by NS Dolkart
Bestillos considered this. The Atunaean clearly held a grudge against this Psander, and would likely say anything to bring about the wizard’s destruction. But wizards were second only to the dragon spawn as abominations before the Gods. He would have to die, even if he no longer consorted with the accursed islanders.
“And where does this wizard live?” Bestillos asked.
“South of here,” said the old hearthman, “in a fortress that cannot be seen until you stand at its door. Raise your army, and I will guide you.”
The younger acolytes had finished with the ritual and were now looking at them, waiting for their leader’s command.
“I will sleep on it,” Bestillos said. Magor often came to him in dreams.
The Atunaean nodded and withdrew, saying that he would be ready to ride southwards at the priest’s earliest command. Yet that night, as the first dry winds of the season blew in from the north, Bestillos did not dream of wizards. He dreamt instead that he had gone out hunting, and that in his absence a fire had sprung up in the fields of Ardis. If only I had not gone out, he thought in his dream, I could have stayed and extinguished the fire. When Bestillos awoke, he rose and called for the Atunaean.
The old warrior met him at the temple door, horse and arms at the ready. “We will not ride today,” Bestillos told him, “nor tomorrow. Magor spoke to me in a dream. The dragon is coming to us.”
The Atunaean’s face registered skepticism and disappointment. “Why would the islanders come here? Even they must know that you would kill them.”
“They are coming,” Bestillos said. “I have seen it.”
“So what do you want me to do, then? Just wait around?”
Bestillos eyed him coldly. “I don’t care what you do with your time,” he said. “I will go nowhere until I hear word of the islanders’ arrival.”
“And the wizard?”
“–Does not seem to be going anywhere,” Bestillos replied. “His time will come as well. First, the last remnants of the dragonspawn must be eradicated.”
The warrior slouched off despondently. Bestillos watched him go. They had never impressed him, these Gallant Ones. If they had been as brave or noble as they told themselves, they would have stayed in Atuna to fight and die – or else to conquer. Even now, this man’s revenge against his wizard enemy was a weak one. Only a coward would seek aid from his old foes instead of trying to slay the wizard himself.
For two days, Bestillos waited. On the third day, news came. A group of islanders had been traveling northward through the outskirts of the city, a small crowd of children in their wake. Bestillos called for the Atunaean and raised a pig of thanksgiving to Magor. The pig’s squeal was short and loud when Bestillos slaughtered it, a good omen. He burnt it to a cinder, relishing the smell.
“Charos is here, Holy One,” announced one of the lower acolytes while the first ashes were still blowing in the air.
“Charos?” asked Bestillos.
“Yes, Holy One. Charos the Atunaean, of the Gallant Ones.”
“Ah,” said the High Priest. “He is outside? Let him wait. Bring me my spear, and have Peskas saddle the black mare. I’m going hunting today.”
Hearthman Charos drew in his breath when he saw the red robes and the spear. “They are here, then?” he asked.
“They are here.”
They rode east, taking two skilled hunters with them. Mageris was one, Balkon the other. At each farm, the inhabitants pointed them northward. “They’ve been avoiding Ardis,” said Charos the Atunaean. “At least they’re not total fools.”
“It is foolish for them to be anywhere in Hagardis at all,” Bestillos told him. “The whole region is unsafe for the slayers of the boar.”
Charos nodded and licked his lips. Had Bestillos’ words made his mouth go dry? The priest smiled to himself. That was as it should be.
They continued northward, following the islanders’ trail. “Where are these fools going?” asked Balkon.
Bestillos looked westward, to where the mountains of the Calardian range loomed ever closer. He thought he knew.
The last village brought confirmation. A stranger had been to town, and brought with him a gaggle of children from all across the continent.
“Was the man an islander?” asked Mageris.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bestillos told him. “The dragonspawn can change their skin. Tell me,” he added to the nervous villager, “where are these children now?”
There were five of them, a boy and four girls. “These two are mine,” the villager said. “I don’t know where the others came from.”
Bestillos ignored him, gazing down at them. They were all about five years old – afraid of him, but too young to know how frightened to be.
“Tell me,” he said. “Why did the islanders come here?”
“They were bringing Temena and Adla home,” said one of the girls, a dark haired little thing. “They wanted to take us all home, but they didn’t know how to get there.”
“But they left you all here,” said gray Charos. “Why the hurry?”
“They wanted to go to the tune,” said another girl, either Adla or Temena.
Their father hastily clarified. “The fellow who brought them asked for directions to the Dragon Knight’s tomb,” he said. “I think he was planning to go there next.”
The Ardismen looked at one another. “Paying his respects?” suggested Balkon.
“How long were you traveling with them?” Mageris asked the girls.
“A long way,” said the first one. “The sea tried to eat me, but Criton saved me and we flew away!”
“They’re all full of stories,” said the villager apologetically. “Don’t believe a word of it.”
Bestillos ignored him. “The Dragon Knight’s tomb,” he commanded his companions.
When they had mounted their horses, the priest turned to the father one last time. “Question them thoroughly,” he said, “and make sure they have not fallen under the islander’s sway. If this Criton’s influence upon them remains, I will be back.”
The villager acknowledged the warning with a gulp. “I’ll drive away their influence if I have to beat it out of them,” he said.
“I hope so,” said Bestillos, with a curt nod. They rode for the mountains.
They reached the Dragon Knight’s tomb just before sunset, climbing up through the yellow glare with their hands over their eyes. When they had almost reached the mouth of the cave, Bestillos put up his hand to stop the others. Four horses were standing idly outside the cavern, loosely tied to a bush.
Bestillos smiled. “We have them,” he said.
55
Bandu
The climb back did not feel so long, now that Salemis was behind them.
“I still can’t believe it,” said Criton. “We have the Yarek’s seed now, and we’re bound to have Psander’s help. We’re going to rescue Salemis!”
He was so happy now. Why shouldn’t he be? This was what he had wanted, the chance to be a rescuer and to pretend that a dragon was his father. But what did it mean for Bandu and for her young? She carried big Goodweather’s acorn in her arms, and little Goodweather inside her. Which one would Criton cherish?
“It’s amazing,” said Phaedra, stumbling along beside her with an arm over Hunter’s shoulder. “I always knew that dragons were huge, but I never really realized what a… what a lesser order of being we are.”
“How do you mean?” asked Hunter.
Phaedra panted a little as she walked. “That hissing sound he made – that wasn’t speech. He was using magic to make us understand him. Just like Bandu does with animals.”
Hunter nodded. “Right. I see what you mean.”
“Back to Psander, then,” said Narky happily, “and for once, she’ll be doing as much for us as we do for her.”
When they reached the end of the tunnel, they stopped. The entrance had shrunk while they were gone. A dim light poured through the narrow hole in the roots, soft and s
ubdued. There was barely room to crawl through one at a time, and even as they watched, the roots slithered and tightened further around their exit.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Narky.
“Bandu goes first,” Criton insisted. “She’s the only one who can’t slip through sideways.”
It was true. Turning sideways would only have made Bandu wider now, the way her belly stuck out. She crouched and squeezed through, her arms out in front of her.
It was around sunset outside, though the mountain stood between her and the view. When she turned, the flower that had stood at the cliff’s edge was completely gone. She went back to inspect it, then suddenly stopped and fell to her knees. There was a man standing at the mouth of the cave. A man with a spear.
She made to peek over the edge a second time, but just then Phaedra stepped out of the tunnel and stood beside her. Bandu grabbed her skirt and pulled her to the ground.
“Someone looks for us,” she whispered.
She crawled forward again on her hands and knees, leaving Phaedra to warn the others if she could. The man with the spear was standing next to their horses, keeping watch. So far, he was looking down the mountainside instead of up it.
Phaedra managed to get Criton to stay quiet, but Narky stumbled as he came out of the tunnel, and the watchman heard him. His body stiffened, and Bandu pulled out of sight just as he began to look upwards.
“Oh please,” Bandu whispered to the wind, “don’t carry our sounds to him.”
Above her head, the hole in the mesh was nearly gone. Before it could close completely, Hunter dove out of the shrinking tunnel and crashed to the ground beside her.
Bandu held her breath, but nothing happened. Then the man below called out to whoever was in the cave.
“What is it?” asked a harsh man’s voice.
“I think they’re close,” the watchman replied.
“Did you see them?”
“No, but I thought I heard something.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. It was gone almost as soon as it started.”
Bandu sighed in relief and silently thanked the wind. The man below sounded frustrated. “It’s getting dark,” he said, “and they’ve left all their horses and equipment here. They’ll come back soon enough. Here, bring the horses inside. When the islanders come looking for them, we’ll be waiting.”
“But what if they don’t come looking?” asked a third voice, a rough, gravelly voice that sounded somehow familiar.
The other man laughed. “They won’t get far without their food and their waterskins. We can track them by the light of day. And if all else fails – well, in that case we can try your wizard.”
“Who is that?” whispered Phaedra. “I’ve heard that voice before.”
“It’s Bestillos,” answered Criton, looking almost yellow. “The high priest of Magor.”
Phaedra’s eyes widened. “Gods protect us,” she said.
There was a clopping of hooves from below, and the men’s voices grew more distant. “Let’s get out of here,” whispered Hunter.
“We’re not going anywhere near that cave,” said Narky, “not until we can be sure they’re not looking.”
Criton seconded his opinion. “We’ll find another way down,” he said.
Their climb away from the cave was torture. It would have been impossible for her without Criton and Hunter’s help. In order to avoid passing the tomb’s entrance they had to go up the mountain for a while before heading back down again. The sun had long set by the time they were once more on level ground. They did not stop then, but continued traveling by the light of Criton’s magic. In that dim light, Criton’s eyes begged her for forgiveness. It weakened her, that look. With people nearby who so unashamedly meant to murder her, how could she stay angry with a man who had only hit her by mistake, when he was weak and afraid?
“I think I know who you were talking about,” Hunter told Phaedra, as they continued down the mountainside. “You were talking about the one with the raspy voice. It sounded familiar to me too.”
“That was Hearthman Charos,” said Narky, “of the Gallant Ones. I bought a horse and our tents off him.”
Phaedra groaned. “Bestillos said they’d try the wizard if they couldn’t find us – Charos is going to lead him straight to Psander!”
“We should get to her as soon as we can,” suggested Criton, “before Bestillos can raise his army again.”
“Not a chance,” said Narky. “We can’t go by the roads. We can’t even go back the way we came – too many people saw us that way. If we stay in the open, he’ll track us down. He might track us down even if we don’t.”
Hunter nodded. “We have to go through the mountains,” he said.
“What?” cried Phaedra. “Bandu and I can’t climb over the Calardian range! And even if we could, that would take months!”
“What else can we do, Phaedra?” Hunter hissed back. “Narky’s right. The red priest tracked us to the Dragon Knight’s Tomb, and he has our horses now. The mountains are the only place we can go where he’s not twice as fast as we are. If he doesn’t follow us, then we can worry about Psander.”
They traveled on through the night, and did not stop until their march became a climb once more. The mountains loomed before them in the darkness, and Bandu shivered. It would be cold up there, and their blankets were still in the cave.
Bandu’s belly weighed on her, and her feet felt as if she was pounding them flat. Her back ached. Yet onward they climbed until the sky began to brighten again and their legs could take them no further. Criton found them a sheltered nook to sleep in, and they all huddled there together for warmth.
And then, just when sleep was finally falling upon their eyes, the young inside Bandu woke up and began to squirm and kick. She moaned and shut her eyes tight. Would the torture never end?
Whether she slept, she could not say. She felt the priest of Magor tracking them, or else she dreamed that he was. He could smell the magic on them, smell Criton’s fire and Bandu’s pregnancy and Goodweather’s seed, and he would chase them down until he had caught them all on the end of his spear. He was catching up with them already. She could feel it.
She rose and shook the others awake. “We go now,” she said.
They did as she told them to, yawning and rubbing their eyes as they stumbled up the mountainside. They had not slept long, and by noon had broken past the treeline and could stare back down upon the plains of Hagardis. Bandu could not see the riders below, but she could still feel them. She begged the wind to scatter the islanders’ scent, but she doubted that that would be good enough this time.
“Phaedra,” she said. “I need talk to dead Mountain God. How do I do?”
“What?” Phaedra asked, startled.
“Mountains need to help,” Bandu told her, “or we all die. Magor’s priest can smell us. He is chasing.”
Phaedra looked both horrified and confused. “But how could Caladoris help us with that, when He’s been dead for hundreds of years?”
“Dead God still is strong,” Bandu answered. “Only does not wake up. Salemis says Yarek is dead, is broken and cut in two pieces, but Yarek is only not strong like before. And maybe one day Yarek is fixed.”
“I don’t know,” Phaedra said dubiously. “I don’t know anything about what will happen ‘one day.’ Eschatology never really appealed to me. None of it seems reliable.”
“I don’t know what you say.”
Phaedra sighed. “I don’t know anything about the end times. You could be right, or you could be wrong. I do see what you’re saying, about primordial beings like the Gods being in some ways indestructible, but even if a God’s death is more like a long sleep, I still don’t see how you can hope to communicate with a dead one.”
Bandu shook her head, disheartened. She had hoped that Phaedra would know.
“There’s another way,” Criton said suddenly. They all turned to look at him, and he sat up straighter.
“Another way to get Bestillos off our trail,” he clarified. “He’s tracking us. He can feel our magic, just like we can feel his.”
“Are you saying we should split up?” Narky asked incredulously.
“Not all of us,” Criton said. “Just me. I’m the one Bestillos wants. I’m the one he’s following. But I’m also the one who can fly. I can move around these mountains much faster than you can, and send Bestillos off in the wrong direction. By the time he realizes I’m throwing him off, your trail might be cold. I’ll rejoin you in two weeks, if you make a big enough campfire for me to see from the air.”
“Right,” said Hunter. He reached out to shake Criton’s hand. “Good luck.”
And just like that, Criton was gone.
Their travels grew no easier, for all that the feeling of being followed abated. In the mountains, the others relied on Bandu completely. It was she who found them water and game, and showed them which plants were safe to eat. It was she whose magic kept the wild animals at bay.
At the same time, she knew she was slowing them down. She could hardly go a few paces without her belly seizing so that she had to stop and rest. It felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders – and on her bladder. That was the other thing. No matter how often she went, it seemed as though she could never relieve herself enough.
Criton rejoined them after two weeks, looking hungry but triumphant. “I think it worked,” he said.
“Let’s give it another two weeks before we start celebrating,” Hunter answered.
They continued southward, grateful for the warmer weather of the dry season. Yet even when Hunter’s two weeks were up, they had barely made any progress toward Silent Hall. Phaedra was even slower here than Bandu, and when the climbing got steep, it took two of the boys beside her to keep her from falling. How many miles had they traveled? It was hard to say, but Bandu doubted they had gone very far past Ardis. They came across a tribe of mountain people, but they had nothing to trade for food or shelter, so they had to simply move on. Phaedra asked if any of these clansmen had lost a daughter named Caldra, but none had.
