“Won’t they just go around you and attack me?” Lexi asked.
“I have a plan to get their attention,” Rafe said. “But if they do get past me, don’t hesitate to give them a taste of that dagger.”
Lexi nodded. She watched as Rafe climbed down from the wagon and drew his rapier. She knew his reputation from Avondale; everyone in the city knew about Rafe the Sword Master’s son. And Lexi had seen Rafe battling the Graypees near the river as they started out across the blighted lands. She had seen him slay the huge Draccon. Now he was putting himself between her and a group of raiders who she knew wanted to kill them. She felt both fear and a thrill. It was the first time she had ever felt the giddiness that other girls talked about when Rafe was the topic of conversation. She wasn’t in love with him, but she was excited by the fact that he would fight for her.
She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she drew her own weapon. Rafe was gallant, putting himself between her and danger, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t in danger. And Rafe wasn’t fighting because of some romantic notion, or even for Lexi if the truth be told. Rafe was fighting so that the tribe would have a chance of surviving, and she would have to take up that fight too. She steeled her resolve and watched as the raiders closed in on them.
Chapter 32
Rafe
There were half a dozen men spreading out as they approached. Rafe raised his shoulders and rolled his head around on his neck to loosen the muscles that had grown tight as the day progressed. He didn’t feel ill, just extremely tired. He remembered that Tiberius had felt tired the night of the raid. Rafe only hoped the illness, if he was getting it, would come on as slowly with him as it had with Tiberius. Unfortunately, he was already sweating, and there was nothing but tainted water to drink. He felt weaker than normal, but still capable.
He drew his dagger with his left hand. He would have preferred a small shield, but the dagger would do. It was much better suited to defending a blade than a wooden club, but he didn’t have a lot of choices. The raiders were slowing down as they approached, obviously more leery of attacking an armed warrior than ambushing two helpless couriers.
“What are you waiting for?” he shouted. “There are six of you and only one of me. Did the way I defeated Bu’yorgi scare you that badly?”
He saw the looks that crossed the men’s faces. They may have been planning to send two or three against him and the rest to attack Lexi, but Rafe was guessing that they would press their advantage of numbers against him now that they understood who they were fighting.
“You brought sticks to a sword fight, how thoughtful of you,” he teased them. “Unfortunately for you, my blade bites.”
“Throw down your weapons and leave the wagon,” shouted one of the raiders. “Killing you is not our way.”
“Is that why you poisoned the spring?” Rafe shouted. “Is that the Hoskali way?”
The raiders looked surprised again and Rafe guessed that they weren’t privy to Bu’yorgi’s plans. In Rafe’s experience, the leading officers rarely confided much in the grunts taxed with carrying out orders.
“That’s right,” Rafe said. “Your illustrious leader, who was saved from bleeding to death by our Swanee, poisoned the spring. Now he’s sent you to stop us from collecting fresh water to save our people. You may not have known what was happening, but now you do.”
“Shut up!” shouted one of the raiders.
“What are we waiting for,” said one of the others. “He’s just one man.”
“Why don’t you come see what one man can do,” Rafe taunted.
Three of the men looked confused. It was clear to Rafe that they didn’t like what they had heard, but they wouldn’t turn their backs on their comrades, who were clearly determined to stop Rafe and Lexi.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Rafe shouted.
The raiders advanced. At a nod from one of the men, four rushed forward toward Rafe. They all had clubs in one hand and knives of some sort in the other. Metalworking wasn’t known to the Hoskali, and the steel blades that Rafe had seen were all old, most likely passed down from generation to generation. The flint blades were useful in skinning animals, since the stone blades wouldn’t accidently pierce the hides the way steel blades did. But all the knives would wound, maim, or kill Rafe, he had no doubts about that.
Rafe met their charge with one of his own. At the last second, he planted one foot and angled to his left. He brought his sword around in a horizontal slash that caused the raiders to leap back out of harm’s way. Then the closest raider closed with Rafe, bringing his club up in an overhead strike that would have crushed Rafe’s skull. But Rafe anticipated the attack, side-stepping to avoid the club and then thrusting his dagger out. The blade wasn’t long, but the Wangorian steel was exceptionally sharp. The tip of the blade sliced easily through the man’s throat, sending a spray of crimson shooting out toward the other raiders. The wounded man cried out and dropped his weapons, clamping his hands around his throat to staunch the flow of blood, but it was too late. One of the thick arteries had been partially severed by the dagger and it was only a matter of time before the raider bled to death.
Rafe didn’t have time to admire his handiwork or appreciate the effect the spray of blood had on the other raiders. A side kick caught the next man unaware, knocking the wind out of him and sending him sprawling backward. Rafe had to raise his sword to parry the third raider’s club strike. The man had been aiming at Rafe’s sword arm. The club’s soft wood was easily lodged onto the steel of Rafe’s rapier. With a spin Rafe moved backward, toward the wagon, and pulled the weapon free from the raider’s hand.
The final raider was more canny that his companions. He had waited for an opening he knew was inevitable. It came when the club weighed down Rafe’s sword. The raider rushed forward, only to find Rafe’s dagger flying toward him. The raider’s momentum made dodging aside impossible. He raised both hands to deflect the blade, but he was too slow. The dagger found its mark, burying itself up to the hilt in the man’s chest before his hands could intercept the weapon’s flight.
Rafe yanked the club from his sword, then immediately had to use the club to deflect a blow from the second raider who had caught his breath and reentered the fray. As Rafe’s club came up to ward off his attacker’s blow, the sword lunged forward underneath it. The raider had the same plan, but his knife was short and he was still more than an arm’s length from Rafe. The rapier gashed open the man’s stomach, spilling his intestines onto the ground in front of him. The screams the man made caused the hair on the back of Rafe’s neck to stand up.
Two raiders were closing in on either side of the wagon. Rafe knew he had to act quickly or Lexi would be taken from behind on the wagon. He lunged toward the man whose club he now wielded. The raider was stooping to retrieve a new weapon, but Rafe’s blow landed just behind the raider’s ear and knocked the man out cold. Then Rafe was running to one side of the wagon. The raider on that side turned to face him, but Rafe knew immediately there was no real fight in the man. He cast his club at the man, throwing it low. The raider chose to break and run rather than deflect the weapon. He dashed away and Rafe turned his attention to the other side of the wagon.
He hadn’t known what to expect, perhaps Lexi scrambling back from the raider’s attack. Or maybe he thought she might be kicking and shouting to hold the man at bay. The raider would need to climb up onto the wagon to subdue her, after all, and if she could fend him off until Rafe arrived, she would be saved. But to his surprise Lexi didn’t need saving. One fist held the raider’s thick hair. She had his club clamped down under one of her boots, and the Wangorian dagger was slicing through the man’s neck.
Lexi let him go and spun around, expecting to see the other raider. Rafe saw a look of savage rage in her eyes. He realized she was not a weak person. She may not have liked conflict, but she was more than capable of defending herself.
“You okay?” Rafe asked.
“Yes,” Lexi said thro
ugh clenched teeth. “You?”
“Fine, let’s get out of here.”
He ran back to retrieve his dagger. The sixth raider was watching from a distance now, but Rafe didn’t expect the man to cause trouble. He might fetch his comrades and try to stop them from returning to the tribe with fresh water, but Rafe would have to deal with that later. He bent low and pulled his dagger from the raider’s chest. It made a gruesome sucking noise as he pulled it free and a wave of nausea passed over Rafe. He stood up quickly, bringing his right arm up and covering his mouth and nose inside the crook of his elbow.
“Let’s move!” Lexi shouted behind Rafe.
He bent low, wiping his blades on the fringe of the dead man’s tunic. Then he jogged back and hopped into the bed of the wagon.
“Go,” he said, waving at Lexi.
She flicked the reins and shouted at the horses, who were only too happy to move away from the smell of blood. As the wagon rumbled forward, Rafe managed to sheath his weapons. He was sitting in a small open area of the wagon. All around him the large clay pots rode easily on the wooden bed of the Swanee’s wagon. Rafe started to climb up and rejoin Lexi, but a wave of dizziness made him sink low in the wagon again. He unbuckled his sword belt and lay his weapons beside him, then curled up in the small space. The ride over the soft grassy moss of the wide plain was much smoother than Rafe would have guessed and soon he was asleep.
Hours passed, but Rafe was oblivious to them. Only when the wagon lurched to a stop did he wake up and look around. The light was fading and he struggled up to his hands and knees. He felt hot and weak all over. His stomach lurched and he fought down the bile that was rising in his throat.
“Did we find the water?” he said in weak voice.
“No,” Lexi said. “But the sun’s going down and I’m going to need a torch.”
They had packed several of the Tamaka bone torches, which the tribe had refined since their battle with the Draccon. The bones still had thick layers of rawhide dipped in animal fat as the core of the torch head, but on top of that was a layer of loosely woven grass. The outer layer of grass would be much easier to ignite and since the animal fat had soaked into the rawhide, it wouldn’t drip and risk burning the carrier or starting unwanted fires.
Rafe leaned on one of the empty water pots and watched Lexi flicking her steel dagger blade across a chunk of flint. Sparks jumped in all directions, some landing on the torch head. Lexi blew gently, coaxing the flame to life. It took a long minute for the sparks to turn to flame and then for the flame to set in on the torch. Lexi carried the torch back up to the seat of the wagon. She already had one torch secured on the far side of the wide bench seat. She used the newly lit torch to ignite the other, then secured the original torch on the opposite side of the wagon’s bench.
“We’re moving,” Lexi said to Rafe.
He didn’t answer. He had collapsed back down inside the bed of the wagon. He was so thirsty that water was all he could think about and he felt his strength waning. Just holding his head up had been a chore, and soon his eyes blinked closed again.
The next thing Rafe knew, cool water was being dripped onto his lips, which were dry, cracked, and peeling. His tongue felt swollen and he was so hot. He licked eagerly at the water, even though his tongue was clumsy and opening his mouth made his lips split painfully.
“You okay?” Lexi asked with some concern. “You’re burning up.”
Rafe didn’t try to talk, he was too tired. All he could think about was wanting more water. Lexi poured water over Rafe’s head from the clay pitcher she was using to scoop water from the river and carry to the large clay pots. To Rafe, the water felt divine. Lexi poured it over his clothes until they were soaked and dribbled more into his mouth.
“Thank you,” he croaked.
“I don’t understand why you got so sick so fast,” Lexi said. “It must be because you exerted yourself fighting the raiders.”
Rafe blinked slowly.
“Sleep,” Lexi said. “I’m filling the pots. I’ll give you some more water when I’m finished.”
Rafe tried to nod, but he wasn’t sure he was successful. He was so tired, so hot. He let his eyes slip closed and then the world went black.
Chapter 33
Leonosis
The trip had taken nearly a week. Leonosis had spent most of that time in the spacious cabin reserved for the Earl. It had wide windows that looked out the rear of the ship. He guessed that would be aft, and that if the ship had been on the ocean he would have a view of the ship’s wake. As it was, he saw nothing but a seemingly endless expanse of the thick cloud bank that covered the blighted lands.
Leonosis spent his time either lost in thought about his brother’s plans, or being entertained by the trio of servants he had hand selected to accompany him on the journey. There were books in the large stateroom, a table with writing materials, and several well-built chairs. But it was the large bed with its feather stuffed mattress that Leonosis chose to spend most of his time on. There was enough space in the state room that Leonosis could pace by the windows when he wanted privacy. At other times, he choose to roam the wide deck of the ship.
The captain kept the myriad of tools, rigging, and sailcloth neatly arranged and tucked out of sight on the ship, so the wide deck was relatively free of obstructions. Leonosis would walk the deck listening to the sailors’ songs or the officers barking commands. Sometimes he lingered on the command deck, watching the captain and his officers work the mighty vessel. He couldn’t help but be impressed and he hoped that one day he could run Avondale or perhaps all Nine Cities of Valana with such absolute authority and confidence.
When Sparlan Citadel finally came into view, Leonosis changed his clothes and prepared to meet Princess Ariel. He was coming unannounced, which was uncommon in the Nine Cities. He was prepared to pretend that he was a suitor smitten with the Princess. It was an easy lie to believe. Anyone who knew much about the Princess would know she had recently returned from visiting Avondale. Leonosis was the Earl’s son; there would be nothing strange about him courting the Princess, except for the fact that Leonosis’ father wasn’t with him. But then Earl Aegus was ill. He needed time to recover and Leonosis, love sick as he was pretending to be, simply couldn’t wait another day to see the Princess.
Sparlan Citadel was completely different from Avondale. The capital of Valana was the only one of the Nine Cities that had been constructed before the cataclysm. In fact, Sparlan Citidel was an ancient fortress, much of which was carved from the rock face itself. The city had a very wide open plateau surrounded by a high wall. There were watchtowers at every corner, and Leonosis could see entire battalions of men training in the open courtyard. There were few buildings on the mountaintop itself, mainly just military structures like the armory and additional barracks, along with the castle which rose up like a sentinel watching over the mountain. The city’s inhabitants came out on clear days, erecting a colorful market in the bright summer sunlight and the crisp, cool mountain air.
The city proper existed beneath the surface of the mountain. A huge cavernous opening had been discovered eons ago. The mountain itself was very nearly unassailable, but tunnels had been carved that led down to the lower parts of the megalith that were now hidden by the mists. Most of those tunnels had been filled with rock as the city was once again occupied after the cataclysm and new structures were carved into the stone. In the huge cavern was a thriving city, with a market, shops, and merchants of every kind. Many of the lifelong members of the King’s army retired to homes carved deep in the mountain. To Leonosis, Sparlan Citadel was like a bee hive, with everyone working to please the high King of Valana, a position Leonosis craved but had rarely allowed himself to dream about.
The city was not self-sustaining. Food was shipped in, along with material goods, and volunteers for the King’s army as a form of tax. Each of the other eight cities in Valana contributed to the King’s vast hoard. Avondale could well afford such taxes, but the ma
in resource Leonosis’ forebears had given was Hylum. The invisible gas that fueled the great bulbous sails of the airships was by far the most coveted resource in the kingdom. The other eight cities all needed Hylum, but only Avondale held a supply. It gave Leonosis’ father a level of importance among the cities that not even King Aethel could match in many instances.
The King’s airship was nearly as large as Leonosis’ but much more spartan. It was a military vessel, and stood high over the castle, attached by long ropes. Leonosis’ captain guided their ship in toward the castle, settling just over the tall receiving platform. Ropes were lowered and the ship secured by the castle guards. Leonosis had to wait while news of his arrival and reason for coming was announced to the King. When the trapdoor was finally opened and the sturdy wooden staircase lowered to the receiving platform, Leonosis and Grentz, whom Leonosis had not seen since they left Avondale, were met by a red faced King Aethel.
“Master Leonosis,” the King said. “How wonderful and unexpected of you to visit us. Is your father well?”
“Much as you left him,” Leonosis said.
“Ah, I thought perhaps you were here to inform us of his passing. It is good to know he is still with us.”
Leonosis wanted to scoff at the King’s assessment of his father, but he restrained himself as he bowed before his sovereign.
“What may I ask brings you all this way?” King Aethel asked.
“I have our tax, your majesty,” Leonosis said. “But I admit that is not the only reason for my visit. I was hoping to see Princess Ariel once more.”
“Ah, yes, I see,” King Aethel said, relaxing visibly at hearing what could only be considered a welcome reason for another Lord to visit. “My daughter will be pleased to see you again.”
“That is my fondest wish,” Leonosis said. “I hope my arrival does not disturb your highness.”
“No,” King Aethel said, but Leonosis detected a note of insincerity in the King’s reply. “You are always welcome here, Master Leonosis. As are you, Sword Master. It is an honor to host such a great warrior in the King’s Stronghold. My steward will show you to your quarters.”
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