll find a place to curl up, and he¡¯ll make ¡®mself a ¡®cocoon.¡¯ That¡¯s what Xirre tells me it¡¯s call¡¯d. He curls up and sleeps¡­ I think. He must sleep in there, right? He¡¯ll be in that cocoon for weeks, sometimes. He¡¯s got to sleep. There can¡¯t be anything else to do in there. Not ¡®nough space for anything else¡­¡±


    The boy seemed to catch himself rambling. He paused. He composed his thoughts. Then he went on.


    ¡°Anyway¡­ he goes into the cocoon. And when he comes out, he¡¯s transformed¡­ into somethin¡¯ better.¡±


    Heror¡¯s harsh expression slowly faded.


    It transformed.


    He watched it with the same idle wonder now.


    ¡°I wonder how he knows when he¡¯s ready,¡± Cedor thought aloud.


    Heror took a long, deep breath. The caterpillar lost its grip and swung upside down on the stem. Cedor held out his tiny finger and caught it before it fell. The boy looked at Heror. Heror offered him a small smile.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯d like barley?¡± Cedor asked. ¡°We have more than enough.¡±


    Heror chuckled warmly: ¡°You can see, I suppose.¡±


    Cedor stood with care, balancing the caterpillar on the flat of his finger. He walked to the cart and gently set down the young one beside a barley bag with overflowing grains. He waited until it found the golden frills.


    The storms missed the farm to the south, and the only rains that fell near Eonos were the northernmost sprinkles. Eventually, the clouds began to part. By late afternoon, Heror and Cedor finished the collection without issue, and had amassed a full cart of feed.


    Cedor went ahead to the homestead. Heror stayed behind for a bit.


    Heror scanned the cart¡¯s wooden fringes until he found the caterpillar, still wandering. Cedor had meant well, but the barley¡¯s feathered strands were perhaps too feeble to support the bug. And so it ventured on, still searching for suitable food.


    Heror knelt down and offered his finger. Then he took the caterpillar back to the succulent leaf at which he¡¯d found it. He brought his finger close to the leaf blade and let the caterpillar rappel down. He watched as it made a home.


    Now it would not go hungry. Now it would not be lost.


    He retrieved the barley cart and pulled it up the path, with the emerging amber sun at his side.


    On the way back, he held his head higher. He thought to himself. Hopeful thoughts.


    Rage had consumed him in Ardys.


    Separate from those lands¡­ in a new place¡­ he no longer felt that rage.


    Whatever he was¡­ whatever he had been¡­ could he transform?


    Was it truly that simple?


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°When the larva at last consumes all that it can, and satiates its hunger, it is ready for its transformation. It retreats into a state of quiescence. It protects its chrysalis within a shell of silk and embarks on the final chapter of its holometabolous journey. And when the pupa achieves eclosion, the black reaver is encased with wings of fire.¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    A week passed since Heror¡¯s arrival. A week and a half passed. Two weeks.


    And yet he stayed. And yet they kept him.


    ~:{~}:~


    ¡°You can¡¯t forget¡­¡±


    ~:{~}:~


    Heror woke to the calm, quiet light of the sun, dimly rippling through the boards. Below, he could hear the cows greeting Xirre. He heard her place the water bucket in the hay. He heard her curse, as one of the cows presumably kicked the bucket and spilled her prize.


    He yawned and sat up in his bedroll. He stretched his arms and slumped his shoulders, blinking himself to lucidity. He slid his feet back and started to rise¡­ when he saw a familiar object lying beside the bedroll, half-obscured beneath the linen blanket.


    Unconsciously, Heror reached, and his fingers slid around the plush, cylindrical form, as they had so many times before. He brought it into his lap. He spread it wide.


    It was an intricately-woven cloth. Stitched along the edges, blue waves rolled and rolled, and on the left side, a jagged cliff lay. On that cliff, a lone wolf stood, stray fletchings of cloth acting as fur, dangling in the calm barn air. At the center of the cloth, the name ¡®Heran¡¯ was stitched in dark gray thread.


    He gazed upon it for a time. Then he rolled and set it down.


    He returned to the fields without it.

 17. Precipice (Part One)

    It dangled from a string of silk, descending from an unseen precipice.


    Wiggling its prolegs, flaunting its colors of effervescent red and lime, in the dimming light of dusk.


    Suspended by its web-strand, it floated as if a phantom. With its vivid, piercing hues and spiric antennae, it foretold a toxin¡¯s bite.


    But Scibu saw past this natural deception. It was harmless.


    He smirked, amused.


    ¡°You might¡¯ve fooled someone else, but not me, little one.¡±


    Gently, he lifted his finger and caught the caterpillar where it lingered. Once it was stable on his finger pad, he knelt down and nestled the critter at the midrib of a large eared plant. He watched as its tiny spinnerets tested the cuticles. He crouched and rested his elbows on his knees.


    His amused smile, through contemplation, became a sad one.


    ¡°I know you are just a child. Trying to live in a world that¡¯s far too grown for you.¡±


    The caterpillar began its feast. Scibu¡¯s smile became only a whisper.


    His quiet, cricket-fueled ruminations were interrupted by a call. It echoed through the woods from far in the distance, resembling the trill of a night-flying bird. A passerby on the road would¡¯ve mistaken it as such. Scibu knew differently.


    He bid a silent goodbye to the child of Kyr. Then he stood and slipped on his armored gloves ¨C completing his dark leather set, upon which a golden serpent insignia stretched from spaulder to tasset. And then he hurried east, from light to shadow.


    He rushed through the lush forest, and in minutes, he arrived at the side of the main road. This far from Cephragon and other satellite towns and villages, it was a road of unkempt dirt. Verdant growths sprawled along its edges, sheltered under the canopy of the many trees.


    In the cover of these growths, the Midans hid and waited, summoned by the signal.


    Under the dim, dying light of sunset, Scibu came across his first compatriot: The elinji Ti¡¯unsa, standing low behind a trunk close to the road. Even bending his knees slightly, Ti¡¯unsa stood six feet ¨C a shorter mark for the elinji. In the shadows of twilight, his face was hardened ¨C not only by his wide, stocky bull features and his dark-haired mane, but also the grim anticipation in his eyes. His flat nose twitched.


    ¡°Ti¡¯unsa,¡± Scibu greeted in a whisper.


    ¡°Scibu,¡± Ti¡¯unsa offered, voice low and grizzled.


    Scibu sniffed. Smoke teased his nose.


    ¡°I smell them,¡± Scibu muttered.


    ¡°Me, too.¡±


    There was a pause. Their eyes fixed upon the southern crest of the road. For now, no light pooled beneath the stars. For now, the fading red sunglow went unassisted. But not for long.


    ¡°Stay ready,¡± Scibu advised.


    Ti¡¯unsa nodded. Scibu frowned and ventured south alongside the road. He returned to his horse ¨C resting quietly beside a nearby flowering tree. Yemeph perked up and trilled at Scibu¡¯s approach. Scibu smiled and bumped her nose with his. Then he mounted and rode further south ¨C no faster and no louder than a trot.


    It wasn¡¯t long before he came across Paru. The Tekhal leader sat upon his steed in banded leather armor, beckoning calm from the beast with deep, comforting rubs. A half-dozen other Tekhal riders loomed nearby. On the other side of the road, they carried the same strength in numbers, along with several more elinji.


    Scibu slowed his pace on approach. Paru granted him a glance, conviction ever-clear on his face.


    ¡°How many?¡± Scibu questioned.


    ¡°Three carriages,¡± Paru replied. ¡°One more than last time.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re insistent,¡± Scibu observed.


    ¡°No,¡± Paru corrected him. ¡°They are naive.¡±


    ¡°How many keatuuchan?¡±


    ¡°At least four.¡±


    Scibu¡¯s frown deepened.


    Kea could be merciful. More often, it was not.


    He clasped the long, slender handle of his medial blade at his hip, imagining the katana¡¯s weight in his hand. He felt the kea¡¯s hum within his fingers. He had killed before. He knew he would kill again. He never took pleasure in it. But in this world, to fight was to survive. To survive was to fight.


    They waited, as dusk faded to night. And then, at last, a whisper of torchlight made itself known on the southern crest, huddled between the shaded tree lines. The light danced and brightened. They were getting closer.


    A Tekhal rider beside Paru cupped his hands over his mouth and gave the bird call again, from beneath a plumed helmet. The call echoed and coalesced with the foreboding chant of the crickets. Paru freed his bow from his shoulder and slid an arrow out from his quiver. He began to nock.


    ¡°The Aktaku has given judgment,¡± Paru told his closest men. ¡°No souls are to be spared today. All of them serve the Kcirun¡¯s accursed word. All will be passed to Lleg and serve for the cleansing of our lands.¡±


    Paru¡¯s fletched blade surveyed its dominion from the arrow rest ¨C waiting to reap. The first sparks of the fire grew visible overtop the crest. The clop of a horse¡¯s hooves came into earshot.


    ¡°Wait until they¡¯re close,¡± the Tekhal leader reaffirmed with hush and haste.


    The Midans lurked. Scibu gently tugged Yemeph¡¯s reins and paced away from Paru, sheltering behind a trunk. He reached back for his helmet and fitted the leather and gilded steel upon his head. He lowered the reptilian dragon visage over his face. And then he pressed a fist against the center of his chest and closed his eyes.


    ¡°Guide me, Parun,¡± Scibu prayed with mournful tone.  ¡°If I am to bring death¡­ let it be brought swiftly¡­ mercifully¡­¡±


    And now he flourished his bow and readied his grip.


    The Ardysi supply caravan grew nearer. Three carriages ¨C walls and horses armored and box riders armored ¨C rolled slowly down the road, their thick wooden wheels lumbering against the flat and ragged crud. Next to each box rider, a redcloak siephall sat alert, torch in hand. Walking alongside the carriages were the keatuuchan ¨C two on each side, dressed in armored robes that glinted black and gold in the blaze. Scibu was certain there were more hiding within the iron cars. If they survived the first wave, they¡¯d be his to take.


    The caravan passed in front of the group. Paru glanced to his right and nodded, pulling back his bowstring. The signal scout cupped his hands and emitted a different call: A sharp, rising tweet that stabbed into the night.


    And with it, came the arrows.


    Like viper fangs, they flashed, and with poisonous precision, they hit. Twin arrows speared through the lead horses¡¯ eyes ¨C the only spot left exposed by the armored shells ¨C  and with matching squeals, they crumpled to the ground, dragging the carriage to a halt in the dirt. At the same time, the box rider and the sentry fell. The second carriage suffered the same fate. Two of the keatuuchan folded from fatal shots, while the others sensed and blocked the coming blades, and shouted warnings to the rear.


    And just as the first volley ended, all pretense of stealth disappeared. Chaos bloomed in its place.


    The Midans charged the road from the woods, just as three more keatuuchan emerged from the third carriage. Sheet windows slid open along the iron walls, and Ardysi archers fired on the invaders from within. The last two carriage horses began to panic. They bucked and kicked and broke free from their carriage¡¯s tongue, leaving the cars stranded and surrounded.


    A battleground was made.


    Scibu dropped his bow and unsheathed his medial blade, and now he rode out into the road after the other Tekhal, awash in frantic torchlight and feverish sound. Two of the Tekhal ahead of him fell to arrows, and he ducked to avoid becoming the third. As the others circled the caravan and gained an angle on the archers, Scibu advanced toward the keatuuchan.


    The first gold-lacquered whyzard trained a fire wyrm within his hands, roping it around his body and over his shoulder. He unleashed a flare to the north, and an approaching elinji fell with scalding skin and fur. The robed keatuuchan then fanned his hands, and a fire barrier spread, obscuring the battle line in a wall of simmering heat.


    And still, Scibu rode. He tightened his grip on the handle and let his kea flow through the blade. The notches along the edge of the blade began to glow with biting golden-orange light. The metal pulsed. And now, as he neared the fire barrier, he held the blade low at the horse¡¯s side and dragged it close to the smoldered dirt. He turned and swept up alongside the wall of fire, and as he did, the keatuu energy violently dispersed at the medial blade¡¯s command. As if banished by a gale, the flames erupted and cleared the grounds, leaving the keatuuchan exposed.


    But the keatuuchan was ready for this. A serrated rocket of fire fled a mage¡¯s fist, narrowly missing the head of Scibu¡¯s horse. As the front hairs of her mane burned like candlewick, the horse frenzied and reared up, and Scibu leapt and rolled to avoid being trampled. The horse skittered away into the woods, and Scibu stood again, loosely twirling his katana as three keatuuchan surrounded him in the battle¡¯s inner shell.


    ¡°Pray to your pagan Gods, savage!¡± one of the keatuuchan hissed, readying his hands.


    ¡°I have prayed to mine,¡± Scibu warned in Kivvenean; from the golden notches of his blade, kea spilled. ¡°So I will instead pray for you¡­ when you are gone.¡±


    Triplet tendrils of wildfire spiraled toward him, and with a circular parry, Scibu dispersed them. Now from the kea emitting off his medial blade, a tight amber ribbon of glowing fusion energy formed ¨C a whip of torrid hot plasma. With winged swings left and right, he loosened the whip and scorched the ground, gifting the keatuuchan a morbid premonition.


    With bristling voracity, the whip whisked at Scibu¡¯s many silent commands, as the Serpent twirled and flourished his wrist, sidestepping the constant hails of keatuu fire. He swerved and crouched and spun up again. The barrage of heat tickled his skin and drew out sweat, but he felt the kea currents far too well to be lost.


    He felt the kea currents better than anyone.


    Like a dancer, a swimmer, he evaded and dodged and navigated through corridors of ravenous blaze, anticipating flawlessly with his senses as he brought his whip along. He made his way toward the trio, through the smoke and fray-song that muddied the air. And then at last ¨C within fifteen feet ¨C he unleashed.


    With a ruthless horizontal slash, Scibu flashed the whip at the first keatuuchan. The golden ribbon rebounded and sliced through robe and skin and bone, and two halves fell to the ground, cauterized at the points of separation. As the whyzard screamed, Scibu passed and ended his suffering. The ribbon dissipated and then rematerialized as Scibu once again raised his sword ¨C a plasmic prominence that waved and wavered like a cobra¡¯s head, seeking the fatal bite.


    Releasing three lightning-quick slashes, Scibu formed an upside-down triangle with the kea particle stream; the streams bonded and radiated, and the space between them shimmered as if a pane of golden glass. Now he strengthened his stance and held the medial blade sideways behind the triangular forcefield, as the keatuuchan unfurled hungry hurls of flame.


    The pyric plumes and flows washed across the road and surrounded Scibu in solar rage, and the hot winds blew back his armor¡¯s aureate tassels ¨C but the shield kept the Serpent protected as if a magnetic field, as he weathered the firestorm and inched closer¡­ and closer¡­


    The desperate Opelites beckoned more kea. Like sledgehammers, the fire plumes battered the shield. A crack formed in the keatuu wall, and the phase barrier plinked and whined at the force. Scibu hastened his steps. He began to close the gap. Knuckles white, arms shaking at his grip, he let out a yell, lowered himself, and turned the blade forward, as his legs picked up pace.


    As Scibu turned his blade, preparing to stab, the forefield melted away, and the fire plumes roared and exploded past, just over his helmet crest. He felt the scrape of the searing heat as he lunged. It was close ¨C too close ¨C  but the keatuuchan had lost control, just as he¡¯d predicted. And he¡¯d subverted the attack.


    Scibu stabbed the sword through the rightward whyzard¡¯s heart, stirring blood and driving him to the ground with a rasping grunt. The final keatuuchan sent another wave of fire toward the Serpent, but from his crouching position, Scibu lashed his sword in a looping counter, and swept the flare away with a pulse of energy.


    And now they stood at opposite ends of a duel circle, as fires dotted the matted dirt and grass, and climbed the westward trees. The Ardysi whyzard sidestepped left. Scibu sidestepped right. The whyzard readied his stance and summoned a torch of fire in his palm. The Serpent raised his sword in challenge ¨C his downturned dragon visage leering at its prey, as the kea cord coiled around his medial blade.


    Beneath his hood, the keatuuchan curled his nose and uttered a vindictive prayer Scibu could not hear. Scibu expectantly took his defensive form. The keatuuchan began to pull more fire, sweeping his arms and siphoning the heat¡­ when a Tekhal rider appeared behind him, and loosed an arrow into his spine.


    The fire fell and drained like steam. The keatuuchan dropped to his knees, and then to his face. And then it was silent, but for the crackles of the flames that gained freedom from their masters.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Scibu identified the intrusive rider as Paru. His kea ribbon disappeared, as his sword dropped idle. He ripped off his helmet and frowned.


    ¡°Paru!¡± Scibu lamented, making no attempt to hide his anger.


    ¡°What?¡± Paru chirped; in the fireglow, Scibu could see his smirk.


    Scibu glared and started to turn away. His eyes fell to the whyzard¡¯s body.


    ¡°He was mine,¡± Scibu growled. ¡°He sought an honorable fight.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately for him,¡± Paru retorted, ¡°we sought a victory.¡±


    Scibu scowled and looked away. After a moment, he brought his free hand to his mouth and whistled. Yemeph would be back soon; even when she was scared, she never left her rider for long.


    Now Scibu surveyed the ruins.


    What was left of the Ardysi caravan was submerged in firelight and smoke, peppered with flames. Three Tekhal horses lay perished in the dirt, clustered with the carriage pullers. The dead riders numbered almost the same. The dead siephalls no doubt numbered more. Scibu only saw the blood that the surviving riders tracked from the armored carriages, as they secured the supplies from inside. But he knew all too well the carnage that lay within.


    To Scibu¡¯s left, an elinji lay prostrate, separate from the rest. Scibu stepped toward him and knelt down. He grabbed the elinji¡¯s shoulder and peeled him off the ground. It was Ti¡¯unsa ¨C his neck and face scorched beyond recognition by the keatuuchan¡¯s flare.


    Scibu grimaced and tilted his head away, sighing out his anguished sorrow. After taking another breath to compose himself, he gently laid Ti¡¯unsa¡¯s body down again. With care, he rolled Ti¡¯unsa onto his back. He slid his hand onto the elinji¡¯s heart. He uttered a quiet prayer and gave Ti¡¯unsa to Lleg.


    Once the Midans looted all of the caravan¡¯s supplies, they piled the Ardysi bodies at the center and torched the remnants. The Midan dead, they lugged back to the battle camp a quarter-mile off the roadside. There, they were given proper burials.


    After joining the prayer for his brethren, Scibu cleaned his sword and tended to Yemeph. It was only the horse¡¯s forelock that had been singed by the keatuuchan¡¯s hail, but Scibu could tell the close brush with sudden death spooked her. Beside the whispering bonfires, he rubbed her side and sang to her in hushed tones, when Paru approached him.


    ¡°We¡¯ll take the spoils back to the border camp in the morning,¡± Paru told him. ¡°You go back now, and inform the Aktaku of our triumph. He¡¯ll be waiting.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡± Scibu asked lowly, masking his lingering discontent.


    Paru grinned: ¡°You have not met him yet, have you not? I imagine this would be an opportune introduction for you. Be the one to tell of our success, and of your glory. His veneration is a powerful blessing. And I would be remiss not to mention¡­ that he is curious about you. And your order.¡±


    Scibu eyed the Tekhal leader with a dash of distrust, but the chance to leave the battlefront ¨C if even for just a moment ¨C wasn¡¯t lost on him. He nodded Paru away, and then he mounted Yemeph and started north through the woods. Around Alaris Khi Thung, and back to the border camp.


    When Scibu returned, it was deep enough into the night that most of the campfires had smoldered into shadow and smoke. Only the torches interspersed among the many jute tents flickered with light. This made Scibu¡¯s destination even more distinct. On the far end of the camp, in the shade of the border wall, a larger burlap tent sat. Through the tent¡¯s stitching ¨C below the gently flapping banners of the Tekhal and the elinji ¨C Scibu could see the stubborn, constant glow of keatuu candlelight.


    The Aktaku waited there.


    Scibu breathed out his conflicting emotions and let the crickets calm him for a moment. Then he patted Yemeph¡¯s mane and squeezed his shins, ushering her along.


    At the tent, Scibu dismounted and approached. Two elinji stood silent at the door. They nodded to Scibu. Scibu reciprocated the gesture, and then he passed through the cover, into the pool of keatuu light.


    The Aktaku¡¯s appearance matched the stories.


    He was older, but his rich violet eyes conveyed an enduring youth and a startling focus. Both his hair and his skin were a mix of silver and gold, as if made from the finest elements. His face was sharp and angular in all the best ways, enveloped by a thin silver fuzz ¨C perhaps his only sign of wear. He wore a dark, dull garment, without any capes or colored cloth linings or intricate patches ¨C only a deep blue desert scarf that hugged his neck and hung over his shoulders.


    He was a magnificent man, and yet he wore such a humble ensemble. Scibu didn¡¯t let it convince him. Not yet.


    The Aktaku was reading a bound book when Scibu entered, but at the Serpent¡¯s arrival, the Aktaku closed the book and stood, setting it on a table. For a moment, they stood at opposite ends of the tent, merely regarding each other. Scibu did not know if he was supposed to bow. And as soon as he began to, the Aktaku instead bowed for him. A charming, genuine smile graced the golden man¡¯s lips.


    ¡°Scibu, son of Delgeriil. Apprentice of Tenh-sho,¡± the Aktaku greeted. ¡°It is an honor to have a Serpent of Soorona on the battle front with us. I am pleased that we are at last able to meet. I am Raldu, son of Nuhura.¡±


    ¡°I know who you are,¡± Scibu affirmed, as if it was obvious. ¡°But¡­ you know me?¡±


    ¡°Your reputation precedes far beyond what you realize, young Serpent,¡± Raldu said. ¡°Not many can say they survived imprisonment in one of the worlds beyond this one¡­ and as a child, no less.¡±


    Scibu frowned and dropped his eyes. He didn¡¯t like to be reminded of his time in Heleh. But his bond with the kea demanded that he never forget.


    ¡°Your arrival here vitalized the soldiers,¡± Raldu continued. ¡°That the Order of the Sooronayan chose to bless us with one of their own for the revolution, is a sign of our unity. A unity that grants the Kingdom strength it has not had for a long, long time.¡±


    Scibu did not show emotion. It was true that the Kingdom was unified ¨C for the most part. It was true that they now had the strength to fight and take back the land that had once been theirs. It was not necessarily true, however, that Scibu had been given a choice.


    Scibu glanced up at the keatuu candle ¨C at its calm and steady luminance. He tried to decipher the Aktaku¡¯s true intent from its quivers and its glow. He could not read it.


    But now Scibu realized he had strayed away in his thoughts. He remembered Tenh-sho¡¯s lessons on politics and straightened his back. Quickly, he found a cover for his curiosity.


    ¡°I thank you for the pleasant welcome, Aktaku,¡± Scibu said with a bow and a grateful grin. ¡°And I am impressed by your control of the kea. The stories tell of your mettle and mental fortitude, and your discipline in keatuu is proof of this. I thank Parun that He has blessed you this way.¡±


    ¡°Your words humble me, Serpent, but I am nothing without my people.¡±


    The mention of the djauuls¡¯ shepherd God did not phase the Aktaku. Scibu blinked out his frustration; his face showed none of it.


    ¡°Now,¡± Raldu shifted, stepping to the table; his tone solidified. ¡°I believe you came here for a reason other than pleasantries.¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­ Aktaku. We ambushed the Ardysi on the road, and we¡¯ve once again cut off Alaris Khi Thung¡¯s supply from the south. This caravan was more heavily defended than the last. Seven keatuuchan and over a dozen archers, but we nonetheless achieved our objective. The riders will bring the spoils here to camp in the morning. This marks two weeks since a supply run has made it to the fortress. I¡¯ll send Paru at dawn to field your next orders.¡±


    Now Scibu stood and waited for a response, but the Aktaku did not grant one. The old man observed Scibu with calculating eyes ¨C eyes that both projected tranquility and obscured his working thoughts. It was silent for a time longer than what made Scibu comfortable. Only the breeze¡¯s hushed conflict with the burlap walls brought a sound.


    Then at last, with a head tilt, Raldu announced his intent to speak.


    ¡°The Ivory Dragon Tenh-sho is not predisposed to involve himself or his order in battle, is he not?¡±


    Scibu¡¯s brow creased at the sudden transition. He had heard of the Aktaku¡¯s way with words. He knew not how to navigate a conversation with him. At the Aktaku¡¯s query, Scibu now suspected that Paru had intentionally sent him here.


    Scibu cleared his throat: ¡°No, Aktaku¡­ he is not. But¡­ we have also not been at war with Ardys for centuries. Long past even the Ivory Dragon¡¯s watch.¡±


    ¡°But there has not been peace in war¡¯s place, Scibu,¡± Raldu reminded him. ¡°The crimes of the faded crown committed by Taku Attiil and his servants. The uprisings at Srassen Xai and Mote. The killings of the heretic Zanzaru. The deadly skirmishes between the Tekhal and the Xa¡¯ungzi elinji clans. Peiphosa¡¯s rebellion¨C¡±


    ¡°Your history knowledge far surpasses my own, Aktaku,¡± Scibu interrupted, as politely as he could. ¡°And your point is taken. What is your intent?¡±


    Raldu acquiesced with a nod and a smile; Scibu worried he¡¯d ceded control of the conversation. Perhaps he¡¯d never had it.


    The Aktaku continued: ¡°For hundreds of years, the land of Myd Onua has been fractured by internal conflicts. The ruling irons changed hands many times. And in times of civil unrest, there was no ruler at all. Power hungry warlords, conniving opportunists, zealous cultists of the Par-va¡­ all of them took their turns trying to take advantage of the Kingdom¡¯s state. But your order¡­ the Order of the Sooronayan¡­ the Serpents which flow along the very kea currents that weave within the Aelyuu¡­ always remained neutral.¡±


    Raldu paused and leaned forward against the table. He eyed Scibu with curiosity.


    ¡°The Serpents ¨C with their ancient, intricate knowledge of the kea ¨C have a kind of raw power that few can replicate,¡± Raldu went on. ¡°And yet¡­ they have only ever used it to protect their ways and defend their borders. Scarcely have they ever taken sides, or involved themselves in the conflicts of the common. It has always earned my admiration¡­ the way the Ivory Dragon preserves and upholds this isolationist ideology.¡±


    Convincing admiration indeed breached the Aktaku¡¯s voice ¨C but Scibu sensed dissimulation. He sensed it was not the only emotion the Aktaku felt.


    In Scibu¡¯s silence, Raldu continued; his tone hardened.


    ¡°I think it best to reveal what we know. You know I requested that Paru send you to speak with me. I know that the great Tenh-sho sent you ¨C the youngest and most able ¨C to the war front as the Serpents¡¯ representative, in fear of reprisal from the people, if your order remained idle in this war. You do not know me, and I know you have reservations. I would like to give you answers. I would like to quell your concerns. I want you to find comfort in your role here.¡±


    At last, Raldu went quiet. After a moment, Scibu spoke his mind, making his apprehension known.


    ¡°Kings often feign their want for others, when they only want for themselves, with others as their means.¡±


    ¡°I share your views, but your assumption is mistaken. I am not a King.¡±


    ¡°Some rulers ascend by divine right, others by galvanizing their people. It does not change the destructive power they have.¡±


    Raldu smiled; Scibu could not tell if it was amused, predatory, or both.


    ¡°Tenh-sho¡¯s teachings have granted you wisdom,¡± the Aktaku said. ¡°But your order¡¯s isolationist ways have left you sheltered and short-sighted in modern affairs.¡±


    ¡°You would not be the first to say you are different,¡± Scibu warned.


    ¡°I say no such thing¡­ because I am not a King,¡± Raldu argued. ¡°What I say¡­ is that we live in a new time. If I may, I would like to impart some of my wisdom onto you. From an old philosopher I knew quite well.¡±


    Scibu curled his lip, then nodded reluctantly.


    ¡°This philosopher,¡± Raldu began, ¡°was enraptured by meditations on the metaphysical¡­  the very states of being. In particular, I was drawn to his views on the past, present, and future. The relative concepts of time, as we experience them. The present is what is. The future is what¡¯s to come. But this philosopher was of the mind¡­ that the past held dominion over both. Objects that act a certain way are often doomed to carry forth those actions. In a similar sense¡­ individuals are forged by their experiences. The impressions of the past haunt them, and shape their choices, their decisions¡­ their very lives. Unconsciously. Subconsciously.


    ¡°Many are doomed to this cycle. And yet the past does not exist. We cannot interact with it like we can the present. We cannot manifest it like we can the future. The past exists only in a residual state¡­ in memories and traces¡­ and yet it controls us all. It is the master that ordains the present and future. Its strings command our arms and ensnare our minds. Its scars cripple us as any mortal wound might. We are our ghosts.¡±


    Now Raldu paused. Scibu did not think to interrupt.


    ¡°Inevitably, invariably, the past absorbs all things,¡±  Raldu resumed. ¡°Today, the present, the near future, and the far future will all eventually become past. But the children of Mide today¡­ will have the opportunity to reflect on a much greater past. Not the past of civil war and strife that you and I know¡­ but a past of peace and prosperity, in these lands of abundance. Mide is unified. Mide is strong as one. This is a Mide you have never known. A Mide Tenh-sho has never known. A Mide I have never known. We have never been here before¡­ which means we cannot know what will come to pass. But we have the power to shape what happens, and break the cycles of despair.¡±


    Another pause. Raldu paced to the left. His violet eyes shined in the light.


    ¡°As you know, the Kci Talon have entered the fray,¡± he told Scibu. ¡°They arrived sooner than I had expected. If we are to achieve our goals, a confrontation with them is inevitable. When that time comes¡­ I want you by my side. I need you by my side. I do not want our Kingdom¡¯s past to preordain the nature of our allegiance. I want you and I to be unified, as we all are under the new banner of Mide.¡±


    Raldu went silent once more. Scibu¡¯s eyes rose to the keatuu candle. Again, he searched it for clues. Again, he was left answerless.


    He mustered his words slowly, carefully.


    ¡°You say¡­ that we should not be defined by our past,¡± Scibu noted. ¡°You say that our youth will reflect on a past of peace. What does this war accomplish, other than sacrificing peace for the stirring of ancient scars?¡±


    ¡°Come now,¡± Raldu chimed with a half-chuckle. ¡°You know the answer.¡±


    Scibu did not comply with one, and thus, Raldu continued.


    ¡°What Kingdom left the old Mide to its fate and its shattered state?¡± Raldu questioned. ¡°What Kingdom robbed us of our land, our resources, and our livelihoods? Where does this bounty still lie?¡±


    Scibu did know the answer. And he could not deny the merit in the Aktaku¡¯s words. After a breath, Scibu spoke another of his thoughts.


    ¡°Whose side will I be on¡­ if I am against the phoenix? If I am sacrificing my own kind?¡±


    Now he saw a different smile from Raldu. Softer, but still firm. It lasted only for a moment before it faded.


    ¡°It was a necessary sacrifice for the Kingdom of Mide, and one the tribute gave willingly,¡± the Aktaku proclaimed. ¡°It is the same sacrifice so many of your kinsmen are prepared to make on the battlefield. The same sacrifice I have made.¡±


    Scibu scoffed: ¡°You haven¡¯t given your life.¡±


    ¡°But I have.¡±


    And then there was only conviction in Raldu¡¯s voice and eyes. The Aktaku¡¯s deflection from the sacrifice frustrated Scibu. But in the man of silver and gold¡¯s conviction, there was a weight that brought Scibu back to his initial ponderings.


    He hadn¡¯t had a choice in being brought to war. And the more he thought, the more he realized that perhaps he didn¡¯t have a choice now, either. If he was to do anything other than fight for the Aktaku¡­ he knew not what the consequences might be.


    He thought of Scibii and Oyuuna. Then he pursed his lips and nodded.


    ¡°I pledge to raise my sword alongside you,¡± Scibu declared, summoning a mimicry of conviction. ¡°When the time comes.¡±


    Now Scibu saw a third smile from Raldu. This one was easy to read: A smile of triumph.


    ¡°Thank you, Serpent,¡± Raldu remarked with a more patronizing bow. ¡°With our power unified¡­ we can bring our vision of new Mide to life.¡±


    Scibu took one last look at the keatuu candlelight, hovering at the height of the vaulted ceiling. Now, as he looked at it, its splintering glow burdened his vision. A low ring needled his ears. The kea sneered at him, seeping from a source of unfathomable power, suffocating his current¡­


    He bowed. He turned and left with haste.

 17. Precipice (Part Two)

    As the caravan raids persisted on the southern road ¨C cutting off the Khi Thung¡¯s supply ¨C the flow of border village refugees increased from the north.


    At first, it was only a trickle. But then, as the weeks went on, they funneled to the main road and came in a steady stream ¨C the ones who hadn¡¯t been killed in hopeless defense. They spoke of fire and monsters, and clutched their stomachs after days of travel with little to no food. Men and women, elderlies and children. They passed through the Khi Thung¡¯s northern gate. They filled up the last of the barracks and clustered in the hallways. Until the fortress was overrun.


    Siekarums Daromei and and siekangh Sulemei had at first been paranoid that the Midans would take advantage of the northern gate opening for the refugees, and attack when the fortress was exposed. Ucankacei knew this not to be the case.


    He remembered from his days dealing with Cuyasan pirates how effective time could be as a weapon. The Ardysi army would linger at the docks and block the pirates from coming ashore. Eventually, their stores would run dry and they would have to return exhausted and famished. There, the Ardysi would make their last charge ¨C when their enemy was weak and desperate.


    Ucankacei was certain this was the Midans¡¯ strategy. They had cut off the Kingdom¡¯s supply. The Khi Thung had a stock of preserved food and water, but the mouths to feed grew greater in number each day. Soon enough, the siege would siphon the life away from the Ardysi battalion¡­ and then¡­


    Ucankacei tried to usher his mind away from the haunting thought as he walked. But he knew today¡¯s meeting would prevent him from distancing himself. So too would his surroundings.


    As he limped down the corridor, the clacks of his crutch were drowned out by the melancholic chatter, cries, and coughs of the huddled masses. On both sides of the hallway, hundreds of Opelite refugees sat and huddled together. Golden skin was dulled to bronze. The smell of smoke and soot lingered and tugged at the nostrils. Dirt and grime plastered the once-polished wooden floors.


    One in every four, it seemed, begged for food. They saw Ucankacei¡¯s siekarum robes and pleaded as he passed. But he could not help ¨C not any more than he already did.


    He didn¡¯t eat anymore, it seemed. He scarcely remembered doing so. He was never hungry. He could see the skin tightening on his arms and wrists and hands, and he could sense the hollow, rattling emptiness of his gut. And yet, he felt nothing. Not hunger. Not fear. Not the fighting and thrashing of will. Nothing.


    It wasn¡¯t lost on him the fitting metaphor he might¡¯ve been, limping down the corridor. A wounded old man, fading away, shriveled and disheveled ¨C in marred, decaying siekarum robes. Promises of honor and grandeur long forgotten. Empty.


    He didn¡¯t feel the urge to laugh at his own misfortune, or find comfort in self-deprecation. Not when there was nothing left to deprecate.


    A refugee reached from the ground and grazed Ucankacei¡¯s ankle. Ucankacei kept walking, weakly, to his destination. But he eventually stopped on the way, when ¨C toward the end of the crowd ¨C he saw a little boy sitting on the floor all by himself, wearing the tattered rags of a village commoner. Dried tears and snot caked the boy¡¯s face.


    Ucankacei approached the boy. Gently, he came to a halt and knelt down on his good leg. The boy only gave a feeble glance from beneath a mess of blonde.


    ¡°Where are your parents?¡± Ucankacei asked.


    The boy did not answer. By not answering, Ucankacei feared he did.


    Ucankacei tucked his bottom lip and hid his sadness. He thought for a moment on how to comfort the boy. Then he leaned on his crutch and dug his hand into his armor pouch. After some searching and sifting, his fingers found what they sought. He clasped its tiny form and removed it from his pouch. Now, wrapping his arm around his crutch for support, he cupped the item gently with his hands.


    ¡°Here,¡± he said softly.


    The old man held out his leathery hands and parted them, revealing a small wooden sailboat toy. An almost century-long life had rendered it worn and warped, but it still had the form to brave the tides. Its hull was smooth and elegant. Its sail was resolute against the gales.


    The boy¡¯s ever-distant eyes grew just a bit less so, and he studied the boat with fragile blue irises. At Ucankacei¡¯s silent insistence, the boy reached out and took the boat. He observed it within his palm.


    ¡°Ill is the wind that blows no good, my boy,¡± Ucankacei offered quietly.


    The boy looked up at him. Ucankacei found his reassuring smile again, even if only for a second. He let his sea green eyes catch the light.


    ¡°The winds always change.¡±


    Ucankacei himself didn¡¯t fully believe his words. But that didn¡¯t matter right now.


    With some strain, Ucankacei stood again, and he left the blue-eyed boy. It was only a few steps before his emotions fought to surface. He closed his shivering eyelids and hardened his face. And with a burdened breath, he banished his memories and tears and regrets ¨C if only for a time. This, the army had taught him well, at least.


    When Ucankacei reached his destination ¨C the siekangh and siekarum meeting office ¨C he came upon a spirited discussion already in progress. As the words filled his ears, his eyes fell on a banquet table in the center of the room, stocked from end to end with salted meats, sweet tarts, and silven goblets redolent with a strong earthy aroma.


    If self-imposed hunger didn¡¯t nauseate Ucankacei, this sight certainly did. It was only after he gaped that he opened his ears to listen.


    ¡°¡­ and we¡¯ve already cut the khilung¡¯s rations to a half and to a quarter! We¡¯ve already reduced to one meal a day for the soldiers and the healers. A half-year¡¯s worth of food stores means nothing when we¡¯re this far over capacity.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ll recall, it was my idea to send the refugees on their way from the very start, to avoid overcrowding¨C¡±


    ¡°And leave them exposed to the Midans on the road? They already burned their villages and their crops! What do you think the beasts would do if we served our kinsmen in need on a silver platter? Your tendency toward self-preservation would see the men turn against you in an instant if you were to command, siekarum Daromei!¡±


    ¡°Siekarum Ucankacei¡­ good of you to join us at last.¡±


    Munei¡¯s biting voice cut through the clamor and brought the room to silence. Ucankacei¡¯s eyes lifted from the feast, but faltered soon after he acknowledged the Kci Talon.


    ¡°Apologies, maesas,¡± Ucankacei managed weakly.


    ¡°You¡¯re looking rather gaunt, siekarum,¡± Munei noted unforgivingly, before gesturing to the feast table with an upturned palm. ¡°Gorge yourself.¡±


    Ucankacei heard someone chewing, and he cast his gaze to siekangh Sulemei, who thoughtlessly grabbed a wedge of pork and nibbled on it. Idle horror flashed in Ucankacei¡¯s eyes before he gave his frightful attention to Munei and shook his head again.


    ¡°N-no, maesas,¡± Ucankacei persisted. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m fine¡­¡±


    ¡°Eat,¡± Munei said more forcefully; it was not a suggestion. ¡°I will not have an officer of the Ardysi khilung present as you currently do.¡±


    Ucankacei limply stepped toward the table. He felt the trembles of his fingers beneath his skin, as he reached for the smallest slice of beef at the bottom of the closest platter. He began to peck at the food, and Munei seemed satisfied by this compliance ¨C if not still abhorred by his siekarum¡¯s appearance.


    ¡°Now then¡­¡± Munei started. ¡°Where did we leave off, maesal?¡±


    Just as Munei looked away, Ucankacei slipped the food into his pocket.


    After a sigh, siekangh Jakthei carried on the briefing: ¡°Our situation with the refugees is untenable, maesas. My accounts workers estimate that our numbers here have more than doubled. Our stores are draining quickly. We had three months¡¯ worth of food and water for 2,000 occupants. We¡¯ve far exceeded that number. We don¡¯t have any space for new arrivals. And if we send them out on the road, we leave them exposed to Midan raids. The ¡®Tekhal¡¯ riders ¨C as we¡¯ve ascertained them to be called ¨C have used their mobility through the forests to cut off the south road. They can¡¯t send larger forces south without taking this fortress and full control of the road, but¡­ nothing is getting through. It¡¯s only a matter of time before¨C¡±


    ¡°Do we know if the Midans are attacking refugees?¡± Shinuei interrupted. ¡°Perhaps their main focus is on the supply caravans the Kcirun sends north.¡±


    ¡°You think those wretched animals would show mercy?¡± Daromei scoffed. ¡°If we sent refugees down the road, we¡¯d find their discarded bones in a heap, stripped of all but their marrow.¡±


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    ¡°But we haven¡¯t sent out refugees yet,¡± Shinuei countered. ¡°We haven¡¯t put it to the test. To this point, we¡¯ve given them haven here¨C¡±


    ¡°Even if the Midans weren¡¯t at first inclined to attack harmless refugees,¡± Jakthei interjected, ¡°there¡¯s still the risk that we¡¯d hide a scout or a courier among the travelers. From the Midans¡¯ perspective, we could use the refugees to send word south that a siege is underway. We could send for additional help from the Kcirun. The primal instincts of the beastfolk don¡¯t matter here. I think they¡¯ve always been smarter than we thought, and I don¡¯t think they¡¯d want to take that strategic risk. Any passage south seems inconceivable.¡±


    ¡°But new refugees come down the northern road each day,¡± Shinuei warned. ¡°We can¡¯t possibly take them all. If we don¡¯t start sending them on their way south¡­ what other outcome is there than us starving behind these walls? We can¡¯t send for help or communicate the direness of the situation. We could try sending a lone courier, but I have no doubt the Tekhal riders would intercept him before he even reached Nenemis. If we keep taking refugees, their fate is no different than our worst fears on the road. The only difference is, the Midans sweep their bodies off the stones when they take this fortress uncontested.¡±


    ¡°We cannot treat the lives of refugees as a game piece,¡± Jakthei scolded.


    ¡°This is all a game, siekangh,¡± Shinuei said grimly. ¡°And we¡¯re losing.¡±


    The room went silent, as the officials considered the siekarum¡¯s words. Jakthei did not hide his frustration, but for the moment, he had no reply. Shinuei spoke the truth.


    After a spell of quiet, Shinuei looked at Munei, his expression resolute.


    ¡°There¡¯s only one thing we know,¡± Shinuei affirmed. ¡°If we stay here and do nothing, we¡¯re playing right into the Midans¡¯ hand. We need to do something. Perhaps a counterattack would¨C¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t sacrifice numbers here to go on the offensive, let alone discern the Midans¡¯ positioning or full strength in the forests around us,¡± Jakthei cautioned.


    ¡°What I¡¯m realizing is¡­ we are left with very few options.¡±


    ¡°Astute observation, Sulemei,¡± Jakthei grumbled.


    ¡°The Midans can¡¯t possibly have the resources or the discipline to extend this siege months-long,¡± Daromei shook his head. ¡°There may yet be hope to outlast them¨C¡±


    ¡°We know how adept they are at living off the land,¡± Shinuei countered. ¡°Those forsaken elinji waited in that mountain pass for Bor knows how long before they ambushed our invading force, subverting our scouts¡¯ eyes. And now they¡¯ve ransacked the northern villages for supplies. They are well-trained, well-equipped, and more versatile than we. And they have full awareness of their superior positioning in this situation. They¡¯ve worked us into a corner, and they intend to constrict the walls of that corner until we¡­ well, until we collapse.¡±


    Silence settled in again, and this time, no one was eager to break it. But it wasn¡¯t long before Munei stepped forward and commanded the room again. He eyed each official, and then his vision settled on Ucankacei. He nodded, with an expression Ucankacei struggled to ascertain.


    ¡°Siekarum Ucankacei. What are your thoughts?¡±


    Ucankacei felt the eyes of the room on him, and his heart fluttered in his chest. His gaze fell again, as it did so easily. But he forced himself to composure and took a deep breath. He reflected on his thoughts earlier that day.


    ¡°When I was younger¡­¡± Ucankacei began. ¡°I was¡­ a siekarum tasked with defending the coast against Cuyasan pirates. The pirates would steal goods, Kivs¡­ even ships¡­ and then they¡¯d aim to wait us out in the bay before returning to Cuyasa. We had to block them off at the shore. And then¡­ it was just a time game. Waiting¡­ waiting¡­ until the other side blinked.¡±


    Ucankacei cleared his throat and caught his breath. The eyes of the room yet remained on him.


    ¡°We are in a time game,¡± Ucankacei said, looking at Munei. ¡°But the other side has an abundance of time. Ours is finite, and the clock is¡­ ticking faster now. They¡¯re the ones looking at us, waiting for us to blink. So maybe¡­ maybe we need to¡­ take control back into our own hands. Somehow¡­¡±


    Ucankacei trailed off ¨C scared to say anything definitive ¨C  and his feeble eyes found their way back to Munei, for any sign of acceptance. Munei squinted his royal blue eyes and clenched his lined jaw ¨C either in thought or in judgement ¨C but it wasn¡¯t long before he nodded to himself and tucked his lip.


    ¡°We cannot take more refugees, and we cannot remain idle,¡± Munei thought aloud.


    The high whyzard paused. The room went silent. Then he continued.


    ¡°I believe¡­ that these spongers have exhausted their welcome¡­¡±


    Ucankacei at last tried to interrupt: ¡°M-master Munei¨C¡±


    ¡°These people lived far from the bosom of Opela¡¯s grace,¡± Munei went on, with a callous tone. ¡°Just look at them. Look at the grime they cast within our halls. There¡¯s enough of them that I can taste it on my tongue now.¡±


    Munei lapped his lips and grimaced to himself, seeking no acceptance from the others. Ucankacei looked around the room to gauge the officials¡¯ reactions. From some, he saw shock. From some, startling agreement. From others, indifference.


    ¡°This intrusion can be an asset for us,¡± Munei expanded, smirking a hidden smirk at the realization. ¡°We need to reduce our habitants, and we need to force a Midan move without exposing our defenses. There is an obvious solution, my friends. We will send a group of refugees south. We will watch what the Midans do. If they do nothing, we can send another refugee party south with a courier and send for whatever assistance our Kcirun can muster. If they attack the refugees¡­ our options may very well multiply. We can employ decoys to draw the Midans onto the road and cut them off on their return to the forest. Or we can use khilii manpower to traverse the waters and lobby for support from Charondor and Ghiovan ¨C amidst the Midan heathens¡¯ heinous act, and the loss of innocent lives. The Kcirun would frown on seeking assistance beyond our borders¡­ but circumstances have changed.¡±


    The mention of innocent lives lost felt disturbingly hollow to Ucankacei. He was not the only one.


    ¡°No,¡± siekangh Jakthei said firmly, stepping forward to match the whyzard. ¡°We will not use refugees as bait or fodder.¡±


    ¡°Then perhaps we will use them to accelerate our demise,¡± Munei gave as a glib retort.


    While the others idled, Jakthei persisted: ¡°There has to be another way.¡±


    ¡°There is not, siekangh¡­ in case your ears are clogged with purulence that renders you deaf¨C¡±


    ¡°This is the demise of our morality and honor. It is no different than¨C¡±


    ¡°Fix your tone, siekangh, and do not question the honor of your superio¨C¡±


    ¡°We call the Midans monsters! How are we any better if we do this¨C¡±


    ¡°Siekangh!¡±


    The whyzard snapped with a poisonous glare, leaving the room frozen and soundless. With the beady stare of a snake, Munei observed Jakthei. His lips quivered between a smile and a frown, before they flattened with his brow.


    ¡°A siekangh has a great many authorities,¡± Munei began ever-slowly, coldly. ¡°But to impugn upon the motivations and moralities¡­ of a member of the Kcirun¡¯s royal court¡­ is not¡­ one of them.¡±


    Jakthei¡¯s jaw clenched shut, sealing his furtive anger beyond. Munei took a small yet menacing step. The metal pieces of his medial hand shifted and morphed, exposing his storming thoughts.


    ¡°You may have been an advisory siekangh when you first arrived from Ellindal¡­ but you are not an advisor here, Jakthei,¡± Munei hissed, with calm and threatening calculus. ¡°You are a servant. And seeing that you have betrayed your duties, I see it fit to remove you from that station. With the Kcirun¡¯s blessing, under the sight of Opela, I demote you to siekarum. Stay your tongue¡­ should you get the itch to advise again. What was your name before your premature exaltation? I would like to address you by your proper title.¡±


    The final question stung even Ucankacei. He watched as Jakthei fought his fury and formed the words.


    ¡°Jakuunthei,¡± he said in a whisper.


    Munei tucked his upper lip with satisfaction and perused the other officers, like a noble judging slaves.


    ¡°I will now make a corresponding promotion to siekangh,¡± Munei decided. ¡°The most senior officer here is¡­¡±


    Munei¡¯s eyes fell on Ucankacei. He grimaced again. Then he looked away and forced a quiet laugh.


    ¡°I suppose seniority should not be the only qualifier.¡±


    Two more seconds of leisurely thought later, Munei¡¯s attention came to siekarum Shinuei. He gave a nod.


    ¡°Siekangh Shinuei, welcome to the high command,¡± Munei grumbled, almost sarcastically. ¡°Siekangh Shinuei and siekangh Sulemei¡­ await my summons for a final meeting to discuss the logistics of the refugees¡¯ departure. Siekarum Ucankacei, siekarum Daromei, and siekarum Jakuunthei¡­ await their¡­ subsequent orders.¡±


    And then Munei gestured for the officers to leave. Ucankacei obeyed the command first, and was followed by the others, who filtered out silently into the hallway and returned to their assignments. Jakthei was the last to leave, and as he stepped out, his eyes met Ucankacei¡¯s. A look of understanding flashed between them.


    ¡°I am sorry,¡± Ucankacei said softly. ¡°That was not fair to you.¡±


    Jakthei¡¯s frustration lingered on his face, but he banished it with a sigh and an accepting smile.


    ¡°The Kcirun¡¯s authority supersedes many virtues.¡±


    They stood idle for a moment. Down the corridor, a refugee¡¯s cough echoed.


    ¡°At least I¡¯m still here,¡± Jakthei reasoned. ¡°I can still¡­ try and help.¡±


    Now Jakthei looked at Ucankacei. His brow lowered. He breathed in.


    ¡°I saw the way he looks at you,¡± Jakthei admitted. ¡°For that, I am truly sorry.¡±


    Ucankacei raised his shoulders in a gesture of concession, like a weak morning wave losing the pull of the tide.


    ¡°I am old.¡±


    ¡°There are worse things than to be old,¡± Jakthei reassured him.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Ucankacei hung his head.


    ¡°To be old and have nothing.¡±


    And then his hollow steps hit the wood.

 17. Precipice (Part Three)

    Thaeolai clutched her stomach. The hunger clawed.


    She sat where the green-hued fruit doves pecked at the lonely grains of rice and barley between the cobbles. Where the sea breeze only crept forth in a whisper.


    She sat beside her younger brother Malakei. Two of thirteen. The two who¡¯d most recently been cast out to starve. Thaeolai was punished because she did not answer when spoken to. Malakei because he talked back.


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    She didn¡¯t know when their mother would let them back inside.


    This was what they deserved, after all.


    The young boy hadn¡¯t eaten for four days now. His limbs were as rods. His face aged as if he were dying.


    Thaeolai hugged her brother tight. From the shade of the alley, she caught a glimpse of the inner city market. She heard the muted sounds of commerce. Her eyes fell on a bread cart. Her stomach wailed.


    She¡¯d only take just a touch. They wouldn¡¯t notice.

 18. The Market

    Heror emerged to a red sky at morning.


    The ragged horizon leaked a blazing scarlet luminance, overlaid by silhouetted and blackened tufts ¨C coals accompanying a stoking fire. Above, the night was nearly banished, but a hint of darkness still lingered in the cobalt canvas. The snow-capped mountains to the east stood sentry over the farmlands. A cool wind still blew, fighting the warmth.


    As he ventured out, Heror came across Aspur. The bearded man stood by his corn field with a walking stick ¨C no doubt feeling the pain in his knees ¨C but his face bore the same content, jovial expression. His knotted hand brushed gently against the silks of the corn, as he studied its growth. He met Heror with that same contentment as the young man approached.


    ¡°Good mornin¡¯, Heror!¡± Aspur greeted. ¡°How are you on this fine day?¡±


    ¡°Good, Aspur,¡± Heror said with a small smile; he didn¡¯t have to lie today. ¡°How are you?¡±


    ¡°Just peachy,¡± Aspur exclaimed through an impulsive chuckle. ¡°Seems as though Shen¡¯thide¡¯s blessed us with a boomin¡¯ harvest this year. Some of these silks are already browned, and we¡¯ve not yet reached the solstice!¡±


    ¡°Ahead of schedule?¡±


    ¡°Very! I pray that this foretells our fortunes to come. A good year came just when we needed it. Luck more often has its way with me, ha!¡±


    Aspur moved his hand from one stalk to the next. He leaned forward and  twisted the silk between his fingers.


    ¡°This one is ready,¡± he grinned. ¡°I¡¯d wager we¡¯ll be able to harvest the lot within a half-moon.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°When the silk on the top of the ear here is browned and dry,¡± Aspur replied. ¡°This means the kernels are full, fresh, and ripe.¡±


    Aspur glanced at the young man and saw his curiosity.


    ¡°Good of ya to listen so closely, Heror!¡± Aspur chimed. ¡°After yer recommendation from Ylar, I may call upon yer services myself to harvest.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be happy to help.¡±


    Aspur nodded to the boy with an eager smirk, and then he stepped back onto the heavy-trodden path. For a moment, they stood in silence, facing east. The fire hearth began to rise above the coals on the horizon. A warm breeze cut through the looming cold.


    Aspur took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Heror watched him, as his face relaxed and fell into sudden contemplation.


    ¡°Many a¡¯young men spend too much of their lives¡­ Heror¡­ lookin¡¯ for that which will fill them,¡± Aspur told him. ¡°Take it from a much, much older man¡­ sometimes, the harder you look, the harder it is to find.¡±


    Heror considered the old farmer¡¯s words. Another phrase echoed in his head ¨C one he¡¯d heard not all too long ago.


    If you spend your whole life waiting for something¡­ you forget to live.


    The brightsun peered above the cloudsmoke. Heror smiled softly to himself. A smile that faded as his thoughts ran on, but never truly left.


    After a time, Heror offered Aspur a grin: ¡°You¡¯re not much, much older.¡±


    Aspur laughed: ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯ to tell Ebica you said that. Perhaps with such vocal support, I can convince her!¡±


    Heror bid farewell to Aspur and went past the homestead to the road, where the barley cart was waiting ¨C stacked high with bags of feed and cereals. Here, young Cedor sat alone. He¡¯d kicked his woolen shoes off, and he brushed through the grass with his toes, leaning against the edge of the cart. As Heror approached, Cedor glanced up and saw him. They shared a smile.


    ¡°Morning, Cedor.¡±


    ¡°Good morning, Mister Heror!¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to close my eyes and see if I can imagine it being somethin¡¯ different.¡±


    Heror raised an eyebrow and chuckled, stepping up to the edge of the road.


    ¡°Start from the beginning, Cedor.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Cedor chirped, already losing his focus.


    Heror laughed: ¡°What is ¡®it?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Cedor smiled sheepishly. ¡°The¡­ the grass. It¡¯s so soft. If I close my eyes¡­ I can almost pretend it¡¯s somethin¡¯ different. Like¡­ a fair maiden¡¯s hair, or¡­ or wooly rhino fur.¡±


    ¡°Why isn¡¯t grass good enough?¡± Heror asked with a smirk, sitting beside the boy.


    ¡°It is good! It¡¯s good enough,¡± Cedor backtracked as his eyes drifted, worried he¡¯d offended the grass. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s everywhere. It¡¯s not¡­ it¡¯s not special.¡±


    ¡°I think it is special,¡± Heror countered.


    ¡°Grass isn¡¯t special,¡± Cedor refuted, shrugging off potential objections from the grass. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but¡­ it¡¯s just grass. How can it be special if it¡¯s so easy to find?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes you need to look deeper. If the grass is everywhere, that means that¡­ anywhere you go¡­ you can kick off your shoes and brush your toes, and you¡¯ll feel a little bit of home. You can try and feel a wooly rhino¡¯s fur, or¡­ something else incredible and miraculous¡­  but it wouldn¡¯t be familiar. It wouldn¡¯t¡­ it wouldn¡¯t give you that warmth.¡±


    Cedor blinked, and then his bare toes dove again. He felt the bristles of the grass blades against his soles now. He closed his eyes; his smile was warm. Heror¡¯s was weak and ephemeral. A calm wind passed by.


    ¡°Where¡¯s home for you?¡± Cedor asked Heror.


    Heror¡¯s brow twitched and tensed at the question ¨C at the advance of memories. But a calmness soon came over him, and his eyes relaxed. He looked down at Cedor, and he started to open his mouth, when he heard the crunch of hay and twine beneath footsteps. His gaze went ahead, and he watched as Ylar arrived with a tin in his hand.


    ¡°Heror!¡± the man exclaimed. ¡°Ready to go to market?¡±


    Heror cleared his throat and nodded. Ylar set the tin on the back of the barley cart. Heror and Cedor stood, and they started to walk onto the road, when Ylar called Heror¡¯s name again. When Heror turned, he saw Ylar holding out a woolen hat for him to take.


    ¡°Might get less looks this way,¡± Ylar noted.


    Heror¡¯s brow creased again, as a lost conflict breached his thoughts once more. But he soon shedded these thoughts and gave Ylar an expression of gratitude, taking the hat and slipping it over his hair and his ears.


    They were just about ready to leave, when another voice stopped them all.


    ¡°Hey! Wait for me!¡±


    Xirre rushed to the road¡¯s edge from the direction of the barn, garments already caked with dirt and grime. She made no attempt to hide her frustration at Ylar as she approached, as her fingers tightly clutched a linen bag.


    ¡°You told me yesterday I could come with you. I asked, and you said I could,¡± she grumbled to her father. ¡°Did you not remember?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Ylar recalled, trying to recover. ¡°Y-yes, I did¡­ I remember now! You were saving up for more yarn and wicker. Come along, Xirre.¡±


    ¡°Sorry to remind you that you do, in fact, have a daughter,¡± Xirre snarled, stomping to the front.


    Heror glanced at Ylar, and the man tugged his lips down in a wince. Xirre went and picked up the cart handle. Ylar lifted a hand.


    ¡°Xirre, don¡¯t you think someone else should¨C¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± Xirre growled, glaring back at him.


    ¡°At least¡­ at least have Heror help you,¡± Ylar suggested. ¡°It¡¯s a heavy cart.¡±


    Xirre begrudgingly considered his words, then nodded.


    They set off to the west, as the city of Eonos grew on the horizon. Ylar walked ahead, guiding Cedor with a hand to the shoulder, while Heror pulled the barley cart alongside Xirre. The girl had to adjust her grip every now and then, but she pulled her weight. The wood creaked. The axels spun. The clouds roamed in blue above.


    Ylar spoke softly, eagerly to young Cedor as they ventured on. A dozen paces behind them, Heror glanced at Xirre. He saw her hazel eyes lingering ahead. He thought of what to say, but before he could find words, Xirre had her own.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯re a part of our family,¡± she warned. ¡°You¡¯re not.¡±


    Her eyes didn¡¯t stray from the path ahead. Heror¡¯s brow lowered again. But he could sense that she was only venting her emotions. He thought he saw regret flash across her face. He took a deep breath and let the silence stay for a moment. Then he spoke.


    ¡°Cedor¡­ mentioned Yselar to me once,¡± Heror started. ¡°He was your brother?¡±


    Xirre didn¡¯t speak. They passed a quartet of Pylanthean soldiers heading east. The chant of metal swelled and faded.


    ¡°What about¡­ your mother?¡± Heror asked faintly. ¡°What happened to her?¡±


    Xirre looked across the gulf that separated her from her father and brother. Still, she said nothing. Still, she tugged the heavy cart.


    ¡°I know a little bit about¡­ what it¡¯s like to hold things in¡­ because you don¡¯t think they¡¯ll listen, or understand, or even care,¡± Heror offered. ¡°But I also know it helps to talk about it. And¡­ I can listen. I¡¯ll try, at least.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the last person I¡¯d talk to,¡± Xirre scowled. ¡°I don¡¯t even know you.¡±


    ¡°You know enough,¡± Heror insisted.


    ¡°What is ¡®enough?¡¯¡± Xirre questioned, terse skepticism in her voice.


    ¡°You know I was an orphan,¡± Heror replied. ¡°You know I was lost.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you still?¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­¡± Heror admitted, before laughing and saying: ¡°But at least I¡¯ve broken down my last barn door.¡±


    Xirre kicked a pebble as she stepped: ¡°Yeah, you¡¯ve found a place where you can have a nice warm bed and four walls and¡­ steal away at our home-cooked stews and stale bread. Another mouth to feed, like we needed one more. Actually, why don¡¯t you kick in more barn doors? Go up and down the road like a tramp! It seems to be a good option for you. Leeching off of others.¡±


    Heror¡¯s next words caught in his throat, and he went silent. He blinked, and his eyes dropped to the dirt-crusted cobbles. He was content to stay quiet and tug the cart along now¡­ when, after a minute, Xirre sighed gently and spoke again. Her voice was softer now.


    ¡°I¡¯m not being fair.¡±


    Heror looked at her again. Her light brown locks obscured her face.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done a lot to help da,¡± Xirre conceded. ¡°Just this harvest alone¡­ it¡¯s more than he could manage two summers ago.¡±


    She looked ahead to Ylar. Heror¡¯s eyes followed hers.


    ¡°We lost them both, one after the other,¡± Xirre said. ¡°It was hard on him.¡±


    Xirre¡¯s steps slowed just a bit. Heror felt her grip loosen on the handle. He saw her lip quiver ever so slightly, beneath a firm exterior.


    With the sun at their backs, they soon approached the city gate. As they approached, Heror slowed and stopped, and his eyes went north to the stables. He peered up the road and called to Ylar.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Ylar asked.


    Heror gestured to the stables, and Ylar suddenly remembered.


    ¡°Ah, yes!¡± Ylar exclaimed with a grin. ¡°Go to it.¡±


    Heror smiled and dropped the cart handle, and he hurried to the edge of the road, where the fencing met the cobbles, walling off the vast grazing area that bordered the river. Xirre followed soon after.


    ¡°Wait, where are you going?¡±


    As she ran up beside him, Heror leaned on the fence posts and shouted a name.


    ¡°Shaadur!!¡±


    From the throng of horses grazing in the fields, Heror and Xirre heard an energetic trill of a whinny, and a smoky black horse came into view, barreling toward the fence. The horse might¡¯ve careened right into the barrier and knocked it down, had Heror not stood up straight and held out his hands.


    ¡°Whoa, Shaadur!¡± Heror laughed. ¡°Slow down! Slow down¡­¡±


    The horse¡¯s tongue flitted in excitement, as Shaadur pressed his muzzle down on Heror¡¯s shoulder ¨C so heavily that Heror almost stumbled and had to bend his knees under the weight. Heror chuckled and cradled the horse¡¯s head in his arms.


    ¡°Good to see you, Shaadur. I know I¡¯ve been gone too long. I know, I know¡­ ow, alright, you¡¯re hurting me. Let me stand up, Shaadur¡­¡±


    Shaadur huffed and breathed out his happiness, but then his expression turned to confusion as he glanced at Xirre. The girl blinked and took a half-step back, as the horse studied her with standing ears. Heror dropped his hands, and he too stepped back, to clear the way for Xirre to approach.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Heror assured her. ¡°He¡¯s harmless.¡±


    Xirre¡¯s eyes jumped between Heror and the horse, and then she trained them ahead. She slowed under the horse¡¯s waiting stare, but nonetheless extended her hand, softening her palm. She had nearly made contact, when the horse forcefully leaned into her hand and nuzzled back and forth, moisture dribbling from his nostrils.


    Xirre yelped and grimaced as Shaadur let out a snort. Heror laughed again.


    ¡°He¡¯s just happy, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°N-no, I know,¡± Xirre fumbled. ¡°He¡¯s just¡­ more excitable than I¡¯m used to.¡±


    Heror turned and noticed Cedor looking on with eager anticipation. The young man smiled and motioned for the boy to join them at the fence. Cedor scampered to the wood and stood on his toes, leaning over the slats. As Xirre at last swerved away, groaning and wiping her face with her sleeve, the horse turned his attention to the child. The animal¡¯s excitement became curiosity. Cedor¡¯s curiosity became fear. He suddenly froze in place beneath the stallion¡¯s gaze. He started to lean back just a bit.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Heror whispered above the breeze; in this moment only, he knew it was.


    Cedor did not move. Not at first.


    ¡°Hold out your hand.¡±


    With an anxious breath, Cedor started to lean in. He extended his left hand and spread his fingers. He let them lift.


    Shaadur¡¯s warmth met these, too.


    Heror promised Shaadur he would come back after the market, and then they bid the horse goodbye and carried on to the city gates. Already in the morning hours, merchants and traders and travelers clustered on the river road ¨C so much that the tall oaken doors of Eonos were kept open. The guards waved Ylar in, and the others followed with the cart in tow. In seconds, the crowd engulfed them, and the chatter of dawn filled their ears.


    ¡°Stay close, everyone!¡± Ylar urged above the clamor.


    They carried on past the fountain at the center of the city square, setting a course for the market stalls at the southwest end. As they passed the fountain, Heror noticed a clustered row of beggars by the water, in the shadow of the aqueducts. Men and women and children, they pleaded without avail to passersby. Their garbs were worn and dusted with soot. Some held with them sparsely-packed travel bags. Some had wounds, only recently bound.


    Heror studied them until his neck craned and he felt the cart turn against his weight. His saddened eyes dropped, and he turned to match Xirre¡¯s pull as they followed Ylar to the open stalls.


    By now, the sun had risen fully, and many other merchants were already set up on the market street. Ylar found an open stall in the middle of the row ¨C farthest from both the passage to the gates and to the upper levels of the city. It wasn¡¯t a moment after Ylar began setting up shop that Cedor bounded away from the cart. Ylar raised his head and his voice.


    ¡°Cedor!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Cedor questioned, oblivious.


    ¡°Where in Shen¡¯s great name are you running off to?¡± Ylar scoffed.


    ¡°Pa, Rhowen is here!¡± Cedor exclaimed. ¡°She has the cocoa crumbles!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful,¡± Ylar sighed through a smirk. ¡°You can go beg for them after you help me unload the cart.¡±


    ¡°But pa! They go fast!¡±


    ¡°Faster you help me, the faster you can go,¡± Ylar reasoned.


    Cedor¡¯s eyes lit up. He sped back to the cart and began throwing bags of barley onto the stall platform.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Cedor, be careful!¡± Xirre scolded. ¡°You¡¯re spilling it all over!¡±


    Ylar laughed at the boy¡¯s exuberance. Heror helped clean the spill. Xirre glanced and sighed, then began helping with the remaining bags.


    ¡°Stack them neatly, Xirre,¡± Ylar chided. ¡°Think about presentation.¡±


    Xirre huffed and sent a glare that wasn¡¯t seen.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the market to fill, and the noise of the morning to swell. At first, Heror helped with the setup, but when it was clear his work was done, he merely watched and let his eyes drift about. And he soon found himself transfixed by the bustle of the city.


    He had only seen two markets before: The main market of Cephragon, and the dockside market along the pier. At both, voices sailed through the air and mixed into an unceasing whirr. At both, common citizens rushed back and forth in search of items that had once before caught their eye. But in Ardys, everyone had been the same. The privilege of freedom and commerce had only been reserved for a certain kind. Here, in Eonos, beneath the grand aqueducts, Heror could only stare in awe at the difference.


    There were Pylantheans, with fair skin and trimmed beards and spiraled locks of blonde and brown and chestnut. But there were also others: Dark-bearded and dark-skinned travelers with intentful brown eyes and bright-colored headdresses, presenting rugs and blankets and textiles just as vivid. Merchants with curls of dark brown atop complexions of caramel, who announced discounts with voices sharp and alluring. Caravaneers who championed exotic goods from the farthest rainforests of southern Hithain, the canyon riverlands of Mathingar, and the golden coasts of Tephire. And bright-eyed brunuuls, who brought sweet fruits and tangy vegetables and buttery fava beans from the rich volcanic soils of Charondor.


    It was a sight Heror had never before beheld. It was a sight that freed a bounding curiosity he¡¯d felt long ago.


    ¡°Now, pa??¡± Cedor¡¯s begging broke Heror out of his trance.


    Ylar sighed: ¡°Alright, fine. Now you can go.¡±


    Just as Heror glanced at Ylar, he caught Ylar looking at him.


    ¡°You mind going with them, Heror?¡± Ylar asked. ¡°I can manage the stall.¡±


    Heror nodded and smiled, barely hiding his own excitement: ¡°Of course.¡±


    Cedor started to dart away, when Xirre grabbed his shoulders and tilted his face toward hers.


    ¡°Cedor, calm yourself,¡± Xirre sighed, allowing herself a feeble grin. ¡°You sure you can handle more sugar?¡±


    Heror had no Kivs, but he was content with satisfying his own wonder as he followed Cedor and Xirre down the row of stalls, through the clamoring crowds of late morning. In the sunlight, they sauntered past throngs of commoners ¨C Xirre leading the way as she held Cedor¡¯s hand, while Heror trailed them closely.


    They carried on for several minutes, along the merchant row that seemed to be endless. Heror noticed how differently Cedor and Xirre handled the sights. Cedor¡¯s eager eyes flitted back and forth, as with each passing second, a new item or trinket or color caught and captured his attention. Xirre¡¯s eyes, however, were fixed ahead, as she dutifully led Cedor along her path.


    Eventually, they neared the upward slope to the city¡¯s residential section. It was here that Xirre suddenly stopped them. She glanced at Heror and pointed across the way.


    ¡°Rhowen¡¯s stall is over there,¡± Xirre informed him, already taking steps away. ¡°The one with the painted awning.¡±


    ¡°Wait, where are you going?¡± Heror asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon,¡± was all she offered.


    With that, Xirre left and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Heror and Cedor alone. The two exchanged a look, and then Cedor¡¯s eyes went ahead to Rhowen¡¯s stall, where a line had already begun to form for the foreign, delectable treats.


    Heror was almost frightened by how quickly and violently Cedor grabbed his hand.


    ¡°C¡¯mon!¡± Cedor rushed.


    The boy tugged Heror along and filed in behind a dozen other children and teenagers, who all waited impatiently for chocolate batter treats being passed out by a tanned, well-traveled older woman. Cedor¡¯s hands flicked to his pockets, as he took accounts of all his coin. A couple children farther up pushed and shoved for superior positioning. Shouts of protest barely pierced above the market¡¯s hum.


    ¡°They can¡¯t be this good,¡± Heror scoffed.


    ¡°Speakin¡¯ on matters you¡¯re not educated on,¡± Cedor shook his head.


    Heror smirked: ¡°I¡¯m much older than you, and you¡¯re making comments on how educated I am.¡±


    ¡°Much older, yes,¡± Cedor jibed. ¡°But in this, you¡¯re much younger.¡±


    ¡°Sorry for doubting your age-old wisdom.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll forgive you this time, Mister Heror.¡±


    The line moved slowly. The crowd grew quickly. And soon, Heror felt the space condense. Over a chorus of chatter and calls, his ears listened. Battle had taught him to heighten his senses in the scrum, and so anxiety began to take control. His eyes darted back and forth. His breath flickered and caught in his throat. A taller man brushed by to his right, and Heror jolted left. A loud laugh careened through the air, and Heror¡¯s right hand rushed to his empty belt¡­


    ¡­ when Cedor¡¯s right hand took Heror¡¯s left.


    Heror froze and glanced down at the boy, who huddled close to Heror¡¯s side. It had been an unconscious gesture from Cedor, who only sought to keep track of his guardian in the crowded market. But at the gesture, Heror¡¯s anxiety crumbled, and a feeling he could not name flooded in its place. His shoulders, once tense, now relaxed. His breath, once skittish, now settled. The sharpness of the sounds around him suddenly dulled. He felt the wind from the avenues and alleyways. The warmth from the sky. He inhaled. He exhaled.


    They stood together and waited. Slowly, the line moved.


    As they grew closer, Cedor¡¯s wandering eyes drifted to the adjacent market stall. They lingered there once, twice, three times ¨C and soon, Heror couldn¡¯t help but be curious. And so he too looked.


    Behind this stall, for which there was no line, he saw an old olive-skinned man, dressed in ornate and hot-colored garb, with a thick black beard that frayed grey at its fringes. The merchant sat cross-legged on a stool, his hand stroking the snout of a tired-eyed mule. His counter was stocked with a vast variety of trinkets and oddities and complex tools ¨C a bounty Cedor¡¯s curiosity could not ignore.


    ¡°Something catch your eye?¡± Heror asked quietly after a moment.


    ¡°No,¡± Cedor said at first, though he soon abandoned this lie. ¡°I mean¡­ nothin¡¯ in¡­ in p¡¯ticular.¡±


    Heror watched the boy as his powder blue eyes gazed. Then, as a flash of recognition came across his face, Cedor spoke again.


    ¡°On that circle. I know that image. It¡¯s a¡­ a¡­ a consta¡­¡±


    ¡°Constellation,¡± Heror assisted.


    ¡°¡®Constellation.¡¯ Yes. That.¡±


    Heror saw what Cedor saw: An intricately carved and layered wooden disc propped up against a shelf, with tracings of star patterns and fine, delicate notations of ink running along its circumference. A faded familiarity came to him; it was an instrument he¡¯d seen once before on the docks in Ardys, hauling cargo. More often, he assumed, it had been hidden in the captain¡¯s quarters, or in the helmsman¡¯s possession. Now, it was open to him.


    He shared Cedor¡¯s curiosity.


    ¡°Do you want to go see?¡± Heror asked quietly.


    Cedor glanced ahead only once. Then, after a moment of thought, he looked at Heror and nodded.


    They filed out of the longer line and approached the vacant stall, Cedor leading Heror. The merchant noticed only when they arrived at the booth, and he regarded them with a warm, weary-eyed smile, turning away from his mule.


    ¡°Hmbaan, gentlemen!¡± The merchant said with an accented voice, soothing and full, before settling his attention on Cedor: ¡°I sense that you are an intellectual, my child. They call me Cymir. What do they call you?¡±


    ¡°Cedor,¡± the boy said, confident yet shy, as Heror stood alongside him.


    ¡°Wonderful it is to meet you, child,¡± Cymir continued, shifting his gaze with a flourished hand. ¡°And your brother here. What is his name?¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s¡­¡± Cedor paused, but only for a second: ¡°His name is Heror.¡±


    Heror¡¯s cheeks warmed.


    ¡°Cedor and Heror, a blessing of Ynd it is to have you here,¡± Cymir went on. ¡°I travel the roads from Mathingar to the jagged coasts of the Painted Sea and back. I am on my way west once again from Pylantheus, but still have many remarkable treasures for you to browse. Tell me what first drew your curiosity, and I can strike a deal that suits you.¡±


    A thought crossed Heror¡¯s mind. The merchant Cymir had been to the Painted Sea, or so he claimed. He had traveled far and wide. Perhaps he would know of the Heran family. Perhaps he would know more than most.


    Heror opened his mouth, but Cedor¡¯s silence stopped him. His eyes fell on the boy. The boy was shy. The boy was unsure. Heror closed his mouth and cleared his throat, then pointed to the carved wooden disc.


    ¡°He was wondering about this,¡± Heror remarked.


    Cymir leaned forward on his stool and brushed a few scrolls to the side, clearing a line of sight to the artifact. Upon seeing it, he let out an unconscious ¡°ah!¡± and gripped the disc with his hand, resting his elbows on the counter.


    ¡°Come close, child,¡± Cymir said. ¡°Let me show you.¡±


    Cedor glanced at Heror, and Heror nodded with a smile. Cedor stepped forward and lifted ever so slightly on his toes.


    ¡°This is a tool of exploration, of divination,¡± Cymir began, an air of genuine wonder overtaking his voice. ¡°The astrolabe. Sailors aloft the waves of all four seas use the astrolabe to navigate, by judging the position of the stars. The priests of Pyn in Mathingar¡¯s great woodlands use the astrolabe to determine the exact moment of the Equinox, to pay tribute to the guardian of the wilds. The Geisrund, in their temple near to the sky, use the astrolabe to foresee celestial events, to foretell Bor¡¯s Darkness and the bleeding of Gantuin. You see, it is their belief, and many others¡¯, that the Gods themselves use the stars to speak to us, because they are big-minded, and we are small.¡±


    ¡°So you can read what they say to us?¡± Cedor asked, awestruck eyes stuck to the instrument.


    ¡°They are a most mysterious ilk, but I make an attempt,¡± Cymir chuckled. ¡°I craft these myself, but even I had to learn how to read and listen to the Divines with time. You might do the same.¡±


    The talk of the Gods drew an evasive glance away from Heror. A glance and a query from Cedor brought him back into focus.


    ¡°What do you think?¡±


    Heror forced a small smile: ¡°If you want it¡­ see what he wants for it.¡±


    ¡°This is one of only two I have left since leaving Pylantheus,¡± Cymir informed. ¡°And I have made my coin from them. For you, curious Cedor¡­ I think I might gift you a bargain price.¡±


    ¡°I have¡­¡± Cedor said, fishing through his pockets. ¡°¡­ thirty Kivs!¡±


    ¡°I will gift you this for twenty-five.¡±


    ¡°Deal!¡±


    Cymir smirked: ¡°Don¡¯t you want to haggle, child?¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Cedor fumbled, then righted himself and lowered his voice. ¡°Twenty-five simply will not do. It has to be twenty.¡±


    ¡°Twenty-two,¡± Cymir countered.


    ¡°Twenty-one.¡±


    ¡°I accept. You drive a hard bargain, young one.¡±


    Heror grinned as Cedor passed over the coin. In exchange, Cymir presented the astrolabe to him. As Cedor took it in his palms, Cymir tapped the carved wood one last time.


    ¡°The Gods¡¯ gifts give on and on, child,¡± Cymir advised. ¡°Use this to find them.¡±


    Cedor nodded and smiled wide. Heror let out a shallow breath and thanked the merchant. He didn¡¯t ask about Heran.


    As they turned away and strode back toward the fountain, Cedor stared down in awe at his new artifact. Heror guided the boy with a hand on shoulder, and was about to turn back in the direction of Ylar¡¯s stall, when he suddenly ran into Xirre.


    Quickly, he realized that Xirre had sought them out. The girl stopped and was silent for a moment, her hazel eyes jumping between them. Heror remembered he and Cedor had left their original line. Perhaps she had lost them.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Heror offered. ¡°Cedor was¨C¡±


    ¡°Heror,¡± Xirre interrupted. ¡°I¡­¡±


    She paused. Then she continued, emotions veiled: ¡°I need¡­ your help¡­ for something.¡±


    Heror eyed her, brow furrowed. With reservations, he nodded. He approached her and started to guide Cedor along, when Xirre stopped them again.


    ¡°Let¡¯s¡­ take him back first,¡± Xirre said of Cedor, before turning to the boy and lightening her tone: ¡°Da might need your help.¡±


    Xirre gripped Cedor¡¯s hand and led them back to Ylar¡¯s stall. When she and Heror left again, she told Ylar they would continue shopping. But it was clear to Heror there was more she wasn¡¯t letting on. As they walked ¨C Xirre carving through the crowd ahead of Heror ¨C she said nothing. They went past the fountain, across the cobbles, and past the crowds, until Xirre slowed her pace across from a stall near the end of the market row.


    This stall was larger, and Heror recognized it immediately. It was an armorer¡¯s shop, situated close to the district overlap. Past the thinning late morning line and past the counter, stacked with armor pieces and finished weapons, was an stout and gruff older man, with balding grey hair and a greying-brown beard. Upon recognizing the armorer shop, Heror turned to Xirre for an explanation. She took a sharp breath.


    ¡°I need you to help me buy something,¡± she revealed.


    ¡°What?¡±


    Xirre sighed: ¡°A dagger.¡±


    ¡°Why do you need a dagger?¡± Heror asked, unsure.


    ¡°Just¡­ are you going to help?¡± Xirre grumbled. ¡°If you vouch for me, I might be able to convince him.¡±


    ¡°I need to know what you plan on doing with it first,¡± Heror cautioned. ¡°Why don¡¯t you want Ylar to know?¡±


    ¡°Why do you care? Do you really expect me to run off and do something drastic?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just tell me what you want it for?¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you.¡±


    ¡°Xirre.¡±


    Xirre glowered and shifted her eyes away.


    ¡°If you want my help, I need to know,¡± Heror reaffirmed, taking on a serious tone. ¡°A weapon is¡­ not a small purchase.¡±


    Xirre sighed. Her expression weakened, her head still bowed.


    ¡°It¡¯s to protect the farm,¡± Xirre finally replied. ¡°Nothing else.¡±


    She paused. Heror watched her.


    ¡°My da¡­ he still isn¡¯t always¡­ present, a-and¡­ Cedor and Nispur and Nenor are too young, and Aldur¡¯s away fighting, and Uncle Aspur¡¯s hobbled, and¨C¡±


    She caught her voice quickening, and she abruptly went silent. Once more, she sighed.


    ¡°I need to be ready if something happens,¡± she said simply. ¡°Da wouldn¡¯t let me buy it if he knew.¡±


    Heror took a deep breath, then glanced ahead at the armorer shop. He pursed his lips, and after a short thought, he nodded.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll help.¡±


    Xirre nodded back, then sharply turned and made her way toward the shop, parsing past idle market goers as Heror followed close behind. She hadn¡¯t reached the counter yet when the armorer recognized her once again. The old man glared and pressed up against the wood, his low and raggled voice ringing out amidst the chatter.


    ¡°No!¡± the armor merchant snarled as Xirre strode up. ¡°Not you again.¡±


    Heror saw Xirre twitch with anger; she opened her mouth to start arguing again, and so Heror stepped up alongside her to intervene.


    ¡°Sister, stay yourself,¡± Heror improvised, blocking off Xirre with an arm before turning to the merchant: ¡°Can you tell me what the problem is? Maybe I can help clear it up.¡±


    ¡°The problem is, you don¡¯t have this huss on a leash,¡± the old armorer growled.


    Xirre tried to shove past Heror, and Heror held her back again.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Heror asked, shooting a warning glance at the girl.


    ¡°She was trying to buy a dagger,¡± the armorer answered. ¡°She obviously hasn¡¯t been taught that women ¨C let alone young girls ¨C aren¡¯t to wield. Being the elder brother, perhaps you can assist her there. And when I told her ¡®no¡¯, she bickered and tantrumed and used¡­ very colorful language, unbecoming of a lady.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s greatly exaggerating,¡± Xirre hissed in a whisper.


    Heror ignored her: ¡°Sir, is there any way she could make amends and carry on with the purchase? I¡¯ll be¡­ off to the army soon, and¡­ we don¡¯t have protection at the farm¨C¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about making amends,¡± the armorer scowled. ¡°It¡¯s the law of men. She isn¡¯t to wield.¡±


    ¡°Please, sir, you have to reconsider¨C¡±


    ¡°I am done discussing this. Hold up my line any longer and I¡¯ll call the guards on you for hassling my shop.¡±


    The man aggressively turned away and acknowledged another customer, leaving Heror and Xirre. Xirre glared at the merchant, as if she could burn through skull with eyes alone, but Heror pulled her away from the counter. As soon as they left, he halted her next to the line.


    ¡°Fake an argument and give me your Kivs,¡± Heror whispered to her.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re going to fake an argument,¡± Heror explained. ¡°I¡¯ll take your Kivs as punishment. Then I¡¯ll buy the dagger for you.¡±


    Xirre understood, and showed it with a smirk. Not a second later, she unleashed a fake shove ¨C real enough to elicit a surprised grunt from Heror ¨C and commenced her tirade.


    ¡°You could¡¯ve done more,¡± she lamented, raising her voice with fabricated emotion. ¡°You should¡¯ve done more!¡±


    ¡°Excuse me??¡± Heror scoffed.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t even try to get me that dagger!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my job to clean up your messes!¡±


    ¡°There you go, acting like I¡¯m the problem again!¡±


    ¡°Yes! You¡¯re the problem!¡±


    In the close vicinity, heads began to turn. So too did the armorer¡¯s.


    ¡°Maybe if you¡¯d just known your place, you wouldn¡¯t be such a burden!¡± Heror exclaimed.


    ¡°¡®Known my place??¡¯ You¡¯re just like all the rest of them! Closed-minded, pretentious, prejudiced swine!¡±


    ¡°Ah yes, there¡¯s that colorful language! You know what?? That¡¯s it!¡±


    Heror grasped Xirre¡¯s wrist; Xirre discreetly passed over the Kivs. And then Heror wrenched the coin purse away.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t know how to be responsible with your words and actions, then maybe you shouldn¡¯t be responsible for this.¡±


    ¡°Hey, give that back!¡± Xirre feigned.


    As Xirre stood agape, Heror stomped up to the market stall again and slapped the coin purse onto the counter. The armorer¡¯s eyes ¨C a bit startled ¨C met his.


    ¡°Sir, I would like to apologize sincerely for my sister¡¯s poor behavior,¡± Heror began. ¡°I assure you she will no longer be wandering the market on her own.¡±


    ¡°No apology is necessary, young man. Accountability satisfies me well enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and I will absolutely be holding her accountable for her actions,¡± Heror went on, glancing back. ¡°I think this coin belongs with no one else but you. And I¡¯d like to buy the dagger she wanted for myself. Think that¡¯ll teach her a lesson, won¡¯t it?¡±


    The armorer looked past Heror at Xirre, who crossed her arms and looked away in disgust. Then he grinned and let out a chuckle.


    ¡°Yes, yes it would.¡±


    The armorer swiped the coin purse, then ventured to the left and retrieved a honed steel dagger with a dark leather sheath. He returned and presented the dagger to Heror, who took it in both hands.


    ¡°Use it well,¡± the armorer advised. ¡°And keep an eye on your sister. Let ¡®er know a husband wouldn¡¯t take well to that attitude of hers. Better if she¡¯s set right sooner rather than later.¡±


    ¡°I will, I will,¡± Heror assured him. ¡°Thank you for showing grace.¡±


    Heror stepped away from the stall and rejoined Xirre. He stopped and looked back until the armorer eyed him again. Then he handed the dagger to Xirre.


    The armorer¡¯s jaw dropped, dumbfounded and aghast. Heror turned and left. Xirre smirked wide and triumphant. She raised an eyebrow at the old man, then hurried after her fake brother.


    ~:{~}:~


    It was almost midday when Heror and Xirre returned to Ylar¡¯s stall. And already at midday, the market¡¯s many crowds began to disperse. The merchants began closing their shops, to spend the rest of the day¡¯s waking hours on their work. Ylar joined them in this. And as Heror and Xirre approached, Ylar and Cedor had nearly finished packing the cart again.


    ¡°Ah, Xirre! There you are!¡± Ylar exclaimed at the sight of his daughter. ¡°Did you find what you wanted?¡±


    Xirre shot Heror a quick glance, then smiled and nodded.


    ¡°Yes, I found it.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful! If you two could help me finish cleaning up around the stall, I¡¯ve only got one more thing to attend to before we leave today.¡±


    They finished tidying the area and readying the cart, and then Ylar led the way ¨C not toward the gate, but southeast along the market row. They carried on until they came to a stall that was still set up ¨C manned by a large, black-bearded ironworker. As Heror and Xirre settled the cart, Ylar greeted his fellow merchant, who seemed disinterested as he wrapped a hammer¡¯s handle.


    ¡°Afternoon, Tyric!¡±


    ¡°Pleasure, Ylar. What d¡¯ya need today?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking to buy some iron fittings and hinges, among other things,¡± Ylar said. ¡°Equipment¡¯s in a pretty bad way right now. How much for¡­ say¡­ twenty fittings, three hinges, and a door latch?¡±


    ¡°For new prices, y¡¯can refer to th¡¯parchment.¡±


    ¡°New prices?¡±


    Ylar¡¯s eyes fell and landed on the parchment, which sat at the front of the ironworker¡¯s table. Almost immediately, Ylar¡¯s expression shifted. His face went pale.


    ¡°These¡­ are¡­¡±


    He stopped and cleared his throat.


    ¡°These seem higher than¡­ when I last came here.¡±


    ¡°More Proven raids out east over th¡¯past few months,¡± Tyric mumbled. ¡°Losin¡¯ supply. Roads isn¡¯t safe. Towns isn¡¯t any safer.¡±


    ¡°Enough to mark up¡­ this much?¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯know business, Ylar. This how¡¯t is.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Ylar weighed a coin purse weakly in his hand. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t make these prices work.¡±


    Tyric set down the hammer and started gathering smaller tools, eyes away from the conversation. Ylar took a deep breath and stepped closer.


    ¡°You sure you can¡¯t give a small discount? I¡¯ve still got some barley left from today. Could trade.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t ¡®ave livestock to feed. Sorry, Ylar.¡±


    ¡°But¨C¡±


    Now Tyric looked up, eyes stern but compassionate: ¡°If y¡¯can scrounge the coin, I¡¯ll be ¡®appy to supply to ya. But I got costs. I can¡¯t be cuttin¡¯ prices. I¡¯m sorry, friend.¡±


    Heror saw Ylar¡¯s jaw clench. The farmer frowned and fought the urge to bargain any longer. And then, after a moment, he summoned a small, feeble nod, and started to turn away.


    ¡°Alright, then. Thank you anyway, Tyric.¡±


    Ylar looked troubled when Heror saw him fully turn.


    They ventured back to the city gate and out onto the main road, lugging the lighter cart behind them. And then, to Heror¡¯s surprise, Ylar stopped them at the stables. He tossed the coin purse to Heror.


    ¡°Go and fetch your horse. You¡¯ll need him.¡±

 Announcement

    Hey, everyone! An announcement for future Divinium chapters:


    My backlog has run dry, and life has been too busy lately to keep replenishing it. For that reason, the Divinium series will be put on pause for the time being. I appreciate all of the comments and reviews, and all of you that stuck around to the story''s current point, more than you can know. But I also need to return to a point where I''m writing simply because I enjoy it, not because I feel obligated to hit deadlines.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Thank you all for believing in the story and giving it your valuable time and energy. It will be back. That much, I can promise. I''ve grown to love this story, and I have big plans for its continuation and what it can become. I can''t say for sure when it will be back. But once I get back into it, I''ll continue posting chapters here.


    Take care of yourselves. Peace out for now!