Storri looked upset by the decision, but Kefier tried not to let it get to him. They separated, and he directed his horse to the narrow trail that seemed to lead towards the shore. The trail became rocky as it angled downhill, which gave the horses a hard time. Even the steps that had been cut into the rock every few paces did not seem to help.
After what felt like forever, they reached the shore. The grey sea rolled like an enormous blanket in the distance. Kefier caught Ailat gazing out at it with an expression he couldn’t read. He didn’t have to, though; the Gorent islands lay somewhere in that direction. Never again their home.
He cleared his throat and pointed at the tall, black cliffs around them. “I thought maybe this was a weak point of entry,” he said. “Hard to aim at someone down here from the battlements. If they get this far.”
Abel said nothing, which didn’t surprise him. Ailat, though, looked thoughtful. “We could take the slaves through here. It looks safer than what you had planned.”
“If there’s path from the fort...”
“Why wouldn’t there be?” Ailat asked. “Enosh’s books used to say these places have more than one entryway. There’s a backdoor for deliveries and supplies.”
“I knew that,” Kefier mumbled. He glanced at the sea. If they were receiving supplies from Lon Basden, it made sense to have it delivered by sea. There were no large roads this far south of Dageis. Even when Oji took him from Lon Basden, they had to take a ship.
Ailat’s horse surged south towards the cliffs, away from the wall that jutted into the sea. He let his horse trot amiably after hers. On the beach, they passed by massive piles of driftwood and kelp. If not for the horses—a luxury they did not require in the islands—he could’ve imagined they were back in Gorent. The cold, salt-smelling mist was exactly the sort they would get during the winter, too.
They didn’t see much else as they rode down. “Chances are that backdoor’s on the other side of the wall,” Kefier said, breaking the silence. “Makes sense, anyway. Closer to Lon Basden.”
“There’s a cave there,” Ailat said, pointing.
Kefier grimaced. “I don’t see a dock. There’s no way they bring supplies through there.”
She gave him a look. “It could be connected.”
“Or not.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one looking for ways to get this done?”
“Nag some more and people will think we’re married,” Kefier said. He chuckled. She didn’t seem to share his amusement. He dismounted, tying the horse to a substantial piece of driftwood. Ailat followed his lead.
“You shouldn’t joke about such things,” she said, after a moment. She seemed genuinely upset.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Kefier rubbed the back of his head. “Stay here and keep an eye on things,” he added, turning to Abel. The boy barely gave a hint of acknowledgement, but Kefier figured he would come around soon enough if there were signs of danger.
They walked past gnarled rock formations with thin, flat mushrooms growing from the cracks. At the entrance of the cave, Kefier saw an unlit torch set into a sconce attached to the granite. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “You’re right, after all.”
The floor of the cave was damp, but he could make out the barest imprint of a path in the rock. He followed it. A few paces in, he saw a ladder, wrapped against a ledge with rope. It led down into darkness.
“No one would bother with a ladder if it leads nowhere,” Ailat said. “It might be a tunnel. It would certainly lead back to the fortress.”
“You got this out of Enosh’s books?”
“He had a lot of them.” She paused for a moment. “I think maybe there was one about Fort Oras, too. It’s been too long.”
“If I had known that, I would’ve asked you for advice months ago. Maybe you can replace Sthura.” Kefier reached the edge of the ladder and swung down. He stared into the darkness. After a few moments, his eyes adjusted, and he could make out the faint outline of the rock the ladder was leaning on and the rungs beneath him. He began to make his way down.
To his relief, he felt solid ground underneath him. He blinked and saw the silhouette of more sconces along the cave walls. He heard Ailat climbing down the ladder after him. “I’m willing to bet my life that leads straight to the fort,” he said.
She gave him a look.
“I know,” Kefier grinned. “You told me so. I’m a fucking idiot. You can let me hear all about it later.”
“What need would there be for that?” she asked.
“Nothing. I was just making—” He stopped, hearing a creak above him. He saw the ladder being pulled up. He roared, reaching out to grab it, but the ladder slid out of his grasp and disappeared over the ledge.
“Who the fuck did that?” Kefier’s voice echoed against the walls. “Abel? Abel!” He heard footsteps, but he couldn’t see anything.
He turned to Ailat. Even in the dark, he could tell that she had gone pale. “That boy, did he have something against you?” she asked.
“Was it that obvious?” Kefier groaned. “Abel!” he called out again. He thought he heard horses nickering. He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm despite the weight of the darkness around him.
After a moment of silence, he turned to Ailat. “Well,” he said, trying to keep his voice as cheerful as possible. “I think we’re royally fucked.”
Kefier was used to silence. He had spent a good portion of his childhood trying to run away from the people he thought made his life miserable, and then again a decent amount of his adulthood doing the same thing. Even when he was just a mercenary in the Boarshind, he liked to lock himself up in the quarters when everyone was out whoring or drinking to give himself time to breathe and think about things.
This was different.
Minutes after he realized that he was going nowhere, that more importantly the darkness was going nowhere, he panicked. His heart pounded as if he had been running, his palms began to get cold and sweaty, and he began to pace. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Ailat stepped away from him and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Kefier said, automatically. He rubbed his forehead. “I think.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “You were taken by the Dageians too, weren’t you?”
Kefier took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said.
“For how long?”
“Long enough.” He looked up. Sweat was building up over his nose and the folds of his eyes. Realizing that talking was helping him calm down, he took another breath. “Two years, actually.”
“Ab,” Ailat murmured. “And I thought a few months felt long.”
“They had me on the oars for a while, but I was too little. Couldn’t keep up. They locked me in the pantry and sold me in Lon Basden as soon as they could. I went through three masters in a year. I…” He wiped the sweat from his cheek. “Fuck this. Fuck you, Abel! Ailat, don’t get close…”
She froze, halfway towards approaching me. “Why?”
“Because I killed my friend the last time this happened!” Hearing the words with his own ears felt unreal. “I was—I don’t know, Ailat. I thought I was over this.”
“Just stay there, then,” she said. “Breathe.”
“I’m trying.” He closed his eyes. The memory of that day in Hartmur came rolling back to him. Killing Oji had been one of the easiest things he had ever done in his life. The way Kefier’s sword slid into his belly like butter...
“Talk about what they did to you,” Ailat said.
He managed a smile. “How would that help?”
“I don’t know. It helps me, to face the reality. They killed my girls. They were seven and four. They made me watch and I couldn’t do a thing.” She said it evenly, her voice hardly breaking. Compared to her, he was a mess. “After that,” she said, “they took me to the ship, where the Dageians raped me over and over again.”
“I’m sorry,” Kefier said.
“Why? You didn’t do those things.”
“They used to beat me, along with the other boys,” Kefier finally mumbled. “Not for anything I did. I think they were trying to see if they could sell me as a mage-thrall. If I showed signs of connection to the agan...” He struggled with the memories and shook his head. “This isn’t helping. It’s...not an excuse.”
“No,” Ailat murmured. “Worse have been done to others. They move on.”
“I killed my friend because I couldn’t handle my shit. He didn’t deserve it. By all the gods, I would have died for that man.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Ten, eleven years? Ab, it’s been that long…” He placed his hands over his eyes. He heard Ailat sit a few paces away from him.
“You’re a little better now,” she pointed out.
“I don’t think so.”
“I meant to say that you’re not shaking anymore. I don’t know about all the rest.”
Kefier looked at his hands. “I guess this means I can at least wring Abel’s little neck.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Death and betrayal...this is my life, now, hard as it has been for me to accept. Are you sure you want to be involved in all of this, Ailat?”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice when you rescued me,” she said flatly.
“I suppose not. I—”
“It would help me a great deal if you don’t complain about it, though.”
He scratched his beard. “A fair point.”
Ailat pressed her hands up against the wall where the ladder had been. “I mean, it sounds to me like you’ve done nothing but beat yourself up over this little fact for the past ten or eleven years. I wouldn’t be surprised if you formed your whole life around it.”
He felt her words dig into his heart. “Rosha’s mother is Oji’s sister,” he admitted.
“Ab’s balls. You’re hopeless.” She looked him in the eye. “Do you remember why you married me?”
“I…”
“I’ll remind you. You found me crying over something your brother did, so you took pity and asked me. I was angry at Enosh and touched by your kindness, so I said yes. Here you are, well over half of our lives later, and you’re still doing the exact same thing.”
“When you put it that way…”
“When I put it that way, it makes you sound pathetic, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he mumbled.
“Have you ever done anything that didn’t revolve around this guilt?”
He forced himself to laugh. “Which guilt, in particular? There’s layers of them.”
“It’s good you find this amusing. I suppose a false sense of comfort is better than nothing at all.”
“Did you go to the school of barbed words while we were away?” Kefier suddenly noticed that there were metal brackets jutting out of the rock that kept the ladder in place when it was there. He touched one. It was made of iron. “I think this could hold your weight,” he said. “Better you than me, anyway.”
Ailat tested the piece of iron with her foot. With a look of determination on her face, she pulled herself up, grabbing the next above her. “Drop the ladder when you’re up there,” he called out, as she began to make the climb.
She disappeared over the ledge. He heard her dragging something heavy and stepped away from the wall. The ladder dropped with a thud. He grabbed a rung and pulled himself up.
“For what it’s worth,” Kefier said, as soon as he saw Ailat on the ledge, “I think I’m in love with her, for her. Rosha’s mother, I mean. I think I’ll die if I never see her again.”
“That’s nice,” Ailat said. “But I think it’s time we check if our horses are still there.”
“You started it.” He pulled out his sword and took the lead as they walked out of the cave. To his surprise, the horses were still there, including Abel’s.
“What in the hell?” Kefier began. He saw footprints on the beach and glanced up. He saw two robed men standing over what appeared to be a cowering, yellow-haired figure. One looked up as he came. Kefier’s sword slid into him. He pushed him away with his foot, turning towards the other, but he was too slow. The other mage was already fleeing.
He grabbed Abel by the shirt, pulling him up. The young man’s skin was ashen, but he seemed unharmed, otherwise. His eyes were wide open. “I guess your little plan didn’t work,” Kefier snarled. He lifted his sword. Abel cringed, but said nothing.
After a moment, Kefier pulled back, sheathing his blade, and smashed his fist into Abel’s cheek once instead. “Get the fuck on your horse,” he said. “We have to warn the others.” He grabbed his mount’s reins from Ailat as she came up behind him.
“Is it wise to take him back with us?” Ailat asked.
“He just learned it’s a hundred times better to deal with Gorenten than Dageians,” Kefier said. “I’ll take care of him back at camp. Move!” He dug his heels into his horse and galloped away from the beach.
Interlude
The dragon-tower calls out to Jarche like a pulse and the promise of warmth on a cold day. She has not expected an answer when she reached out in desperation from where she stands, trapped between Naijwa’s beast and a narrow incline around the cliff side. She draws against the fabric, nudging her way past the veil, and feels the first flow coming straight from the dragon-tower, and deep within.
The new connection strengthens her. She wipes snow from her face and adjusts her footing. She regrets having worn boots. She usually does not like wearing such footwear, but she thought it necessary for a trek such as this one, especially on a winter’s day. The boots have a poor grip on rock, a fact vastly different from what the storekeeper has told her when she bought them. If she ever makes it back, he would get an earful from her. Perhaps she will even write angry letters.
The thought fills her with a moment of energy. Truth be told, most of it has disappeared in the hours—days?—she spent fending off the beast, but a part of her still believes she has more to spare. She has to. She still does not know how she is supposed to trap the creature, let alone figure out how to transport it across the continent. There was a reason Enosh went through all that trouble to try to build tunnels across Gaspar, painting them with spells as they went along. A painstaking process.
But Gorrhen, as he names himself now, wants this done now.
Jarche remembers explaining to him, like a mother would lecture a little child, of the progress they had already made over the years—a progress that his impatience may well extinguish. He used to be better at listening to her. Lately, however, he is not. The girl, Rosha, has something to do with it.
“We can do this now,” he has told her, his voice thick with excitement she has not heard for a long time. “After so long, the King has finally given in—and Kirosha is stronger than any of rog-Bannal’s mages’ line. It will fold before her like a dog on a leash.”
“She is a mere child,” Jarche remembers telling him, “yet untrained.”
“What have you been doing all these years, then?”
“Prepping her.”
“Her father could do it with a year of training.”
“He was sixteen years old and we didn’t know what we were dealing with. Now, it’s a hundred times the size it was and in the shape of a dragon, besides. It would’ve killed him in a day.”
“There are always risks to these things. I did not work all these years just to back out now, Jarche.”
Jarche closes her eyes, hearing the creature move below her, its tail whipping against the trees like a gust of wind. The dragon-tower calls to her again. With renewed energy, she opens her eyes and turns to the creature, preparing herself for the mental onslaught that would come every time she has tried to do this herself.
Its eye rolls towards her. Jarche sees her reflection, even from the distance—a memory trick—and blocks her senses. As the assault begins, she glimpses a sword protruding from the scales in the creature’s back. There is also a rusted length of chain
around its neck.
She reaches for more agan from the dragon-tower and focuses on her breathing. A chain…she remembers the man who has, apparently, held the creature for three years. She is hazy on the details from Arn’s report, but something about that struck her as downright impossible. A normal man, even if he was a prince, could not have controlled the beast without the agan.
But then, you could have said the same about dragons, back in the day.
She smiles. The dragon-tower. Of course. They mistrust the agan in Jin-Sayeng, not realizing that the towers they used to train and capture the beasts were linked to vast connections of it under these mountains. The chain on the creature’s neck means the prince must have, at some point, been able to subdue it. It wasn’t a coincidence that he chose to lead the creature here. Even if it wasn’t a dragon, what worked on one creature of agan could work on another. An intelligent man, this prince…I would have loved to meet him.
The creature, somehow sensing her thoughts, chooses this moment to lunge at her.
But Jarche is quick, quicker than most women her age—though it is true, also, that most women her age would have long rotted away. Then she is on the ground, and then she is drawing on the agan to propel herself through the air. The creature smashes into rock and trees along the way but she remains one step ahead of it, always one step until at last, she reaches the tower.
It takes flight, barreling towards her. She feels it smash against the tower wall. She ignores it now, making her way up the steps while she continues to focus on the spells that prevent the creature from overwhelming her thoughts.
About halfway up the tower, she sees a length of chain coiled around a post and attached to a hook. She takes it, marvelling at the rush she feels as soon as she touches the cold metal. A soft, blue glow emanates from her hands. She runs across the bridge, just in time to see the creature swoop below her. She fiddles with the hook and then throws it. It hits the creature as it passes by, digging right between its shoulder blades.
Both excitement and fear builds up inside Jarche’s throat. Is she hesitating? The creature roars as it flails at the end of the chain. The tower shakes as it pulls; it will not be long before it will shake itself free.
An Elegy of Heroes Page 107
