by Brandon Mull
“Why are the drinlings helping us?” Jason asked.
“The drinlings are not currently avoiding the war because they love Felrook,” Sakar answered. “On the contrary, for years the drinlings stood between Maldor and the east coast of Lyrian. They made the kingdom of Kadara untouchable and received aid from Kadara in the form of men and arms.
“As the conflict wore on, and as more kingdoms fell elsewhere, Maldor brought ever greater hosts against the drinlings. Eventually the drinlings’ numbers began to dwindle. The king of Kadara withdrew his support from the drinlings, choosing instead to fortify his defenses. Kadara and others had taken the fierce commitment of the drinlings for granted for ages, but in this instance, the drinlings surprised everyone. Instead of sacrificing themselves to buy Kadara more time to prepare, the drinlings quit the fight. They abruptly stopped resisting and turned their efforts to evading. They know the hills south of here like no other people, and eventually the hosts of Maldor gave up trying to chase them. The commanders opted to bypass the drinlings and engage Kadara.”
“Kadara definitely had it coming,” Ferrin murmured.
“So where do they stand now?” Rachel asked.
“In the years since quitting the fight, the numbers of the drinlings have made a significant recovery,” Sakar explained.
“It helps when pregnancy lasts little more than a week, and twins or triplets are common,” Farfalee commented.
Sakar nodded. “There has always been a high mortality rate with drinling women during childbirth. That rate is increasing. But they are doing their best. I told Ul about Galloran’s return and the possible involvement of the Amar Kabal against Felrook. He knows that once Kadara falls, the drinlings will be encompassed by enemies. If this rebellion comes to fruition, he pledged the involvement of his clan.”
“What of the other clans?” Ferrin asked.
“Ul and I will work to convince them,” Sakar said. “It may take some time. For now, he has vowed to intervene with the sentinels of Ebera on our behalf. It was he who warned me that the sentinels would never allow you to cross the Silver River. He brought his people across in unprecedented numbers to give you a chance.”
On the plain below the ridge, a detachment of riders approached Ul and a party of drinlings. Rachel was much too far away to catch any of the words. At one point, Ul turned and gave a signal with one arm. Hundreds of drinlings stood up along the ridge and on the plain, casting aside their camouflaged cloaks.
The discussion on the plain continued. Eventually, the detachment of riders turned and galloped back to their comrades. Within minutes, the undead horsemen were riding away to the east.
In time, Ul joined Sakar and Farfalee on the ridge. Three others came forward with him—a girl and a boy who looked not much older than Rachel or Jason, and an older man crisscrossed with scars, especially on the left side of his face and body. His left hand was missing, replaced by a sharp metal spike with a small hook affixed to one side.
The girl introduced herself as Nia, the boy as Io. “My father wishes us to speak for him,” the girl said in a clear voice with a slight accent. “He has little patience for a language so tedious as yours.”
“He means no offense,” Io clarified. “Our language, Ji, conveys information much more succinctly, although it lacks the variety and nuances of your tongue.” Rachel immediately liked Io. He seemed calm and considerate. And it didn’t hurt that he had handsome features—more boy band than rock star, but undeniably cute.
“Father negotiated your freedom,” Nia said. “We have a boat waiting to convey you to the south. We keep a few hidden along the river. You will officially remain under our vigilant watch for three days. If any of you have contracted the plague, you will be burned.”
Halco cleared his throat. “I’m infected.”
A brief patter of syllables flowed from Ul.
“Father says you can either perish by fire or seek to join the sentinels,” Io relayed.
Brow lowered, Halco thumbed a jagged scar on the back of one hand. He attempted to answer twice before the words came out. “I might prefer to join the sentinels. My hunger remains manageable, and I suppose they can find a use for every man they can get.”
The request was translated, and Ul favored Halco with a nodding smile of acknowledgment. Through Io, he assured Halco that his assistance would be valued.
“My father also desires to relate that my brother and I are intended as gifts to your cause,” Nia said. “He was informed that you would need representatives from his people to join you at Mianamon, to allow for a more accurate prophecy. Of all his children, we are the slowest.”
“Meaning we are most adept at conversing in your language,” Io added. “And we are young, so we still have much life ahead of us.”
“We’re both in our fifth month,” Nia explained. “He’s two weeks older.”
“I come too,” said the heavily scarred man, his accent much thicker.
“He’s Raz, our mentor,” Io explained. “He killed a mangler while unarmed, to save our mother.”
“Tree,” said Ul, holding up three fingers. He pointed at Raz, scowling and clenching a fist, as if to suggest he was tough. Then he held a hand out toward the other two and moved the other hand like a jabbering mouth while rolling his eyes.
“Father!” Nia exclaimed, appalled.
“We sometimes talk too much,” Io apologized.
Ul spat some chattering syllables.
“We must wait until after dark for the boat,” Nia translated. “We should remain here for the present. He will send for some agreeable food.”
After many thanks had been expressed to Ul and his clan, the meeting ended. Nia and Io gravitated toward Corinne, Jason, and Rachel—perhaps because they appeared to be of a similar age. The conversation started slowly and politely, with Rachel and Jason explaining that they were Beyonders and Corinne explaining that she used to live in a swamp.
“You have interesting pasts,” Nia said. “I have never left these hills, though I’ve yearned to see the world.”
“You speak our language well,” Jason said. “Have you had a lot of practice?”
“Chiefly among my people,” Nia said. “Many among us endeavor to keep the tradition alive in the hope of future alliances.”
“We once met a messenger from Kadara who spoke with us,” Io said. “He wanted us to attack the army besieging the city of Highport. Father told him we would send Kadara the same assistance in their hour of need as they sent us when we faced extinction.”
“Afterward, Father told us that if there had been any hope of success, he would have attacked,” Nia said. “Regardless of our past grievances, none of us are pleased to see Kadara fall and the emperor grow stronger.”
“I can’t believe you guys are five months old,” Jason said. “When I was five months old, I was a bald little baby who couldn’t do much more than cry.”
Io chuckled. “Our lives move at a different pace. Our parents begin teaching us the moment we are born. We never sleep. Our minds mature faster along with our bodies.”
“I was less than a month old when my mother discovered my aptitude for English,” Nia said. “It is why I was given such an extravagant name.”
“I was the same,” Io said. “In Ji, two syllables is a very long word.”
“We come from a long-lived line,” Nia explained. “We develop a touch slower, but we live longer than many drinlings. Some of our ancestors survived nearly three years.”
Rachel looked away.
Io touched her shoulder. “That sounds quick to you.”
“A little,” Rachel replied, not wanting to emphasize her discomfort. How unfair for them to live so briefly!
“I have heard that some outside our culture feel this way,” Io said. “You must understand, our lives feel sufficient to us. Does your life feel long enough? Eighty years?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess.”
Io smiled. He had a smile like his father. “Yet
compare yourself to the Amar Kabal. If you tally their many lives, they could endure a hundred times longer than you. Or more. To them, your life seems fleeting. To you, our lives seem short.”
“To us, all of you live much too long,” Nia joked. “How tedious it must become!”
Rachel forced a smile. “I see what you mean. It’s all relative.” She still felt the wizard who had devised a two-year life span must have been terribly insensitive.
“Besides,” Io said, eyes twinkling, “we have some advantages. We never get ill. And we don’t have to wait for food!” He tore up a clump of weeds, put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
“No way!” Jason said. “That won’t make you sick?”
“Our bodies consume a lot of energy,” Nia explained. “We need plenty of nourishment.” She shoved a palmful of dirt into her mouth.
Rachel winced. “Doesn’t it taste bad?”
“Not to us,” Io said. “It probably tastes bad to you because your body can’t use it.”
“Don’t you like normal food better?” Jason asked.
“Depends on what you call normal,” Nia said, biting off a portion of a dry twig, clearly enjoying how Jason cringed. Rachel could hear the twig snapping as Nia chewed. “Unlike many other cultures, we never cook our food.”
Io made a disgusted face. “Talk about ruining flavor.”
“The stick doesn’t hurt your teeth?” Corinne asked.
“Our teeth are tough,” Nia assured her.
“Okay, I’m a little jealous,” Jason admitted.
“Just wait a few months until you have to treat us as your elders,” Nia replied.
Rachel laughed along with the others, but the thought still made her a little sad.
CHAPTER 25
THE LAST INN
Jason leaned against the side of the ship, staring out at the rolling swells and the coast beyond, blue with distance. The scent of the salt on the air made him thirsty, and he took a sip from his waterskin. He tried not to think of poor Corinne, huddled at the back of the boat, unable to keep any food down.
After dizzying heights, blasting winds, and murderous zombies, the ocean voyage had been just what he needed to get his equilibrium back. He almost regretted that they would reach their destination tonight. He supposed he was relieved for Corinne’s sake.
For almost a week this boat had represented the only safety he had really known since departing the Seven Vales. Long and narrow, with a dozen oars on each side and a big square sail, the drinling vessel had outpaced a variety of more elaborate ships manned by Kadarians.
Jason had watched the drinlings in awe that first night. A stocky people, they tended to have more muscle than height; they were broad through the shoulders, with long torsos and sturdy legs. They seemed to put all of their power into each stroke, but still found reserves for another and another and another. They didn’t break to rest or to sleep. Only to eat and to drink.
Heaps of black tubers had crowded the boat at the outset of the voyage. Nia had explained that the dense tubers were a favorite among her people, due to their rich nutrients. Inedible to most living things, the rootlike growths flourished beneath the soil among the hills where the drinlings dwelled.
By sunrise on the first morning aboard the longboat, they had already passed beyond the estuary of the Silver River to the open sea. A surprising amount of the black tubers had already been consumed, and the drinlings showed no hesitation about washing them down with seawater. As they rowed, Jason watched the bodies of the drinlings adapt to the work, muscles thickening across backs and along arms, men and women alike. Rather than tiring out over time, the drinling rowers were growing stronger and more able.
The longboat was not designed for as many passengers as it presently carried, but the members of the delegation made the best of it. Sleeping was the worst part, huddled in cramped spaces while the rowers toiled through the night.
They had not been harassed by any imperial ships. Raz and Io had related that although Maldor had built an impressive navy in the western ocean, the emperor had made no effort to dominate the eastern waters. A navy had been essential to conquer the island nation of Meridon off the western coast, but as the eastern ocean held no such spoils, Maldor had opted to attack Kadara strictly by land.
Consequently, the Kadarian navy went unchallenged on the water. Unfortunately, this did little to help their besieged cities, except the capital, Inkala, which had docks shielded by massive city walls.
Ever since the drinlings had stopped fighting the emperor, the Kadarians had shown no love for them. But the Kadarian ships the delegation had encountered only made token efforts to harass them. Evidently the Kadarians had bigger problems on their hands.
Now, for the first time in five days, the prow of the boat turned diagonally toward the shoreline. Tark joined Jason, hairy forearms resting on the gunwale. “Back to land,” he said in his gravelly voice. “No more fish.”
“I had no idea you were such a fisherman,” Jason remarked, glancing down at his friend. “You caught twice as many as anyone aboard.”
“I worked the sea for a time,” Tark answered simply.
“What haven’t you done?” Jason asked. “You were a fisherman, a diver, a miner, a musician. What am I missing?”
“Cook,” Tark said. “Soldier. Tradesman. Hedonist. Traitor. Those are the main ones.”
“You need to go easier on yourself,” Jason said.
“I’ve gone plenty easy often enough,” Tark replied. “I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Jason, but I’ll decide when my penance is done for turning my back on good causes. I’ve got too many comrades reprimanding me from their watery graves.”
“What do you think we’ll find back on land?” Jason asked.
“Nothing so terrible as what we faced in the Forsaken Kingdom, I hope,” Tark said, hawking up phlegm and spitting over the side. “That business was the worst I ever want to see.”
“I hear you,” Jason agreed. “Thanks for watching my back through all of that.”
“Thank Rachel,” Tark said.
“Good point.”
“I wouldn’t mind some bread,” Tark mused. “Been some time since we had any bread. We were spoiled in the Vales.”
“Will the Last Inn have good food?” Jason asked.
Tark rubbed his hands together. “Don’t torture me. I’ve never made it there, but the Last Inn has a reputation that spans Lyrian. That doesn’t happen without desirable fare.”
“How far from the Durnese River to the inn?”
“Just a day or two on foot, according to Raz.”
“Think Galloran will be there?”
“Hard thing to guess. I sure hope so. He’s had some time. Thanks to the speed of this ship, we’ll arrive more or less on schedule.”
Under the cover of darkness, the longboat entered the wide, slow Durnese River. Jason swatted at biting insects as he watched the banks glide by, grateful to be in motion without any personal effort. To either side of the vessel, beyond the flat water, bobbing fireflies twinkled amid ferny shrubs. The lukewarm air tasted humid, as if poised to condense into a rain cloud all around him, although the starry sky above was mostly clear.
At length, the longboat ran aground against a level bank of firm mud interspersed with puddles. Raz and other drinlings helped the delegation disembark. After nearly a week of backbreaking labor, the drinling rowers had swelled up like bodybuilders.
Without ceremony, Raz aided the drinlings as they shoved the longboat back into the water. The few vessels secreted near the Silver River were among the drinlings’ favorite assets, and the experienced crew wanted to reach the safety of the open sea by sunrise.
“This nearest of river to Last Inn,” Raz explained in uncertain English. “We have fresh legs. We walk.”
So Jason, Rachel, Farfalee, Nollin, Kerick, Drake, Ferrin, Tark, Nedwin, Aram, Nia, Io, and Raz hiked away from the river and soon came to a road. Aram cradled Corinne in his strong arms, as she rema
ined too nauseated to walk. He seemed relieved to be on dry land. The half giant had patiently endured growing and shrinking aboard the longboat for all to see.
“This is a remote corner of Lyrian,” Ferrin said, falling into step beside Jason. “I’ve only made it this way once, and then simply out of curiosity.”
“You’ve been to the Last Inn?” Jason asked.
Ferrin nodded. “A massive structure. Maldor technically occupies this part of Lyrian, the former kingdoms of Durna and Hintop. But the area is sparsely populated, and since the emperor has not yet elected to engage any of the settlements within the southern jungle, little heed is paid to this southeastern portion of the continent.”
“How far is the Temple of Mianamon into the jungle?” Jason asked.
“Far enough to keep the emperor away for now,” Ferrin replied. “I’ve never entered the jungle. I’m not sure Lyrian has more perilous terrain. Forget the venomous snakes, poisonous plants, deadly insects, and impenetrable foliage. The wizard Certius left behind some ferocious races that Maldor has opted to leave unchallenged.”
“Certius was part of the big war with Zokar and Eldrin,” Jason said, remembering his lessons in history from the Repository of Learning.
“Good memory,” Ferrin said. “Zokar attacked Certius first, and suffered horrible losses to gain victory. Certius was killed, his races scattered, but the forces of Zokar never recovered sufficiently to stand up to Eldrin. None really know how much the races of Certius have recuperated. Certius and his creations never showed interest in venturing beyond the jungle. Historians believe that Zokar lost the war by engaging Certius prematurely. Had Zokar initially bested Eldrin instead, strategists argue he could have rebuilt his forces at his leisure before attacking Certius. Maldor participated in that conflict, and is a devoted student of history.”
“So you think Maldor will leave the southern jungle alone?” Jason asked.
“From what I’ve managed to gather, I believe the southern jungle is Maldor’s last priority, even after the Seven Vales. Which is why I never went there. The region was not particularly relevant, and unquestionably dangerous.”
