by Robert Day
With an effort, he pushed back the heavy blankets and studied himself. His left arm was heavily bandaged from wrist to elbow, and he could barely move his fingers, the effort shooting a burning pain up his arm.
A shuffling from beyond the door heralded an arrival, and the face that appeared as the door swung silently open almost made Kyle laugh with joy. Seeming almost abashed, Alric entered the room as quietly as possible, carrying with him a tray laden with food and a pitcher. He closed the door quickly with a whispered complaint about ‘keeping out the cold’. When he set the tray on the bed beside Kyle, he took the blankets and settled them back over his wounded patient.
“No good recovering if you only let yourself fall ill again,” he chastised good naturedly, setting himself on the single stool. “You took quite a wound there, and this heat will help your body recover.”
“What happened, Alric? Why did your kinsman kill the guards and then try to kill me and Thorgast?” The memory of what had happened remained clear in his mind, unlike his many dreams of the past few days.
“I will try to explain, but you must eat. You are not past the danger period yet.”
So, while Kyle ate slowly, impaired by the necessity to use one hand, Alric related the happenings of the rescue of Thorgast and their desperate flight back through the undercity. Getting to Thorgast had proved easier than Alric had expected, but it had been an ambush which they barely got out of. As it was, three of the Dwarves were lost in that first battle, and another, Yalkor, had remained behind to provide time for the others to escape. As it was, Yalkor was not slain, but possessed by a Demon who used his memories to return to Chul’Haka. Here, he had slain the guards at the vault, and would probably have left the city open for attack via the vault, had Kyle not arrived when he did.
“I’m glad you are alive and Thorgast is safe.”
“Yes,” Alric mused, taking the now empty tray from Kyle and placing it on the nearby table. “Fortunately he was not touched by the Demon’s dagger, and his other wounds were not as bad as they looked.”
“Fortunately?” queried Kyle with sudden fear at Alric’s words. “What do you mean?”
“The blades of the Soulless are tainted with the very Unlife that births the demons. Their touch can mean death in some cases, and their wounds are normally fatal, no matter the degree of the wound. Your wound, though shallow, almost killed you.”
“And…?” prompted Kyle, feeling Alric had failed to tell him more. He gave a brief shudder at the proximity he had come to death, though he had thought he was dying when consciousness left him after the struggle with the demon possessed Dwarf.
“And it still may kill you!” warned Alric, turning so he could look Kyle in the eye as he spoke, leaving no doubt as to his sincerity, though Kyle hoped it was partly through concern. “The wound you received cannot be healed except through the most powerful of magic, which is unavailable here, and probably anywhere else save the Astral City. It will only get worse with time, and the taint it carries will spread slowly.”
“So I am doomed unless I can get to the Astral City?” How mocking fate was. Better he had died from the initial wound. He could not possibly reach the fabled magical city in his condition.
“We will get you to the Astral City!” assured Alric with a smile and a warm hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Whether you realize it or not, I am indebted to you, and I shall not forget that.”
“Nor I!”
This new voice came from the doorway, and when the two looked up, a grinning Thorgast entered the room, ducking slightly under the low doorway before closing the door quickly at Alric’s frowned indication.
“Good to see you better, kid! I owe you one, you know.”
“I only did what I had to do,” stated Kyle with a deep blush of embarrassment. “If I hadn’t, I would most likely be dead now, too, so it was as much to save my own skin.”
“Modest, too,” quipped Thorgast to Alric, who chuckled deeply. “I only wish I could come with you.”
Kyle had seen enough in the past few days to know the big warrior was needed here in his city. “That’s funny, I remember saying the same thing some days ago.”
“You did indeed,” laughed Alric, though there was about the Dwarf an aura of pain now, from the deaths of his kinsmen. As leader and spokesmen for the Dwarves here, he held himself responsible for their deaths, despite their volunteered participation in the rescue.
“Yes, well I will find a means to repay you one day, Kylaran. Preparations are being made for your journey, so do not worry.” Rising, the Barbarian clasped Kyle’s hand warmly. “I must return and speak with my father. Farewell!”
“When do we leave?” asked Kyle as the footsteps of the big barbarian faded down the corridor.
“Two days. We must finish preparations and wait until you recover enough to make the journey.”
“Two days?” whispered Kyle, settling into the bed. “Then I had better rest, huh. I am feeling a little tired again.”
With a wan smile, Alric took up the empty tray and tip toed from the room, though Kyle was already falling to the clutches of sleep by the time he silently closed the door behind him.
Chapter 26
The transition from the Darishi Plains to the northern borderlands of Zarn brought with it an increase in rain and many encounters with passers by, only few of which came close to confrontation through suspicion or ignorance. Valdieron knew little of the Zarn, other than what was commonly spoken of or what little Javin could tell him, which was not much more. He found them to be a trusting and kindly people, however, as was their common regard, though many were farmers or laborers, allowing him to at least relate with them, even if Javin could not.
Travel was not fast, though Javin acquired a mount from a patrol near the border of the Darishi lands. The clansmen were of the Southern Skies clan, and their Principal, named Alakar, was an old acquaintance of Javin’s, and after a brief discussion, a horse was provided for Javin along with a small amount of provisions that would see them catered for until they found more habitable and forgiving terrain. Javin made it clear to the Principal that for all intents and purposes he was dead, to which Alakar would do all he could not to dispel.
From the outset, Val knew he and Javin would invariably attract the less desirable attention from the more ignoble members of society. This meant they had to camp out most nights, relying a lot on Kaz’ keen senses when both were too exhausted to keep watch, or when the weather turned bad, farms were their first and only hope of keeping dry and not being accosted by bandits. Twice they were chased off by angry farmers and their dogs before they could prove their intent was not nefarious and that Kaz was not a wild man eater, though the big cat did give the dogs cause to give up their chases both times. There is only so far a tamed Moorcat can be pushed after all, and being chased and harassed by dogs was not one of his favorite pastimes.
So it began that the two made a habit of rising early and setting camp earlier than usual, allowing them to work with each other to improve their fighting skills. It proved an invaluable partnership, as although Javin was the better swordsman in terms of experience and skill, Val was able to impart what little he was learning of the martial arts as taught to him each night in Kel’Valor. Many times, their sparring would continue until well past the setting of the sun, where the light of the fire and ambience of the moons made it even more difficult, but both knew bandits did not operate in the light of day, nor did they attack with lanterns and torches.
During this sparring, Val felt as if all things that happened around him were menial, able to be set aside until he was ready to deal with them. He knew they were on a deadline, and that at any time word of the Demon uprising could spark destruction and war through the realms. He had found only one piece of the Disk of Akashel, and knew not where the other four pieces were, which made him even more aware of the passage of time, and he even doubted his decision to travel to Sha’kar.
Which is something Javin was also help wi
th. After Val told him what he needed to know concerning the threat of the Demons and his search for the pieces of the Disk, the Darishi urged him constantly to stay focused and keep faith with his decision.
Money proved to be one of their major concerns as they wound further into the heart of Zarn, for more often they came across hostels or inns that provided both shelter and protection, but had to pass them up through the cost, as Javin had no money and Val had little left from his takings in Thorhus. They also had nothing to sell, with Val not wanting to lose Llewellyn’s rapier, and Javin had nothing beside his weapons and clothing.
Their solution came one evening, a week inside Zarn, when they were fortunate enough to gain lodging for the night in an old farmer’s barn. The farmer, a widower well past his middle years, was surprisingly affable towards the two, and even Kaz, whom he regarded closely but with no obvious discomfort.
“These be strange times, you understand, so I can offer you only me barn. It’s warm and comfy, and should keep this off you.” He lifted his hands to feel the thin sleety rain that had begun falling only moments before, as the three made their way along a narrow track leading to the old man’s farm.
“That is more than acceptable, Tarik. Thank you. We will be gone before first light, so you will have no trouble from us.”
This brought an appraising look from the grey haired farmer, oblivious to the water that sprayed his face beneath the wide brim of a leather hat. Valdieron could see there was no senility in this old farmer. Perhaps he had once been a soldier by his build and demeanor, straight and strong despite his aging years. The heavy dagger he carried at his side and the bow and quiver over his shoulder looked to be better tended than those you might see necessary to scare off wolves or other livestock predators. Even his horse, though old, looked like it was once of excellent stock.
“You need not leave early if you’ve a mind for a little work. My back isn’t what it once was, and I’ve a few jobs needing some strong hands. If you’re interested, that is.”
A quick look showed Javin was indifferent towards the offer, but Val was quick to accept, despite no mention of any payment for the work. Tarik’s kindness in letting them use his barn for the night was payment enough for anything they might do for him by way of little jobs, and besides, he was keen to speak with the old farmer a little more, suspecting he could learn much about Zarn and its present state.
The next morning brought with it a reprieve from the drizzle, a warm morning sun bathing the glistening land as it rose, pushing from it the vestiges of rain clouds. Val and Javin had risen with the growing light, and were well through their morning routine of sparring when Tarik appeared. Being well away from the barn so as not to frighten the horses, the old farmer had been to the barn to fetch them when he heard the sounds of clashing blades, which led him to them. There was no telling how long he watched them before Javin noticed him. When they went to him, however, he was eyeing them in frank appraisal that gave no indication of surprise or suspicion.
“There’s wood in the lower fields to fetch. I’ll hitch the wagon and we’ll be going. Bring your horses.”
The wood Tarik had spoken of was from a large tree on the rim of a small ravine carrying a small stream, obviously having been felled through a lightning strike, the thick bole ripped asunder several feet above the ground where the thick branches had begun to form. Tarik unhitched the wagon and set it nearby while the horses grazed, Shakk the only one of the four roaming away while the three men set to the task of stripping the branches and cutting it into manageable pieces for carting.
Although Valdieron had been away from the farm for more than half a year, he found the labor both comforting and pleasurable as he went through the motion of stripping, sawing and cutting. He bent his every effort towards the work, hardly feeling the strain of the work in his muscles as sweat dripped down his naked torso and matted his long hair to his face and back.
“Here!”
Tarik broke him from his labors and passed him a waterskin which he drank from heartily, feeling with the lax in effort the weariness of arms and back and the sting of perspiration in small cuts to his hands and arms, but he thanked the old farmer with a smile as he handed the waterskin back. He was surprised to see the wagon had been filled, and the sun steadily rising to its zenith above.
“When we get back, we’ll stack the wood then eat.”
“Sounds good!”
“Where’s your horse, lad? Hope he hasn’t run off.”
Shakk was indeed nowhere to be seen, even to Val, but a shrill whistle brought the stallion back at a gallop while they re hitched the other horses to the wagon, the effortless bounding of the Moorcat in pursuit. Val had not seen Kaz all morning, and he had all but forgotten about the cat, but obviously Kaz could take care of himself. Val just hoped the cat did not get into any mischief.
Opting to make the short ride back on the wagon, Val engaged the reticent farmer in light banter, hoping to draw Tarik into his confidence. He found out Tarik had indeed been a soldier once, retiring as a Captain of the Bloodguards after the death of his wife at the hands of an assassin. The Bloodguards, he discovered, were the militia of Zarn, an elite infantry who double as bodyguards and personal army of the Queen. It surprised Valdieron to find the ruler of this Realm was a woman, something he had not known.
When asked about the state of the realm, Tarik shook his head with regret and sorrow as he turned to regard Valdieron. “Politics is killing us!”
“Unlike the other realms, whose rulers are singular figures with usually a council or ruling delegates and officials, we of Zarn have taken to handing out official positions and names for most things. We have ministers for all things, from farming to resources to water supply, which is not a bad thing, but from there, the chain of command grows complicated and ridiculous.”
“Where I came from, there was only a Mayor and the Council, and even then it seemed complicated.”
“I wouldn’t have believed that had I not seen you at work here today. A fighting man you look, and your Darishi friend has never chopped wood for work before, I’ll wager.”
“Well, it seems like an eternity ago,” mused Valdieron with an amused smile at Tarik’s estimation of Javin. “How quickly things can change, though.”
“Aye!” Tarik agreed, with a wry smile of his own as he motioned to the land around them. “Never thought I’d become a farmer, fifteen years in the Bloodguard, but fate’s a fickle companion, they say, and you learn to adapt, because if you don’t…”
“We’re passing through Zarn, if you wish to know. Sha’kar is our destination. I am searching for family there.”
“You have the look of the Dak’marian in you, to be sure, for I have fought both against and beside them on many occasion. It is not dominant, though, as if one line of your ancestors was of another people.”
Feeling this strike too close to things better left unspoken, Valdieron merely shrugged. “I will find out in due time, the gods willing.”
“Well, you may want to search the libraries there if you have any names to go by. Those of Dak’mar are a very noble and proud people, who have their histories and families traced back many generations. The major libraries are where to look, or if not there, some sage may be able to help you. I have heard legends of people recounting the past of their ancestors through magic, though I have no time for such things myself.” The soldier turned farmer scowled as he spoke, as if remembering something past, and he was silent from there on, for which Valdieron was thankful. It allowed him to re evaluate Tarik, who he found was somewhat worldly for an ex soldier, but perhaps had travelled extensively with his work.
Stacking the wood proved a monotonous task as Javin tossed the split wood from the wagon to Valdieron and Tarik who set it in one great pile against an inside wall of the barn. By the time they were done, the sun had settled directly overhead.
“I cannot let you leave without feeding you,” insisted Tarik after the wagon was unhitched and the h
orses released, with Shakk and Javin’s horse, Firefox, returned to the barn to eat and rest. Somewhat surprisingly, Javin was more than happy to remain for the food, while Valdieron would have been comfortable leaving then, giving them the opportunity to cover considerable distance before nightfall.
In comparison with their usual meals, this one proved a feast as Tarik brought out fresh vegetables with cold meats served with freshly churned butter and warm loaves of dark bread topped with small seeds. There was little conversation during the meal, but when it was done, Tarik addressed them both after they had saddled their horses and called Kaz.
“I care not for your reasons in going south, but you should know that times are difficult. People are more cautious and quick to anger now, while brigands roam the nights and worse, if half the rumors are true. You are both fighting men, that I can see and have witnessed, but there are things even a sword cannot fight. It may bring you some fortune however, if you choose to travel as entertainers, attracting crowds with your skill at arms. Such is not uncommon on the roads, and I can see you attracting some attention through your racial differences alone.”
“Farewell, and good luck. If you are passing through on your way back, drop in. I haven’t had visitors in so long, I almost forget I am not alone in this land.”
It was a strange farewell, for although they had only known Tarik for the one night; Valdieron felt the old farmer had somehow bonded with him. Perhaps they were of like spirit, or the old man’s thirst for company made him more open, but it was the first signs of open friendliness the two had witnessed since departing Darishi.
The idea raised by Tarik to become entertainers was not what they had in mind to garner financial assistance, but the further they rode, the less opportunity arose to perform odd jobs like they had with Tarik, as farms became infrequent and villages popped up more often than not. It was at the village of Embrus that they decided to try the idea.
