by A. R. Wilson
She followed his gaze and grinned. “Ever the man of honor who cannot tell a lie.”
“We should cut through the fields.” Kidelar guided his horse away from the opening in the fence leading to the road.
“Agreed.” Mounting his horse, Jurren jammed the tangled braid into a pocket. “I’ll lead the way.”
They trotted their horses around to the back yard where the fence opened into a span of wild grasses. Pushing into a gallop, they rode to Jurren’s home. Once the grass turned to dense patches of hay, Jurren veered them to the right to come up alongside the barn behind the wreckage of his home.
“Would you look at that?” Kidelar sat back in his saddle. “Are you certain you’ll be able to locate anything in there?”
“I have to. Goblins and horsk dragons have the same source.” He dismounted. “We’re almost guaranteed to run into them again. When we do, a bow is a better weapon against a goblin than a sword.”
Looking down the road, Jurren saw no sign of advancing riders. Good. He walked around to the front of what remained of his home. Pushing through the broken boards and piles of thatch, he scrambled into his room. Two beams had braced against each other, forming a gap. In the safety of the recess sat his bow atop his favorite sword. Perfectly protected together. In his mind, he almost heard his wife’s voice praising the Fates for his good fortune.
“Lucky break, not Fate.” He turned to find his quiver and sheath.
“Jurren, I see a light coming.” Arkose had brought both their horses around to the front of the house.
Turning his head, Jurren saw three dots of light bouncing up the road. Running out of time! He turned his attention to the debris. “Come on, where are they?” Two more tugs at the chaos revealed both items he needed. “Coincidence. Only a lucky break.”
“What?”
“Nothing, let’s go.” Slinging the bow over his chest and shoulder, he climbed through the remains toward his horse.
He pushed the sword into its sheath, pulled himself back into the saddle, then tied the straps around his waist. Arkose pointed to the spare travel pack behind his saddle. Shaking his head, Jurren gestured to the light advancing from the east. No time to rearrange.
All three rode to the pastures behind the barn. Jurren dared a quick run into the side door to grab a spare travel cloak, then guided them at a fast gallop. If any of the horses tripped over a rock or stepped into a hole, their plans changed drastically. But they also had to keep ahead of any scouts aiding the Hess Bren militia. Until they passed the eastern edge of the fields, it was too risky to ride on the main road. Saimohl might keep true to his threat to set Jurren’s land ablaze, and it was a risk worth taking. Tascana was worth enduring any loss.
Once the cultivated field changed to wild grasses, he led them back toward the road skirting Gaulden Forest. As the road veered north toward the western boarder of the ghostwoods, they stayed west. The vegetation thinned the farther they rode.
By dawn, they decided it was time to stop and look at the map.
“Do you see anyone?” Kidelar took several labored breaths as he stepped down to dig into his pack for the map.
Squinting, Jurren stared eastward. “Nothing. Looks like we left just in time.”
“So where are we going exactly?” Arkose moved to look over Kidelar’s shoulder.
“According to this, we have to go past the Xanz River and Tzevidon Desert, until we reach the Avian Expanse.”
Arkose pulled back at Kidelar’s words. “I’ve never heard of this seer. Are you sure we can trust him?”
“Him is a her. And based on what I’ve read, she’s exactly the person we need.”
“So, what do we know about her?” Jurren stayed on his horse to keep an eye to the east.
“Her name is Ellesha Shan Shair. Almost a hundred years ago, she —”
“A hundred years ago?” Arkose cut in with exactly the words Jurren thought. “How is this trip even worth the effort? Are we just going to ransack her house looking for clues on dragon kidnappings?”
Jurren looked over his shoulder to see Kidelar’s clenched jaw.
“Do you even know what a seer priestess is?” The scholar slapped the book closed. “There are many reasons why the Grand Wizards allow only a select few to enter their training. The least of which is the ability to learn how to prolong one’s life. Just by being on this quest I have forfeited any potential I might have of joining their ranks. So, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you could save any questions challenging my intelligence until the end of my explanation!” Glancing sharply at Jurren, he thrust the book back open.
Those words slapped Jurren with a two-fold surprise. Not only was Kidelar capable of losing his temper, but he had sacrificed his lifelong pursuit to help find Tascana. Giving up a dream for a friend went above and beyond.
“Now, as I previously stated, almost a hundred years ago,” he passed a cursory glance at Arkose, “a great disagreement erupted among the Grand Wizards. Given recent events, I now presume it must be the goblin sighting from decades ago. Ellesha Shan Shair defied the highest ranked wizard, Sindakway, and was banished from the known lands. Her level of skill prevented the wizards from doing anything more severe to her as punishment.
“Someone found out where she went and wrote an account of how to find her. Like the story of the one who wrote about the goblin sighting, it must have been written by someone too laden with guilt to abide by the silence sworn upon them.”
Kidelar looked up at the two men. Nodding, he turned a few pages and continued.
“It says here the influence of the Grand Wizards is limited by terrain. The Fates gave them boundaries where their power cannot cross. The Sea of Ritenan to the east, the Avian Expanse to the south, and the Xanz River to the west. Hmm... for some reason, the northern border isn’t specified.” Flipping through a few more pages, he paused then turned back to the previous page.
“Ellesha Shan Shair made a home beyond the Xanz River along the Avian Expanse. This took her past two boundary points. It says here she found some other type of strength. Something that allowed her to continue growing in power even though the magic of the Grand Wizards did not go with her.”
Jurren tightened his grip of the reins. Knowing the Grand Wizards held no strength beyond the Xanz River gave him an idea of where he planned to take his family once all this was over.
“How far is the Xanz River?” Arkose sounded much more agreeable this time.
“We should reach it before midday tomorrow.”
“The sooner the better?” The bald man turned to look at Jurren.
“Absolutely. Kidelar, you lead the way.”
The scholar seemed to flinch at the idea. Pointing to the map, Jurren assured Kidelar he knew more about this place than any of them.
As they set out, Jurren wondered why he hadn’t traveled this way. Hess Bren was the western most village in Bondurant, yet he never traveled past the western border. He had taken long hunting trips to the north and east, journeyed all along the Xanz Mountains toward the south, but not out here. Was this another aspect of that spirit of forgetfulness? Then again, maybe it was some kind of spell placed by the Grand Wizards to keep people from seeking out this seer.
At midday, they came to a stream and stopped to give the horses a rest. Eating a meal of nuts and dried meat, they went through their gear to ensure nothing worked itself loose. Jurren took the extra pack from Arkose’s horse to secure it to his own. An hour later, they mounted and continued riding until sunset.
A lack of sufficient trees in the area made a fire more effort than it was worth. They tied their horses to a lone, dwarf tree in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Spreading out their bedrolls became their only mark on the landscape as they settled in for the night. Within moments, Arkose fell into the heavy breathing of sleep.
“How about that?” Kidelar snickered. “That man is strong in muscle but not in mouth. He didn’t even say goodnight to us.”
“We can’t all hav
e speech as our greatest strength.” Jurren sat up to move a rock poking him in the back.
“It comes naturally to us old men. How else do you think they chose me to be an advisor to the Council?”
Jurren smirked then laughed. It felt good to laugh, though the enjoyment passed quickly. Kidelar’s words picked at his mind. With great effort, Jurren kept that flood at bay until he heard the scholar fall asleep.
“... us old men.”
If only Kidelar knew how true those words were. Not even Heluska knew how old Jurren was. She never asked. A few times she dropped hints that she thought he was two years older than she, and he never corrected her. Though his wife was nearing forty, his true age was more than two decades beyond what she presumed. What might she think if she ever found out he was actually sixty-five years old?
He stifled a growl deep in his chest as he pushed his fists against his forehead. The burden he kept buried felt like claws against his brain. So many memories of lies, secret meetings, arrogant decisions made by elders of who should live, people believing they somehow held sway with the Fates. How he wished he could tell his tale to someone. But who would understand or even believe it?
His spirit groaned. Living with Heluska and raising Tascana made it easy to pretend he was part of their world. But he was born in a place quite different than this. A land rich in a unique mineral called kros, a key ingredient in an eternal youth spell.
A sputtering cough erupted from him that soon turned into a dark laugh. Eternal youth spell. Those liars! Those selfish, cold-blooded liars.
Whatever the deeper secrecy behind the spell, Jurren could never go back to that life. Their promises of eternal youth ended when they banished him twenty years ago. The spell took sixteen administrations to take full effect. He had received only five. Spacing the spells five years apart gave the elders on Orison time to weed out potential threats to their way of life. Banishment meant losing any hope of his chance at immortality. The kros spells he received before he came to Bondurant slowed the aging process, but for how much longer?
He loosened his fists until his hands pressed flat against his forehead. Maybe it was better this way. After leaving his home island of Orison, he wandered alone as far as he could until a snow storm buried him, nearly taking his life. The most beautiful woman nursed him back to health. Her inner need to generously serve others was even more attractive than her beauty. Such kindness toward a stranger made her irresistible.
They were wed the following summer, despite his gut instinct insisting he wait. He couldn’t help himself. And yet his wedding night filled him with anxiety. Being the firstborn son of a firstborn son for as far as his lineage could be traced was a chain that could not be broken. What if the prophecies spoken over him back in his homeland held sway over Heluska?
Two years later, when the midwife handed him his daughter, the world finally made sense. After being warned of his son’s destined path, all these years later Jurren still cherished the memory of thinking to himself, The curse is finally broken. Only a son could carry on the heritage expected of his family’s line.
So why was he on a quest to rescue his daughter from a horsk dragon? Wasn’t having a daughter enough to break the words that bound him?
Why did those wild-childs have to show up and bring the scent of goblin back into his world? Closing his eyes, Jurren prayed that nothing else from that island would find him.
CHAPTER 9
“We’re gonna need to take it easy on the horses. That was a hard run yesterday.” Arkose continued brushing his mount.
Jurren looked to the horizon. The sun was beginning its climb away from the horizon. “How much farther to the Xanz River?”
“I’ve never been out this way, but I’m fairly certain we should reach it by midday.” Kidelar moved to brush his horse’s back again. “From there, it will be at least another day until we reach Ellesha Shan Shair.”
“If we find water sooner, we will let the horses rest and drink. Otherwise, we keep the pace easy like Arkose said.”
The scholar nodded. They worked the horses over once more then set out.
As Kidelar predicted, they reached the river by midday. They dismounted to give the horses a chance to drink their fill and graze on the grasses along the bank.
“Better top off your waterbag.” Jurren dug through his pack to pull out one more container. “That map doesn’t show a single creek once we cross here.”
“Too bad you didn’t bring your pet with you.” Arkose came up beside him.
“What?”
“Zemarick could scout ahead for details.”
How had Jurren forgotten to take him? “Go ahead, add insult to injury.”
Arkose laughed. “A goblin took our friend, then a dragon took your daughter. I think you’re allowed a slight lapse in memory.” He splashed water over his face. “At least we have our nightmares to keep us company, right?”
“Yeah, I saw Ellam last night too.” He raised his waterbag toward Arkose. “Here’s to the days we wish we could forget.”
“And to those worth never forgetting.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jurren looked up to find Kidelar pouring over a book. “How many times are you going to read the same pages?”
The scholar continued scanning. “I want to be certain we’re in the right place.”
Walking over, Jurren placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thank you for your sacrifice. I hope to return the favor one day.” He squeezed before letting go.
“How far across is this thing?” Arkose stood at the water’s edge.
Since he asked, Jurren gazed across the water. At first glance it looked little more than a hundred yards, but now the other shore seemed farther away. “A better question would be how deep it is.”
“I hadn’t considered that.” Kidelar turned to another page in his book. “There aren’t any hints or notations on how to cross that I’ve seen yet.”
Jurren scratched his chin. “We better go on foot. Horses have even more difficulty than we do walking on uneven terrain.”
The scholar tucked the book into his pack. “You first.”
Grinning, Jurren nodded at Arkose then took the lead. He grabbed the reins of his horse and guided him to the water’s edge. Soft mud pressed up with each step, giving a slight tug at his boots as he lifted his feet. Water rose a little higher on his legs as they continued to walk. Within a hundred feet, it swirled at mid-thigh. Much higher and walking would be out of the question.
The ground gave way sharply. Jurren slapped his arms out to the side to keep from going underwater.
“Pull back!” Nudging the horse to retreat a few steps, Jurren looked toward his friends.
“How deep is it?” Kidelar sounded nervous.
“Deep enough for the horses to take a bath.”
“We’re not quite halfway across. I don’t know if the horses can handle a swim that long after the ride they had yesterday.” Arkose rubbed the back of his neck.
“Agreed, but we have to keep going. They can rest on the other side while Kidelar updates his map.”
The scholar looked at Jurren then out across the river. “Are you certain we can traverse this?”
“You scared of water?”
“Only when my feet cannot feel the bottom.”
“Just hold on to your horse. He’s a natural swimmer; he’ll find a rhythm. If for any reason you think you have to get off make sure you get away fast. Hooves treading water can break a man’s leg quicker than you want to know.”
Jurren mounted then guided his steed to the deeper water. The horse skidded several steps, trying to turn off to the side, then finally plunged in. Cold surged up to Jurren’s chest as he pushed ahead. For several long minutes, he clung to the horse. Jurren’s gut instinct twinged inside him, and he looked back. Arkose and Kidelar were behind him, steadily moving across. Returning his gaze to that distant shore, Jurren hoped his premonition was for Tascana. It had been a full day and a half since she dis
appeared. Every hour spent looking for this seer meant dozens more miles the horsk dragon could have traveled to the south.
Again, a knot twinged in Jurren’s gut and he craned his head for a sign of danger. Nothing but water bobbing in every direction. Yet, something wasn’t right. Pressing toward the shore, he took a glimmer of comfort in knowing they were just over halfway across. At least they had that going for them.
“C’mon, keep going. We’re almost there.” Jurren shifted in the saddle as the water pushed against them. “Straight ahead to that tree over there.”
The horse seemed to sense Jurren’s urgency and kicked its legs even harder. A sudden jolt backward signaled they were in shallower water. The river pulled down Jurren’s waist, and the horse picked up more speed. Behind them, the other men experienced the same jolt. The other horses also picked up the pace to hurry out of the water, which was fine with him. Getting away from the knot in his stomach was the only thing Jurren wanted to do at that moment.
Stepping onto the bank, he had to pull hard on the reins to slow his horse to a walk. Why was it trying to run? He pivoted back to find Kidelar and Arkose cresting up into the shallows. Their horses also pushed to get to shore.
“That water spooked my horse.” Kidelar was tugging at his reins.
“I think it’s something in the water. We need to get out of here.” Jurren led his horse onto the dry land.
“But after a swim like that —” Arkose’s words cut short as he lunged forward.
A snake wound up the hind leg of Arkose’s horse so fast, Jurren barely saw its upward movement before it tugged the steed backward. Flailing, Arkose tumbled from his saddle, landing face down in the water. Leaping from his mount brought Jurren in knee-high water. He pushed through it and moved to help.
A second snakelike thing shot out to loop around Arkose’s leg as he rolled over. Two swipes from Jurren’s sword and the man was free. But wait a minute... Snakes don’t cling like that after being cut in half.
The sounds of a braying horse drew Jurren’s attention to the water. He ran to help, calling over his shoulder, “Kidelar, grab that horse before he bolts!”
