by Franc Ingram
They circled back around to the shorter building they were using for shelter. When they stepped back onto the street, Lysander heard a commotion coming from the opposite direction. Jonathan had perfect timing. The guards halted their sweep and headed toward the sound, giving Lysander and Daycia enough clearance to sneak in.
The smell of unwashed bodies and fear hit Lysander as soon as he opened the door. A chill spread down his spine. He feared what he might see. The inside was dimly lit and humid. He felt sweat building under his arms and at the small of his back.
The short hallway led into a room with a desk on one side, and a table covered in crumbled papers on the other. Directly across from the door was a half-wall. Lysander stepped up to it and looked down to what he would call the factory floor. It was a wide-open room a floor below them filled with people focused on their work.
Lysander had prepared himself to rescue his people from slavery, but in his mind, he'd pictured soldiers forced to do manual labor under guard. What he saw broke his heart. Women and children sitting cross-legged on a stone floor, manacles around their ankles with chains bolted to the floor. At the front of the room stood two native women next to two man-sized spools of coarse thread, feeding the material to the workers on the floor. The worker's hands knotted the lines of thread together to form a huge net that piled up at the back of the room for two more natives to inspect.
Their only light source was from a bank of small windows high up on a smooth wall. The only way in or out was a set of stairs to Lysander's left, with a gate across them locked on his side. The workers were completely at the mercy of whoever looked down on them.
Lysander moved toward the stairs when Daycia held him back. "We have to get them free," he insisted.
"Three people strolling through the city is one thing," Daycia whispered. "Marching fifty through is another."
A little girl who couldn't have been more than ten, sandy brown hair plastered to her scalp, moaned as the net brushed past her hands. Lysander caught the scent of the metallic tang of blood in the air. The thread was rough, cutting into their hands, yet they worked on with little more than a few whimpers to denote their pain. Lysander didn't know what scared them so bad they would work themselves to the bone without guards whipping them into submission. He hoped never to find out.
Daycia yanked him toward the door, "We'll come back tonight."
Lysander didn't think that was soon enough. The door behind him was yanked open with a loud snap. Jonathan, red-faced, sweaty, and panting stuck his head in.
"Move it!" he yelled before disappearing back into the sunlight.
Daycia ran, dragging Lysander behind her. They spilled out onto the street to find six Elevated, in their black and red garb and curved weapons held high, chasing after Jonathan. Before logic could talk him out of it, Lysander picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at the back of the nearest man's head.
The Elevated male spun around. When he locked eyes with Lysander his gaze turned from surprised to angry. Then he charged and Lysander stumbled back a few steps before managing to turn around and run.
"Foolish," Daycia chided. "Brave but foolish."
They cut through the crowded streets, letting any clear space guide their steps. Lysander didn't think Daycia knew where she was going. This time people were deliberately moving out of their way while avoiding eye contact. Lysander didn't understand a place where simple curiosity was so universally repressed.
He glanced behind him and saw that the Elevated man had cut the distanced between them in half and was gaining fast. His two companions weren't far behind.
"I think we need a better plan," Lysander stressed.
"Fighting?"
"I don't think....," Daycia didn't give him time to finish.
She snatched her fighting batons from their holsters on her hips and turned into the Elevated at a dead run. Lysander skidded to a halt, making a sloppy turn after her. The Elevated adjusted quickly, splitting apart so Daycia's charge moved through them ineffectually. They couldn't keep up as easily with Lysander who knocked the legs out from under one man before the next guy got wise and faced Lysander head-on.
The impact of Lysander's sword against the Elevated man's intricately carved scythe sent a shock down his arm. He had to plant his feet in the packed earth to keep from sliding back. The Elevated man, forties, dark brown eyes, almost black, with shoulders as wide as Tycho's but not as much heft to him, placed his top hand flat against the side of his blade, keeping it pressed against Lysander's. Then he dropped his other hand enough to elbow Lysander in the ribs.
Pain exploded along his left side and his knees wobbled. Lysander blew air through his nose trying to compartmentalize the pain. Lysander let himself slide left but when the Elevated man moved to take advantage, Lysander twisted out of the way bringing the butt of his sword down on the exposed side of the man's neck. The move threw Lysander so off balance he couldn't help but hit the ground atop the Elevated man.
Lysander rolled and found his feet in a hurry, while his opponent lay splayed on the ground, eyes rolled back in his head. Lysander turned to help Daycia, but she was standing over the prone form of her opponent, wiping the dust off her batons on his shirt.
"Now can we leave?" she asked, irritated.
Lysander scanned over the unconscious Elevated men. "As long as we take some insurance with us."
Daycia shook her head. "That's not going to work," she said as she watched Lysander pilfer the man's belt to tie him up with. "They’re trained to sacrifice themselves for the cause."
"I don't care how cold-hearted these people think they are. This man has to have a relative, or friend, in this town somewhere. Just one person that cares if he lives or dies. That one person could give us enough leeway to make it out of here alive."
Lysander slapped the man across his face, startling him awake. Before the broad-shouldered soldier came to fully, Lysander yanked him to his feet. "You can walk out of here or be dragged. Your choice." Lysander shrugged, "Of course if you make me drag you I'll truss up your feet making it that much harder for you to escape and kill me. So, what's it going to be?"
The Elevated man fixed Lysander with a cold stare that would have been more intimidating had the left side of his face not been covered with a darkening bruise that Lysander had given him. "Walk," the man grunted. Lysander pushed him forward. Daycia led the way.
People started to pay attention as they walked past. Lysander felt like he was finally breaking through the greasy film that everyone on the island had been living with over their eyes. When he saw enough people talking with each other and sharing whispers down the street, Lysander knew he had an opportunity that may never come again.
There was a public fountain at the heart of the coming curve. Lysander handed the reins of his prisoner over to Daycia before climbing up the side of the fountain so he could be heard.
"People of Marsal, we’re not here to hurt you!” Lysander paused, looking around. “We don't wish to fight. Our people were maliciously snatched from their homes to be forced into slave labor. These are women and children that have done nothing to deserve this." Lysander looked around. Not many eyes were on him, but he noticed that all those within earshot had stopped what they were doing, ceasing their conversations. They made no overt move that showed interest, but they were listening. "All we want is to reclaim what's ours. You leave us to our task and you’ll suffer no ill will from us, but if you fight for what isn't yours we’ll be forced to cut our way through you." He nodded to Daycia. She let the Elevated man go, pushing him into a group of women hovering close to the fountain. "Remember, we treat even our enemies with dignity and respect when we can."
From his perch, Lysander could see a group of the Elevated had found them and was moving in. "Time for more running," he told Daycia. She gave him a hand down and they took off down the street, this time with an idea of which way was out.
Two more turns and they were leaving the rigid structure of the city
behind and moving into the lush green of the forest beyond. Lysander headed for the hill where they were supposed to rendezvous with the others, knowing there was a line of Elevated close behind.
Lysander caught a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He raised his sword and turned to defend himself against attack, only to realize it was Jonathan catching up.
"Brilliant plan," the Darten man panted.
Lysander smiled despite the danger on their heels. "What's wrong with a little running? It’s good exercise."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: HASHDID
The flatness of Darten seemed endless. Lorn didn't think a natural place could be so flat, as if some giant came stomping through, leveling every hill, and filling every valley. It just felt impossibly even to him.
After days of walking, Lorn was tired of looking at the same landscape. He would have killed for something new and exciting, something that changed things up from the same old green-on-green-on-brown that his eye fell on, no matter where he looked. Crossing the river was the only part of the trip Lorn looked forward to. And even that was a day away.
Lorn played with the letter of recommendation in his pocket that Jonathan gave him. At least that's what Jonathan said it was. Lorn didn't read it, didn't even open it. It wasn't meant for him.
Jonathan told them to head for Clariss, the capital of Darten. There they would talk to Fabian, the ruler of Darten, and ask for his help. Darten agreed to be allies to the Heirs, agreed to recognize the three as kings. But like Arismas, the leader of the realm was still in power, keeping the day to day of the realm flowing smoothly as the Heirs took care of more global issues.
Lorn would need Fabian's direct support to block in the troops and weapons Cornelius was amassing in Arismas. He didn't think there would be cause for Fabian to object, but Lorn knew better than to rely on his own thinking. He planned for the worst.
The Ranger presence at Darten's border had been considerable. Even Tycho had been surprised to come across twenty Rangers guarding 300 yards of border land. But that wasn't the most startling thing about coming into Darten. It was the reaction of the people. Lorn had been king for six months, traveled through the Wild Zone into Arismas and Caledon, yet never encountered a crowd like he'd found at Hashdid in Darten.
When Ranger Henry first spotted the houses and reported back, Lorn was hesitant to bother the town. They couldn't have been more than a day ahead of Ivar, if Ivar was still after them. He didn't want to waste time getting distracted by new people, but they needed a rest, and the villagers had a right to be warned of what might be coming their way.
"So, sire, what do we do?" Tycho asked.
"Twelve of us will go in. The rest will spread out among the trees and keep an eye out. If they don't hear back from us in twenty minutes, then they need to come in with force."
Tycho picked who would come and made sure everyone else was stationed where they would do the most good before they headed for the village. The town itself was a marvel to Lorn. A gravel road led up to, and through, the entirety of it. From a distance, he couldn't tell the town was there. It melded into the landscape so well someone who wasn't aware of it could have passed by without noticing.
All the houses lining the outskirts of town were lined up in neat little rows. Their rounded roofs were covered with the same green moss, with an orange tint to it, that dotted the grasslands. Rock fences delineated one property from another. The dark wood houses, with their matching white wood-framed windows, could only be appreciated while Lorn was on the road staring at them head-on.
Once Lorn's group got past that first row, the illusion was washed away by the press of gathered people. Men and women of all ages lined up eagerly waiting. The sound of drums, and some stringed instrument Lorn couldn't identify, started up as he approached. He didn't know what to say in the face of the banners waving and the fancy dress the villagers were wearing.
Lorn knew what small towns were like. He knew the people here had to work hard to survive - work the land, work together, protect each other. Yet they'd taken out precious time needed to prepare for winter to celebrate him. Lorn didn't feel worthy of such a thing. He hadn't done anything worth celebrating. He felt even worse knowing he had several days’ worth of grime and sweat clinging to his skin, and hair that had seen better days. He tried running his hands through it but got tangled in the matted curls and gave up. He finally understood why Lysander went through the trouble of keeping his silky hair trimmed to the scalp.
An older man stepped forward. He was tall enough to meet Lorn eye to eye, hefty, with round blue eyes, and a thin-lipped smile. His fingers were thick like sausages, and his salt-n pepper hair brushed against his shoulders.
"Master of Skies, welcome to Hashdid." The music hit a crescendo. The speaker waited till it settled back before continuing. "I'm Saladen, mayor of this town." He turned ushering two young women forward. "These are my daughters, Cora and Carlina." The women bowed, their long, colorful skirts brushing the ground.
Lorn was embarrassed, for once at a loss as to what to say. When in doubt he relied on practiced politeness. "Thank you. What a lovely place you have. This is Tycho of Caledon," Tycho stepped forward taking a slight bow. "My squad, Mevra, Allana, Kasis, Dexter, Samantha, and Connor. Then we have Paley and the Rangers, Mason, Henry, and Paul."
"Welcome, welcome all!" Saladen said, his wide toothy smile cutting his face in half. "We have prepared a feast for you. Come eat and celebrate and tell us all about the mighty adventures of a king."
Lorn looked to Paley who had stood protectively beside him the whole trip. She shrugged. Mevra and Allana were no help either, both of them giving him nothing but flat stares. Lorn appreciated the thought, but they weren't there for the fanfare. They needed food and rest because there was still a long way to go, but turning down such a generous offer didn't sit well with him either. He had to trust that his companions knew the importance of not letting the revelries get out of hand.
"We're honored by your hospitality, Mayor Saladen. Please, lead the way."
Saladen clapped and the music kicked up on cue. Lorn wondered how long they'd practiced for such an occasion. Word of his coming shouldn't have been more than a day ahead of them. The thought that these off the way Darten villagers may have just got something together in on the off chance that one of the Heirs may have come by seemed ridiculous, but the other option that they threw it together in a day and still managed to look as precise and professional as they did was too much to comprehend.
Leaning in close to Tycho's ear so he could be heard over the noise Lorn whispered, "Someone needs to go back and tell the others to go ahead and settle in. Looks like we might be here a little while."
"I'll send Mason," Tycho replied.
"He won't be happy about missing all the fun."
"Don't worry. I'll make sure they send him out some goodies before the night is done." Tycho popped off a quick salute before moving to talk to his cousin.
The feast wasn't a simple thing, as Lorn had suspected. No, the festivities started with a tour of the village. Lorn was torn between his excitement to tour something new and the growing pain in his feet, coupled with exhaustion that made him loopy. They saw the communal gardens, the blacksmith shop, the local artisan square that made Hashdid a place to stop during festival seasons. Lorn was even given a miniature blown glass eagle as a gift from the collective. He did his best to wrap it up and put it in his bag for safe keeping.
Finally, they made it to the town hall were tables of food were set out. Lorn never saw anything so beautiful. During the Heirs coronations as Kings of Euphoria, each realm representative brought regional dishes from their realms to show what a united family could be like. Lorn ate his fill that day, trying out everything he could stuff into his mouth, but he was being greedy then and trying to fill the pain of loss with food, only to find it woefully inadequate.
Today he was starving, and the food looked beyond beautiful. Glazed meats, stuffed breads of various sizes, an
d sweet treats of too many varieties to count. Lorn thought he could keep focused, but with so many options in front of him, he feared he would eat too much to be healthy for the trip forward.
Luckily the villagers had a cure for that too. The minute he was sat down at the head table, the others filling out around him, the line started to form in front of them. The feast was more than a celebration of his arrival, but a time for the villagers to express themselves to their new king and to get to know more about him.
Lorn got asked everything from what was it like to live in Evermore and the Crystal Tower, to what was Cornelius and Kameke like, and how did it feel to manipulate the weather. Then on the flip side he was told heartbreaking stories of loss and hard work. They pleaded with him for help with everything from loved ones that had gone missing along the border, to lack of resources and money to procure them. Many times, all Lorn could do was listen and promise to do what he could, when he could. There was a lot of need in the realms that was getting overlooked because Lorn and the other Heirs, with The Court's backing, had focused all the attention on getting rid of Cornelius and Ivar.
In the meantime, hardworking people were starving, and their men were being conscripted into fights that were not theirs. The war at large may not have reached Hashdid yet, but its effects had been there long before the fighting started. Ivar's reign of terror left Hashdid scrambling for resources that should have rightfully been theirs, and Lorn knew he had to do something for them before leaving. If he could do nothing but bring them a little hope that things would change, it would be worth it.
Despite being tired and worried about what came next, Lorn performed for the children. He promised to bring them good weather as long as he was nearby and gave them what money he carried on him. The journey ahead didn't require him to keep it.
He'd been carrying a gift offering to Fabian, but the villagers of Hashdid deserved it more. Kameke fashioned a diamond horse in the form of the breed that was unique to Darten. The shining beauty stood as tall as Lorn's hand and half as wide. Hashdid's mayor could sell it and provide for the whole village, while Fabian would have just added it to his collection.
