Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  Besides, who knew what waited for them on the other side?

  The soldier returned with the pack, now bulging and heavier than Tharadis would like, and handed it over. Tharadis nodded his thanks to the soldier and slung the pack over his shoulder. The sergeant gestured, the corners of his mouth turned up. “This way, gentlemen.”

  The air cooled more as they approached, the hairs on Tharadis’s arms standing up. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this cold. He glanced at Dransig, thinking that from here on out, the Knight would no longer regret wearing so much. Dransig didn’t look grateful for the cool wind, however. His brow was furrowed, his lips tight. He looked like a man marching to the gallows.

  It wasn’t long before they walked past the sign Tharadis had ordered built—a sign declaring that any further work done on the Runeway would be considered an invasion of Naruvieth—and the dark brown smear of the Runeway resolved into the details that Tharadis had heard described but had never truly been able to envision, so strange were the image they conjured. The Runeway was not one big solid block of metal as it appeared from a distance, but rather countless strips. Some were as long as his forearm while others were shorter, all twisted and folded together in a chaotic jumble—chaotic, at least, to Tharadis’s eyes. He imagined that it would make sense to certain Patterners. And perhaps to certain madmen, as well.

  The wind was a dull, constant roar, snapping at the hem of his tunic as he crouched down at the unfinished edge of the Runeway. Something about that edge put him on edge, making his stomach feel tight. He had always known that the Council of the Wall had wanted to finish the Runeway, but now, here, he could almost feel that incompleteness, as if he were staring at a bare patch of canvas in the corner of a master’s painting. He looked away, wondering if everyone felt so uneasy around this thing built of Patterning. One glance at Dransig’s shadowed eyes told him he was not alone in this.

  The metal the Runeway comprised was dark, like iron, yet at times it gleamed with hints of a deep reddish brown, suggesting copper, or some other metal he didn’t know. Tharadis had to admit that the designs the strips created were beautiful from a certain perspective. The whorls of metal were like all the steps of a dance seen at once, frozen in time.

  Though it looked like a mass of knife blades melted and twisted together, Tharadis almost instinctively knew that he could brush his fingers against the Runeway’s surface without so much as a scratch. He could see that was so. As if to prove it to some doubting part of himself, he reached forward with his left hand until the tip of his finger touched the ice-cold metal.

  The cold shot through him, blinding him, seizing his lungs, turning them to blocks of ice. Pain obliterated all sense of the world, all sense of self.

  Alone in the white void were the words.

  The unyielding shatters

  Death heralds world’s end

  And you shall die

  “Tharadis.”

  He spun at the touch to his shoulder, pulling in air like a drowning man who just breached the water’s surface. The sergeant stood at his side, frowning. Dransig stood behind him, shoulders hunched under his cloak, staring at the Rift intently as if he had forgotten there were others with him.

  Tharadis scrubbed his face with his hands. They came away slicked with cold sweat. He stood. The wind nearly toppled him. His head throbbed once, twice, but then the strange feeling passed. “What happened?” His throat was so dry he had to croak the words out. He gestured that he was fine.

  The sergeant shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Tharadis, as he lowered his hand. “Thought you’d decided to take a little nap after all. You sat there a near quarter hour, I reckon.” He shook his head again. “But something didn’t seem right. You looked … frozen. Like you’d stopped breathing.”

  Tharadis squeezed his eyes shut. The words were still there, hovering before his mind’s like an afterimage of the sun. He knew without a doubt what the words were.

  Prophecy.

  They gave him the same feeling as the bloody words from the day before. As if … he were in a whirlpool, wind and spray lashing at his face, him frantically swimming against the current until his muscles burned, but being pulled closer and closer to that black void in the center…

  Abruptly, he grabbed Shoreseeker’s sheath with one hand and used the thumb of his other to push the hilt up, exposing an inch of its sky blue blade. The words from yesterday, forever burned in his memory, came to him.

  Blue stands against green.

  The unyielding shatters.

  He snapped Shoreseeker home in its sheath and turned to the sergeant. “Thank you for your assistance. That will be all.”

  Something in Tharadis’s tone made the man give a wan-faced but proper salute before turning on his heels and marching back to the guard post.

  Tharadis turned to Dransig, who was watching him now, eyes intent. “Are you ready?”

  Dransig paused a moment before nodding. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

  Chapter 13: The Crossing

  Dransig stood two paces from the Runeway, staring at it as if it were a miles-long snake lying in wait for him. After some time—more time than Tharadis would have liked, given their situation—Dransig stepped onto the Runeway and stood there with his eyes closed.

  Tharadis moved close so he didn’t have to shout. “Can you keep going?”

  “Do I have any choice?” Dransig opened his eyes and looked south. “It’s hard to sense them, this close to the Rift.” He snorted. “Hard to sense anything. I can barely feel my own toes. But the good news is, they won’t be able to sense me again until they are on the other side. And anyone who’s waiting for me won’t know I’m coming until I’m sitting on their backs.” He gathered his cloak in one arm and started walking towards the breach in the walls of Rift light.

  Frowning, Tharadis followed, but it was hard keeping an eye on Dransig when the Rift was so close. He was still on the stretch of Runeway sitting on solid ground, but only a few steps in front of him, the ground dropped away, and the only thing separating him from the Rift was this strange metal road. Foolishly, he found himself imagining that it wouldn’t hold once he stepped out beyond the edge, that the Runeway would choose that moment to buckle and send him and Dransig tumbling into the Rift to die—or suffer some worse, unimaginable fate.

  Tharadis took a deep breath, admonishing himself to stop being such a fool, and forced himself to keep walking.

  Still, once he stepped past where the Rift began, he paused. Nothing happened, of course, but it was only then that he realized he’d been holding in that breath, and he let it all out in a rush.

  To either side was only the wavering, otherworldly light of the Rift, both walls stretching up so high it left only the tiniest of sliver of sky between them. Glancing down, he saw that the light even seeped up through the gaps in the Runeway. Death, just inches beneath the soles of my sandals, he thought, before silently admonishing himself again. The wind was much stronger here, so much so that it stung his eyes. Tharadis wiped at them, hooked his thumb under the strap of his pack, and looked to Dransig. Twenty paces ahead, the Knight struggled forward, looking more like a man hiking up a steep incline than one crossing a level bridge.

  Tharadis shook his head. If Dransig could manage, so could he. He pressed on.

  Not a quarter hour passed before Dransig collapsed hard to his knees and slumped to his side. He lay, still as stone, as his cloak flapped all around him.

  Tharadis himself nearly stumbled as he rushed to Dransig’s side. Without a word, he tossed his pack to the middle of the Runeway, crouched, and rolled him over. Dransig’s eyes and teeth were clenched tight. Sweat streaked his brow. Tharadis wasn’t sure if he was still conscious or not. Either way, he wasn’t going to walk on his own.

  He slung the pack over one shoulder while supporting Dransig with the other. Tharadis thought that if he could support at least some of his weight, Dransig would begin to move his feet, by in
stinct if nothing else. But when Tharadis began to walk, Dransig’s feet only dragged. Tharadis would have to carry him.

  Pack now hanging in front of him, Tharadis groaned as he pulled Dransig’s limp, heavy form up onto his back.

  It wasn’t long before Tharadis was panting, the muscles in his thighs burning. He had no idea how much farther he had to go; the sliver of sky simply stretched forward, thinning until it met the horizon. It didn’t matter how far it was, anyway. All that mattered was him putting one foot in front of the other and not stumbling over the edge into the Rift. He would get there when he did, and thinking about it wouldn’t change that.

  Dransig started to shake. Tharadis paused, fearing the worst. Was the Rift having more of an effect on him than Dransig had originally thought?

  Would Tharadis be carrying a sheggam on his back before long?

  Tharadis suspected he’d have some warning before that happened. And if it did, there would be nothing he could do for Dransig. He’d be gone, a monster in his place. If that happened, Tharadis always had Shoreseeker. Or he could just toss him into the Rift.

  No. He’d told Dransig he’d see him across the Rift, and that’s what he meant to do. He would just have to go faster.

  Tharadis turned enough to allow himself a brief glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t tell how far they’d already gone, but he knew it had been long enough that they couldn’t turn back now. The Knights would likely already be there. Tharadis dismissed the idea. Forward was all they had now.

  “Fight,” Tharadis murmured, the wind carrying the sound away. “Fight it, Dransig.” Sweat began to burn his eyes as much as the wind did. He squinted, the Runeway becoming a dark blur.

  The edge of Tharadis’s sandal caught on one of the tiny ridges on the Runeway’s surface, jolting his step enough to cause him to stumble. His knee slammed into its hard, metal surface, and a moment later, his face, with all of Dransig’s weight behind it. Tharadis’s eyesight flashed and dimmed, his thoughts awash in a haze of pain.

  It was all he could do to roll Dransig off of his back and try to regain his senses. He took a moment to clear his head, catch his breath, and inspect Dransig. He was no longer shaking. Neither did he seem to be breathing.

  Tharadis would have to recover later. He had no idea how much longer Dransig could stand to be here. With a grunt, Tharadis pulled him onto his back again and trudged forward, worry spurring him on.

  The sliver of sky gradually darkened to twilight as it widened, revealing a handful of stars. Had they really been on the Runeway that long? He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been carrying Dransig on his back. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two, but it felt like half his life.

  Up ahead, Tharadis could see finally hints of green emerging from beyond the Rift—hints of the Accord lands.

  That meant they were almost across. “Not much longer now.” He wasn’t sure who the words were for. Exhaustion threatened to pull him down, but he forced himself forward. They were almost across. He had to keep going. “Not much longer.”

  When there were only a few steps between him and his goal, two brown-clad figures stepped onto the Runeway a couple dozen paces ahead.

  One problem at a time, Tharadis thought. One problem at a time. His mind struggled to put the pieces together. Something in his subconscious nagged at him. He should know what their brown cloaks meant. He didn’t bother to think about it. He couldn’t right now. All he could think about was crossing the bridge, getting Dransig and himself away from the Rift.

  Tharadis glanced up at them again and saw the eyes stitched to their tabards. Ah. Yes.

  When they finally passed the Rift, Tharadis headed right, step by lurching step, until he was no longer on the Runeway, until he could feel blades of wet grass tickle his toes. The Rift glowed five paces to his right. Tharadis didn’t know if that was far enough away to loose Dransig from whatever effect it was having on him. He hoped it was, but he didn’t have much of a choice—he simply couldn’t go any further. He let Dransig slide off his back with a thump and dropped the pack. As soon as he hit the ground, Dransig took in a sharp breath. His eyelids fluttered briefly, but then he went still again.

  Good enough. Tharadis dropped to a knee, panting heavily. He turned to the two approaching brown-clad figures, their wooden staves before them.

  Trembling, Tharadis rose to his feet and drew Shoreseeker.

  Chapter 14: Knights of the Eye

  You’d do well to step away from that one, young man,” said the Knight in front. He was quite a bit younger than Dransig, though he still had a dozen years on Tharadis. Part of his thick, red beard had been braided; the rest of it was slightly matted from a lack of washing. The man’s eyes were deep in their sockets beneath a heavy brow. The glow of the Rift lapped over his features like liquid firelight. The shadows cast by his steel conical helm swallowed his eyes.

  Both Knights had slowed their advance once Tharadis had drawn Shoreseeker. They eyed him warily—and Shoreseeker, doubtless having never seen a sword with a blade quite like it. They could tell from his stance that he was no novice. They were likely determining how poorly he would make use of his abilities, as worn out as he was.

  Tharadis tried to do the same, figure out if he even had a chance. Tried, but couldn’t. He couldn’t focus his mind. It took all his effort just to keep his eyes open and his sword up.

  “Look at him,” said the younger Knight. The tips of blond curls peeked out from under his helm. His noseguard was bent severely, and he had a nose to match it. It looked like it had been broken several times. There was a look in his eyes that Tharadis had seen a number of times before, moments before the outbreak of a brawl. It was eagerness for a fight. “He can barely stand. Let me take him.”

  The older man gave his companion a sharp stare. “Going for the easier prey, are you?”

  “Easier than that?” The blond Knight motioned to Dransig’s unconscious form. “I’ll leave the murder to you.” The look in his eyes turned savage as he smiled at Tharadis. “This one is mine.”

  The older one didn’t seem to like his tone, but then he shrugged and slung his staff on the thong that looped over his shoulder. “Fine by me,” he said. “Just don’t kill him.” From beneath his cloak he drew a gleaming single-edged short sword and began to slowly make his way around Tharadis, eyes fixed firmly on him.

  Tharadis watched him, too—a little too long. Sensing the distraction, the blond man thrust the steel-shod tip of his staff at him with a yell. Tharadis sidestepped and twisted, slapping it away. He moved too sluggishly to deflect it entirely. He avoided having his sword arm broken, but he could tell from the deep throb that it would likely bruise and swell soon. The pain wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Tharadis felt his heart beat a little faster, felt his motions become a little surer.

  The blond man danced back, cloak swirling behind him. He looked pleased by his quarry’s performance. “Not bad,” he said, nodding. “I’ve had better, of course, like when your mother—” He suddenly swung the staff again, and then once more in quick succession. Tharadis hadn’t been fooled that time. Shoreseeker had gouged the staff, slicing off a sliver as long as his arm. With the second strike he hadn’t been quite so lucky. The blood on his knuckles was proof of that.

  Tharadis stepped closer to the bearded Knight, who had been close to flanking him. The Knight slowed, then stopped when Tharadis had moved directly between him and Dransig. Tharadis knew they were just trying to keep him occupied long enough to kill Dransig. With two of them, it was only a matter of time before they succeeded. Tharadis had to do something quickly before that time came. But he had no idea what to do. His mind was drawing a blank. Trying to think of what to do felt as if he were trying to catch the wind in his fingers.

  There was no time to think of a solution right now. He let his instincts take over, and hoped that he had honed them well enough.

  He brought his lead foot back, squaring his stance. Then he brought Shoreseeker up over his he
ad, parallel to his shoulders, the flat of the blade facing the same direction as his eyes.

  The blond man laughed. “The Fool’s Salute. I’ve never actually seen it used before. Either you’re extremely arrogant and stupid, or … well, there is no other option, is there?” His smile widened as he leaned back on his rear foot, preparing to strike again.

  Without closing his eyes, Tharadis pictured a flower in his mind, one called the hearthsflame, a small orange flower that grew on the rocky slopes of the Face just north of the city. He saw it as clearly as the man before him. In his mind, it overlaid the scene before him, covering it yet not obscuring any of its details, as if the flower and his opponent were one and the same.

  The flower in Tharadis’s mind bent suddenly, as if propelled forward by a gust of wind.

  With strokes as gentle as the brush of a finger, Tharadis brought down Shoreseeker.

  Bud. Petal. Tharadis saw both sheared from the hearthsflame, falling away slowly, as if almost weightless.

  He cleared the image from his mind as the blond man fell to his knees, screaming. He couldn’t seem to decide whether to clutch the bleeding stump of his right arm or the deep gash on his left cheek. The man’s right hand lay on the ground two paces away, still clutching the staff as if it didn’t know it was no longer attached to the rest of his body.

  Tharadis turned to the bearded Knight.

  The Knight backed away, short sword held in front of him. He glanced to his companion, who was still on his knees and now sobbing instead of screaming.

  “You can’t use that sword on me,” Tharadis said. “Not unless I attack you first.”

  The bearded man nodded, his eyes wide. “You know more about us than you should.”

  Tharadis didn’t think so, at least not at the moment. He hadn’t even been sure he had remembered that one fact correctly. His knees had begun to shake with the effort of keeping himself upright. He hoped his opponent wouldn’t notice.