by Sean J Leith
“Kindro?”
Kindro jumped in his seat, probably surprised to hear Zaedor speak for the first time in days. He sauntered over with his chair and planted himself down. “Finally deciding to talk?”
“Yes. I apologize for what I did. I was wrong. I realize that now.”
“We’ve all made mistakes. We’re all stuck here.”
Zaedor knew Kindro was a forgiving man, so he accepted that. He placed a hand on Kindro’s muscular shoulder and nodded with a smile. Thankfully, Kindro returned it. Zaedor rose from his chair, toward the division of his and Freya’s cage.
After a deep, anxiety-ridden breath, he spoke up to the one who hated him. “Freya?”
Freya looked to him with contempt. “What?”
He didn’t dance around the point. “I’m sorry. I was a fool, and I know that now. He was your friend, and I murdered him in cold blood for my hate of someone else.”
Freya’s eyes widened. She turned and leaning against the divide. “I told you to become that way. I shouldn’t have been so pushy about it—”
“No. You are not at fault. I was told to stop, but I continued my vengeful path.” Zaedor looked to the hard floor. “I destroyed a family, and one day I must to atone for it.”
Freya sighed, looking toward the rest of the room. “Funny, I have a hard time believing you’re going to get the chance to do that.” Her voice trailed off with a sigh. “You seem sincere. Fine, I accept your apology. You’re still sheltered as all hell, though. One day you’re going to talk to his wife yourself, if you can. I’ll make sure of that.”
Zaedor nodded. She was right, he needed a way out. They all did. Does the plan have to be complex? he thought. There were many doors in the long hall beyond their room, and only in some instances were the prisoners removed from their cages. He looked at Kindro, then the guards, the other prisoners, and finally, the hall. It suddenly all came together. It was reckless, it was stupid, but it could—no, it must—work. “I might get the chance. We all might.”
Kindro and Freya looked to him, muddled.
“I have a plan,” Zaedor claimed, tapping his forefinger to his chin, drawing his eyes to the guards, to the door, and finally, to his partner in the cage.
“I thought you were a law-abiding gentleman, Zaedor-of-Amirion,” Freya said mockingly.
“Not when the law is slavery,” Zaedor replied in a cold tone.
Chapter Twenty-eight
A Haven of Unseen Strength
Saul Bromaggus
Saul and the others failed once more in Elaston. The region was filled with forests. It reminded Saul of the Vale, with the exception that the trees were strange. They were more russet-brown, rather than the blackwood of the Vale. The forests were thick and humid, the leaves were broad and shiny, and lush moss covered every part of the forest’s floors, it seemed. The wood burned brighter in their camps, the skies seemed clearer than Saul saw before.
Saul didn’t mind the travel, as it reminded him of his training in the wilderness. The other Broken were restless, panicking more as they reached the Plateau border. Fae grew more reluctant to follow his rule, but chose to stay with the group until Shi’doba.
Elaston was a grand city, with smokey stone walls. They were very peculiar, more cowardly than Saul expected from a city in the Neck. Then again, no one could be as bad as Rhoba. Spineless wretches. He was right to cut each and every one of them down.
Elaston was afraid of outsiders. The guards questioned them endlessly about their intentions, about their goods, beliefs, combat ability, farming experience, racial preferences, thoughts on the Dragon of the Vale, and infinitely more. In the end, they still weren’t allowed in. They saw only the guards: one Human, one Hydris, and no more. A pale-skinned, vibrato-voiced fool, and a slithering, shaking snake. Their voices seemed untrained. There was reluctance in their tongues, and a lack of sophistication in their words. Something was off—Saul was sure of that—but there was no way they could get through the massive stone gate, or climb the wall, and thus, turned away.
With each passing day, Broken morale depleted. Each began questioning his or her purpose. Many asked why they couldn’t make their own city in Rhoba, while the others said it was cursed land. Saul knew it was a place defiled by blood magic. They sought a new home, in one of the other seven cities, if they would have them.
Saul felt drawn to the Plateau, not knowing why. They were walking into a civil war and did not know what to expect. It was unknown who was winning, where the line was, or if the battle was simply comprised of secret meetings and small skirmishes. Fae and a few of the others wished to go to the capital to join the main force, while others stuck with Saul, wanting more information. Rushing in could get them killed.
He only knew that Hydris were cowards, a foolish race that used others. They and the Broken were once allies, but betrayed by the leader, Cadrayda Kashral, head of the Hydrian council, two hundred years past. The war raged slowly—and sometimes silently—for years above the Neck, until the Broken master of Earth, Lok’thori, split Kathynta in two. Why did he not sink their land? Saul wondered. Possibly so that we may claim it for our own one day. He did not wish to help the damned snakes. They betrayed his people. But if there was a war over the Broken…
Days upon days passed until the final city of the Neck rose on the horizon. Their Ravagers were exhausted. Although bred to ride for miles upon miles, they’d had no true rest in days. Saul’s back and legs burned beyond belief. With the seven cities being isolated and withdrawn, especially Elaston, they worried about not finding a home. When the final city appeared, Saul wondered whether they would find hope there, or more disappointment.
Shi’doba was a smaller city than the others. It was encased within a series of large wooden pillars dug deep into the ground, with leather coatings extending from one to the next to form a weak wall. Saul saw many herds running through the plains as they exited the Elastonian Jungle, and they did not seem in short supply. As they approached closer, many of the buildings within were built with wood of the forests, a smooth russet-brown with straw roofs from the plains. In the distance around the city, he could see farms of corn, turnip, and potato, with many more in the distance.
Two Hydrian guards stood at the entrance, their narrowed eyes staring at the Broken who approached. What in the hells are they looking at us like that for? Saul thought. A couple more Hydris and many Humans passed by the entrance, making double-takes. Every one of them did.
The group came to a halt before the guards, each clad in azure scale mail but no cloaks, and battered leg plates. Saul spotted the insignia of a mountain on their shoulder plates.
“Is this Shi’doba?” Saul asked. He was suspicious of them. He looked to the others, who kept their hands on their weapon hilts and hafts.
“It is. What is your business here?” one guard demanded.
“We seek shelter, at least for the night.” Saul gave the lightest touch he could, as this was the final city before the Plateau. He did not want to go further south just yet, even if he felt pulled there. Nor did he wish to take shelter and gather food from the damned Hydris, but they had no choice. He needed time to decide and, with Fae’s lack of patience, he didn’t have long. With every day she grew more irritable, and the other Broken began to ignore commands. Some were cynical of the Vale teachings.
The guards exchanged curious glances. They shifted their eyes. “I’m not so sure,” the same guard said in a hissing tone.
Saul eyed them carefully. “Is something wrong?”
“N—no, nothing’s wrong.” The guard’s attention was off.
Saul glanced back toward the north, with jungles far unseen on the horizon. Food was plentiful there, but twenty Broken living in a damned forest was not a good life—and one with no purpose. Their choice was between seeking refuge in a city with some Hydris on the border of the Plateau or going into the Plateau itself.
“Oh, for gods sakes. Lyrshal, let them in. Hurry!” a modulated, silvery voice called out from be
tween their shoulders in the Hydrian tongue. Saul was glad the Chromatan academy learned it; it was close to the language of the Dragons, and they needed to know the words of their enemies.
Here were enemies he actually sought refuge with—and this one weaved between strongly built guards with meticulous grace and no weapon—simply a small Hydrian woman with a finely-crafted magenta dress.
The guard, Lyrshal, growled a response to the small woman. “We can’t, Lady Thalia. You saw what happened last time,”
What happened what time?” Fae growled from beside Saul. Always speaking out of turn.
The so-called Thalia waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing. We’ll speak about it in time,” she said in an innocent tone. “Come with me, all of you. We have plenty of room.” Her azure, snake-like eyes bore into Saul’s. “And you are—”
“Saul Bromaggus,” he replied.
She smiled devilishly, looked across them, and eyed Saul up and down. “A pleasure; my name is Thalia. Come with me, and quickly. It’s safe here. If you don’t trust me, then you’re free to leave.”
Saul walked forward grudgingly. This Hydrian woman, Thalia, was more forward than those in Rhoba. This being the last city in the neck, Saul felt forced to enter by his own need to avoid the Plateau. The only places left for them to go were the Plateau itself, and the Blackcore Mountains where the Dark Terran Miners lay.
She walked with a commanding swagger, leading them with a flick of her finger. The guards sighed and moved aside. The Broken followed her, keeping their eyes on the surroundings. Her long, thick hunter green hair was decorated by silver and gold piercings along her rigid ears, and her braids shone brightly in the sunlight. She turned periodically to wave to and greet citizens, ocean-like azure eyes giving warm tidings. For a peculiar reason, she reminded him of the vale, hair as the dark canopy above, skin as the light ferns below.
It was fascinating to see such a small woman be regarded so well. She was a short and narrowly built, five feet and two inches, possibly—and likely unfit for any form of combat. She was half the size of Mirakia Othellun, his old Warmaster. Saul thought this new Hydris weak—hardly commanding in a Broken society. But with every smile she gave, they bowed. With every bow she graced them with, they bowed lower.
He watched each citizen they passed, seeing many double-take, or glance. They were a modest people, homes in the shape of cones made with large wooden pillars, leather, and cloth, leaving a smoke vent at the top. Others were built with wood from the forests, strongly made with sidings, and several gardens in behind for fruits and vegetables. Few were built with stone, only select ones made for people of a higher status, Saul assumed.
There was one distinguishable note of all houses in the city. All of them, without exception, were damaged in some way. The high-set cloth homes were covered in patchwork, the wooden homes broken and battered, wooden slats filling in the holes, fences were left dangling, and gardens were ripped up. The brick homes had breaks in the walls and makeshift mortar patched each one.
“What happened to the houses in this place?” Saul spoke up.
“We will talk about that when we get inside,” Thalia said. “Be patient.”
Saul could only feel impatient, and the situation reminded him of Rhoba. He had been led through that city, nicely and quietly, and then imprisoned. “I don’t like being led to a mysterious place without knowing the purpose,” Saul scoffed.
Thalia stopped abruptly and turned with a powerful step. Her silk, magenta robe swished along the earth below, revealing bare feet. The rest of the Broken jumped back, but Saul didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms and eyed them carefully, particularly their arms. “Some of your allies have scars on their arms. Did you come from Rhoba?”
That took Saul aback. She knew about the disgraces of that place and she took them in—and for what?
“That’s what I thought.” She turned back. “Do not worry, this place is not like that.” Her tone was modulated.
Saul felt he could trust her words, possibly. Gorum’s tone was honeyed and discerning, while hers was bold and straightforward. He didn’t sense a lie, but she was still a damned Hydris. Regardless, Saul wasn’t planning on drinking any tea here. They passed a large stone building where Saul heard crashing of steel. He stopped abruptly. “There’s a training area?” Saul asked, trying to contain his need for battle.
“Yes, but it’s small. We try to keep it up, but there are some issues with that. We’ll speak of that once we get to the homestead.” She continued walking, waving for them to follow without looking back.
What is the homestead? He assumed it was a place to keep them for a time, since there were twenty Broken walking into their city. Saul was still suspicious, keeping his hand on his blade hilt. Thalia walked ahead with a strut, no weapon or anything visible on her. How can she trust us? She’s a Hydris. We are sworn enemies.
His grip tightened on his blade as he eyed the townspeople around him. Each Hydris they passed looked to them with wide eyes but did not run or shrink back. They continued to till their small fields and gardens, hammer their nails, and tan their leathers. They seemed to be a simple people, but the repair of buildings, minimal plants in the farms, lack of leathers at the tanner’s, and no blades hanging at the blacksmith was concerning.
As they walked, Saul looked down to her bare feet again. Walking upon such rough ground while wearing such fine silk was enough for him to speak up. “Why do you walk in bare feet? The ground is rough and stone-covered.” Her habit confused him, and almost made him uncomfortable.
“I prefer the feeling of the ground. It’s sort of soothing, don’t you think?” She chuckled. With an abrupt stop, she waved her hand toward a long, stone building. “Here we are.”
They came to a large stone building with a well-made, wood-planked roof. It was as large as the barracks in the Vale, which housed a hundred men. Its mortar was pale as the moon, and the stones were a smoky grey. She walked forward to the large oak door, which rushed open with a swish of her finger.
Saul raised his eyebrow, looking to the others. He reluctantly followed. Saul knew nothing of magic, and it was rare for a Broken to be versed in it, if any even were. Magic was seen as cowardly in some of the clans, as Wizards spent hours reading and little time in actual combat. The Hydris were not known for their magical abilities, either, but it was not unheard of to be so inclined. He kept his left hand on his hilt and cautiously approached the door. The others followed.
It was a large, open building with rough stone walls like the outside, and lined with beds. She led them to a seating room on one side with a long oak table, motioning for them to sit. There were twelve broad wooden chairs in all; some Broken sat, and the rest stood against the wall.
Thalia slid into the chair at the end, crossed her legs, and relaxed into a leisurely lean. “I’ll be frank. The people of Shi’doba are Broken sympathizers.”
“We don’t need sympathy,” Saul growled. He looked to the others, and they nodded in agreement.
Thalia waved her hand gracefully, but dismissively. “Oh, of course not. Why then are you wandering the Neck in search of a home?” Saul could hear grumbles from the others. “There’s a civil war in the Plateau, did you know?”
“Yes, we’re aware of it,” Saul said plainly.
“Aware of it? You’re afraid of it!” Fae slammed her fist across the table. Others yelled in agreement. Saul detested that they would even think that of him.
“I’m not afraid. Their business is not ours, and they are our sworn enemies!” Saul pointed to Thalia.
Thalia cleared her throat. “Ahem, I’m right here.” Her voice was as smooth as silk. “Is that what you learn in the north? That I’m your enemy?”
“Your people. We’ve warred for centuries.” But the words of his goddess crossed through his thoughts once more. If you had to choose between joining forces with an orderly and strong Hydrian society or a dishonorable, backstabbing Broken one, which would you choose?
; He didn’t know.
Thalia laughed. “The last true war was two hundred years ago. Do you know anything about that war?” she said, swishing her hand across the table.
“The Hydris provoked us. We defended ourselves, and the power of Lok’thori, who delivered the Vale from their treachery.” Saul had been told that since he was young. Stories of the Hydris, who were once peaceful, but betrayed them and started a war that lasted years upon years.
Thalia gnashed her teeth. “Lok’thori saved both. The Broken were insulted by a peace treaty and attacked the Plateau. Do they tell you that up there?”
None of them had a response. We attacked them? No, that’s impossible, Saul thought.
A smirk grew from the corner of Thalia’s lips. “No, I didn’t think so. That’s what that Dragon tells you. That we’re at war, and that we’re the enemy. Is that right?”
“We have no reason to think otherwise.” Saul said bluntly. “That’s—”
“The reason your hand hasn’t left your hilt yet?” Thalia cut in, eyes locked on Saul’s.
She was clearly observant, and alert. Her ears were perkier than those of others, as if listening to every sound within a mile. Her slit of an iris scanned everyone at every moment, and made it seem effortless. “Now, enough of wars and enemies.” The clack of her sharp, deep green nails upon the wooden table echoed through the room. “Tell me, how did you escape Rhoba? Rumors from the northern cities is that those drakes had a shield no one could get through. If you get in, you don’t come out.”
Each Broken turned his or her gaze to Saul.
Saul cleared his throat, feeling the gaze of the entire room. “I got out.”
“He got everyone out. I saw him break the chains himself,” Drof said. He tapped his fingers on the table as he stared downward. “Rhoba is destroyed. Everyone is gone, either they’ve run or died.”
Thalia sat up straight and narrowed her eyes. “Everyone is—dead? You all killed them?”
“He killed all of them,” Fae corrected her.
