by Ron Collins
“What do you mean?”
“Lord Ellesadil made the final decision for that war, certainly. But my father had Ellesadil’s ear, and my brother had my father’s ear.”
“And that’s important because?”
Darien wiped his brow and stared into the fire, obviously collecting his emotions.
“I was just a boy then,” he said, his voice distant. “But I remember them fighting. I had never seen my father’s position questioned before, and I had never seen Thale so passionate. He believed with all his heart that Dorfort was at risk as long as Aarot-Meexor lived. But my father is a cautious man, and he was missing information. He wanted to wait until he had all the facts, and he wouldn’t budge until he understood the issue. Ellesadil trusted my father’s opinion.”
“I don’t understand,” Garrick said. “The order came to fight, right? The war happened.”
“Of course it did. It happened because Thale argued his convictions. He made his opinion heard. In the end, my father gave in and Thale won the day.”
The fire crackled. The silence felt heavy.
“So, you argue Thale signed his own death warrant?”
Darien nodded, checking the rabbit and wiping his fingers on his pants. “Yes, Garrick, my brother did sign his own death warrant. And he was probably right to do so, too. Thale delivered the killing blow to Aarot-Meexor himself—and at the same time was killed by one of the king’s minions. He stopped a scourge that was surely coming.”
“I see.” Garrick nodded to himself. “But what does that have to do with you? Why are you here?” He stopped, and stared at Darien. “You’re running, aren’t you? Your father wants you in his guard, and you’re out here to find yourself, instead.”
Darien gave a caustic laugh.
“The day we learned of my brother’s death, my father withdrew to his chamber for a very long time, and when he returned he was changed.”
“He blames himself,” Garrick said.
“How would I know? He’s never spoken to me about it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Garrick saw Darien’s dilemma. It was obvious his friend loved his father.
“So, you think I should align with the Freeborn, yet you ran from your father’s military because you wouldn’t follow in your brother’s footsteps?”
“You really must stop jumping to conclusions, Garrick. I didn’t run from the military. I tried to join the guard, but my father blocked me. He said I should keep my apprenticeship in the university.”
“I see,” Garrick said. “Your father was afraid to lose a second son.”
Darien nodded. “I left the university the night before I was to certify.”
Garrick shook his head.
“At the end, it’s all still the same. Those with power eventually lose themselves in it. Your father is no different.”
“Are you daft, Garrick?”
“Don’t you see it? Your brother is dead because Ellesadil sent him to war, and you are here because your father wouldn’t leave you to live life as you wanted.”
“My brother fought for his beliefs,” Darien said with a tone as strong as granite. “He commanded men, and those men loved him. He died doing what he thought was right, and he won. He saved lives. I will not accept that a man with power cannot change things for the better.”
“Yes, but Thale is still dead.”
Darien sat back, remaining still, appearing almost as if he was in a trance before speaking.
“I don’t pretend to understand this whole god-touched thing, Garrick,” he said. “And I have no idea if you should join the Freeborn or not. But I think you are important. For some reason. The world is bigger than you can imagine, and I think it has expectations of you. I think you need to find whatever it is you were meant to be, and then you need to be it. I think you need to do what you think is right, or in the end you will never be able to live with yourself.”
Then he cut into the rabbit with the tip of his knife. The aroma was overwhelming.
“I think it’s cooked,” Darien said.
They ate in silence.
The meat filled Garrick’s stomach, but did nothing for the hollowness he was trying to ignore. A flash of lightning colored the sky outside the cave. He breathed deeply, sensing Darien’s life force once again. And he heard the words he had been ignoring all day, heard them clearly and distinctly.
You have given, Braxidane’s voice whispered. Now you must take.
Garrick pushed the urge aside once again. It was weak now, too weak to fight him. But the hunger would grow. It was only a matter of time.
He stared out the cave into the dark night, tying to convincing himself it was only the rain that made him shiver.
Chapter 17
The pass was a tight slot cut in red sandstone.
The cliffs loomed overhead, with nothing to break the harsh, claustrophobic pressure of stone except for the few hardy vines and crawlers that clung to their cracks and fissures like rebellious squatters. The weeds made Garrick think of the Freeborn, and of the Torean house as a whole. That’s what Toreans were, really, they were vines and vagabond grasses growing in rocky ground that did not care for them, ground that would just as soon spit them out as give them nourishment.
The stone here was blunt and dull, colored such that the morning light cast a bloody tinge over everything inside the gorge. Its nearness made him anxious. The closed space made the voices in his head seem to echo. It was a dry and lifeless place. Even the air here felt dead.
Darien felt it, too. Garrick could tell because his traveling partner had barely spoken since entering the pass.
The horses’ gaits echoed against the stone.
“I’ll be glad when we’re out of this place,” Darien said.
“Agreed,” Garrick replied.
Kalomar nickered, and his shoulder twitched.
“It’s all right, boy,” Garrick cooed and ran his hand over the animal’s muscled shoulder.
Garrick had not been sleeping well. His mind wandered. Darien’s insinuation that he had some larger role to play in the fates of the plane was more than a little unsettling. He felt trapped. All he wanted was to live in a place where no one would bother him.
Kalomar’s ears twitched again, and the horse came to a sudden stop.
Creatures as tall as the horses stepped from the bare stone walls. Mottled black fur covered their backs and arms, and yellowed teeth jutted from their underslung jaws. A rotting smell rolled off them. They yowled, fistfuls of wickedly curved talons clacking with dull retort.
Emptiness twisted in Garrick’s stomach, and Braxidane’s magic whined in complaint. These creatures had no life force. No energy within. They were guardians—wards similar to those Alistair had set on the occasions he had visitors he did not trust.
“Be careful, Darien!” he called as he drew his sword and prepared his gates. “These things are pure magic!”
Darien spurred his horse and swung his sword at the creature before him. It screamed in pain as the blade bit into its shoulder, but it was still able to sweep dirty talons past Darien’s head.
He brought his weapon round again to catch the thing in the rib cage, and the beast fell to one knee.
Kalomar pinned his ears back, but remained steady. The horse had some training, Garrick realized. This was not its first battle.
Garrick slashed at the second beast’s forearm, but the creature raked his thigh. He managed to hold on despite the pain, as Kalomar lashed out a sharp hoof that struck the beast’s forehead.
Its eyes glazed, but it didn’t fall. Instead, it clawed at Garrick with a wild rush of haymakers.
Garrick heard Darien’s voice but couldn’t understand anything he said. The echo of galloping hooves rang in the passage. Garrick tried to skewer the creature, but Kalomar turned him the wrong way and strands of his own hair flew into his face.
Darien came from behind, driving his gore-covered sword before him like a lance. He scored the creature’s che
st, and it fell to its knees, coughing up a thick, green ooze before falling headfirst into the dust.
With his blood up, now, Garrick felt Darien’s life force hanging before him, full-bodied, and ripe for the picking. He felt the heavy rise and fall of Darien’s chest, fueled by battle lust.
“Are you all right?” Darien asked.
Garrick managed to raise a hand as he gasped for breath and tried to keep Braxidane’s magic from running free.
“Stay away!” he called.
It’s all right, he thought. Just breathe. Just breathe.
His hunger receded.
“Thank you,” he finally said.
Darien’s grin widened to a full smile. “Perhaps there’s hope for you, yet, Garrick.”
He shrugged.
“What were they?” Darien asked, indicating the beasts that now lay in puddles of viscous green blood.
“Golems, guardians, things of pure magic,” Garrick replied.
He looked at Darien, and grinned.
“Given Takril’s reputation, I would say it’s best to assume he is now aware of our presence.”
Chapter 18
The desert sun was intense. The air burned lungs and made vision waver.
Garrick and Darien both fashioned shirts into kerchiefs, their tails flowing down their backs to shade their necks. They cut the heat, but didn’t stop a grimy film of sweat from forming over every part of their bodies.
Garrick thought about Takril as they traveled.
Was the mage as insane as the stories told?
Was he as powerful as rumored?
And, of course, would he, perhaps, be willing or even able to help Garrick remove Braxidane’s curse?
The only thing certain was that Garrick’s life force was fading away as time passed, and that his ability to control it was fading just as quickly. He had to do something soon or he would lose himself once again. The answer came to him earlier. Once they had the viceroy’s pet, he was going to leave Darien behind. It was the only thing that made sense. He would protect Darien by taking the pet back to Caledena alone. The idea gave him a sense of confidence, but now he felt his hunger growing, and all he could do was hope it all happened soon enough.
“How much farther to Arderveer?” Garrick said, squinting into the sun.
“Soon, if the viceroy’s map is to be trusted,” Darien replied. “We should give the animals a break.”
They slipped off their horses and made their way on foot.
Sand was everywhere. It shifted below Garrick’s boots. It clotted around his eyes and scrubbed at the folds of his skin. It made the air salty, and even more dry. It smelled of fire and, oddly, of judgment. Why are you here? the sand whispered. Why are you here?
“This is where Starshower came,” Darien said. “They say this whole place was forest back then, and that Kaarat’eon was just a jaunt to the south. The entire desert was left in its place.”
“If you believe those tales, anyway,” Garrick replied.
“Yes, if you believe.”
“Wasn’t Kaarat’eon of such ill repute that the gods were said to have rejoiced in burning it down?”
Darien’s smile grew. “We’ll make a historian of you yet, Garrick.”
Garrick nodded and drained the last of his skin.
A few hundred paces before them, a wide swath of the ground rose up like the lid of a box.
Ten men appeared, walking side-by-side and rising up from the sand with metered gait—their heads appearing first, then their shoulders, arms, trunks, and legs. They wore loose-fitting garb that matched the colors of the desert sand. Swords hung from their sides.
The power of their life forces burned hot enough to stand out above the furnace of the desert sand. They were disciplined men, lean and certain of themselves, men at home in a place where even weeds survived only by stealing water from the rocks around them.
“I was right,” Garrick said. “Those creatures were most certainly guardians.”
“Yes,” Darien said. “Let’s hope these are more inclined to talk.”
The men came to a halt. A leader strode forward, hand firmly on his sword. His robe blew in the wind. Garrick’s hunger welled in the brief silence between them. He expected to find an air of superiority etched in the man’s gaze, but instead, the leader’s expression carried only simple confidence.
“I am Commander Koric, Desert Knight of Arderveer. State your business.”
“We’re looking for Takril,” Garrick replied.
“That is a hunt. Not business.”
“We’re here to collect a package from him, and return it to the viceroy of Caledena,” Darien replied.
“What proof do you have of this?”
“Speak to Takril, and you’ll have your proof.”
“That is not good enough.”
Garrick dug into his pouch and removed the box Padiglio had given him.
“This carries the seal of Caledena,” Garrick said. “The city’s viceroy gave it to us to hold the item he has contracted for.”
The commander took the box, removed the lid, and turned it upside down then right side up.
“I see nothing special about this box.”
“An ornate carrier would cry out for theft,” Garrick replied.
“What will it carry?”
Garrick scowled. “Would Takril tell you the details of his business deals?”
The commander snapped the lid shut and handed it back to Garrick.
“We’ll take you to him. But Takril requires all visitors leave their weapons in the entry chamber. I’ll need your blades.”
“I think not,” Darien said.
“Then you can start your long walk back to Caledena now.”
Garrick handed his sword to Koric.
Darien still hesitated.
“My sword was given to me by my father,” he said to the commander. “I need your word for its safekeeping.”
“Your father’s sword will be taken to the arsenal room. You may retrieve it—and your horses—upon completion of your discussions.”
Darien did not appear convinced, but having no other option, he detached his sheathed sword from his belt and handed it to the desert knight.
Koric gave the blades to a second guard, who tucked them away.
“Follow me,” Koric said.
The men surrounded them as they moved to the entryway, Garrick and Darien leading their horses. The tunnel sloped downward, and was wide enough and tall enough that the horses could easily pass.
Kalomar twitched his ears.
“It’s all right, boy,” Garrick said, running his hand over his mount’s neck.
But Garrick felt it, too.
The coolness that came from the tunnel was more than the chill of the air. Its walls were lit by magelight that filled coarse sconces chiseled into the walls themselves. The pathway spiraled deeper into the ground, scarred from pickaxes and shovels. The musty odor of human stink grew stronger as they descended, the aura of despondency was like a curtain of mist that lay against Garrick’s hunger.
He felt pain here. He felt deep hopelessness.
These tunnels had been hewn at the cost of human lives.
The passage opened into a hallway that stretched into darkness. Echoes of voices and clanging tools spoke of its vast length. A conveyor with belts of hide looping over bearings placed several feet apart ran along the wall and into the distance. Long handles protruded from several rollers.
“What are those for?” Garrick asked.
“They move supplies down the corridor,” Koric replied as he led them down the hall.
The aura of despair grew even greater as they went. It seemed to plead with his hunger, urging Braxidane’s magic to breathe it in, and in that single act, release it. They walked further, and the tunnel grew colder as they progressed. They came to a cavern filled with slaves, dirty and thin, who were, one by one, filling empty sacks from barrels of powder then placing them in piles next to the conveyor.
He gritted his teeth.
Garrick could take the pain away from these slaves.
He could reach out … he could …
He stopped himself. No, he thought. No. He remembered the decimation he had left in Sjesko. To drain himself now and go on a rampage in the depths of Takril’s city would be a nightmare of incredible proportion.
The commander ordered a desert knight to take the horses. “Treat them well,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
Koric led them to an oval cavern lit by magelight that came from an iron apparatus attached to the ceiling. A wide shaft fell away into the center of the floor. It was a gaping black maw that dropped into darkness and gave Garrick a sense of vertigo.
A lift stood to one side, chains and ropes running in grooved slots beside the platform.
A pair of slaves operated the winches and brakes and other mechanisms that would raise and lower it.
They stepped onto the cart, and Koric called down. The platform lurched and the mechanisms squealed as they descended into the darkness.
Garrick gazed upward.
“That’s a lot of rock up there, isn’t it?” Koric said to him.
It didn’t make him feel any better.
“Interesting place,” Darien said.
“We like it,” Koric replied.
“I didn’t see many guards.”
The commander’s smile was cold.
“You’re wondering why the slaves don’t run?”
“Yes.”
“We have more security here than is easily visible, my friend. And the penalty of running is convincing enough to keep them in place all by itself. Usually, anyway.”
The platform descended past an opening in the shaft that reeked of human waste, and that drew Garrick’s hunger even harder. It was a slave pit, he realized, which made sense when he thought about it.
